The American Revolution History Trail

Tracing the Footsteps of Liberty: The American Revolution History Trail

The American Revolution wasn’t sparked by a single event in a single place—it was a nationwide uprising that unfolded across colonial cities, towns, and battlefields from Massachusetts to South Carolina. Today, these historic locations form a living tapestry of the birth of the United States. Known collectively as the American Revolution History Trail, this network of towns, landmarks, and living memories invites modern travellers to walk where the Founding Fathers debated, where colonial militias stood their ground, and where a fledgling nation declared its independence.

Let’s take a journey through the key cities and towns that shaped the Revolution, the iconic sights they hold, and the extraordinary people whose courage still echoes in the cobblestone streets.

Boston, Massachusetts: The Cradle of Revolution

Boston served as the revolutionary conscience of the colonies. Tensions here boiled over into action time and again.

Historic Sights:

  • The Freedom Trail: A 2.5-mile red-brick path leading to 16 revolutionary sites, including:
    • Boston Common – America’s oldest public park, once used for military drills.
    • Old North Church – “One if by land, and two if by sea” – the signal Paul Revere awaited before his famed ride.
    • Paul Revere House – The home of the silversmith and patriot.
    • Bunker Hill Monument – Commemorating the first major battle of the war in 1775.
  • Faneuil Hall – Known as the “Cradle of Liberty,” where revolutionaries like Samuel Adams rallied the public.

Key Figures:

  • Samuel Adams – Political mastermind and organiser.
  • Paul Revere – Patriot and midnight rider.
  • John Hancock – President of the Continental Congress, famous signer of the Declaration.

Boston was more than a city—it was a crucible of democratic ideals.

Lexington and Concord, Massachusetts: The First Shots

These sister towns mark where the “shot heard ’round the world” was fired on April 19, 1775.

Historic Sights:

  • Lexington Green – Where colonial militia faced British troops.
  • North Bridge in Concord – Site of the “Shot Heard ’Round the World,” where patriots first fired in organized resistance.
  • Minute Man National Historical Park – Preserving the battle routes and offering living history reenactments.

Key Figures:

  • Captain John Parker – Led the Lexington militia with the famous order: “Stand your ground. Don’t fire unless fired upon.”
  • The Minutemen – Citizen-soldiers ready to fight at a minute’s notice.

These small towns represent the moment when rhetoric turned into revolution.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: Birthplace of a Nation

As the meeting place of the Continental Congress and the city where the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution were signed, Philadelphia is central to American liberty.

Historic Sights:

  • Independence Hall – Where the Declaration of Independence was adopted in 1776 and the U.S. Constitution drafted in 1787.
  • Liberty Bell – Symbol of freedom, cracked in its call for liberty.
  • Carpenters’ Hall – Site of the First Continental Congress.
  • Valley Forge National Historical Park – Where George Washington’s army endured a brutal winter (1777–1778), emerging stronger and more disciplined.

Key Figures:

  • George Washington – Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army.
  • Thomas Jefferson – Primary author of the Declaration of Independence.
  • Benjamin Franklin – Diplomat, inventor, and revolutionary thinker.

Philadelphia wasn’t just a political hub—it was the heart of the Republic in its infancy.

Trenton and Princeton, New Jersey: Turning the Tide

After a series of defeats, Washington’s bold actions in New Jersey reignited the revolutionary cause.

Historic Sights:

  • Washington Crossing Historic Park – Where Washington famously crossed the icy Delaware River on Christmas night, 1776.
  • Battle of Trenton and Princeton Sites – Victories that boosted colonial morale and proved the Continental Army could win.

Key Figures:

  • General George Washington – At his most daring and strategic.
  • Hessian Mercenaries – German troops hired by the British, many captured at Trenton.

These battles were pivotal—they transformed defeat into hope.

Saratoga, New York: The Turning Point

The American victory at Saratoga in 1777 was a strategic triumph that convinced France to formally ally with the United States.

Historic Sights:

  • Saratoga National Historical Park – Preserved battlefield with walking trails and visitor center detailing the campaign.
  • Schuyler House – Home of General Philip Schuyler, key to the Northern campaign.

Key Figures:

  • Horatio Gates – Led American forces at Saratoga.
  • Benedict Arnold – Played a crucial role before his infamous betrayal.

Saratoga proved the Americans could defeat the world’s greatest military power—drawing indispensable French support.

Charleston, South Carolina: The Southern Theatre

Charleston was a major port and a strategic battleground in the Southern campaign.

Historic Sights:

  • Fort Moultrie – Where patriots with palmetto-log walls repelled the British in 1776.
  • Old Exchange & Provost Dungeon – Used to imprison patriots and hold meetings of the Sons of Liberty.
  • Charles Towne Landing – Early colony site with colonial history exhibits.

