I Remember, I Remember
As he had done every morning since arriving at his parent’s home the previous Sunday, Jason awoke well before the sun had decided to rise in that part of the world and got dressed. He walked out of the back of the house and began to climb a hill, and didn’t stop until he had reached the summit, where he spread out a sheet he had brought with him, and sat down facing East.
As he walked up slowly, he couldn’t believe that there was a time when he could run up to the top with his brother behind him shouting, “I’ll race you!” and then they would both collapse on the grass, laying there until they had caught their breath. But now, Jason well in his 50s and his brother who is a year younger though living in another country, could only smile at the memory. Though for a second, he looked behind him half believing that he would see his brother. He was somewhat disappointed that he was alone. His parents no longer lived in that house. They had both retired to the south of France correctly believing that the wine and food was better there than in England. They hadn’t originally wanted to sell the house, but felt they could use the money from the sale to help their retirement and put down as a deposit on a house they loved in Provence. But instead their two sons, Jason and Jeremy, wouldn’t have any of it. The two were bachelors, much to their parents’ disappointment, because they would have loved grandchildren. Instead, they were married to the businesses they had started. Jason in England, actually not very far away near Oxford, while Jeremy had completed his Masters in the US and had remained there. The two brothers even with the distance between them geographically, remained very close and both decided to buy the home from the parents, offering them twice as much as it was worth. Even though their parents had objected, they weren’t listened to. Needless to say, Jason visited the house more often, under the pretence of making sure it hadn’t been vandalised. Jeremy was pleased he did.
The Sun was beginning to rise slowly over the rooftops of Crookham, a cockerel in the distance sensing it was time to rise and shine, began to crow at the top of his lungs, which never failed to bring a smile to Jason. It always made him think of the opening to Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, or on more serene mornings, the opening bars of Grieg’s Peer Gynt suite. This was such a morning. The cockerel ended his crowing and Jason assumed he had now begun his day of collecting worms for the younger chickens under his care.
Some of the village dogs took up the call to arms begun by the cockerel as Jason took in a deep breath of all that was glorious in that part of the world. His mind filled with the wonderful memories of growing up in Crookham and he closed his eyes so that his mind could focus on absorbing the sounds which engulfed him. Why he came up there every morning wasn’t a question he could readily answer. He felt it reconnected him with nature once more, though he could’ve done that anywhere.
The dogs ended their cacophony which in turn gave way to the more invasive and obnoxious noises of the modern motor vehicle. Even the soot belching from the chimneys of the local foundry didn’t come close to the disturbance caused by cars, buses and lorries, as they all vied for the premier spot on the ancient roads. Roads that had been built during the Roman age, when chariots and horses were the only source of transportation.
During the winter, Jason loved coming up to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, as he and his brother had named it, and watching the sun rise even slower than it did in the summer, bringing with it a slight elevation in the frigid temperatures that that part of England was known for. But more importantly, the red glow from the sun acted as a backdrop to the myriad chimneys from which smoke rose idly, except in the case of the local grammar school which had been built in the times of Charles Dickens. Those chimneys belched a thick black smoke, that only coal could produce, into the crisp still air, most often blocking out the sun.
But it was the middle of July. The school was closed for summer. But even then, the vision of the soot which covered most of Crookham was never too far from the minds and memories of those who lived there.
Once Jason had relived a few more of those irreplaceable memories, he got up and instinctively look behind him for the bull that had once chased him all the way home. But it wasn’t there, just the irreplaceable memory. Most of the children he grew up with in Crookham had left. A few, finding that their fortunes were not quite within their reach, had returned to work in the local grocery store, or the butcher. And then there was Mary. Dear, dear Mary. She never married and lived in her parent’s home, earning her money at the small flower shop on South Street. She always had an eye for Jason, but he in return had only an eye for his maths books. During their grammar school days Mary put herself in Jason’s line of vision on numerous occasions, and he was always pleasant to her, but nothing more than that. On another occasion the two of them climbed Mount Kilimanjaro and sat on the grass and talked of their future plans. Mary really didn’t have any other plans than getting married one day and having children.
“Don’t you want to move away from here?” Jason had asked Mary.
She shook her head, “Everything I ever want in life is here,” she had replied.
Jason wondered if she had regretted her decision. But whenever he saw her, she looked very happy.
On this day in the middle of what was shaping up to be a very warm July, as Jason wrapped up the sheet he had a thought, the first of its kind to enter his mind. For the first time ever, he wondered if Mary had it right all along and that what Jason had always wanted, was right there in Crookham. Maybe that was the reason he kept coming back and hadn’t moved that far away from home after leaving university. He needed to invite Mary to the pub that night. Maybe she had the answer which it appeared had been so elusive over the years.