Stewart Devitt was born in Belfast, worked and played there and in Dublin, donning the jerseys of Instonians and Bective Rangers rugby clubs. An experienced training professional, specialising in communication and personal development, he lived in Auckland for 15 years and is now back in Helensburgh, Scotland, where he can devote more time to writing, a lifelong hobby, and pleasure.

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Ashes to ashes

 By Stewart Devitt

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Giuseppe, commonly called Gus, lay on the bed, looking at the flaking plaster on the ceiling. Stretching his arms and legs out as far as they could go, he rolled over and hugged the mattress, feeling the coolness of the plastic covering against his cheek and arms. It had been delivered in the morning and still unwrapped, had that special aroma of newness.

 

Although only forty minutes away from the city where he previously lived most of his life it seemed very different from the hurly burly of the urban jungle where noise and pollution had been an accepted part of living. His friends had warned him that things would be different and that he would be lonely, miss the hustle and excitement and even the pollution of city life. He called them friends although they were no more than acquaintances. Yes, he met up with them regularly at the supermarket, the coffee houses, or the pubs, yet he had never been to any of their homes or thought of inviting them to his. The friendship was convenient to them all, an opportunity for small talk and a way of believing loneliness was something that others experienced. They were together yet alone, continuously repeating the stories of yesteryear with little interest in the present or what might lie in store for them in the future. He had listened politely to them and acknowledged their thoughts and concerns before going with his intuition.

Here he was indeed on his own, in a new place, in a new house, a strange house, a cottage in fact, unknown to anyone around him and uncertain of what lay ahead. What he did know however was that he felt a sense of relief.

It was well past midnight when Scott and Bertie were walking home after the game although it was more of a gentle rhythmic sway than a walk. Their team had lost and the after-match review had gone on longer than usual, which had meant drinking more beer, resulting in an increasing heaviness in their heads.

“You haven’t taken off that droopy eared bonnet,” slurred Bertie, “you never wear it after a match when we lose. Give it here.”

“Leave off, it is keeping my ears nice and warm.”

With a sudden lunge Bertie pulled the bonnet from Scott’s head, and waved it in the air shouting “bonnet, bonnet fly away and don’t come back til we win again.”  Attempts by Scott to retrieve it proved unsuccessful and only encouraged Bertie to shout louder. Waving the woolly red and white bonnet frantically over his head his grip loosened, and it flew onto the roof of a small cottage.

“Idiot,” said Scott, “now look at what you have done. I am not leaving it there.”

Inside the cottage, Gus awoke suddenly as he heard a scratching sound at the window. Alert and sitting bolt upright he felt his stomach turn as the sound became louder. Taking a deep breath, he swung his feet off the bed and moved towards the window. Pulling back the heavy cream curtains he saw two legs dangling before him as a figure tried to lever itself onto the sloping tiles above the bay window. Instinctively he banged on the glass yelling at the person to go away and noticing another shadow at the gate. As both intruders scuttled off towards the woods he dialled the local police. In less than five minutes a patrol car drew up outside and a constable was in the hallway taking down details and promising he would drive around the area to see if he could spot anyone suspicious.

Settling himself Gus went back to bed, only to be soon disturbed again by a scuffling outside the window. Without bothering to put on a dressing gown he dashed out the door and confronted two youths, one balancing on the shoulders of the other, before they both fell to the ground.

“Do not move. Stay exactly where you are. I am going inside to phone the police. They are already looking for you, so do not make it any worse. Just stay put.” Gus sounded a lot more confident than he felt.

Coming back outside he was surprised to find the two youths still standing there, like frightened rabbits caught in headlights. Just then the police car spun round the corner and skidded to a stop outside the cottage. As the constable opened the door to get out, he slipped and went over on his ankle, falling heavily on his right wrist. With the car’s engine still running Scott rushed past him, jumped into the car, and turned off the ignition.

Pushed to the front by the constable Scott flashed back to when he was a young boy, turning twelve if he remembered correctly, playing games at Christmas with his family. Laughing, joking wanting to win at everything and especially not wanting his elder sister to win. The laughing and the joking stopped when his sister, with loud whoops of jubilation, won the final game of the evening, musical chairs, and was given the woollen hat that Santa had left behind; the one with ear flaps and a small, almost unnoticeable little tassel on the top. He argued, to no avail, that he had got to the chair first and was ready to sit on it when the music stopped only to be pushed aside by his sister. It was unfair, she was four years older and had used her size to prevent him from winning.

