The man and his companion squeezed carefully around the large dilapidated but freshly painted farmyard-style gate into the pretty flower-bordered area beyond.

"This is the playground," he said, proudly, sweeping an arm expansively around them. "It's not very big, but this is where we all play. We aren't allowed indoors at playtime unless it's really raining hard," he added solemnly. "The boys play cowboys and indians and the girls jump around with their skipping ropes. They tuck their dresses into their bloomers," he added, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Reverting to childhood, his speech and actions became increasingly animated as he described, with obvious glee, the pupils' various leisure activities. "In the winter we make long icy slides right across the playground; we throw snowballs and everyone gets wet," he said michieviously.
"That field over there is where we play in the summer and we go pond-dipping on Wednesdays; we catch tadpoles and sticklebacks and my friend Angela fell in the mud one day. She said I pushed her but I told the teacher, it wasn't me."

His companion, a young lady, sadly directed her gaze into the distant field, immediately seeing, as if through his eyes, the children gambolling as lambs, skipping and running happily around shrieking and laughing, playing their various games, and some of the girls picking wild flowers and making daisy-chains.
Turning her attention back to study the small building, she silently read the words highlighted in ornate coloured glass above the door: 'Established 1905', smiled benignly down on them, appearing to twinkle in the morning's bright sunlight. The front of the building, a well balanced gothic style, appeared to smile at them with the big red front double-door in the porch bracketed by a smaller, similarly designed 'eye' window, on each side.

"We're not allowed to go in the front door," said the boy in a serious tone as he took her hand and led her across the front of the building. "We have to go round the side."

Towards the rear of the single storied building there appeared evidence of more recent additions to the original early twentieth-century construction.

"The girls toilet is indoors but the boys have to go outside," he said with obvious distaste. "There's no roof and in the winter we get icicles everywhere; really everywhere!" The mischievous glint was still in his eyes. "Let's go in."

It was obvious by his haste that he really wanted to show her where he happily spent most of his time. Once again, like the front of the building, the walls of the high cavernous rooms were embedded with high-gothic style windows that appeared to gaze unblinkingly down as they had done for over one hundred years.

"We eat our dinner in here. We have boiled-beef two times a week and we have fish on Fridays," he announced. "Oh, yes, and I'm the milk monitor. We get one bottle everyday." Once more he grew increasingly excited as he described his responsibilities, his descriptions so vivid that his companion could smell the fish and the boiled beef and hear the laughing, chattering voices of the children and the familiar rattle of the glass bottles in their milk crates.
"That used to be my classroom," the boy remarked dolefully pointing into a darkened room to their left. "I liked it there."

The girl did not seem surprised at his sudden apparent muddling of time.

"If you stand on the desk in there and look out of the window," he continued, "you can see All Saints Church. That's the church Angela and I got married in." And then, sadly pointing up at another window: "Angela is buried in the churchyard there. I didn't push her in the pond, honestly. You do believe me, don't you?" he entreated earnestly.

The aged framed photographs, very prevalent, hanging around the corridors, showed the care-home as it was in the early 1900s, the local Church of England primary school - and, true to Martin's memories, very little had changed! With tears misting her eyes, the nurse guided him into a brightly decorated, single- bedded room further along the corridor.

"Well, Martin, this is your room, and we hope that we can take care of you as well as Angela did." She knew that this building, with its many real and happy memories, would provide Martin with a fit and comfortable end, as in his mind, he played with his friends of days gone-by.

[THE END]

© scrapyardsummer 2020