Open Writing

According to passers-by, this was one of the worst winters they had known in many a year. It was snowing hard and had been for almost a day and a half, and there appeared to be no let up in the weather. From what I could see, the grey snow-filled sky would remain this way for another couple of days at least.

I was walking through the local park, and the snow was already half way up my Wellington boots. My feet were cold and wet from where the snow had managed to get into the boots through splits in their sides. My calves were chapped from the constant rubbing of the boot tops.

It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon, and already it was getting dark. By all rights I should have been at home in the warmth, sitting in front of a coal fire, playing with my brothers. But something had gone wrong at home. I’d been caught taking a biscuit from the bag that was kept in the cupboard. The biscuits were being saved for a Sunday treat for all of us after we’d had our dinner.

I hadn’t known this. Nobody had informed me. I was only ten-years-old, so why should I be told things? Thatwas the attitude of my parents. They also thought that if you didn’t work, you shouldn't get a cooked meal. This rule was strictly adhered to, except for special occasions like a birthday or Christmas.

Anyway I was hungry. When I saw the bag of biscuits in the cupboard, my eyes lit up. I took one biscuit. My mouth watered at the first bite. I closed my eyes as the delicious taste filled my whole mouth. As I savoured the moment, not swallowing the biscuit, just letting it melt slowly in my mouth, I became aware of a very sharp pain on my right ear. The chewed up biscuit flew from my mouth to land on the floor in front of me.

Thinking it was my brother playing tricks I turned, ready to square up to him. Then my eyes opened wide in terror.

"You little thief,'' my step-mother screamed as she’d aimed another blow.

I was too quick for her. I ducked and ran out of the house. I hadn’t noticed the snow at first as I ran along the road, I just knew that I had to get as far away as possible, in case my step-mother had sent one of my brothers to fetch me back. I knew that my return would mean a good hiding and a night in the dark damp coal cellar, and that was if my step-mother was not in too bad a mood.

When finally felt I was far enough away from the house to stop running, I found myself outside the park. I stopped to take a deep breath. Then I noticed how heavy the heavy snowfall. I didn't know what to do, only that somehow I had to keep moving to keep warm. The taste from what remained of the biscuit was still in my mouth. I bitterly regretted yielding to the temptation to take it.

The night was falling and I was cold, Actually I was freezing, I had run from the house without my coat, and the thin sleeveless jersey that I was wearing was insufficient to my needs.

‘Are you okay?" a voice asked.

I was so engrossed in my own thoughts I had not heard anyone approaching."
"‘Here, put this on. It will warm you up."

Myy parents had commanded that I was never to speak to strangers, men or women, but they’d never said anything about strange boys, such asthe one at my side who was offering me his coat.

I looked at the coat, then at the boy. He was about my age and size, dressed in what I can only describe as “well to do” clothes, but he did not have a posh accent.

"Go on take it before you catch your death." he insisted.

I took the heavy coat and put it on. Immediately I felt the benefit of it. With the help of my young benefactor, despite my cold hands, I managed to fasten the buttons. My hands soon warmed up when he put gloves on them. No matter how hard I protested he insisted on doing so.

I had pictured myself returning home with these nice clothes and again being accused by my step-mother of being a thief.

The boy, introducing himself as “Graham'', said"he didn’t live far away. ‘Would you like to come to my home for tea?'' he asked. After tea, we could play with his toys. He was very polite.

I began to remove the gloves, telling him I didn't want to get into any more trouble than I was in already. I explained the events leading up to that moment.

"‘Well the way I look at it, you are already in trouble, so what difference does another hour make?’ Graham said.

I didn’t need to think too much about it. I asked what we would be having for tea. He laughed as we ran towards his home.

The house where he lived was nothing special. A terraced house,with two upper floors. As we entered, a portly lady who turned out to be his mother, greeted us warmly. She helped me to take of the coat and gloves, and did not ask why I was wearing her son's clothes. Nor did she inquire if my family knew where I was on this freezing cold winter’s night.

After a lovely cooked meal - to me it seemed like a banquet, and I could eat as much as I wanted - Graham and I went upstairs and played with some of his toys. We had a great time and all thoughts of my own home and the consequences of my actions disappeared. I was having the best time of my life. Graham was an only child. His parents had lavished toys on him.

Graham’s mother eventually said she thought it was time I went home. Graham escorted his mother out onto the landing. I could hear them talking in low tones. When they came back into the room I could see from her sympathetic expression that Graham had told her of my predicament.

"As much as I’d love to have you stay here, you must return home.,'' she said. She told me not to worry. She and Graham would escort me and explain to my parents what had happened.

As I neared my home my legs grew heavy and my pace slowed to a crawl. I heard voices. My brothers, then my father. They were searching for me.

Myy father picked me up and hugged me. They had been really worried. They were afraid that I would not survive a night in the snow.

Graham’s mother spoke to my dad, explaining what had happend. Her words worked. When she had finished speaking my father came towards me with a rare smile on his face. Years later, I asked him on several occasions what Graham's mother had said, but he refused to tell me.

I was taken into our house, and for a while a fuss was made of me. Questions were asked. So many questions that my head began to spin.

When the fuss subsided I made my way to the cellar. I had decided to go voluntary into the underground hole. That was better than being thrown down the steps, which was what normally happened. At least I wouldn’t have cuts or bruises.

The cellar door was soon opened. I heard my name being called. My father, asking me to come upstairs to the living room.

I moved some large pieces of coal away from the bottom of the steps, so that I wouldn’t land on them when I was thrown down again. Then I climbed slowly to the living room, where the family were waiting for me.

"‘What are you doing in the cellar?'' my father asked.

I didn’t answer. I was imaging being back at the bottom of those cellar steps.

"You're not in trouble,'' said my father, taking me up in his arms.

I couldn’t believe my ears. I was not going to be punished. As my step-mother got me ready for a bath I realised I had not thanked Graham and his mother.

I slept well that night in my warm comfortable bed, dreaming of the happier times, when laughter echoed around our household.

When I awoke in the morning and went downstaris my step-mother had a large parcel in her hands. "This is for you,'' she said, handing it to me. My name was on the parcel.

My step-mother said it had been left outside our door.

The parcel contained the coat and gloves which my newfound friend Graham, had loaned me on the previous evening. After breakfast I put on my new coat and went to thank Graham and his mother for their generosity.

After my my second knock on their door it was opened. A small aged man stood in front of me.

"Is Graham in, please?'' I asked.

The man stared at me, remaining silent.

I was on the point of leaving when he asked "Why do you want to see Graham?''

I told him about the previous night, and the parcel outside my door.

A strange smile appeared on the old man's face and he invited me in.

I thanked him politely, but did not go in. Something warned me to stay outside, unless Graham’s mother appeared.

He seemed to understand what was going through my mind and asked me not to be afraid.

At that moment my father appeared. Apparently he thought I might have run away again.

The man asked us to wait a moment. He showed us a photograph, explaining that his wife and son had been involved in a car accident a year ago. His wife had died. His son Graham had suffered a severe head injury and was in a psychiatric institution.

Three weeks later that I met Graham. He’d been allowed home after a partial recovery from his injuries. I asked him about that snowy night when he had befriended me.

He didn’t remember the incident, but he did recall an awreness of someone worse off than himself, and a feeling that he had to reach out and help.

Some months after that I heard that Graham had died.

His father brought a letter to our house. Graham had asked him to hand the letter to me.

"See you in the park” the letter said.

I smiled with tears in my eyes.

‘I’ll be there,’ I whispered.