As Jacqueline makes her way home she takes the scenic route, a journey she often made with her son. She feels his presence as she stops off en-route to buy of all things, a toy unicorn.To access previous chapters, visit Jacqueline Townsend’s author page.

 

UNICORNS AND DEMONS

CHAPTER 3: CULFORD 

Monday, 18^th March, 2024: 10.55 a.m.

I’m ready to leave the bank and, you, St. John, my beautiful little boy, are clutching my hand. I sense your excitement – in your mindset right now you are about four or five years old. ‘Surely Mummy is going to give me a treat,’ is the thought in your head.

As I exit the bank, ready to head for the car park, I make a change of direction and stop off at The Apex. Still in a semi-trance, I lumber to a secluded table in the corner and teeter slightly before slumping into a chair. I order a flat white coffee and sip it slowly; the bitterness of the coffee and the vibrance in the room awaken me. I have a decision to make: which way shall we go home? The fast route or the ‘sweet route?’ The fast route takes us onto the A11, giving us very little to see or think about. The ‘sweet route’, however, takes us through rural parts of Suffolk which used to inspire our imaginations. We would, for example, have conversations about the Anglo-Saxon heritage and wonder what it would have been like to live in those days. I ponder and reminisce, the decision is made. It has to be the sweet route. Our first stop will be Culford School where you excelled as a pupil between 2006 and 2011. A slight dizziness begins to alter my mood and I feel a weight bearing down on my shoulders as the magnitude of this decision overwhelms me. I haven’t talked to you on your memorial bench for ages and I don’t have any flowers for you. We will go anyway, and I hope you will forgive me.

I now find myself picking up a brisker pace as I head towards the car park. Suddenly, though, I stop, stand and stare as a solution to the dilemma appears. I have spotted a toy shop and it beckons to me. In here will be a gift for you which is far more meaningful than flowers. I sense your childlike anticipation as we walk through the doors. And I have a vivid image of you as a young boy, eyes wide with wonderment and a beaming smile. I feel it too. We are getting warmer as we find a little array of plastic toy animals, and there it is, a brightly coloured unicorn, about 14 cm. high. As I pay at the counter, I feel your hand slip into mine in gratitude.

As I approach my car, even the click of the doors unlocking and the quick flash of lights stirs my emotions. This is something I do most days – but it has been a year and a half since you climbed, as you often did, into the passenger seat and sat next to me. As I tentatively start the engine and clasp the steering wheel, a tingling starts in my head, warm, comforting and gentle, but it rapidly gains momentum as it flutters into my calves. I happily submit to it. Your presence is overwhelming and empowering.

I begin the drive to Culford village. Yet again, the beauty of the under-estimated countryside in West Suffolk entrances me. I am observing brighter greens and yellows than I can remember in recent months. I spot a busy field mouse whilst also noting how the clouds have been alternating between sunny and moody colours. I am reminded that clouds relentlessly oversee us and yet are so often ignored because we rarely look upwards when engrossed. Engrossed by what? The ‘human condition’ I suppose, the inability to recognise that there is so much more beyond Planet Earth. Why?  Because our lives are so demanding and consuming.

Soon, I am driving through the grandiose gates of Culford School. I park and exit the car. As I walk towards the magnificent gardens, I feel as if I have been transported in time. Even though I am all so familiar with this scenery, it never fails to take my breath away. Culford School was founded by J.H.L. Christien in 1881. It is set in 490 acres of parkland designed by Humphry Repton (1752-1818) who is reputed to be the successor of Capability Brown and the last great designer of the classic English landscape garden. I pause for a moment, gazing in wonderment. My eyes are drawn towards a distant willow tree. I walk across the massive lawn, feet thudding gently on the damp, firm ground. I am mesmerised. The sound changes. There is now crunching as the damp gravel helps to swivel me in any direction I may wish to look. I have reached a low stone wall and a little way beyond stands the willow tree preparing for magnificence and splendour. It is early spring, so some of its strands are still a little bare, whilst others show different shades of green, the lighter ones shyly shimmering in the sun, not quite ready to put on a full display. The daffodils are awake! Luminous, brave and inviting. I climb over the wall, giggling to myself, because, now I am technically trespassing. I have a feeling of elation as my feet squish in the mud. I feel like a little girl again as if I am with my sister and we are anticipating a mild telling off from our mum when we return home, muddy and dishevelled after a day of playing out. My senses sharpen as I spy the ducks on the river in the distance; and then, I home into the timeless sound of a skein of geese as they soar into the sky. You, too, just called out to me during that moment. I heard your voice amidst the haunting sounds, Dr. Unicorn. I’m sure I did. I am so glad to be close to you and I think you are giving me further thanks for the unicorn.

I head back towards the main school building. It stands triumphantly on the edge of the gardens as if wishing to remind us of a previous life of grandeur and aristocracy. In order to reach the car park, I must climb the steps just outside the library and walk around the building. Once again, there is a tingling in my body accompanied by light-headedness. It’s you, Dr. Unicorn, you are here right next to me. We have walked this path together on numerous occasions. However, now there is an object which was not here in your day – a bench inscribed in dedication to you:

In loving memory of St. John Townsend PhD

21.09.92 – 08.09.22

OC 2006 – 2011

Last time we were here together was to receive your ‘A’ Level results. How can I ever forget seeing Dr. Guntrip’s beaming face as we were standing almost at this exact spot. He broke conversation with another parent and made a beeline for us. ‘You are about to be a very proud mother,’ he declared. ‘A*s in all 5 subjects!’

I left you with him for while. I glowed with pride as I watched you out of the corner of my eye engaged in animated conversation. He was so pleased that you were about to take up a place at UCL and follow in his footsteps by studying Biology and focusing upon Genetics. You did UCL proud by obtaining a First Class Msc in 2015.

The memory gently fades and I refocus upon the present. I remove a little toy from my pocket and sit on the bench. Rather awkwardly, I place the unicorn on the seat but it doesn’t stand comfortably on the slats. With a change of tactic, I balance it triumphantly at the top. I reassure you, as I would have done if you were a little boy again, that we won’t leave it here because it will just get damaged, stolen or thrown away. I will take it home and look after it forever, because it is actually yours, not mine, just like any toy I ever bought for you. I sit quietly for a while in a tranquil, meditative state and realise that I have unconsciously grasped the unicorn and we have been playing with it. I watch it doing a hippity hoppity canter across the slats.