THE POLITICS OF PARADISE POND

 

Chapter One

                                                                  Farewell to Paradise

Peter could see his grandfather through the window of the big kitchen. He seemed to be wandering aimlessly along the gravel paths.
         "Can I go out mum?" he called.
         "Not yet," his mother answered, "your granddad has a lot on his mind; just give him a few more minutes."
         It was one of those days that occur frequently in mid summer. A few hot days followed by a thundery build up of clouds resulting in a humid sticky day. Warm enough but not pleasant; no inviting sunshine and gentle breeze; one of those days when everything is an effort, and yet nothing seems to please.
         Somehow the fact that it was his birthday didn't help Gordon. Not that birthday's meant that much any more; especially since he had seen the big 'five o' come and go.
          And there was another reason that Gordon was feeling down. Four years ago he had said goodbye to his father, and then during the last year his mother had gone to join him. Now it was time for the final goodbye, for tomorrow the house was to go under the hammer.
         He had loved his parents and his mourning for them and his sense of loss was genuine. But his feelings about the house went beyond grieving. He could not say why exactly, and he experienced a curious sense of guilt about it, but he had always felt that it was part of him.
         He had been born in this house; literally so, for his mother had been caught unprepared, and before she could be moved to the hospital Gordon made his appearance - a month before he was due. He had lived there through childhood and boyhood, and into manhood; until his new wife had wrested him away. It was only then that he truly understood the privilege he had enjoyed through all his young years.
         For a number of reasons he felt unable to move into the house himself and reluctantly he had taken the decision to let it go, but it had been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. Every morning he would wake up wondering if there was something he had overlooked; something that would allow him to change his mind.
         Gordon walked slowly down the path behind the house, past the lawns, with their borders and flower beds; for so long the centre of his mothers life, but now, sadly, urgently in need of attention. By the fruit trees and beyond the large vegetables area he strolled, where his father had toiled joyfully following his retirement, producing almost everything one could imagine. He had been so proud of his vegetables, but was always happy to lend a hand with the mower or the clippers in his wife's half of their private world.
         Gordon reached a fence and stopped, turning so that he could get a good look at the house. Overnight rain had left the path a little muddy, so he was glad he had slipped on an old pair of Wellington boots, otherwise he might not have gone so far. At this point his feeling of sadness was slightly appeased, though for another reason. This was his favourite view of the old house, apparently framed as though it was between the curling branches of two elders, a picture that might have been captured on many an artists canvas had it not been hidden from their view. In fact one of the trees was somewhat nearer to the house than the other, the smaller of the two, so between them but only from Gordon’s present position, they contrived to create a perfect frame.
         It was a large house. Not huge like a stately home, but large by most standards, set in many acres of pasture and woodlands. It was also quite old, having been built in stone and dark rustic brick around eighteen fifty, in a style that owed nothing to anyone except its idiosyncratic creator, Gordon's great great grandfather. Gordon had always believed that it had been built without the benefit of plans, having simply grown at the whim and impulse of that ancestor, its builder and first owner. It had long been a family joke that there was not a straight line to be found in the place.
         He spent half an hour or so just gazing, trying to burn into his mind the picture in front of him, a picture which he knew from now on would only be in his memory. His springer spaniel, getting on now but still trying to live up to its name, was scampering around, oblivious of his masters discomfort.
         "Grampa; grampa" a little voice disturbed him, and Gordon watched as two boys trotted down the path toward him.
         "Over here Jason." he called back to his youngest grandson, "Mind just there, it's a little bit slipy." Peter, Jason’s elder brother was nearly eleven. He could look after himself and did not wait for guidance.
         Jason soon reached his grandfather. At five years old he was a joy, and ready for any adventure. Peter had already skipped ahead, tempting - he hoped - to draw his grandfather a little further.
         "Are you going to take us down to the pond Grampa?" he asked, taking his hand. "Mummy says it's alright if you go with us."
         The log fence that Peter was leaning on, made out of loppings from the wood behind, marked the end of what might be called 'the garden', but it was far from the end of the estate. And it was what lay beyond that had made this such a special place for Gordon, and why he was convinced that there could not have been no better place for a boy to grow up, and why, he concluded with equal conviction and a silent thought of regret, there would be no better place for a man to end his days.
         They walked together for a few yards until they came to a gate made from the same tree cuttings. Both fence and gate looked as though they were on the point of collapse, but Gordon knew that they had looked that way since they had been erected more than twenty years before, and he had little doubt that they would still be standing twenty years hence.
         Through the gate and into the wood they went, following a faint path to the top of the ridge, and then down the other side until they came to a wide stream weaving its way between the trees.. Beyond that the wood sloped less steeply, until it reach a point beyond which it was impossible to see.

