Norma

"Ohh, hee, hee, hee!" This is the only way I know how to accurately describe the being of joy that is Norma. Meeting this woman seemed to be a chance encounter, a lucky click of the button, but truly it was the greatest blessing God has given me on this trip. But I am getting ahead of myself and so I shall attempt to start at the beginning with a small English village and a dear old lady called, Norma...

I found myself alone at the railway station. It was one of those stations that has stood the test of time and that reminds one remarkably of that which was used in the film, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It was white with blue and red trim and old, very old. There were flowers still bright from summer in various pots dotted about the station and banners of neatly cut and colorful triangles gaily decorated the roofs of the buildings. The station was silent and empty, the ticket office was closed, the cafes as well, and nothing stirred other than the few people that dozed about on the benches, awaiting the arrival of their train. The sun was bright and the breeze whipping through the tunnels and the quiet chirping of the birds above were the only noises to be heard. I had three hours to go until my ride would arrive, so I made my way to the empty ticket office to wait. Everything was dead quiet and I was alone, utterly, except for the small rustling of the dead leaves on the station floor. I began to see the similarities with me and the four Pevensies, for I felt that I too had been set on a journey and had reached my destination with no idea what could be awaiting me around the corner.

It was a car. Small and silver with a tall, thin gentleman dressed in painter's garb seated at the wheel. He was all smiles and called my name cheerfully and a bit questionably as he jumped out to open the boot of the car. He spoke about everything and anything, he was bit like the mad hatter and drove like a madman in the small roads that were barely large enough for one vehicle let alone two going different directions. He chatted away the entire time about this and that in a quick, sing song manner. He was a photographer of buildings, flats, food, etc, he had been painting for a friend which explained his paint spattered appearance, and he thought I was from Washington DC and Canada all at once. He spoke non stop until we arrived at the house and he popped, there is little other way of describing it, from his seat to open the boot once again. I then met his wife and Effie, their delightful Airedale who followed her master around devotedly.

His wife was a story teller, she told stories about people who told stories. She was studying her Masters and her thesis was the exploration of stories which may still be deemed folklore, but are those that hang more on reality, experienced by actual people. She wished to research why people told these stories, why those type of stories, and then about the people the researched these stories in their turn. She was an artist of sorts and her creative mind and energy could be felt about the house in every nook and cranny. She dressed like an artist with large, colorful jewelry, dresses, and strange boots, she laughed like and artist, and she spoke so quickly and in such a delicate, bird like manner that I had the worst time following along with her many spaghetti like narratives. However, her cheerfulness was contagious and I felt drawn to her as much as bees to a honeypot.

I was then led upstairs to be made familiar with my room, shown the ups and downs, and then left to my own devices. I spent the next hour of so talking to people, deliberating over supper, and finally venturing downstairs to search for dinner. It was then that I met, Norma.

She was in the living room and at once I knew that if she could meet my grandmother, they would be kindred spirits. She about 5"3 at the very most and had short, cropped hair that was grown out and curled in small, gray waves about the top of her face and ears. Her build was that of one whom at reached the point in one's life where it is okay to just be comfortable, eats well, and walks often, with a love for the sunshine, but sees little of it. I liked her at once. We had neither of us set eyes upon the other before, but as soon as hellos were served she immediately began to invite me to join in her travels the next day, in a pleasant, Glaswegian accent. I was so astounded at this that I found myself agreeing without a thought to the contrary. And that was my first encounter with the dear woman called Norma.



I was up early the next day for the time set by Norma previously was to leave the house by 9:45.  It was quite funny as every few minutes I would hear a soft "Bronwyn?" called at my door and I would open it to find Norma there, telling me the plans had changed and it would no longer be the time we had set as someone was picking us up at 10. Then again I would hear my name called for another small question, and then again all morning. She was as chipper as a bird and ran upstairs and down talking to the hosts and drinking her tea. We left the house at exactly ten and met our ride a bit further down the road. As it turns out, and quite hilariously, it was a family who's daughter was also attending the same Bible school I was and were down in England to send her off. It is often funny to see how the world works and how little our eyes truly see of it.

