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Coconut Harvest

By

Graham Wilson

This is a story about the effect that an invalid child has on the lives of the members of the family.

 

Peter and his wife Susan, live in an idyllic part of the south of England, with their two young sons Ben and Tom. The story begins when Ben was four, and his brother a year younger. Their lives were full of the adventures and excitement that children expect from those formative years. The family was a loving closely knit affair.

 

On an autumn day in late November, Susan brought a third son into the world. The birth had complications and Simon, the new addition was incapacitated. 

 

Constant nursing attention was given to Simon for the first few years of his life. His parents devoted their time to his needs; Ben and Tom were left to fend for themselves.

 

After several years of despising their brother’s precious life style, Ben and Tom plan to go on an adventure. They would take their brother, in his wheelchair, on a trip up to the Hadmere damn. During their journey, the damn wall gave way and torrents of water came cascading down the hillside. They had a perilous return home, during which the brothers’ experiences created a lasting bond between them.

 

The whole story is punctuated by the retired sea captain who lived next door. He was nick-named by the boys as Captain Coconut. His head looked like a coconut and could be a little bit peppery. Ben, Tom and he became good friends. Captain Coconut understood the boys’ feelings towards their broken relationships and gave them his support and worldly advice.       

 

Happy families.

 

They were at the highest point on the ride. Two young boys and their father, having the time of their lives, sitting in the front row of the roller coaster, and not for the first time that day. They hardly noticed the expansive view of the beach and sea, as they prepared themselves for a breath taking few minutes of the gravity defying experience. Slowly the train approached the steep downhill track and was soon hurtling down towards the lowest part. Then it swooped upwards; turning right and finding high ground again it slowly approached another downhill section. Onward it plunged at break-neck speed only to rise once more on its journey of ups and downs. The oohs and aahs of the passengers were deafening, almost as frightening as the ride itself. It was without doubt the best ride on the pleasure beach. The rises and falls were now becoming less severe, the screams less frequent, until the train came to a gentle stop. The boys and their father breathlessly returned to the safety of the hard ground beneath their feet.

 

“That was wonderful,” exclaimed Ben. “One more go please dad?”

“Ooh yes please,” added his brother Tom.

“We can’t,” dad replied. “I’ve got to get you back home. I told your mum that we would be back by seven o’clock, and we’ve got at least an hour’s drive. Look at the time. We shouldn’t be late. Mum wasn’t feeling too well, so let’s get on our way. Come on boys.”

And so the day at the seaside that the boys had so looked forward to had not disappointed them. It came to an end as all treats do with a feeling of sadness that it was all over until the next time. They set off in dad’s motorcar along the winding road, back to their mum and home.

 

Peter and Susan Wilde lived in a country cottage half a mile outside the rural village of Molbridge, which itself was ten miles outside the big city, but within easy reach of the coast. Their cottage was an ideal home for a young family, particularly one expecting an expansion of numbers. It had a thatched roof, a large kitchen-breakfast room three other living rooms and five bedrooms upstairs. They all overlooked an acre of garden; lawn and flowered borders at the front, which faced south, and also to the west, with a line of mature poplar trees protecting both boundaries. There was a kitchen garden on the east side and a very necessary playing area at the back. On the far side of the kitchen garden was a tiled barn that was used as a garage, which accommodated both Peter and Susan’s cars. It was large enough to provide a workshop and storage for garden equipment, children’s toys and those items that are not wanted in the house. The cottage was situated in a quiet tree-lined country lane, amongst other dwellings and gardens of varying shapes and sizes. On a sunny day it became the perfect setting for an English country garden. In the driven snow it was worthy of a Christmas card picture.

 

Peter Wilde was a good father to the boys. He loved being with them and could make them laugh at will with his own sense of mischief. He exactly six feet tall; well built, with short wavy light brown hair and dark brown eyes. He had strong facial features and sported a well-trimmed moustache, which bristled when he laughed. He was a gentle man, very tolerant and understanding with a quietly spoken voice. Peter had married his childhood sweetheart, Susan, some ten years previously. He had recently qualified as a solicitor and was a junior partner in a large legal practice in the city. He wanted to settle down with Susan and bring up a family and enjoy the security that he had earned and richly deserved. They moved to Molbridge soon after their marriage, and settled in their thatched cottage and re-named it “The Poplars” in recognition of the outstanding feature of trees bordering the garden.

