Pilgrimage

Copyright Oggbashan January 2015

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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On a Friday evening in the mid 1960s, shortly after New Year's Eve, I sat in a corner of the public bar nursing my pint while my friends were watching a closely fought darts match. Normally I would be standing with them, urging on our team. But my heart wasn't in it.

Bronwyn and I have reached the stage in our relationship when we should make a commitment or end it with regret. Until recently I had been sure I wanted to marry Bronwyn. I had proposed on New Year's Eve.

Bronwyn wouldn't say yes, nor would she say no.

Bronwyn's younger sister is the problem, according to her. If Gwen could speak, perhaps she would encourage Bronwyn to consider me. Gwen always smiles when she sees me, but she can't speak. She hasn't spoken a word, nor made an intelligible sound, since she was trapped for hours in a train wreck three years ago.

Gwen's physical injuries were slight and soon healed, but she seemed to have lost the power, or the will to speak. According to the doctors there is nothing wrong with her vocal chords, nothing damaged, but Gwen just can't talk.

Bronwyn doesn't want to leave home while Gwen is as she is. Even though I want to marry Bronwyn, she won't consider it even as a possibility until Gwen speaks again. Bronwyn thinks that Gwen needs her far more than I need Bronwyn.

I'm not convinced that Gwen is the real reason. Except for her inability to speak, Gwen is very satisfied with her existence. She still works, for the company that was employing her when she was involved in the accident. They have even given her more responsibilities and hinted that she might be promoted to more senior position soon.

Gwen can hear clearly. When she wants to say something, she writes it down. When I first asked Bronwyn for a date, Gwen was using cheap exercise books. I work near Fleet Street. There is a large stationery shop that supplies journalists. Shortly after Bronwyn and I became recognised as boyfriend and girlfriend, I bought a three-pack of reporters' notebooks and gave them to Gwen. She was delighted. They were so much easier for her to use.

I went back to the stationers the following week and asked if they allowed a discount for bulk purchases. They did, but for quantities far larger than Gwen would need. They asked why. I explained about Gwen. They had a pile of reporters' notebooks that had been personalised with a company's logo -- but the company was unexpectedly taken over and the logo changed. Would I like two hundred and fifty for the price of one hundred?

I bought them and staggered back to my office with the large box. I took fifty to Gwen next time I visited to take Bronwyn out for the evening. Gwen's response was to hug me and kiss me so much that Bronwyn objected.

That had been three months ago. I had thought Bronwyn had forgotten, or at least forgiven me for Gwen's kiss. Gwen had hugged and kissed me, not the other way around. But when Bronwyn declined to accept or reject my proposal she hinted that she was still jealous of Gwen. Why?

I finished my pint and wriggled my way to the other end of the bar to order another. As it was being pulled I noticed that Gwen was sitting alone at the far end. She had come with a group of her women friends but they were in the crowd around the dart board. The women's team were trying to compensate for the men's close defeat in the last round.

Why not ask Gwen? She might know why Bronwyn was so indecisive about my proposal, even if she didn't know why Bronwyn was still jealous.

I walked over to her table. She smiled as I approached.

"Can I join you?" I asked.

She nodded. She couldn't speak, but she pulled one of those reporter's notebooks out of her handbag and put it on the table. She wrote on it and showed it to me.

"Harry, want to talk about Bronwyn?"

"Yes, please, Gwen," I replied.

She wrote again:

"Can we move to the snug? I want to be more private."

"Of course," I said.

The snug is a small alcove off the public bar, originally fully partitioned to head height. Years ago it had been used for people who didn't want to be seen in the public bar but didn't want to pay the higher prices in the saloon bar. Now it has no door and was rarely used because it wasn't comfortable nor sociable.

"Do you want another drink?" I asked Gwen as we sat down. She shook her head.

"Upset with Bronwyn?" Gwen wrote.

"Yes," I replied. I explained, although Gwen probably knew already, that I had proposed on New Year's Eve and Bronwyn hadn't said yes or no, and had been cool to me since then...

"And she jealous of me?" Gwen wrote.

"Yes, by why? You kissed me once, and she was there beside me," I protested.

"She thinks you have been seeing me behind her back."

"I haven't!" I retorted.

"No. But I had acquired a boyfriend, a friend of yours -- James. Bronwyn doesn't think I should have a boyfriend..."

