All Things Bright and Beautiful Read online

  Anyway, I thought, the worst was over. The tram stop was just at the end of the block there. I joined the queue and when the tram arrived, shuffled forward with the others. I had one foot on the step when a large hand was thrust before my eyes.

  “Just a minute, brother, just a minute! Where d’you think you’re goin’?” The face under the conductor’s hat was the meaty, heavy jowled, pop-eyed kind which seems to take a mournful pleasure in imparting bad news.

  “You’re not bringin’ that bloody lot on ’ere, brother, I’ll tell tha now!”

  I looked up at him in dismay. “But…it’s just a few books…”

  “Few books! You want a bloody delivery van for that lot. You’re not usin’ my tram—passengers couldn’t stir inside!” His mouth turned down aggressively.

  “Oh but really,” I said with a ghastly attempt at an ingratiating smile, “I’m just going as far as…”

  “You’re not goin’ anywhere in ’ere, brother! Ah’ve no time to argue—move your foot, ah’m off!”

  The bell ding-dinged and the tram began to move. As I hopped off backwards one of the strings broke again.

  After I had got myself sorted out I surveyed my situation and it appeared fairly desperate. My car must be over a mile away, mostly uphill, and I would defy the most stalwart Nepalese Sherpa to transport these books that far. I could of course just abandon the things; lean them against this wall and take to my heels…But no, that would be anti-social and anyway they were beautiful. If only I could get them home all would be well.

  Another tram rumbled up to the stop and again I hefted my burden and joined the in-going passengers, hoping nobody would notice.

  It was a female voice this time.

  “Sorry, you can’t come on, luv.” She was middle-aged, motherly and her plump figure bulged her uniform tightly.

  “We don’t ’ave delivery men on our trams. It’s against t’rules.”

  I repressed a scream. “But I’m not a…these are my own books. I’ve just bought them.”

  “Bought ’em?” Her eyebrows went up as she stared at the dusty columns.

  “Yes…and I’ve got to get them home somehow.”

  “Well somebody’ll tek ’em home for you luv. Hasta got far to go?”

  “Darrowby.”

  “Eee, by gum, that’s a long way. Right out in t’country.” She peered into the tram’s interior. “But there isn’t no room in there, luv.”

  The passengers had all filed in and I was left alone standing between my twin edifices; and the conductress must have seen a desperate fight in my eyes because she made a sudden gesture.

  “Come on then, luv! You can stand out ’ere on the platform wi’ me. I’m not supposed to, but ah can’t see you stuck there.”

  I didn’t know whether to kiss her or burst into tears. In the end I did neither but stacked the books in a corner of the platform and stood swaying over them till we arrived at the park where I had left my car.

  The relief at my deliverance was such that I laughed off the few extra contretemps on my way to the car. There were in fact several more spills before I had the books tucked away on the back seat but when I finally drove away I felt like singing.

  It was when I was threading my way through the traffic that I began to rejoice that I lived in the country, because the car was filled with an acrid reek which I thought could only come from the conglomeration of petrol fumes and industrial smoke. But even when the city had been left behind and I was climbing into the swelling green of the Pennines the aroma was still with me.

  I wound down the window and gulped greedily as the sweet grassy air flowed in but when I closed it the strange pungency returned immediately. I stopped, leaned over and sniffed at the region of the back seat. And there was no doubt about it; it was the books.

  Ah well, they must have been kept in a damp place or something like that I was sure it would soon pass off. But in the meantime it certainly was powerful; it nearly made my eyes water.

  I had never really noticed the long climb to our eyrie on top of Skeldale House but it was different today. I suppose my arms and shoulders were finally beginning to feel the strain and that string, bristly but fragile, was digging into my hands harder than ever, but it was true that every step was an effort and when I at last gained the top landing I almost collapsed against the door of our bed-sitter.

  When, perspiring and dishevelled, I entered, Helen was on her knees, dusting the hearth. She looked up at me expectantly.

  “Any luck, Jim?”

  “Yes, I think so,” I replied with a trace of smugness. “I think I got a bargain.”

  Helen rose and looked at me eagerly. “Really?”

  “Yes,” I decided to play my trump card. “I only had to spend three shillings!”

  “Three shillings! What…where…?”

  “Wait there a minute.” I went out to the landing and put my hand under those strings. This, thank heaven, would be the last time I would have to do this. A lunge and a heave and I had my prizes through the doorway and displayed for my wife’s inspection.

  She stared at the two piles. “What have you got there?”

  “The Geography of the World in Twenty Four Volumes,” I replied triumphantly.

  “The Geography of the…and is that all?”

  “Yes, couldn’t manage anything else, I’m afraid. But look—aren’t they magnificent books!”

  My wife’s level gaze had something of disbelief, a little of wonder. For a moment one corner of her mouth turned up then she coughed and became suddenly brisk.

  “Ah well, we’ll have to see about getting some shelves for them. Anyway, leave them there for now.” She went over and kneeled again by the hearth. But after a minute or two she paused in her dusting.

  “Can you smell anything funny?”

  “Well, er…I think it’s the books, Helen. They’re just a bit musty…I don’t think it’ll last long.”

  But the peculiar exhalation was very pervasive and it was redolent of extreme age. Very soon the atmosphere in our room was that of a freshly opened mausoleum.

  I could see Helen didn’t want to hurt my feelings but she kept darting looks of growing alarm at my purchases. I decided to say it for her.

  “Maybe I’d better take them downstairs just for now.”

  She nodded gratefully.

  The descent was torture, made worse by the fact that I had thought I was finished with such things. I finally staggered into the office and parked the books behind the desk. I was panting and rubbing my hands when Siegfried came in.

  “Ah, James, had a nice run through to Leeds?”

  “Yes, they said at the lab that they’d give us a ring about those sheep as soon as they’ve cultured the organisms.”

  “Splendid!” My colleague opened the door of the cupboard and put some forms inside then he paused and began to sniff the air.

  “James, there’s a bloody awful stink in here.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well yes, Siegfried, I bought a few books while I was in Leeds. They seem a little damp.” I pointed behind the desk.

  Siegfried’s eyes widened as he looked at the twin edifices. “What the devil are they?”

  I hesitated. “The Geography of the World in Twenty Four Volumes.”

  He didn’t say anything but looked from me to the books and back again. And he kept sniffing. There was no doubt that only his innate good manners were preventing him from telling me to get the damn things out of here.

  “I’ll find a place for them,” I said, and with a great weariness pushed my hands yet again under the strings. My mind was in a ferment as I shuffled along the passage. What in heaven’s name was I going to do with them? But as I passed the cellar door on my right it seemed to provide the answer.

  There were great vaulted chambers beneath Skeldale House, a proper wine cellar in the grand days. The man who went down there to read the gas meter always described them as “The Cattycombs” and as I descended into the murky, dank-smel