The Old Village

After every couple of years, Chris would return to the village where he was born and grew up. Whenever he did, just before the bus from the large city terminal dropped him off not very far from his old home, his heart would begin to soar knowing that a rush of memories would fill his mind as soon as he got off the bus. However, when something new stared him in the face, it reinforced in him how the link between he and his past continued to weaken.

As the bus grew closer to the village terminal and the few houses which lined the street had not changed, he’d remember the boys he used to play football and cricket with after school. However, when the bus finally came to a screeching halt at its destination, he knew he was going to be disappointed. On the last occasion he was there, things had changed for what he believed was for worse. What greeted him wasn’t the old butcher’s shop where he and his mum used to go to buy a few rashers of bacon and the odd sausage for the large breakfast she made for the family on Sundays, but a modern office building filled with people who had no connection to the village. They were bused in from the large city with the promise of working in the countryside with its ancient canal, its lush green banks and the old pub which no one seemed to remember when it was built. But now that little village had become the city they were trying to escape from.

Chris got off the bus hesitantly, a part of his mind told him he should just stay on board and return to the large city and catch a train back home. But he was there. He had to complete the pilgrimage he had undertaken and so he got up slowly from his seat and put his foot on the pavement. He looked around him. Even though the buildings were not the same, he could hear the children he played with scream with delight. He only wished it were true. He really would love to see all of them again.

When Chris initially left the village, he had made a point of keeping in touch with his old school friends, but like most things in life, they all went in different directions and stopped corresponding with each other. He was sad that happened. He wondered if he would see someone he used to know in one of the shops. But it seemed each time he returned, the people in the shops that lined Banbury Road were from somewhere else. As Chris began his walk to the centre of the village with its old Roman ruin, he thought he recognised a woman he once knew. He thought it was one of his sister’s friends, he asked her, and knew the answer she would give him. “I’m sorry,” he explained, “I grew up here and thought you looked like someone I used to know as a child.”

The woman shook her head. “I didn’t grow up here. My husband and I just bought a home here recently, we came in from the city.” Chris excused himself and continued his walk. The last time he was there, he poked his head into the old fish and chip shop and this time felt his heart miss a beat when he found himself again standing in front of the shop with his hand on the door. He pushed it open but found it was no longer owned by Mr Mason, he had passed on many years ago. He was of the same age as his parents. He knew his son had taken over the business but alas, he was no longer there either. Retired he was told. ‘Wow’ he thought ‘am I really that old?’ He caught a glimpse of himself in the shop window, yes, he was that old.

“Haddock and chips please,” he said. They were still very good. In fact, they were very, very good, but it was a pity it was given to him in brown paper. Gone were the days when you could read last year’s news on the paper in which the food was wrapped. No, that was deemed as unhygienic. By whom? Probably by those who had moved into the old village and brought with them their idea of progress.

The old post office was still there. He was glad about that. It had been given a fresh coat of paint though. It looked somewhat sterile. Out with the old, in with the new he thought as he continued his slow walk, stopping now and then to take a bite of fish or one of the now slightly sogging chips. And then there it was, just around the next corner, his old house. Oh, my goodness! What have they done to it? What happened to the stone walls and the door. The little door that wasn’t wide enough for two people to walk in at the same time. Gone. It had been given a facelift. Is that what they call it a facelift? The door seemed wider.

He stood outside the gate. The wrought iron gate had been replaced by something modern. He looked at the old house. He debated as to whether he should knock on the door but eventually thought the better of it. He continued his slow walk towards the canal. Someone out of their minds had built a dock there. A dock! Why a dock? Oh my God, he thought, how awful. But I guess it goes with those awful people sitting there on the benches and not on the grass as he and his friends used to. And how about the old pub is that still there?

Well, it was, except it wasn’t called the Royal Arms anymore, it was a gastro pub! He had seen enough. He turned to leave, to go back to the bus station and then return home. He should’ve listened to his instincts and not made the journey, but he felt he had to.

“Chris,” he heard a voice from across the street call out his name. He looked over at an older man, slightly stooped wearing an old pair of trousers and a shirt that had seen better days, but he didn’t look familiar. “Chris,” the man shouted again his voice strong, though slightly wavering. Chris stopped and waited as the man crossed the road. He still didn’t recognise him. And then he did.

He walked absentmindedly into the middle of the road and hugged the man. “Edward, oh my God! It’s you Edward, right?

The man nodded, “we had better go over to the pavement, we could get run over here. Its not like the old days you know. These people from the city in their fancy cars would run you over and not think anything of it.”

They walked back to the pavement. It was so good to see Edward again, even though he looked so much older than Chris. “I was on my way back to the bus stop.”

“Why don’t I walk you back there then. Changed, hasn’t it?”

“Every time I come back here,” replied Chris sounding sad.

“Maybe this will be the last time I’ll see you then,” Edward sounded equally sad.

Chris shook his head, “no I don’t think so. As long as I know you’re here, I’ll keep coming back.” Edward was pleased. They hugged each other before Chris got back on the bus.

“Next time let me know when you’re coming and maybe you can stay longer.” Chris promised he would.