December 2010
It was a bright Christmas morning, so I decided to have a brisk walk along the beach. Looking up to the top of the cliff, I wondered about the house I could just see; it looked like a large house, but was too high up to see if anyone lives there. There was talk around the village that it was haunted, but I never knew why. Presently I came across the bench I usually sat on for A rest. Today there was an elderly gentleman sitting there, with a young child kicking the sand near by. I sat down beside him, and together we watched the waves rolling in. He told me the young child was his great granddaughter, her name was Cordelia, and as a Christmas surprise he had left a present for her in his old fisherman’s shed, quite near to the old fishermen’s cottages. He invited me to join them.
On arriving there ten minutes later, he unlocked the door and as we entered I could see that it was furnished with a table and chairs and a small camp bed at the back. Whilst Cordelia was opening her surprise present, the elderly gentleman started to reminisce.
He had had a grand daughter named Cordelia. Cordelia loved to walk along the beach. Her father was a fisherman, and her mother an accomplished seamstress, she earned a little money altering and making clothes for the local villages. But money was short; Cordelia herself earned a few coppers by beach combing and doing odd errands for the villager s. It was an uninteresting life for a young teenager. Cordelia often sat in this very shed for hours on end, laughing and chatting with her granddad, she told him how recently while walking along the beach, she had heard a voice from the clifftop calling her, ‘Hello down there!’ She looked up and saw a girl waving to her, ‘What is your name?’ the girl called down. Cordelia told her and asked her name. The girl called down, but with the noise of the wind, Cordelia was not sure, but she thought she said Tara.
Most days after that, the two girls would wave to each other. But one day was different, Cordelia heard a faint cry calling, ‘Help me, please.’ Looking up she could see Tara sitting on the ground, ‘I have slipped and hurt my leg. I was coming to down to meet you, but can’t now. Please come and help me.’
Cordelia was very familiar with the paths and tracks up the cliff and quickly got to Tara. Cordelia said, ‘Put your arm round my shoulder and I will take your weight and help you back to the top.’ They arrived quite safely. Tara called out to Mary, the kitchen maid, to get help. Her mother came rushing out and helped Tara into the house. Cordelia turned to leave, but as she was walking away Mary called out. ‘I have just baked a fresh batch of cakes, please come in and eat with us, and then I will pack a few for you to take home.’
Cordelia felt very inferior in her worn cotton dress in this grand house, so was reluctant to accept an invitation to come back the next day, but Tara begged her to, so for the next week or so it became a regular visit. Tara’s mother, who was usually in her study or resting, noticed how well the two girls suited each other and realised how lonely her daughter must feel. After many discussions with her husband, who was very much against the poor village girl, whose father was a mere fisherman, living in the house. Mother insisted and Cordelia was invited to be Tara’s companion.
The two girls became good friends and Tara stopped thinking of Cordelia as her companion. They had many outings together and laughed a lot.
One dark winter’s evening Cordelia was busy sewing in her room when Tara knocked on her door, ‘Cordelia,’ she said, ‘I am bored, I want us to go and explore that old wooden door in the kitchen. No one is allowed to open it, but I know where the key is. Come on, let’s go!’
Tara had a job to turn the heavy iron key in the lock, but finally managed it; the oak door creaked open, revealing pitch blackness. The girls were startled, but slowly took a few steps. The tunnel was narrow and very twisting and very long. The girls clung to each other when they both thought they heard distant screens, but shuffled on. After a while they came to another door; it seemed to be a little lighter now, and they could see the door was slightly ajar. They stiffened up, petrified - the screams were getting louder now. What should they do? They couldn’t move. Suddenly Cordelia seemed to be swept through the open small door, while Tara could only stand and scream for her to come back. Her screams was so loud that Mary, who was about to prepare her supper in the kitchen, realised the old wooden door was unlocked and quickly summoned help.
Tara was found, but couldn’t cope with her ordeal and ended up in a mental hospital. Cordelia was never found.
I was suddenly brought back to reality by the old gentleman saying, ‘And years later, on another Christmas morning, I was woken by screams outside – urgent screams – I quickly rushed downstairs and went outside; there was no one there. But then I heard a quiet scream and looked down, and there in a wicker basket was a tiny baby crying. I looked at the baby, it’s auburn curls, heart shaped face, and when it looked at me, it was Cordelia looking back at me. There was a note pinned to the blankets saying, ‘Hello, I am Cordelia, please look after me.’
The old gentleman turned and looked at the child playing with her new presents, auburn curls bobbing around. He was mumbling something as I turned and walked out through the shed door. I realized he was saying, ‘I know she is Cordelia’s ghost and will come back for me one day.’ so I went back into the shed to talk to him . . . the shed was empty!
Cordelia finally had her beloved granddad back again.