The Last Knocker

It always seems to start the same way every year around this small busy town. Fall gives her last dance of trick or treat and Thanksgiving wishes, while winter steps in to take over the dance. It begins with a cooler less brisk shuffle, followed by a waltz of cold air that makes the mercury fall quickly on the thermostat. The people begin to arm themselves with thicker coats and boots that hide inside of them double pairs of socks or thermals to keep warm.  Even the sun that provides all us with its warmth of rays, start leaving early to avoid further dances with cold, as night eagerly awaits its deep dance of cold with winter. Then like magic from a story book, the clouds get heavier and the wind begins to blow just right. At the right moment a snow flake falls from the heavens. Once the scout makes contact with the ground and see’s it ok, the rest of the troops fall in. Soon the ground will be covered with the white cold softness of what science calls snow.

Just outside of town across the brook there is the famous lovers’ bridge, a bridge known for its magical elements. The legend goes that if you take your true love there and kiss under a full moon, the next night your true love will show in your dreams. Most would call it a superstition or an old wives tale, unless you ask the locals who have all tried it at least once; with many marriages coming from this very tradition. Though, there’s a tradition that goes back almost as far as the town built across from it, one particular tradition strangely still lives on…knocker-upper. Now what is a knocker-upper you ask? Well before you go into thinking it’s some ancient fertility ritual, let me explain. Back before alarms, people needed a way to be woken up to get to where they needed to go on time. So someone came up with the idea that a job was needed for that purpose, thus the knocker-upper was born or awoken, which ever you prefer. The knocker-upper would stay up all night and in the early mornings use his or her tool; usually a stick, pea shooter, or lamp stick and knock on the windows to wake up the sleepy neighbors. This went on for years successfully, until the invention of the clock and alarm. There were still a few knockers around, but just like all things, soon they faded away into the memory of history books. Except for one person who still keeps it going on strong, his name….Churchill, but everyone calls him Church. For those few who just refuse to wake up when the alarm goes off, he’ll come by and give a knock to get them up and going in the early mornings.

For the most part it’s a nice niche that a lot of the locals love to use and it give Church some extra spending money, not a lot, but some none the less. Even some of the summer tourists get in on it as well. Not to get this side job confused for a passion, because by all accounts it is not, rather a labor of love or better to say a love that brings labor.  Church isn’t keen on this particular part of his life, nor the collection that keeps adding up of tools, as he once asked himself, “How can one tool have so many different variations to it?”

Rather he does this due to tradition, a tradition that has been around since the beginning of a wakeup call. Passed down to every Wakeer, was the first knocker tool, a snuffer outer, the first male Wakeer used it to wake up clients after he got done turning off all the gaslight lamps. The long skinny silver rod with a bell shape cover that would go over the lamps to snuff them out, was handy for the high to reach windows of some customers. Now it sits proudly in a case above the fire place, proudly on display for anyone to admire. Which for the most part did not, but with it visible signs of age and experience in this world, it still brings a smile to Church’s face whenever he looks at it. It’s as if he can hear his Grandfather telling his tales right then and there. They were never a wealthy family, but what lack in money made up plenty in love, laughter, and memories. That’s the primary reason Church has yet to give up the tradition, even if it’s a much so unneeded one.

Church stares off into the glass case that holds the snuffer outer, hearing the words of his past youth when a knock comes from his door. The voices slowly vanish leaving only a well welcome smile on Church’s face. He walks over and opens the door to be greeted with a box.

“Package for Church,” says the man holding a medium size brown box.

The box holders name is Holden. Tall and lanky in stature, his hair is hidden in his cap with a wool jacket on that tie up in the front. Church is Holden’s longest and dearest friend. Holden always tells Church, “If I get married you’re my best mate and if I die drink one last time with me.” Right now Holden is living up to his namesake by holding a package that doesn’t belong to him.

“Why does the carrier continue to insist on leaving your packages at my home?”

 “Supposedly it’s because if the bridge showed brought you your true love and you crossed it again. Then you would lose your true love forever.” Church explains to Holden as he takes the package off his hands and walks into the kitchen.

“Explains why I’m still on the market,” Holden lets out as he follows in behind.

“Let me guess another knocker tool. Is this one made out of recyclable material or it is just a rock to throw at windows?” Holden asks as he looks through the cabinets for his favorite cup.

Church takes out his trusty brown case knife, which he sharpens up at least every month. “A sharp blade can cut through any problem,” his dad once said to him. Even though Church was very young when his parents past, he still has some memories of them.

