Other Harold

Other Harold


During the funeral service, Harold came to mind.
One or two people turned up to bid Rowli farewell, but Harold wasn’t there, and that was very odd.
Rowli and Harold had loved living on the river in their dilapidated old barge, but It started sinking during an extremely wet winter, and eventually they had to abandon ship. Rowli did undeclared building work and never paid tax. One day during an unusually long maintenance job on a church roof, he slipped fell off, and was badly injured.
The Vicar feeling partly responsible, loaned him and Harold a house that belonged to the clergy, but Rowli let it fall into a bad state of repair.
The hierarchy in the Church became very unhappy, they didnt like the fact that a vagabond should occupy holy property anyway, and, let it fall into ruin as well. The damp began rising and so did a temper or two.
All that was many years ago, now he was dead.
Rowli was a man who yearned for peace of mind. He was a man who needed the time to contemplate a leaf falling off a tree, watch it float to the ground. People everywhere constantly convoked him for his opinion, or his advice. He was a modern day wizard, a wise man of natural talents far beyond those we are all born with; and yet; I had never met anyone who wanted to step out of the human race as much as he. He wore no rings or jewels, he was very poor, but he could adorn your mind with riches beyond the dreams of Adam.
After the funeral, curiosity led me to visit the old house. I’d picked up a key from the priory, opened the door and walked in hoping to find some kind of memento. What I found there shocked me to the core.
Rowli was stretched out comfortably with Harold on a threadbare sofa watching a boxing match in black and white on an old bakelite plastic television.
'I was only yokin’, he beamed, with toothless grin and his incredibly bright eyes shining and sparkling,
‘I adent really snuffed, I was at the service’.
'What! You mean you went to your own funeral ?
’Suddenly, his face contorted into what might be described as an effigy of a crushed beer can. Harold eased himself quickly off the couch and legged it, suddenly there was a loud report while Rowli let free some unwanted air. Speaking straight from the shoulder, not caring a hoot in hell anyway, he said--
'Why can’t people mind their own business and leave me in peace? I was tired of not being left alone, it had to stop, I needed a solution, then I Met Spinwicket the undertaker. We talked about all the bad weather we'd had in the long winter and during the conversation he offered me employment.
The winter had been very harsh and there was a back-log of funerals to take care of, Spinwicket needed help.
Workin in the morgue for me was a real leveller and it brought home we are not here forever, it was what you might call ‘a real atmosphere job’.
‘I’d only been workin there a week and found out about his secret’.I had been listening to Rowlies narrative and at the same time desperately struggling to open a confounded window that was jammed shut. I said.
'Secret, Spinwicket has a secret? Didnt know Spinwicket had a secret’'

Don't be a fool!’ said Rowli and went on ...
'If I could fake my demise I’d be left in peace forever, so I put it to him that if he refused to provide me with a box and arrange the funeral service, I would reveal all there was to know about his secret. Spinwicket shuffled about too and fro, then finally said he would do it. But he wouldn’t go any further'.
'What do you mean by ‘further’? I asked.
'I needed money to buy peace of mind so after my funeral Spinwicket was to organise an over eighties night, I was to leap out onto the stage in me birthday suit. Everyone except Spinwicket and Harold thought I was dead, seeing me in the flesh would give us a few cardiac arrests and the odd brain haemorrhage. I would provide the clients and he would share in the profit..
‘And’ ? - I asked..
‘He gave me a flat refusal'.
‘well good for him, but for you Rowli, bad, very bad, in fact despicable unforgivable, deplorable, disgraceful… So, - what was Spinwicket’s secret then?
'Well' said Rowli.......'Before becoming an Undertaker, Spinwicket had been allowed to work with a well known theatre group as a stand-in temporary actor - he got fired and because of his own cracked vanity he was afraid it might be found out and that he would never be able to work in theatre again’
'How did he get fired?’ I asked..
This theatre group, specialized in ancient fables and errr.....
'Well go on' I said,
'Spinwicket was made to play the parts of royal despots who always got slaughtered in the first act. He had to lie for hour’s on the floor not moving, hardly breathing, they were terrible terrible parts. One day he’d had enough and went to see the director…..
'I'm fed up of pretendin to be dead' he said..
'What !, I know people who are fed up of pretending to be alive'….said the Director, 'You’re sacked'.
'Unless he kept this under his belt he'd probably be out of play-acting for good.

