You’d expect a tavern in the 1950s to be festively lit now that electricity was quite common. But The Oakleaf Tavern was not festively lit. There were a few electric bulbs hanging by long cords from the exposed beams high overhead. The lighting was dim, but soothing. Also, you’d expect The Oakleaf Tavern to be called The Oakleaf Pub. But no. It was a tavern, and the term ‘pub’ was left to the more modern suburban and city establishments.
You’d expect the The Oakleaf Tavern to have two fireplaces blazing and spreading warmth throughout the room and not missing the cosy corners around the pillars, either. You’d be right. Both fireplaces were crackling merrily and doing a good job of keeping the winter evening comfortable.
You’d expect rough wooden tables and chairs and benches. You’d expect shiny, solid brass fittings and fixtures – look at those door knobs! And again, you’d expect photographs, paintings, hunting prints, and memorabilia of local events hanging on the pitted walls.
Yes, to all of the above.
Oh, but let’s not hurry past the atmosphere inside the The Oakleaf Tavern.
As you’d expect, it was warm and friendly. Children were welcome. Pets were welcome (so long as you had them on a leash, and they didn’t bark or growl at the patrons). Almost everybody knew everybody else, and sometimes they shook hands warmly, clapped each other’s backs. And sometimes, some of them just nodded coldly at each other, acknowledging each other’s presence but nothing more.
Most of these patrons, many of them regulars, were farmers, tradespeople, families, neighbours. You could hear guffaws from some tables; some tables had the gentle, rhythmic buzz of friendly storytelling conversation, some had the hushed whispers of a boy-meets-girl scenario. And occasionally, you’d hear a mother hiss at a boisterous young lad to stop fidgeting.
This is an every day atmosphere. It’s been like this for decades, maybe centuries.
And it continues unbroken.
Until there’s a knock on the heavy door of the tavern.
Harold, the waiter, opens it.
A stranger stands there.
He wears a cape. A cape! Like out of some Dracula story! He also wears a top hat, which he politely removes, as he wipes his boots on the mat and gently shuts the door of the tavern.
To Miss Mabel Robinson, tavern owner, who always looked up and appraised every patron who entered her tavern, he appeared to be about middle aged, perhaps above average height, of slim built, but strong and fit. His coat and trousers were of a dark coloured fabric, but surely not woollen.
He stood there calmly taking in the atmosphere and surveying the patrons. He carefully pulled off his gloves and transferred the leash from around his right palm to his left.
He looked down to see where the leash led. It ended at a bulldog, going by the bow-legged stance and the short tail. And wearing a big black mask over its head, hiding its ears and all of its face. The lower part of the mask was damp from the slavering.
There were no other pets in the tavern that evening. As the room simmered down to silence, the only sounds one could hear were the scraping of the shoes of the stranger on the mat, the crackling of the logs, and the rapid, harsh breathing of the animal on the leash.
The stranger walked to a corner table beside a pillar, and casually hooked the leash around the back of the chair opposite him. He lay his top hat on one corner of the table, and sweeping his cape over the back of the chair, sat down.
Harold Thompson, the brother-in-law of Miss Mabel Robinson, came over to the stranger’s table. A pleasant young man, well-read, too intelligent to be a waiter, but humble enough to accept the facts of life. He was deeply in love with his wife, the sister of the tavern owner. In spite of many discussions, his wife wasn’t ready to leave the Cotswolds, its idyllic landscapes and the quaint villages, for a life in the city.
“How can I be of service, sir?”
The stranger looked up and smiled, “I am lonely.”
Taken aback at the obvious implications of this request, Harold took a deep breath. “And what exactly are you lonely for, if I may ask, sir?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, young man! I am lonely for the company of folks with sympathetic ears.”
“And would you be wanting something to drink or eat while you enjoy such company, sir?”
“Yes, of course!” The stranger bent forward to look around the pillar at the patrons. He raised his voice, “Anyone and everyone who cares to join me for a quaff or two – not the children, of course, ha ha ha!”
Heads that were huddled forward in speculating who the stranger could be, moved back. Chairs scrapped the floor as patrons stood up. Only the two couples who were gazing deeply into each other’s eyes ignored the invitation.
The patrons crowded around the stranger. Harold and a few guests helped move tables and chairs closer together so that they formed a rough semi-circle around the host, the stranger.
The stranger looked up at Harold, and said, “Drinks for all of them – whatever they are drinking.” He dug into his coat pocket and extracted a handful of gold sovereigns. He held it out to Harold, whose breath quickened and eyes widened. A few more of such coins, and the stranger could easily buy the whole tavern!
“Yes, sir!” Harold knew who was drinking what. They were his regulars.
“You may call me James,” said the stranger, when Harold had got the drinks and placed them on the tables. “I have been travelling here, there and everywhere, and I have come into a bit of wealth, through adventure, risk and bravery, if I may say so myself.”
“Aye, good for you, old chap!” was the general opinion.
“But I have been travelling alone and have hardly spoken to anyone these past few years.”
“Oh? Ah!” was the general opinion.
“And I have much to tell!”
“Go on, kind sir! Harold! I’ll have me refill now, if you don’t mind,” was the general opinion.
“Well, I am a soldier, and after the war, I travelled a bit. And I don’t mean just geographically. I have travelled in time, too!”
A few of the patrons gasped as expected, many just chuckled at the good humour of their guest.
“You see, I came across a – shall I call her a ‘gifted person’? - who guided me into acquiring great wealth. But she was evil, and I thwarted her, thank God! As a souvenir of my victory over her, I have this blue apron, and a tinderbox. Not to mention this pet.” He pointed to the dog, sitting patiently, slavering into the mask around its head.