“It’s on top to the left,” he tells Holden as he respectably opens up the package. Holden fixes his tea and walks over to look at the new collection why he judgmentally sips his tea.

Church takes out the brown wooden baton and looks at it. He slowly rotates it in his hands as his eyes meticulously examine every part of it.

“Oh joy another stick,” Holden continues as he sips on Earl Grey.

You know you may have the most useless hobby.

“No that would be a politician,” Church replies a he slowly puts the baton back in the box.

Holden drinks more of his tea. Why do you still do this? You don’t even like it.

Church takes the box a puts it in his studies and walks back in. He fixes his cup of tea as well. I actually do enjoy it…somewhat. This job, hobby, or whatever you want to call it, was the one thing that kept our family together. Through it all, this job that the line of Wakeer men carried for some reason beyond my understanding would help them from crumbling. Passing down this skill was something ever older Wakeer couldn’t wait to do. When my parents died my grandpa passed it down to me. Currently I’m the last, so I feel it’s my obligation to keep it alive.

Or just make it into a museum, nonprofit organizations get a lot of tax write offs, just saying.

But I can respect your reasoning behind it all.

All right first by better Grey and secondly I love you mate.

I do buy better Grey, I just keeps it for me self.

You’re right cheeky aint’cha.

They both start laughing at each other.

Until the next package.

Once Holden leaves out Church goes back to examining his new arrival.

The early morning greets the buzzing of a phone alarm as Wakeer gets up and sets out for his daily routine. After fixing some coffee and biscuit with jam, he heads out with his list of three houses. The moon is full up in the dark sky as Church makes his way over the bridge to town. He stops in the middle of the bridge and looks down into the water, his reflection looks back at him from the moon light and for a moment he can almost see his father looking back at him.

Church feels the light touch of snow as it begins to fall as he walks off the bridge. He’s shoes crunch in the snow as new flakes attempt to cover up his tracks. He looks through his phone to decide on the proper track list for today as he finds the perfect list, his phone in illuminated by headlights. Before the first track can even play the sound of screeching tires take over for the music of the early morning. The three houses won’t be woken up by a knock today.

The town seemed to be in a mourning phase for what seemed like months. No one went to the bridge to see if it was true love or not. There was no sound of early morning knocks of woken people, it seem as the sky itself decided snow wasn’t needed this season. As the winter slowly gave way and the sun took back the snow to the sky, the town slowly started to awake again, but no one seem to be the same anymore. It was as if the one thing that kept them together was taken away from them.

No one felt this harder than Holden. Besides going to work, he stayed in his home just sitting alone in quite. People would stop by; he would carry on a conversation or two, and then proceed back inside. Holden didn’t just lose a friend like everyone else in town did, he lost a brother, losing family is a hole that never truly heals up it seems.

One day there came a knock on Holden’s door. He got up to check and it was the mail carrier with a package. Normally he would have something snarky to say, but this time was different, this time he was happy. He signed off for the package and got dress to head over to Church’s house. He got to the door and went to knock, suddenly realizing that there was no one there to open the door for him. In his excitement for the package he forgot that his friend no his brother was gone. At that moment all the joy left Holden and somberness enter in. Unable to go back home he search under the mat for the spare key and let himself in.

The house still was the same as the last time he came by, he was wishfully hoping that Church would turn the corner to greet him and have a good banter with him about his hobby. Holden knew better though, he knew that couldn’t happen, no matter how much he wished it could. He stepped into the kitchen and poured some water into the kettle and started warming it up. He look through the cabinets for his favorite cup and then he said to himself, “It’s on the top to the left.”

Holden put the Earl Grey tea bag in his cup as he waited for the kettle to whistle for him. He goes back over to the package and opens it up. Inside is a bamboo pea shooter. Inside is a knock that states PEA SHOOTER:1885.  Holden couldn’t help, but smile as a tear ran down his check. “Such a useless hobby.” He said to himself. The kettle gave its whistle for tea and Holden spent the evening going through his brother’s so called useless hobby.

Early the next morning as the full moon shined over Lover’s Bridge, Holden’s alarm goes off as he slowly gets up out of bed. He gets dressed, pours some coffee, along with a biscuit with jam. He goes over to the table and grabs the pea shooter along with a bag of dry peas and he heads out of the door. The new Knocker-Up is coming into town to make sure everyone gets up on time. A skill never because useless when it’s remember for what it brings to people. The tradition continues on.