She was pleased, proud, excited all at once. She stood on tiptoe, reached up and popped the postcard in the red letter box. Her mother and gran smiled and applauded.
‘But Mummy, how will the man reach the card inside there?’
‘He has a special key to open the box darling.’
‘And then he’ll take it to Debbie’s house?’
‘Yes he will.’
‘Can I be a postman when I grow up?’
—-
The postcard sat on the mantelpiece, the colourful image of bay and castle transforming that side of the room. Rose glanced at it with a curious mixture of longing and pleasure every time she walked by. At least twice a day she would pause, take the card and read the childish writing on the back.
Hi Debbie I am here on holiday in Scarborough why don’t you come too? Xxx Susie.
Rose would have delivered the card to the correct address but 111 Knightly Road didn’t exist and the postman had obviously hoped for the best and delivered it to number 11. Not knowing any young Debbies she decided to keep the card until she had decided what to do. Her husband would have known but he was gone.
The card brightened her day. She had no friends really, none that she liked. She didn’t work. Her husband had brought home money and had given her enough for housekeeping. Now it was too late to think about the world of work. She managed somehow on her pension and at least he had left her their little semi in Knightly Road when he buggered off.
She boiled herself an egg, cut some soldiers from a sliced loaf, sat at the table nibbling away. Maybe she would go the the shop in a while. She needed tea. And salt. Not that she liked the woman that owned the shop. Always talking, wanting to know your business. But it was a bus ride to the shopping centre and there was nothing she wanted from there. Besides, she couldn’t abide the bustle of people and the queuing for everything.
Scarborough. She’d been happy and in love there. They had both been young and her future husband couldn’t keep his eyes, and his hands, off of her. ‘You are my world’ he would say and she would throw back her curls and laugh him off, though intensely pleased all the same. Looking at the postcard brought back a frisson of those happy days.
Why don’t you come too?
It had been years since she had gone anywhere, and Rose had no inclination to do so. But the bay and the castle whispered to her from the mantelpiece.
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Hush! She would say to him.
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Rosemary for remembrance.
Why don’t you come too?
She packed a small suitcase and caught a bus into town. It was only a short walk to New Street Station. It was nothing like she remembered. She stared in bewilderment at the many screens on the concourse before marching to the ticket queue with resolve.
Single to Scarborough love? There you go. Change at York.
There, that was easy. Then a man with a hat told her the time and platform for the York train. Those immigrants can really be very nice she thought. After several reassurances that ‘Yes this is the York train’ she settled back in her window seat for the ride. As the train slid silently out through the city suburbs and into the fields her heart lifted and she smiled with anticipation.
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage rosemary and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
He once was a true love of mine
As she was on holiday she treated herself to a cup of tea and a bar of chocolate from the trolley. The stations came and went – Burton-on-Trent, Derby, Chesterfield. With each station her heart became lighter, her smile broader, her shoulders less heavy. After wrestling with the toilet door and giggling like a girl she sat down again and must have dropped off for a while, she thought. Sheffield, Wakefield, Leeds. My God, she hadn’t left Birmingham for nigh on ten years and here she was at the other end of the country.
We are now approaching York. Passengers leaving us here please ensure you have all your belongings with you.
At York another nice man pointed her to the Scarborough train, a much shorter affair, on the far platform. They were soon rattling along and Rose seemed to have the little local train to herself. The ticket collector kept her ticket this time. Soon Scarborough came into view, then the station. Rose stepped off the train with the other few passengers, exited the gate and looked about her. She didn’t recognise it at all, but last time they had arrived by coach.
Rose walked up and down a few roads, then her suitcase, small as it was, began to feel heavy. She thought she had better book a room before doing anything else. She was in luck, the B&B lady said, there was one small room left. How long was Madam staying? Her nose shot up as Rose told her one night only. £30, in advance please, no lunch or dinner. She paid the woman, put her suitcase in the small room she was directed to, and set off to explore the town.
sarahpotterwrites said:
Such a sweet tale, yet to be continued. I must start following your blog for fear of getting diverted by Thursday and missing the next instalment without a reminder!
I love Scarborough, although haven’t visited it since I was 19 which was a long time ago.
