Seven chimes echoed along the town of Shrewsbury. The sound shook the nearing leaves at the base of the crumbling church tower. He looked out of his window trying to imagine that very tower. It was becoming harder and harder for him to picture all what he once knew so well. The people were already up and going about their day, and he dreamed to be with them. Some were jogging along the River Severn which ran beside them. Both suns gleamed as one rose into Shrewsbury and the other began to set into the curious underwater world of the Severn. Twinkles rippled of the water like ribbons of golden glory swimming in and out of the freezing aquarium. A few minute splashes were being made by ducks, like the events in his life the splashes were small, and then the water settled.
Get Published on Female First
The trees either side of the house were being slowly eaten away by autumn, one almost bent over all the way as a fat flock of feathery birds sat half asleep on its slowly decaying trunk, a cruel season for nature but his favourite. He loved the way the rotting colours boarded the view of his town, and the leaves delicately twisting along the streets near Mount House were being gently pushed by the breeze to a new resting place, their colours crunching beneath busy feet. The house creaked in the wind; it caught the old building in a cold embrace. He felt the desk fan’s breath on his face and he again tried to imagine that natural Shrewsbury air he longed for.
The streets were always busy, another quality he found quite special and dear. Yes, other streets and towns elsewhere were too alive with the noise and breath of its people but never in the same way; the atmosphere different every day, never the same anywhere in town. And it was that same idea of change that he loved so much that lead him to leave. A decision paved with regret now of how much he missed his home. Unlike the paths of Shrewsbury, which had a certain charm in his eyes, they were paved just big enough to accompany his stride so he could skip down them with ease as a child.
Memories of his childhood came coursing back as he skipped a little himself back to his seat. As a boy in his garden he would follow insects and the neighbouring wildlife wherever they went. Always getting cover in natures finest his mother would say. He always wanted to know more than he previously knew. That famed curiosity had faded with age he thought. If he wasn’t the age he was he’d crawl around in the garden before you could say “evolution”. He particularly liked earthworms as a child; the way they dug their holes with what seemed like their faces and the way they were so slimy intrigued him more than any other. In the town he would put away his green fingers and listen to the air whilst he played with the other children; the hawkers would be shouting in the market square, horses and wheels churning in the streets, and there’d be a quiet background of rustling nature, it was a harmony of sounds he could not hear, but deeply missed.
In Downe in Kent, he was sat alone in his brown leather armchair by the window seeking the natural light from the foreign outside world. A world he watched in such detail but could never really be a part of. He looked back at his scribbling’s and carried on. Up till now he had felt like an observer his whole life. He didn’t mind it, it was one of his favourite things to do, he noticed things that other people didn’t but he could never work out if it was just him or plain madness. Looking up from his pad he noticed a bird through the glass, pecking ruthlessly at a nut in his garden.
His garden was one of his most special places but not this one, not this small unaffected spit of grassland. Then his eye caught the swaying tree and held his gaze as it travelled up from the roots and branches to the leaves. They were still a little green here, disappointment swirled in his eyes. This just wasn’t good enough, it just wasn’t home. He continued on with what he thought were just insane sketches and notes in his book. Whether he believed what he was writing didn’t really matter anymore. It had just become something he did. He noticed similarities all the time but no one had the same curiosity to make the connections he could. He breathed heavily and put the notepad to the side. He truly felt alone in his world.
He thought about all he had accomplished in his life and realised it was a rather short list. Although good enough for some people he wanted more out of his life, he wasn’t particularly religious but he knew he had one life to live and he wanted to live it. He wanted the madness in his head to finally make sense to him, let alone others and he wanted to make a change to the world. He wanted to make a dent in society and for people to know his name for centuries after his life was lived. His lack of faith in his self was almost un-human and he struggled to grasp what his purpose was.
