George was a man of many thoughts and few words. His devoted wife, Elsie was almost the polar opposite. There never was a cross word between them. In truth though, that was down to George’s habit of never answering back. George and Elsie Braydon, were in their late sixties now. They had been married for over forty years.

He was always a quiet taciturn man. Experiencing life in action overseas in the army had taken its toll on George. He had witnessed cruelty and violence in colonial wars that had turned him deep with himself. He never spoke about his feelings, or scenes that he had witnessed. Returning to his home, the industrial town of Chudderfield, following the death of his mother he secured a job in a heavy engineering plant, and was to stay there happily the rest of his career.

On returning to Chudderfield he encountered his old school friend Elsie. She was a big, busty, bustling woman. It may be said that Elsie was pretty much ‘on the shelf’. Not many men had the stomach to endure her constant good-natured wittering. This was never mind the question of Elsie’s mother, the original blueprint for Elsie’s loquaciousness. Elsie was determined to escape the regime of her mother and she set her sights on George. George was at a loss. His mother had been a domestic goddess and George her only child. He had never been able to cope domestically because he never had to. The Army had also been a Mother to him, and now he was bereft. Elsie found him sinking under a mountain of baked bean cans and cereal packets, and was determined to rescue him.

Many had queried this odd coupling, especially the idea that George could ever organise his faculty of speech enough to propose marriage. Rumour had it that in fact it was Elsie who had taken the initiative of a woman’s privilege, at the end of February in a leap year. George had inherited the comfortable semi-detached house from his mother and Elsie had moved in. Domestic normality was resumed. George didn’t mind at all the constant warbling of Elsie. To him it was reassuring. He would often half close his eyes and listen to her murmuring, like water babbling over boulders in a Derbyshire dales brook. He would just pleasantly grin in return and Elsie would know everything was just fine.

They never had children. Elsie used to say that George was her only child and that he was in constant need of attention. George basked in Elsie’s affections, and grinned as she would lick her fingers and pick stray hairs of his shoulders in public. Elsie carried on in her job at the florists shop and her bubbly banter was a major draw for the people of the town. She put into practice her skills in arranging and display and eventually came to manage the little shop. George was content in his job. The deafening noise and constant crash of engineering machinery absolved him from the need to make extended conversation with workmates. Occasionally the foreman would come over and ask if everything was going to plan. George would look up and give his big toothy grin, and that was the signal all was well with him.

Elsie and George were never ones for going out much, and they thrived in each others lopsided company. Their home was the centre of their world. A few bottles of Guinness, and George would settle into his book of an evening. Elsie would multi-task, watching television and providing a constant alternative commentary for the benefit of George. She managed all this while knitting or doing macramé, jumpers for George and odd frilly bits for around the house.

The constant hum and thump of heavy machinery meant that George paid a price with gradual hearing loss. Even this he turned good-naturedly to his advantage when the time to wear a hearing aid had come. He would discreetly turn it down when Elsie’s nattering became too invasive. Periodically he would just grin and Elsie would be at peace. Elsie of course grew wise to his practice and would throw in the occasional trick question. She didn’t mind. George was a good listener and a loving companion. That was all that mattered to her.

The high point of their year would be their holiday, almost always on the Yorkshire coast, especially Scarborough. It was not as if their routines changed much, Elsie still at full canter providing her stream of consciousness drivel. George soaking up the scenery, especially the sea views which he loved so much.

With retirement came a new opportunity. George and Elsie heard of a flat for sale in Scarborough. They made the decision, although to be fair it was Elsie’s of course, to make the move. George would have been happy anywhere, as long as he had Elsie by his side. They had never cultivated close friendships outside the home in Chudderfield being self-reliant and independent, so such a move was not a great wrench. They had each other and that was all that mattered. The flat really was a find, although on the second floor of a seaside terrace with stairs to negotiate, it was light and well maintained. The crowning glory from this crows nest was a superb uninterrupted view of the sea from large bay windows. The flat was on a quiet street and handy for the shops. Their excitement at the move was like their original re-discovery of one another leading to their marriage. After they had been there a month, they were well settled.


