by Richard Tearle
*
THE MAN WHO FEEDS THE
SWANS
(Photo
by The Author)
Exercise
is what the doctors recommended. My leg was fresh out of plaster, though still heavily bandaged. Still very weak. My ankle could barely
take the weight and both my calf and thigh muscles had wasted
considerably. I was in physio still, determined to get back to normal
life.
'What
sort of exercise?' I had asked.
The
physio merely shrugged. 'Simply walking. Try and improvise some of
the exercises we put you through here.' She smiled. 'It's going to
take a long time, I'm afraid. You mustn't rush things. But anything
you can do may well reduce the time it takes.'
'Don't
run before you can walk,' I mused.
'Precisely.'
I
struggled out of the hospital. I hadn't really got used to crutches
as I often felt that I was losing my balance. It would be taxis and
begged lifts for a while yet.
But
if I could make some progress, throw away the crutches and use a
stick for a while. I would aim for that.
'She's
right, you know.' Louise. My wife. My rock. Home from work.
'I
know.' I sighed deeply. 'Listen, Lou, I know I've been a right pain
lately and I'm sorry. Really.' Confession is good for the soul.
She
put her hand against my cheek and kissed my forehead. 'Sshhh! No
worse than I would be in your place.'
I
kissed the back of her hand. 'No playing football yet, though', she
said with mock severity. 'Baby steps will get there quicker.' It was
a phrase she had used early in our courtship. And I had stopped
playing football years ago. She rose from the arm of the chair where
she'd been sitting. 'Hungry?'
Silly
question.
I
worked hard throughout the winter and into the early spring. The
hospital discharged me and I continued their exercises. But walking
was still a problem. Further X-Rays had not shown anything untoward.
Nothing that should cause the pain I was still feeling. Just give
it time, they had said. I could walk but not without pain or
crutches and not very far or for too long.
'You
need a goal,' Lou said one Saturday evening.
'I've
got one,' I grumbled back. 'I want to bloody walk!'
She
frowned, small creases across her forehead. 'A change of scenery,'
perhaps? Look, if the weather behaves tomorrow, why don't we drive
down to the lake?'
'Yes.
Nice. Why?'
'I
have an idea,' she replied, begging the question, What is it?
'What
is it' I obliged.
'Well,
I reckon that lake is about a mile all the way around. Plenty of
benches to rest on. With summer coming on, you could try having a
start point and making it to the next bench and back again. Then,
when you are comfortable, two benches and so on. You can have
yourself a coffee in the cafe. I can take you there on my way to work
and you can call for a taxi to bring you back. How does that sound?'
Actually,
it sounded very good and I told her so.
'And,'
she continued with a wicked smile, 'when you can make it all the way
round with me to witness it, well … remember Kidderminster?'
I
threw my head back, grinning from ear to ear. Kidderminster! One of
her works' conferences. Bring a partner, they'd said. Okay,
Kidderminster may not have been Brighton or Harrogate, but it did
give us three free nights in a four Star hotel …
The
plan worked well. By the time August bowed to September, I was almost
half way round. I wouldn't achieve my goal this year and it would be delayed even further if winter was as cruel to us as summer had
been kind.
I
made it to the bench, those additional fifty yards or so taking
their toll on my throbbing ankle and protesting muscles. But I was
ecstatic: technically I had actually achieved my goal. But rules were
rules, Louise had insisted. It had to be a complete circuit, not
halfway there and halfway back. She was making me work for my Gold
Medal.
The
sun shone on my glistening forehead. I wiped the effort induced sweat
away. In truth, this was my favourite spot on the lake. Almost
secluded, there was a small beach where the gentle waters lapped.
Alright, it wasn't a proper beach like Great Yarmouth or Blackpool,
just a semi-circle of light coloured earth that only turned to mud
when rain came.
A
small clump of trees hid much of the far side of the lake. Swans
congregated here, far away from their fellows who preferred the other
end where a small platform jutted into the water whereon visitors
could venture and throw their small morsels out to be gobble
gleefully by the nearest bird life. Being midday on a Wednesday,
there weren't too many people around: there would be less when the
kids went back to school.
And
that is where I met the man who feeds the swans.
(Photo
by The Author)
I
first spied him emerging from the trees, unhurriedly strolling along
that stretch of beach. He had a supermarket carrier bag in one hand
and it neither looked full nor heavy.
Despite
the warmth of the day, he was dressed in an old green anorak that had
seen better days, faded blue jeans, black, scuffed trainers and a
baggy old cap. I glanced up at the skies; perhaps he was expecting
rain, but the skies were pretty much cloudless.
