Eternal Love By Raymond Walker
1.
The garden looks really overgrown, full of flowers and vegetables each vying with the other for space within the confined dry-stone walls of the property.
The walls are close, it is only a small cottage sitting below the weir and above the bridge over the small but fast flowing river.
I really must make more of an effort and get it back into order, back to some semblance of what it had once been in the days before she had died.
Rob knows it is actually all right and were another with a less critical eye to look they would see a pleasant country garden. To his eyes, however, it is overgrown and he hates to think of it so for there was never a weed to be seen when Ann was alive.
He also knows perfectly well that such a thought is as false as his earlier one but he will never forget how they spoke of her garden at her funeral.
It had always been her garden. "Ann’s garden" some would say but Rob just thought of it as her garden, and it was part of her being, her very essence was contained within the borders of her garden.
She always kept it so nice they had said (the mourners) and they were right, she had. Rob had never been a gardener was never really interested in growing things though he liked the produce that Ann would cook for him when the harvest came.
They had, however, spent most of their retirement in the garden. She weeding and hoeing and generally looking as fit as a fiddle.
“As fit as a fiddle” was another phrase he had heard often at the after funeral tea and it was a phrase that he hated to hear now as how could someone who was fit as a fiddle die?
He had only spent his time in the garden to be with her and watch the river as it passed. It was something he had never tired of in all his years of retirement, listening to Ann humming along behind him as she weeded and planted and turned the earth and he watching the peat brown river swirl past just down the banking from him.
When she had died he had decided to keep up her garden as a kind of epitaph to her days for she had loved it so much. So religiously he got himself out of bed in the morning listening to all his joints protesting, creaking and groaning as he pulled on his old brown corduroy trousers and wellington boots and with nothing more than a cup of tea flung himself into daily gardening.
He hated it, hated the dirt beneath his fingernails, the gravel piercing his boot soles, making his already protesting feet hurt even more, the smell of rotting vegetation, the noises his back made when he tried to straighten, all of it.
There was nothing about gardening he liked. All he had ever liked about it was her love of it, watching Ann tend her garden as he sat on the bench and watched the river. The smell of cut flowers in the house the taste of garden vegetables when it came to dinnertime were the only things that he did not mind.
He, for his efforts, allowed himself one respite, for an hour at lunchtime he would sit on his bench at the edge of the garden staring over the low dry stone dyke at the river passing beneath him. He watched the peaty brown water with its eddy’s and false currents, seeing the occasional fin of the small brown trout that inhabited it and his day did not seem so bad.
And that made him happy. It was the highlight of his day. At night he lay awake in the empty wide bed and listened to his river gurgling and rushing and liked his time alone for a minute or two. But then he remembered that once he had listened to the gurgling and rushing and the noises of the river had been echoed in her soft snore and the warm smells of her garden had been in the cheek that she rested on his shoulder.
2.
And then he would cry for while until the sounds of his sobs were like to him the noises of the river and there he would sleep until rough morning sunlight drew him again into her garden. The work that he said he would never do in his retirement for he had worked hard his long life.
3.
She gazed over the garden wall down to the muddy river below and thought of him as she always did though her hands itched to be digging again.
She did not know why she still did the garden, she gave away all her vegetables now that she had no one to feed them to. She still cut flowers in the spring and summer and placed them in the vases she had dotted all over the small cottage. But what use was there in doing such things now that he was gone? There was no one to see them anymore.
She liked the flowers in the garden and had only cut them and brought them inside for Rob, she had only placed them here and there and made sure she had flowers as she thought Rob liked their smell.
She hated that dirty brown river with its endless noise, its endless swish and swirl and dirty brown muddy sides but still she took time out each day to gaze into its depths for she knew that’s what he had loved most.
And that was her epitaph to him. In fact she found herself watching it more now everyday though she was desperate to turn and run her hands through the rich brown earth. But what was the use.