I will not bother in giving you our full itinerary, for this is more the story and description of Norma than anything else. We set off in their hired BMW and made our way to the small, seaside town of Morecombe. I could see that it was at one time, such a lovely place, set on the sea with a stone jetty, a pier walk, and delicate Victorian shops surrounding the beach in a crescent moon shape. But the golden era of Morecombe has long since passed and the streets were rocky and uneven and the once colorful shop fronts were faded with chipped paint and rusted iron. We wandered mainly along the beach collecting shells and watching the tide come in and were even fortunate enough to see a film crew filming something at the local chippie, though we are unsure of what it is for. All this time, Norma chatted away like a bird, she would stop without hesitation and speak to whoever she fancied along the road. She would dart off into the shops or side streets to gaze at the windows or talk to someone and we often thought we had lost her just to see her again, bumbling her way back like a duck with her head down and fanny pack at the front.

We exhausted all that Morecombe had to offer and then made our way to the small, idyllic country town of Kirkby-Longsdale to have lunch. We ate at the pub where Norma ordered a good cuppa and fish and chips. She made known that she did not actually like mushy peas, but would eat them anyway. Lunch was delightful, we all say around the table chatting gaily with Norma talking about her farming days back in Alaska and the family, also from Alaska, sharing their own tales. It was charming and Norma was hilarious, witty, and kind all at once. At one point, the food had arrived for the girl's mother and grandmother, but they had quickly stepped outside to move the car from the one hour parking spot. Concerned, that it would get cold, she looked around until she found the waiter and then kindly asked him to put them in the stove to keep warm! I had the best fish and chips I have ever had and the best company I could have wished for and felt quite at ease among st them. After lunch, we made our way to the bakery to get something sweet and all the while Norma waited outside. She would stand, legs apart like a sailor, head cocked up looking at the window display, with her hands held together behind her. She would stand like this gazing at the window display before moving on a little down the street to look at another one or to speak to someone. She would then come back and tell us some tit bit she had learned, a bit of history, or just something she had found interesting. We had a glorious time and the day was warm, with clear blue skies, and dogs wagging their tails left and right in the enjoyment of the day. We took a walk after this through pastureland and along the river to Devil's Bridge before making our way back to the car and then to Bolton- Le- Sands. We said goodbye and thank you to the family and then made our way, Norma and I, into the house.

Our host, the wife, had just arrived home herself and set about at once to make us a coffee and tea. We then spent the loveliest of times chatting in living room about all sorts of things. I was merely a spectator as the two chirped away at speeds unbelievable and thought only possible by the French. They spoke of stories, storytelling, of village gossip, and AirBnB visitor stories. Norma answered and asked questions, she spoke of politics and of the sad state of Glasgow, her home town. She sipped on her coffee and petted Effie's head and then spoke of "back when I was young..." What made this encounter all the more enjoyable was the constant laughing or giggle of Norma's upon some delightful or entertaining story line. As I said, we talked of many things and everything, hilarious and serious, and Norma would laugh with a deep "Ohhh," before giggling off like a child with several "hee, hee, hees."

  

Norma reminded me so much of my grandmother, for she adored literature of all sorts, but mainly history and biographies. She talked of politics and of the world, she drank tea, and she wrote notes, she was friendly and she was kind, she spoke like a bird with a Scottish accent, and she was by far, one of the loveliest people I have ever met. Her joy of life was contagious and often she would laugh for no reason, smile at the simplest thing, and every morning would ask me how I slept and if I needed anything. She knew and would often say, that she was happy that thought world was falling apart around her, she knew she had a place to to go after for Jesus was most certainly in her heart.  She loved Effie with her whole heart and wished to bring her home with her and the very last time I saw of her, she was going downstairs laughing with her suitcase in hand and telling me that she hoped we should meet again, very soon....

"There is nothing in this world so irresistibly contagious and laughter and good humor." 

~ Charles Dickens