her fiancé, Jacob, killed in the early years of the war.
The dress, which was of white silk-satin, simply cut on the bias and with a modest sweetheart neckline, was looking fairly worn by now, since of course she put it on every Sunday afternoon for high tea. Originally it had had a lovely lace coat to go over it which ended in a train, with leg-of-mutton sleeves that buttoned tightly at the wrist and satin inserts to match the dress, but this was now much shorter, since Aunt Nan had at some time let the dress out considerably by using part of the train to make extra panelling in the bodice. But the veil was pristine.
‘I’d no ring of my own – we hadn’t much brass for a fancy engagement ring – but I’ve got Mother’s Welsh gold wedding ring.’ She told me where she’d hidden what good jewellery she had – a small gold locket and one or two other family bits and bobs. ‘Just in case I leave the scene suddenly,’ she explained.
I opened my heart to Raffy, the vicar, about how upset it made me that she seemed to want to leave me like this, and he said I must respect her wishes and that sometimes the elderly had just had enough. Then he said her firm belief in God and the hereafter was a huge comfort to her.
‘Yes, she seems to be positively looking forward to “getting to the other side” and meeting up with her family, friends and fiancé again, even if it does mean leaving me behind.’
‘I think she’ll always be with you in spirit,’ he consoled me gently, but I was sure Aunt Nan would be good for a few more years yet, if only she hadn’t got it into her head that her time was up!
Having got to ninety-two, why shouldn’t she make her century? I simply found it impossible to accept that there was nothing to be done, so one evening I decided desperate measures were called for and I’d go up to Winter’s End and consult Hebe Winter.
Hebe’s reputed to dabble in the Dark Arts, though that doesn’t seem to stop her being a keen churchgoer. But actually, Aunt Nan always said she was more of a herbalist than a witch, unlike Florrie. (And I was sure she must be wrong about Florrie, and Gregory Lyon was really just running some kind of witchcraft folklore group, not a coven at all!)
Anyway, many people made the trip at twilight up to the side door of Hebe’s still room at Winter’s End and came back with a potion or lotion – love philtres in some cases, I’d heard! Perhaps I should have tried one of those on Justin, who’d said it was too late to cancel the hotel for the previous weekend and had taken Mummy Dearest instead!
I’d told Aunt Nan I was going out to meet Bella, but instead I walked up the back way to Winter’s End, cut across the bottom terrace and knocked at the side door to Hebe’s stillroom, which she opened as if she’d been waiting for me. She was not at all surprised at my request, either.
‘I understand what you want,’ she said, ‘but if I knew of something that would prolong your aunt’s life, I would already have given it to her. There are things that can help with the pains and aches of old age, but nothing that can cure it.’
She herself was no spring chicken, but still tall, beaky-nosed and upright; I didn’t think death would be creeping up on her any time soon.
‘That Meddyg, as she calls it, is probably what has kept her going this long. I’d love the recipe …’ hinted Hebe, when I asked her about payment for the consultation. ‘I can guess what several of the herbs she uses are – like mint, for instance – but there’s a little extra something in it?’
‘I’m sworn to secrecy,’ I told her firmly. ‘But perhaps I could do with a love philtre to make my fiancé love me for what I am,’ I half-joked, ‘rather than all the things he would like me to be.’
She looked searchingly into my eyes. ‘But would you want the love of a man who cannot see your finer points and with whom you cannot be your true self?’ she said acutely and
The dress, which was of white silk-satin, simply cut on the bias and with a modest sweetheart neckline, was looking fairly worn by now, since of course she put it on every Sunday afternoon for high tea. Originally it had had a lovely lace coat to go over it which ended in a train, with leg-of-mutton sleeves that buttoned tightly at the wrist and satin inserts to match the dress, but this was now much shorter, since Aunt Nan had at some time let the dress out considerably by using part of the train to make extra panelling in the bodice. But the veil was pristine.
‘I’d no ring of my own – we hadn’t much brass for a fancy engagement ring – but I’ve got Mother’s Welsh gold wedding ring.’ She told me where she’d hidden what good jewellery she had – a small gold locket and one or two other family bits and bobs. ‘Just in case I leave the scene suddenly,’ she explained.
I opened my heart to Raffy, the vicar, about how upset it made me that she seemed to want to leave me like this, and he said I must respect her wishes and that sometimes the elderly had just had enough. Then he said her firm belief in God and the hereafter was a huge comfort to her.
‘Yes, she seems to be positively looking forward to “getting to the other side” and meeting up with her family, friends and fiancé again, even if it does mean leaving me behind.’
‘I think she’ll always be with you in spirit,’ he consoled me gently, but I was sure Aunt Nan would be good for a few more years yet, if only she hadn’t got it into her head that her time was up!
Having got to ninety-two, why shouldn’t she make her century? I simply found it impossible to accept that there was nothing to be done, so one evening I decided desperate measures were called for and I’d go up to Winter’s End and consult Hebe Winter.
Hebe’s reputed to dabble in the Dark Arts, though that doesn’t seem to stop her being a keen churchgoer. But actually, Aunt Nan always said she was more of a herbalist than a witch, unlike Florrie. (And I was sure she must be wrong about Florrie, and Gregory Lyon was really just running some kind of witchcraft folklore group, not a coven at all!)
Anyway, many people made the trip at twilight up to the side door of Hebe’s still room at Winter’s End and came back with a potion or lotion – love philtres in some cases, I’d heard! Perhaps I should have tried one of those on Justin, who’d said it was too late to cancel the hotel for the previous weekend and had taken Mummy Dearest instead!
I’d told Aunt Nan I was going out to meet Bella, but instead I walked up the back way to Winter’s End, cut across the bottom terrace and knocked at the side door to Hebe’s stillroom, which she opened as if she’d been waiting for me. She was not at all surprised at my request, either.
‘I understand what you want,’ she said, ‘but if I knew of something that would prolong your aunt’s life, I would already have given it to her. There are things that can help with the pains and aches of old age, but nothing that can cure it.’
She herself was no spring chicken, but still tall, beaky-nosed and upright; I didn’t think death would be creeping up on her any time soon.
‘That Meddyg, as she calls it, is probably what has kept her going this long. I’d love the recipe …’ hinted Hebe, when I asked her about payment for the consultation. ‘I can guess what several of the herbs she uses are – like mint, for instance – but there’s a little extra something in it?’
‘I’m sworn to secrecy,’ I told her firmly. ‘But perhaps I could do with a love philtre to make my fiancé love me for what I am,’ I half-joked, ‘rather than all the things he would like me to be.’
She looked searchingly into my eyes. ‘But would you want the love of a man who cannot see your finer points and with whom you cannot be your true self?’ she said acutely and
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