She remembered the funeral and that all his old friends, well the ones that were still living, giving her their condolences and some of their words, like steadfast and true. A true fisherman, he could read the water and tell where the fish were, water and steadfast and true was what she remembered; That he always had been.
So despite herself she steadfastly watched the ripples on the river and after a while could even tell the different hues of brown that he had talked of so often.
On their long evenings together, for he, being a strange sort had never wanted a television or many of the things other people wanted he just accepted her as a wife and she with no choice really, in those days, him as a husband.
She found it strange at first, she remembered, but he was her husband and in those days you did as your husband told you. She realized that she was lucky, as she never had to do as he told her as he had always asked and never ordered her to do anything.
But she did what she had to do anyway, as that’s what a wife did.
He was just happy being there with his river and with her to talk to, he moaned about this and that often, and drank too much for her liking but never did he hurt her. She never realized until to late that all she needed was her garden and he being around; talking to her keeping her company.
At night in her bed she lay awake for now she had little to rise early for as she once had. Once she knew Rob liked the flowers around the house and the fresh vegetables in the summer and autumn that she grew and harvested and so those things had filled her days.
She knew that he loved her garden and could smell the flowers that she had cut lovingly thinking of him as she had done so though now there was no one but her to smell them.
She heard the rustle of the wind in the branches of her trees that she had so lovingly planted. And then she would cry and remember how it blended in with the soft susurration of his expelled breath, which she could feel on her cheek, which she always rested on his shoulder.
She did not know why she had done that always for in later life it was such a bony shoulder, but she never felt more comfortable than there.
Eventually she would drift into sleep till the morning sun and the spate rivers noises; rushing and gurgling brought her again to another day.
3.
He resolved that with all the time she had put into the garden and how much he remembered her in it and felt it her place, that he would, when he finally passed, be put to rest there. A final show of love for his wonderful wife.
He owned the cottage outright and had put a sum aside for her garden. It was still to be tended long after he was dead and gone.
He saw a lawyer and signed all the appropriate papers so that he would be buried there in her garden and the house left to ruin for what was it except a roof over his head without her to make it a home.
He left there and went back and tended her garden, watched his river and lived in their house for the rest of his years. When finally he died he was buried according to his wishes in her garden and there he rested thinking of her.
4.
Her breathing grew worse with each day and she realized that her time was coming to an end. She did not mind, she spent everyday now staring into his river and night lying in their bed, for she rarely slept now and she resolved to be cremated and her ashes scattered in his river for that is what he would have wished.
She saw a lawyer and signed the will that gave such instruction. She arranged that the house go to ruin for though it was only a house it had been their house and she wanted no unhappiness in it ever and there had rarely been a time when together they had been unhappy.
Her time came soon but not as soon as she wished for she lasted many long years alone. She lasted long beyond the time that she could tend her garden and later still where she could even see his river.
She was cremated in line with her instructions and her ashes were scattered in his river.
Where she lay thinking of him.
5.
And so the years passed and he remained in her garden and she in his river and each thought of the other for many many years. For what else did they have to think about other than he his river and she her garden and when one thought of either then they would think of the other. For she was in his river and he in her garden.
6.
And so the years passed until a rainy Scots Sunday in October when it lashed so hard the raindrops bounced from the road and grass, water streaming from the hills and glens and formed and built one upon the other.
This water accumulated and gathered from rills and streams; became torrents rushing down every river valley.
These torrents joined earlier months of accumulated rain, which is not that unusual in Scotland and these torrents finally took their toll on the old ruined cottage that lay upon the bridge over the river Lussa, the old cottage once owned by Rob and Ann.
There was a deafening noise as the banking began to drift away from the trees and rocks below the weir. Which, with a wrench, took the garden and parts of the house from the old cottage that lay above the bridge, it slipped downwards and into the overflowing river to be swept away forever.
7.
In the water Ann felt a presence and reached out her arms and other arms enfolded hers. She smelled her garden and the years she had spent in it upon him and he tasted the peat and shingle, salt of his river upon her and she laid her head upon a familiar bony shoulder and together they slept forever more in each others arms.
