WINDFALLS
by John Mitcham
Making the return home after a lifetime abroad can be very tough for most of us. John always knew he'd return home to where he grew up, once his adventures came to an end. He now settles down to write his life story, 'Windfalls' which we have been privilege to read the first few chapters. Final Part.
When someone asks you to stand up in front of a group of people, and tell them about yourself and about your travels, you either go at it with gusto, or do a short, animated, brief description of the facts, and get off the stage as quick as you can. I’d never stood up in front of a group of people before, let alone all women, and all mostly middle to old age. But here I was, in the village hall, with about fifty eager faces smiling at me as I took to the rostrum, and began.
A small cough, a quiet ‘good evening’, a bit of background to who I was, and I was off and running. I never realised until I began talking just how excited I was about all the things I have done. I began when I was a boy going off to Australia under the ‘Big Brother’ scheme, to my trek across Canada to the logging forests on the west coast, and from there my motorcycle tour down America’s east coast in search of the ties America should have with England, but doesn’t. All this passed quickly in the first hour, when up stood the highly organised and very efficient, Valerie Davies, who stopped everything for ‘tea and cakes.’
After a lot of ‘how very interesting’, and, ‘you have seen the world haven’t you’, I was back on the rostrum finishing off with my story about how I came to be in South Africa when Nelson Mandela was freed. People love to hear stories about the oppressed being freed, and this part of my.presentation was met with a few glassy eyes and a number of ‘oh, isn’t that nice.’ When I enlarged on the real South Africa, as it is today, many years after Mandela was freed, Valerie gave me a squinty look as much as to say, ‘don’t kill a good story’, so I brought my talk to an end.
I was invited to two other area meetings of the Women’s Institute, and I promised I’d be there. Valerie was most impressed, and said I was now their ‘man in Marbury,’ and that I should watch out for far too many invitations to ‘tea’, as nearly half of the women in attendance were either widows, divorced, or quite willing to make a swap with their present husband! ‘And you,? I asked Valerie with a smile. ‘My dear Stanley died three years ago. So I too, should be on that, ‘watch out for’ list. By the way,’ she followed up with a sweet smile, ‘would you care to come for tea on sunday. Your grandfather would expect it of you.’ I don’t think anyone has ever said no to Valerie. And now that she uses my dear Grandfather’s name in all her requests, I have no other choice, but to obey!
In the coming weeks I had tea on several occasions with Valerie, and began to like her very much. It was just a question of time before we became ‘close’, me having already suggested to her that she comes up to London with me for a few days, when I go to visit my solicitor, and a good pal I know from back in my Canadian logging days. She had half-smilingly agreed, but I was still waiting for the final ‘yes.’ I also changed the name of the cottage to ‘Windfalls’, and decided to begin writing my life story. If the Women’s Institute is right, it might be best seller!
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