         They followed the stream as it flowed determindly down the slope. Sometimes it became little more than a trickle where it found a subterranean shortcut, only to re-emerged and continue its main route and in full body further down the slope. Here and there a magical sound told of a waterfall where some large stones - many of which had been placed by young hands - blocked the way. Or where a fallen log had contrived to cause a dam - an obstacle which the children could not leave unsurmounted.
         Eventually they emerged from the trees at a point overlooking a water meadow, where at last the stream ran free. For a few hundred yards it reigned supreme before it was absorbed into a small river, at which confluence with forces joined, they pretended to be a mighty Amazon. Wider now, its combined waters tumbling joyfully over a stony bed and into a lake.
         Many years before a pond in the river had been enlarged to provide a head for a mill further down stream, and to provide a watering place for cattle. But when the mill was replaced by a larger one the 'pond' was further enlarged to its present size by means of a ridge further up stream being removed. The 'new' mill had itself disappeared long ago, but the lake remained. It was known locally, despite its considerable size, just as it always had been, Paradise Pond. Now, only grazing cattle and horses enjoy what once was a scene of bustling industry. So well had the dam been built that the lake looked entirely natural, and nature had long since completed the illusion, hiding from view nearly all traces of man’s intervention.
         As a child Gordon had thought that this was the biggest lake in the world, being bigger than any other water he had ever seen. To his young eyes it seemed enormous. He looked down at his grandsons knowing that they would be seeing it as he had all those years ago. Especially Peter, for in him he saw much of himself. Just like he, it had always been his grandson's favourite place; with its soft grassy edges here, and quite steep muddy banks there, and its many areas its rocks and reeds adding a magical element in the mind of a small boy.
         In some places the water was out of reach because of wide reed beds and bulrushes, while at others paths rimmed the very water's edge. The wood, from which the trio of adventurers had just emerged, sloped down towards the lake, from where one could see beyond the waters broad expanse, a rising slope of grassland. Steeper near the water then less so as it climbed, so that from the water edge on the far side the rising meadow became the horizon.
         Gordon felt very content and smiled as he watched the boys standing on one of the rocks at the waters edge looking for signs of life, and guessing that they were seeing what he had seen, half a lifetime ago. He called his grandsons and they continued their walk to the end of the lake until they reached a waterfall. A short but steep path sloped quickly from the water’s edge to that point where above a swift stream emerged from the 'pond', falling down to the lower level to continue its journey through the narrowing valley beyond the meadow. The waterfall was the only place where the hand of man was still visible, for behind the falling water, if one looked very carefully, it was just possible to make out, hiding behind the growth of uncountable small plants and clinging vine-like vegetation, the mossy and lichen covered stones of the dam itself. Beyond the dam itself the valley sloped away steeply as did the stream over many little waterfalls, until the natural level was resumed.

