An Old English Charm

I had heard the story dozens of times, no hundreds. Don’t tell grandpa that though. He had dutifully repeated the tale every time we visited him. And with such an uncanny vigor as if a new audience had manifested itself just for the recital. I love my grandpa, don’t get me wrong for one second. He was a retired policeman and a gentle soul. But my goodness gracious did he have a way of boring us teenagers half to death with that story of his about our great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather. On his side of the family, of course. 

My sister and I were visiting for Thanksgiving. Dinner had concluded. Everyone else was in the kitchen cleaning the aftermath. We were sitting in the living room on opposite ends of the big couch, the football game on the television. Grandpa was a Jets fan and they happened to be playing that night so he was mildly interested at least initially. But as per usual, the game was awful with the Jets trailing by three touchdowns at the half. I could easily tell Grandpa was getting restless. I turned to look at my sister Sarah. She, like myself, was helplessly glued to her phone, the only way we could possibly hope to survive this harrowing ordeal. She looked up, flashed a smirk at me. Instantly I thought, what now? 

Uh oh. Grandpa had shuffled over to the liquor cabinet and was pouring himself a drink. Undoubtedly necessitated by this pitiful game. He opened the sliding door, took a seat outside on the deck, and took out a cigar from his front pocket. It was a cool autumn night, the sky clear and the moon shining brightly. 

There he sat for a while, drink in hand, cigar lit and billowing smoke like a chimney. I glanced back at the television. A muffed punt had led to another touchdown, the Jets were now down four scores. And there was an entire quarter left to go. From the couch I called out to Grandpa, “Always a thrill a minute this team ,eh?” 

He was caught in some sort of nighttime reverie, his eyes transfixed on a mystical point out in the distance. Still staring, he at last replied. “You know Billy, it’s like anything else. Don’t have any expectations and you’ll never be disappointed.” He turned to me and smiled. After a short while he came back inside and closed the door behind him. He poured himself another. Some sort of Irish whiskey being tonight’s elixir of choice. 

He took a seat back on the couch and took another sip and with his face aglow and eyes twinkling he asked, “Hey did I ever tell you two about your great-great-great-great grandfather?” 

I hesitated for a moment trying to think of a polite way out of the painfully familiar trajectory that tonight’s discourse was headed towards. Suddenly, of course, my sister blurted out, “No grandpa, I don’t think you’ve told us before!” 

I grimaced and glared at her from across the room. And she returned to me an obnoxious wink. I snatched my phone, my thumbs engaged in a furious flurry as I sent her a message, “I Hope you’re proud of yourself! Egging him on like that. Now here goes an hour of our life that we’ll never get back.” 

“Oh not to worry.” She replied. “A friend of mine is picking me up to go shopping. You will tell me how it ends, won’t you?” 

I put my phone down in disgust. Here I was a helpless thirteen-year-old stranded on my Grandpa's couch with a one-way ticket punched full steam ahead to an evening in 17th century England. 

Sarah got up from the couch and said, “Grandpa I have to go but it was great to see you again. Love you.” 

“Well, if you insist on leaving. Fine. But You’re missing out on a great story let me tell you!” 

She hugged him before smiling at me one last time before leaving. 

And so it began. 

“Now you’re great-great-great-great-great-”, he paused suddenly eye-brows furrowed intently he stared at the ceiling a moment before stretching out his hand and counting out his fingers, he then nodded affirmatively and continued “great grandfather was a carpenter in Worcestershire. Or was it..Warwickshire? It was one or the other I’m almost certain. Anyways, he was a carpenter. Oh yes! William, I think that was his name, could make anything. Anything! Stools, chairs, tables, benches, anything with wood he could make it. And legend has it he once made a wicker basket for his neighbor. Can you believe that? A carpenter making a wicker basket. Now, you know there wasn’t WiFi in those days so communication was just a little…” 

Stop it. Really no WiFi? Not even 3G? 

“...slow back then. You know with the mail and what not.” 

He paused for a moment in mid-breath and looked up at the ceiling. Once-again his eyebrows furrowed in intense thought before at last snapping his fingers in triumph, “Nope it couldn’t have been Worcestershire, it must have been Warwickshire. I’m almost certain. I’d bet your life on it. I’m kidding! I’d only wager your sister’s life on it. Don’t tell your mother I said that. Anyways, where were we?”

“Something about Worcestershire I think.”

“Ah, right, right, right. So one day a courier or man servant for the Duke of Worcestershire made the rounds saying the Duke’s treasured pet cat had gone missing and there would be a substantial reward if it were found alive. This particular Duke, actually he may have been an Earl. I’m not sure. In any case he wasn’t a baron that I’m certain of. And I think if memory serves me right he went by the name Walter, his friends called him Wally for short. Anyways, as it turns out the Duke never made any important decisions when his cat was not present. So this had proven quite the quandary. In fact, Wally was locked up in his lair and refused to leave until his cat was returned to him safely. If you ask me, things made more sense back then. Anyways, back to your great-great-great-great grandfather, he used his mettle to construct a trap to capture this cat. Unfortunately though he didn’t have enough wood to build a door for the trap. Would you believe it, the great master carpenter had run out of materials for such an unbelievable undertaking?” 

The old man got himself another drink, apparently deeming it necessary to wet his whistle as we approached this tale’s denouement. I quickly texted my sister, “Let me tell you, you are missing quite the ripping yarn.” 

“Now this is the amazing part…” He stopped for a second, mouth agape with his face flexed in a look of utter perplexity. He collected himself and nodded his head a few times. 

“No, no, no... come to think of it the Duke’s name was Hubert. His middle name was Walter. Anyways, you’re great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather just so happened to have in his possession a tome of charms that he had won in a game of horseshoes. Another thing that your ancestor was adept at. Billy you should know you come from a pretty proud and historic lineage. Anyways, the book was full of old magics you know, sort of like witchcraft or voodoo. Anyways, one of them was a charm to help find things that are lost. He was smart enough to know a wandering cat wouldn’t just sit nicely in a doorless cage and wait nicely for someone to fetch it. No Sir! So he found within this book an enchantment. It would have made Merlin himself blush. So he recited this enchantment. I used to know the words to it..”

He stopped for a moment again and scratched his head. 

“Ah, I think there was something about a tree, thread, nail, and… a frog. Or was it a salamander? No, might have been a newt or one of those slimy things. Anyways, he recited it and placed some food inside the doorless cage to lure the cat in. I wonder what cats ate back then. No canned goods. I’ll have to do some research. So he put the cage outside in the woods near his house. And would you believe it, the very next morning he went out to inspect his handiwork and there was the cat, asleep in the cage. He picked up the slumbering beast and went to return it. But as it turns out it was actually the neighbor’s cat who in a remarkable turn of events had also gone missing at the same time. Amazing, eh?”

“That’s putting it lightly”, I replied. “So, what happened to the Duke’s cat?”

“No one knows, but decisions had to be made so the Duke was forced to get a new cat. As you know, affairs of state cannot wait. So your ancestor was an ingenious carpenter who had almost found the Duke’s missing cat.” 

And so the tale came to a close. Grandpa went back to get another drink, returned to the couch, drained it, and immediately fell asleep leaving me in an all too familiar state of unenthusiasm.