The chuckles went around the tables again.
“But more importantly, there are grave things that I wish to tell you, which may be contrary to your beliefs, practices and liking, good fellows – if I may?”
Harold spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear, as he discretely wiped some spilled beer off the table, “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’"
“Ah, Hamlet!” The stranger James raised his glass to Harold and said, “‘You have taken the words out of my mouth!’” That’s from The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act 2, Scene 2, as you well know, Harold!"
They looked at each other with new respect in their eyes.
“Go on, kind sir! Harold! I’ll have me refill now, if you don’t mind,” was the general opinion.
“William Shakespeare! I know you will be shocked to hear about William Shakespeare. Was he the real author of those works? A commoner with limited education - could he have authored such masterpieces!? I met him. And I met Sir Francis Bacon, too. I studied the manuscripts which Sir Francis carelessly left around in his library. And I know the truth. But that’s all water under the bridge – some things are better left unsaid.”
“Have you been to America, sir?” A young lad had squeezed his way into the gap between two tables. The stranger, James, tousled the lad’s hair, and said, “Ah, America! Christopher Columbus’ claim to fame, what?”
“Yes, sir! We had that story today in History class, sir.” The lad beamed at having got all the attention.
“And you believe it, lad?”
“Sure sir! Miss Higgins showed us pictures, too. It’s all there in our history book.”
“Of course, and your history book makes no mention of Leif Erikson, the Norse explorer, who landed on the shores of what you now call North America?”
“Well no, sir” The boy’s eyes had lost their excitement, but still seemed eager and curious.
“Lief landed there almost 500 years before Columbus.” The stranger spoke in a low voice, but was audible to everyone gathered around.
“But… but…”
“I was there with Leif, on board his ship. I helped throw eight sailors wrapped in sail cloth over the rails. They died of weakness – malnutrition you’d call it today, and frostbite, and anxiety from being away from land and family for months and months – you’d term it ‘depression’ these days, what? We survived on the flesh of raw fish before we sighted land. Today, you call that land Canada.”
“But… but…”
“Yes, I know. Let’s not talk about it. Some things are better left unsaid.” James waved to Harold. “A refill sir. These contradictions make one thirsty!”
“Why do you say better left unsaid, sir? If you have the facts and the proof, why not lay them on the table?” One of the lovey-dovey couples had overheard snippets of the conversation, and curiosity having got the better of them, had wandered over. The girl spoke. She was obviously educated, and had the courage to voice her opinions.
“Yes, I do firmly say that some things are better left unsaid, so that the fabric of society, our simple beliefs, philosophies and sentiments are left undisturbed, untroubled. Do I need to remind you that Jack The Ripper is still at large? His identity is still a big question mark?”
The young girl and her boyfriend exchanged glances. This was new territory, and a rather scary one to explore, for the evening had promised to be full of warmth, friendship and memorable storytelling. Not terror.
The stranger leaned forward, “What if I told you that I had disguised myself as a guard at the palace one of those nights, and watched a member of the Royal family slink in through the gates in the dead of night? And those glistening dark patches on his jacket and silk shirt were not shadows of leaves and twigs?”
The girl opened her mouth to speak.
“Hush, young lady, hush! I could expound and offer more proof. But some things are better left unsaid.”
“Anyone for a last round, one for the road? I have to shut the tavern for the night, folks!” Miss Mabel Robinson called out in her sweet voice. No one took offence, and “I think I’ll have that last round now, Harold,” was the general opinion.
Harold came around to the stranger and bent down to speak in his ears, “Sir there is a lot of money, a huge amount sir, still unspent. If you’d like me to give you the balance, I can do that sir.”
“No, no. Keep it. It is being spent well. I am truly enjoying myself. You could continue with the balance tomorrow, although I myself may not be present, what with me having to move on with my travels and destinations.”
“Are you staying nearby, sir?” One of the jolly good fellows asked.
“No, unfortunately, no. Although I truly like this place and the good people here, I have to move on. You see, I have to get married, and to the King’s daughter, no less!”
“Which King, sir? And who’s the lucky Princess?” Again, this from one of the friendly, albeit inebriated souls gathered around James, the stranger.
“Oh, I wouldn’t bore you with details… Suffice to say that like Amelia Earhart, I’d rather vanish into thin air. Did I crash in the Sahara Desert, or on a remote island? Was I kidnapped by the Japs? Am I living somewhere in secrecy, with a new identity? Some things are better left unsaid.”
Harold plonked the mugs, glasses and the tankards on the table. He was tired, too. It had been a long evening. “Sir will you be spending the night here? We have a room upstairs, if it suits you?”
James shook his head. “No, I think I will carry on.”
“But it’s rather late and lonely out there, through the woodlands.”
“Oh, not to worry. I have my tinderbox. And of course, my dog to guide me.”
“That’s a very curious dog, I must say, sir! What’s with the mask?” Trust little Ronny to speak what had been on every patron’s mind ever since the stranger and his pet had walked into the The Oakleaf Tavern.
The stranger was silent for a while.
He spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully. “There are many things out there in the world that are not what you are taught to expect. The real world is a breathtaking mix of the real and the fantastical, the believable and the unbelievable, the provable and the unprovable. Just keep an open mind - because some things are better left unsaid.”
The stranger bent down, and whipped the mask off from the dog’s head.
The crowd gasped. The dog looked around unfazed at the crowd staring down at him, aghast. He did not blink his eyes, which were as large as saucers.
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