Anemones and Secrets
Anemones and Secrets
Lem Griffiths
November,
2,016.
Well.., I'd rather just mention that it was a surpisingly cold bite that remained in the air on this particular Spring day, instead of the actual year.
I'd just secured, through my own merit, I must add, the grandly titled post of, 'Assistant Under-Correspondant' for a well known, non tabloid paper in the city.
A grand title that my father, whom had no small part in securing for me, was overly proud. They should always be humoured in the portly years.
Within the three weeks I'd been acclimatising myself and filtering friend from foe., I'd taken to enjoying the ease of those walkers in Hyde Park for my lunch time sojourn., specifically, the southern walk from the boat depot.
Should one waive the tiresome morning gathering for tea and biscuits at the northern end, then a luxurious hour and a quarter might be had for lunch and so it was on this particular day.
I found that the limited seating had been taken.., a sure sign of a seasonal change with even more 'herberts' about to enjoy their offsprings miniature boating amid lovers taking turns in rowing each other, until one day rowing and audibly rowing with each other, this along with the welcome return of the 'RAF formation' birds from foreign climbs, crash landing with their splayed and embarrasing webbed landing gear.
Highly amused, I'd ventured on, deciding to consume my sandwiches 'on the hoof', as it were, in the hope of finding a vacancy whereupon, I might retrieve my thermos of hot tea from my newly acquired napsack.., thank you, Mother dear.
Anyone familiar with the locale, would appreciate the ancient trees about the lake and, moreover the southern gathering of Silver Birch, Beech, the weeping kind and of course, the majestic Chestnut., the sweet sort.
It was a pace before the latter, that I noted the traveller ahead by some 20 yards.
A somewhat short and middle aged gent, as one might gather from behind and at a distance, was making pains to whip at his forehead with a kerchief.
He seemed of no particular form, owing to the precautionary London fog coat and unduly perspiring, as should have not been the case in this favourable Spring after-noon.
He'd taken spectacles, I'd supposed from his inner jacket kerchief pocket, ergo to espy the aforesaid avian landings and inadvertantly displaced a white flower.., instantly it came to me.., an anemone, attached to a green bell sprig. I held her in my hands as I broke into an half canter..
'Hey.., you there..,' I chanced a cry, but the gent with the cumbersome coat was no where to be seen once I'd retrieved the flower. the anemone and it's promise of warmth and better things to come.
It was just then that I felt a tug at my elbow. I turned to find a bearded man of no more than 5 feet in height.
'Pardon me,' he opened, 'but is that an anemone you have there?'
His smile invited a reply, 'it is indeed, Sir, but the owner..'
I could not continue as, with some gusto he thrust a small attache into my arms.
'There', he uttered conspiratorially, 'the game is done and I am through'.
With this curious utterance, he made off, presumably to find the nearest exit to re-enter the humdrum of London.
At the moment of my focusing on his fast diminishing heels, two things occured within the same instant.
A very low flying plane, we'll omit it's actual name, spat fire as it roared over the heads of myself and the much exhausted policeman at my side, several ladies of imporbable repute attempeted a feign of fainting for their, 'loosely attached escorts'. The things the human condition might do regarding Lord and Lady Avarice are beyond compare.
'I think sir,' he puffed, 'that I shall need to take possession of the luggage you have there...., !..., Sir?'.
With a motion, he'd taken his prize, handed it to another, equally grubby and official in the completely wrong sense and made to leave with as showful a bow as I had ever seen in any other public servant.
I was about to continue to any bench for my lunchtime sojourn and ponder the peculiar episode when the constable turned back to me.
'I shouldn't be pausing in the West of the park ''nye-ver''', if ya' wouldn't, Mr Philby' .
I was not perplexed, rather completely dispoised of function, if you would and it was with a curious leaden heart of forboding that I took my temporary residence upon the nearest vacant knoll.
London's pigeons were elated as I cast my bread upon their waters.., the thought of consuming any morsel of my lunch now, quite repellant.
A little knowledge can be a very dangerous thing, as I became aware.., e'en somewhat concerned for my Oxford cottage and heritage, sublime.., as I later remarked to a female friend of mine;
'Well, you would think that.., wouldn't you'. the dear had replied, pre-court.
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