The Forgetting Tide

By Mike Hoinville

Opening with a long tale whose threads are all unravelled yet gradually weave together again. Starting with a family tragedy that becomes mixed with the sad determination of the family's children and some rather fey relatives, the historical tapestry is re woven from Karelia to South West France and takes our family of unsuspecting heroes on a journey which will draw them into an age-old drama involving the Church, the Cathars and themselves and which resolves a mystery famous the world over. Then various shifts through intense family relationships that results in an unexpected garden make-over! Or take a look at a priest with a problem and the ultimate solution to it – and move on to the classic 'rites of passage' tale where a young West Country boy becomes more than the man he had hoped to be! The first of a collection of tales both odd and intriguing this will stir old memories and leave you with both questions, and answers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AUK Authors
• Release date: Apr 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781785381652

Book preview

coincidental.

Dovesign

Chapter 1

The house was tall and thin but very deep. One of those relics that are hard to find now in any but the most out-of-the-way little towns, hiding from the developers and squatters, the converters and spoilers... The door was of pale pine, hugely thick and fitting the doorframe like a cork. When you opened it the inside hall door often swung open on its weak catch and when you closed the door it made the air whoosh back at you and made your ears almost pop with the pressure like in an airlock.

Inside the rooms were high-ceilinged and decorated with running plasterwork borders of eggs and leaves and the rooms had high wooden picture rails. The staircase was a rich chestnut coloured mahogany wonder and bearded men’s faces peered gloomily down from the supports of the arched hallway. The large front room, as in all the rooms, had thick doors with strange wavy patterned varnish on them and brass handles or big white china knobs. Marble fireplaces and little cupboards in every available corner gave the house an intriguing air of hide and seek. No cellar but little pantries and walk in hanging spaces and a second staircase that twisted its way up to a little bedroom at the back of the house. And an enormous loft - with a window that opened out onto the slate grey sea of the other houses’ rooves and a view over the little city... the iron bridge nearest then a bit of the curve of the railway track. In the middle distance the massive pointed spire of the church high on its hill overlooking the river. The river itself, contained in the city by concrete paths with neat grass verges, often refused to be tamed a little way up stream and from this window - if you craned out far enough, you could catch glimpses of whole fields under water after the autumn and early spring storms and high tides. If you looked left out of the window you could see the nearest houses lower down and green squares of back gardens and then the road over the iron bridge led to the first part of the town which was not so interesting as all you saw was largely the wall of the multi-storey car park that served the nearest Sainsbury’s.

Sibil liked to look past the massive arrow of the church to the river, letting her thoughts wander with the water. She was often letting her thoughts drift somewhere and was often told off for it. That’s why she liked it up here looking our of ‘her’ window as she called it.

She was there now, elbows on the ledge and staring idly down at the tiny people and cars going over the Iron bridge - but always her gaze would go back - to the spire and beyond to the river.

She sneezed suddenly and that broke her daydream. She wiped away the water that had sprung to the corner of her eye and shouted over one shoulder.

"What are you doing. Look at this dust, you can see it going out of the window, she sneezed again... Rowan ! Did you hear me?"

Her brother was up to his armpits in a large tea chest that apparently contained books. It was too heavy to move and he was piling some of the books and bundles of magazines down on to the loft floor. Clouds of dust swirled up with every bundle. He sneezed too and wiped his mouth and brushed away the lock of black hair that always fell over one eyebrow with the back of his blackened hand - his forehead showed the passing of his hand now. He answered crossly and impatiently.

Well what do you expect, If you were down here helping instead of perching up in your nest as usual we would have been finished by now. Mum said to tidy up the loft ‘ ‘OK you said but all you’ve done is to act like a bird trying to leave the nest. Why don’t you fly down here and help?"

