Three Buses like those in the background |
Breathe it in – the familiar smell of wood-fire smoke, blending with the
mellow odor of damp woollen clothes drying out. Body gradually warming up in
chill Scottish air, fingers cradling a cup of hot sugary tea. Hmm. Lunch –
everyone gets the same: a tasty Scottish spiced-sausage pie, fern cupcake, Blue
Riband caramel wafer bar and a big round, icing-topped cherry-in-the-middle
jam-filled Empire Biscuit, or maybe a shiny red-and-green apple.
~~~Credit: Lochwinnoch.info |
What a grand view from the upper deck! Almost all are aboard now – all two-hundred-plus of us. Church door and gates are locked, Mr. F climbs on board our idling bus. Engines roar and gears engage. We’re off!
Her printed cotton dress moves gently in the breeze. Her brown hair – not too short, but not too long, either – doesn’t hide her endearing round, rosy cheeks. What do her eyes say, as she stands all alone, gazing up, eyes scanning the windows? The lower deck? The upper deck?
Source: MRM Black |
Mystified?
Abandoned? Unsure?
Afraid?
Left
behind, all alone . . . on a city side-street, outside the padlocked gate of a
church.
What will
she do now? What will happen to her?
I’m on the bus. I’m ten. She’s . . . three-and-a-half, maybe four.
~~~
I’ve wondered about that little girl more often than I can recall during the more than six decades since that day.
She tugs at my heart every time.
~~+~~
Peter, now retired from fulltime pastoral service, is an author, inspirational columnist and songwriter living in Southwestern Ontario. He enjoys singing and playing sacred music and praise songs – especially for his friends in a number of residential care facilities and in area congregations.
~ Parables from the Pond
5 comments:
What a beautiful piece of writing, Peter.
Thanks for sharing this.
Beautifully expressed, Peter. I hope she had a good life.
Thanks, Eleanor and Susan. I also wonder whether the little girl grew up with lasting impressions of how she felt at being left all alone to find her way home that day, and how it may have, in some way, shaped her life. ~~+~~
Why does this make me cry? So lovely, Peter. Surely makes me think about how we sometimes don't think - about the plight of others. Bless you for your compassionate heart - even at ten years of age. . .
It tugs at my heart strings too. There's a lump in my throat. I'd like to believe she met a Peter in her life.
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