Elsie got up one morning and padded in her slippers to the front room where George had dozed off in his favourite armchair. ‘’George Braydon, you’ve been and gone and done it again haven’t you?“ George looked sheepish. “Just look at you!” She laughed and tutted. George was there in his dressing gown, with the TV still on from the previous night. “You with your John Thomas hanging out, put it away for heavens sake” she wagged her finger, then pulled over the side of his dressing gown to cover up his indecency. Elsie continued “you’ve been up watching them mucky late night films again haven’t you? A man of your age as well, really, it’s not even like I get the benefit. What if the window cleaner comes by and sees you sitting there you’re your todger out. Be enough to make him fall of his ladder.” George just grinned like the naughty schoolboy at heart that he was.

In truth Elsie didn’t mind George’s indiscretions. His snoring had become noticeably more marked with the decline in his hearing. Poor George, she thought, it’s almost as if he makes up for his quietness during the day. Now he couldn’t even hear himself to wake himself up. It was a source of annoyance for Elsie, a light sleeper, so she was happy for him to camp out and slumber off in his favourite recliner armchair.

After an hour Elsie was ready to go out. “I say, I’m just nipping out to get the paper and some fresh bread, back in a jiff” looking back she noticed George had nodded off back to sleep again. As Elsie descended the communal staircase, people were coming out of the flat below. The owner had rented the place out on a short term let. The asylum seekers she called them. Pausing, Elsie rabbited on at them pleasantly for a bit, regardless of the fact that they couldn’t understand a word she was saying and didn’t respond. As she approached the shop, shop assistants nodded and nudged each other. Elsie had already made her mark since moving in. They knew better than to engage her in conversation or she would be there all day holding up the queue.

She returned to the flat and mounted the stairs with huff and puff. “Oh George! You could at least have put kettle on” she moaned. George just grinned back and Elsie muttered incessantly as she busied herself making a cuppa and some toast. “I thought we might walk over to Peasholm Park this afternoon, if weather holds up”. George didn’t look too enthusiastic. “George you haven’t touched your tea. It’s gone cold.” She tutted ”well suit yourself, I’m having a refill.” Elsie came back from the kitchen and gave George a hard look. “Are you sickening for something?” she asked, “you look a bit peaky, a walk round the Park would do you a world of good. Anyway, I’ve brought your tablets, I’ll leave them her on the side table.”

Come the afternoon and it didn’t look like George was up to a walk out. “Well when the going gets tough, the tough get going” Elsie cautioned as she tenderly placed a blanket over George’s knees. “I’ll be back later, you be a good boy while I’m out. I’ll bring you back something nice for tea”.

She wandered round the park for a while and talked at the ducks on the lake. Elsie was wondering if this had been the right move after all. A seaside town out of season could be quite grey. Elsie called in at the pharmacy and got George’s repeat prescription. “Ah, yes” the pharmacist confirmed “people forget because they see us in summer, that we have all the other seasons too. I’m sure George will perk up when the weather brightens up a bit”.

Back at home Elsie busied herself getting George’s favourite together. “Got us some lovely lamb chops George” she continued her dialogue from the kitchen. They sat and watched the evening news on TV together. After this Elsie turned round and said “George, you’ve hardly touched your meal. Well waste, not want not!” and speared George’s chops off his plate and tucked into herself. “No pudding for you tonight George” she scolded. After downing George’s share of pudding too Elsie dozed off. When she came out of her sleep as her eyes opened she caught George smiling at here as ever. “Aww George” she sighed “you are the sweetest man”. Elsie decided on an early night, and decided to leave George in the lounge as it was warmer, and to be honest she didn’t fancy catching a dose of whatever was affecting him.


The next day Elsie got ready to do her weekly list of chores. “Oh dear me George, I could really do without you under my feet all day. She vacuumed around him, chuntering about how feeble men in general were, and how they should listen to their wives more often. “Here” she said and swivelled Georges chair right round so that he got his favourite view out of the window to the sea. As she moved him round a huge sigh of pleasure came from George and Elsie knew this was the pick me up that he needed.

