My Small Black Notebook

Sir Elliot Winthorp III wrote all of his poems in a small black notebook. It was an old and romantic habit that he had developed as a young man when he was studying law at Cambridge. He liked the texture of the rigid marbled cover against his fingertips; and the way the pages absorbed the ink from his Montblanc Meisterstück Hommage á W.A Mozart platinum-coated fountainpen adorned with a hand-crafted 18K solid gold nib. The stark juxtaposition between the cheap notebook and the luxurious masterpiece fountainpen gave Elliot a giddy feeling of insouciant adventure – which, in turn, he was certain, helped him write his beloved poetry.

Sir Winthorp prided himself on how inexpensive the notebook was: his faithful butler, Jeeves, told him that it had only cost him £7.99 at the market stalls in the city. Of course, Sir Winthorp had a cornucopia of other far more expensive notebooks at his summer mansion in the country that he could have used instead: lavish notebooks made of the finest Corinthian leather; ancient notebooks from Egypt embossed in undecipherable hieroglyphs; and even flashy modern notebooks made of the highest grade titanium and Kevlar alloys. But Elliot liked the simplicity of his small black notebook: it stood out in stark contrast to the wealth and opulence with which he otherwise surrounded himself. But more importantly, it contained the very best poems he had ever written: a culmination of his life’s work; his most prized possessions.

Sir Elliot Winthorp III came from very old money: his great, great grandfather was a very successful tea merchant from the British Indies several centuries before, and Elliot had inherited his vast fortune from his parents, who in turn, had inherited it from theirs, as had always been the case for the long and illustrious dynastic line of Winthorp children – all of whom had been born into inconceivably large wealth.

***

Timmy McCracken was born in the winter of 2015 to a very poor family living in the outer suburbs of Calgary, Alberta, in the majestic but unforgiving Rocky Mountains of Canada. His mother worked as a laundry lady washing and ironing clothes for the rich oil-patch families that drove Calgary’s booming resources economy; and his father was a carpenter – getting whatever work he could as a nomadic laborer tradie on a variety of commercial and residential building sites throughout the province. His dad was often away from the family for long periods of time as he tried to earn enough money to pay the rent on their dilapidated trailer and to keep food on the table and clothing on the backs of Timmy and his 4-year-old sister, Tamara. Tamara was a beautiful angel, but had been born with a weak heart, that required expensive medical treatment. The doctors had told her distraught parents that unless they performed urgent open-heart surgery on Tamara in the next two weeks, Tamara would not live to see her fifth birthday. The surgery would cost $20,000, which was exactly $20,000 more than his parents had in their bank account. This news crushed Timmy’s parents, but destroyed Timmy – who loved his little sister so much that he would have given her his own heart if that were possible.

***

Sir Elliot Winthorp was experiencing writer’s block. His poems had become dull, repetitious and stagnant. He had grown bored of the countryside in England, and was struggling to come up with any more poems. He needed a muse. He walked into his library and immediately noticed the colorful spine of one of the thousands of books that inhabited the walls: Great Canadian Train Journeys. “That’s it!” he yelled excitedly. Pulling the book from the shelf and leafing through the pages, he drank in the incredible images of the glass-topped train with fully-catered gold star service cascading through the majestic Rocky Mountains from the Pacific Ocean in Vancouver in British Columbia through to the world-class tourist destination of Banff in Alberta. He decided in an instant that he would fly to Canada for some inspiration. “That’s it!” he repeated triumphantly, “A train journey through the Rocky Mountains of Canada! That’s exactly what I need to spark my fires of creativity.” Elliot raced to the stairs and yelled down to his butler: “Jeeves? Jeeves! I need a holiday. I want to fly to Canada tomorrow. Book me a flight to Vancouver and then a train journey across the Rocky Mountains to Banff. Book me the penthouse suite at the Banff Springs Hotel for the rest of the summer. I’m going to put the finishing touches on my landmark book of poetry before the first snowfall. Make all the necessary arrangements at once Jeeves!”

“Yes sir,” replied Jeeves laconically, staring up at his employer with practiced restraint, “As you wish master.”

***

Stepping off the train in Banff, Sir Winthorp could hardly contain his excitement. In fact, he was so excited, that he did not even notice when his small black notebook slipped out of his overcoat pocket and landed on the train platform, before being kicked to the tracks amidst the mass exodus of passengers disembarking from the train. As he and Jeeves went to get into their waiting limousine, Elliot suddenly patted his coat, and started searching frantically thorough all of his pockets. “Jeeves!” he blurted out panic-stricken, “Oh no, Jeeves! I’ve lost my small black notebook. I need that notebook Jeeves. It has all of my very best poems in it. It contains my life’s work; my most personal and confidential feelings; my private and emotional thoughts; my intimate thoughts Jeeves. I want that notebook back Jeeves. I need it back. It is priceless to me. Absolutely priceless I say. Quick, go back and find it Jeeves! It’s urgent! I’ll give you a reward if you find it. Run Jeeves! Run!

