Bridie's Bridge

By Stephen Mossop

Matthew Crawford is lost and wind-blown, a dead leaf dropped into a remote corner of an unfamiliar world. Then he meets Bridie, as grounded and as planted in the landscape as the ancient granite ley-line bridge she watches over. As she absorbs him into her world, the more he realises that here he isn't lost anymore. Bridie has found him

The more he is absorbed into her world, the more he is sure that he is here because this is where he is meant to be. He realises that he was brought here, not blown randomly by the wind but pulled by a power he doesn’t understand - one that will keep pulling him back no matter how far he might go. Here he has found a home. Here he is no longer lost. Bridie has found him. As their friendship grows into love, the more the extraordinary influence of the bridge, and of the powerful ley-line that flows over it, becomes apparent.

With the ancient, mystical, bridge now as much the centre of his world as it has been for Bridie’s ancestors over countless generations, is it just coincidence that the critical moments of their lives revolve around the important solstices and equinoxes, just those moments when then the energy of the ley-line is at its greatest? Or could it really be true, as Bridie claims, that the same force that gathers up and carries the lost souls of the dead along the ley-line to their final destination can also have such a powerful and dramatic influence on the destinies of those living near it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Mossop
• Release date: Oct 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9780995603035

Stephen Mossop

Stephen Mossop is Head of Library Services at the University of Exeter, UK. He has published and presented widely on aspects of Strategic Organisational Development and Library Management, and has special interests in library design, RFID and customer relationship management. He is best known for his 2008 case study on RFID at the University of Central Lancashire (for the BIC e4libraries project).

Book preview

Bridie’s Bridge

Bridie’s Bridge

Stephen Mossop

Published by Stephen Mossop

Copyright ©2016 Stephen Mossop

Stephen Mossop asserts the moral rights to be identified as the author of this work

ISBN: 978-0-9956030-2-8 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-0-9956030-3-5 (ebook)

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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For Brenda

Always and Forever

Contents

Contents

Acknowledgements

Midwinter Solstice

Spring Equinox

Summer Solstice

Autumn Equinox

Epilogue

Excerpt: ‘Perfect Christmas Angels’

Other books by Stephen Mossop

Acknowledgements

The story of Bridie’s Bridge surprised me.

It started out quite simply, as a Christmas short story (‘Midwinter Solstice’), and once finished I thought that was that….done and dusted. Bridie had other ideas, though, and over the weeks after I’d completed the original story, she haunted me with hints and suggestions, then with demands and entreaties until I finally gave in and started to write down the story pretty much as she dictated. After that it all happened very quickly, very spontaneously. The unravelling story enthralled me - bearing in mind that I had very little idea where it was going - and the end result will, I hope, have a similar effect for readers.

It’s about being lost, then found….it’s about what happens when you encounter forces of nature that can’t be scientifically explained, and what happens when you have little choice but to go with their flow. Sometimes good things happen, sometimes the opposite….though when Bridie’s involved, it’s always going to be interesting.

Several people were kind enough to read the emerging story at various stages of its development. Their thoughts, comments and suggestions proved invaluable to the end result. My long-suffering wife Brenda, however, somehow managed to read every variation, and her astute observations, corrections and support helped enormously to bring the story to its final form. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my responsibility.

I’m so grateful to Luca Cordina for allowing me to add a much needed layer of realism to one of the important scenes by using the name of the delightful Caffee Cordina - and yes, he really does serve probably the best lemon cheesecake ever!

Finally, huge thanks go to Amy Leslie for her enchantingly interpretative cover illustration, and to Charlotte Cooper for patiently using her very professional talents to design the cover graphics. It really is a comfort to have such wonderfully talented friends!

Midwinter Solstice

1

Matthew Crawford was sure that he could fly.

He hadn’t tried yet, but he knew he could do it. With his hands tucked into coat pockets, he would hold out his arms and start running. The rest was inevitable.

His legs burning, Matthew finally struggled the last few paces to the top of the impossibly steep track that led from the decrepit wooden hut that served as his form room. He turned and looked back down the slope, ignoring the other boys as they jostled past on their way to lessons.

Matthew nodded determinedly to himself. This was the place. Right here. The speed he could get up to if he ran down this slope would surely be more than enough. The wind would gather under his makeshift wings and, just before he reached the bottom, he would jump. He would jump just as high as he could, and the wind would lift him. The boys would shout, the masters would grab at his legs, the porters would chase after him, but it would do them no good. He would soar into the air high above them. Up, up, up. Over the walls. Over the streets. Over the river. High over the hills. All the way home.

There was no other way. Despite his pleading, his parents wouldn’t come for him. ‘Only a couple more weeks until the end of term’ they’d told him in their last letter. But the end of his first term as a boarder at Burrell’s was still too far away for Matthew. He wasn’t allowed out through the gates. So he would fly over them. All the way home.