*One day Harold fell very ill, and died. After his burial, Rowli suffered a serious breakdown. There had been a brief hospital intervention, then he was sent to a clinic to rest, the clinic was near the sea and specialised in disorders of the nervous kind. It was near a quiet old harbour which became his favourite place. Rowli had loved living on the water with Harold, now, at the old harbour he would sit for hours looking at the boats gently rocking in the swell, especially a large House-Boat.
One fine morning Rowli was out for a walk around the harbour and along the boardwalk, when he saw a man staring intensely at something on an easel. Rowli studied the man for a very very long time, and with a smile on his face casually strolled over and began talking to him..
'Good morning', he said jovially,'I can see your an artist so I know you wont much like being disturbed while working, but it’s such a pleasant morning and a crime to let it go by without conveying at least one wish of good will to someone'...
'The man stopped what he was doing and slowly turned to look at Rowli. He had a finely trimmed silver grey beard, and deep penetrating green eyes that glowed intelligence, he spoke calmly and slowly in a mid-west American accent and appeared slightly put out by the intrusion..
'Yes, it is a fine morning and kind of you to say so, but to tell the truth I’ve been so deeply involved with this painting I hadn’t even noticed the hour of day, let alone the fine weather' then picking up an oil knife he went back to work on a picture attached to the easel.
Despite the mans obvious desire to be left alone, Rowli pressed ahead.
'I think its marvellous people who have peace of mind', he said,
'Look at fishing, a man can stand there for hours in any weather totally at ease with himself and at peace with the world. I would imagine the worst thing that can happen to an artist is for someone to come up to his side, stare at what he is creating and say nothing, the artists mind lies deep within the work coming to life before his very eyes. Now he feels an unknown presence, he looks away from his creation for a moment and acknowledges a fellow standing next to him, but what is he thinking? ..can he also create and does he have an artistic opinion, what does he think about what I am creating?
Does he think its clever, does he think its good, worthwhile or beneficial to mankind?, yes only a few of the many questions that must go through the mind of a gifted person such as yourself, but do not worry sir, have peace of mind, be yourself and take all the time in the world, that’s what its there for. ‘I believe its everyone’s right to do exactly what he pleases when he pleases providing he hurts no other, he went on....we were all born free and we free when we die what we choose to do in between should only be governed by ourselves, well that’s how it ought to be anyway, heaven knows it’s not always the case. I for one, know that’.
The man dropped the oil knife and looked straight ahead transfixed thinking hard as if trying to remember something long forgotten, then he slowly turned and Rowli saw that his eyes were red and swollen his lips trembled.'Why yes', said the man, 'yes how right you are, providence brought you my way today what a finely tuned insight into an artists mind you have, please stay by my side while I create'. Then he picked up his knife and went back to the canvas and it seemed to Rowli that the man was at one with himself and with the world, and just like himself, a man moving through life with a purpose. As time went by Rowli gathered strength, he was 'on the mend'. Every morning he would saunter down to the old harbour sit down on the quay and stare dreamily at the house boat gently rolling in the water and every afternoon he would go and stand next to the painter he had talked to, the man always became very calm and Rowli saw that he was still working on the same picture. These visits were a daily occurrence then one day the artist completed his painting. Rowli had been standing by the man as was his custom for at least an hour, there was a calm breeze lightly wafting over the high harbour wall fresh in from the Sea. The clouds in the deep blue sky were like puffs of white cotton and seagulls gently glided over with their bright orange beaks moving this way and that.
As usual Rowli had not spoken a word as the painter worked, then suddenly the man said 'nous voilà' and made a squiggle with the oil knife his own personal mark, the painting was at last finished, silence reigned.
Rowli and the man stood there for ages not saying a word, the day rolled smoothly on, peace of a late summer, a time to day-dream in a timeless world at the end of a long restful day, in short and on anyone’s planet bliss, sheer bliss.
Then Rowli said…..
'I think that’s a load of old rubbish what you've done!, I cant recollect having ever seen such a durge on canvass or even scrawled on a wall for that matter, I mean just look at the state of the mast on that boat, it looks more like a bent cock, if I'd been the instigator of such a swill of unmitigated bilge thrown onto good canvass like that, I would probably burn all my tools and throw myself under a train, Ive seen more interesting junk washin about in the bottom of an old tub. You got eyes, you got colour, I could jump up and down on a giant jelly fish and make a better design than that.
I mean bloody bleedin... Christ the stuff that drops out the back of a cow in a field has more texture, I would most certainly go and get myself psychologically examined then certified if I were you’ !
The man gaped at Rowli and his jaw fell open, he goggled and gasped and tried to grab his easel for support. Then he dropped all his paint, staggering about he fell over, got up and fell over again. Finally scrambling to his feet, he mumbled …..'I…I…I thought you were…I'….and fell over again.Rowli was about to help him to his feet but he managed to stand up on his own. He staggered off back towards the clinic where Rowli had came lurching from left to right, spluttering and choking.
Rowli watched him go... and then, looking at the painting on the easel with his bright eyes sparkling said….
'and I’ll keep this for a while as a souvenir'.