"Why on earth not?" I interrupted Gwen's scribbling.

"Because she thinks I need protection."

"Protection? From James? He's..."

Gwen held up her writing:

"A pussycat," followed by small drawing of a cat.

Gwen held up her hand, a signal that she wanted me to wait while she wrote something.

"James and I were an item up to Christmas. I liked him. He liked me. But our interests didn't match. Because of Bronwyn's attitude we kept our relationship from her at first. I told her after a couple of weeks. I'm sure she still thought I was seeing you, not James. Now she knows I really WAS seeing James, she might (underlined) change her attitude. I'm not sure. She knows you like me. If I had continued with James she might have accepted that, but now we have split -- staying as just friends, Bronwyn might be worried her dumb sister is chasing you again."

"But you're not."

"I'm not. But Bronwyn sees your face when you see me. You smile, your face brightens, you show that you are pleased to see me. I like that. You used to react like that to Bronwyn, too, but not since New Year's Eve. You still treat me the same..."

"But not Bronwyn? I understand. Bronwyn has knocked me back. I expected my proposal to get a 'yes' or a 'not yet -- too soon', not what in effect is 'I don't know when if ever I might consider you' with the implication that she might never want me. That hurt."

Gwen put her pen down. Her hand reached out and squeezed mine.

"Thanks, Gwen," I said. "I have another problem with Bronwyn. I have a couple of weeks holiday that I must take before the end of February, or lose them. I had intended to ask Bronwyn to come away for a couple of long weekends Youth Hostelling -- because we would be in separate dormitories and it wouldn't compromise her. But I'm afraid to ask her now. I'm sure she'll refuse..."

"She would." Gwen scribbled.

"I thought so. That settles it. I'll go away on my own for a fortnight. It might give us time to sort ourselves out if I'm not around. Can you tell her that I'm going away?"

Gwen nodded then wrote:

"You don't want to tell her yourself?"

"No, Gwen. I think it might lead to a row and a final break-up. I don't want to risk that. I still love Bronwyn. I still want her, if she'll have me. A couple of weeks away might be good for both of us. After that, we might decide to part, or she might understand that although I like you, it's Bronwyn I want."

"You might be right. I don't think she has accepted yet that I was seeing James, not you. She might not like being told by me, nor that we have been talking tonight, but I'll try to make her understand I want you as a friend or even a brother-in-law, not as a boyfriend."

There was a sudden burst of cheering from the bar. The women's darts team had won their match and that meant the pub's teams had won the tournament.

"We had better rejoin our friends," I said. "Otherwise Bronwyn might get the wrong idea, too soon."

Gwen stood up. Suddenly she wrote on her pad, hiding it from me. She smiled, put the pad face down on the table, and grabbed me. She kissed me hard on the lips, holding my head in her hands. I responded.

She pulled away, picked up the pad, turned it round and showed me.

"If Bronwyn says no, think about the sister."

As soon as I had read it, she ripped the page off the pad and tore it into little pieces. She pushed me out of the snug. In the main bar Gwen whisked away into the crowd.

'Think about the sister?' Had I misunderstood? Did Gwen want me?

Perhaps Bronwyn was unsure, not because she suspected me of having an affair with Gwen, but because she knew that Gwen wanted me? I need to get away to sort out my thoughts as well as give Bronwyn time to think.

I finished my pint, and eased my way through the celebrating crowds. If I was to be going away, on my own, I needed to plan where I was going. I also needed to think about Gwen. Was she really offering herself to me? If only she could talk...

***

I spent most of that weekend servicing my car. If I was going away in January, it should be serviced, especially all the greasing points, and wind and waterproofed as much as I could. I regretted the lack of a heater, but just owning and running any car was better than none.

In the evening I spread maps and guides across the table. Many tourist attractions would be closed in January, or if open, there wouldn't be much to see in gardens. But Cathedrals would be open. I could travel from one Cathedral city to another, and most had Youth Hostels. There were Hostels in Winchester, Salisbury, near Chichester and Hereford. If I planned no more than a hundred miles driving each day, I could visit half a dozen, or even a dozen, cathedrals in a fortnight.

On Monday morning I submitted my leave request. It was approved within the hour. Very few people wanted leave in January. I would work until Friday evening and then I had a whole fortnight to myself. Alone.

