DAILY CONSTITUTIONAL

Mary slowly walked across the patio heading for the steps down to the lawn. She had left the sliding door from the dining room open, knowing that Frank would be following her out in a little while.
She paused at the top of the three steps, taking in the view that spread before her.
The garden looked its best in the hot, mid afternoon sunshine. The lush green lawn, cut with such care so as to display ordered stripes. The borders full of colour, bloom and scent. Frank’s garden shed, almost hidden by the mature shrubs and climbers just as he’d promised it would be, looked back up towards the bungalow from its shaded position at the foot of the lawn.
In the far right corner, nestled under the rose covered Trelis Arch, trickled a fountain. It was in the shape of a globe, held in the air by an athletic arm and was made of highly polished black granite. The sound of the water falling from every degree of the sphere on to the gravel below, could just be heard from the patio.
Over in the left corner a gate in the hedge stood ajar. Beyond the open gate lay the informal part of the garden, still lawned and tended lovingly but kept for play. Mary could see the grass dipping gently down to meet the low panelled fence at the bottom of the property. Just above the fence lay a thin strip of dark green clifftop vegetation surmounted by two lines of blue. The mark as one shade of blue changed into the other being the divide between the sea and the sky.

The smell of fresh tea and warm scones announced Frank’s quiet arrival and Mary turned to smile from under her wide brimmed hat. She took his proffered arm while he deftly balanced the tea tray in the other hand.
Slowly, one foot at a time, they descended the steps, turned left and made their way along the front of the patio to the comfortable recliner, table and shade that Mary preferred to the formal furniture on the raised patio itself.
“I like to feel the grass under my feet!” She would always answer when people asked. As she stopped before the chair to kick off her sandals and Frank bent to place the tray upon the table, the wooden gate which separated the two halves of the garden was clattered back against its frame, the noise echoing and spoiling the calm of a perfect British summers day. The noise drew no response from either of the gardens occupants who did not even turn to look as eighty pounds of fit black Labrador bitch hurtled through the gate, butting it aside with her head. She tore across the lawn, leapt the steps in her stride and skidding slightly to adjust speed and direction, disappeared into the dining room.

Mary sat on the soft, cushioned recliner and smoothed out the wrinkles in the skirt of her light, flowery, summer dress before leaning back into the seat. The leg rest pointed to the floor so that her bare feet over-hung the foot rest and the grass was just long enough to tickle her soles.
Frank finished pouring tea into the only cup on the tray and placed a cosy over the pot. He had just enough time to replace the silver spoon on the saucer, leaving a floating knot of bubbles in the centre of the amber brown liquid and unfold the net cover which he placed over the top of the scones, jam and cream, to stop the flies from feasting, before the dog reappeared.
Its speed greatly reduced by the need for care in its chosen task. She struggled to keep the handle of the leather leash and a well chewed tennis ball, clamped in her jaws. The remainder of the leash trailing between her legs, the metal check chain rattling across the stones. She jumped down the steps and as she landed, the ball sprang free bouncing over the grass. With a small whimper, she dropped the lead and set off to retrieve the wayward ball. This daily ritual never ceasing to amuse her audience who always turned to one another to share knowing smiles, no words being necessary.
When frank turned back to the Lab, Ella, was sat at his feet, once again equipped with leash and ball, tail sweeping in a wide arc on the lawn.

Frank leaned across to gently place a kiss on Mary's sun warmed cheek before heading for the sliding doors. He waited for the dog to give the woman’s hand a ritual lick and then gather together the essentials for her walk and again disappear into the shade of the bungalow.

Mary barely heard her brother call his goodbye before he entered the bungalow, drawing the sliding door closed. Every afternoon he and the lab took an hour or sow’s walk along the Cliff paths and the beach. For the last two weeks the weather had been so beautiful that she had been able to take advantage and spent the time relaxing in her favourite spot.
Already the sun’s strength was lulling her into a state, not quite sleep for she still had her eyes open and could see the garden, but so relaxed and content that she would leave the pains of her body temporarily behind. She reached up and pulled the brim of her hat further down over her eyes to reduce the suns glare and let her head roll to one side, settling in a more comfortable position. She began to sink into sleep feeling her whole body drifting. A soothing sense of floating, riding gently on top of calm waters seemed to emanate from within.

Awareness seeped in.... She knew she wasn’t awake.... Maybe subconcense was imposing itself on semi-concousness to create a dream where she could talk to herself. She was becoming more and more aware of a gentle voice. The voice of a young, confident woman... Her own voice....