Broken and depressed the man who’d painted the picture retired.
He never painted another picture again. This was a great disappointment to the Art world because he was a famously renowned painter, and very wealthy. After suffering a severe nervous disorder in his native America, he was now in a very fragile frame of mind. His own personal medical advisor had sent him to Europe for a rest cure, signing him in to the same clinic Rowli was staying. This last painting would be the beginning of a new era. It would have been worth a great deal of money and a jewel in the crown of any collection.

Rowli disappeared, and I often wondered what had become of him. One day while out strolling, I bumped into the Vicar and asked him if he’d ever heard anything about Rowli?
Grinding his teeth he said…
‘The roof of the Church had been leaking in numerous places so I informed the Bishop who sent an inspection team over. The building is old and they climbed up on the roof expecting to find lead damaged in places, but it wasn’t damaged lead they found, in fact there wasn’t any lead left up there’
‘So what was it they found’? I sighed wondering where this conversation was going, and what on Earth it had got to do with Rowli.…
‘Plastic bin-bags, confounded supermarket grey plastic bin bags, covering the entire roof’
The Vicar had once long ago been a heavy weight boxer and waved a massive fist in the air, the other hand held his Bible. Trembling and shaking he said ‘If ever I get hold of that Rowli he’ll have me to deal with, then if there’s anything left of him, the Lord’!

I'd been feeling very unwell for some time and decided to get a medical check-up, after a test or two I was sent to a specialist in blood diseases, sadly, he told me I had somehow contracted a rare incurable illness.
I'd worked all my life in an accountancy office, banging on typewriters and then computer keyboards inside concrete buildings, I thought this might be the excuse I needed to get close to nature, something I had always wanted but never been able. I decided to retire, relax, get away and live somewhere deep in the country.
Sitting on a river-bank one day enjoying the peaceful movement of the water, I heard someone walking energetically down the tow-path. The footsteps suddenly stopped behind me. Looking round I saw and old man standing there. He was staring intensely at me. In amazement I saw a once familiar face, it was old Rowli.
He sat down on the grass next to me and told of his charmed life living on a house-boat. I told him of my health predicament, he stared out into the deep water showing no emotion. There was a long silence, suddenly I felt his bright eyes piercing me and he said………
‘When you own something you only have something, when you own nothing you have everything. Once I had everything except peace of mind – that, I had to buy. Sometimes it takes a lifetime to get there, often you have to step on a face or two, even get on the wrong side of the law. But if you can find your real self, its worth it, all things come together as one, you earn a new life.
‘Come and live on the house boat with us…I can show you what I mean’,
‘what do you mean by, us’ ?, I asked.
Just then a fine looking black and white dog came trotting up sat down obediently next to Rowli and rubbed a long wet snout along his thigh. Rowli caressed the dog lovingly.
I said… ‘he looks just like the one you lived with on the barge, the dog that died’
‘yes he does' he said ' I’d like you to meet Other Harold'
.. then suddenly many things happened all at once..
Rowlies mobile face ground to a halt and Other Harold ran off .
There was a tremor in the Earths crust.
I turned round to see where Harold had gone but he was no-where in sight.
There was another tremor in the Earths crust.
Turning back to face Rowli I saw his eyes were closed and face filled with contentment.
I said..

'Do windows open easily on your house-boat'?