Sibil was about to reply but, looking at the piles of things that her brother had moved and his sweaty, dusty face and hands she felt sorry for him and silently agreed that she had not been exactly fair - she hadn’t meant to be so long... it was just so interesting looking out so high over everything - time just seemed to - seemed to... oh well... she scrambled down from her ‘nest’ of two face to face wicker armchairs (‘be careful not to stand on those chairs") and squatted down beside Rowan. She opened and peered inside some of the books and magazines - boring! Sibil gazed around the collection of chests, trunks and cartons that largely filled one end of the big loft. Their Dad’s things - had to be sorted out and moved somewhere... where? There was mountains of the stuff - clothes, shoes, old business stuff, tools that Mum couldn’t use... Rowan brought her back from the start of another daydream.

Now what! I don’t know Sib - wake up and give me a hand will you? Mum will be shouting up in a minute for tea or something and we haven’t done much ... as if to order a woman’s voice sailed up the echoing stairs from far below somewhere.

Row, Sib! How much longer are you going to be? Ten minutes and it’s on the table... and wash your hands before you come down - not the big white towel mind, the small blue one. Oh - and bring it down with you when you’ve finished OK?

Over the months they had lived there Sibil and Rowan could tell exactly where on the stair their Mum was standing when she shouted and therefore how urgent or serious the call was ... this one was the first half-landing. Not serious... first floor landing and above was danger level.

See, said Rowan I told you. Now then help me drag this over here with the trunks. They pulled and pushed the box, squeakingly and with clouds of dust over to the corner which was just barely lit with the light from the fanlight window in the roof. They paused, coughing dryly in the grey swirls, then went back for the books and magazines and reloaded the box. Sibil pulled a face.

This is going to take forever. What are we going to do with all this?

Sort it out Mum said. You know what that means. Chucking most of it away before we have had a chance to look at it.

But it’s just his old business stuff and tools and things. We’ll be old before we use it or understand it even if we wanted too.

Not all of it is business stuff and tools. Some of it is really interesting. Some good atlases here look - and look at this book on Magic and this on ‘The Alchemists’

What’s the alchemists then if it’s so interesting? She picked up the proffered book and picked over the pages of strange pictures and signs. Looks like rubbish to me.

You’re just like Mum - five seconds look - rubbish - throw it out. I don’t want to do that. I want to see what there is and decide properly. It’s like his whole life here. Don’t you find that fascinating? We never had a chance to look at all this before. This is our last chance. Once it’s gone it’s gone.

Rowan looked at Sibil looking at him, Her eyes grown moist. She turned away, ashamed of her tears for no good reason.

What’s the matter Sib? What did I say? Why are you crying? C’mon now. Here. He held out a grey dusty handkerchief. Blowing of nose, sniffing. Wet eyes turn to him.

You sound so much like Dad sometimes Row. Just the way your hair is, and you say what he used to say. Oh - you don’t mean to I know and I know I’m stupid for crying but it’s just... just... She turned away again.

Rowan didn’t know what to do when his sister cried. He felt suddenly tired and sad himself and there was an empty space somewhere near the bottom of his throat that threatened to fill up with tears if he didn’t do something...

"Rowan, Sibil! It’s on the table. I said to be down here by now. What are you two doing?" Mum’s voice came from the first floor landing - danger zone.

Do hurry up you two. Aunt Percy’s called to say she’s at the station now. She’ll be here in ten minutes and I want us to be ready to have tea together. Come on now!

Rowan jumped up - C’mon Sib. Aunt Percy’s nearly here. We’d better wash and go down. Look at you! You look like a chimney sweep!

Sibil sniffed the last of the tears and stood up looking down at her stained jeans and dirty sandals then up at her equally dirty brother.

Well if I’m the sweep then you are the chimney. She said and raced away down the loft ladder to be first in the shower room.

Hey! said Rowan - too late to stop her I’m first, I’ve done all the work!

He jumped from half way up the ladder but still couldn’t overtake Sibil as she kicked off her sandals and barefooted it into the shower room and just managed to slam the door as Rowan arrived ... Stop jumping on the stairs - for the hundredth time!

Sorry Mum. Came Rowan’s voice from where he sat on the lower step to the shower room.