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Roy McCarthy said:
Oh no 😦 now I’m under pressure. Thanks for the follow though 🙂
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jennypellett said:
I like the idea of posting short stories and I’m intrigued now to know what happens to Rose. This opens up loads of possibilities, I’m thinking – a story continued by other bloggers, write a couple of paragraphs each, etc and see what turns up …
I stopped putting flash fiction on my blog a while ago because it counts as being published and therefore makes it ineligible for anything else.
Looking forward to part two, Roy. 🙂
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Roy McCarthy said:
Hi Jenny. Yes I found myself impatiently waiting for Eric’s next instalment, which is the sign of a good writer. I’m not sure about your proposed melange, though it might be fun to see where it goes.
Yes I think a blog post technically disqualifies something from a contest, for example, but one time I just changed the title and did a bit of editing and made it unpublished again 🙂
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jennypellett said:
Aha, that’s a good tip!
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socialbridge said:
Love this one, Roy, and can’t wait for the next installment. The ‘soldiers’ summed up so much!
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Jill Weatherholt said:
Nice job, Roy! I’ll look forward to Part 2.
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Roy McCarthy said:
Thanks Jill. I forgot that this format invites expectation and therefore pressure to deliver 😦
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Letizia said:
Oh how I love your style so much, Roy! The idea of the postcard is so brilliant. Looking forward to hearing the end of this charming tale.
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Roy McCarthy said:
*Blush* thank you Letizia. I hope Part II lives up to your expectations.
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Andrea Stephenson said:
I’m loving Rose already, can’t wait to see what happens next. No pressure 🙂
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Roy McCarthy said:
Haha! Thanks Andrea.
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diannegray said:
What a lovely story, Roy. I’m also looking forward to part 2. I like your advice to Jenny about ‘publishing’ stories and then ‘unpublishing’ them by changing the title and editing – very clever indeed 🙂
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Roy McCarthy said:
Hi Dianne – I can reveal there won’t be an outrageous twist in the tail like you manage 🙂
Yes, on bending the rules a little a few people have cautioned me against using song lyrics in my novels. I say that I would be delighted if I got to the point where someone wanted to action me 🙂
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diannegray said:
I remember reading somewhere recently (maybe not so recently – I think it was last year) where a blogger/writer had been told by Amazon to refund all the money people had paid for her books because they were found to contain the lyrics of a song. I think there were other issues as well, but can’t remember now. I’ll see if I can find the story/blog.
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Britt Skrabanek said:
I love this! I always enjoy the way you write, Roy. So vivid with a hint of whimsy.
And, I cheated by waiting to read both at once. I saw that this post in my email inbox said Part 1 and I waited for Part 2 to come out. I’m off! : )
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Roy McCarthy said:
Thanks so much Britt. Eric Baker’s story (from where I got the idea) was in six parts and I was hopping up and down waiting for the next post.
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Janna G. Noelle said:
This is a great start, Roy. The pacing is perfect, and you’ve really managed to capture the essence of Rose through your narration. I look forward to reading the rest.
P.S. I never knew that “soldier” was British slang for a piece of dipping toast. I learned something today!
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Red Hen said:
Oh, nice one, Roy. I love the short story genre, and, as usual, you are showing your skill here for being able to view things from a female perspective.
Lucky me, I don’t get to wait as long as the others for the conclusion! Moving right on now!
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Roy McCarthy said:
Thank you RH. Short stories are hard work, but now and again I get one to work. I hadn’t thought about female perspective but maybe you’re right. Perhaps I should have been a girl…:-o
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Roy McCarthy said:
Reblogged this on Back On The Rock and commented:
A re-post of a short story from eight years ago – Part 2 tomorrow.
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equipsblog said:
Love this sweet tale. Look forward to reading more.
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Roy McCarthy said:
Well it was one of your posts that jogged my memory about this old post Pat 🙂
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equipsblog said:
Glad to jog your memorym. Which post?
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Roy McCarthy said:
The Simon & Garfunkel one 🙂
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equipsblog said:
Duh… il was thinking about the coincidence when I saw it.🤔😏🤪
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Roy McCarthy said:
The traditional old lyric has ‘Savoury sage, rosemary…’ instead of ‘Parsley…’ which might affect your recipe 🙂
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equipsblog said:
This is new information for me.b🤔🤓
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chattykerry said:
Great imagery – I could picture the scene.
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Roy McCarthy said:
Ah thanks Kerry 🙂
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Bridgette said:
Such a lovely tale! I’m quite in love with dear Rose.
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