By Simon Carter cartersa@eastcoast.co.za
Date: 18 September 2000
Frozen Cold
This was read out on a local radio station in South Africa to an audience of around 700 000. My first of two radio "publications" I hope it is enjoyed..
Frozen cold, the old man sat, and stared at the dancing flames in the hearth. His pale, thinned skin, stretched tight, over the frail bones underneath.
A blanket shrouding him, like the figure of death.
“I’ll tell thee a tale of woe. A tale of hardship and toil.”
Bringing the cup of warmth to his lips, he slowly sipped back his strength, warming his soul.
“Aye, lad. I’ll tell thee a tale so sad, it’ll bring a tear to your eye. And you being a stranger”
I sat closer, and stared. The flickering flames reflecting in the blue rheumy eyes. The eyes of a broken man. The eyes of a man who has seen more than I could imagine, and lost more than I could ever gain.
“ I were born whilst the snow fair whipped and beat our old house.
Same as tonight I wager.
Grew up in that house I did. ‘Till I were 17, those four walls were my castle. Then the war came along. Off we all went. Eager to fight we were in them days. Why, I’ll never know. Ye get back, people sing a few bloody stupid songs, and you’re forgotten. Got a medal I did"
Reaching under the blanket, he brings out a well-worn case. Inside, a medal gleams. The fire shining on the metal.
"For bravery they said. Twenty there were. Twenty mates, all of us.
I can’t think of another man that had nineteen brothers. That’s what we were though. Brothers. Brothers in arms they called it then.
I couldn’t see the others through the smoke after that bomb’ d hit.
Carried me mate Maxie out on me shoulders. Aye, Maxie we called him.
Don’t know how he came by it, but the name sort of stuck, like.
Bravery they said. What bravery is it that leaves behind so many others.?
It were no use though, they were all gone. I wish now that it were me, dead in that cold hole in the ground.
Came home, heroes one ‘n all. ‘eeroes or not, we still ‘ad to find jobs.
Funny thing, I ended up down pit. An ‘eero down one ‘ole, fighting for king ‘n country, and a dirty bugger tryin to earn a bit o’ brass down other.
I met Lizzy on me way ‘ome one night. Beautiful she were. I loved her right then and there. Month later, we were married.
Light of me life she were. Most of me died with her. Some twenty years since she passed now. She is in me ‘eart though, she visits me every night. Tells me she’s all right. That she still loves me, and is waiting for me.
We ‘ad the one son. Right proud I were. Me very own son. We brought ‘im up best way we could. Give ‘im opportunities we never had, or dreamt of.
Sent ‘im off to a fancy school. We saved ‘n scraped to send him there.
He came back married, to some cold woman. So cold she were, she made me feel like I were back on that field in ‘t war.
She made ‘im cold too. Me own son. After Lizzy died, they wanted to stick me in an ‘ome. Called me a stupid, stubborn bastard when I said no, and if I wanted it like that, then they “wanted nothing more to do with me.”
Never seen em since. I heard they had a grandchild. Told ‘im I were dead.
Every year, I’ve sent a Christmas card. Not posted mind you. I take bus up to their ‘ouse and shove ‘em through flap. Always pretend they’re out.
No thank you’s , nowt. Can’t even be bothered to send one back.
Sometime, its ankle deep in snow, like tonight. Never missed a year though. One time I were in ‘ospital. Coughing me bloody lungs up I were. I give nurses slip. Rain, sleet. ‘alf dead I was, when I got back. But I delivered that card.
‘oping me grandson would ask about the cards, and want to meet me. But it never ‘append.
I still loves ‘im. Never met ‘im, but he’s me blood after all.”
The old man, silent. The years alone, dwelling on his mind.
Tears tumbling down the tired face.
“’ere lad, take this medal. You carried me ‘ere out of the snow, like I carried Maxie from that field. You earned it.”
His eyes close. I fear he has gone to join his beloved Lizzy.
He stirs again.
“One favour I ask of you, lad. Please make sure this card is delivered. I were on me way when I fell, and you found me. I know its last one I’ll be posting. Perhaps one last chance that it may reach me grandson, to tell him that I cared. That I loved him, no matter what.”
His blue eyes close for the last time. The mug, falling from a lifeless hand and breaking on the ground.
I take the damp and dirty envelope from the other, and open it.
Reading the name, my own tears now course down my cheeks, I take the still warm hand, and press it to my tears.
I got it….I got your card, Granddad.
Simon Carter 16 August 1999
Was read out on East Coast Radio. 8th September 1999
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