Perfect for the Part

Michael was a retired old sailor who kept to himself – but there was much hidden beneath his gruff exterior

THIS is practically new,” said Eileen Venter, holding up a blue woollen dressing gown. “A really good contribution.”

The hospital Christmas fete was the following Saturday and the volunteers were knee-deep in donations of every sort. They hoped to make enough from the sale to fund new easy chairs for the visitors’ room.

“I wonder if we could give it to old Michael Kelly?” said Eileen “He’s being discharged from hospital tomorrow and I don’t suppose he has anything as warm as this at home.”

“Of course,” said Ruth. “He’s the old sailor with the beard in the corner of the men’s ward, isn’t he? The sister told me they’d kept him in a bit longer because he lives alone and doesn’t have anyone to look after him.”

“He was at sea for nearly 50 years, he told me,” said Eileen gently. “So his friends are all scattered or gone. And I think he’s shy. He finds it difficult to just start talking.”

“Well, he’s told you more than he’s told anyone else,” said Ruth.

Both women worked as Sunshine Ladies, and Eileen had struck up a friendship with Michael, who’d taken a look at her book trolley and muttered, “Got any decent cowboy stories there?”

She’d found a tattered paperback with a horse and rider on the cover.

“They don’t write real adventures like this any more,” he wheezed. He spent most of his fortnight in hospital reading it, ignoring the other men.

After that, Eileen made a point of stopping and chatting every time she passed.

She’d noticed a change for the better in him over the two weeks. Three good meals a day had filled him out nicely.

Half his problem, according to the nurses, had been that he was too ill to take care of himself or cook proper meals. The social worker had made a note to keep an eye on him from now on.

THE following morning Eileen came across Michael, dressed and waiting for the hospital transport back to his house. He was carrying his new blue dressing gown in a packet. “You’re off then, Michael? Feeling better?”

“I am. And looking forward to going home.”

“Well, if I find another cowboy book I might pop around for a visit.” “Okay.” Michael looked pleased, so Eileen made a point of buying a second-hand

cowboy book and taking it around to his house a few days later.

Five-year-old Beth came along too, with a promise of an ice cream after her mother had visited her friend.

Michael’s cottage was hidden behind a dark hedge and thick ivy covered the walls.

“This looks like a witch’s house,” whispered Beth, drawing closer to her mother as she knocked on the door.

Michael opened the door, wearing his new blue dressing gown.

“Good morning, Michael. I was just passing by. And I’ve brought you a Zane Grey. The Rainbow Trail. I hope you haven’t read it?”

“Not that one, no.” He took the book slowly, then stood aside for them to come in.

The little kitchen was spotless, the stove gleaming and dishcloths folded neatly. A vase of dried grasses stood on the table next to a model of a ship and several paint pots.

This was a far cry from what she’d expected, given Michael’s unkempt appearance when he was admitted to hospital. Then she reminded herself he’d been alone and ill for some time before.

“Look Mommy, a ship!” Beth went straight to the model of a sailing ship.

“That’s The Earl of Hardwicke,” said Michael. “She was an East Indiaman. Three masts, 24 guns. I’m busy with the rigging now.”

“Michael, this is beautiful. I had no idea you made models,” said Eileen. “Such wonderful detail!”

“Ah, well . . .” he said, off-handed. “It keeps me busy.”

“What were the guns for?” asked Beth, curious.

“Well, she sailed the route between Southampton in the UK and the Far East,” explained Michael carefully. “She carried trunks full of gold on board to trade in precious jewels, silks and spices, and there were plenty of pirates around in the China seas that needed to be frightened off.”

“Precious jewels, silks and spices . . .” Beth said dreamily. “Like, gold, frankincense and myrrh?”

“That’s right, my girl.” Michael smiled at Beth. “You know the Christmas story, do you?”

“Yes, we’re doing the Nativity play at church. I’m the Littlest Angel,” she said importantly.