         A bridge had been build level with the bottom of the waterfall to allow access to the ‘pond’ beyond the river, this time up the slope and to its far side.
         As they crossed the footbridge bridge Gordon looked at the rushing water. It always seemed to amaze him that the still water above left the dam with such speed and force, as though anxious to escape. How long had the water, which now hurried beneath him, been in the pond? How many days, weeks, months, maybe even years, had it been held up by the lake on its long journey from its spring to the sea. Who could say? Certainly not the boys who were scampering up the path heading for a rocky ridge.
         Gordon followed as they made their way to a little rise by the side of the pond to where a small ledge in the rocks, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet above the water, provided a vantage point from which to view the pond. From here one could see where another ridge further on became a nose shaped prominence, reducing in height quite quickly until it dived below the surface, only to re-emerge on the opposite bank; smaller and less rocky, but prominent enough to help to create an irregular but discernible figure of eight shape to the whole lake. They could also see from their vantage point two small islands. One of them quite near and slightly to the right, in the lesser of the two 'halves' of the lake, while some way beyond the rocky 'nose' the another island; slightly larger could be seen. This was sitting comfortably in the larger of the two 'circles' of water, also on the right but almost at the end so from that viewing point, it wasn't quite clear that it was another island. Both islands were close the edge of the lake in their respective haves, but in each case there was a channel between it and the bank.
         These channels, just wide enough to be jumped if one could get a good run, had been the cause of many a soaking in years gone by, when some young man's ambition had been greater than his ability.
         At one time there had been a wooden summer house on the larger island, the tumbled down remains of it were still in evidence, as was the remains of a bridge. Both islands however had long been abandoned and over time nature had claimed it's own. Both, overgrown with a dense covering of shrubs, grasses and other foliage, had become a haven for water fowl, ducks and birds.
         Gordon clambered down from the ledge until he was close to the water, with Peter, Jason, and the dog, following behind.
         "Come on Barney." Peter called, noticing some slight hesitation. Then he turned to his Grandfather. "Granddad," he said "how old is Barney?"
         "Let me see now; about seventy five I should think."
         Peter laughed out loud "That's older than you Granddad."
         "It certainly is." Gordon answered, pretending to be a bit put out. "but don't forget 'dog years."
         "Dog years; what does that mean?"
         "It means that one year for us is like seven years for a dog. Now Barney's more than ten - I'll let you work it out."
         Gordon turned away. Just clear from the marshy edge of the water some tufts of grass and a slightly rising bank provided him with a comfortable place to sit and watch the children playing. Jason was on a sandy area beneath the ledge, while Peter, more adventurous, had found some flat stones just into the shallows, around which grasses grew, sending their leaves and stems - perfect landing places for dragonflies - toward the sky.
         In many areas large number of trees had established themselves over time, mostly from seed borne on the wind from the nearby woods, or deposited by birds from a greater distance. They had found the ground to their liking, kept moist by the lake, their roots taking full advantage of the high water table, and gradually a whole new ecosystem had come into being based around, and dependent upon 'the pond'.
         "Not too near remember." Gordon called to Jason, always cautious, even though he was well schooled and knew how close he was allowed to go.
         Gordon was glad to be at the pond – perhaps for the last time but despite that he felt at peace. Settling with his back against the trunk of an obliging tree, he quietly watched his grandsons, and lazily enjoyed the warmth of the afternoon sun which had finally defeated the clouds. The oppressive clamminess of the morning had given way to a pleasant afternoon; with some high thin clouds, and a gentle cooling breeze emanating from the water.
         "Peter," he called his elder grandson "come and sit with me, there are some things I want to tell you."
         He feeling of contentment was tempered only by the thought that perhaps he might not ever see Paradise Pond again. So it was with mixed emotions for them both when Peter sat by his side. Peter knew that something was wrong, and that his grandfather was unhappy.
         "Is he going to die?" he thought, but dare not ask, as he put his head on his grandfathers chest.
         Gordon put his arm around the boys shoulders, and gently held him close. He knew that his grandson loved the place as he did, so he would have to tell him. "But not right now," he said to himself; I'll tell him in a minute." Now that the sun had come out; it was warm and he was strangely content. He did not want to break the spell of the moment.