That word 'alone' made an impact. I had hoped to show Bronwyn some of the places I love. Now I would be travelling alone. Would I be bored? Unhappy?

Even my colleagues noticed that I was not my usual self. Over the next couple of days I was brought several unsolicited cups of coffee, perhaps because they thought my moroseness was a hangover.

Just before lunch on Wednesday I had an unexpected phone call from Bronwyn and Gwen's mother, Carol, ringing from her workplace. She said she had a message for me from Gwen. Carol read it:

"Bronwyn still doesn't know her own mind. I've convinced her that you weren't going out with me, but she thinks I want to, now that I and James are no longer together. She wishes you well on your holiday trip and would like to see you when you come back, but NOT before."

Carol said that both her daughters were now confused about me. Please, would I make up my mind? Did I want Bronwyn? Or Gwen? I replied that until Friday evening I had no idea that Gwen was at all interested in me. That had been a surprise. I had proposed to Bronwyn, and that proposal hadn't been accepted, nor rejected. I didn't know where I stood with Bronwyn.

Carol sighed.

"Harry," she said, "You seem nice enough. I could easily accept you as a potential son-in-law, but you can only marry one of my daughters. One seems to want you, but the other isn't sure, and that's the one you have proposed to. What now?"

"I'm sorry, Carol. I hadn't considered Gwen except as a possible sister-in-law. But..."

"...Gwen has a different idea?"

"Yes."

"Gwen might not be able to talk, but she knows her own mind. If she wants you, and Bronwyn is dithering, Gwen will push her out of the way."

"I don't know Gwen as well as I thought I knew Bronwyn. If she is serious, and Bronwyn rejects me, then Gwen and I will have to find out..."

"So you're leaving it up to Bronwyn?"

"Carol. I proposed to Bronwyn only a few days ago and I had thought about that for some time. I can't..."

"I know. You can't say 'Sorry, Bronwyn, I want Gwen'. That would be cruel. But I think you are going to have to say that soon."

"But I don't know Gwen well enough," I protested. "Bronwyn might not want me. Gwen says she does. But..."

"OK, Harry. I'll try to knock their heads together while you're away. It could be unpleasant but they need to sort themselves out. You're invited to dinner on the Saturday you return." Carol laughed. "I might have to hide the steak knives unless they have made a decision they'll stick to. Will you accept whatever they decide?"

I hesitated before answering.

"I'll have to. I like them both. I'm unhappy to have caused them to fall out."

I hesitated again. Carol spoke first.

"While you're away, Harry, you could ring me during working hours on a Monday or Tuesday. They'll be at work. I work Wednesday to Friday. I could let you know if there are any changes."

"Thank you Carol. I will. You can tell them I'll accept their decision. If Bronwyn wants me to withdraw my proposal, I will. If she doesn't, and accepts me, I'll marry her. But I want her to decide one way or the other. Gwen will have to live with whatever Bronwyn decides."

"OK, Harry. I'll tell them. Look after yourself. See you then."

I was nursing yet another cup of coffee wondering whether I had said the right thing to Carol. Should I have backed out of my marriage proposal to Bronwyn? Even if I had, did I know Gwen well enough to consider her as a possible wife? No. I don't know Gwen that well. She'd kissed me twice. Her inability to speak has made it more difficult to know what she really thought about me. Her messages in the pub had confused me. The last one seemed so different.

'If Bronwyn says no, think about the sister.'

I couldn't stop thinking about Gwen. But I had wanted Bronwyn. I still want Bronwyn. Or do I? Has her response to my proposal changed my attitude to her? Perhaps it has. An answer of 'No, not yet' would have been easier to accept than the apparent 'I don't know'.

There was no one at work I would want to discuss it with, and anyway, none of them knew Bronwyn or Gwen. My other male friends from the pub would probably suggest fucking them both and choosing the best lay. That wouldn't work for someone I wanted as a life partner, especially as the other sister would be my sister-in-law. I needed help, and advice, but from whom?

I tried to concentrate on my work. By the time I had come back from my short lunch break I had decided to forget about my dilemma until I was on holiday. If I was leaving on Friday, there was a pile of work projects to be finished. I buried myself in them, working unpaid overtime until Thursday evening so I could leave early on Friday.

