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–THE BIRTHDAY

Lawrence Davies was forty two years old and had just celebrated his twentieth year as one of the postmen in the village. He was 6’2” tall with a lean rather than thin body which accentuated his height. He had a full head of red hair that was cropped close to his head which was always topped off with his Royal Mail baseball cap that he wore even when he was not delivering mail. His face was not out of keeping with the rest of his build and was lean with strong cheekbones that make his bright piercing blue eyes seem more deep set than they really were. His nose was rather larger than most; thin and long it always had a reddish sheen to it – the result of him having ‘the curse of the Celts – rosacea. Lawrence was married to his second cousin Tracy. Tracy worked part time in the local library and devoted herself to raising her two children as she herself had been raised – respecting others and being polite. She loved her husband as much today as when they had first kissed on her sixteenth birthday – at her aunt and uncle’s wedding anniversary bash.
Lawrence was an easy going man who was never happier than being among his close family. He was well respected member of the community who took an active role in the local history society of which he was a founding member. He was especially interested In the development of the railways in the south Wales valleys and he had accumulated not only a decent collection of books on the subject but also quite a knowledge of how the railways had grown and then fell into decline following the demise of the south Wales coal industry in the 1980’s.
Councillor Eric Williams was a manager in the Human Resources department of an Engineering company located in the industrial estate of the county town. He was an ‘Independent’ member of the local Borough Council and the local Community Council. He was aware of his elevated status in the community – or rather what he considered was his elevated status in the community. He considered himself a model citizen who was playing a valuable part in the democratic process; upholding the rule of law and ensuring that his country respected traditional values. Although he was an Independent councillor he was at heart a deep-seated Conservative. He was realistic to realise that, due to the industrial past of the valley and the way in which the Labour Party was considered the ‘natural’ political party by the inhabitants of the proudly working class community that standing for election on a Conservative ticket would probably mean that he would not only not get elected but would also, in the past, have led to him being at best ostracised by the community and at worst having his windows broken. Standing as an Independent candidate was as far as he would go in flying his political colours.
Councillor Williams lived with his wife Carol and their three children, Joan, 22, James, 21 and Jane, 19. Joan and James were both engaged to be married and were busy building the foundations for their careers based on their degrees that they had both recently completed. Jane was still at college studying to be a nurse. Councillor Williams’ home was a happy one. His children regarded him as a little ‘stuffy’ but that didn’t stop them loving their father and respecting his standing in the community. Carol carried out her duties as a mother and a wife with quiet enthusiasm and determination. It was a happy home. Today was Eric’s birthday.
The south westerly wind was laden with Atlantic moisture as it blew across the valley shrouding the valley in mist and drizzle; its gentle breeze was continual rather than gusty and the rain soaked everything everywhere; it found its way not only onto the face of the local postman and, more annoyingly, into the back of his neck. Twenty years of delivering the mail had made Lawrence more aware than most of how the weather in the valley was dominated by the warm wet south westerly wind and he relished any days that weren’t wet. Today, Councillor Williams’ birthday, was not a day to relish. The gentle rain was continual and relentless and ten minutes into his shift he had resigned himself to the fact that he was going to get wet and he would remain wet until he got home, took a shower and put on some dry clean clothes.
The rain fell steadily as Lawrence Davies made his way around the steep valley streets, weaving in and out of gardens, walking up and down the steep steps leading to the colourful front doors that guarded the families who lived in the valley. And as Lawrence’s face became wetter and wetter, so his long thin nose became the channel for the excess water to leave his face; his snout was, at times, quite a weir of freshly deposited rain.
Lawrence left one street and was about to start delivering letters to the last but one road on his round when suddenly, out of nowhere, he was confronted by a rather excited Councillor Williams.
“Morning Lawrence” he said in a voice so familiar and so cheery that the postman thought that it must be election time again as this was the only time Lawrence was ever acknowledged or spoken to by his elected representative.
“Hello Eric” replied Lawrence aware that right at that moment a little trickle of rain was making its way down the nape of his neck. Councillor Williams was quite excited and told Lawrence, in a very mischievous way that today was his birthday.