Burrell’s was an old school. It was a very good school, his father had told him on many occasions, and even at twelve years old, Matthew knew he should feel privileged to follow his father and his grandfather through its ancient portals. But he didn’t. In fact he really didn’t like it at all. Everybody else seemed to know just what to do, just how to behave. The masters all seemed so distant and uncaring. He’d spent much of the term….well, just wandering around, following his classmates, or at least those he sort of recognised, to wherever they were going. It didn’t help that he was tall for his age. People kept mistaking him for a second-year, and sending him to the wrong place. He was always late. He was always unprepared for his lessons, even when he knew which lessons were coming next. Why did they have to wear brown shoes indoors and black shoes outdoors? He detested sharing a dormitory with the other boys. Most nights he cried himself to sleep, sobbing secretly into his pillow, hoping that his dorm fellows wouldn’t hear him, more than anything hoping and praying that his mum would come and rescue him from this nightmare. Maybe she’d come tomorrow….

*****

‘C’mon Mat. You can do it!’ he thought to himself as he stared down the steep track.

He’d delayed only just long enough to give his legs a chance to recover from the climb. He knew he’d have to run faster than ever before if his plan was to work, and he didn’t want to risk a stumble because his legs were still trembling from the climb. As he forced himself to wait, his mind ran back over what Mr Pearce had told him at Form Assembly a few minutes before. He knew it had to be now or never.

He’d hardly listened as his Form Master had rattled through the morning prayers and mumbled a couple of notices.

‘Rugby will be lead today by Mr Skinner, as Mr Thomas is indisposed’.

Mr Thomas always seemed to be ‘indisposed’, especially after Wales had been playing at the weekend. Mat hated rugby. He hated Mr Thomas as well. He was Welsh, and was as devoted to rugby as only a Welshman could be. For him, it was almost a religion. For Mat, it was like being thrown to the lions. He hated the way his ears were almost rubbed off during a scrum. He hated the way the other boys would bellow at him when he failed to catch a pass….which was most of the time, because he wasn’t allowed to wear his glasses during games and couldn’t even see the stupid ball until it was right in front of him. The one time he had somehow found it, he’d ran like the wind. Those few moments had been a total release. Free as a bird. Almost flying. Nobody could catch him. He’d ran, as he knew he should, straight towards the double poles of the goal….and then suffered the jeers of his team-mates when he threw the ball away. Nobody’d ever bothered to explain that he was supposed to touch the ball onto the ground – actually touch it to the ground – before he could score any points.

As his classmates filed out of the room, Mr Pearce had called him over. He was to go to the Headmaster’s office at first break.

Mat had never been inside the Head’s office before. In fact, although he knew who he was from Full Assemblies, he had never actually spoken to him at all. Full Assemblies took place a couple of times a week. The whole school gathered at eight-thirty sharp in the school chapel. Accompanied by the senior masters, Headmaster Parkes led them in hymns and readings before giving the important notices of the day. They always looked so stern, though, the masters, like they could frighten learning into their pupils just with a look. Maybe they could. Matthew didn’t know. He hadn’t learned the secrets yet.

Matthew shivered at the thought of actually meeting the Head Torturer. He couldn’t think what he might have done to be in so much trouble. He didn’t know of anybody who had been summoned to the Head’s office who hadn’t been in trouble for something really serious, and he couldn’t imagine why he’d been singled out. Flying seemed a far more attractive idea, and he readied himself for take-off. He balanced on the balls of his feet, and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. Then he reeled backwards in shock as a voice cut straight through his thoughts.

‘Day-dreaming, are we, Crawford?’

He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed Mr Pearce climbing up the track towards him.

‘Erm…’ he muttered, struggling desperately to find the right words.

‘Well come on, lad - run!’ Mr Pearce said, shooing him towards the school buildings ‘The future won’t wait for you, y’know!’

So Mat did run, just not in the direction he’d planned to.

*****

Now, as he sat in the corridor outside the Head’s office, Matthew could feel his stomach churning. By the time the Head’s secretary called him in, he was feeling decidedly unwell.

He was shown through the outer office, past the secretary’s tidy desk. There were some feathery-looking potted plants on the window sill. Through the window he glimpsed fields in the distance. Out in the corridor the place was filled with boys chattering and the sound of footsteps clattering on the polished floor. It was quiet in here.

The secretary knocked on the Head’s office door and waited. A voice from inside rang out in response.

‘Come!’

She opened the door and ushered him in. As he entered, his knees shaking, Matron rose from a comfortable-looking chair in the corner behind the door. Why was Matron here?

‘Ah – Crawford.’ the Head started. ‘Come in. Yes. I’m afraid we had some bad news last night, concerning your parents.’

Mat wasn’t sure if he should say anything, so he didn’t.

He wasn’t sure that he was that keen on Mr Parkes. When he’d seen him, high on the stage at Full Assemblies, Mat had often thought he looked a bit like a weird sort of bird.