Key Figures:

  • Francis Marion – The “Swamp Fox,” known for guerrilla warfare against the British.
  • Henry Laurens & Christopher Gadsden – Revolutionary leaders and politicians.

Though Charleston eventually fell to the British in 1780, Southern resistance laid the groundwork for final victory.

Yorktown, Virginia: The Final Act

The siege of Yorktown in 1781 marked the end of major military operations—and the beginning of American independence.

Historic Sights:

  • Colonial National Historical Park – Includes the Yorktown Battlefield, where Washington and French allies trapped General Cornwallis.
  • Moore House – Where surrender terms were negotiated.
  • American Revolution Museum at Yorktown – Immersive exhibits on soldier and civilian life.

Key Figures:

  • General George Washington – Commander of the combined American and French forces.
  • Marquis de Lafayette – French ally who helped secure French support.
  • General Cornwallis – British commander whose surrender effectively ended the war.

Yorktown didn’t just win a battle—it won independence.

Walking the American Revolution History Trail

Today, these cities and towns are linked by more than geography—they’re united by a shared legacy. Whether you’re following the Freedom Trail in Boston, standing where Washington crossed the Delaware, or walking through Independence Hall, you’re not just visiting museums—you’re engaging with the living memory of a nation’s founding.

Tips for Exploring:

  • Consider purchasing the America the Beautiful Pass for access to national parks.
  • Join guided tours or living history events for deeper immersion.
  • Visit during anniversary dates (like Patriots’ Day in April or Independence Day) for special reenactments.

Conclusion: A Nation Forged in Towns and Trials

The American Revolution wasn’t just fought in grand halls or on epic battlefields—it happened in the streets of colonial towns, in backroom meetings, and in the resolve of everyday people. The American Revolution History Trail offers a powerful way to understand how courage, idealism, and sacrifice built a nation.

So lace up your walking shoes, grab a tricorn hat, and step into history. The legacy of liberty is waiting—for you to discover it, one town at a time.

Have you walked any part of the Revolution Trail? Share your favourite site or moment in the comments below!

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Georgetown

For those seeking experiences beyond the well-known landmarks in Georgetown, Guyana, here are five excellent things to do on a more unconventional path:

  • Visit the manatees at Guyana National Park (or Botanical Gardens)
    While the botanical gardens and national park are known, a specific, less common activity is feeding the manatees in the ponds. It is one of the few places in the world where it’s possible to interact with these endangered creatures by feeding them grass.
  • Explore the local culture at the lesser-known markets
    Beyond the central Stabroek Market, venture into local markets like Bourda Market or Kitty Market for a more authentic feel of daily Guyanese life. Here, you can experience the vibrant atmosphere, interact with locals, and find unique spices, fresh produce, and local crafts away from the main tourist flow.
  • Experience a local “seven curry” food tour
    Immerse yourself in the unique Indo-Guyanese culinary tradition with a “seven curry” tour, which typically involves collecting lotus leaves and experiencing a cooking class with local chefs in an authentic setting. This provides a deep cultural and gastronomic experience that goes beyond simply visiting a restaurant.
  • Take a blackwater creek adventure
    An excursion about an hour outside the city leads to the serene blackwater creeks, such as those along the Soesdyke/Linden Highway or with local operators like Blackwater Adventures. These unique, palm-fringed swimming spots offer a tranquil escape into nature and a chance to see diverse wildlife, including birds and monkeys, away from the city bustle.
  • Discover Amerindian culture with a village day trip
    Organise a day trip to an Amerindian village, such as the community-run Pakuri Village or lodges like Surama Eco Lodge (which is further afield in the Rupununi region), to learn about the indigenous culture and lifestyle. Engaging with local communities and guides offers a profound insight into Guyana’s heritage and biodiversity that general city tours rarely provide

What I learned about writing – My own family history is, well, a surprise

Unearthing My Roots: The Unexpected Riches of Family Genealogy

For most of my life, I saw my family as, well, just my family. We had our quirks, our traditions, our familiar faces. I loved them, of course, but the idea of them as a resource? It never crossed my mind. Then, a curious spark ignited, and I stumbled into the fascinating world of genealogy. What I discovered wasn’t just a collection of names and dates, but a tapestry of lives, struggles, triumphs, and connections that have profoundly enriched my understanding of myself and my place in the world.

If you’re anything like me, the idea of genealogy might sound a little…dry. Old documents, dusty records, pages of names you barely recognize. But trust me, it’s anything but. It’s detective work, it’s storytelling, and it’s an incredibly powerful way to connect with your past.

So, Where Do You Start? The Basic Building Blocks of Genealogy

Embarking on your family history journey can feel a bit daunting at first, like standing at the foot of a vast mountain. But like any good expedition, it starts with a few simple steps.