“It’s so good to feel the sun....There’s hardly a breeze off the sea... Such peace... Just the hum of insects and the occasional birds song... Ah, but there has always been peace here, even when there hasn’t been quiet. Such joy, laughter, love and happiness. Do you remember?”

Nothing disturbed the coming and going of Bees and Butterflies which criss crossed the garden collecting treasure from the abundant trove which nature provides. The buzz of several wasps attracted by the sweet waft of strawberry jam, fails to penetrate Mary’s slumber.
The inner voice still holds her attention.
“Forty summers have come and passed since you moved to this home... You’ll not see another... You’ve seen sixty two years and soon the time will come for you to rest... To let those who follow seek the future with out you... and what was your contribution to life? In this day and age every woman has to justify her role.”
The voice faded away replaced by the shrill screeching of a seagull wheeling overhead. Mary thought she could just make it out, hazy, slightly out of focus, just like the soft focus used in romance scenes in the flicks. “The Flicks” Mary mused. What had made her use that old term. She hadn’t been to the “Flicks” for oh....
A movement on the lawn, down in front of the shed, cut short the train of thought she had been following. She felt no alarm, only curiosity. Too tired to move, Mary tried to concentrate to focus on the movement.
Ella! It was Ella. Dragging a tattered blanket. It was far too big and heavy for her. Rapidly the folds became entangled about the puppies legs, but even though her legs had stopped moving, her body carried on forwards with the momentum of her race onto the lawn.
The inexperienced pup refused to relinquish her grip on the rag and as a result, flipped over to land in a heap of tangled legs and blanket.
A little girl, dressed in colourful shorts, t-shirt and trainers, arrived in the gateway. She appeared to be reprimanding the puppy, one hand on her hip and the other slapping her side. She was obviously calling the dog to her but although Mary could see the child's mouth opening, she could hear nothing.
The girl took several steps forward and quickly bent to snatch up one end of the blanket. The puppy, feeling itself being pulled along, sprang up on all fours and began to pull the cloth back. Both enjoyed the tug of war that followed, but there could only be one winner in this uneven contest.
Mary recognised the young girl. It was Suzanne, her grand daughter, easily recognisable even though she was now a teenager and her body much changed from the image before Mary. The girl pulled the blanket, gathering it in and thus drawing the pup closer to her, the game over. Ella refused to give up the struggle and was lifted off the floor to be cradled in Suzanne's arms. Once there Ella forgot the cloth which fell away as she turned her full attention to licking the face of her captor.
Suzanne, laughing, approached the recliner, standing only a couple of feet away and talking to Mary. Mary was puzzled. She still could not hear the girl and could not find the strength to respond verbally or physically. Suzanne did not appear to be worried by the lack of response from her grandmother, indeed she seemed quite happy to mouth her message and when it was complete she put her fingers to her lips and blew a kiss in farewell before turning around and skipping back to the gate. She paused in the gateway just long enough to take the puppy’s fore paw and wave a goodbye. Then the garden was empty once more.

Mary realised that it was memory that had come to join her on the lawn on this glorious afternoon. She smiled weakly, content to watch. Unafraid of the echoes of her life.
She had not striven for equality, that had always been hers in her marriage. Nor had she longed for achievement, raising her family to be good, kind, loving capable adults was goal enough.
She did not need the recognition of the outside world, the love and friendship of her family and of those she met along life’s path, was more than sufficient for Mary.
Her chosen path, now scorned by younger women, had no shame. Sadly many now thought it was no longer enough for a woman to keep house, to create a home, look after her husband and raise a family.
Mary’s life had been a partnership, both Edward and she taking responsibility for their shared aims. Life for so many couples seemed to her to be a competition, a struggle to avoid their responsibilities. Each fighting so hard to reach the goals set for them by a misguided, materialistic society, that neither had time to enjoy the little that they do achieve.
She thought of her daughter-in-law, Anne, one of the “new, strong, modern” women. Always so busy, ruled by the ticking of the clock and the strict timetable of her week. Anne continuously complained that she had so little time to relax. Not enough energy to keep up with Suzanne’s growing womanhood and expanding social diary.
“No one but you forces you to do so much!” Mary often pointed out.
In her trance like state, she smiled at the thought of Anne working in her office, watching the clock. Waiting for finishing time so that she could rush through the traffic, to be home when Suzanne arrived back from sixth form. So much rushing about! Still, Anne was providing for her family the best way she could, just as Mary had for hers.