A
flurry of white wings and a dozen or so swans moved menacingly and
purposefully towards him. I thought he would retreat. Instead he
stopped and dropped the carrier onto the hard earth. When they
reached him, they stopped, stamping their webbed feet. I could almost
see him smile as he bent down and dipped his hands into the bag.
Whatever was in there he scattered carefully amongst the honking
flock. Mesmerised I watched as he repeated the operation time after
time until the bag was virtually empty, ensuring that no particular
group was left out and that no greedy swans were getting more than
their fair share. Then he turned the carrier upside down and shook
out whatever remained. Turned and made his way up towards the
pathway. Spied me sitting on the bench and changed direction very
slightly.
'Mind
if I join you?' he asked, sitting down before I could reply.
'Not
at all,' I agreed. 'Do you do this often?'
'Everyday'
From his pocket he extracted a small pouch, filled his pipe, tamped
the tobacco down and lit it with a match. Puffing constantly until he
was satisfied. 'Same time. They expect me now. Beautiful creatures,
they are.'
I
couldn't help but agree. 'Must cost you a fortune in bread,' I
remarked.
He
looked at me. Took the pipe from his mouth. 'Bread? No, not bread.'
'Oh?'
I always thought – what then?'
'Swans
is herbivores,' he explained. Though sometimes they'll take small
life from the water. Vegetables is what they likes.'
'Vegetables?
What? Potatoes? Peas? Carrots?'
He
glanced at me to see if I was taking the mickey. I wasn't. 'Exactly
that. Shredded lettuce. 'Course you has to chop it fine like. Small
enough that they can swallow. Spuds, carrots. Peas. Whole and not
frozen.' He grinned. 'And tubers.. Swans loves tubers.'
'I
never knew that. But I thought you weren't meant to get too close to
them. They came right up to you!'
'Oh,
they knows me now and they knows what I's got for 'em. Mind you, they
can be nasty if you upsets 'em. Take that big bugger there - ' he
pointed towards one of the larger swans ' - he can be vicious if'n he
wants t'be. But normally they'll only attack if they perceives a
threat to them or their nests. One o' them wings can break your leg,
you know.' and he winked in a mischievous but almost endearing way.
'Point
taken,' I grinned back.
'Did
you know swans were monogamous?' he asked suddenly.
I
had some mental images of marriage ceremonies, black collared swans
conducting the proceedings. It was unworthy of me. 'No,' I replied
simply.
'Keep
to one mate through their whole lives,' he said. 'Mind you, there are
exceptions. If one dies, for instance, the other may find another
mate. Or one may leave if there's been a problem with the clutch. But
mostly they sticks together.'
'Through
thick and thin.'
'Exactly.'
We
talked for close on half an hour before he got up and took his leave.
'See
you tomorrow?' I asked.
'I'll
be here. Same time. Everyday, rain or shine. They're very unforgiving
if I misses even a day.'
The
fine weather continue throughout September and into October. I
couldn't get there everyday, though if I knew in advance, I let him
know. At weekends Louise came with me and the three of us would sit
on that bench, chatting away like long lost friends. Sometimes Louise
would bring a small bag of 'Swan's Goodies' as she called them and
when he saw us she'd hold it up and he'd come to us first, inspect
the contents, give his nod of approval and invited her down to feed
them herself.
'I
grows me own, y'know?' he told us one time.
'Now
there's an idea,' Lou enthused. 'We should do that!'
I
scoffed at first, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it
made. We had a large spot at the end of the garden which badly needed
clearing but would make an ideal vegetable patch. Of course I
couldn't do the preparation yet, but a decent gardener could probably
do the job for us quite quickly.
My
leg was considerably improved. The crutches were gone, replaced by a
fine walking stick. I would probably need it for the rest of my life.
One cold October Sunday, after our regular meeting, I had completed
the circuit with Louise beside me and the memory of Kidderinster became
a reality again.
And
one day, the man who feeds the swans was not there. It might have
been the weather, for rain had turned to sleet and then to snow. The
following day was much the same, but again he was missing. The swans
still waited for him and after a week of no show, one waddled up to
me, an enquiring look in his eye. But I had nothing with me.
I
talked to Lou about the situation that evening and she confirmed that
she had enough scraps and so forth to make up a reasonable amount.
I
feared the worst, I told her and she agreed that things seemed grim.
It
saddened me greatly, but I knew now what I had to do.
Enjoyed this story?
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2 previous comments:
-
Cazo283 August 2020 at 08:12That was delightful. Having had a broken leg myself, you have explained the frustrations perfectly. It did bring a tear to my eye at the end though. Very moving, very well written and thoroughly enjoyable. Thank you Richard x
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Richard Tearle3 August 2020 at 09:07Thank you so much Caz, I really enjoyed writing this one.