1. Start with What You Know (and Who You Know): This is your most valuable, and often overlooked, resource!

  • Talk to Your Elders: Your parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles are living libraries. Ask them about their parents, their grandparents, where they grew up, significant family events, and any stories they remember. Don’t just ask for names and dates; ask for feelings, memories, and anecdotes. What was your great-grandmother like? What was life like during a particular historical period?
  • Gather Existing Documents: Look through old family Bibles, photo albums, letters, birth certificates, marriage licenses, death certificates, military records, and even old school report cards. These can contain invaluable clues and confirm information you’ve gathered from conversations.
  • Create a Family Tree (Even a Simple One): Start by writing down your direct ancestors: yourself, your parents, your grandparents, your great-grandparents, and so on. This visual representation will help you see where the gaps are and what information you need to find.

2. The Power of the Internet (and Beyond): Once you’ve exhausted your immediate resources, the digital world opens up a universe of possibilities.

  • Genealogy Websites: Platforms like Ancestry.com, MyHeritage, and FamilySearch offer vast databases of records, including census data, vital records, immigration records, and more. Many offer free trials, so you can explore without immediate commitment.
  • Public Records: Local courthouses, historical societies, and libraries often have digitized or accessible archives of local records.
  • Cemetery Records: Gravestones can be a treasure trove of information, detailing birth and death dates, and sometimes even relationships.

3. The Paper Trail (and Pillow Talk): While digital is convenient, don’t forget the tangible.

  • Organize, Organize, Organize: As you gather information, it’s crucial to keep it organized. Use a notebook, a binder, or digital tools to record your findings. Note your sources for each piece of information; this is vital for accuracy and for when you want to revisit a record.
  • Interviewing Tips: When talking to relatives, be prepared. Write down your questions in advance. Record conversations (with their permission, of course!) so you don’t miss any details. Be patient and understanding; memories can be fuzzy.

More Than Just Names: The “Why” Behind the “Who”

What began as a simple curiosity about my family tree quickly evolved into something much deeper. I started to see patterns in professions, migration paths, and even shared personality traits. I learned about ancestors who were pioneers, who served in wars, who overcame immense hardship, and who simply lived quiet, ordinary lives that were no less significant.

This journey has given me a profound sense of belonging. It’s a reminder that I am part of a continuum, a thread woven into a larger human story. It’s a humbling and empowering realization that has made me appreciate the sacrifices and the resilience of those who came before me.

So, if you’ve ever felt a flicker of curiosity about where you come from, I urge you to take that first step. You might be surprised by the rich, intricate, and deeply personal landscape that lies just beneath the surface of your own family. It’s a resource waiting to be explored, and the rewards are truly immeasurable.

What have been some of your most surprising or meaningful discoveries in your genealogy journey? Share in the comments below!

An excerpt from “What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

See the excerpt from the story below, just a taste of what’s in store…

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whatsetscover

McCallister was old school, a man who would most likely fit in perfectly campaigning on the battlefields of Europe during the Second World War. He’d been like a fish out of water in the army, post-Falklands, and while he retired a hero, he still felt he’d more to give.

He’d applied and was accepted as head of a SWAT team, and, watching him now as he and his men disembarked from the truck in almost military precision, a look passed between Annette, the police liaison officer, and I that said she’d seen it all before. I know I had.

There was a one in four chance his team would be selected for this operation, and she had been hoping it would be one of the other three. While waiting for them to arrive she filled me in on the various teams. His was the least co-operative, and the more likely to make ad-hoc decisions rather than adhere to the plan, or any orders that may come from the officer in charge.

This, she said quite bluntly, was going to end badly.

I still had no idea why Prendergast instructed me to attend the scene of what looked to be a normal domestic operation, but as the nominated expert in the field in these types of situations, it was fairly clear he wasn’t taking any chances. It was always a matter of opinion between us, and generally I lost.

In this case, it was an anonymous report identifying what the authorities believed were explosives in one of the dockside sheds where explosives were not supposed to be.

The only reason why the report was given any credence was the man, while not identifying himself by name, said he’d been an explosive expert once and recognized the boxes. That could mean anything, but the Chief Constable was a cautious man.

With his men settled and preparing their weapons, McCallister came over to the command post, not much more than the SUV my liaison and I arrived in, with weapons, bulletproof vests, and rolls of tape to cordon off the area afterward. We both had coffee, steaming in the cold early morning air. Dawn was slowly approaching and although rain had been forecast it had yet to arrive.

A man by the name of Benson was in charge. He too had groaned when he saw McCallister.

“A fine morning for it.” McCallister was the only enthusiastic one here.

He didn’t say what ‘it’ was, but I thought it might eventually be mayhem.

“Let’s hope the rain stays away. It’s going to be difficult enough without it,” Benson said, rubbing his hands together. We had been waiting for the SWAT team to arrive, and another team to take up their position under the wharf, and who was in the final stages of securing their position.

