A Donkey in the Meadow (17 page)

There they were, two donkeys with ice cream smeared about their faces, sucking lollipops, Fred a toy donkey, Penny a working one, when the time came for The Cake. Jeannie had made it, a table on the field was ready for it, and there was a single candle.

The air was still, and with ceremony the candle was lit. The table was at the bottom of the field above the wood and so its shelter helped the flame to burn steadily and with no fear of it flickering out. All around were Fred’s guests. There was chattering and laughter, and from somewhere in the background a small voice began the customary birthday song.

‘Too soon!’ someone else shouted.

Fred, at that moment, had not arrived. He was a few yards away in a cluster of admirers, a girl with golden hair holding the halter, and all of them edging Fred towards the climax of his party. He did not want to be rushed. He was going to arrive in his own good time. And suddenly the shouts went up: ‘Here’s Freddie! Happy birthday, Freddie! Good old Freddie!’ Treble voices sailing into the sky. A moment in time that many years away, most would remember. Nothing complicated. The same pleasure that centuries have enjoyed.

Fred reached the table. The candle on the cake, a strong, confident flame, awaited him. But I do not think anyone who was present believed he would so successfully fulfil their secret hopes.

As the children sang his birthday song, Fred pushed his head forward enquiringly towards the candle, snorted; and blew it out.

The children had gone, Minack was quiet again, and we now awaited Geoffrey; and we soon saw him coming down the lane. There was a sense of continuity about the sight of him, as if it were one of those days years ago, when he worked at Minack; and it would have been easy had I shut my eyes, to believe that Shelagh was riding down the lane behind him on her bicycle, and that Jane too had arrived across the fields from her cottage above the cliffs she loved. These three, in a period of struggle for survival, had given us their loyalty and enthusiasm; and now that I saw him again, his presence drove a sharp awareness into my private world of doubts and frustrated plans that once again we could set about building upon the base of Minack.

In this impermanent world in which restlessness is a deception for contentment, in which the individual can only salvage what he can from the twilight pressures of the mass, in which to be sensitive is no longer a grace, in which haste without purpose, second-hand pleasures, package thinking and noise for the sake of it, are the gods of millions; in which truth is an expendable virtue in the pursuit of power, and in which youth is compelled from the beginning to worship materialism, Jeannie and I could touch the old stones of Minack, brace ourselves before the gales, listen to the sea talking and to the gulls crying, be at one with the animals, have time to search our inward selves and fight the shadow which is the enemy; and marvel at the magic which had led us to a life we loved so much.

‘Do you realise,’ said Jeannie, after Geoffrey, as enthusiastic as we had hoped him to be, had gone back up the lane and the date of his return had been agreed, ‘that we now can go away as we planned a year ago?’

‘I do.’

‘And neither of us now want to?’

‘Neither of us.’

‘It seems to prove something.’

‘What?’

Jeannie paused for a moment, leaning against a rock and staring out into the wide sweep of Mount’s Bay.

‘I suppose I mean,’ she said, ‘that if individuals are to be truly happy they should have a purpose in life which does not trample on others.’

‘Only a few can have such an opportunity. The rest have to fight for a living in jobs they do not enjoy.’

‘That’s what I mean. We are one of the few . . . and we have realised it.’

‘We have solved what we set out to solve a year ago.’

‘Yes.’

The dying sun was beginning to touch the fields across the valley. The shadows of boulders were sharp. The pilchard fleet of Newlyn was busily setting out towards the Wolf Rock. A happy day. A soft breeze off the sea, curlews flying high and calling, a woodpecker laughing.

‘Let’s go and see the donkeys,’ I said.

We reached the field and saw no sign of them.

‘That’s funny. I hope I didn’t leave the gate open.’

‘Look, there they are!’ said Jeannie.

At the far end of the field beneath the distant hedge I saw Penny standing dozily upright. On the grass beside her, lying outstretched, was Fred sound asleep. A donkey who had had a party, enjoyed every minute of it, and was now exhausted.

We did not disturb them.

Fred with Susan and Janet

Fred’s birthday party

His guests vie with each other