An overheard remark.
It’s strange how an overheard remark can sometimes set memories in motion that you thought were done and dusted a long time ago.
Such a remark permeated my tired brain during the train journey home from a particularly long day at the office.
I must have been in that semi conscious state between awake and asleep that a warm carriage combined with the gentle hum of the train over the tracks often induces.
In the seats opposite me across the aisle were a couple of well dressed elderly ladies, who had, judging by the names on the bags, been on an expensive money no object shopping spree.
Although I wasn’t intentionally listening it became obvious from the odd snippet I overheard, that they had been involved in some altercation with a shop assistant in one of the large well known high street stores.
“I fully intend to write to the management and tell them how badly we were treated” said one lady in that tone of voice that suggested she was used to being treated with some deference.
“I have no idea what the world is coming to” said her companion, lifting her face skyward in that way that suggested she was somehow offended “they should bring back the good old days”.
That last remark about the so called ‘good old days’ was the one that hit home and started my train of thought.
Although my travelling companions were total strangers to me I had a sudden urge to get up and cross over to where they were sitting and tell them some home truths about what life was like in the so called ‘good old days’.
I wanted to tell them how difficult life had been for me, coming as I did from a large not to well off family.
To tell them how we lived from hand to mouth, week in week out, and our idea of new clothes meant hand me downs that an older sibling had no more use for.
I wanted to tell them about the simple treats we were often promised but never received, as any spare money was handed over the bar at the local pub, or over the counter at the bookies by the so called breadwinner, which more often than not bode non to well for the rest of us if things had gone badly at either venue.
I very much doubted they had ever trudged to school come rain or shine in leaky shoes, and on a good day carry a packed lunch that consisted of a couple of thinly spread jam sandwiches instead of the usual bread and margarine.
By now the two well to do ladies opposite had gone from my mind, as I was now consumed with memories from what I thought was a long forgotten past, and as I watched the countryside roll by my thoughts gradually turned to the life I had made for myself despite my shaky start.
I had a well paid job, a nice house, and a devoted wife and children to go home to ,but somehow the overheard remark had started to take on a new meaning.
Though the so called ’good old days’ for me had meant a rough upbringing, it had also given me the strength to stand on my own two feet and look life in the face, and above all never take anything for granted and give thanks for what you had.
I gave my wife and children an extra long hug when I arrived home that evening.

It was the first and only place that Janet and I made love.  It was wonderful, her soft, warm kisses and the incredible ecstasy as our bodies entwined were like nothing I had ever encountered before.  We met there many times, and I really believed my life was complete with her.  Like other young lovers before me, I carved our initials with my penknife, so that our love would last forever.  But that was not to be; beneath the tree she cried as she told me she’d met Rick, and had to choose between us.

Janet married Rick and they moved away with his work.  I heard that they’d had a child soon afterwards, but I never saw her again.  Despite that, I always loved her; there was to be no-one else for me.

I remained in Banford and, more than 20 years later, on most days I still walked the field where the tree had once stood.  It was long gone, brought down in a winter gale and sawn up for logs; a bench had been put in its place and I would sometimes sit and recall our times there.

One day I met a young couple there.  The girl seemed familiar, and that puzzled me, as I was sure that I didn’t know them.  She asked me if the old oak tree was around here, and I told her that she was in the exact place, but that it wasn’t here any more.  She looked troubled, then burst into tears and ran to their car, parked in the lane.  The lad followed, then came back to me.

“I’m sorry about that, what you told her gave her a shock, she’s repairing her make-up now”.

Unable to contain my curiosity, I asked why.

“Her Mum used to meet her first boyfriend under the tree.  She died not long ago, and it was then that she told Jane that the guy was her natural father.  Jane says she’d never spoken of it before, because Rick had loved her and brought her up, believing she was his natural daughter, but he’d died in an accident when she was 18.  Jane’s biological father was her Mum’s first love, a guy named David Roberts. Her mum died from cancer a year ago and she wanted Jane to know.  Ever since, she’s wanted to see the place and the tree – and, just maybe, find out something about David.  You see, I’m all she’s got now and I’m just trying to help her through this”.

Suddenly I knew – knew why she was so familiar.  I hadn’t realised it in those few minutes before she ran off, but she was the image of my Janet.  I asked him her name, knowing what the answer would be.  He told me, then I told him mine.  He excused himself and ran to the car.  Minutes passed, then they both came back.  Jane ran to me and we embraced; George watched, all three of us in tears.

I took them home and showed them the piece of bark that I’d cut from the fallen tree and kept – a  roughly carved heart encircling the initials “DR x JB”

I’d believed that I had no children, but now I have Jane and George.  Years back, I’d wished I’d never laid eyes on Rick, who took my love away.  But now I am so grateful to him, for caring for Jane.  Jane and George were married six months ago, and I was privileged to give her away.

Next year their first baby will be here, and I shall have a grandchild.

HUNGARIAN REVOLUTION – 1956
Sixty years ago this month, overt rumblings of discontent began to appear in the cities of Hungary. Underground newspapers and newsletters began to be circulated more widely, which made the government even more alert to dissident activities. Of course the real action and killings started between the 4th November to the 31 December, which was well documented by the then eminent photographer, Erich Lessing and the world’s press. Soviet press was a different matter……

Although the killings were substantial in the capital, and the Prime Minister, Imre Nagy tried and hanged, the real number of sufferers were those who chose to escape. In fact 155,000 Hungarians tramped to the Austro-Hungarian border via an Austrian village called Andou. Thence to Vienna (Wien) to fly to Blackbushe airport, near Camberley in Surrey. The Hungarian Army removed the Iron Curtain twixt Hungary and Austria in May 1956.

Why am I telling you of this story? My girlfriend at the time was called Theresa whose father, Joseph Schrapf (1895-1971, and originally from Strasbourg) was an International Interpreter and spoke Hungarian. So we three went to Blackbushe in the evenings to welcome these refugees – me with cigarettes, and Theresa with sweets. Another Hungarian emigree from the Royal Aircraft Establishment and Schrapf worked very hard advising and calming shattered nerves. Convoys of army buses then took them off to temporary accommodation. One little child who came through (although we didn’t know it at the time) was Joe Bugner who later became a prominent boxer, now resident in Australia.

With 79,000 Hungarians in this country, perhaps it would a nice touch if you could put together a “Special” later in the year to commemorate those times. Lessing’s mono photographs are particularly powerful, and I am sure your specialists could interview many people involved, both in Hungary, Vienna and here in Blighty. Please don’t hesitate to contact me, I would be delighted if you want to talk through any points.

Yours faithfully
Dobra