Finn
‘What did they do with the bit of your leg they cut off?’ I asked.
I was more interested in that than in the romantic bits of Philly’s story, but when she’s remembering her Life Story she seems to like talking about them, so I just let her.
I know Mum will like them too and will probably want to put them in her book.
We were walking to the shops the next day, because Dad was off helping to run the sailing camp and we needed to buy some food for our lunches and suppers.
There wasn’t much in the fridge after Mum left.
‘I never asked,’ she replied. ‘I think they probably buried it somewhere.’ She tapped her false leg with her walking stick. ‘There is a corner of southern France which is forever England. Or Scotland, I suppose, with just a bit of Poland thrown in for good measure.’
We walked up the lane, past the smallholding with the beehives and the donkeys in the orchard. ‘That’s where the old man from the cemetery lives,’ I told her. ‘Sometimes I see him there wearing his beekeeper’s suit and a white hat with a veil.’
One of the donkeys wandered over to the fence when we got closer. Philly stopped to stroke its nose and feed it a handful of the greener grass that grows on this side of the fence. ‘Do you want to give it some?’ she asked, holding out another handful.
‘No thank you,’ I said. I don’t think I’d like the feeling of the donkey’s mouth on my hand. ‘They’re very old, these donkeys. They used to carry baskets of salt from the marshes.’
‘They’re in retirement. Like me,’ she said.
We carried on up the lane for a bit. Then I said, ‘Would you like to go back to the south of France and try to find your leg?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t feel the need to do so. I did feel the need to track down Jim Elliot’s grave, though, after the war. He was the Lysander pilot who was shot, remember? The maquisards had buried his body in the woods beside the sunflower field.’
‘Like the remains of his plane,’ I said. ‘Is he still there?’
‘No. He was given a proper burial in a military cemetery. His family wanted it. It’s very important to do what we can to find the remains of those lost in the war.
To bury them with the honour and dignity they deserve.
I think it gives the families closure. We all need a place to go to feel that connection with those we’ve lost. Amy’s disappearance made me realise that. ’
‘Do you have a place to go to feel a connection with her?’ I asked.
‘Not really,’ she said. Her smile had gone. ‘I always think of her, though, when I’m in a plane. Because we never managed to find her, it’s as if she’s still up there in the sky. So I suppose that’s where I feel closest to her. Her spirit will always be flying free.’
We got to the shop, and I put on my ear defenders. ‘Would you like to wait outside?’ she asked, making a gesture so I’d understand. She was folding up her walking stick so she had both hands free to push one of the miniature-sized trolleys they have.
I nodded. Even though I’m meant to be helping her, the shop looked too crowded. ‘Can you get a packet of Prince biscuits too, please? The chocolate ones.’ They are the ones I like, and you can only get them in France.
When she came out, she had 2 pretty heavy carrier bags full of food.
I took one and she carried the other, but it made her walk in a very lopsided way, even with her walking stick.
Then I had a Good Idea. We were walking past the bike hire place and there was a tricycle there, but it wasn’t a child’s one, it was the size for an adult to ride.
It had a basket on the front, big enough to fit one of the shopping bags.
‘Do you think we could rent that?’ I said. ‘We could push it back with the shopping on it. You could even put your collapsible walking stick in the basket, if you like.’
Her smile came back again. ‘Let’s go and ask.’
The man in the bike place was very helpful.
He said he could certainly rent Philly the trike and he’d give her a special rate for the week.
So that solved our problem of carrying the shopping and as we walked back to the house, pushing the trike with the bags hanging on the handlebars, Philly said she might even be tempted to have a go at riding it.
‘In that case,’ I said, ‘I can get my bike out of the shed and we can go on some expeditions.’
‘I like that idea very much indeed,’ she said. ‘Let’s give it a whirl.’
We tried it out in the lane, once we’d unpacked the shopping. She was pretty good at it, even with her false leg, and she smiled a lot and said, ‘Not bad for a dinosaur.’
I said, ‘Much better. A dinosaur couldn’t ride a trike, not even a Coelophysis which was a biped and probably about the closest in size to a human being.’ And then we had lunch and afterwards we sat on the porch, and I recorded some more of her Life Story.