***

That same day, Timmy’s mother, desperate to earn money to help pay for Tamara’s heart surgery, had travelled to start a new job working in the laundromat at a run-down three-star motel on the outskirts of Banff. It included room and board, so at least she thought she could save some money. She had to bring Timmy and Tamara with her, because her husband had just taken a job way up north of Edmonton to help build a mining camp in the Yukon for one of the gold mining companies that was riding the wave of the gold revival that was sweeping through Alberta – similar to the Klondike gold rush of the 1890s. The Greyhound bus they had taken from Calgary pulled into the bus depot beside the bustling train station in Banff. Timmy’s mother told Timmy to watch Tamara as she went to the phone booth to call her new employer. Timmy and Tamara walked over to look at the giant red train that had just pulled into the station and stood in awe of its glass roof as they watched the passengers disembark. Timmy couldn’t help but notice one exquisitely-dressed and apparently ridiculously rich passenger in particular stepping gingerly off the train. The second man who accompanied him, whom Timmy deduced was his servant due to his obsequious and sycophantic fawnings, was carrying the rich man’s entire entourage of expensive luggage for him. Suddenly, Timmy noticed a small black notebook fall from the rich man’s coat pocket onto the train platform amidst the maelstrom of disembarking passengers. Timmy looked back and saw that his mum was still on the phone. He grabbed Tamara’s hand gently and led his sister towards the train. “Come on Tamara,” he said lovingly, let’s go get that man’s book for him.”

***

“Hey Mister,” yelled Timmy breathlessly, as he ran up to Sir Winthorp, who was busy chastising an exasperated Jeeves for the latter’s failure to find the lost notebook. “Excuse me Mister,” continued Timmy, “but you dropped your book.” Winthorp III abruptly ceased his admonishment and turned to see little Timmy standing there holding his lost treasure. He had never felt such relief or gratitude. Timmy handed the small black notebook back to the sartorially-perfect gentleman. “Here you go,” said Timmy cheerfully, “have a nice day!” Timmy smiled with satisfaction at his good deed and turned to lead his little sister back to their mother.

“Wait just a moment please young man,” said Elliot politely, in his perfect London accent. “This notebook is very important to me. I am extremely grateful that you have found it and returned to me. I have something for you in return.” Elliot reached into the left breast-pocket of his suit-jacket and pulled out a large leather satchel in the shape of an envelope, and handed it to Timmy. “Here you go young man. This is your reward. You deserve it. Thank you so very much. God bless you.” And with that, he waved goodbye, turned, and walked away, with Jeeves pulling their luggage trolley faithfully behind them. Timmy and Tamara stood flabbergasted on the train platform with the large leather satchel poking akimbo out of the sides of Timmy’s tiny little fists.

***

Looking down gobsmacked at the enormous leather satchel in his hands, Timmy and Tamara ran back to their mum, who had just finished her call and was in the process of hanging up the telephone. “Mum, mum,” shouted Timmy excitedly, “look what a rich man with a funny accent just gave me for finding his notebook!”

Timmy handed the satchel to him mother, who was still struggling to process what she had just heard her son say. Opening the satchel, her eyes went saucer-shaped, her mouth opened wide, and she suddenly gasped, “Oh my God!” Inside the leather satchel was $20,000 in cash, neatly bound by bank ribbons into four bundles of $50 notes. It was so unexpected, that Timmy’s mother fell to her knees and started crying. She had never seen so much cash in her entire life. She stared at the money in complete disbelief.

“What just happened?” she said slowly. “Which man? Who? Where is he?” she asked Timmy, utterly dumbfounded. Timmy pointed back at the well-dressed man on the train platform, who had been watching their conversation from the train platform with a glint of genuine joy in his eyes and a new-found inspiration in his heart. Sir Winthorp had found his muse after all.

Timmy, Tamara and their mother watched incredulously as Elliot Winthorp III waved goodbye, got into his black limousine with his loyal butler, and drove off into the sunset to begin writing down the tsunami of new poems, which were suddenly washing over him, into his small black notebook.

***

Tamara awoke from the heart surgery in her hospital bed to see her mum, dad, and brother standing over her. “The doctor says that your heart is all better Tamara,” said Timmy’s mother, beaming, with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Thanks to your brother Timmy, you’re going to have a long, healthy and happy life.

Tamara looked up at her brother and smiled angelically. “Thank you Timmy,” she said weakly, still recovering her strength. “I love you big brother!”

“You’re welcome sis,” replied Timmy happily, “I love you too! But we owe all the thanks to that rich man for giving us the reward money. What a miracle! It’s amazing how precious a small black notebook can be!”

∞ ∞

THE END