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| Restoring Joshua | |
| Written by arablethecrocket | ||||||
| 08 May 2007 | ||||||
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Restoring Joshua Joshua Cripps was about twelve years old when he met his grandfather Wardle Cripps. Wardle Cripps was round about the same age. Joshua was growing into a fine young man whilst Wardle was becoming more of a reprobate by the day. Up to this point in their lives they had been kept apart by circumstances and by the ruthless attitude of a daughter in law who saw Wardle as the epitome of all things irresponsible. She failed to see that his career in the bomb squad had left Wardle with an appetite for life. An appetite that far out-ranked the miserable existence she tried to enforce on all whom she chose to swallow. Now she, in turn, preferred the squalid depths of an African missionary life to the comforts of her Yorkshire home. In her haste to be away from her first husband, who was Wardle’s son, she abandoned the responsible cradle that she had so fervently promoted and hid herself deeply in the dark continent. So deeply that only her mother and her church could find her. She dragged a second husband kicking and screaming behind her and left Joshua to be forgotten, in the mercies of a cruel school regime that cared not one jot for his welfare. It did care however a great deal for the gigantic fees that were paid with reluctance by his Yorkshire Grandmother. This same Grandmother in her turn wasted no opportunity to drive home the point that she was the only thing between Joshua and destitution. His Yorkshire grandmother went further and did all she could to keep the boy in the confines of the northern hemisphere but with an absent mother and there being no Yorkshire grand father, she stood little chance. The fact that his biological father was a hero of the Sussex R.N.L.I. more or less settled the matter and he was packed off to the south of England with little more than the clothes that he stood in and a huge chip on his shoulder. His Yorkshire Grandmother cast him out with a peevishness born of anger. Anger at a judge who actually saw some one as being better than herself (as she saw it), and anger at the fact that her money had lost it's all pervading power at this time in her life. Joshua felt abandoned in a strange land. Up to now he had been brain washed by the sayings of his late grandfather “Up here it’s were there’s muck there's brass. Down yon it's were there's muck there's more muck!" Up to now he had lived in a manor house devoted to spreading misery and impressing every one with vast quantities of money. He had a manservant and all manner of privileges whilst at home, and even at boarding school his grandparents money afforded him some protection against the madness of school life. Now he sat on a station that was not quite so cold as the one he had left, waiting for people who were complete strangers apart from his father and he hardly knew him. Wardle's son Wilson (Joshua's father) was a wreck. He had willingly returned to Sussex and was all to glad to re-enter the mayhem of his old home. This was the same home that formed his earlier attitudes to life, and fostered the gentle giant that Joshua hardly knew. Worst still Joshua had not seen his father for over six months whilst he was locked away in a boarding school. He wasn't spared the final and very de-humanising row between his parents, and but for his presence, his father would have died. The final row left Wilson with a heart attack at the age of thirty five and that in turn had left him with limited speech and paralysis of his left arm. The worst thing of all, however, was that as a result of the calamitous marriage he had a seriously low self esteem. Joshua had no difficulty in identifying the crowd who had come to collect him from the station. Grandad was big Grandma was big and his dad despite his weak condition was big. They walked down the platform to nods and jovial remarks from the small community that didn’t so much know Wardle as adore him. In the wake followed a whole clan of dogs all sniffing and marking their territory, but at their head was a small Jack Russell called Squirt, and he lived up to his name. Wardle’s exploits went before him and his reputation was only enhanced by the fact that he had bred a hero to match his own standards in his son. Now they were to have another delightful nut case with them it was obvious they were looking forward to events of the future. Of course Joshua didn’t see himself as a nutcase he took himself far too seriously for that. The only legacy from the past that he had hung on to (although why he didn’t know) was an air of superiority to all lesser mortals which covered more or less every one. The truth is he was stuck up. Having to stand up against a grandma and a mum of such ferocity caused him to build a wall around himself that was so high even he couldn’t see the sunshine. As for lightening up at this stage there was no chance, but the first chink in the armour was breached earlier than expected. It was hard not to laugh at the crew that approached him. He shunned the hugs and cringed back from the kiss to the cheek from his grandmother. The only one of the crew to get any form of response was Squirt the Jack Russell terrier. Then again it was hard to ignore something that hung from the crutch of his trousers. Introductions over he allowed the station porter to carry his bags out to what he thought would at least be something big enough to carry four people and luggage. He was wrong. Waiting for them was two vehicles. One a very battered two seater M.G. and the other a very large Ariel square four motor bike with a box on the back. The dog