The garden looks really overgrown, full of flowers and vegetables each vying with the other for space within the confined dry-stone walls of the property.
The walls are close, it is only a small cottage sitting below the weir and above the bridge over the small but fast flowing river.
I really must make more of an effort and get it back into order, back to some semblance of what it had once been in the days before she had died.
Rob knows it is actually all right and were another with a less critical eye to look they would see a pleasant country garden. To his eyes, however, it is overgrown and he hates to think of it so for there was never a weed to be seen when Ann was alive.
He also knows perfectly well that such a thought is as false as his earlier one but he will never forget how they spoke of her garden at her funeral.
It had always been her garden. "Ann’s garden" some would say but Rob just thought of it as her garden, and it was part of her being, her very essence was contained within the borders of her garden.
She always kept it so nice they had said (the mourners) and they were right, she had. Rob had never been a gardener was never really interested in growing things though he liked the produce that Ann would cook for him when the harvest came.
They had, however, spent most of their retirement in the garden. She weeding and hoeing and generally looking as fit as a fiddle.
“As fit as a fiddle” was another phrase he had heard often at the after funeral tea and it was a phrase that he hated to hear now as how could someone who was fit as a fiddle die?
He had only spent his time in the garden to be with her and watch the river as it passed. It was something he had never tired of in all his years of retirement, listening to Ann humming along behind him as she weeded and planted and turned the earth and he watching the peat brown river swirl past just down the banking from him.
When she had died he had decided to keep up her garden as a kind of epitaph to her days for she had loved it so much. So religiously he got himself out of bed in the morning listening to all his joints protesting, creaking and groaning as he pulled on his old brown corduroy trousers and wellington boots and with nothing more than a cup of tea flung himself into daily gardening.
He hated it, hated the dirt beneath his fingernails, the gravel piercing his boot soles, making his already protesting feet hurt even more, the smell of rotting vegetation, the noises his back made when he tried to straighten, all of it.
There was nothing about gardening he liked. All he had ever liked about it was her love of it, watching Ann tend her garden as he sat on the bench and watched the river. The smell of cut flowers in the house the taste of garden vegetables when it came to dinnertime were the only things that he did not mind.
He, for his efforts, allowed himself one respite, for an hour at lunchtime he would sit on his bench at the edge of the garden staring over the low dry stone dyke at the river passing beneath him. He watched the peaty brown water with its eddy’s and false currents, seeing the occasional fin of the small brown trout that inhabited it and his day did not seem so bad.
And that made him happy. It was the highlight of his day. At night he lay awake in the empty wide bed and listened to his river gurgling and rushing and liked his time alone for a minute or two. But then he remembered that once he had listened to the gurgling and rushing and the noises of the river had been echoed in her soft snore and the warm smells of her garden had been in the cheek that she rested on his shoulder.
2.
And then he would cry for while until the sounds of his sobs were like to him the noises of the river and there he would sleep until rough morning sunlight drew him again into her garden. The work that he said he would never do in his retirement for he had worked hard his long life.
3.
She gazed over the garden wall down to the muddy river below and thought of him as she always did though her hands itched to be digging again.
She did not know why she still did the garden, she gave away all her vegetables now that she had no one to feed them to. She still cut flowers in the spring and summer and placed them in the vases she had dotted all over the small cottage. But what use was there in doing such things now that he was gone? There was no one to see them anymore.
She liked the flowers in the garden and had only cut them and brought them inside for Rob, she had only placed them here and there and made sure she had flowers as she thought Rob liked their smell.
She hated that dirty brown river with its endless noise, its endless swish and swirl and dirty brown muddy sides but still she took time out each day to gaze into its depths for she knew that’s what he had loved most.
And that was her epitaph to him. In fact she found herself watching it more now everyday though she was desperate to turn and run her hands through the rich brown earth. But what was the use.
She remembered the funeral and that all his old friends, well the ones that were still living, giving her their condolences and some of their words, like steadfast and true. A true fisherman, he could read the water and tell where the fish were, water and steadfast and true was what she remembered; That he always had been.
