Martha's Swan

The trust of a wild creature can make everything seem worthwhile – even when life deals a series of blows

- Linda Hurdwell

Martha Merryweather stood at the edge of her back garden watching and smiling. There they were in the adjacent lake, swimming proudly and elegantly. Mother and father along with five new cygnets. A lovely little family.

Martha’s eyes filled up suddenly, wishing that she and Frank also had enjoyed their own family, but it was not to be. Frank said it never mattered, they had each other and that was enough love for anyone. “What will be, will be” was a favourite saying of his.

The elderly lady trotted indoors.

“Frank,” she called, “They have their cygnets with them today, come and see.”

He heaved himself up from his favourite armchair that was in the dining room, trying not to show Martha his pain.

“That’s grand. I’ll come and see them.”

Leaning on his walking stick, Frank hobbled along the garden path, leaned over the gate and peered across the lake. Martha had followed and together they watched the family of swans.

The lake was large and oblong, but this little piece at the end of their garden was often a hive of activity. Fish swam underneath, and in the summer, dragonflies and butterflies graced the greenery surrounding the water. There were often ducks, but it was the two swans that took the old folks’ fancy.

“A grand sight to be sure.” Frank grasped his wife’s hand and squeezed it.

They watched daily, fascinated by the growth of the babies; slowly their grey feathers changed to beige then finally white. Frank and Martha both clapped their hands, marvelling at the spectacle of the five young ones opening their wings and flying away.

“Like you and me now, Martha, just the two of them left.”

His wife said nothing.

Winter was approaching and Frankbecame sick with more agonising pains. He was taken to the local hospital, so apart from their few chickens, Martha was all alone.