Open Writing

Avril woke in her narrow bed for the last time. Today she would marry her childhood sweetheart. She savoured a sense of peace. There would be chaos throughout the morning. Her mother, Ellen, had mentioned a thousand tasks the evening before. But now, just now, the moment belonged to her. Eyes closed she tried to determine the weather. Was it wet or fine, windy or still? It doesn’t really matter thought Avril. Today I throw off my burden after twenty two years; I will marry Stephen Lamb.

In her Yorkshire pit village the ‘norm’ had very narrow boundaries. Someone from the next county or even the next village was viewed with suspicion. When Avril’s mother had brought home her new husband-to-be eyebrows were raised and tongues wagged. The general consensus was that ‘education’ had spoiled the lass. Here she was bringing home a foreigner. Ellen had met Pascal at university where he had been studying English. Pascal – what sort of a name was that? Her mother had talked to Avril about it being to do with Easter.

Pascal was good looking in a willowy sort of way. The women of the village took a shine to him, the men thought him too soft. He made his appearance in 1949. This was not a good time. If you were not English you were probably ‘Hun’. He got a job teaching French and music at the local grammar school. Pascal excelled, yes you’ve guessed, at the French Horn although he could play most instruments. The young couple had a Spartan postwar wedding and set up home in a cottage near Ellen’s parents. An idyllic existence was enhanced when they discovered Avril was on her way.

In a pit village tragedy can strike at any time. Miners going on shift can never be sure that they will see daylight again. Most coal mining areas have suffered disasters when the bereaved have gathered at the pit head to await grim news. Pascal’s profession seemed safe by comparison. After all what could happen to a teacher? With hindsight it had been a ridiculous activity. A piano toppled on top of Pascal as he and a caretaker were manipulating the unwieldy instrument onto a small stage ready for a concert. The pitch of the piano was ruined, the caretaker sustained severe bruising and Pascal died from internal injuries.

When the baby was born her mother wished to use a French sounding name in memory of her husband. Pascal had two sisters, Hortense and Veronique, but it was felt northern tongues would not cope with the pronunciation. Eventually, the baby being born in April, Avril was chosen. The absurd combination of first and surname did not register with the mother as she knew little French. Ellen and the baby moved back to her family home.

At primary school Avril was made to feel different in a generalised way. Both she and her reception class teacher had difficulty writing her surname. She was teased and tolerated for her apparent strange ways. At the grammar school her class started to learn French. Armed with her dark blue dictionary she sought her heritage. If only she had not shared her knowledge with others. She told her best friend Margaret. Soon the meaning of her surname was all round the school. She had a nickname for the rest of her life; no only until today she amended.

She gave a sigh of pleasure and opened her eyes. Her bedroom was a strange amalgam of childhood, teenage years and early adulthood. Her elderly teddy bear gazed down from the top of the wardrobe. She had also retained an early poster of ‘The Beatles’ with their unfashionable page boy hair styles. She smiled. As a fourteen year old she had dreamed of marrying George Harrison. The furniture had been changed but the underlying atmosphere was austere late 1950’s with the addition of new fangled central heating. This had been installed rather too late to save her from nearly freezing to death during the hours of homework and revision.

She looked at the photograph of her parents on their wedding day and shed a tear that her father would not be there to take her down the aisle. He was a shadowy figure in her life. Of course she had no memories of him. There was a sense of loss. She had always felt envious of her friends even though they said fathers can be a pain in the butt. Today Pascal’s task would fall to her grandfather.

On cue she heard a tap on her bedroom door. Her grandfather cleared his throat.

‘Avril love, I’ve brought you up a cup of tea. Rise and shine. Your mother’s done you a cooked breakfast. The weather is grand – clear skies and sunshine. Eh, love I’m so proud of you. Tonight you’ll be Mrs S. Lamb. Have you practiced writing your new name? I was just saying to your mother you’ll be going from ‘April Fool’ to ‘Spring Lamb.’