In the short evenings I sorted out what I would need to take with me for a fortnight away. In January it could be cold and wet so I needed a couple of changes of warm waterproof outer clothing. I would need warm clothing even when driving.

I drove to work on Friday morning with the car already packed. Most was on the back seat because the boot was nearly full of tools and spare parts. I had arranged to use one of the office's few parking spaces that day so the car and contents would be secure. I could leave after lunch and get a reasonable distance before it became dark. The headlights on my car were not really good enough for continuous driving after dark unless I stuck to well-lit roads.

When I left, I was aiming for Winchester. The weather forecast in the afternoon edition of the newspaper wasn't good. Winchester Cathedral, the place of his bishopric, used to have a shrine to St Swithin, patron saint of weather. Perhaps a prayer to him, in Winchester Cathedral, might improve the weather for tomorrow?

At first the roads were dry and traffic was light. Once I had passed Guildford the rain started. My windscreen wipers, vacuum driven from the manifold, coped except when I had to climb a hill when they stopped dead. The car was behaving. If it kept running like this I should have no trouble this fortnight.

I reached Winchester about five o'clock, parked and made my way to the Youth Hostel in the Water Mill. I had booked ahead for tonight and Saturday night. For Sunday and beyond I hoped I would find a bed vacant in another youth hostel. At worst, I could sleep in the car for a night.

The hostel was nearly full with a French school party. I retreated to the Members' Kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. The only clean teapot was large. I had just boiled the kettle when a voice behind me asked:

"Have you got a spare cup of tea?"

Her accent was obviously American. I turned around.

"Yes, of course," I said.

"Hi. I'm Donna. I really need a drink and someone who speaks English."

"Hello Donna. I'm Harry."

"As in Tom, Dick and Harry?"

"Yes, Donna, although Harry is a nickname for Henry."

"And Dick? I can't believe anyone is really called that."

"They are. They were christened Richard."

I poured out two large mugs of tea.

"Do you want milk, Donna?" I asked.

"Yes please."

"Sugar?"

She shook her head. Her long blonde hair shimmered as it swung. I handed her a mug and we perched on the only two stools in the small kitchen.

Donna sipped her tea before looking into the mug.

"This isn't normal English tea, is it Harry?"

"No, Donna. It's Darjeeling."

"I like it."

We sat in that kitchen for a long time. As strangers we just talked about ourselves, what we were doing, and why we were in Winchester. Donna was hitchhiking around England before her boyfriend arrived from Boston early in February. I told her about my difficulties with Bronwyn and Gwen. Donna sympathised with the delicacy of my dilemma.

At the end of the evening, when we had shared the cooking, we had agreed to look around Winchester together on Saturday and decide what to do after Saturday night. I had been enjoying talking to Donna about Bronwyn and Gwen. She didn't offer advice but was a sympathetic listener. I had heard her concerns about her boyfriend and possible fiancé Greg. They had become boyfriend and girlfriend because their families expected them to, but Donna was not convinced they had made the right decision. Her time alone in England was helping her to think more clearly about Greg. She liked him, but...

After breakfast on Saturday Donna and I went to Winchester Cathedral. We found Jane Austen's memorial stone. Donna thought it was very inconspicuous for such a world-famous woman. It is.

Donna was slightly surprised when I went into a side chapel to kneel down and pray. She waited for the couple of minutes I took.

We had lunch in a cafe. At the end we were writing postcards to send to our friends. I wrote one each for Bronwyn, Gwen and Carol. Over the very ordinary cups of tea Donna asked:

"Why did you pray, Harry? Or don't you want to say?"

"That's OK, Donna. It's not a secret. I had several requests. The first was a prayer to St Swithin for reasonable weather for the next week or so. The second was for guidance about Bronwyn and Gwen. The third, and probably the most important, was for Gwen to regain her voice. Whether I end up with Gwen as a girlfriend, or the sister of my girlfriend, she needs her voice."

"Or she might just be a friend?" Donna suggested.

"That too. If neither of them decide to want me, they are still people I am happy to have as friends. So is their mother Carol."

"OK, Harry. I'll pray for those three things too."

That afternoon we went to see King Arthur's Round Table. She was surprised when I told her that it was a medieval fake.

By that evening Donna and I had got on so well together that I offered to take her to Salisbury tomorrow and stay in that youth hostel. The warden at Winchester telephoned his colleague to book both of us in for Sunday night.