The Last Days of Albert

Chapter One

Snow fell in soft flurries on the roads and gardens of Middon Drive. The rows of

twenties terrace houses stood side by side like soldiers saluting the low orange

winter sun. In the windows of each grand green spruce trees displayed all of their

finery. Lights twinkled and wreaths heavy with poinsettia and tinsel hung on every

door ready to welcome visitors in from afar. The smell of spiced mulled wine and

cinnamon muffins filled the air. Families gathering together to open gifts and sing

songs of Christmas cheer.

The street glowed like the dying embers of a long burning fire. A small patch of

darkness punctuated the festive lights. Half way down and on the right was number

forty eight. Sunken in to the shadow of the glare and almost hidden from view. A

shell of its former self. A black cat sat washing its paw perched atop a rusty metal

bin by the front door. In the weed ridden driveway an old nineteen forty eight Ford

Prefect stood. The car had seen better days and could recall many tales from its

vibrant past and a life lived long ago.


The dark green door of number forty eight opened. Slowly. Cautiously. A short,

skinny, old man shuffled out and down the steps. The cat bolted from the bin and

sought safety under the car. The carcus of a dead blackbird lay under the front right

wheel. A treat for the cat who picked it up and

started plucking the feathers from the birds small, cold body.

The man stood and stared at the cat. He muttered to himself in a vexed tone.

'Bloody cat.' The mans hair flew wildly about his ears. So strong was the icy winter

wind that his old tweed flat cap waltzed off down the driveway before he was able

to catch it. The door shut behind him with a heavy clunk and the man set off down

the barren street adjusting his coat and scarf whilst steadying himself on his walking

cane. The snowy, icy roads were becoming hazardous.


Rosie sat watching the dancing snowflakes from the bay window. She imagined

dancing in her white tutu in just the same way as the flakes that tumbled from the

stormy clouds to the earth. A short, lean shape appeared making its way

through the storm. Rosie's attention shifted from the winter ballet in the sky to the

lonely figure cutting its way through the night. Frail, slow and with the world on its

shoulders. Rosie's heart panged with sadness for the figure. Her eyes full with tears

for the loneliness she felt. Why she felt this for a stranger, she didn't know.


The man shuffled on looking up to the house for a brief second before becoming

wrapped up him his tiresome thoughts once more. The light of the golden three was

shining behind her. She looked like an angel in the cold unforgiving winters night.


Memories of his daughter Polly came racing back into his mind from the vault he

had tightly locked all of those years ago. Christmas night spent lighting candles and

decorating the tree in the lounge of the now lifeless terrace house at number forty

eight. The memories lingered in his head of a Christmas past. His wife Alice was

trimming the tree and her delicate hands wrapped presents in brown paper and red

ribbon. A glass of whisky in his hand and a cigar in the other. Bliss. The cat slept

peacefully curled up beside the fire, whilst, mince pies baked in the oven.


The man smiled to himself. A sudden gust of stabbing icy wind awoke him from his

nostalgia and brought him back to the bleak world of modern day reality. Cold and

Alone. The shopping centre slow came into view. The glow of the shop lights

beckoned the man to warmth and company if only for a moment. The fish and chip

shop was offering a special Christmas eve deal. 'Half price cod and chips for all of our

loyal customers. Merry Christmas.' read the sign in the window. The man could

almost taste the succulent fish and tangy vinegar on the chips. He pushed open the

door letting the heat and delicious smells surround him. 'Hello Albert. My old mate.

Your usual today is it?' asked the unusually friendly man on the counter. 'I'm not

your mate and yes. Cod and Chips.' grumbled Albert with a more humbug tone than

festive cheer.


Grasping the plastic bag tightly in one hand and leaning on his cane with the other

hand Albert fought his way back along the bleak, dark street to number forty eight.

One plate, one knife, one fork and one place set at the table in the kitchen. Albert

sat and opened the steaming hot packet of salty fish and chips and poured himself a

small tot of his favourite whiskey. He raised his glass in the direction of the kitchen

shelf on which sat a sepia photo of a beautiful young woman wearing a floral blouse

with her hair in marcel waves. She was beautiful.


'Merry Christmas Alice. I miss you darling.' a small tear trickled down his cheek.

'Until the day we meet again. In the paradise of heaven. I love you.' Sniffing back the

tears Albert drank his whiskey. He knew Alice was still with him even if she wasn't

there in person.


