Welcome to the world of
Michael G Kimber
Michael G Kimber
The Nightwriter
The Politics Of Paradise Farm
Chapter 1
Farewell to Paradise
Peter could see his grandfather through the window of the big kitchen. He seemed to be wandering aimlessly along the gravel paths.
"Can I go out mum?" he called.
"Not yet," his mother answered "your granddad has a few things on his mind; just give him a few more minutes."
It was one of those days that occur frequently in mid summer. A few hot days followed by a thundery build up of clouds resulting in a humid sticky day. Warm enough but not pleasant; no inviting sunshine and gentle breeze; one of those days when everything is an effort, and yet nothing seems to please.
Somehow the fact that it was his birthday didn't help Gordon. Not that birthday's meant that much any more - especially since he had seen the big 'Five O' come and go.
And there was another reason why Gordon was feeling down. Four years ago he had said goodbye to his father, and then last year his mother had gone to join him in that great big garden in the sky. Now it was time for the final goodbye, for in less than twenty four hours Paradise Manor was to go under the hammer.
He had loved his parents and his mourning for them and his sense of loss was genuine. But his feelings about the house went beyond grieving. He could not say why exactly, and he experienced a curious sense of guilt about it, but he had always felt that he was part of it, and that it was part of him. He had been born in this house; literally so, for his mother had been caught unprepared, and before she could be moved to the hospital Gordon made his appearance - a month before he was due. He had lived there through childhood, boyhood, and into manhood; until his new wife had wrested him away. It was only then that he truly understood the privilege he had enjoyed through all his young years.
For a number of reasons he felt unable to move into the house himself and reluctantly he had taken the decision to let it go, but it had been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. Every morning he would wake up wondering if there was something he had overlooked; something that would allow him to change his mind.
Gordon walked slowly down the path behind the house, past the lawns, with their borders and flower beds; for so long the centre of his mothers life, but now, sadly, urgently in need of some tender loving care. By the fruit trees and beyond the large vegetables area he strolled, where his father had toiled joyfully following his retirement, producing almost everything one could imagine. He had been so proud of his vegetables, but always happy to lend a hand with the mower or the clippers in his wife's half of their private world.
When he reached the fence that enclosed that area of the garden he stopped, turning so that he could get a good look at the house. Overnight rain had left the path a little muddy, so he was glad he had slipped on an old pair of Wellington boots, otherwise he might not have gone so far. He was glad for another reason, for his was his favourite view of the house, framed as it was between the curling branches of two elders, a picture that might have been captured on many an artists canvas had it not been hidden from their view. The trees, about halfway between him and the house, contrived to create a frame, the one to the right being the taller, while the one on the left complimented the scene perfectly by spreading its branches wider.
It was a large house. Not huge like a stately home, but large by most standards, set in many acres of pasture and woodlands. It was also quite old, having been built in stone and dark rustic brick around eighteen fifty, in a style that owed nothing to anyone except its idiosyncratic creator, Gordon's great great grandfather. He had always believed that it had been built without the benefit of plans, having simply grown at the whim and impulse of that ancestor, its builder and first owner. It had long been a family joke that there was not a straight line to be found anywhere in the place.
He spent half an hour or so just gazing, trying to burn into his mind the picture in front of him, a picture which he knew from now on would only be in his memory. His springer spaniel, getting on now but still trying to live up to its name, was scampering around, oblivious of his masters discomfort.
"Grampa; grampa." a little voice disturbed him, and Gordon watched as two boys trotted down the path toward him.
"Over here Jason." he called back to his youngest grandson, "Mind just there, it's a little bit slippy." Peter, Jason’s elder brother was nearly eleven. He could look after himself and did not wait for guidance.
Jason soon reached his grandfather. At five years old he was a joy, and ready for any adventure. Peter had already skipped ahead, tempting - he hoped - to draw his grandfather a little further.
"Are you going to take us down to the pond Grampa?" Jason asked, taking his hand. "Mummy says it's alright if you go with us."
