Another excerpt from Watson: My Life‘John,Henry is dead. ...
Another excerpt from Watson: My Life
‘John,Henry is dead. He fell heavily down the stairs after coming home drunk. Lilyfound him the next morning, lying there with his neck broken. I am truly sorry,John.’ While Josiah recited this sad news to me, Irene was weepinguncontrollably, her face crumpled by grief. But, grief for my brother? I couldhardly imagine that. But? ‘My God…Lily…why is she not here? Is she…?’ ‘She iswell. John,’ said Irene. ‘She is in Carlisle still, in the same house…with herbairns.’ Children? There were children. A girl and boy I was told, Charlotteand John, just four and two years old. I recall running out of the house like amadman, intent on covering the ground to Carlisle as quick as I possibly could.My brother dead. Lily, his widow. A nephew and niece. I was unsure as to whatkind of a father I would be, but I was determined to marry Lily and bring up mybrother’s children. By the time I was half-way to Carlisle, this happy familyhad a house in London where the children would go to the finest schools, theiruncle would have a successful medical practice and their mother would want fornothing. My face, when Lily opened the door, must have displayed every emotionunder the sun. It’s a wonder she didn’t just shut it in my face as I seemed tobe only capable of speaking gibberish. Rather than that course of action, shepulled me inside and we fell into each other’s arms. Seated on a small couchengrossed in their own company, playing some kind of game, were two of thesweetest looking children I had ever encountered. I immediately felt there wasa bond between us. As for their mother. I had so many questions I scarcely knew where to begin. Most of all, Iwanted to know how she had come to marry my brother. I could hardly qualify itas a match made in heaven nor any kind of love match yet who I was I to judge?I had spent years away and had done virtually nothing to remain in contact withthose I professed to love. Through Lily’s tears the whole story tumbled out.Henry had stopped drinking and had begun to reclaim his life which was anathemato the woman he lived with for she wanted no part of a sober life or a soberHenry. My brother sought for himself a respectable position and found one inCarlisle as an assistant in the Parks department of the council, responsible aspart of a team for the maintenance of the recreational facilities providedthroughout the town and its environs. It was in one of those parks that he raninto Lily. Naturally, they talked of old times and of me I was gratified tohear. ‘He was funny, John. He was charming and so determined to turn his lifearound. As for you, where were you? I had heard nothing from you. You promisedto come and see me when you returned from Australia.’ Her word cut me to thequick. I had no answer for her for I had made a promise to her and my failureto keep it had stung me all these years. Maybe my relationship with Adeline hadsoured my taste for romance. My overriding thought as I was sitting there inLily’s house was that now I had been given a chance to atone for my previousfailures. ‘I thought long and hard, John, when he asked me to marry him. I knewhis history, but I also could see how the future could be. He was attentive andloving, everything I could have wanted in a man. In the end I said yes of courseand no woman could have done more to please her man, to make him proud.’ Iasked her gently, what had happened, what had changed. ‘He started drinkingonce more two years ago and the alcohol dragged the wild side of him out, thecoarse and abusive man that must have been concealed in him all this time justwaiting for the proper release.’ She clung to me and wept as she approached theclimax of her story. ‘He became violent, never to the children, but often tome. I felt his punches, his slaps. I learned how to cover up the bruises. Icould not tell anyone, I felt trapped and the worst of it was that it was myfault.’ I remonstrated with her, how on earth could be her fault? Did sheinvite his violence to her? ‘I married him, John. That’s what I mean. I shouldhave realised that sooner or later Henry would revert to his old ways. I couldnot tell my parents, it would be to confess my weakness twice over for they hadurged me not to marry him.’ On that fateful last night, Henry had gone outcarousing with his mates while Lily was left to put the children to bed. He hadbeen in the blackest mood imaginable that day she told me and she was fearfulthat his mood would be even blacker on his return. In spite of her anxiety shehad fallen into a deep sleep and heard nothing of Henry’s return and subsequentfall from the very top of the stairs. ‘But if the children had woken? Imean…well…I suppose I mean you would have heard them, Lily.’ ‘They did notwake, John.’ ‘My point is that…’ I found it hard to put my point into words,but it ran along the lines that if a mother would waken at hearing theslightest sound from her children during the night than surely the sound of afully-grown man tumbling down the stairs was scarcely less of a disturbance.Lily smiled. ‘The sound of a child’s cry is different, John. Surely, you mustknow that. I heard nothing, nothing.’ I did not press the point and we talkedof happier times as we drank tea. She spoke in vague terms of resuming hercareer or of going home to Corbridge to her parents where she and the childrenwould be assured of being in a happy home. I thought the time was right and Imade my proposal of marriage to her. I had rehearsed in in my head during thepreceding few hours, what I had not allowed for was Lily’s refusal of my offer.‘Dear, sweet John. We are not who we were. I am not Maid Marian, you are notRobin Hood. You are so kind to ask, but I cannot accept. I have my own life tolead. You might say I have made me bed and have to lay in it. A marriage cannotbe built on the platonic love that we have always shared. There are otherreasons too.’ She would not be drawn on the other reasons nor would she listento further entreaties on my part. Her mind was made up, the answer was no andthat was it. I made arrangements of a financial kind for my nephew and niece,settling a small allowance on them to be paid twice yearly into an account Iwould set up for them. Lily refused any such allowance for herself, but I madeher promise that should she find herself in any financial hardship she wouldcontact me immediately. As I fastened up my overcoat, she grabbed my arm andhung on for dear life. ‘I am so sorry, John, for everything. You mustn’t hateme.’ ‘I could never hate you,’ I assured her. It was only when I stood on thedoorstep that the true meaning of her words hit me. ‘You pushed him, didn’tyou?’ ‘Yes, I pushed him. Goodbye, John.’ The door slammed shut behind me likea metaphor for that part of my life closing. All the innocence of childhood,all those good times disappeared in that instant. I was not put on this earthto be judge and jury. I could not condemn Lily for her actions any more than Icould condone my brother for his. I could and would not turn her in to theauthorities. She had suffered enough, we all had. During the long train journey,I was haunted by the fact that all that happened could be lain squarely at mydoor. If I had kept my promise to Lily, then who knows how things would haveturned out? No man is an island and the ripples we send out through our actionor inaction can have the most profound effect on the lives of others.
‘John,Henry is dead. He fell heavily down the stairs after coming home drunk. Lilyfound him the next morning, lying there with his neck broken. I am truly sorry,John.’ While Josiah recited this sad news to me, Irene was weepinguncontrollably, her face crumpled by grief. But, grief for my brother? I couldhardly imagine that. But? ‘My God…Lily…why is she not here? Is she…?’ ‘She iswell. John,’ said Irene. ‘She is in Carlisle still, in the same house…with herbairns.’ Children? There were children. A girl and boy I was told, Charlotteand John, just four and two years old. I recall running out of the house like amadman, intent on covering the ground to Carlisle as quick as I possibly could.My brother dead. Lily, his widow. A nephew and niece. I was unsure as to whatkind of a father I would be, but I was determined to marry Lily and bring up mybrother’s children. By the time I was half-way to Carlisle, this happy familyhad a house in London where the children would go to the finest schools, theiruncle would have a successful medical practice and their mother would want fornothing. My face, when Lily opened the door, must have displayed every emotionunder the sun. It’s a wonder she didn’t just shut it in my face as I seemed tobe only capable of speaking gibberish. Rather than that course of action, shepulled me inside and we fell into each other’s arms. Seated on a small couchengrossed in their own company, playing some kind of game, were two of thesweetest looking children I had ever encountered. I immediately felt there wasa bond between us. As for their mother. I had so many questions I scarcely knew where to begin. Most of all, Iwanted to know how she had come to marry my brother. I could hardly qualify itas a match made in heaven nor any kind of love match yet who I was I to judge?I had spent years away and had done virtually nothing to remain in contact withthose I professed to love. Through Lily’s tears the whole story tumbled out.Henry had stopped drinking and had begun to reclaim his life which was anathemato the woman he lived with for she wanted no part of a sober life or a soberHenry. My brother sought for himself a respectable position and found one inCarlisle as an assistant in the Parks department of the council, responsible aspart of a team for the maintenance of the recreational facilities providedthroughout the town and its environs. It was in one of those parks that he raninto Lily. Naturally, they talked of old times and of me I was gratified tohear. ‘He was funny, John. He was charming and so determined to turn his lifearound. As for you, where were you? I had heard nothing from you. You promisedto come and see me when you returned from Australia.’ Her word cut me to thequick. I had no answer for her for I had made a promise to her and my failureto keep it had stung me all these years. Maybe my relationship with Adeline hadsoured my taste for romance. My overriding thought as I was sitting there inLily’s house was that now I had been given a chance to atone for my previousfailures. ‘I thought long and hard, John, when he asked me to marry him. I knewhis history, but I also could see how the future could be. He was attentive andloving, everything I could have wanted in a man. In the end I said yes of courseand no woman could have done more to please her man, to make him proud.’ Iasked her gently, what had happened, what had changed. ‘He started drinkingonce more two years ago and the alcohol dragged the wild side of him out, thecoarse and abusive man that must have been concealed in him all this time justwaiting for the proper release.’ She clung to me and wept as she approached theclimax of her story. ‘He became violent, never to the children, but often tome. I felt his punches, his slaps. I learned how to cover up the bruises. Icould not tell anyone, I felt trapped and the worst of it was that it was myfault.’ I remonstrated with her, how on earth could be her fault? Did sheinvite his violence to her? ‘I married him, John. That’s what I mean. I shouldhave realised that sooner or later Henry would revert to his old ways. I couldnot tell my parents, it would be to confess my weakness twice over for they hadurged me not to marry him.’ On that fateful last night, Henry had gone outcarousing with his mates while Lily was left to put the children to bed. He hadbeen in the blackest mood imaginable that day she told me and she was fearfulthat his mood would be even blacker on his return. In spite of her anxiety shehad fallen into a deep sleep and heard nothing of Henry’s return and subsequentfall from the very top of the stairs. ‘But if the children had woken? Imean…well…I suppose I mean you would have heard them, Lily.’ ‘They did notwake, John.’ ‘My point is that…’ I found it hard to put my point into words,but it ran along the lines that if a mother would waken at hearing theslightest sound from her children during the night than surely the sound of afully-grown man tumbling down the stairs was scarcely less of a disturbance.Lily smiled. ‘The sound of a child’s cry is different, John. Surely, you mustknow that. I heard nothing, nothing.’ I did not press the point and we talkedof happier times as we drank tea. She spoke in vague terms of resuming hercareer or of going home to Corbridge to her parents where she and the childrenwould be assured of being in a happy home. I thought the time was right and Imade my proposal of marriage to her. I had rehearsed in in my head during thepreceding few hours, what I had not allowed for was Lily’s refusal of my offer.‘Dear, sweet John. We are not who we were. I am not Maid Marian, you are notRobin Hood. You are so kind to ask, but I cannot accept. I have my own life tolead. You might say I have made me bed and have to lay in it. A marriage cannotbe built on the platonic love that we have always shared. There are otherreasons too.’ She would not be drawn on the other reasons nor would she listento further entreaties on my part. Her mind was made up, the answer was no andthat was it. I made arrangements of a financial kind for my nephew and niece,settling a small allowance on them to be paid twice yearly into an account Iwould set up for them. Lily refused any such allowance for herself, but I madeher promise that should she find herself in any financial hardship she wouldcontact me immediately. As I fastened up my overcoat, she grabbed my arm andhung on for dear life. ‘I am so sorry, John, for everything. You mustn’t hateme.’ ‘I could never hate you,’ I assured her. It was only when I stood on thedoorstep that the true meaning of her words hit me. ‘You pushed him, didn’tyou?’ ‘Yes, I pushed him. Goodbye, John.’ The door slammed shut behind me likea metaphor for that part of my life closing. All the innocence of childhood,all those good times disappeared in that instant. I was not put on this earthto be judge and jury. I could not condemn Lily for her actions any more than Icould condone my brother for his. I could and would not turn her in to theauthorities. She had suffered enough, we all had. During the long train journey,I was haunted by the fact that all that happened could be lain squarely at mydoor. If I had kept my promise to Lily, then who knows how things would haveturned out? No man is an island and the ripples we send out through our actionor inaction can have the most profound effect on the lives of others.
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