That night when everyone was asleep, he quietly sneaked into his sister’s bedroom. Seeing the bonnet hanging over a chair he quickly pulled it free and went downstairs to the kitchen. Opening the door to the back yard he picked up the box of matches that was always left by the stove and kept striking them in a futile attempt to get a flame. Then he froze, as he felt a hand on his shoulder and looking up saw his father.

Memories flooded back of how he crumbled into his arms, tears streaming down his face as he confessed how badly he had wanted to win and to be able to wear the bonnet as a token of his success. His father took him inside, boiled up the hot milk, stirred in the cocoa and, as they shared a clandestine night-time drink, talked about the joys and discipline of being able to lose gracefully and accept that in life you do not always get what you want. They agreed the bonnet should be left back on the chair and nothing more would be said about the incident, and he promised not to pester or bother his sister in future.

He regretted now that he had taken his promise so literally and from that day spoke little to or communicated with his sister in any way unless it was necessary. They grew apart and when, at the start of her university studies, she moved out of the family home all contact was lost. When she died suddenly after a bout of pneumonia he went to the funeral and later helped clear her belongings. It was then that, in a bottom drawer, he found the bonnet and asked if he could keep it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to frighten anybody. It is just that I could not go home without my bonnet. It means a lot to me.” Scott addressed his remarks to the constable who, after a few moments looking up at the roof, broke his silence. “The bonnet’s still up there. The boy has said sorry, and I believe he means what he says. Have you got a pair of steps so he can get the damned thing down and then we can all go home? Unless of course, you want to press trespassing charges?”

‘No, no. I’ll follow your guidance. I just want to get back to my bed. I’ll fetch a step ladder from the back.”

Returning with an aluminium ladder Gus opened it out in front of the window. No one made any effort to move. It was left to Gus to climb up the ladder and, as it wobbled precariously on the uneven ground, he stood on the top step, retrieved the bonnet, and tossed it down. Scott immediately tucked it safely in the inside pocket of his anorak. Then mumbling thanks to Gus, he joined Bertie in assisting the constable to his car, hoping for a lift home.

All three were oblivious to the figure trying to climb down the ladder. “No shortage of excitement tonight” mused Gus, holding on with one hand whilst pulling at his pyjama trousers with the other hand to prevent them falling around his ankles.

Over the next few weeks Gus walked around the area, mapping the grid patterns of the streets in his head, and exploring the paths through the woods. He started to recognise faces and felt content when receiving signs of acknowledgement, or even the occasional ‘Hello,” or “Good morning,” from the people he started to meet regularly.

Often at night he would stroll down to the front and breathe in the sea air, amazed at the stillness and peace that came off the water. It was when he was returning home one night that he saw Scott walking along the road and gave him a friendly nod of the head. Scott had become a bit of a loner, and it was only at weekends that he went to see the match along with a gang of his former schoolmates. The meetings always ended up with him drinking too much. He had no girlfriend which made him feel unwanted and isolated from the social activities in the town. More and more he kept to himself and more and more he thought of his sister and regretted he had not made the effort to be more communicative with her. Increasingly the red and white bonnet had become a milestone around his neck. These thoughts rumbled through his head as he went on his lonely walks, eating away at his confidence and self-esteem.

He looked up at Gus and recognising him stopped and immediately began apologising again for the incident on the roof. Gus smiled gently,

“All in the past. No harm done. Call in any time you are passing the house.”

As Scott moved on, head down intent on looking at his feet, Gus realised that it had been a long time since he had invited someone to where he lived.

It was the following weekend that Scott knocked on the door. 8.00pm on the Saturday night, after the game when a few beers had given him the Dutch courage to call. Gus welcomed him in and, as he boiled up the kettle to make some tea and toasted some freshly bought crumpets, Scott noticed how bare the place was. Only the most basic furniture was in the large living room. The chat was stilted, with some comments on the game, although Gus knew little about football. When the television was turned on it reduced the talk to a minimum.

The Saturday night visit became regular and then one Wednesday evening Scott found himself walking past the cottage and knocked on the door. The unexpected call was welcomed and immediately seemed to create more openness as if removing the polite invisible barriers that had previously been established. After the usual tea and crumpets, Scott felt confident enough to comment. “You haven’t decorated this place yet or sorted out the furniture. I can see it all stacked up in the other room and I couldn’t help but notice the covering is still on your mattress.”

Gus sighed heavily and sat down, cradling his mug of tea in both hands.