While we were waiting we drew up the plan. I’d go in first to check on what we were dealing with, and what type of explosives. The SWAT team, in the meantime, were to ensure all the exits to the shed were covered. When I gave the signal, they were to enter and secure the building. We were not expecting anyone inside or out, and no movement had been detected in the last hour since our arrival and deployment.

“What’s the current situation?”

“I’ve got eyes on the building, and a team coming in from the waterside, underneath. Its slow progress, but they’re nearly there. Once they’re in place, we’re sending McKenzie in.”

He looked in my direction.

“With due respect sir, shouldn’t it be one of us?” McCallister glared at me with the contempt that only a decorated military officer could.

“No. I have orders from above, much higher than I care to argue with, so, McCallister, no gung-ho heroics for the moment. Just be ready to move on my command, and make sure you have three teams at the exit points, ready to secure the building.”

McCallister opened his mouth, no doubt to question those orders, but instead closed it again. “Yes sir,” he muttered and turned away heading back to his men.

“You’re not going to have much time before he storms the battlements,” Benson quietly said to me, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “I’m dreading the paperwork.”

It was exactly what my liaison officer said when she saw McCallister arriving.

The water team sent their ‘in position’ signal, and we were ready to go.

In the hour or so we’d been on site nothing had stirred, no arrivals, no departures, and no sign anyone was inside, but that didn’t mean we were alone. Nor did it mean I was going to walk in and see immediately what was going on. If it was a cache of explosives then it was possible the building was booby-trapped in any number of ways, there could be sentries or guards, and they had eyes on us, or it might be a false alarm.

I was hoping for the latter.

I put on the bulletproof vest, thinking it was a poor substitute for full battle armor against an exploding bomb, but we were still treating this as a ‘suspected’ case. I noticed my liaison officer was pulling on her bulletproof vest too.

“You don’t have to go. This is my party, not yours,” I said.

“The Chief Constable told me to stick to you like glue, sir.”

I looked at Benson. “Talk some sense into her please, this is not a kindergarten outing.”

He shrugged. Seeing McCallister had taken all the fight out of him. “Orders are orders. If that’s what the Chief Constable requested …”

Madness. I glared at her, and she gave me a wan smile. “Stay behind me then, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Believe me, I won’t be.” She pulled out and checked her weapon, chambering the first round. It made a reassuring sound.

Suited up, weapons readied, a last sip of the coffee in a stomach that was already churning from nerves and tension, I looked at the target, one hundred yards distant and thought it was going to be the longest hundred yards I’d ever traversed. At least for this week.

A swirling mist rolled in and caused a slight change in plans.

Because the front of the buildings was constantly illuminated by large overhead arc lamps, my intention had been to approach the building from the rear where there was less light and more cover. Despite the lack of movement, if there were explosives in that building, there’d be ‘enemy’ surveillance somewhere, and, after making that assumption, I believed it was going to be easier and less noticeable to use the darkness as a cover.

It was a result of the consultation, and studying the plans of the warehouse, plans that showed three entrances, the main front hangar type doors, a side entrance for truck entry and exit and a small door in the rear, at the end of an internal passage leading to several offices. I also assumed it was the exit used when smokers needed a break. Our entry would be by the rear door or failing that, the side entrance where a door was built into the larger sliding doors. In both cases, the locks would not present a problem.

The change in the weather made the approach shorter, and given the density of the mist now turning into a fog, we were able to approach by the front, hugging the walls, and moving quickly while there was cover. I could feel the dampness of the mist and shivered more than once.

It was nerves more than the cold.

I could also feel rather than see the presence of Annette behind me, and once felt her breath on my neck when we stopped for a quick reconnaissance.

It was the same for McCallister’s men. I could feel them following us, quickly and quietly, and expected, if I turned around, to see him breathing down my neck too.

It added to the tension.

My plan was still to enter by the back door.

We slipped up the alley between the two sheds to the rear corner and stopped. I heard a noise coming from the rear of the building, and the light tap on the shoulder told me Annette had heard it too. I put my hand up to signal her to wait, and as a swirl of mist rolled in, I slipped around the corner heading towards where I’d last seen the glow of a cigarette.

The mist cleared, and we saw each other at the same time. He was a bearded man in battle fatigues, not the average dockside security guard.

He was quick, but my slight element of surprise was his undoing, and he was down and unconscious in less than a few seconds with barely a sound beyond the body hitting the ground. Zip ties secured his hands and legs, and tape his mouth. Annette joined me a minute after securing him.

A glance at the body then me, “I can see why they, whoever they are, sent you.”

She’d asked who I worked for, and I didn’t answer. It was best she didn’t know.

“Stay behind me,” I said, more urgency in my tone. If there was one, there’d be another.

Luck was with us so far. A man outside smoking meant no booby traps on the back door, and quite possibly there’d be none inside. But it indicated there were more men inside, and if so, it appeared they were very well trained. If that were the case, they would be formidable opponents.

The fear factor increased exponentially.