Chapter Two

Rosie woke early. The snow was still falling out side her window. The stocking she had

placed at the end of her bed had been filled with all manner of goodies and treats by Santa.

Rosie knew only too well that it was her parents and not the jolly old man in a big red suit

who had left the presents there. She may only be seven years old but Rosie was old beyond

her years and smart too. She knew that Christmas morning was a time of cheer and

merriment but she couldn't shift the nagging thought that lingered at the back of her mind

telling her not everyone was as fortunate to wake up on Christmas morning in a house full

of love and presents.

Albert woke early. His back was sore from a life time of carrying a bag full of mail around the

streets of the capital. When he was a younger gent Albert worked for the postage company

delivering letters, parcels and even sometimes telegrams from the army or navy to the

people of the capital city. The pain always flared up at this time of year especially if it had

been snowing. Old bones let in more cold. The space in the bed next to him was still empty.

It had been empty for the past twenty years since his wife Alice died from complications

during a bout of pneumonia. Her side of the room was kept exactly as it was the day she

died. Her pearl necklace and earring set lay in the porcelain dish next to the first bottle of

perfume Albert had bought for her on their first date. Her wedding

dress hung on the outside of the large antique Oakwood wardrobe. Albert couldn't bring

himself to touch it. The resident moths did though. A spray of holes had appeared along

the hemline of the dress. Tell tale signs of a moth infestation.

Over breakfast Rosie hardly touched her toast. Her mum Georgina was worried. Her little

girl usually loved tucking into her special star shaped toast covered in strawberry jam at

Christmas time. Today something was different. Georgina looked at her daughter and saw

her face full of concentration, sadness. Rosie, with her eyes full of tears, turned to her mum

and spoke. 'Mummy. Why are there lonely people at Christmas?' her voice cracking ever so

slightly as the words poured out. 'Oh sweet heart.' Georgina said hugging her precious

daughter. 'What ever has brought this on?' Rosie stood from her seat, gently grabbed her

mothers hand and ran to the living room not even giving the pile of presents under the tree

a second glance. She pulled back the curtains to reveal a pristine wintery wonderland.

Rosie pointed to the dark shadow on the opposite side of the street between numbers forty

six and fifty. Georgina put protective arm around her daughters shoulders as Rosie began to

explain.

Albert flicked the kettle on and popped a teabag in to the brown earthenware teapot. It had

been a wedding present from Alice's parents and had lasted longer than the marriage itself.

It had survived bombings during the blitz in the second world war, one overly playful dog

named Oscar and several marital tiffs during its eighty years. Music crackled on the old

wireless and the sound of a swing band filled the kitchen. Albert's foot began to tap to

the rhythm of the music. Albert closed his eyes. The dance hall glittered and sparkled just

like it had on the night Albert met Alice. The band on the stage was playing the biggest hits

of the day and the guys and gals were dancing, laughing and living life to the full in a most

uncertain time. Alice stood looking out into the sea of faces. Hopefully and expectantly. This

was her first dance. She had borrowed her sisters red velvet tea dress and black peep toe

heels for the occasion. The dance was everything she had expected and more. Their eyes

met across the dance floor and it felt, to them at least, as though the crowd of dancers had

parted. Just for them. An instant connection.

Albert walked confidently up to Alice his hand out stretched and

requested the pleasure of her company for the next dance. Alice, delighted, took his hand

and joined him on the dancefloor. Everyone else, every worry, trouble and stress in the

world melted away around the pair and they waltzed and laughed together. They both knew

they had found the one in each other. Albert leaned towards Alice for a kiss. She was gone.

The kettle screeched. The clock ticking on the wall above the cooker. Albert picked up the

kettle and poured the liquid into the teapot. He buttered his toast and sat down with his

tea.


Chapter 3

The turkey was cooking in its own juices whilst parsnips baked golden brown in the oven.

Gravy bubbled and the thick white icing a top the Christmas cake resembled a

crisp layer of snow freshly fallen from the marble grey sky. Rosie held the envelope tightly in

her hand. She wanted everyone to be happy at Christmas time especially those who had no-

one. 'Come on sweetheart. Lets go and post your letter.' Georgina said as she buttoned her

coat and placed her golden curls into her hat. Rosie looked from the letter then to her mum.

'Everyone needs friends. Especially at Christmas.' Rosie unlocked the door and stepped out

into the still, snowy morning. The sun shone with all of its might but still it was too weak to

melt away the winter wonderland.

