This story is a fictional romance. It’s based loosely on my Great Grandmother, (Gogo) and Great Grandfather. I have changed some of the names.
I know the writing is not perfect but it is a story which niggles me every so often and one I want to share.
Pieces of it will be posted at odd times throughout the year. If you have any advice, please feel free to comment I am open minded and thick skinned.
Hope you enjoy.
Few loves transcend time, suffering and the hardships life dumps at our feet, but they are the ones which reinforce our humanity and our reason for being. They are the ones we remember, write about and portray in movies.
The ones which remind us quite simply to never give up hope of finding, ‘The One.’
Such was the love Jonathan Harold Murphy had for his Winnie.
Theirs was a love that knew no barrier or distance. Each soul knowing the other at first glance.
Two hearts brought together late in their lives, ( according to the social norms of the early 1900’s), through the misadventures of others – so much so that the series of actions and inactions which transpired as the universe waved her wand that hot, sticky summer’s day, made their collision inevitable.
Winifred Cecilia Christie was the youngest of eight children and surely the most beautiful. She was also the most stubborn. Her soft, sandy curls plaited and rolled into a bun behind her head; she had not the time or the need to fuss over the latest fashion craze. She found dresses, hats and handbags foolish wastes of her time. Her love was for her books in which she buried her bright blue eyes as often as her mother would allow.
She was the light of both her mischievous brother and doting father’s lives. A bane and embarrassment to her mother Martha-Anne Christie, who took rather personally Winifred’s refusal of the district’s most sought after bachelor because, “I don’t feel that spark Mother.”
“Men do not fall from the sky, Winnie. And since when did anyone need ‘a spark’ to make a marriage work!?” Martha-Anne Scolded.
Winifred Christie presented as a shy girl, but those who knew her well, knew otherwise. Beneath the sweet, demure face was a force to be reckoned with – to that her mother will attest.
It was not a wild, loud trait, but one of gentle coercion and manipulation rounded off with a sharp bite. One which could effectively send the most hardened man scampering off into the veld, tail between his legs.
In your mind’s eye, picture a broad verandah encircling the house of a large sugar cane farm in the mid Nineteen-twenties of colonial Natal, South Africa.
A swing sofa, favored by the youngest daughter . A grumpy old lawyer, MR. R. G. Reynold’s, untimely death. A solicitor from Northern Transvaal. And a first meeting. Bundle these circumstances together and you are left with a rather delightful result.
It came about that old man Christie, Winifred’s father, had some legal business which needed attending. It regarded the lease contract with the giant sugar farming family on the north coast of Natal.
The issue hung in the air after they had received word of their Lawyer’s sudden demise, thanks to a badly timed heart ailment.
Several lawyers had been referred since, each thrown out of the old mans study, “a bunch of bloody baboons the lot of them!” Carmichael cursed.
So, on this hot summer’s day when the woman of the house lay indoors beneath large lazy ceiling fans, wet cloths draped over their foreheads, Winifred, book in hand as always, took to her favorite spot on the front verandah.
She didn’t look up when a rumbling motorcar came bouncing down the uneven drive toward the house. Nor did she bother leaving the comfort of her storybook world when footsteps crunched up the gravel toward the house.
What called her attention was the honeyed baritone voice of the man who was to be the new caretaker of her family’s legal affairs.
“Good Day. I am Jonathan Harold Murphy, Mr. Reynolds replacement. I am here to see Mr. Carmichael Christie.”