I slowly opened the door and looked in. A pale light shone from within the warehouse itself, one that was not bright enough to be detected from outside. None of the offices had lights on, so it was possible they were vacant. I realized then they had blacked out the windows. Why hadn’t someone checked this?

Once inside, the door closed behind us, progress was slow and careful. She remained directly behind me, gun ready to shoot anything that moved. I had a momentary thought for McCallister and his men, securing the perimeter.

At the end of the corridor, the extent of the warehouse stretched before us. The pale lighting made it seem like a vast empty cavern, except for a long trestle table along one side, and, behind it, stacks of wooden crates, some opened. It looked like a production line.

To get to the table from where we were was a ten-yard walk in the open. There was no cover. If we stuck to the walls, there was equally no cover and a longer walk.

We needed a distraction.

As if on cue, the two main entrances disintegrated into flying shrapnel accompanied by a deafening explosion that momentarily disoriented both Annette and I. Through the smoke and dust kicked up I saw three men appear from behind the wooden crates, each with what looked like machine guns, spraying bullets in the direction of the incoming SWAT members.

They never had a chance, cut down before they made ten steps into the building.

By the time I’d recovered, my head heavy, eyes watering and ears still ringing, I took several steps towards them, managing to take down two of the gunmen but not the third.

I heard a voice, Annette’s I think, yell out, “Oh, God, he’s got a trigger,” just before another explosion, though all I remember in that split second was a bright flash, the intense heat, something very heavy smashing into my chest knocking the wind out of me, and then the sensation of flying, just before I hit the wall.

I spent four weeks in an induced coma, three months being stitched back together and another six learning to do all those basic actions everyone took for granted. It was twelve months almost to the day when I was released from the hospital, physically, except for a few alterations required after being hit by shrapnel, looking the same as I always had.

But mentally? The document I’d signed on release said it all, ‘not fit for active duty; discharged’.

It was in the name of David Cheney. For all intents and purposes, Alistair McKenzie was killed in that warehouse, and for the first time ever, an agent left the Department, the first to retire alive.

I was not sure I liked the idea of making history.

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Asuncion

For a road less travelled, explore some of Asunción’s hidden gems and unique local experiences beyond the main tourist routes:

Nature & Wildlife Experiences

  • Go birding or take a river boat tour: Instead of just strolling the Costanera, take a Paraguay River Nature and Wildlife Boat Tour from Asunción. This allows you to explore wetlands and riverbanks and spot abundant bird species and capuchin monkeys in the nearby Botanical Garden’s forest remnant.
  • Hike to Salto Cristal (Crystal Waterfall): Venture on a day trip to Salto Cristal, a lesser-known, nearly untouched waterfall with natural pools for swimming. It involves a scenic journey and a descent through the jungle, offering a serene nature experience away from the city. 

Unique Cultural Immersion

  • Explore the Cementerio de la Recoleta: Known for its elaborate mausoleums and beautifully designed tombs, this cemetery offers a fascinating glimpse into the city’s history and the wealth of its elite, providing a unique architectural and cultural experience.
  • Visit a local town like Areguá or Luque: Take a short trip to nearby towns like Areguá (known as the “City of Strawberries and Art”) to see artisan markets and pottery workshops, or Luque (the “Capital of Filigree”) to watch local craftspeople work. These trips provide a genuine taste of local life outside the capital’s centre.
  • Attend a local football match: Experience the passion of Paraguayan culture firsthand by attending a match at one of Asunción’s stadiums, such as Estadio Defensores del Chaco. The lively atmosphere and local traditions (like enjoying chipa and a drink) offer a non-touristy immersion into local life. 

An excerpt from “The Things We Do for Love”; In love, Henry was all at sea!

In the distance, he could hear the dinner bell ringing and roused himself.  Feeling the dampness of the pillow and fearing the ravages of pent-up emotion, he considered not going down but thought it best not to upset Mrs Mac, especially after he said he would be dining.

In the event, he wished he had reneged, especially when he discovered he was not the only guest staying at the hotel.

Whilst he’d been reminiscing, another guest, a young lady, had arrived.  He’d heard her and Mrs Mac coming up the stairs and then shown to a room on the same floor, perhaps at the other end of the passage.

Henry caught his first glimpse of her when she appeared at the door to the dining room, waiting for Mrs Mac to show her to a table.

She was in her mid-twenties, slim, with long brown hair, and the grace and elegance of a woman associated with countless fashion magazines.  She was, he thought, stunningly beautiful with not a hair out of place, and make-up flawlessly applied.  Her clothes were black, simple, elegant, and expensive, the sort an heiress or wife of a millionaire might condescend to wear to a lesser occasion than dinner.

Then there was her expression; cold, forbidding, almost frightening in its intensity.  And her eyes, piercingly blue and yet laced with pain.  Dracula’s daughter was his immediate description of her.