As she mulled over this final point, she again saw movement at the bottom of the lawn.
A bright orange ball bounced on the shed roof, lifting in a silent arc to fall on the striped grass. The ball rolled for a few seconds before coming to rest in the drainage gully where the lawn met the raised flower bed.
Mary tried to concentrate on the orange ball and the rest of the view seemed to fade; leaving just the ball which seemed to rise up off the grass. It was a long while before she noticed the small, sun-tanned hands that held the ball, lifting it, and spinning the sphere slowly as they did so.
She adjusted her focus to take in the young boy who had approached without her noticing.

Before her stood a boy of ten years. His face lit by a broad smile, his normally fair skin turned honey gold by the summer sun. His blonde hair bleached even fairer. He was dressed in a white short sleeved shirt, grey shorts and socks. Feet clad in brand new football boots.
Even had she not known the boy from his youthful features, the graised, muddy knees would have told her that this was her son Rodney. His smile faded when he saw the trail of little holes left in the lawn by his new boots and he muttered a weak apology.

Mary could not hear his words either and a slight feeling of disappointment welled up inside her.
Suddenly the boy spun round lifting his head and silently calling, as if replying to an unheard call from the lower half of the garden. He swivelled back to face her and again offered that brilliant smile before turning and running for the gate.
As he disappeared from view Mary marvelled at her sons ability throughout his childhood to present such a relatively clean façade, but as soon as he turned about the evidence of his activities was always smeared up his back.

Her eyes became heavy and the view of the garden slipped into darkness and sleep.

The green of the grass swam back into view. Not the ordered pristine lawn but long, rough meadow. Where the raised beds should have been, on the side boundaries of her beautiful garden, stood a row of metal spikes. Each joined to the next by a length of harsh rope. The hedge that separated the garden was there, stretching off to both left and right, part of the field network that spread along the cliff for miles.
In the middle of the marked off area stood two people, both were familiar both busily talking, pointing at various spots on the ground and further afield. Mary knew who they were immediately...

Heather and Matthew Cob owned and worked a cliff top farm on the picturesque Dorset coast. At the outbreak of War in 1939 Mary had been evacuated along with the rest of the orphanage. She had been lucky. Heather had gently taken Mary’s three and a half year old hand in her own large rough one, Mary’s suitcase in her other and quietly led her away from Corfe railway station.
Matthew followed his wife and little Mary, holding the small wrapped bundle that contained another orphan, Frank.
When many parents recalled their children to London several months later, the orphans did not return. Mary was brought up as the Cob’s own daughter, Frank as their son and they adopted them when Mary had just turned seven years.

Mary watched the image of the two people she knew as her parents as they surveyed the plot of land they had marked off as a wedding present to their daughter. The tears rose unbidden in her eyes as she remembered the tender care that these people had lavished on her.
Mary tensed slightly in anticipation of what her memory told her would happen next, if the vision were to continue.
As the burden of her tears became too much for her eyes to retain and spilled to run in trickles down her pale cheeks, a tall young man came into view; His back towards Mary as he walked eagerly to greet the elderly couple. Although Mary could see only the back of this man, she would have recognised her Edward anywhere and felt her chest tighten, the pain of his death six years ago still sharp, as she waited for him to turn and see her.
Edward lent down to kiss his future mother-in-law and warmly clasped Matthews proffered hand. Heather pointed back up the meadow, seemingly straight at Mary. Slowly Edward turned to look to where Heather directed...

The smile on his lips was echoed in the warm hazel eyes that looked directly into hers. Mary could again feel the gentle drifting sensation which lifted her clear of the pain in her chest. A rushing sound rang in her ears, perhaps it was the breaking of the waves on the cliffs below, perhaps the joy of seeing her true love again.
Edward drew nearer to her, his arms out stretched, when he opened his mouth to speak, she realised that she could hear his soft sterlingshire accent.
“My sweet Mary... Come... For it’s time that you stood once more by my side.”

The butterflies still flickered from flower to flower, the bees worked on industriously. An intrepid wasp managed to crawl under the net to reach the jam. The sun still shone down on the garden as the patio door slid smoothly open. Ella plodded across the stones, her tail down and her youthfulness evaporated. She had taken a mid afternoon walk for eleven years and now completed the daily constitutional by clambering up on to Mary’s soft, welcoming lap. Ella’s breath came in short gasps yet she managed to lick Mary’s still warm hand before she also closed her eyes and drifted off into a peaceful, final sleep.