Showing posts with label Blue Riband. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blue Riband. Show all posts

Monday, May 02, 2016

The Girl - by Peter A. Black

It’s the big day! Three double-decker buses roll to a stop, kissing the kerb. All is abuzz. Little kids, teens and adults – mums and dads, singles and seniors, are herded aboard. Today’s the Annual Sunday School Outing, eagerly anticipated; a highlight excursion to a country park by the banks of Lochwinnoch.

Three Buses like those in the background
Fun galore – races for every age group and lots of prizes; sneaking off with a couple of pals to explore, then falling into the water and getting soaked . . . again, this year? Brief, stiff lecture about wandering off.


Credit: Lochwinnoch.info
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.
~~~
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
I gaze into those eyes; a fleeting second is all I have. What do I see? Disappointment? Sadness? What does she feel?

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.


~ Raise Your Gaze ... Mindful Musings of a Grateful Heart
~ Parables from the Pond
 


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