It was a familiar game they played with their Mum, part of the ritual of their family, sometimes he was genuinely sorry for annoying his Mum and not only when she was really cross - he wanted to be better but sometimes he just felt so sort of choked up, so sort of... the front bell rang with it’s piercing tone like a telephone.

Hurry up Sib - aunt Percy’s here already. What you doing in there?

The door opened and Sibil, wet haired and pink faced said,

It’s not polite to hurry a lady, young man, ladies have things to do that young urchins like you wouldn’t understand. She minced passed her brother who bowed low in mockery in the door to the shower.

I’m sorry my lady, I forgot. Oh - my lady... I think you forgot this didn’t you?

Sibil turned, graciously... to receive a wet sponge full in the face and the slammed door before she could retaliate... Rowan! ... through the door she could hear a voice through the water singing the latest Bon Jovi. I hate my brother sometimes she thought as she stomped down the stairs.

The inside door opened with the opening air pressure of the front door. Excited voices drifted back and into the hall came a tall, square shouldered lady that looked a lot like her Mum and a shorter girl, serious face and silent among the squeaks and hugs of the adults.

Sibil! Said aunt Percy sweeping her up into an enormous hug.

I don’t expect you remember your cousin do you - you’ve only seen the photos of her when she was a baby. Callie this is your cousin Sibil. Sibil, this is Callie.

The girls stood looking at each other -what did you do at times like these shake hands, kiss cheeks like the grown ups... ?

It’s short for Kalendula. said the girl.

That’s a nice... an unusual name said Sibil lamely.

Yes, that’s what everyone says, said the girl, ‘Sibil’s not so common either is it? Only in our family. But our family’s a little unusual anyway aren’t they?"

Yes - I’m always telling Mum that she is a little peculiar aren’t I Mum?

Let’s go through shall we, said Mum and get to know our peculiarities in comfort. she ushered the group through into the breakfast room.

Hey - wait for me. This was Rowan two-at-a-time down the stairs.

How many times have I told you not to do that!

Sorry Mum - I forgot.

This is Rowan, my brother - now he’s really strange Callie

Callie smiled at the children for the first time.

Oh - he’s not so strange... I’ve seen him before. He’s OK really.

Everyone looked at everyone.

How can you have seen him before? said Sibil. You were a baby when Mum and I saw you last and Rowan was away on a school trip. You can’t have seen him.

But I have seen him - I think. You were asking about some sort of map I think.

Callies’s eyes were focused on something over Rowan’s shoulder. She reached for the back of a dining chair with one hand and sat down slowly. Aunt Percy came behind her and smoothed her forehead, shaking her head silently at the others for silence and Callie went on in a rather far-away voice.

Aimis says to tell you that it’s inside the second volume of the alchemists - the one with the stained cover in the green tin trunk. She stopped, gave a little shake of her shoulders and looked brightly round the company... her mother and Rowan’s mother serious-faced; Sibil’s eyes filling once more with tears and her mother moving toward her to hug her, Rowan joining her, tears at last standing in his own eyes...

What’s wrong? said CallieWhat have I done Mum?What did I say? Who’s Aimis Mum?

In a dry voice still hugging the children, Rowan and Sibil’s mother looked at the little pale face girl and said.

He was their father, my husband - your uncle, sort of. He’s dead. In France - last year - dead. She bent her head to join her children - tears dripping unheeded onto their hair

Chapter 2

Tea was a mixed affair. Aunt Percy - short for Persephone, explained about Callie’s ‘special times’ as they were called. Callie had always been a sickly child with the whole spectrum of known childhood diseases and some unknown ones - all of which the girl suffered with the serious face and matter-of-fact manner that characterised all she did. It seemed that this Scottish branch of the Troidel family had a history of ‘fey’ ones as they were known and their fair share of more dramatic characters too - those who suffered from epilepsy, and some downright mad ones who had dark histories and legends woven around them in previous centuries.