The house was, as always, lifeless and small. The cat watched from the hood of the car as

Rosie pushed open the black iron garden gate and made footprints in the snow. She pushed

the letter box with one of her red mittens and slid her letter through the door. 'Merry

Christmas.' She whispered looking through the gold letter box.


Albert combed his hair into the usual style he had worn since the nineteen thirties.

Looking in the mirror he could hardly believe the old man staring back was him. How could

all of those joyous years have past him by in a heartbeat. In his mind Alice was still with him.

Her soft warm skin and smile imprinted in his mind for all eternity. She really was the most

beautiful, kind woman he had met. He remembered the night they went to the cinema

to see the latest Picture and sneaked out the back of the theatre half way

through to stroll along the banks of the Thames before sharing a romantic kiss under

the inky black starry sky. Memory fizzled into reality. Albert was back in the

bedroom looking at his aging reflection. He put on his tie, fastened his top button and

slipped on his smart blue jacket.


Chapter Four

The table was set with festive cheer. A red table cloth and gold table runner helped set the

scene. Gold rimmed wine glasses stood at the corner of each placemat and green

napkins were rolled and tied with red tinsel. The four candles that ran down the centre of

the table shone brightly. In the kitchen the turkey was resting while the sprouts boiled

gently. Pigs were wrapped up warm in their blankets and the wine mulled gently

with cinnamon spice. It was a real sight to behold.

The snow continued to fall softly outside the window as Rosie helped her mum sprinkle

icing over freshly baked sweet mince pies. A ring of the door bell alerted the family to the

arrival of a visitor. Rosie's face lit up in anticipation. Could her letter really have

worked? Had her little act of kindness been heeded by its recipient?

Georgina graciously opened the door to find a rather cold and bedraggled Albert standing

shivering on the door step wrapped in an oversized, moth eaten, tweed coat. He wore an

expression of utmost displeasure. In his cold, purple hand he held Rosie's letter demanding

an explanation. Rosie pushed past her mum. Her face beamed with delight. Her letter had

indeed been received by Albert but it hadn't had the reception she had been hoping for.

'I don't need charity. Not from you, not from anyone.' Albert said in a stern but shaky voice.

The spark in Rosie's eyes slowly faded along with her wide smile only to be replaced by

stinging, salty tears. Anger rose in Georgina.

'Rosie didn't mean any harm. She only wanted to make your Christmas brighter.' Georgina

replied calmly trying to fight her anger toward the miserable man.

'Ha, Christmas. Nothing but trouble. I say humbug to it.' Albert spluttered. Rosie felt there

was still an element of hope surrounding Albert. She knew something was troubling him.

Rosie, without haste, took hold of Albert's cold hand bringing it to her cheek.

'Christmas in your past was troublesome wasn't it Mr Albert.?' Rosie enquired. She could

see the anger in Albert's face melting away as he greeted unwashed memories of one

particular Christmas long ago when everything changed.

The small French village Albert was stationed in during the second world war was wrapped

in a freshly fallen layer of snow which glistened in the beautiful afternoon sunshine. Red

breasted Robins pecked their way through thick prickly holly bushes collecting the ripe red

fruit to help them survive the long, dark winter months.

Albert and his fellow soldiers had found refuge in the houses of the village. Some of the

villagers had taken pity on them and had made soup and bread to keep them warm. After

weeks of living on rations the soup was met with huge thanks from the soldiers. The captain

had saved a bottle of whiskey for just such an occasion as this. He felt his regiment needed a

boost in morale. It was Christmas Eve after all. The solders were miles away from their

families and in the midst of a cruel and unforgiving war. Each soldier was given a small but

most welcomed tot of the golden liquid. The best Christmas present in those tough times.

The locals entertained the troops with carols and festive songs with the soldiers. Albert had

caught the eye of a pretty French girl called Sabine.

For a brief moment on that cold December night the pair gave in to exotic forbidden

passion. He felt the sweet softness of her skin as he caressed her with kisses. His touch took

away the harsh thoughts of the war and the damage that came with it. They held each other

afterwards until sunrise of the fields and the birds began their morning call.


Chapter Five

Albert sat at the table with Rosie, Georgina whilst Mark carved the succulent Turkey at the

head of the table. Carols played softly in the background and Rosie produced a small brown

package from under the table. 'Merry Christmas Mr Albert.' Rosie said with a smile as she

handed him the gift. This was the nicest thing anyone had done for him in a very long time

although he felt he didn't deserve it. Albert took the package and began to open it. The

paper fell away to reveal a book full of Christmas Poems. Albert

studied the perfectly made leather bound cover. The title was embossed in gold.