“And a very good angel I’m sure you’ll be,” he said. “Do you take milk, Mrs James?” “Yes please, Michael.” “Mommy, you’re sitting on a lion’s lap!” giggled Beth.

Eileen looked down at the arms of the chair on which she was seated and realised they were carved with lion’s claws and above her head she saw the face and mane of a lion carved across the top. She stood up and examined it.

“This is an unusual chair,” said Eileen. “Where did you find it?”

“Made it myself. I’ve always liked fiddling with wood. Made that cupboard too.”

“That’s a handsome piece of furniture,” said Eileen. “Do you ever sell your work?” “No, no, it’s just a hobby,” he said. This could be a lot more than just a hobby, thought Eileen. It was clear Michael didn’t have any money to spare. But he was such a loner it probably hadn’t occurred to him to put up a little notice at the supermarket advertising his services.

THE two of them spent half an hour with Michael then said goodbye, with Eileen promising to look out for more cowboy stories at the second-hand bookstall. That evening in the church hall, the rehearsal for the Nativity play didn’t go so well.

To begin with Harry Blomkamp, who was supposed to be Joseph, was in bed with flu and wouldn’t be able to play the part.

Then the old manger which had been used every year had somehow been cracked and broken in three pieces. And the pianist supposed to accompany the carols arrived half an hour late without her sheet music.

“It was a disaster,” said Eileen to her husband, Paul, the following morning. “No Joseph. And no manger. And tomorrow’s the dress rehearsal!”

“I’m sure it’ll be all right on the night,” he comforted. “Things always work out.”

“Mom, Mr Kelly likes to make things,” said Beth suddenly. “Couldn’t he make the baby Jesus a manger?”

Eileen turned to her daughter in surprise. “Of course! He’s a carpenter. What a clever girl you are to think of him. I just hope he feels well enough to do it.”

Eileen could see Michael was delighted to be asked.

“I can knock something up, I reckon,” he said gruffly. “It’ll be a rush job though.”

“And we’ll pay you for your work,” she said. “With a bit extra because it’s an emergency.” “We’ll see.” But he didn’t say no. The next day Eileen tried to find someone to take the part of Joseph, but without success. Fifteen-year-old Stephen, presently cast as a shepherd, would have to do. She was about to phone him when there was a knock on the door.

It was Michael. He was holding a large wooden manger, the dark brown wood polished to a rich sheen. The light from the porch caught his white beard and bushy white eyebrows and Eileen drew a sharp breath. “You’re Joseph!” she said. “No, ma’am. I’m Michael, remember?” The elderly man looked a bit puzzled. “Finished it quick but it’s good and solid. Will hold up for a long time, I reckon.”

“No, I mean – you’d be a perfect Joseph!” she exclaimed. “Come in, Michael. I have a really big favour to ask of you. Oh, everything’s going to be all right!”

Things worked out, just as Paul had predicted.

At the dress rehearsal the following evening Michael made a perfect Joseph in his long blue dressing gown and silky white beard. The other members of the cast made him feel welcome and Brian Wilson, who played the chief shepherd, was delighted to find he was a fellow model builder.

“Why not come over for coffee next week?” he said. “I’m having problems with the mast of my Viking ship. Perhaps you could give me some advice?”

“Be happy to,” said Michael, beaming. “And the caretaker has just asked me to take a look at the pulpit steps too. A couple of them need replacing.”

“It’s been really good to meet you, Michael,” said Reverend Harrison, who’d been watching the dress rehearsal. “Perhaps we’ll see you in church on Christmas Day?”

“Could be.” Michael was a man of few words. He was was just leaving when Beth slipped her hand into his.

“I’m so glad you’re going to be Joseph, Mr Kelly,” she whispered. “You’ve got a real beard, anyone can tell. It’s not just made of cotton wool, like the innkeeper’s.”

“I’m happy you like it,” said Michael, twinkling.

“But the best thing is, you’re a proper carpenter. Like Joseph was.”