A Rooster, Battenberg Cake and a Secret Code
A Rooster, Battenberg
Cake and a Secret Code
Reginald Oldershore was
sitting in his comfy armchair in his front room having his afternoon cup of
weak everyday tea and Battenberg cake served on his best china. The china tea
pot covered with a snug fitting, thickly padded cosy in the form of a rooster.
The rooster’s neck formed neatly over the spout the end of the which came out
of its beak. The whole keeping the contents warm for at least thirty minutes. He
did not like to be disturbed at this time. The ritual could not be allowed to
falter just because the door bell sounded. It would be thirty minutes before he
would even consider rising. Not for anything would he interrupt one of the main
pleasures of his otherwise dreary day.
Reggie was well into his
seventies and contrary, although only slightly so. A small man with a bent back
the result of years of weed picking in his small but well-manicured garden.
Thinning grey hair on top of his thin face with carefully sculptured worry
lines but bright alert eyes. Thin framed and a very gentle uncomplicated
demeanour. A propensity to smile when spoken to. He would listen, incline his
head slightly, almost quizzically, give a little smile and then formulate his
reply. All in a very precise manner.
He could hear but ignored the
foot shuffling on the doorstep. Could hear the bell button now being repeatedly
pushed but of course to no avail. He deliberately under-wound the bell to limit
soundings to no more than four. Depending on push duration of course. The
button could be held down causing one continuous ring until the steam ran out
of it when it would stutter before stopping. Experience though showed that this
never happened. This was the beauty of clockwork as far as he was concerned.
His daughter had asked him many times to upgrade to an electric version that
would provide endless chimes. The sort she suggested allowed different chimes
to be played by selection. One option a combination of different bird song.
“Would that not be so pleasant.” He had resisted this “modernisation” citing the
probability of a chime induced headache severely limiting his already depleted
daily activities.
The stomping momentarily
continued outside the front door and then footsteps could be heard receding
down the gravel driveway with a loud scrunching. Reggie’s armchair was located
so that he could see out of the front window and he watched the back of a man wearing
a long black gaberdine mac with what Reggie thought a suspicious look, open the
gate, step onto the pavement, turn, close the gate ensuring it was fastened
then walk away in the direction of the bus stop. When the man had turned Reggie
could see he was young maybe thirty with dark hair and a closely cut beard.
Reggie finished his second
cup of tea thirty minutes later, put all the crockery onto a silver plated tray
and carried it into the kitchen. He then returned to the front room stopping at
the front door to give the doorbell four swift turns, the requisite for the
ringing requirement. Lately he has been plagued by knock down ginger kids but
was not too concerned after all they had to have something to amuse them. The
little blighters. And of course the disturbance was limited. He just had to
remember to rewind the bell which he always did.
At five forty five the bell rang
three times, then no more. Reggie in the kitchen washing up his tea things
stopped what he was doing and smiled. He knew this would be his daughter. The
code you see. Simple but effective. Three rings and let her in. It was her way
of introducing security so that he would not open the door to just anyone. So
he would always know it was her. She had wanted a key to let herself in but
that would not suit Reggie.
“I had a key when I lived at
home. Why not now?”
“I don’t want to be surprised
in my own house. Coming in unannounced and creeping up on me. It’s my heart.
The sudden shock.”
He opened the door and Ann
stood there with his grandson Mark. Ann was smiling clearly happy to be there.
Reggie only looked. No other reaction. It was the same every time she came he
would open the door and just stare at her. She knew why, he had told her.
“Every time I see you I am so amazed at how we could have produced someone so
beautiful and perfect that I am unable to do anything else.”
She gave him a hug “hello Dad.
Mark wanted to come as well. Shall we come in.”
“Yes. Yes. Do. I am sorry.
Struck dumb. Cup of tea?”
“Thanks Dad I’ll make it. You
sit down and talk to Mark he’s got something to tell you.”
“How are you Mark? How are
you feeling these days.”
“Oh, not too bad Gramps. The
treatment is coming on so I feel all right at the moment. I’ve been selected
for a scholarship to music college for violin. They say I have great
potential.”
“That’s brilliant news when
does it start?”
“In September in about five
months. But I must be fitter to be able to go so will have to concentrate on my
treatment. Make sure I do everything I have to.”
“Here you are Dad not too
strong. Did Mark tell you? Great news isn’t it he’s done so well.”
“Fantastic but he said he
needs to be stronger.”
“Yes and that’s a problem.
The treatment is going well but is only keeping everything in check. It is not
curing. There is a possible cure but it is experimental and is only available
in America and costs hundreds of thousands of dollars. We haven’t got anywhere
near the amount needed so have to make do with what’s available here.”
“I can sell the house if it
would help. Can always rent somewhere.”
“Still not enough Dad.
Unfortunately.”
Ann stays for about an hour
then has to go. As she says goodbye Reggie can see the strain, sense the
disappointment. The scholarship depends on Mark’s health and that is not good.
It is the futility of the situation. The frustration with the knowledge that a
solution is available but out of reach. As he closes the door he gives the
doorbell three swift turns to reset it to the correct position.
The next morning he is up and
having breakfast. His normal time eight thirty. Sitting in his comfy armchair.
Cornflakes, hot buttered toast with bitter marmalade and tea. The rooster in
its place. His normal breakfast. Has been for over thirty years with no
variation other than trying lime marmalade on the recommendation of Beazer
Brown from the pub. He did not like it. Thought it too limey. So on Beazer’s
further recommendation tried lemon and lime which was acceptable but then
reverted to bitter orange on finishing the jar. The doorbell rang four times.
As with afternoon tea the
contrary side of his character arises when the doorbell rings at breakfast. He
will not answer it. Not until he has finished his second cup of tea. In this
instance due to the timing of the ring that would be in twenty two minutes. He
hears the same shuffling footsteps and crunching gravel. Looks out and sees the
same black gaberdine mac. Now slightly worrying. That black mac look. After twenty
two minutes he takes the tray full of breakfast things to the kitchen but
stopping on route, placing the tray on the hall table he resets the doorbell.
His day goes by with his
normal activity level. A bit of weeding his now natural stoop offering a
comfortable position. Then lunch and the one o’clock news. Afternoon tea, an
appointment with his rooster and the last slice of Battenberg. The telephone
rings but as with the doorbell he will not answer it during afternoon tea. In
fact that is not strictly correct. He does not answer it at all unless he gets
the three ring code from Ann. Three rings and then she hangs up and rings
again, without delay, allowing him to answer with all certainty that it is her.
He is washing up at five
thirty and the doorbell rings three times. The code. Must be Ann. But she came
yesterday. Anyway the code must not be ignored. He answers the door to see the dubious
young bearded man in the black gaberdine mac standing there.
“Why did you only ring three
times? There is power enough for four. You have disrupted the secret code.”
“I am very sorry sir I meant
to ring again but I dropped my pen after three and while I was picking it up
you answered the door before I could do so.”
“That’s as maybe but what
about the code. Ann will have to think again about my security.”
“Again I am sorry sir but now
that you have answered is it possible you could please hear what I have to
say?”
“I suppose there’s no harm.
You do not after all have the look of a real scoundrel even though at first
glance that black mac suggests it.”
“My name is Graham Parsons
and I represent National Savings Premium Bonds and am here to inform you that
you have won this month’s one million pound prize.”
“But I only have five pounds
invested. Five pounds that my father bought for me in November 1956 when they
were introduced.”
“That is correct but one of
those five numbers has drawn the prize.”
“In that case please do come
in, meet my rooster and have a cup of tea while I telephone my daughter.”
Comments
Post a Comment