'Daddy is a curator at the local library and he collects rare books. We thought you might

like this one.' Rosie said joyfully.

'You shouldn't go giving away rare books to strangers.' Albert replied on the edge of tears.

'But Mr Albert. Everyone deserves to receive something at Christmas. Even you.' Rosie

beamed up at him. Albert felt a twinge deep down inside his chest. He raised his hand to his

heart as his tears began to fall. Rosie helped Albert back on to his seat and gave him a

glass of water. Albert caught his breath and whispered.

'Thank you young Rosie.' He smiled weakly and sipped at his glass. High up on the fire place

in an ebony black frame was a sepia photograph of a young lady. Albert adjusted his glasses

as he rose to his feet to get closer to the fire place. He studied the photograph. Murky

memories seeped through his mind in fractured pieces. He almost thought he knew the

lady staring back at him. Memory evoked scents of Rose and cinnamon. A warm hug. Kind Eyes.


Memories of a village. Dancing in the cold winters moon light. Eating freshly baked bread.

Feeling a sense of love in the middle of a very violent and deadly war. A face suddenly

appeared as bright and as clear as the day he met her all those years ago.

'Mildred.' Albert whispered to himself. Rosie held Albert's hand and squeezed. What had

Albert seen? Why was the old photograph making him cry?

'Mr Albert. What is it?' Rosie asked him. Concerned he wasn't having a good Christmas after

all. Albert sniffed back his tears and smiled down at the little girl. He took her hand and

squeezed it.

'Life is precious Rosie. Sometimes you do things because you fear life may not last the week

but time has a subtle way of telling a person that they did the wrong thing.' Albert spoke in

friendly manner. Very different to the harsh tone he had met the family with when

he first arrived at the house. Georgina and Mark shot confused looks at each other. Their

daughter was absorbing every word the old man was telling her. Rosie really did bring out

the best kept secrets in everyone she met. She had a magic all of her own.

'I remember the Christmas of nineteen forty two.' Albert began reminiscing. By the fire

place a little girl not much older than Rosie sat playing with a dolls house. She was dressed

in a blue taffeta dress with black Mary Jane pumps. Her hair was curled and tied back with a

blue ribbon in a neat bow. Albert could clearly hear a smooth voice singing on the

wireless. Polly had been so excited in anticipation of receipt of the dolls house. The little

girls face lit up when she had carefully unwrapped the red paper from the box. Albert spent

many months in the run up to Christmas sawing, gluing and building the late Victorian style

dolls house. Alice hugged Albert tightly. She was so proud of the man she called her

husband. He had put his heart and soul into making this very special gift for their daughter.

The smile on Polly's face was the best gift of all for Albert. This happy moment soured instantly.

The memory of Sabine knocking on the door came flooding back to him. She stood on the

door step cloaked in black and carrying a small but perfectly formed bump. Albert gave her

a few stern words and sent her off out into the cold dark street never, he hoped, to been

seen again.


Chapter Six

Pain rippled across Albert's chest. He clutched at his chest as he leaned himself against the

kitchen table in his cold and empty house. He knew this was the last night he would spend

in this house. It would also be the last night he was to spend in this world. He decided if it

was the last thing he would do before he took his dying breathe he had to write a letter. An

apology perhaps. A thank you perhaps. A letter any how.

The pen scratched across the paper in short stubby motions as Albert attempted to clear

the memories from his mind and onto the paper.

My dear friends,
I thank you for the most wonderful meal and company anyone could ever ask for.

I don't have much time left on this earth and to spend it in the nicest of company with you all was marvellous. I felt young again if only for a moment.

I must confess i have not been truly honest tonight. The young woman I spoke about was Sabine. Perhaps you know her. I imagine you do as her picture sits atop your fireplace. She came to visit one Christmas in 1942 and was in the family way. She was cold and alone with no one to turn to but the only person she thought might help. I was a coward and turned away from my responsibility I Sent her back out into the cold carrying our unborn child. Your mother. Georgina I am so desperately sorry.

You have made an old man smile when he thought it was impossible to do so again.

My life is almost over. All I ask is that you make every moment of yours count. Life is precious. Do not waste it.

And now I must bid you farewell.
Your friend,
Albert
* * *
Albert died alone on the evening of December 25th.