All in all, he considered, the only thing they had in common was, like him, she seemed totally out of place.

Mrs Mac came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.  She was, she informed him earlier, chef, waitress, hotelier, barmaid, and cleaner all rolled into one.  Coming up to the new arrival, she said, “Ah, Miss Andrews, I’m glad you decided to have dinner.  Would you like to sit with Mr Henshaw, or would you like to have a table of your own?”

Henry could feel her icy stare as she sized up his appeal as a dining companion, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  He purposely didn’t look back.  In his estimation, his appeal rating was minus six.  Out of a thousand!

“If Mr Henshaw doesn’t mind….”  She looked at him, leaving the query in mid-air.

He didn’t mind and said so.  Perhaps he’d underestimated his rating.

“Good.”  Mrs Mac promptly ushered her over.  Henry stood, made sure she was seated properly and sat.

“Thank you.  You are most kind.”  The way she said it suggested snobbish overtones.

“I try to be when I can.”  It was supposed to nullify her sarcastic tone, but it made him sound a little silly, and when she gave him another of her icy glares, he regretted it.

Mrs Mac quickly intervened, asking, “Would you care for the soup?”

They did, and, after writing the order on her pad, she gave them each a look, imperceptibly shook her head, and returned to the kitchen.

Before Michelle spoke to him again, she had another quick look at him, trying to fathom who and what he might be.  There was something about him.

His eyes mirrored the same sadness she felt, and, yes, there was something else, that it looked like he had been crying.  There was a tinge of redness.

Perhaps, she thought, he was here for the same reason she was.

No.  That wasn’t possible.

Then she said, without thinking, “Do you have any particular reason for coming here?”  Seconds later, she realised she’d spoken it out loud, hadn’t meant to actually ask, it just came out.

It took him by surprise, obviously not the first question he was expecting her to ask of him.

“No, other than it is as far from civilisation, and home as I could get.”

At least we agree on that, she thought.

It was obvious he was running away from something as well.

Given the isolation of the village and lack of geographic hospitality, it was, from her point of view, ideal.  All she had to do was avoid him, and that wouldn’t be difficult.

After getting through this evening first.

“Yes,” she agreed.  “It is that.”

A few seconds passed, and she thought she could feel his eyes on her and wasn’t going to look up.

Until he asked, “What’s your reason?”

Slightly abrupt in manner, perhaps, because of her question and how she asked it.

She looked up.  “Rest.  And have some time to myself.”

She hoped he would notice the emphasis she had placed on the word ‘herself’ and take due note.  No doubt, she thought, she had completely different ideas of what constituted a holiday than he, not that she had said she was here for a holiday.

Mrs Mac arrived at a fortuitous moment to save them from further conversation.

Over the entree, she wondered if she had made a mistake coming to the hotel.  Of course, there had been no conceivable way she could know that anyone else might have booked the same hotel, but she realised it was foolish to think she might end up in it by herself.

Was that what she was expecting?

Not a mistake then, but an unfortunate set of circumstances, which could be overcome by being sensible.

Yet, there he was, and it made her curious, not that he was a man, by himself, in the middle of nowhere, hiding like she was, but for quite varied reasons.

On discreet observation, whilst they ate, she gained the impression his air of light-heartedness was forced, and he had no sense of humour.

This feeling was engendered by his looks, unruly dark hair, and permanent frown.  And then there was his abysmal taste in clothes on a tall, lanky frame.  They were quality but totally unsuited to the wearer.

Rebellion was written all over him.

The only other thought crossing her mind, and incongruously, was that he could do with a decent feed.  In that respect, she knew now from the mountain of food in front of her, he had come to the right place.

“Mr Henshaw?”

He looked up.  “Henshaw is too formal.  Henry sounds much better,” he said, with a slight hint of gruffness.

“Then my name is Michelle.”

Mrs Mac came in to take their order for the only main course, gather up the entree dishes, and then return to the kitchen.

“Staying long?” she asked.

“About three weeks.  Yourself?”

“About the same.”

The conversation dried up.

Neither looked at the other, but rather at the walls, out the window, towards the kitchen, anywhere.  It was, she thought, unbearably awkward.

Mrs Mac returned with a large tray with dishes on it, setting it down on the table next to theirs.

“Not as good as the usual cook,” she said, serving up the dinner expertly, “but it comes a good second, even if I do say so myself.  Care for some wine?”

Henry looked at Michelle.  “What do you think?”

“I’m used to my dining companions making the decision.”

You would, he thought.  He couldn’t help but notice the cutting edge of her tone.  Then, to Mrs Mac, he named a particular White Burgundy he liked, and she bustled off.

“I hope you like it,” he said, acknowledging her previous comment with a smile that had nothing to do with humour.

“Yes, so do I.”

Both made a start on the main course, a concoction of chicken and vegetables that were delicious, Henry thought when compared to the bland food he received at home and sometimes aboard my ship.