So despite herself she steadfastly watched the ripples on the river and after a while could even tell the different hues of brown that he had talked of so often.
On their long evenings together, for he, being a strange sort had never wanted a television or many of the things other people wanted he just accepted her as a wife and she with no choice really, in those days, him as a husband.
She found it strange at first, she remembered, but he was her husband and in those days you did as your husband told you. She realized that she was lucky, as she never had to do as he told her as he had always asked and never ordered her to do anything.
But she did what she had to do anyway, as that’s what a wife did.
He was just happy being there with his river and with her to talk to, he moaned about this and that often, and drank too much for her liking but never did he hurt her. She never realized until to late that all she needed was her garden and he being around; talking to her keeping her company.
At night in her bed she lay awake for now she had little to rise early for as she once had. Once she knew Rob liked the flowers around the house and the fresh vegetables in the summer and autumn that she grew and harvested and so those things had filled her days.
She knew that he loved her garden and could smell the flowers that she had cut lovingly thinking of him as she had done so though now there was no one but her to smell them.
She heard the rustle of the wind in the branches of her trees that she had so lovingly planted. And then she would cry and remember how it blended in with the soft susurration of his expelled breath, which she could feel on her cheek, which she always rested on his shoulder.
She did not know why she had done that always for in later life it was such a bony shoulder, but she never felt more comfortable than there.
Eventually she would drift into sleep till the morning sun and the spate rivers noises; rushing and gurgling brought her again to another day.
3.
He resolved that with all the time she had put into the garden and how much he remembered her in it and felt it her place, that he would, when he finally passed, be put to rest there. A final show of love for his wonderful wife.
He owned the cottage outright and had put a sum aside for her garden. It was still to be tended long after he was dead and gone.
He saw a lawyer and signed all the appropriate papers so that he would be buried there in her garden and the house left to ruin for what was it except a roof over his head without her to make it a home.
He left there and went back and tended her garden, watched his river and lived in their house for the rest of his years. When finally he died he was buried according to his wishes in her garden and there he rested thinking of her.
4.
Her breathing grew worse with each day and she realized that her time was coming to an end. She did not mind, she spent everyday now staring into his river and night lying in their bed, for she rarely slept now and she resolved to be cremated and her ashes scattered in his river for that is what he would have wished.
She saw a lawyer and signed the will that gave such instruction. She arranged that the house go to ruin for though it was only a house it had been their house and she wanted no unhappiness in it ever and there had rarely been a time when together they had been unhappy.
Her time came soon but not as soon as she wished for she lasted many long years alone. She lasted long beyond the time that she could tend her garden and later still where she could even see his river.
She was cremated in line with her instructions and her ashes were scattered in his river.
Where she lay thinking of him.
5.
And so the years passed and he remained in her garden and she in his river and each thought of the other for many many years. For what else did they have to think about other than he his river and she her garden and when one thought of either then they would think of the other. For she was in his river and he in her garden.
6.
And so the years passed until a rainy Scots Sunday in October when it lashed so hard the raindrops bounced from the road and grass, water streaming from the hills and glens and formed and built one upon the other.
This water accumulated and gathered from rills and streams; became torrents rushing down every river valley.
These torrents joined earlier months of accumulated rain, which is not that unusual in Scotland and these torrents finally took their toll on the old ruined cottage that lay upon the bridge over the river Lussa, the old cottage once owned by Rob and Ann.
There was a deafening noise as the banking began to drift away from the trees and rocks below the weir. Which, with a wrench, took the garden and parts of the house from the old cottage that lay above the bridge, it slipped downwards and into the overflowing river to be swept away forever.
7.
In the water Ann felt a presence and reached out her arms and other arms enfolded hers. She smelled her garden and the years she had spent in it upon him and he tasted the peat and shingle, salt of his river upon her and she laid her head upon a familiar bony shoulder and together they slept forever more in each others arms.