The log fence that Gordon was leaning on, made out of loppings from the wood behind, marked the end of what might be called 'the garden', but it was far from the end of the estate. And it was what lay beyond that had made this such a special place for him, and why he was convinced that there could have been no better place for a boy to grow up. And why, he concluded with equal conviction and a silent thought of regret, there would be no better place for a man to end his days.
They walked together for a few yards until they came to a gate made from the same tree cuttings. Both fence and gate looked as though they were on the point of collapse, but Gordon knew that they had looked that way since they had been erected more than twenty years before, and he had little doubt that they would still be standing twenty years hence.
Through the gate and into the wood they went, following a faint path over a ridge, until they came to a bubbling stream. Beyond that the thickening wood sloped gently away, disappearing almost into blackness. They followed the stream as it flowed excitedly down the slope to their right. Sometimes it became little more than a trickle where it found a subterranean shortcut, only to re-emerged and continue in its main course further down the slope. Here and there a magical sound told of a waterfall where some large stones - many of which had been placed by young hands - blocked the way; or where a fallen log had contrived to cause a dam - all obstacles which the children could not leave unexplored, and where possible, surmounted.
Eventually they emerged from the trees at a point overlooking a water meadow where at last the stream ran free. For a few hundred yards it reigned supreme before it was absorbed into a small river, at which confluence and with forces joined, they pretended to be the mighty Amazon.
The party of adventurers watched as the combined waters, wider now and swifter, tumbled joyfully over a rocky bed and into a lake.
Many years ago a natural pond in the river had been enlarged to provide a head for a mill further down stream, and to provide a watering place for cattle. But when the mill was replaced by a larger one the 'pond' was further enlarged to its present size. Although the 'new' mill had long since disappeared, the lake remained, known, despite its considerable size, as Paradise Pond. Now, only grazing cattle and horses enjoy what once was a scene of bustling industry. So well had the dam been built that the lake looked entirely natural, and nature had long since completed the illusion, hiding from view nearly all traces of man's intervention.
As a child Gordon had thought that this was the biggest lake in the world, being bigger than any other water he had ever seen. To his young eyes it seemed enormous. He looked down at his grandsons knowing that they would be seeing it as he had all those years ago. Especially Peter, for in him he saw much of himself. Just like he, it had always been his grandson's favourite place; with its soft grassy edges here, or steep muddy banks there, and its many areas its rocks and reeds adding a magical element in the mind of a small boy.
In some places the water was out of reach because of wide reed beds and bulrushes, while at others paths rimmed the very water's edge. The wood, through which the trio had just emerged, sloped down towards the lake, from where one could see on the far side the broad expanse of a rising grassland slope. Steeper near the water then less so as it climbed, so that from the water side the rising meadow became the horizon.
Gordon felt very content and smiled as he watched the boys standing on one of the rocks at the waters edge looking for signs of life, and guessing that they were seeing what he had seen, half a lifetime ago. He called his grandsons and they continued their walk to the end of the lake until they reached the waterfall that emerged from the 'pond' and the stream which continued its journey through the narrowing valley beyond the meadow. The waterfall was the only place where the hand of man was still visible, for behind the falling water, if one looked very carefully, it was just possible to make out, hiding behind the growth of uncountable small plants and clinging vine-like vegetation, the mossy and lichen covered stones of the dam itself.
As they crossed a little bridge Gordon looked down. It never seemed to amaze him that the still water above left the dam with such speed and force, as though anxious to escape. How long had the water, which now hurried beneath him, been in the pond? How many days, weeks, months, maybe even years, had it been held up by the lake on its long journey from its spring to the sea. Who could say? Certainly not the boys who were scampering off heading for a rocky ridge.
Gordon followed as they made their way to a little rise by the side of the pond to where a small ledge in the rocks, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet above the water, provided a vantage point from which to view the pond. From here one could see where another ridge further on became a nose shaped prominence, reducing in height quite quickly until it dived below the surface, only to re-emerge on the opposite bank; smaller and less rocky, but prominent enough to help to create the irregular but faintly discernible figure of eight shape to the whole lake. They could also see from their vantage point two small islands. One of them quite near and slightly to their right, in the lesser of the two 'halves' of the lake. Beyond the rocky 'nose' was the other island; slightly larger. This was sitting comfortably in the much larger of the two 'circles' of water. It was also on the right but quite far away near the end of the lake and even from their elevated viewing point, it wasn't quite clear that it was indeed another island.