Callie was one of those who ‘saw’ things for no apparent reason. The mood could come over her; as it had that afternoon, suddenly and inexplicably. She often had this far-away look in her eyes and the same distant quality in her voice as she recounted conversations or gave messages often of people and places she had never seen or had never visited. Equally strange was that she was convinced that these people and places were absolutely real; as they indeed often proved to be - and that those who were ‘dead’ were in fact often just in another place and could see and pass messages back to the real world quite easily. The young girl really had no idea that such messages or visions were anything other than completely normal and certainly she was alarmed and distressed to see the results of her messages on the other members of the family or group of friends to whom the message was often an awkward or painful reminder of their loss - as in the case of this afternoon tea.

Rowan and Sibil’s mum - Rowena Winters - dried her eyes and those of her children and, as curiosity overcame the first sad shock of hearing of her dead husband, she became more and more interested in the tales that aunt Percy and Callie had to tell. Rowan and Sibil too, more resilient than their mother sometimes, raced off to the study room and came back with a large volume, simply called The Unexplained and quickly found examples of others through history who had Callie’s gift or talent or whatever it was. It somehow seemed more believable, more comforting, to read of such things and to see photos and illustrations of mediums, psychic investigators, and things that they had seen.

All in all the afternoon tea passed off as well as it could - largely helped by the chocolate sponge and cream for which Mrs Winters was famous and some odd, fruit filled pastries brought by aunt Percy and Callie all the way from Callander in the Highlands of Scotland where they lived. Rowan. as usual. swigged large quantities of 7-up which, his mother warned, would make him sick with the chocolate and other things; she always said that but Rowan had never obliged here by being sick. Sibil and Callie joined the others in tea drinking. Finally it was Sibil who said to Callie about her knowing about the book called The Alchemists and the green trunk and who suggested that they go up to the loft again and see if indeed there was a map in the second volume - which so far they had not found.

Rowena Winters looked more apprehensive than pleased but, as aunt Percy said, at least it was one way to settle the matter of messages from her dead brother-in-law or not, and so it was agreed. The children waited for Callie to change into jeans and T-shirt and warned her of the dust and dirt that may trigger the allergies for which Callie was famous. Callie’s mum suggested wearing a light gauze mask which Callie always carried and which she usually used when riding her bicycle in town as protection against the fumes of the traffic. This was found and, inevitably looking like someone playing the part of a short nurse, Callie was led up to the attic. As the children clumped up the numerous stairs Rowena said to aunt Percy.

Do you know it’s very strange but every time I speak to you or even about you I have this feeling that something is going to happen. How many times do we actually meet - not often, but if you remember, every time we do, something happens. In London we met, do you remember, and you said you had this feeling that I shouldn’t go by Tube back to the hotel and that was the same days as the King’s Cross fire. Then again when you came to our first house and we had all planned to go to France - Callie wasn’t even born then was she? Well - you woke up at four or something like that shouting that the boat was sinking... Persephone’s face clouded at the memory

"Well - I saw it so clearly you know and what happened when we cancelled the tickets - that awful ferry disaster... all those poor people... and we might have been among them. I don’t mind what you say, I have learned to listen to my feelings and to my dreams and it has saved us more often than I can count. Poor Callie seems to have inherited more of the talents of her uncle Hamish’s side of the family - heaven help us if she becomes as sensitive and eccentric as some of them are.

Talking of Hamish - where is he now? Last time I wrote to him he answered that he felt he should go on some trip back to Karelia or something like that wherever that is. Didn’t Sibelius write something about it - Sweden isn’t it?

Persephone’s face showed a mixture of impatience and affection for her sister.

You always do this - get half an idea, and usually the wrong half! Sibelius wrote a Karelia suite but it’s the borders of Finland and Russia dear, not Sweden anyway, he’s back now with bundles of photos and pieces birch bark with drawings all over them and a real drum - whatever that means. Rowena made a face.

Well Scandinavian area anyway - Mrs. know-all! Before I make another mistake I’ll ask you what Hamish was talking about when he said he had to find a genuine shaman or shemen or something like that. Persephone’s eyes looked frankly into her sister’s at the word.