It was five minutes before Mrs Mac returned with the bottle and two glasses.  After opening it and pouring the drinks, she left them alone again.

Henry resumed the conversation.  “How did you arrive?  I came by train.”

“By car.”

“Did you drive yourself?”

And he thought, a few seconds later, that was a silly question; otherwise, she would not be alone, and certainly not sitting at this table. With him.

“After a fashion.”

He could see that she was formulating a retort in her mind, then changed it, instead, smiling for the first time, and it served to lighten the atmosphere.

And in doing so, it showed him she had another, more pleasant side despite the fact she was trying not to look happy.

“My father reckons I’m just another of ‘those’ women drivers,” she added.

“Whatever for?”

“The first and only time he came with me, I had an accident.  I ran up the back of another car.  Of course, it didn’t matter to him that the other driver was driving like a startled rabbit.”

“It doesn’t help,” he agreed.

“Do you drive?”

“Mostly people up the wall.”  His attempt at humour failed.  “Actually,” he added quickly, “I’ve got a very old Morris that manages to get me where I’m going.”

The apple pie and cream for dessert came and went, and the rapport between them improved as the wine disappeared and the coffee came.  Both had found, after getting to know each other better, that their first impressions were not necessarily correct.

“Enjoy the food?” Mrs Mac asked, suddenly reappearing.

“Beautifully cooked and delicious to eat,” Michelle said, and Henry endorsed her remarks.

“Ah, it does my heart good to hear such genuine compliments,” she said, smiling.  She collected the last of the dishes and disappeared yet again.

“What do you do for a living?” Michelle asked in an offhand manner.

He had a feeling she was not particularly interested, and it was just making conversation.

“I’m a purser.”

“A what?”

“A purser.  I work on a ship doing the paperwork, that sort of thing.”

“I see.”

“And you?”

“I was a model.”

“Was?”

“Until I had an accident, a rather bad one.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

So that explained the odd feeling he had about her.

As the evening wore on, he began to think there might be something wrong, seriously wrong with her because she didn’t look too well.  Even the carefully applied makeup, from close, didn’t hide the very pale, tired look, or the sunken, dark-ringed eyes.

“I try not to think about it, but it doesn’t necessarily work.  I’ve come here for peace and quiet, away from doctors and parents.”

“Then you will not have to worry about me annoying you.  I’m one of those fall-asleep-reading-a-book types.”

Perhaps it would be like ships passing in the night, and then he smiled to himself about the analogy.

Dinner over, they separated.

Henry went back to the lounge to read a few pages of his book before going to bed, and Michelle went up to her room to retire for the night.

But try as he might, he was unable to read, his mind dwelling on the unusual, yet compellingly mysterious person he would be sharing the hotel with.

Overlaying that original blurred image of her standing in the doorway was another of her haunting expressions that had, he finally conceded, taken his breath away, and a look that had sent more than one tingle down his spine.

She may not have thought much of him, but she had certainly made an impression on him.

…

© Charles Heath 2015-2024

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The 2am Rant: That moment when you discover you are human after all.

It’s not quite a revelation to discover once you turn 70 that your health and well being decreases, sometimes dramatically.

Perhaps someone should write a manual that should be supplied from the moment we can read to tell us what’s going to happen.

And it’s going to happen whether you like it or not; no one is immune.  People try to stay young, change diet, regimen, start exercising, rue the day they took up smoking and then rue waiting so long to stop.

If only we had our time over…

Doesn’t work like that.  It’s inevitable, sooner or later, it’s going to happen.  The aches and pains, not wanting to get out of bed in the morning, everything taking longer to do…

The aging process catches up with you, and not to put too fine a point to it, like a car or appliance, things start to wear out.

It starts with organs like kidneys, livers, hearts, lungs, you know, those organs you kind of need to keep living.  When you’re young, you don’t think about it, and throw caution and common sense to the seven winds.

After all, who wants to live a boring life?  And we have to try everything at least once.  After all, what doesn’t kill you…

Well, if only we had that manual, with that one word that no one wants to see, consequences, in very large red letters.

So…

Here we are.

Over 70, and the only way is down.

I have psoriasis and psoriatic arthritis.  It took several specialists to get to the right treatment, the first more interested in stringing me along and charging exorbitant fees, to a doctor who took basically one visit to find and start fixing the problem.

It shattered my belief in the medical profession to the point where I don’t and never will fully trust any specialist.

But aside from that, I have the miracle drug Humira that has made my life so much better, but inevitably, drugs can only do so much, and the symptoms are sneaking back.

That’s expected.

It’s the other problems that are making an audience of themselves, such as the back pain, which is not operable, it will only make it worse, joint pains, which pain killers alleviate to the point of bearability.

The cramps and the side effects from other pills like methotrexate and nerve pain remedies, which I now realise I can’t take, at least not with the hallucinations.

