Iron bridge

The Iron Bridge

After his long walk through the meadows of Midford he arrives at her
public door, stops awhile to shake off the dirt acquired on his boot.
The bell on the door sounded his memory round to ill-fated nights at
Cambridge Circus pubs; nights spent in spew stained arms, nights patchy
between flights of medicated haze. As he moved in on the warmth of the
place, he held her close in view as there she stood, ever bright beside
the security of the steaming water pipe. "Ted, it's you! A sight for
sore eyes, come on in luv"
"Damn!", thought Ted distracted for a moment by a small boy on a bike
chasing by the caf? door, which was closing behind him. She didn't
require any answer to affirm her place, she would just go right on
talking. This was Sylvia, owner of the 'Fulbright' cafe and a village
peach, adept at serving and selling you her fancies in thought, and
forever waiting to serve. Now was her chance and she took it fully by
the throat. "?been out walking again have we Ted, long time no see,
caught anything special. I was only just telling our Fred 'bout that
time you caught the school bully pressing his face against my lazy
susan?muffins will it be today, freshly toasted luv with only the best
curd?"
A small explosion in Ted's head made him think of the carrier
bags...out of the cafe he rushed, over the stone slabs of the lane. The
small boy on the bike was there still, hanging around, circling like
homing pigeons. "That Ted, Sylvia chuckled, he's such a cuckoo,
probably forgot something like before...he'll be back shortly, mark my
words." She hurried about her business, tipping various lids on the
pots, stirring some omen for the villagers. The friability of her
pastries was renowned in these parts, so too her perfumed hair,
frequently photographed for country style.
Not many people in today thought Nicky, staring out of the cafe window
up towards the moors in search of something wild to get her lookout
mind into. Her eye settled on the brass of the door knocker at the
vicarage opposite. This must be like talking to myself she thought so
actualised it in speech to Sylvia, who was now reprimanding Fred
determinedly trying to squeeze his finger into his ear.
Sylvia nodded a "yes luv!" back at Nicky, now reassured that doing time
in the caf? was not her own lonely torture. She looked back out into
the lane, where the boy now off his bike sat at the curbside prodded
the grid with a lolly-pop stick. She could just catch the broad outline
of Ted still hurrying down towards the bridge in a desperate search for
something.
The day gleamed back at her like a passing stranger; she was almost
taken in by the artificial air hanging in front of his face. It may
have been the drug of novelty that hit her or an effect of morning
spring light. Whatever it was it unnerved him in the moments before he
spoke. He ran a finger across his eye brow and cleared his
throat..."Here at he centre of the web, at the crossroads, you
published your poem about Caryatids." Nicky had found her depth and
penned it quickly to the napkin.
Ted was searching the bridge now, two carrier bags put down in some mad
pooh-sticks abandon. Lost, placed, location uncertain he stumbled over
slabs to find them. Nicky tracked his quest; waited breathily emptying
room into her cup, filled again from the pot and again emptied tea
within tea. He had them now and was walking back.
"He's on his way back" she informed Sylvia, who was stealing a glance
into the mirror and deftly arranging her hair.

He was whistling as he strode:
I was that boy on that bike that I placed on the lane slabs outside
your public window.
Ten paces of new life,
Birds circling above this village site,
Pages laid out before me
Shocking with joy, thrown dirt
Layered on agony
Sinking into one familiar scene of a man with two bags arching on the
side of a landscape.

Mum, mum it's Ted back again, an' he do look funny carrying them heavy
bags.
"What?" A haze of memory and a shortened fuse nicked the spoon from
under her leaden thoughts.
"Go in the back and get me a another bottle of brown sauce, there's a
luv"

Ted did in fact return and in those two carrier bags were the meshings
of two distinct influences on this day's life. The one and the other
about to be spilled on a cafe's plastic chequered cloth.

"What could they be!" was the over-egged puddin' thought of Fred's as
he went into the back kitchen.

All the caf? were agape now, waiting for Ted to speak.
"Is anyone going to get me a drink, I'm parched?"

Silvia drew a breath and laughed creamily, "thought we'd lost you there
Ted, so good to see you back. Tea is it?"
"Two sugars, ta!"
"I'll stick you a couple of muffins in too."
"What's in the bags?" she quickly asked as he lowered them onto a
table, moving the condiments aside. He then sunk into a chair took off
his cap and smiled openly with a hint of cheeky triumph spreading over
his brown eyes.
"Would'nt thee like to know."

This fish tank light spun magical spirals of colour onto Sylvia's
rustling pinafore as she breezed seductively over with Ted's tea,
delivering it to him with a casual hand and the charm of
suspense.

"So! What do you have in store for us? Have you been poaching again?
Smells a little funny. Spill the beans, there's a dear."

After a swift draft of the cupped comfort and a complimentary sigh he
replied "Can I empty them onto this here table then, then I'll show
thee what I've found"

Nicky was shuffling her feet for attention under the window table,
somewhat disturbed by the boy who had lifted himself from the gutter
and was pressing his nose against the glass, also intrigued by the
detail of Ted's business here.

The first bag poured down clunky onto the table, the caf? gape unabated
as iron pipes, taps, bolts, sundry other parts spread forth before them
in various shapes and states of rust contrasting utterly with the royal
blue check of a wiped table cloth.

What weird and wonderful bounty was this thought Fred back from the
back now, his parallel dimension, clutching a tomato shaped ketchup
bottle.

Ted, are you 2 shillings short of a quid or somewhat. What
the...dickens are you wanted this old junk for."

"This aint any old junk!" retorted Ted. "It's special parts from a
statue, that was once stood outside the old works up at Mill
Bank."

Nicky checks her napkin for the notes she had been taking previously
about the caryatids. It was all still there although the boy had now
left a shape of steam on the window pane and returned to his bike,
ready to flee the news home perhaps.

They was what seemed to be a brooding chasm of inspection and
contemplation before anyone next spoke.

"What kind of statue?" they all seemed to be asking of Ted.

"The Iron Man of course, Hughes I think his name was, some big cheese
from the North..in match making I think, dunno really"

"So what you plan to do with his parts then, put them back together or
what?" Slvia had cheek etched in this swiftly given lines.

"might do, might not. I aint rightly thought about it yet. What do you
think young Fred?"

Fred was shocked to be questioned like this. He eventually, after a
nudge from mum spoke with in hesitant fits "I?think you should... Mr
Ted?put them back into an iron shape or something...I'd help..looks
like it could be a bike or a cart?but you'll be needing some wheels.
Can we mum?"

?pseudocarp 2001