“Just cannot get motivated. Most of the furniture belonged to my mother. She was an alcoholic and died eighteen months before I moved here. This was all she left. I blamed myself, turned a blind eye, and told myself it was only now and again. Kept away from her as much as possible so I couldn’t see the state she got herself into. Out of sight, out of mind. She died a lonely person. Made me a lonely person too. That is one of the reasons I came here. Trying to forget; starting a new chapter.”

Tears began to trickle down his cheeks. “Never told anyone this before. You are the first person.”

Scott listened in attentive silence and when Gus finished told his own story about how the bonnet had become so important to him and how indirectly it had led to his growing apart from his sister.

“I’ve often thought if I had managed to burn it that night things would have been different in the long term.”

Wednesday nights also became a regular fixture, and the relationship continued to develop with their conversations becoming more personal as they opened their hearts to share hopes and lay bare their fears.

Despite a gap in ages, their circumstances were very similar. They had allowed themselves to become isolated from others around them and in so doing had lost their self-confidence, believing no one was interested in their wellbeing. Both looked inward, feeling safer inside their protective bubbles of isolation.

It was Gus one night who said that the more they talked about their issues the smaller the barriers became. “Almost as if they are melting away as we talk openly about them. The flame of companionship is providing us warmth.”

“I’ve been thinking the same, although wouldn’t have used such fancy words,” admitted Scott.

“We have got to build on what is happening,” continued Gus. “We should try to widen our net. How about going to the barbeque the Red Cross are running next week? It’s for the homeless, a worthy cause.”

“Homeless and no doubt lonely too,” added Scott.

The barbeque was a huge success and not just for the Red Cross. Scott and Gus found themselves revelling in talking to others from the local community, and being introduced to new faces, including, in Scott’s case, girls. Only when they next met did they realise they had left without saying goodbye to each other.

“A positive omen. Suggests maybe there are more than two people in the world.”

Scott’s head nodded instinctively in agreement as Gus pulled at his left ear, wiggled his nose, and then gently stroked his chin.

“I’ve been thinking again. How about inviting a few people around here for a bit of a get-together? Bit of a party, eh? Some of our neighbours and those we met at the barbeque.  Let’s treat them all like friends.”

“Here? Are you sure?”, quizzed Scott. “In the house?”

“OK, I know the place is a bit of a mess although I can easily tidy it up and I have been meaning to paint the walls anyway. And I suppose I could shampoo the carpet as well.”

“Well, if you are sure. It is Halloween next month.”

“Done.” Gus was quick to confirm. “You make a list of names, and I’ll make one too. There is plenty of time to build a small bonfire.

“Great, I will construct a guy and bring a bag of potatoes. We can wrap them in foil and roast them.”

Scott and Gus worked hard at the preparations, liaised well together and all was organised and in place ahead of schedule. On the day of the party Scott turned up early to help with last-minute preparations and as he walked through the front door was aware of the difference from his tentative first visit. There was the lingering smell of paint and new pieces of furniture were clearly evident, and all rooms were now accessible. Gus had borrowed a couple of trestle tables from the church hall and cut up some plastic sheeting to serve as a table covering. Bowls of nuts and crisps, plates of sausage rolls, sandwiches, assortments of meat and cheeses, celery, carrots and carefully sliced French sticks with plenty of butter filled the space. Bright red napkins with the image of a red witch on a broomstick were stacked up at one end alongside disposable plates and cutlery.

It was not long before the place was buzzing with a mixture of people, of all ages and types, and Gus was glad not everyone they had invited had turned up. Only one of his old cronies from the city had bothered to come although he had half expected none to turn up. The fact that no one from Scott’s Saturday football crowd had accepted the invitation was not even noticed.

Around 9.30pm Gus raised his voice and banged a spoon on the table to get attention and asked everyone to move outside. The bonfire was a work of art with Gus having spent days building a solid and safe foundation from a few pallets donated by a local shopkeeper. Subsequent layers were tightly stacked and as Scott climbed up to place the guy at the top, he noticed for the first time that the bonfire was almost entirely constructed from furniture that had been inside the cottage.

Making sure the guy was secured at the top he climbed down to help light the layers of paper and firelighters, carefully placed at the bottom of the pile. With the evening wind blowing through the garden the furniture was quickly ablaze and the flames fanned upwards. They quickly enveloped the guy igniting the sparklers stuck into its body. A halo of colours brightened the darkness.

Glasses were raised as the charred remains of the furniture floated off into the evening, to be joined in their journey skywards by the threaded remains of the red and white bonnet that Scott had stitched to the head of the guy.

“Ashes to ashes; no more burning regrets,” he whispered as he hugged his friend.