Shayman - we say... he said a genuine shaman? Strange that because he said to me when I called him last - that the only one who could help in his search was a shaman. I didn’t know there were any left any more.

Any more what... oh, you’re so like him sometimes. Can you tell me what these shaman are or do I have to wait till Hamish comes back?

Medicine man, dear, like the North American Indians. You know, nature worship and trances from breathing herbal smoke and banging on drums to attract the spirits. Divination of some sort - you know the sort of thing.

Oh - yes... like our mediums but a bit more, well, more native so to speak.

"Something like although the shaman trains all his life while mediums are supposed to be born with their talent. I suppose they are born and trained - I don’t much more about it actually - but if Hamish needed one bad enough to go all that way, and not speaking Finnish or Russian or whatever, then it must be important. You know how careful he is with every penny."

Careful is one way of describing it - I have heard other ways! What is this search you mentioned of his?

Hamish speaks in riddles as you know when he is hot on the trail of the family tree and the links in history that brought us from France to Scotland. It’s one of those times... he feels he’s on the brink of a major breakthrough in the family’s history. He was talking to Aimis about it all through the beginning last year wasn’t he and that’s partly why Aimis went down so far south I thought... I’m sorry, dear I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories again

No - it’s OK... its not that. Yes - now you mention it they were determined to find some lost link and I remember Aimis saying that the year off from his research would be a good time to get down to the south of France to see if he could find some pieces of the puzzle for Hamish - and for himself too, I think the passion of Hamish for family lore had rubbed off on Aimis... more’s the pity as it turned out... oh. don’t worry Percy, I’ve had my weep for today... it’s just the kids you know... they don’t talk too much about it yet and I worry sometimes that all that hurt is just lurking around inside. They worry that I’m hurting too and so we never really get to talk about anything you know. That’s partly why I sent them up to the attic to sort through their Dad’s things... I thought it might make them more comfortable talking about whatever is on their mind if they were - you know, sort of in contact with him, so to speak. Do you know what I mean?

Percy nodded. I think you’ve all coped very well and I shouldn’t worry about the children too much. They aren’t the type to hide anything from you for too long. Rowan’s a deep young lad and I wouldn’t be surprised if he asks you some questions when he sees fit. Young Sibil is all dreams and feelings and I think she just feels too much to talk about it until she has worked out a way to cope with it for herself... you can’t hurry them you know and I think you yourself need a little time to sort out your own life... emotionally I mean I know that the Insurances take care of all the normal things.

Rowena nodded seriously Yes - thank God he had the sense to take out large policies... he always used to joke and say that he would never see the benefit of all the money he was paying. She looked sad and bit her lip and went to busy about in the kitchen with the empty plates and things while aunt Percy considerately left her to it and went upstairs to see how the children were getting on. At the top of the stairs she hesitated at the foot of the loft ladder and listened to gauge the mood of the children in the attic... they might need some time alone to get to know each other and maybe to talk about their tragedy to someone of their own age -well, almost their own age.

She could hear the murmur of voices from above and decided to go downstairs after all and out into the garden - she knew that she could be over-helpful sometimes and Callie needed to make more friends and come to terms with her strange feelings without being apologised for by her mother all the time... yes, that was best perhaps... out into the garden and let them all find their own level. She went quietly down the stairs and out through the French windows from the dining room proper - hardly used now but giving onto a small neat garden with high walls on one side and at the far end; creepers covering the end wall and a climbing rose along the lower wall. Neat and well kept without being too manicured... yes, her sister had a delicate touch with so many things... she hoped that time would heal her... she deserved better luck with the rest of her life... what a lovely day. She went out to the little shed, waving to Rowena, looking out of the kitchen window, and took a garden folding stool that always stood there. She opened the stool and simply sat in the nearest pool of sunshine thinking of her family and family trees and maps and...

