Graham Greene Birthplace Trust Creative Award
This years winner of the Graham Greene Birthplace Trust Creative Award was Anne Chinneck (Old Stede 1961)
Here is her award winning entry
LOVE AND LOSS
A whistle blew and the train trembled into movement. She had found a seat in the crowded train and knew that there was now no going back. People said that one should never go back, but this time she felt she had no option. She wore her good suit, a smart tweed, and gloves, but no hat. She blended unobtrusively into the melee of people around her and no-one would have given her a second glance.
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Two hundred miles away in the depths of suburban Surrey, a very different scene was taking place. Margaret was typical of her time, the perfect wife and mother. Although she had attended a good girls' school, there had been very few career options. Being of a biddable nature, a secretarial college had seemed the obvious choice, followed fairly swiftly by marriage to a suitable young man from a good background. Children had arrived at well spaced intervals and life had continued in a secure, middle class way. Margaret's husband became successful and they remained married for 25 years until his sudden death, a week ago, from a heart attack.
This event had, naturally, thrown the household into turmoil, but Margaret, in her usual efficient way, had managed all the arrangements for the funeral, to which many mourners were expected. She was not quite sure how she was going to manage in other ways, but no doubt solicitors and accountants would help her through the coming weeks. The important thing now was the funeral. She did so want him to have a good send-off and had planned the reception after the service in great detail. Even her children were being surprisingly co-operative. They had all left home now, and in some ways they had grown apart, but they all wanted to support her now that ‘Daddy' was no longer with them. Of course, they behaved impeccably. It was 1959, and it did not do for emotions to rise too near to the surface.
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The countryside sped by and she sat, absorbed in her latest Penguin book, until the dreary outskirts of London became visible. The journey was so familiar to her, but she knew that this would be the last time. She took the bus to Waterloo from where it was only a short trip into the Surrey countryside. This part of the journey was certainly not familiar and she felt her heart beat slightly faster as the station got nearer. How many times had she visualised making this journey?
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Margaret was feeling tired and emotional after the events of the last week and knew that she could not relax until the day was over. She had never liked funerals, from the time when she was a child and had been scolded for crying at her grandmother's. "Never mind" she thought. "Best foot forward". She felt her husband would have been proud of her in her black jersey dress and coat - nothing too fussy
Charles had been well known in city circles, with a flat in Dolphin Square for his use when detained in town mid-week. A well bred wife accepted this state of affairs and never questioned a husband's movements. She had her own life with help in the home and plenty of social activities. A short obituary had appeared in The Times but Margaret had no idea how many mourners might be present at the funeral.
She alighted at the station - still plenty of time. She dismissed the idea of a taxi and chose to walk to the church. As this came into view, a red brick edifice, her steps quickened and she melted into the crowd of people at the entrance. It was easy to remain inconspicuous at the back of the church. As the service progressed, she relived some of her memories, while quietly surveying the congregation.
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The family stood together as the line of mourners filed past, each with a handshake and words of commiseration. Margaret could recognise, or was acquainted, with them all. Until a woman in a simple suit, was the last to approach; all the same, something was familiar - a hint of perfume perhaps - as Margaret took the outstretched hand. Their eyes met, and it seemed as if past experiences were reflected and shared in each other's eyes. Suddenly, for Margaret, everything fell into place; the flimsy excuses, the subterfuge, explanations given that she had willed herself to accept. Without words their eyes said, ‘It's over now'. The woman moved away as Margaret's daughter whispered in her ear, ‘Who was that?' With a strange sense of calm, Margaret replied, ‘Oh, just someone your father once knew, I think, dear'.