Both islands were close the edge of the lake, and in each case there was a channel between it and the bank. These channels, just wide enough to be jumped if one could get a good run, had been the cause of many a soaking in years gone by, when some young man's ambition had been greater than his ability. At one time there had been a wooden boathouse on the larger island, and the tumbled down remains of it were still in evidence, as was the remains of a bridge. Both islands however had long been abandoned and over time nature had claimed it's own. Both, overgrown with a dense covering of shrubs, grasses and other foliage, had become havens for water fowl, ducks and many wild birds.
Looking back from that same vantage point one could see the point where the water falls over the dam, though neither the fall or the dam itself. Also clearly visible around the dam is the area known as the swamp. This is where the water spends its last hours before finally leaving the confines of its once artificial but long since naturalized boundaries, to escape to freedom over the dam wall. The swamp, dirty and muddy surrounds that final hurdle, backing into the lake for a hundred yards or more, collecting and filtering the flotsam and jetsam of the pond
It is not a place favoured by the larger inhabitants of the lake, but nevertheless swarms with the minutia of pond life. It is to here that all the waters from the pond eventually flow, carrying with it its waste to be deposited, layer upon layer; year upon year. Two hundred years of rotting and decay, of storm and flood, had gradually caused this part of the pond to become shallow of water but deep of muck and mire, a slow moving, more than slightly smelly muddy swamp. But it has its place in the order of things, for when it leaves, the water which cascades to freedom is as clean as the day it entered Paradise Pond.
Gordon clambered down from the ledge until he was close to the water, with Peter, Jason, and the dog, following behind.
"Come on Barney." Peter called, noticing some slight hesitation. Then he turned to his Grandfather. "Granddad," he said "how old is Barney?"
"Let me see now; about seventy five I should think."
Peter laughed out loud "That's older than you Granddad."
"It certainly is." Gordon answered, pretending to be a bit put out. "but don't forget 'dog years."
"Dog years; what does that mean?"
"It means that one year for us is like seven years for a dog. Barney's more than ten - so that means; well, I'll let you work it out."
Gordon turned away. Just clear from the marshy edge of the water some tufts of grass and a slightly rising bank provided him with a comfortable place to sit and watch the children playing. Jason was on a sandy area beneath the ledge, while Peter, more adventurous, had found some flat stones just into the shallows, around which grasses grew, sending their leaves and stems - perfect landing places for dragonflies - toward the sky.
In many areas large number of trees had established themselves, mostly from seed borne on the wind from the nearby woods, or deposited by birds from a greater distance. They had found the ground to their liking, kept moist by the lake, their roots taking full advantage of the high water table, and over time a whole new ecosystem had come into being based around, and dependent upon 'the pond'.
"Not too near remember." Gordon called to Jason. Always cautious, even though the boy was well schooled and knew how close he was allowed to go.
Gordon was glad to be at the pond. Despite its considerable size he preferred to think of it as 'the pond', especially as he knew that this might easily be his last visit, and for the first time in quite a while he felt at peace. Settling with his back against the trunk of an obliging tree, he quietly watched his grandsons, and lazily enjoyed the warmth of the afternoon sun which had finally defeated the clouds. The oppressive clamminess of the morning had given way to a pleasant afternoon; with some high thin clouds, and a gentle cooling breeze emanating from the water.
"Peter," he called his elder grandson "come and sit with me, there are some things I want to tell you."
He feeling of contentment was tempered only by the thought that perhaps he might not ever see Paradise Pond again. So it was with mixed emotions for them both when Peter sat by his side.
Peter knew that something was wrong, and that his grandfather was
unhappy. "Is he going to die?" he thought, but dare not ask, as he put his head on his grandfathers chest.
Gordon put his arm around the boys shoulders, and gently held him close. He knew that his grandson loved the place as he did, so he would have to tell him. "But not right now," he said to himself; I'll tell him in a minute." The sun had come out; it was warm and he was strangely content. He did not want to break the spell of the moment.