Chapter 3

Up in the attic the dust specks danced in the sunlight slanting through the window and fanlight. Sibil was slumped in one of the wicker chairs by her window and Rowan was sitting, elbows on knees and hands clasped in front of him; Callie stood as if she was not really part of the group looking blankly at the end wall of the attic where the brick outline of the chimney breast flowed up till it met the roof - she seemed to be contemplating a little square metal plate in the bricks.

No one was speaking. Finally Sibil broke the silence.

Now we don’t know if your... what do we call it dream?... picture?... is true or not Callie do we?

Callie didn’t turn from looking at the metal square but answered in a flat voice.

Pictures I call them... it’s true... the map will be inside the book in the box under Rowan, she paused, there is only one green trunk I suppose... he definitely said in the attic.

Rowan spoke gloomily from the trunk and kicked it with his heels.

This is it - and it’s locked and I suppose the keys are with Dad. He sounded miserable. Silence fell again.

Sibil stood up on her chairs and opened the window gazing out over the familiar view... the church and the river beyond glinting in the afternoon sun

I don’t suppose Mum would let us force the lid open would she?

Rowan lifted his head for the first time. No - she wouldn’t and how can you even think of doing that Sib... it would be like - like... he drifted into silence, lost for the right word and full of feeling.

I only asked! said Sibil We should either do something about it or forget it then. Who wants to sit in this dusty attic anyway? She was stung by Rowan’s sharp reply and was eager to change the subject or simply leave.

What do you think Callie?

There was a muffled something from Callie, now facing Rowan but wearing her gauze mask. She lifted it up to her forehead where it lay white against her brown hair; a patch of light in the half darkness.

I said ‘ haven’t you got any old keys anywhere’. The locks on these old things are often easy to open. Mum did it with a pair of kitchen scissors once. Brown it was and full of old papers... Hamish has it now and he still locks it with scissors I think.

Rowan suddenly leaped to his feet and rushed towards the attic flap. Sibil shouted Hey - what are you doing now Row... Oh! The old keys in the cupboard! She was talking to empty space as Rowan with a clatter and thump was down the ladder and away to the breakfast room closely followed by Sibil. Callie went over to the wicker chairs and stood up a little nervously to peer out of the window, holding on to the frame firmly. What she saw made her swallow and step quickly down. So high! She hated high places. She sat in one of the chairs, heart racing and soon heard the metallic sound of the children racing back up the ladder.

Sibil first and a cross-looking Rowan close behind...

That’s not fair Sib - it was my idea... give me those keys!

Oh what difference does it make? She hurried across the floor to the corner where Rowan joined her and they began to tussle half angry, half laughing. There was the sound of metal pieces falling on the floor.

Now look what you’ve done. The string’s broken now! I told you to let me have them. You can pick them all up yourself now.

If you hadn’t been so bossy it wouldn’t have broken. She started to scrabble about. How many keys were there... I’ve only found three.

How do I know how many? There was loads on the string you saw that. There’s only four left on the string plus your three ... that’s seven. Let’s have a look - no, these are all far to big. I bet you’ve dropped the small ones between the boards or somewhere we can’t find them. You’re bloody useless Sibil sometimes.

Sibil looked up in genuine shocked surprise. Don’t say ‘bloody’ to me. Mum told you not to swear. I think I shall go down and tell her what you said and that will be the end of that. She made for the flap in the attic space. Callie chimed in quietly.

Why don’t you stop arguing. I thought we wanted to open the trunk. If we look carefully. She saw the eyes of the others meet.

"Alright then if I look carefully I expect the smaller keys are lying somewhere near they can’t have all disappeared. Seven you say? That means there are nine to find." She was suddenly aware of the stares of Sibil and Rowan. Callie smiled thinly

Oh - sorry, I don’t know how I know... I just know there were sixteen keys that’s all. Come on then. She stood and went over to kneel in the dust and started lifting piles of newspapers and moving things gently to one side. Rowan joined her silently lifting up a piece of old curtain and shaking it gently onto a piece of spread out paper... two silver keys fell out.

This was the sign for Sibil to join in and soon the three had