I can live with all of that.

But then, out of left field comes the big one.

It’s the new problem, the one all men will suffer at some point.

That pesky thing called a prostate.

It’s not true, no matter how you look at it, that it sneaks up on you.  There are symptoms, plain as day, but these you tend to overlook, because you don’t want to think that something is wrong.

We blame old age; we tell ourselves that it’s just part of the process.

Then my older brother rings and tells me he has stage one prostate cancer.

Just the sort of news you need to start your day.

He’s three years older than I am.

Then, in the same week, your younger brother, 6 years younger, is messaging that he had an enlarged prostate.

What the hell does that mean?

In reality, it means run like hell to your doctor and admit the probabilities of you having a similar problem are very high.

I ran.

So this is how it unfolds…

A urine and PSA test.  The PSA tests are basically a crap shoot, but it’s a start.  Bad news, the PSA level is high.

Enough together me kicked to a specialist.

The anti-specialist fears kick in, and now I have to worry not only about the disease but also the medical profession.

I get an appointment, and just for the first consultation, the fee is eye-watering, with little recompense from the medical insurance.

You can see me drawing similarities with previous experience, seeing a cashed-up retired person willing to spend any amount to survive an extra week.

You read about old people being ripped off every day.  Why should the medical profession be any different, with such a large, largely untapped gold mine called gullible old people?

So… 

A brief consultation that leads to an MRI.  It’s free on the back of two PSA tests showing high numbers within a certain period.  I have to wait a few weeks to fulfil the criteria.

I get the MRI.

The scans show a shadow on film, telling us that something ‘suspicious’ needed to be checked, so the next step is a TP biopsy.

Not good news.  Not a fun time at the hospital.

And before you can say abracadabra its arranged.  Hospital, day surgery, doctor, anaesthetist, and a sheet that tells you about everything that can go wrong.

At least it was not on the back of another huge consultation fee, and the necessity to mortgage the house.

But there are non-refundable fees for the doctor, the hospital, and the anesthesiologist, with no change out of a thousand dollars.  For someone like me, that’s a lot of money just to get a possible death sentence, or worse, a lead in to a treatment that may or may not work, one that will destroy us financially.

Is it worth it?

In my opinion, no.   Others have differing opinions, but that has a lot to do with the idea of having to live without someone you’ve spent most of your life with.

Cancer, if it is, and aggressive as they all seem to be these days, is a sentence, not a word, with far-reaching and devastating consequences.

It’s not going to be an easy subject to discuss, and the anticipation is almost as bad as getting the news, good or bad.

But I’ll know next Monday, one way or another.

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.

A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?

A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.

A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.

After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.

From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.

It is available on Amazon here:  http://amzn.to/2CqUBcz

In a word: Choice

We are often told that it’s the choices we make that shape our lives.

It’s true.

What distinguishes the basis of those choices is the circumstances of the individual.

What a lot of people don’t realize is the diversity of backgrounds of everyone, and that in a minority of cases, the few that really have no choices at all.

Yes, there are those who have no control over their circumstances, and therefore no choice whatsoever.

Inevitably, the people who are first to criticize those who apparently made the wrong choice, are those that have never found themselves in similar circumstances.

And probably never will.

This perhaps is the biggest problem with governments who are staffed with advisors who do not understand the plight of the common man.

I never had the same opportunities as those who could afford a university education.  My family were working class and were relatively poor.  Had I not hot a scholarship who knows what sort of education I would have got, if any.

Certainly, my father never got an opportunity to get a good education, but, at the time, during the great depression, his choices were limited, whereas those with any sort of wealth it was a different story.

And his lack of choices reflected on us, and that lack of opportunity haunted all of us as time passed.

It was always a case of the haves and the have not’s.

Yes, we all have choices, but sometimes it really is the lesser of two evils, and not whether we will have the fillet or the rib eye steak.

Harry Walthenson, Private Detective – the second case – A case of finding the “Flying Dutchman”

…

What starts as a search for a missing husband soon develops into an unbelievable story of treachery, lies, and incredible riches.

…

It was meant to remain buried long enough for the dust to settle on what was once an unpalatable truth, when enough time had passed, and those who had been willing to wait could reap the rewards.

The problem was, no one knew where that treasure was hidden or the location of the logbook that held the secret.

At stake, billions of dollars’ worth of stolen Nazi loot brought to the United States in an anonymous tramp steamer and hidden in a specially constructed vault under a specifically owned plot of land on the once docklands of New York.

It may have remained hidden and unknown to only a few, if it had not been for a mere obscure detail being overheard …

… by our intrepid, newly minted private detective, Harry Walthenson …

… and it would have remained buried.

Now, through a series of unrelated events, or are they, that well-kept secret is out there, and Harry will not stop until the whole truth is uncovered.

Even if it almost costs him his life.  Again.