Top Of Page Next Chapter
Chapter 1
Farewell to Paradise
Peter could see his grandfather through the window of the big kitchen. He seemed to be wandering aimlessly along the gravel paths.
"Can I go out mum?" he called.
"Not yet," his mother answered "your granddad has a few things on his mind; just give him a few more minutes."
It was one of those days that occur frequently in mid summer. A few hot days followed by a thundery build up of clouds resulting in a humid sticky day. Warm enough but not pleasant; no inviting sunshine and gentle breeze; one of those days when everything is an effort, and yet nothing seems to please.
Somehow the fact that it was his birthday didn't help Gordon. Not that birthday's meant that much any more - especially since he had seen the big 'Five O' come and go.
And there was another reason why Gordon was feeling down. Four years ago he had said goodbye to his father, and then last year his mother had gone to join him in that great big garden in the sky. Now it was time for the final goodbye, for in less than twenty four hours Paradise Manor was to go under the hammer.
He had loved his parents and his mourning for them and his sense of loss was genuine. But his feelings about the house went beyond grieving. He could not say why exactly, and he experienced a curious sense of guilt about it, but he had always felt that he was part of it, and that it was part of him. He had been born in this house; literally so, for his mother had been caught unprepared, and before she could be moved to the hospital Gordon made his appearance - a month before he was due. He had lived there through childhood, boyhood, and into manhood; until his new wife had wrested him away. It was only then that he truly understood the privilege he had enjoyed through all his young years.
For a number of reasons he felt unable to move into the house himself and reluctantly he had taken the decision to let it go, but it had been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. Every morning he would wake up wondering if there was something he had overlooked; something that would allow him to change his mind.
Gordon walked slowly down the path behind the house, past the lawns, with their borders and flower beds; for so long the centre of his mothers life, but now, sadly, urgently in need of some tender loving care. By the fruit trees and beyond the large vegetables area he strolled, where his father had toiled joyfully following his retirement, producing almost everything one could imagine. He had been so proud of his vegetables, but always happy to lend a hand with the mower or the clippers in his wife's half of their private world.
When he reached the fence that enclosed that area of the garden he stopped, turning so that he could get a good look at the house. Overnight rain had left the path a little muddy, so he was glad he had slipped on an old pair of Wellington boots, otherwise he might not have gone so far. He was glad for another reason, for his was his favourite view of the house, framed as it was between the curling branches of two elders, a picture that might have been captured on many an artists canvas had it not been hidden from their view. The trees, about halfway between him and the house, contrived to create a frame, the one to the right being the taller, while the one on the left complimented the scene perfectly by spreading its branches wider.
It was a large house. Not huge like a stately home, but large by most standards, set in many acres of pasture and woodlands. It was also quite old, having been built in stone and dark rustic brick around eighteen fifty, in a style that owed nothing to anyone except its idiosyncratic creator, Gordon's great great grandfather. He had always believed that it had been built without the benefit of plans, having simply grown at the whim and impulse of that ancestor, its builder and first owner. It had long been a family joke that there was not a straight line to be found anywhere in the place.
He spent half an hour or so just gazing, trying to burn into his mind the picture in front of him, a picture which he knew from now on would only be in his memory. His springer spaniel, getting on now but still trying to live up to its name, was scampering around, oblivious of his masters discomfort.
"Grampa; grampa." a little voice disturbed him, and Gordon watched as two boys trotted down the path toward him.
"Over here Jason." he called back to his youngest grandson, "Mind just there, it's a little bit slippy." Peter, Jason’s elder brother was nearly eleven. He could look after himself and did not wait for guidance.
Jason soon reached his grandfather. At five years old he was a joy, and ready for any adventure. Peter had already skipped ahead, tempting - he hoped - to draw his grandfather a little further.
"Are you going to take us down to the pond Grampa?" Jason asked, taking his hand. "Mummy says it's alright if you go with us."
The log fence that Gordon was leaning on, made out of loppings from the wood behind, marked the end of what might be called 'the garden', but it was far from the end of the estate. And it was what lay beyond that had made this such a special place for him, and why he was convinced that there could have been no better place for a boy to grow up. And why, he concluded with equal conviction and a silent thought of regret, there would be no better place for a man to end his days.
