FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

A true to life depiction of the aftermath of an accident.

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

I stopped at the front door of my uncle’s house and paused, lost in thought. I turned and took in the fine Yorkshire view.  Below the garden hedge and Sandy Lane the ground fell steeply to the valley carrying the main road between Huddersfield and Wakefield, and also the canal and the railway line. Across the valley the lights of Ossett twinkled in the fading autumn light. Arthur has a large garden and had been a keen gardener in his younger days. I could just make out the rosy glow of apples and the vegetables still waiting to be cropped. In recent years his aches and pains had gradually reduced his capabilities and his younger friend, Andy, had helped him out with the garden.

Turning back to the door I could see the kitchen light had come on with the time switch.  I inserted the key and turned it, feeling for a timeless moment that in that very act I had chosen one of several realities and closed the door on others. Inside I could hear the beep of Arthur’s burglar alarm and stepping inside I carefully entered the code. The beep stopped.

I looked around and realised the house was exactly as it had been when Arthur had left it the evening before. After Arthur had watched the news on the TV (at full volume!) he had put on his jacket and cap, secured the house and set off in his car to visit his good friend Helga.

On the work surface beside the kettle Arthur’s large mug (emblazoned with ‘Yorkshire born & bred wi’ nowt teken out’) sat with a Yorkshire tea bag lying beside it. His empty hot water bottle lay on the other side. Through in the dining room his Guardian newspaper lay on the table open at the crossword page. Only one clue remained - ‘cross gender eye before a conservative’ - I thought for a minute and then figured the answer - my legs nearly buckled! Crosswords are easy if you know the setter's mind - trans-i-tory! I chuckled.

On a pinboard beside the door to the living room Arthur had pinned a number of favourite photos. Some, of  his nieces. One of a stepson aged then about ten but now estranged. Finally a photo of our grandson that he had still never seen in the flesh. What was missing was perhaps telling - Arthur had been married three times and then finally had a happy partnership that ended in her unexpected death.

Checking out the living room I could see everything was in place. Arthur’s comfy old arm chair sat between piles of old Guardians and within easy enough reach of the TV for a hard of hearing gent of 86. I lifted the remote and clicked on. The 24 hour rolling news channel came on at full blast. We had joked with him that it would wake the dead. ‘Eh - what’s that you’re saying?’ he replied with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I’m not gone yet!’ There were two bookshelves with a good collection of classic Russian literature. In the sixties Arthur had represented Kirklees council on an exchange to Russia and had delivered a speech in Russian. Still sitting on a stand but not played for years Arthurs guitar rested proudly. In his earlier years he had playing in a local rock band.

I quickly checked the other rooms. The toilet was spotless for an old gent who declined with that old fashioned pride and stubbornness when getting some cleaning help was suggested. I could see that his pills had been put out ready. Cholesterol and blood thinning - ‘I don’t want to live for ever!’ - Arthur said unconvincingly. ‘just get me a gun when the time comes!’ In the bedroom Arthur had pulled back his bedcover and laid his bed-socks and pyjamas at the foot of the bed. Arthur was an avid reader and it wasn’t a surprise to see a poetry book with a bookmark open beside the bed.

On a whim I opened it and read.

‘And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.’  John Donne’

I was stunned and upset beyond tears at finding this famous quotation. Had he read it the night before or was it his reading for that last night.

Just then the doorbell rang. I gathered myself and went to the door. It was Arthur’s young gardening friend. ‘Is Arthur not in?’ He looked surprised.

I was shocked. ‘Haven’t you heard? Arthur set off in his car to visit Helga late last night. He got as far as that bad bend on the Dewsbury road and four young lads in a stolen car crashed into him. The lads ran off.’

‘Andy looked at me in shocked incomprehension and then found his tongue - is he ……?

This is based very closely on real events. Arthur sustained serious spinal injury and spent seven months in various hospitals. He was released home where he received 24 hour care until he passed away 5 months later. The young driver was eventually found, brought to trial and given community service. Now that Arthur has died the case has been reopened with the charge of manslaughter.

 

Reviews

[Lorry]

Sadly not as unique as it should be (the topic, not the tale). Perhaps i was blissfully unaware how prevelant acts of arrogance and selfishness like this are, but since recently taking up driving, barely a week passes without hearing of the law doling out slaps on the wrist for such life changing events, sometimes life ending.
My eyes seem to catch these stories where once they went unread in the paper, but since driving this past year, the stories seem to seek me out.
The local shop owner took great delight in telling me the road that joins my home and work has seen over 20 deaths in her time, and hundreds of closures due to speed freaks with a death wish. I am at least thankful for not having to drive at peak times. I consider my quiet little road to be mayhem if there i can see a car in front of me and behind me. It doesnt matter how careful you are, theres always someone else with more than enough stupidity to go round.
I still take the train if travelling anywhere other than local, where the only maniacs seem to be on board.
A tragic tale and pointless loss of life Alan, telling us you just never know the minute.

[alanwgraham]

Thanks Lorry. We have been a bit preoccupied dealing with the fall out of this accident and poor uncle Arthur has had a hellish year before his release. It certainly does make you think. Clearing out the house - letters, photos etc - gives you time for pause.
Regards, Alan

[Betty Hermelee]

A melancholy story, well written, which gives the reader a clue that everything was in its place, except Arthur. Great details about the house ,its contents, and a good description of the character and what he believed in as pertaining to the rest of his life. Also some memorabilia mentioned, such as the famous Donne poem. A horrific ending, but some justice was done, hallelujah! Great write!

[alanwgraham]

Thanks Betty. It was very sad how my wife's uncle spent his last year. It did strike me strongly that he had left his house, as we all do, for his expected return. Perhaps a lesson for us all.
Take care,
Alan

[Betty Hermelee]

Yes, very sad but true. We have a friend who is dying of lung cancer, a slow, painful death.

[Samael]

First off, I should say...

THE TITLE IS AMAZING!

You need to make a poem off that, it is simply amazing

[alanwgraham]

Thanks Samael. I'm afraid that the title is a famous quote from John Donne's poem - well worth checking out.
Cheers.
Alan

[Samael]

Ohhhhh okay! Thank you!