Mr Parkes had a long, curvy nose. He was quite thin. Very thin. Like he didn’t eat much at all. A hawk, maybe? His eyes were as sharp as that. Stary, scary-looking eyes that never seemed to miss anything. They could focus instantly on somebody illicitly passing sweets to a neighbour. Just like a hawk. ‘BOY!’ he’d heard him shout once at a small chap three rows back from the front. ‘SEE ME AFTER!’. Somebody had told him later that the boy had put a mint in his mouth while Mr Parkes had his eyes closed, praying. How did he even do that? No….more a stork. He was long and thin like that. Yes, a stork. Maybe a stork-hawk? Was there such a thing?

‘Ah – bad news, I’m afraid,’ continued the Head, glancing between Mat and the papers on his desk, ‘I’m afraid your parents were involved in quite a nasty car accident yesterday. Well, to cut a long story short, I’m afraid they didn’t make it.’

Mat was too stunned to speak. He was confused. He was glad that he wasn’t in trouble, but he was having a great deal of difficulty in understanding what the Head was telling him.

‘Rotten luck, I’m afraid, old chap. The most rotten luck.’

‘Yes sir.’ Mat managed to whisper, his head swimming.

Mr Parkes was speaking again. ‘Now then. I’m afraid that these things happen sometimes. Nothing we can do about it. We just have to be men. You are a man, aren’t you? Stand tall, and take it on the chin, eh?’

A diminutive ‘Yes sir.’ was all Mat could utter.

‘Good lad. Now then, pop along with Matron for a bit. She’ll look after you. After that you’d best go and see Mr Pearce. Mr Pearce will sort everything out. He’ll be in his room. Very good. Carry on.’

Mat opened his mouth, but no words came out. All he could think about was his mum. He wanted her to be here, to give him a hug and tell him everything was alright. But nobody was here to give him a hug. And nothing was going to be alright, ever again.

He was determined not to cry. A proper Burrell’s boy wouldn’t cry. In the strange, unwritten laws of this place, blubbing was not allowed.

*****

Matron sat him down in her room, and gave him a cup of very sweet tea. Mat shuddered as he sipped it. He didn’t like sugar in his tea, and this was….well, horribly sweet. Mr Pearce ducked his head around the door, and came in when he saw that they were there.

Mat quite liked Mr Pearce. He was one of the younger Masters. He taught English. Mat could understand English. He didn’t understand most of the other subjects. Mr Pearce didn’t shout like the other Masters. Well, not often, anyway. Sometimes he even smiled.

‘Crawford’ he said, tapping him on the shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry, old chap. So very sorry. Dreadful thing to happen. Are you alright? Is Matron looking after you?’

‘Yes sir’

‘Now look here.’ Mr Pearce continued, perching on the edge of Matron’s desk. Matron didn’t look impressed. ‘We’re nearly at the end of term. It’ll be Christmas before you know it. We’ll need to sort out what to do with you, where you’ll go. Any relatives who might take you in?’

Mat couldn’t think of any. Well, there was one, he supposed. A cousin of his mother’s. But she lived in South Africa. He’d never met her. He just shook his head.

‘Right then.’ Mr Pearce looked concerned. ‘Well, you can’t stay here. Whole place closes down, d’you see? Couldn’t have you rattling around here by yourself. Nobody here to look after you, anyway.‘

He persevered. ‘Any friends here, whose parents might be willing?’

Mat shook his head.

‘No,’ he thought to himself. ‘No, thank you very much.’ There were some chaps he talked to, but they weren’t really friends. He certainly wouldn’t want to go home with any of them.

Mr Pearce thought for a few moments.

‘Very well then.’ he said, making up his mind. ‘Here’s what we’ll do. It’ll do as a plan for now, anyway. You’d better come back with me. I’m spending Christmas with my father. It won’t be terribly exciting for you, I’m afraid, but it’ll have to do. I’ll telephone ahead, but I’m sure he won’t object, especially under the circumstances’

‘Thankyou sir’ Mat muttered, not really sure if the idea appealed to him or not. He liked Mr Pearce well enough, but he was a ‘Sir’. Worse than that, he was his Form Master. He wasn’t at all sure if staying with a ‘Sir’ was such a great idea….but in the end, he supposed, he didn’t really have much choice.

2

The last week of school passed in a haze. Mat cried himself to sleep every night, this time not-so-silently sobbing into his pillow. He didn’t care what the others thought. He tried not to think about his parents, especially what had happened to them, but he couldn’t help it. He was tired all the time. Bad dreams woke him several times every night, and he found himself staring out of the window during lessons. At least the Masters didn’t tell him off for it. They all knew, of course, and most of the time they just left him alone.

*****

School finished at lunchtime on the last day of term. The school kitchen gave boarders like him a packed lunch for their journeys home. Mat had packed a small suitcase with what he thought might be needed over the