They walked together for a few yards until they came to a gate made from the same tree cuttings. Both fence and gate looked as though they were on the point of collapse, but Gordon knew that they had looked that way since they had been erected more than twenty years before, and he had little doubt that they would still be standing twenty years hence.
Through the gate and into the wood they went, following a faint path over a ridge, until they came to a bubbling stream. Beyond that the thickening wood sloped gently away, disappearing almost into blackness. They followed the stream as it flowed excitedly down the slope to their right. Sometimes it became little more than a trickle where it found a subterranean shortcut, only to re-emerged and continue in its main course further down the slope. Here and there a magical sound told of a waterfall where some large stones - many of which had been placed by young hands - blocked the way; or where a fallen log had contrived to cause a dam - all obstacles which the children could not leave unexplored, and where possible, surmounted.
Eventually they emerged from the trees at a point overlooking a water meadow where at last the stream ran free. For a few hundred yards it reigned supreme before it was absorbed into a small river, at which confluence and with forces joined, they pretended to be the mighty Amazon.
The party of adventurers watched as the combined waters, wider now and swifter, tumbled joyfully over a rocky bed and into a lake.
Many years ago a natural pond in the river had been enlarged to provide a head for a mill further down stream, and to provide a watering place for cattle. But when the mill was replaced by a larger one the 'pond' was further enlarged to its present size. Although the 'new' mill had long since disappeared, the lake remained, known, despite its considerable size, as Paradise Pond. Now, only grazing cattle and horses enjoy what once was a scene of bustling industry. So well had the dam been built that the lake looked entirely natural, and nature had long since completed the illusion, hiding from view nearly all traces of man's intervention.
As a child Gordon had thought that this was the biggest lake in the world, being bigger than any other water he had ever seen. To his young eyes it seemed enormous. He looked down at his grandsons knowing that they would be seeing it as he had all those years ago. Especially Peter, for in him he saw much of himself. Just like he, it had always been his grandson's favourite place; with its soft grassy edges here, or steep muddy banks there, and its many areas its rocks and reeds adding a magical element in the mind of a small boy.
In some places the water was out of reach because of wide reed beds and bulrushes, while at others paths rimmed the very water's edge. The wood, through which the trio had just emerged, sloped down towards the lake, from where one could see on the far side the broad expanse of a rising grassland slope. Steeper near the water then less so as it climbed, so that from the water side the rising meadow became the horizon.
Gordon felt very content and smiled as he watched the boys standing on one of the rocks at the waters edge looking for signs of life, and guessing that they were seeing what he had seen, half a lifetime ago. He called his grandsons and they continued their walk to the end of the lake until they reached the waterfall that emerged from the 'pond' and the stream which continued its journey through the narrowing valley beyond the meadow. The waterfall was the only place where the hand of man was still visible, for behind the falling water, if one looked very carefully, it was just possible to make out, hiding behind the growth of uncountable small plants and clinging vine-like vegetation, the mossy and lichen covered stones of the dam itself.
As they crossed a little bridge Gordon looked down. It never seemed to amaze him that the still water above left the dam with such speed and force, as though anxious to escape. How long had the water, which now hurried beneath him, been in the pond? How many days, weeks, months, maybe even years, had it been held up by the lake on its long journey from its spring to the sea. Who could say? Certainly not the boys who were scampering off heading for a rocky ridge.
Gordon followed as they made their way to a little rise by the side of the pond to where a small ledge in the rocks, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet above the water, provided a vantage point from which to view the pond. From here one could see where another ridge further on became a nose shaped prominence, reducing in height quite quickly until it dived below the surface, only to re-emerge on the opposite bank; smaller and less rocky, but prominent enough to help to create the irregular but faintly discernible figure of eight shape to the whole lake. They could also see from their vantage point two small islands. One of them quite near and slightly to their right, in the lesser of the two 'halves' of the lake. Beyond the rocky 'nose' was the other island; slightly larger. This was sitting comfortably in the much larger of the two 'circles' of water. It was also on the right but quite far away near the end of the lake and even from their elevated viewing point, it wasn't quite clear that it was indeed another island.
