Chapter 11 #2
‘It’s all coming back to you now.’ He chuckled.
‘I was with my parents to see the parade. I was way too old for it, but they liked to get involved with any Winterbruck event. My mum spotted you and told me who you were, and I still remember seeing you hide behind your dad’s legs.
You had your eyes tightly shut as if you believed that when you opened them Schmutzli might disappear. ’
‘He gave me a cookie, from what I remember.’
‘That’s right. Mum and I waited and watched, saw your dad coax you out from your hiding place, and once you realised Schmutzli wasn’t completely evil you seemed okay.’
‘It was that dark hooded cloak and the fact daylight had disappeared. It was scary. I think Dad knew that if he didn’t get me to face Schmutzli, I’d have nightmares for the rest of our stay.’
‘A wise move,’ he said with a smile.
‘It felt like he was there to scare children into behaving,’ she said. ‘Although I suspect there’s a lot more to the tradition than that.’
‘I don’t think Schmutzli always handed out cookies, put it that way.
I remember saying to Mum that while the Schmutzli was tradition here I was glad I’d avoided it.
I grew up mostly in England. When I was a boy, we’d had Santa going up and down the street waving from on top of a float when we were kids rather than the parade and a man in a dark outfit that hid his face.
Give me the threat of a lump of coal any day. ’
‘Same.’ She smiled. ‘I remember your mum.’
‘You do?’
‘Your parents were good friends with Grumps and Nanna.’
‘They sure were.’
And she remembered something else. ‘One day, my mum and dad had gone to do some Christmas shopping. Grumps had a cold and was in bed, Nanna was in the kitchen, so I was out here building a snowman in the front garden. I was looking for some sticks for his arms and when I found them your mum came outside of her chalet and handed me a carrot for his nose and three big stones to do his buttons.’
‘That sounds like Mum. She loved doing that sort of thing when I was a boy.’ He seemed to like the memory, and she was glad she could share it with him. ‘She’d do it when I visited as a grown-up too, and actually I enjoyed it just as much.’
‘How old were you?’
‘When we made snowmen? In my twenties.’
She giggled.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever lose that sense of fun with things like that. Snowmen, snow angels, skiing, sledging.’
‘You helped my dad make me a sledge.’
‘Oh no, you must be mistaken.’
Her heart sank. He didn’t remember.
‘It couldn’t have been me,’ he said. ‘Father Christmas – Samichlaus – left the sledge by your Christmas tree. Me and your dad had nothing to do with it.’ He winked.
She felt a warmth course through her body. He remembered.
He set down his empty cup, and took over the shovelling. ‘Give me a turn. You finish your drink.’
He skilfully moved the snow out of the way then started on the pavement beyond that led to the start of her grandparents’ path. He was so kind, bringing her a drink, chatting as if he had all day. She found the courage to ask, ‘Do you remember much about my dad?’
He stopped what he was doing, turned, and rested the shovel beneath his hands drawn against his chest. ‘A bit, yes, and I’m sorry you lost him so young. He was a good man. You must miss him a lot.’
‘Every day.’ She insisted she take possession of the shovel to carry on doing the clearing.
‘His eyes always lit up when he talked about you,’ said Jonathan.
The shovel stopped moving for a moment and she turned to face him.
‘When he asked about my wooden sledge, he was desperate to deliver something just as special for his little girl. He told me he had no talent for making things, but over a beer or two I told him I was a carpenter by trade and that I would be glad to help.’ He paused, almost unsure of himself.
‘I didn’t really know your mum or you, but my parents adored Astrid and Earl.
I knew you were a good family, and I also knew I could knock out a sledge in no time.
I didn’t want to see a young girl trying to sledge on top of something that didn’t work, or worse, that would fall apart.
I think it comes from my memory of having a plastic sledge as a boy and having it split on the first day, leaving me well and truly out of the best sledge races.
Your dad was a very good right-hand man making that wooden sledge for you, and he watched like he was trying to learn something. ’
‘He was clever.’
‘Just not great with hands, eh…’
Sarah relished this. Talking about her dad with someone new. Learning little snippets she could treasure forever.
‘Your dad actually seemed like he could be good at making things. He listened, he did everything as instructed, and he didn’t mess up any of the sanding, the screwing parts together, the staining.’
‘Perhaps he would’ve made more things if he’d ever got to retire.’ A sadness came over her. He’d been in his early forties when he died, no age at all.
‘I think you’re right.’
Her spirits lifted. ‘Maybe some of my brush skills come from my dad.’
‘I heard you were in the painting and decorating business. You like it?’
‘I do. I don’t think I was ever cut out to be behind a desk.’
He took hold of the shovel when she hit a harder-packed section near the side. It must have built up from some of the snow that had been shovelled away previously but had tumbled back onto the path and frozen. She supposed there was only so much clearing you could do.
‘I wasn’t cut out for office work either,’ he said, ‘I was always happier using my hands and making things. And now I’ve retired, I still do it, but everything I make is for the chalet, or for friends, or just for fun.’
She took back the shovel again. She’d been determined to repay him the favour and here he was doing the hard part.
‘Why don’t I sweep the lighter bits of snow and put down some grit?’ he suggested. ‘You keep doing the rest of the pavement and your folks’ place, and I’ll go get what I need.’ He took the mugs and disappeared for a moment, but was quickly back.
Between them they had both paths and the pavement out front of both properties cleared, swept and gritted in no time.
Jonathan looked up at the sky. ‘It’s not supposed to snow again until later tonight. With any luck it won’t need another clearing until tomorrow morning.’
‘Thanks for helping Grumps and Nanna out.’
‘It doesn’t take much to do their path and out front when I’m doing my own.
And they’ve helped me enough times. After both my folks had passed your nanna was convinced I couldn’t fend for myself whenever I was here.
She brought me dinner round more times than I could count.
And snacks. And bread. And cakes.’ He was laughing.
‘She does like to bake.’
‘And Meg makes chocolate. Creativity obviously runs in the family.’
‘Her chocolates are the best.’ She’d had a few over the years when visits coincided with a parcel from Meg to Grumps and Nanna. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you – Nanna said there’s porridge if you’re interested.’
‘Tell Astrid thanks, but I won’t today. I’m a bit busy. Maybe tomorrow,’ he said as he walked away with a wave.
Jonathan would never know how much this morning had meant to her. Hearing about her dad brought him back in a way, if only for a moment. And she’d treasured every second.