jumped first on the seat and then into the box on the bike, his dad sat in the car alongside his mum, and to his horror he had to sit on the bike. They drove off at a pace with the clan following as best as they could. It being a Friday the first stop on the way back was the pub. No sitting outside for him, no lemonade either. They all sat together with a tray of Yorkshire puddings in front of them for starters and four pints of beer, none of which was ordered it just appeared, and none of which was left within ten minutes of their arrival. Joshua surprised himself because not only did he like beer he had three pints of it in the next two hours and gradually dained to answer some of the ridiculous questions that poured all over him. The dog had crept onto his lap in an unguarded moment and claimed squatters rights. They sat together and Squirt reached up to the table to drink from what ever container came within reach. Far from the miserable food he was told that he would be enduring he stuffed so much delight he wondered when the bubble would burst. The piano played, the fire roared, faces kept appearing to welcome him, he was kept talking all night and at the crack of eleven o-clock he staggered out with the whole motley crew as they sang sea shanties with words that he had only heard were banned in the past. This wasn’t just a farming community it was a life boat community, nor was this the cold southerners that his grandmother had warned him about. Here was noise and life vibrating from every person and genuine warmth reserved for a family member returning. Returning was not strictly true but as far as those present were concerned he was here as part of their family and that was good enough for them. The dog kept up man for man food for food pint for pint and at the end of the meal both Joshua and Squirt not so much walked back to the bike as rolled back. The ride on from the pub was bumpy and swung from side to side and the end stages were a mud bathers dream. Joshua and the dog fell off the bike when it eventually stopped and were immediately sick. Normally at ten he would be in bed with the lights out. Here, on the Sussex coast he was in a muddy farm yard ensconced with folk who were essentially strangers; being sick and reeling in a mud bath that wouldn’t stand still whilst waiting in the cold for a one armed drunken dad to find the key to what looked like a pile of bricks and straw. He could stand it no longer, whilst he waited he had to relieve himself behind the barn. He awoke in a bedroom just a little larger than his changing room of old it was clean but as cold as his old school dormitory. There was no breakfast smells and there was a dog on his bed. The noise outside was just short of volcanic. It was accompanied by a chorus of birds, sheep, dogs, the M.G. sports car and his dad actually laughing. His head was splitting and yet again he had to give in to the room spinning. After a vain attempt to get up he gave in and lay beneath the covers. Again he awoke and this time it was to silence. The dog was still on his bed, but it was pitch black outside with a strange ghostly yapping coming from the yard. The house was asleep and it was some time before he realised that he had slept through the entire day. The yard felt alive with fear. All was not well. He guessed, rightly as it happens, that the fox had something to do with the mood over the yard. The dog had his feet on the window sill and quivered with anticipation. Joshua felt a strange excitement stirring within him and the urge for adventure over rode any fear of the unknown. The dog led the way instinctively being quiet. Joshua shunned the gun that he saw in the corner in favour of a rolling pin and a knife. He didn't know anything about the gun, knife or rolling pin but at least he couldn't kill himself with the last two. The dog bristled with fight but still had the were with all to restrain himself as the door opened. They slipped forward as ghosts and could see the fox digging to get beneath the hen house, it was so engrossed it failed to hear them. Joshua realised that he was actually going to have to do something about this. It was no good shouting the fox would just run away to come back another day. For the first time in his life his actions would have an effect on the whole society in which he now lived. He was within clubbing distance when he called aloud to the dog and they both dropped on the fox with teeth and club. The fox put up a viscous fight. At one time they faced each other across a narrow gap daring each other to move and when they did it was to roars and blows that saw the fox laying dead and Joshua with a tear along his right arm. He sat crying with relief and fear and it was some time before he realised that no one had come to his rescue. Even the dog had disappeared. He was totally alone in a dark farmyard with only a dead fox for company. He was not alone for above five minutes but it felt like hours. In the distance he heard the sound of many voices only one of which he recognised. Sydney the landlord was being dragged by Squirt behind was a whole pub full of folk keen with excitement. What greeted them was not so much a yard as a battlefield and in the corner was a large lad in need of help. They carried him to the kitchen and strode through the house to wake grandma who had taken a very large sleeping draught. She was left alone with Joshua because all the men (including Wilson) were at the shore fighting the sea for the life of a young man caught in its' grip. What she sawin in her kitchen was a whole army of folk clambering to congratulate the lad on his victory, whilst at the same time stitching his arm with thick thread. By the time she had reached the scene