(77) 'A Letter From The Past'

[Ken]

I recently had a clear out of receipts and documents that were years old.  In doing so I came to a folder marked, 'Nostalgia,' which I will always keep for ones past is vital to ones future .  In it was a one page letter sent to us by a friend in the August of 1995.  I'd like to share with you part of what the letter said.
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Dear Ken and Jenny.
                             Please find the enclosed notes, it's not much and you probably think mean bastards - but we thought it would come in handy for Kathy's birthday for a drink or some sort of treat.  We hope you aren't offended.
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My daughter will be forty years old this August and our family has all it needs, but when we received that letter from Jan Scott things were very different.  It arrived timely, just six days before Kathryn's twenty first birthday, and it made all the difference to her special day.  It was yet another thoughtful act from two fine people to whom kindness came naturally.  Today's memory is a story about another kindness and it begins in 1988.  The family Scott had arrived for a short stay with us in our welsh home and Malcolm produced from the back of his car a gift for me.  It was a well used, but in good condition, push bike and as usual he hid his kindness with some rude bluster.  "If you get on that, you fat bastard, you may lose some weight," he said.  Malcolm has always had a way with words.  Well I did get on that bike and, despite it being to big for me, I did so every day thereafter.  I became hooked on the exercise and in doing so I lost a lot of weight.  I can recall my Doctor praising me and saying, "There are two kinds of fatties, fit fatty's and unfit fatty's." "You," he beamed, "have become a fit fatty."  My Doctor also had a wonderful way with words.  

About two years after giving me what I now thought of as my beloved bike, the family Scott were once again visiting us. During a wine filled evening meal, Malc decided that the next morning he and I should go for a bike ride, "A race," he declared.  I suggested we go on a circular route on a picturesque road that ran one side of the river Teifi for four miles and then, having crossed the river bridge, we'd cycle back on the other side for another three miles.  We agreed we would then stop at a pub called, The Fishers Arms, for a well deserved pint.  The next morning, giving themselves plenty of time to walk the one mile from our home to the pub, my Jenny and Malc's Jan set of towards the 'Fishers,' with Duncan, Kathryn, Ali and Morgan in tow.  A little later at twelve noon Malcolm and I set off on our epic seven mile cycle race.  

In fairness to Malc, I had all the advantages for he was forced to ride a bike I had borrowed from a neighbour and it was a little too small for him.  My bike was a racer and being rather too large for me it meant that when riding side by side, I had no choice but to look down on my old friend.  Psychologically, that gave me another advantage and, realising that, at the first opportunity Malcolm took off like a rocket. Up the first hill he pedalled furiously with me following closely, when he could sense I was too close he shouted abuse, threatening all sorts of violence if I overtook him.  I held back some twenty metres or so when something unforeseen occurred.  A woman came out of a track on her own bicycle just after Malc had gone past and proceeded to ride some ten metres between the two of us.  I realised that Malcolm hadn't seen her and this became even more obvious when he sensed her closing the gap.  "I'm warning you, you fat fu*ker, if you try to overtake me I'll knock you off your bloody bike" he shouted! What the poor woman thought who in truth was podgy, I will never know, but she must have been truly shocked and, perhaps, a little apprehensive.

All this happened in what seemed a flash and the woman evidently decided to ignore Malcolm's threat and, giving him as wide a berth as possible, raced past him.  I too had drawn closer and was near enough to see the look of surprise and puzzlement on Malcolm's face as I rode alongside him, "Where the f*ck did she come from," he uttered, as I took the lead.  Back and forth we went as we continued our epic race and it must have annoyed my competitive buddy to see the ease with which I was riding.  He, however, was red faced and puffing and his hair was soaked with sweat as he desperately tried to leave me behind.  As we approached the pub, and our waiting families, I effortlessly drew ahead.  I have no doubt that I was grinning as his shouts of abuse began to fade behind me.  I can still recall Jan's laughter as I hopped energetically off my bike and waited for Malc to appear, when he did so everyone was laughing for he looked absolutely exhausted.  That laughter rose in volume when later with a cool pint in my hand, I told them all the story of the poor woman Malcolm had called a fat fu*ker and threatened to knock of her bloody bike!  

The point of this Cosy memory was in part to tell of that amusing bike race, but also to salute Malc and Jan, and all people who show consideration without fanfare and with no thought of gain. People like my fathers old boss, Ron Lindfield, whose dignified kindness features in my Cosy story No.74.  Friends like Colin Bowbrick, who in 1987 realised that our old and rickety windows let every puff of wind into our draught ridden house.  Knowing the state of our finances, he arrived one day with enough heavy duty, cut to size, polythene sheeting to cover all our windows. Those polythene sheets were put up every winter and they made our home warmer for the next ten years.  We also salute the kindness of a stranger who, having discovered how much my Jenny had helped her father, insisted on a backdated kindness.  Perhaps she'd heard of the old proverb that states, 'Kind words butter no parsnips,' for this woman deciding kind words alone were not enough helped my family at a time when we really needed it. This stranger, called Vanessa Musson, gained our lasting respect and became our friend.  

There are others we would like to salute, like the steadfast friendship of both Chris and Sue Bushell.  Two people who were there for us in our darkest days and still are in these sunlit times.  Plus, of course, the wonderful family of Malcolm Scott, caring people who try to mask every kindness with an ambiguous comment.  Like Jan Scott did in the above letter sent just before my daughters twenty first birthday.  She wrote "You'll probably think mean bastards."   I am not by nature a man who swears but I do recall when I read that line I said softly to my self, "Wonderful Bastards."  One of the greatest unhappiness's in both Jenny's and my life was that Jan died far too young and we miss constantly the warmth of her smile.  We'd like to think that she knows how much she meant to us and we're grateful for the wonderful memories she left us with.  

This Cosy story is sent to Jan's family and all the other friends mentioned above. We salute and thank you for being such good people and want you to know you have truly enriched our lives!  






 
                           

[Ken]

This tale explains how an old letter made me remember the kindness of a very special person.  It sent me back to a bicycle race with my friend Malcolm Scott and tells of an unusual event that transpired halfway through that epic battle.  It also tells of those who have enriched my families lives.