THE DOOR

1 - The Wall

Note for non-British readers – Tony writes using UK English spelling, punctuation and grammar.

Addy and I were in a rut. Our evening promenade had become predictable, yet I wasn't short of options.

Home was central in the village of Goodwick, so plenty of choices were available including the woodland, the beach and riverside, the park and disused railway line, or this route. It had become the regular outing, my favourite, with many trees, walls, lamp posts, and gateways to keep Addy's interest.

We set out along the lane and hedgerows of the bridleway towards Alfern, then back through arable country to the housing estate, before the final left turn homewards alongside the convent wall.

It was a good option during the winter. I liked the variety and it was sheltered from the cold easterly breeze which often spoiled the beach walk. The woodland option could be muddy if wet and the old railway embankment was lovely, but really exposed except on still days.

Global warming had seen fit to bless us with a cold end to summer, so I was dressed warmly today, with a tweed jacket and pullover plus stout walking shoes. We passed the last farm entrance and four old terraced houses dating back to the early nineteenth century, if not earlier. The last of the houses butted onto the stone wall to some ancient convent and from there it was only a quarter of a mile to home.

The wall stretched more than a hundred yards at ten or twelve feet high. Addy loved the wall, continually pulling over to sniff the bottom where it joined the path. I suspect she recognised that we were nearing home and wanted to postpone the end of her walk. Addy, in case you wondered, is a Jack Russell terrier with distinct black and brown patches over her snow-white base colouring. The blur which was her short tail sported a black tip which matched a patch over her right eye. She was an insatiable bundle of energy.

Long ago, the wall would have been clad with smooth mortar, but time had not been kind and, in places, it was now rather scabby, revealing the sandstone blocks from which it had been constructed. Ivy had also got its tendrils into the surface and was assisting the weather in its inevitable pursuit of the wall's destruction. I guessed it must have stood there for a hundred and fifty years, maybe longer.

The ivy provided a picturesque, mottled, natural look. In the summer, butterflies used it to sun themselves – red admirals, tortoiseshells, and peacocks spread their wings adding splashes of colour. Not today though. Summer was dying early. Too late in the year for most butterflies, but the ivy contrasted nicely with the decaying mortar.

Set into the wall, the arch of the doorway showed the undisputed skill of an ancient stone mason and the door, neglected for decades, suffered from peeling green paint which exposed grey timber beneath. It would soon rot if it remained so unloved. It was badly in need of rubbing down, a new coat of paint, and some tender loving care.

We'd continued about twenty feet past the door when I stopped dead in my tracks. Addy reached the furthest extent of her lead and jerked to a halt. The Jack Russell was surprised at my sudden stop and looked around with one of those expressions which questioned the stupidity of her master.

'What door?' I asked myself. There was no door in this wall!

I tugged on the lead and we returned to the section where I'd seen the stone arch and ancient door.

As expected, there was no door. Eh? The lack of a door could not be more evident. Addy sat obediently while I stared at the scabby wall and its patchy ivy jacket.

What had I seen? Was it further back?

I walked another twenty or thirty feet, but there was no ivy growing on that section and the door had certainly been set into a section sporting the evergreen plant.