Miss Piggot A Collection of Short Stories and Poems by Hazel Cooper
Shivelight Press
Published in the USA and the UK
by Shivelight Press an imprint of
MASTERWORKS INTERNATIONAL 27 Old Gloucester Street London WC1N 3XX UK Email: admin@mwipublishing.com Web: http:/www.mwipublishing.com
ISBN. 978-0-9927706-3-1
copyright © Hazel Cooper 2014 Cover by my wizard design from original water colour paintings by Hazel Cooper © mywizarddesign & Hazel Cooper 2014 All rights reserved. No part of this book or other material may be reproduced in any form without written permission of the publishers.
SHORT STORIES
Miss Piggot The Man Who Lost Himself La Prostituée (The Prostitute) Jack Of All Trades — A 19th Century Tale The River Life of Darkness
7 19 37 49 55 57
Words to “Love Song” The Hand of Man Oh, To Be in Ireland Murphy’s Guide — For West Cork Road Users On Sleep Am I Too Old? (Song Lyrics) Time to Die Too Late? On Being Old
64 66 68 69 70 71 72 73 74
POEMS
SHORT STORIES
Miss Piggot I had never really thought about Miss Piggot until my first evening at home, sitting by the fire in the old familiar drawing-room after three long year’s Term of Office in the city of Geneva. There she was, sitting in front of me now, knitting in hand, the same old Miss Piggot that I had always known. We were alone as, my father, together with my mother, were attending a business dinner in Town. After a hearty meal, many questions were asked about my first position in the field of earning my living and the new life of an adult person living in the City. These three years away had brought me new thoughts and feelings which I gathered, were signs of my becoming a man. My boyish acceptance of things and people was giving way to questioning and reasoning, and the longing to find out more about my fellow creatures. As with my new friends in the Swiss City, I was proving myself to be a trifle bolder in words and deeds. I discovered I now had the ability to speak of such things, which only a few years back, the thought of mentioning them would have brought a blush to my cheeks. These thoughts now wandered towards Miss Piggot. I began to see her as I had not observed her before, as a separate individual, apart from being my former governess, 7
who, through the many years of my upbringing, had grown so dear to me.
I wondered if she had been happy here with us; Mother, I know, has always been kind to her but what of her own feelings? She must have had some. I do know that, as her services as governess and guide to me are no longer required, she is now on the look-out for a post as Companion-Help to some old bachelor or widower. I know too, that Mother is letting her stay on with us until such time as she is suited, in acknowledgement of her unfailing service to us. I watched her out of the corner of my eye while she counted her threads and followed her knitting pattern. Why is it that I have never thought of Miss Piggot like this before when all my new companions seemed to have appealed to my adult scrutinizing? Is it that the nearest and most familiar being in one’s life and with whom one associates childhood memories, are the last to become real people in the minds of a “newly made” adult person? I stealthily stole a glance in her direction, hoping she would not notice or suspect I was observing her, or especially thinking about her; I must keep my pride; I mustn’t blunder now I have reached manhood. No, not any more shall I be a child to Miss Piggot, but as I feel myself becoming inquisitive about her I let my 8
train of thought carry me perhaps a little more openly this time. I noticed her hair, now greying but still in neat curls round her face and her upright position in the “easy chair – no slouching the way she was brought up. Now she has noticed me, looking up and smiling. Oh how familiar is that sweet smile? Immediately my thoughts raced back to that first arrival at our house. I was five years old then and had lived in apprehension for several weeks before. I had repeatedly sounded her name…. “Miss Piggot” what an ordinary name that was… ..Why hadn’t she a pretty name like “Lake” or “Wood”? I imagined her “straight, starchy and strict”. I knew she was coming from England, perhaps English people have those ordinary-sounding names as I wondered and prayed she would not be as I dreaded. When she entered the hall-way – a shy, slim girl of 30 years. She must have looked young for her age, as now, seeing her as I saw her then, I felt even at my tender age that “she was a nice looking lady”. I, all dressed up smartly, was being pushed towards her to shake hands. She smiled at me and I remember at that point, all my fears dissolved into nothingness. My only thought was that of pleasure and of finding myself shyly placing my small hand in hers and leading her up to the nursery and showing her my favourite toys along with my handiwork and drawings with the thought that, as she was 9
to instruct me in art studies these efforts should be of interest. Then the remark in the hall came to my mind, which I overheard that same evening, from the top of the banisters: my mother’s voice saying: “Of course, as you are only with us temporally you must let us know in good time, when you intend to return, as we will need to replace you. . .” “Replace” that strange word, when I look now in front of me seeing her sitting there still, after all these years… “Penny for your thoughts, Ambrose.” It seems strange she should interrupt my thoughts at that moment just as I was thinking of these things…..but I felt sure she had seen me noticing her. My boyish fear of shame in being caught, flared up in me, but no, I would not let that happen. I am a man now, I am twenty one and five months into manhood. I have become bold and outspoken; should I come home to become a child again to Miss Piggot? No! I shall be my new self to her, show to her and prove to myself that I am grown, and can observe people if I wish, with interest. I will put my boldness and new-found character to the test now, I answered “I was thinking of you.” “Of me, but Ambrose you know all about me, you have known me a good number of years and I’m sure I haven’t changed much, except get a bit older, but you should not be thinking of me but of some young girls your own age. 10
Come Ambrose, in none of your letters have you mentioned having noticed any girl, you are not like your countrymen, you must be backward for your age in learning about the greatest game of life, that of love.” Here she was again, turning the conversation so that I again became a child, this time it was not on a scale on the piano or a phrase in English but a lesson I should now be learning of “love, as if it were a new subject she could instruct me in at my present age. How could I regain my manhood, my feeling of equality? “Miss Piggot, please excuse me for being personal but I will take a girl when I meet one I like well enough but, at this moment with you here, and on our being alone, I have cause to look on you as a real person, separated from my Governess, a person I would like to talk to and to make my friend. Please Miss Piggot, from now on, would you regard me as a friend, an equal – I know you’ve had experience of life which I haven’t but at least as an adult person, you see I am a “man” now. “All right Ambrose, if you would like it that way.” “Thank you, I should, very much.” Again we fell into silence, perhaps for her it seemed an awkward one but for me, my thoughts are deeper. I find before me a personality full of wealth and interest. What of her life before she came here; her private life, being with us? 11