Both islands were close the edge of the lake, and in each case there was a channel between it and the bank. These channels, just wide enough to be jumped if one could get a good run, had been the cause of many a soaking in years gone by, when some young man's ambition had been greater than his ability. At one time there had been a wooden boathouse on the larger island, and the tumbled down remains of it were still in evidence, as was the remains of a bridge. Both islands however had long been abandoned and over time nature had claimed it's own. Both, overgrown with a dense covering of shrubs, grasses and other foliage, had become havens for water fowl, ducks and many wild birds.
Looking back from that same vantage point one could see the point where the water falls over the dam, though neither the fall or the dam itself. Also clearly visible around the dam is the area known as the swamp. This is where the water spends its last hours before finally leaving the confines of its once artificial but long since naturalized boundaries, to escape to freedom over the dam wall. The swamp, dirty and muddy surrounds that final hurdle, backing into the lake for a hundred yards or more, collecting and filtering the flotsam and jetsam of the pond
It is not a place favoured by the larger inhabitants of the lake, but nevertheless swarms with the minutia of pond life. It is to here that all the waters from the pond eventually flow, carrying with it its waste to be deposited, layer upon layer; year upon year. Two hundred years of rotting and decay, of storm and flood, had gradually caused this part of the pond to become shallow of water but deep of muck and mire, a slow moving, more than slightly smelly muddy swamp. But it has its place in the order of things, for when it leaves, the water which cascades to freedom is as clean as the day it entered Paradise Pond.
Gordon clambered down from the ledge until he was close to the water, with Peter, Jason, and the dog, following behind.
"Come on Barney." Peter called, noticing some slight hesitation. Then he turned to his Grandfather. "Granddad," he said "how old is Barney?"
"Let me see now; about seventy five I should think."
Peter laughed out loud "That's older than you Granddad."
"It certainly is." Gordon answered, pretending to be a bit put out. "but don't forget 'dog years."
"Dog years; what does that mean?"
"It means that one year for us is like seven years for a dog. Barney's more than ten - so that means; well, I'll let you work it out."
Gordon turned away. Just clear from the marshy edge of the water some tufts of grass and a slightly rising bank provided him with a comfortable place to sit and watch the children playing. Jason was on a sandy area beneath the ledge, while Peter, more adventurous, had found some flat stones just into the shallows, around which grasses grew, sending their leaves and stems - perfect landing places for dragonflies - toward the sky.
In many areas large number of trees had established themselves, mostly from seed borne on the wind from the nearby woods, or deposited by birds from a greater distance. They had found the ground to their liking, kept moist by the lake, their roots taking full advantage of the high water table, and over time a whole new ecosystem had come into being based around, and dependent upon 'the pond'.
"Not too near remember." Gordon called to Jason. Always cautious, even though the boy was well schooled and knew how close he was allowed to go.
Gordon was glad to be at the pond. Despite its considerable size he preferred to think of it as 'the pond', especially as he knew that this might easily be his last visit, and for the first time in quite a while he felt at peace. Settling with his back against the trunk of an obliging tree, he quietly watched his grandsons, and lazily enjoyed the warmth of the afternoon sun which had finally defeated the clouds. The oppressive clamminess of the morning had given way to a pleasant afternoon; with some high thin clouds, and a gentle cooling breeze emanating from the water.
"Peter," he called his elder grandson "come and sit with me, there are some things I want to tell you."
He feeling of contentment was tempered only by the thought that perhaps he might not ever see Paradise Pond again. So it was with mixed emotions for them both when Peter sat by his side.
Peter knew that something was wrong, and that his grandfather was
unhappy. "Is he going to die?" he thought, but dare not ask, as he put his head on his grandfathers chest.
Gordon put his arm around the boys shoulders, and gently held him close. He knew that his grandson loved the place as he did, so he would have to tell him. "But not right now," he said to himself; I'll tell him in a minute." The sun had come out; it was warm and he was strangely content. He did not want to break the spell of the moment.
Top Of Page Next Chapter