II
The winds had blown steadily in from the west for three days before it finally changed direction and the clouds cleared leaving the sun shine onto the valley and begin to dry out the rain sodden fields and wet pavements. It was a drying wind; and whilst the early spring sun was weak it shone and reminded the valley inhabitants that at last the long winter was over and spring was making herself known. The path leading up to the Kidney Flush ran with excess run-off water, gurgling gently as the stream flowed quickly down the steep valley side. The air was clean, pure and after the preceding three days of rain everything now looked bright and clean. There were only two people at the Kidney Flush that morning; Jeff Ridley and Terry Young. It was only Jeff’s third visit to the spring and Terry felt a little uncomfortable because he was unfamiliar with his companion and he wasn’t sure if his sense of humour would not be appreciated by the bricklayer and so the banter that was a hallmark of the goings on at the Kidney Flush was absent that early spring morning and he was relieved when the two Price brothers, two stalwarts of the spring approached the two men already at the Flush. After exchanging the usual pleasantries Joseph Price announced that Lawrence Davies – Lorrie the Post – had told him earlier that he would be making his first visit to the Kidney Flush.
“Perhaps he’s going to bring us a letter” joked Terry.
“I Eric’t know about that” said Joseph in his usual stern voice, “but he reckons he’s got a tale that we all should like”.
“It should be a funny one” said Jacob with a smile, “he was giggling to himself when he told us he would be joining us”.
“Here he comes now” said Jeff Ridley as he peered down the mountain at the tall thin figure with his tell-tale Royal Mail cap. The rest of the group helped themselves to the clear cold water that was flowing with more ferocity than usual and settled down in anticipation of a good story from a newcomer – it was all quite exciting for a Sunday morning.
A few minutes later the lean weather beaten face of Lawrence Davies smiled at the seated assembly.
“If you’ve got any bills for me you can take ‘em back down the valley” quipped Terry which generated a little giggle among the gathering.
“You’ve got us all intrigued Postie” said Jacob, “I hope it’s not going to be an anti-climax”.
The postman just smiled.
“How much is a mug of water?” he asked jokingly
“Free if your story is any good” said Terry. Lawrence smiled at each of them. “Oh it’s good” he said and he proceeded to help himself to a mug of the cold water feeling smug and content that his inaugural visit to the spring would be a success.
“Come on then Lorrie – put us out of our misery” said Joseph in his usual unenthusiastic manner which hid the fact that he was eager to hear what Lawrence had to say.
The postman smiled again as he sat down on a vacant rock. The others turned to face him. The only sound that could be heard was the incessant gurgling of the spring. The sun shone on the little group as Lawrence began his debut performance.
“Eric Williams” he began.
“Ugh Ugh – Councillor Eric Williams” corrected Terry, emphasising the work Councillor”
“Very important man” observed Jacob Price with a smile.
“Thinks he’s important” added his brother.
Lawrence smiled again – he knew that his story was going to be a hit because his audience already acknowledged the pomposity of the principal character in his tale.
Lawrence continued:
“Well, yesterday was Councillor Williams’ birthday. Now, you know what, I’ll confess something, I love my job”. The others stared at the narrator. What was this turning into? Some sort of career confession?
“You may think it weird that I like walking the streets of the valley in the cold and the rain but it beats sitting in an office in front of a computer all day” – he returned the looks of his audience who nodded in agreement. The postman went on.
“The only thing that really annoys me, and I mean really annoys me, is when people come up to me in the middle of my round and ask me to go through my bag to see if I have anything for them. And what’s worse is when they ask me when it’s raining cats and dogs and I have to stand there and get wet and my letters get wet”. He paused to accentuate how much he disliked being stopped in his tracks in the middle of his round.
“Yesterday Councillor Williams stopped me and told me that it was his birthday. But he stopped me just as I was going to start delivering in his street.” The others tried to understand what must have been going on.
“He told me it was his birthday and that he was going to play a joke on his family. He wanted me to give him his cards and then he would go home and tell his family that he wondered how many cards he would get this year. Then, as I would walk past his house he would moan that nobody had remembered his birthday. They, his family that is, would then try to reassure him that they had remembered and the reason why he hadn’t had any cards from them or his other friends was due to the terrible state of the Royal Mail these days. Then he told me that he would let them feel embarrassed for a couple of minutes before producing his cards that I was about to give him”.
“How childish” said Jeff; “Typical of him” said Terry.
Lawrence continued with a stern expression on his face.
“It was bloody tipping down, I was wet through and I now had to take part in a childish domestic game – I was not happy. He was so childish – urging me to get his birthday cards from my bag and all the while he was looking around to make sure nobody saw us. So, I reluctantly opened the bundle of letters for his street and started to sift through them. All the time he was looking around making sure nobody was watching. He was smirking, proud of his little plan. I eventually got to his house number and gave him his mail”.
There was a pause and then a smile crept over the postman’s face.
“All there was for him was a credit card statement”.
Suddenly the peace and quiet of the hillside was broken and the guffaws and laughter drowned out the sound of the gurgling stream.