He stared around his room. He then got up grabbed his rough leather armchair and turned it round so it was no longer facing outside but facing the rest of the room. He started to think about what it would be like if he didn’t have such an interest in nature and her wildlife, for she was the true love of his life. He sat down and again stared round the room. He looked at the old colossal brown book shelf packed with just books of nature, animals, insects, plants, and humans. The bin next to it however was full with crumpled medical journals residing in their new home. Then he turned and stared at the fire place which was guarded by stuffed birds and insects trapped in glass. Next at the floor, the carpet was like a tapestry of plants weaving and waving in the thread like they would in air and he saw that the same could be said for the wallpaper. He never noticed until now how much nature he’d clogged the room with. He couldn’t escape his so called “calling” as his wife Emma had said.
Eventually he got up angrily knocking the notepad off the chair and left the room. He passed the guests his wife had just shown in for tea, ignored them and wandered out through the house onto the very spot he’d just been staring out at. He wasn’t usually rude but it was difficult to be polite when he was internally angry and confused as to why. For a moment he stared at that spot of grass and thought to himself, why aren’t I the tiny blade of grass, they don’t have to worry about anything other than growing. He wasn’t having a crisis of faith or a midlife crisis, just a crisis of him.
He rested gently against his silver birch tree. It however was his favourite tree in the garden because he’d brought it over so he could have a piece of home with him. He’d normally go sit under it when he missed home. It was as if things made more sense underneath it, things made more sense when he was in his garden at Mount House, but that wasn’t his house anymore, although it was still his home at heart. He watched the tree lean as he did; the tree was starting to get rather old now. He sat down and kneelt against his wooden companion, he felt the sun warm the left side of his face. After noticing this he then turned his head and closed his eyes so he could absorb the full power of the sun. He was in his element as they say, he felt empowered and at home, he could imagine his house and his street more clearly now and he could hear that church tower booming out those bells. Home, he thought. He’d had some of his best ideas under this tree, sometimes he felt like Newton. He wanted to be one of those people, He wanted to dent the way people see the world, like the way he did.
Emma was in the other wing of the house, she was just waving off their guests, they’d come to speak to him but she could tell he wasn’t having a good day and left him to it. She explained he wasn’t feeling well and needed some fresh air and alone time in order to recuperate, she set up another meeting with them as they were very keen to talk to him about one of the ideas he’d had. She had faith in her husband like any wife did but she never wanted to meddle in his affairs as a wife wouldn’t. She came into the room where he was in before to find him. She saw him outside and opened the window, she could tell Charles was asleep so she didn’t say anything; instead she did what she normally did when he was unhappy and sat down at the piano. She played frivolous little tunes, his favourites she played extra loud in order for him to hear it whilst asleep but not loud enough to awake him. She stopped when she saw him move. The lazy old man she thought, I wonder if he ever does half the things he says he does. She smiled and went to turn his armchair back to its rightful place by the window.
In doing so she noticed the book on the floor. She picked it up and closed it as she knew it was not her place to read it. But as a curious human just like her husband, that vow did not last long. She finally reached for the book and flicked through the pages, she lingered on one or two of the pictures of animals and plants that he’d stuck in as well. She also found a picture of herself tucked away nothing was written next to it but in her eyes there didn’t have to be.
Emma Darwin carried on reading through her husband’s leather notebook until she came to a page she didn’t quite understand. She couldn’t work out whether it was a drawing or an insect or a plant. Maybe a tree. Again she lingered on this page for a while, that was until she heard her husband snore so loudly the birds flew away in fear. She put down the book and looked through the window at him.
“I think…” He’s never thought a day in his life.’
Victoria Jade Haylett is 19 on the 27th of July this year. She is currently studying Creative Writing and Media at York St John University and about to start her second year.
'My aim is to become a successful writer and I'm prepared to do what it takes to get there.'
'I grew up in a town in Shropshire called Shrewsbury. And the one thing I was always fascinated with in my little town was Charles Darwin. My town was his birth place, and the house he lived in is still there today. I've had so many memories walking through that house and garden as a child which is why I've written this piece.'