Joshua's arm was bandaged, and he was coughing after drinking brandy, with the dog on his lap. Joshua dare not cringe despite the pain because he felt the dog would have leapt to his defence and caused damage to some one else. As it was Squirt sat there and glared as each stitch went in. The whole gathering were astounded at the blatant and raw courage shown by Joshua. His grandmother didn’t care about Joshua’s resistance she grabbed him and hugged him into submission. Amidst the chaos and clamber some one had been dispatched to find Wilson. When he arrived the messenger was so full of the story that it was hard to tell that he was actually still sober and that the tale was real. On normal occasions Wilson could not go to sea because of his condition. He spent the entire time whilst the rest of his former colleagues were in danger operating a huge radio and praying for their safe return. Now he was striding home with and essence of pride in his manner for the first time in many a year. When father and son met in the kitchen much of the razzmatazz of the last half hour had gone but there was still an element of folk enjoying the moment. Joshua on the other hand was some what subdued. Wilson was not going to take any childish nonsense, he grabbed his son with a huge hug that spoke volumes to the lad. Eventually the rest of the men returned from what proved to be a hoax call. They assembled as a man in the kitchen to congratulate Joshua, but each sensed a reticence in their hero that at first they put down to modesty. For his own part Joshua wished that the whole circus would go away. He had come over very tired. And despite the fact that he had only been out of bed for less than two hours he couldn’t wait until his head touched the pillow again. Yet again when he woke the house was empty apart from himself and his partner in crime Squirt. He wandered into the kitchen to find a note explaining that they had all gone to church, by all he knew that to mean the dogs as well. He went into the yard and immediately felt the pain of what he had done. Everyone took him to be a hero but he could only could only see himself as a murderer. There was no joy, no sense of mastery over a lesser creature, rather an emptiness that he couldn’t explain. In the heat of the fight he had seen the sheer majesty of an animal perfectly suited for it’s environment. It was fit and strong, and beautiful. It was far from the villain that others chose to paint. He vowed there and then that he would never willingly hurt another creature again regardless of what kind of creature it was. This didn’t fill the void it was empty words until the next time a trial would occur only then would he know that he would hold true to his vow. He was not a natural at going for walks on the hills but in the absence of anything else to do he stretched out for the downs. He had never seen such hills before. The only time he had ventured into the countryside was when he was on a cross country run. This was on the moors in Yorkshire. Even when he was at home he only stayed within the confines of his grandfather’s estate. The lower parts of the walk had a feel about it was a feeling that he was going to experience something special. The weather when he started was the teasing milk of magnesia skies that offered no real promise to the day. Half way up the hill the sun burst through as if at last it had succeeded in bursting through a great barrier. It poured down heat and brilliant light. It was mid May and this was the first time he had been alone in his whole life. He felt the day suddenly had been created just for him, as if shackles had been torn off his very soul. The pleasantness of being able to reflect on the events of that morning gave him the breathing space that he needed just at the right time. It occurred to him that he was free from the pressure of having to comply with every one else’s demands here he was his own man. He had not even been out of the house up to now. In fact he hadn’t even seen any were except the station when he arrived. From there he had been whisked away through all that he was now walking through. It was a steady climb and one that left him breathing hard but not exhausted. The effort just about warranted a sit down at the top but from there he was stunned by what he saw. The sheer extent of the view and the variation of the theme caused him to step out of the misery that he felt. On one side of the canvas was the sea with hills lolloping down to the shore. The other side was the vast weald and villages dotted at various points on his view, with church steeples like marker buoys in the sea of green. This was Granddad’s Jazz. A complete smooth flow of greens and blues with every daring colour in between. The rhythm section of birds and animals breathed life into his very soul. John Coltrane played the wind, Miles Davis defined the shape and Fats Waller tickled the fun out of every sight smell and sound. At last he felt he could banish the brass band of Yorkshire and feel the cool beat of the South Downs. His nature was such that despite his accent and his upbringing he gradually began to fit in. Over the next four years he learnt how to plough with a M.G. sports car, how to round up sheep on an Ariel square four and how to keep quiet about the greenhouse were he learnt the art of being granddad. The greenhouse was the font of all things bloke. How to pour a perfect cider from a barrel under wet sacks. How to break wind and not feel ashamed. How to smoke a cigar without being sick, and not let grandma find out. How to listen to cricket making a foul comments at the right places, and how to dot the field settings from the radio commentary. How cut his granddad’s hair and persuade his dad