Spooky?

Spooky?

Last weekend I received two unexpected presents.  Here is one of them: a coloured-in picture from my church friend June.

On seeing her eagerly waving it at me, the minister exclaimed, “Well done, June – there’s a remarkable similarity to Kathleen!”   Mmm… well, I hope not!  But I must admit that I have a fondness for bats!  On summer evenings I used to love standing in the garden of my former home where, at twilight, the bats flew down from our tall trees and flitted around, catching flies.


Every Hallowe’en we would prepare for small visitors by filling bowls with sweets and nuts, and placing apples in a basin of water, ready for the ‘guisers’ to ‘dook’ for them.  One year, supplies nearly ran out when thirty-five ‘guisers’ turned up in quick succession!  Before the ‘dooking’ and the handing out of sweets, they each had to earn their treats by reciting a poem, singing a song or telling a joke.  All the children, including our three, loved dressing up for Hallowe’en, trying to look as ‘spooky’ as possible!  (Except the fairies!)

But I can remember an occasion when somebody exclaimed “Ooh, that’s spooky!” when they caught sight of me – even though I was just wearing my ordinary clothes!  This amused me so much that I wrote the following account of what led up to that startling moment.  Here it is…

Spooky!

 “You taught my son at Carrick Academy, Mrs Bates”, said the new member of Ayr Town Twinning Association, as we were introduced. 


“Oh dear!” I thought, “how am I supposed to remember her son?  It’s thirty years since I left Carrick Academy to have our first baby!”


But as soon as I heard her hyphenated surname (which I shall abbreviate to G-W) I immediately remembered Neil and the concern I had felt for him when he arrived in my class of thirteen-year-old boys.  Not only did he have a double-barrelled name   but he also spoke with a posh English accent.  Most of the pupils of this comprehensive school in the small town of Maybole spoke ‘broad Ayrshire’.  They would be almost certain to mimic him, perhaps even bully him.  But how wrong I was!  Within a week Neil had adopted the Ayrshire accent and had begun to use key words of the local dialect.


I asked Mrs G-W what had become of him.  He and his brother had both found good jobs, but, alas, both had inherited a kidney disease.  Their mother, now a widow, frequently travelled to the south of England to help the one who was on dialysis.  For that reason, she was unlikely to be able to visit St Germain-en-Laye, Ayr’s twin town near Paris.  However, having heard good reports of its social events, she had decided to join the Ayr association although she still lived in Maybole, ten miles away.


One evening I was sitting beside her at a slide show of the members’ recent visit to St Germain when she suddenly became violently ill, vomiting all over her smart clothes.  The presentation was stopped immediately, and an ambulance was sent for.  Once she was safely on board, I followed in my car to the hospital.


We waited together in the A and E reception area until Mrs G-W was admitted to a ward for overnight assessment.  She had been given a clean nightgown, and her stained outfit was now in a bag for removal.  Hoping to be sent home the next day, she asked me to go to Maybole in the morning to fetch some clean clothes from her bedroom.  Her next-door neighbour, who had a spare key, would show me where to find them.


The following morning, thanks to her directions, I managed to find her house. The man next door was mowing his lawn.  He stopped when I approached.  I told him about Mrs G-W’s dilemma and asked him for her key.  But then, realising that I was a complete stranger to him, I explained how I came to know her, mentioning that I had once taught her son Neil, at Carrick Academy.


“Oh, in that case you may know my wife!” he exclaimed.  “She used to work in the school office.”


I did not recognise her name however, so we concluded that she must have joined the staff after I had left the school.


“Just go straight into the house,” he went on.  “You’ll find her in the kitchen.”


As I entered, his wife was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and peering intently at a black and white photograph in a magazine, which I instantly realised was Maybole Past and Present.  (I had a copy at home.)  The photograph was of Carrick Academy staff, taken just after my colleague, Bob, and I had become engaged.  When I pointed out the two of us standing together, the lady turned pale.


“I was just saying to myself ‘That’s Bob Bates – but who is that standing beside him?’  when you walked into the kitchen!  Ooh, that’s so spooky!”


“Don’t worry!”  I hastened to reassure her.  “It was just a case of ‘the right place at the right time!’”


For me too, of course, this powerful coincidence had been very startling – but not alarmingly ‘spooky’!  Instead, it filled me with delight, reminding me of the happy time, over thirty years before, when Bob and I had got together.  Once again, I silently thanked God for the comfort and joy which such so-called ‘coincidences’ can bring.  Nowadays, after experiencing so many of them, I simply think of it being another example of our mysterious Golden Network… 

(Here we are, in the second front row, second and third on the right of the teacher with the bow tie.)

Deo gratias