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‘Nope, but I know a place that does. Chocolate or strawberry?’ And they hopped back in the car for the short trip.
Unlike her last visit to Café Antiquities, this time it was quiet. A lone customer sat by the rear window sipping a latte.
‘Hello, love. You look familiar,’ Peter said as she approached the counter. ‘And who’s this fine young man?’
‘Peter, this is my son, Duke.’
‘Duke, hey. That’s an unusual name. Is it because you’re royalty?’ He laughed at his own joke. But of course, like most five-year-old’s, Ish had no idea what to say.
‘I’m not sure about that, but he does love a strawberry milkshake. Could we order one please?’
‘Are you new around here, love? Or are you just visiting?’
Sadness weighed down her shoulders that Peter didn’t remember her. Sheila appeared behind him. ‘Ava, hello again. How lovely to have you back. And with your son.’
Peter’s brow furrowed in confusion.
‘This is Ava, darling, she’s living out on Kinross Road. She visited the other day and you told her about the returned soldiers.’
The creases in his face cleared at the familiar topic. ‘Oh yes, the returned soldier settlement. Did you know that this region housed?—’
‘Peter, be a dear and make the milkshake and I’ll get Ava her coffee.’ Sheila offered Ava a wan smile.
Ava glanced over at Ish. He had spotted the box of toys in the corner and was playing with them. ‘Actually, you might be able to help me with something. I went to the history centre and it was shut, said it only opens one day per week. Do you have any idea which day it opens?’
It was obvious Sheila knew the answer but she allowed Peter to assist. ‘Yes, you need Hilary Goldsmith. She usually opens on a Saturday trying to exploit the tourist trade and get a few people through, but I think the schedule is pretty flexible.’
‘Oh. I was hoping to have a look and a chat. You see, I’ve found?—’
‘I can give her a call, or you can take her number. Hilary is always up for a chat.’
Peter stopped the blender and busied himself writing numbers on a small slip of paper and passed it to her. Behind him, Sheila joined in. ‘Hilary will be more than happy to speak to you. Give her a ring now.’ Sheila glanced at her wristwatch. ‘I can’t remember if today she helps in the old people’s home or maybe she’s at the craft group. I think Tuesdays she’s at the support complex. But anyway, she’ll be up for a cuppa.’
Before Ish had slurped the last of his milkshake, Hilary had agreed to meet them at the centre. ‘Thanks so much, Peter and Sheila. Hilary is heading over from the quilting group and will give me a quick tour. Cheerio.’
‘Oh, quilting. Of course. See you love.’ Peter gazed at her with a blank expression.
‘About seven hundred soldiers made this area their home after the Great War,’ Hilary said.
‘And yet, there doesn’t seem to be much history on them.’ Ava’s words petered out. About an hour later, she sat with the local Bellethorpe resident in their history centre.
Hilary leaned back and scrutinised her. ‘We’ve done our best. Everything got lost after the war, and then we entered another war. Life in a small community was busy and tough.’
‘I’m sorry, Hilary, it wasn’t a criticism. History is lost all the time unless there are people dedicated to the cause, like you.’
Hilary’s chest puffed out at the compliment. ‘I do my best, dear. But this collection, of which I am the sole curator, only survives on donations. Most people throw away rubbish without realising its significance, of course and then it’s lost forever.’
Ava glanced around at the meagre history centre. It was one tiny room, with an eclectic collection of bits and bobs, some of which she even doubted would be authenticated. The clear glass cabinets with their laminate rims were half-empty and the rest was, well, she couldn’t tell. Old jars or vases maybe that had been dug up in someone’s garden, some posters on the walls, and a few medals hanging from a dummy in the corner resplendent in military uniform. On closer inspection, Ava recoiled at the thick layer of dust atop the long sleeves.
It was ridiculous to compare it to the British Museum. That establishment employed thousands of people, sometimes with one person being responsible for only one artefact. Not to mention the heat and dust and environment the items in this centre were subject to. No climate control here.
‘Have a look at these, Hilary.’ Ava extracted her phone and pulled up the images of the coins and postcards. ‘I found these in our old kitchen. The cards were stuck under some lino and the coins in the kitchen cabinets. They must belong to the original soldier owner. I was hoping to find out more about him.’
Hilary took her glasses from the top of her head and placed them on her nose. ‘Oh, these are lovely,’ and she held the phone up close to examine the images. ‘In the kitchen you say?’
‘Yes. Peter from the antique store told me a bit about the soldier. Must have been his. You don’t have a register?’
The woman’s face lit up. ‘Yes, we do!’ She raced over to the corner filing cabinet and rummaged around for a scrapbook and then brought back to the table. ‘Here it is.’
