Somethings You Never Forget

Chapter One

Prologue

Trust no one, ever, is the best of maxims. I just wished I'd taken notice when I unknowingly began swimming in hungry shark infested waters. Oh well too late now!

Three Years Ago

My Partner's grandad died quite recently, his name was Baxter Larkin Hawkwood, but known to everyone as Baxy. Baxter was living in a care home, had done for years and years. He was old, about eighty-nine, I think. Looked like an old seafarer with full faced silver-grey beard and sailors gait leaning askew as if bracing himself to ride the next threatening wave. With his blinking left eye which winked indistinctly and habit of ending his spoken sentences in an inaudible mutter, he seemed to me a bit gaga, sorry, it wasn't a nice thing to write but it's true. Though he was no fool, employed at a Russel Group University as professor of Medieval History, an esoteric speciality which doesn't fit comfortably with modern life and our super-fast cyber world of instant on-demand playtime. The micky mouse philistine Government reduced funding to poverty level and the University cut their losses and waved Baxter goodbye to a life of daytime T.V. in his final years.

I hadn't seen him for ages but when I did, he kept on going on about researching his family genealogy, how he had discovered diaries and journals telling amazing stories about his family's ancestors, writing it all down. To me he was ancient and doddery a bit other worldly. Perhaps I wasn't as kind as I should have been, so I ignored him or rather just half listened, more concerned about other interesting concerns such as if the Villa were losing again or if we gonna stuff the Welsh at rugby.

Emma Louise, my Partner, was the only living relative and very close to him. She just couldn't bring herself to pack up and discard his few remaining possessions and I unselfishly volunteered to do it for her , well he had a goodly sized television which I had my eyes on, very useful having it in the spare bedroom to watch the sports without Emma Louise asking me to explain the arcane L.B.W. rules or why the Rugby referee constantly blew up for a foul, trouble is I don't b****y now , do I.

A few days later I turned up and began to separate out his bits and pieces. Three piles, what we wanted, stuff to donate to the Care Home and the third, to be sent to a Charity shop. It all went swimmingly until I found his journals. The old buggar had discovered quite a treasure trove of information about the Hawkwood family, or 'Awkwards' as they were nicknamed. He had diaries and newspaper cuttings, court reports, inquest statements, testimonies, many letters, and diaries. Before he died, he begun to draft out stories from various ancestors which he must have found fascinating. It was so interesting I spent the rest of the day reading all he had discovered. Didn't half get in trouble with Emma Louise when I got home much later, we had been invited to attend her Boss's birthday party, I reckon he, mister ageing Don Juan, had the hots for her. We did arrive at the birthday party fashionably late but not before having the mother and father of rows in the car on the way there.

I finished off the sorting out Baxter's knickknacks and clobber disposing of them like the good Samaritan. I never did get the television, his Care Home took a fancy to it, I couldn't bring myself to say no. I scrabbled together his journal and notes secreting them away until later. After a few weeks trying to get back good books successfully, I began to properly read his notes and was amazed by what he had found. With a flurry of poetic elaboration, I weaved a storybook fanfare around Baxy's weird tales.

The earliest tale I discovered amongst Baz's journals and diaries was of Henry Hawkwood. Henry son of Mary nee Charlton and John Hawkwood. His Father was an interesting man. Born in Portsmouth after he left the Navy purchased a few sea going trawlers and fished, illegally, herring fish, I think, off the shores of Newfoundland. Owned a house in Saint John's along with two slaves. I wouldn't be surprised if there aren't one or two illegitimate children lurking somewhere hidden in his family tree.