 

 During the first few years of their marriage Susan worked as a secretary for a computer software company in the city. She gave up her employment when she later gave birth to her first son Benjamin. A year later she produced a second son Thomas. Susan was now a full time mother with onerous responsibilities for Ben and Tom, as they had both become known. Peter was a devoted father and loved his two sons dearly and showed them great affection. He was also a hard working solicitor; his city job kept him in the office until late in the evenings. This did not suit the expectations of his young family. On many days he would arrive home too late to find his children awake to bid them good night. Nevertheless the boys and he had some great times together, and all such occasions were treasured.

 

Small expectations.

 

It was a Monday afternoon in late October. The weather was cloudy with light rain in patches, typical for the time of year. The trees in the lane were shedding their leaves like confetti. The summer had been hotter than usual, the lawns and fields still parched in places in its memory. Susan was resting in the lounge, sitting on a sofa, one foot elevated on a low stool. Facing the bay window and occasionally peering through it, she idly sewed away at a pink piece of knitwear, and dreaming of what was to come. Susan was tall with long blond shoulder-length hair. She had been a keen athlete in her youth, and usually sported a trim figure. Now things had changed. From time to time she proudly caressed her swollen tummy and remembered the elation she felt at the birth of her first and second born; and now only a few hours away from giving birth to her third child. There were no fears of midwives and maternity wards, only the anticipation of a miraculous event about to happen. A small case was already packed, ready for the departure to the local cottage hospital at the appointed time.

 

Peter was also spending time at home, during this critical period. He had taken leave from the office to assist in the home, and in particular oversee the antics of his young sons. Ben, who was four, had just started attending a kindergarten, and for most mornings, was separated from Tom, who was too young to join his brother. There were many unfamiliar chores for father to do. Feeding and supervising his favourite sons was more stressful than he had bargained for. The delivery of Ben to his kindergarten each morning brought about a welcome respite. 

 

Ben’s first morning at the nursery school was as traumatic as it was expected to be. The initial excitement turned into fear, desire into hate and smiles into tears. However mum was determined and a reluctant Ben gritted his teeth, braved the experience and weathered the storm. He returned a hero, despite an uncertain start. After very few mornings the whole experience was forgotten and attendance at the nursery school became a pleasure for Ben, much to the relief of his mum and dad.

 

Due to the damp weather that afternoon, Peter and the boys were sitting around the kitchen table making a kite out brown paper sticks and string. Dad was the chief architect and the boys were given simple tasks to satisfy their enthusiasm. The design involved two pieces of bamboo cane, one shorter than the other, bound together to form a cross, rather like a crucifix. Dad then filed grooves at the tips of the cane, which enabled him to put a framework of string round the outside. This was tightened so as to bend the cane slightly and create a secure framework, ready for the brown paper. Dad took great delight in showing Ben and Tom how to make paper glue from flour and hot water. He then cut the brown paper in a shape slightly larger than that of the frame. Using the home-made glue he papered the frame by folding and sticking a hem round the string and cane frame. It was about half past four when the papering and gluing was finished. The kite, shaped like an elongated diamond, was put on one side to allow the glue to dry. It was the pride of dad and the boys alike. They could not wait to show mum their achievements.

“It will need a tail,” said dad.

“What’s a tail,” enquired Tom, with a certain look of curiosity.

“I know,” said Ben. “It hangs down from its bottom and wiggles”.

Tom began to snigger “It hasn’t got a bottom, silly.”

“No but you have,” said dad with a grin, his moustache bristling as he spoke, “and I know where yours is.”

“It needs a tail to help it to fly,” dad continued. “It needs to be about twelve feet long, that’s four times taller than you Tom. You boys can make it I’ll show you how. We need an old newspaper, string and a piece of ribbon for the very end.”

Dad proceeded to show the boys how to tie rolled strips of paper on a length of string at regular intervals. Ben took on the task with gusto, while Tom went to report the afternoon’s success to his mother.