This Little Light Of Mine.

Frank Grey was now an old man. It had crept up on him slowly but surely. Each body part creaking now in diefoance of his will. At first it has been the odd twang of pain in a knee, or a steady shaking of a hand from too much drinking and the skin gradually loosened and sagged like a deflated ballon.

At first it had bothered him, but he was past that now. He’d worked all his life, fleeing Poland before the outbreak of the Second World War and coming to Britain. He’d helped fight alongside the British and then returned to work in factories. But he found the city life didn’t agree with him. So he found farm work for a family estate in the country and eventually they kept him on as groundskeeper.

Now too old too really do most of the upkeep, the family had kept him on land in a small cottage and gave him menial tasks to occupy his time.

One of those was on an evening he would go to the gatehouse at far end of the estate to welcome any late night visitors or travellers lost on the road. The estate was built fairly close to a highway and often cars got lost on the tiny winding country roads.

His wife worried about him though, that long walk in the dark, what if you were to fall? He dismissed her worrying but as a compromise agreed that every night when he arrived at the gate house he would light a candle in the window for his wife to see from the cottage. And this this continues until Franks passing.

After that the candle light was exstingsuiged, that is, except one night.

His widow had been disturbed in her sleep. A low sort of humming noise. It seemed to be a part of her dream but also real at the same time. She recognised it as her husbands voice. He would often hum or sing as he went about his rounds on the estate. She knew the song well oh so well. They had both been avid church goers every Sunday without fail, and the song was one often sung at mass. This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.

She tossed and turned until eventually she awoke. She reached as she always did instinctively for the side of the bed her husband used to sleep, only to grasp a cold unfeeling duvet instead remembering he was gone now, it was not the first time.

She got up to get herself a glass of water. The house was silent apart from a slow whistle of the wind entering through some nook or cranny frank had meant to mend but never got round to it.

As she sipped the water she happened to glance out of the window and froze. Out across the estate was the unmistakable faint glow of the candle frank used to light to let her know he was ok. She thought for a moment, could someone else be in the gate house? The owners hadn’t told her anyone else was taking over and why would they light a candle? That had simply been her and franks signal. That room in the gate house wasn’t used for anything.

Then she thought it might be intruders or someone had simply lit and old candle they found there and left it. And finally a foolish thought crossed her mind but persisted, could it be frank?

She returned to bed and fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next day she enquired about the gatehouse. “No”, the owner seemed baffled, “we’ve not hired anyone else to man it, we don’t really see need anymore we’ve just put up signs and some cameras now”.

Quite confused herself, she thanked them and went back to the cottage.

Again that night she woke to same humming and singing but this time it seemed less in her dreams and more in the real world.

“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine! This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine”.

She went to the window to once again see the light shining across the estate.

This time she dressed herself and pulled on a heavy coat over her shawl and hurried across to the gate house.

The rough train was difficult with her frail body but she managed to make it across and heave the heavy oak door aside. As she stepped into the gate house she knew no one had been here for a while. Dust lay about everywhere and nothing seems to have been disturbed yet unmistakably in the corner on the window sill sat one full length glowing candle. Then she saw frank, glowing as bright as the candle, it’s time for us to go home love. And she walked towards him, he wasn’t cold, but as warm as the glow that surrounded them and then suddenly went out leaving a cold deadly silence in the gate house.

The owners found her the next day, lying on the floor next to the window, a burnt out candle down to most of the wax lying on the window sill. No one knew why she’d gone out there at night, and no one could explain the inexplicable look of bliss and peace on her face.

And some say on certain stormy nights when the wind howls and the sky is dark that you can see two candles lit in the gatehouse.