to follow suit. How to avoid washing up, and listen to jazz instead. How to milk a cow, a goat and a story for all it was worth. How to feed chickens, sheep and himself. His sex education was learnt from the mating dogs, his fun education was learnt from the heart, but his love of life was learnt from his dad and his granddad. What the school left out, the art of being a bloke put in. The university of life was in full sitting and he was passing each grade with flying colours. Life boats were the only serious aspect of their being. Eventually by the age of eighteen it seemed only natural that he should join the crew. Whilst he was still growing, however, he had to make do with the weekly meetings that took place in the greenhouse. Apart from the prayer at the beginning nothing was treated too heavily. Since the vicar was a member of the crew a lid was kept on the more colourful aspects of the singing. When he left mayhem broke loose. There is no such person as a dull lifeboat man, and there was no such thing as a dull meeting in the greenhouse. Even the vicar conformed to this eccentricity, it was even known for him to leave the pulpit mid sermon to answer an emergency at sea. Generally speaking when a flair went up the discipline kicked in but after that normal service was resumed. School was a dull affair which only encouraged the boffins. On parents evenings an entourage of dogs, cigar smoke and mud would enquire as to what progress was being made on the vital statistics, after that he was left to his own development. He passed a whole confetti of bits of paper that meant he had to face another constipation of people wanting him to get more bits of paper. These bits of paper meant he was fit for human consumption but they had to get him into a pigeon hole first, and there in lay a very big problem. In the end the paper chase led to the bomb squad but that was for days to come. He only returned to Yorkshire to argue with his grandma and to top up his Yorkshire accent. Each visit saw him getting taller and the yarns getting more colourful, until in the end he enjoyed visiting his former prison. His grandma gradually warmed to the prospect of his visit, and actually began laughing at her stubbornness. Humour was a rare commodity in the Yorkshire palace but it was very infectious like a rubber mallet crushing her silliness and freeing her up. In the end Yorkshire was conquered and the invasionary force left a trail of destroyed bigotry in its wake. Yorkshire grandma was a challenge but not so impossible. The real acid test came with the re-appearance of his mother on the scene. This was the same mother that had left in a perfumed huff six years ago and was so lost in the depths of her work that she forgot to even write to her son. The same mother who returned from her missionary trip with a skin colour the like of which the average sun worshipper on a Mediterranean beach would have given her high teeth for. Put this together with the long finger nails and perfect hair and the picture of a struggling God servant retreats with the tide. Mummy had no sooner landed on the dark distant shores of Yorkshire when then and only then did she remember that she had a son. To find he was not securely entwined in the social mess that she had left behind enraged her so much that she kissed Yorkshire granny on the cheek and dragged number two to the south coast. Her arrival was something that Wilson had been dreading since he was left on the floor all those years ago. As it was he was powerless to do anything. He sat in the control room awaiting the return of the life boat as it approached its final run up. Joshua was at the beach with a rope in his hand as she marched across the pebbles to confront him. Wilson could only watch. He knew it was her even though he couldn’t see her face. Her baring and appearance even from behind was particularly distinctive. What followed was brief and to the point. Mother demanded that son put down the thing in his hand immediately and return home that minute. When no response was forth coming, mother used her other armament. She slapped her son’s face with such a force and with her long finger nails drawing blood in the process. With absolutely no sign of anger or any loss of control what so ever, Joshua tossed his well dressed mother over his shoulder and walked sea ward. Her screams and arm flailing were of little use because with the slightest of twitches he flicked her into the waves. Number two had really not learnt an awful lot in six years. Number two approached step son and started to lay down the law. Step son took the blows from puny number two and tossed him over his shoulder in like manner, and in like manner he joined the boiling water beside his petulant keeper. The final picture was one of a Dior clad expensive hair-do dragging herself from the waves, and a Gucci clad lap dog being washed in behind her. Arguing with an eighteen year old that weighs fifteen stone and stands six foot three tall is not a bright idea. This whole drama unfolded as the boat drew into the shore and the nice kind crew did their best not to laugh, well for a second or so at least. Joshua eventually patched life back into his mum but she was very much older and more mellow and had lived for many years on her own by the time she gave in to his charm. Wilson never did regain the strength of his left arm but he became as barmy as his dad and long after both his dad and mum had joined the heavenly choirs he was still manning the green house as did his father. Joshua never married. He collected medals and friends and spent his later years walking on the downs always with a Jack Russell and always called squirt.
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