The next few days passed uneventfully. George did seem to be getting thinner and Elsie was a bit worried. “If you don’t pick up soon George I’ll have to get a doctor out to see you, and you know how much you hate doctors”. Elsie did her usual rounds. One day when she got back she noticed that George had soiled himself. She kicked up a mighty fuss and yakked on ten to the dozen but got him cleaned up and back to normal. She would take a book off the shelves whatever she thought George would like and put it on his lap for him. He would watch a bit of television with her or they’d listen to a concert on the radio, through which she would natter on regardless.

The next week Elsie said to George that she would need to pick up their pensions from the Post Office. She had her book ready, and then told George he would have to sign the proxy slip so she could claim his. Poor George he hardly had strength to hold a pen so Elsie forged his signature, which she had seen him write many times before.

After this Elsie noticed that George seemed to be perking up a bit. “George!” she said laughing ”have you been round the biscuit barrel while I’ve been out? I swear you’re putting it on now. He had lost the sullen look of a few days previously, his pallor less marked. At one point in the evening George broke wind quite audibly and Elsie laughed with him as she caught his naughty grin. “Well that’s a sign you must be getting better then George.”

The days passed and the weather picked up. On her way back from the shops, Elsie treated herself to a huge bunch of flowers. She didn’t want to be rude, but George’s constant occupation of the lounge was beginning to get to her. She would have to have a word. “George, I know you’ve told me you have a bath when I’m out at the shops, but honestly I do wonder if you’re skipping sometimes. She arranged her flowers and opened the window to let in some fresh air.

A week on and the sunnier days were approaching, Elsie flung a window open to welcome in the Spring weather. George would soon be fit enough for that walk round the seafront. When Elsie got back though she found an unpleasant contrast with the joys of Spring. It seemed to be drifting up and lingering on the stairs. “Euuurgh” she began “must be those bloody asylum seekers downstairs, God knows what they’re cooking up in that bloody cauldron of theirs.” She ran across to the window and slammed it shut. George of course was easygoing, he didn’t mind. Elsie made him laugh and he grinned broadly at her funny performance.


The next week Elsie went out to the shops and on her way back popped into town to get some new T-shirts and a pair of sandals for George. This might encourage him to join her for a walk. Outside their flats John the window cleaner was doing his round. When he reached the top of his extension ladder he saw George sitting there in his armchair, staring out to sea and gave him a wave. George must have nodded off again he didn’t respond. As John cleaned the seagull crap and sea air spray off the window he looked again through the cleaned glass. His eyes were met by the badly decomposed cadaver, that once had been George Braydon, and almost fell off his ladder. As Elsie turned the corner into her street she saw the police car and ambulance outside. “Hmm must be those bloody asylum seekers, wonder what they’ve caught them out at?”

After a week in the psychiatric hospital, Elsie was released. The forensic evidence and inquest confirmed no foul play. There was very little wrong with her that the hospital could find. She just seemed to have entered a mental ’fugue state’ when George had died several weeks ago, and her behaviour was simply her way of coping with the situation. They knew she was on her road to acceptance and recovery when she insisted on weaving the flowers in George’s funeral wreath herself. She was assigned a psychiatric social worker, and later on found herself in a new role as a voluntary sick visitor in the local hospitals and old people’s homes. Elsie, haha! they said, best tonic ever, she could talk for England!


She was reconciled to George’s passing now. Back in the flat on the sideboard she arranged a little shrine to him, a big framed photo of him on the left, his service medals in a case to the right, and in the centre George’s ashes in a lovely urn. Sometimes on sunny days Elsie would take his urn out in her bag while she walked round the parks and shoreline, and chat discreetly to George. Elsie nodded as she stood before her shrine to George and proceeded to tell him about her day. “I’ll never be alone as long as I have you George” she smiled “you’re such a good listener”.

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