Haunting Echoes
to sink, Clarrie covered her palette in plastic film and
started to pack her brushes away. Having been alone
for only the last hour, she had not achieved as much
as she’d hoped but wasn’t unduly worried. A stranger,
in a village that did not boast even one hotel, would
have been an object of interest anyway, but when the
stranger sat alone on a hill, painting, the novelty was
obviously too much to ignore! Surely, it would wear off
by tomorrow and her room at the guesthouse was
booked for the whole of next week, so there might still
be time to paint two canvases.
Although all Clarrie’s painting gear, including her
easel and stool, packed neatly into a manageable
carrying case, it was always tricky carrying a wet
painting. Walking up the hill was no problem but there
was no protection from the blustery wind as she
walked down the other side to the roadway. Keeping a
tight grip on the stretcher of a wildly swinging picture
was not easy, so it was with considerable relief that
she suddenly heard the screech of bicycle brakes and
a friendly offer of help.
“You must be the artist I’ve been hearing about
...staying with Mrs Lynch, next door to my shop!” The
man climbed off his bike and laid it on the grass verge.
I’ll come back for this in a minute. Shall I take the case?
I wouldn’t dare take responsibility for the painting.”
Immensely glad to accept the offer, Clarrie
introduced herself and discovered that her benefactor
was known as ‘Postie’. “When I took over the post office
I inherited the title,” he said, “and as I was probably
one of the lads who nicknamed the old postmaster, I
have only myself to blame.” As they strolled the few
hundred yards to the village, she discovered that he
and his wife Betty took over the Post Office a few years
after they married and eventually bought it. “Coming
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