Charity begins far from home

On arrival at Heathrow Airport, as part of our trip to Wales, the weather had turned ugly. Shouldn’t have, according to forecasts, so suitcases crammed with only summer things.

Fortunately, we were still in transit and protected under cover. But on arrival at our destination station, with the intriguing name of Cogan, the inclement weather seeped through our thinly clad bodies.

With icicles riding on our lips and eyebrows, we made our way to our Welsh home.

Don’t worry, says our younger brat, we’ll rig you out in the morning. As promised, next day we shopped for winter things in the village. Problem. No malls.

Another “not to worry” from the brat. He led us into a tiny shop called Oxfam. It turned out to be one of many charity shops in the UK stocking recycled clothing.

No matter, we each found two good windbreakers, thickly lined, and in my case, sporting two deep pockets to house cellphone and wallet.

We were now ready to challenge any weather. I immediately transferred cell and wallet into the new hiding places. The wallet slid in easily, but the cell couldn’t go in all the way.

On investigation, I find a calling card and slip of paper buried deep in the pocket. I looked at them closely.

The card belonged to a cardiologist in a Welsh town and scrawled on the paper, a handwritten telephone number with the word “hospital”.

The jacket took on a new meaning. It had belonged to someone who had an appointment with a heart specialist who had suggested hospitalisation.

My imagination ran riot and I put together events that, in all likelihood, hadn’t taken place. The man had undergone heart surgery. Was he still alive? If so, what was his jacket doing in a charity shop?

Maybe his wife hadn’t enough to live on, so was forced to sell things to survive. We enjoyed the rest of our trip but the thought of the person from whom I had “inherited” the item kept haunting me.

Was he happy with its new owner? Had he ever had the chance to travel? What was the real story behind it all.

Unless there’s a clear sign the mystery man was happy with his successor, I’m returning the jacket to the charity shop.

Time will tell.

Cliff Buchler.