Aunt Lily’s Little Secrets

We used to call her the Fairy among ourselves. She was short and round, always strolling with a white poodle on a leash, pulling treats out of a bright little bag. If there were more people like her, life would have seemed forever bathed in sunshine, because she herself was the sun.

Our games were the usual lot: building sandcastles in the playground, playing cops and robbers, sending paper boats skimming across puddles. As Bulanov sang, We played fierce pirates, brave wandererssearoamers. When I think back to those days I always picture the yard drenched in sunlight, littered with dolls, blocks, toy cars. We were one for all and all for one. The papers never ran headlines about teenagers harming kittens or dogs being set aflame. Kindness hung in the air. Sure, a grumpy neighbour might appear now and then, but everyonekids and grownups alike gave him a lesson. No one could get away with a nasty deed.

And then there was Aunt Elsie.

She was barely taller than a child, with a cascade of teased hair and always wearing bright dresses dotted with flowers. She loved multicoloured beads, and would step out into the courtyard with her curly white poodle, Button. As soon as we tossed aside our toy cars, planes and dolls, we all ran to her. Aunt Elsie was like the kindly spirit of our old twostorey terrace. Young parents left their youngsters with her whenever work called. She collected us from the nursery, sprinkling our trips with lively stories. She knitted like a pro. We all showed off the colourful caps, scarves and socks she gave uswhat youd now call signature items.

She wasnt anyones blood aunt, but we called her that. Her family lived out in rural Wales and sent her boxes of sweets. Back then those treats were a luxury; you couldnt just pop into a shop and buy what you wanted. There was a real shortage.

Do you know what Aunt Elsie did? She handed out those sweets to us. Shed sit beside us, and wed shyly stretch out our hands. Shed give us strange, speckled wrappers, the most delicioustasting candies. Nowadays you wouldnt let a stranger give a child anything, fearing it might be harmful. But Aunt Elsie wasnt a strangershe was one of us.

Why are you giving them away? a thinlipped neighbour from the second block would ask. They have parents, you know. Youre barely getting by yourselfyour husbands ill, he needs his medicine. Keep those sweets for yourself; theyll last you a while. The kids wont even remember you later.

I overheard that with my friend Poppy. We didnt understand everything, but her words stuck. Aunt Elsie answered:

Zoe, what are you on about? Theyre just children. In these hard times, where will their mums and dads get sweets? My relatives keep sending me treats; I want them to taste the good things. Why should I hoard them? Share them! Look at their eyes light up. They hug me, and I smell happiness, the sea, fresh milk, watermelon. Lord, arent they lovely! Its a shame we never had our own kids or grandkids. At least youre all family to me. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief as she spoke.

The neighbour scoffed, Youre a fool, feeding them. Ill never give them anything! Theyre not yours. She stalked off, shaking her head.

We emerged from the hedges where wed been hiding.

Poppy! Daisy! Come here, what are you doing? Come, little ones. Ive got an apple! Aunt Elsie called, extending a bright red fruit.

Aunt Elsie, what do fool and idiot mean? Poppy asked.

The neighbours face darkened for a moment, then she managed a thin smile.

Did you hear little girls? Just pretend you didnt. And remember: if anyone says something hurtful, dont take it to heart. Brush it off, wave your hand, and let it fly away. People are different, but the good outnumber the bad. I love you all dearly! Aunt Elsie squeezed us close.

One weekend she didnt turn up in the courtyard. We asked the mums, Wheres Aunt Elsie?

She might be resting or a bit under the weather. Dont worry about her, they replied.

The next day we didnt wait. The eight of usfour girls and four boysformed a little delegation and set off to her flat. We brought gifts: Kesh drawn a sun and sky, Sam brought his favourite marker, Jane and Tim fashioned a little dough ball, Poppy carried a potted flower, the twins, Mary and Paul, baked jam, and I brought pancakes. My mum made them to a heavenly perfectiongolden, buttery, flipping in the pan with a graceful flick.

Take these to Aunt Elsie. She feeds us, now well feed her, mum teased, tugging my braids.

We knocked on her door. She opened slowly, in a shabby housecoat, hair in a loose bun, looking pale. The moment she saw us, her face brightened.

Ah, my dears! Come in, my kin! Henry! Look, my beloved little ones have come to see Aunt Elsie! she cooed, pulling us into the living room.

The flat was modest: two beds, colourful curtains, a wobbly table, an old cabinet, a tiny TV, and plenty of knitted blankets. A greyeyed, stooped man shuffled in from the bedroom, smiling weakly.

Thats my husband, Henry. Hes ill, cant get out much. Ive caught a cold too. Youre here now, and Ill treat you to sweets! Aunt Elsie rattled on.

We can help! Should we run to the shop? I know the route. Or we could dust the carpets, take out the rubbishanything! Kesh, the most energetic of us, declared, puffing out his chest.

Sit down, love, on my bed, Aunt Elsie urged.

Here they are, whispered Jane, placing her dough ball on the table.

We all gathered around, sang songs, recited verses, and ate the candies. The pallor left Aunt Elsies face and Henrys as they laughed along with us. She even tried leading a clumsy round dance.

As I left, she leaned in and whispered, Ask your mum for the pancake recipe. Theyre unbelievably goodnothing like them at home. I cant cook properly; everything burns. She later teased, Even if I try, theyll never turn out right!

My mum started inviting her over. Shed wash her hands, marvel at the fluffy slippers, squint as she slipped them on, then settle on the kitchen sofa. Her legs didnt quite reach the floor, and shed swing them about while scarfing down pancakes with condensed milk, like a little girl. Shed lick the milk from her fingers, then shyly ask for a towel.

She talked about Henrys long illness, how hed never walk again, but she found joy caring for him and us.

Aunt Elsie also adored every creature. Each morning and evening shed fill a tin with porridge or pasta and feed the stray dogs shed found. There were no shelters then, and the streetwise pups wagged their tails at each offering.

Goldhearted womangives herself away to others! my mum would say to my dad.

Goldheartedlike the golden ornaments on a Christmas tree? And Aunt Elsies skin is fair! Id ask.

Mum would hug me and explain that a golden person simply means someone truly good.

I recall her trudging home one evening, tin in hand, when two local women blocked her path.

You, dear, stop feeding your ragged dogs. Stop calling the kids to you. Youre a beggar pretending to be rich. Go on, sit on the bench, and let the nursery kids gather around! Well ruin your life! they shouted in chorus.

The man is alive, though ailing. He needs his kin. The children are just thatchildrenlet them play and laugh. Silence is scary, Aunt Elsie whispered, clutching her tin.

She was tiny, barely waisthigh to the women.

Think of yourself. Your cripple wont stand up any time soon! We wont give you a penny! one woman screamed.

I cant recall her name now, but I remember Aunt Elsies trembling voice breaking out:

Dont touch my Vicky!

I felt a surge of anger, as if something terrible was unfolding.

Dont talk to Aunt Elsie like that! Youll see what happens! I lunged forward, shielding her.

A nasty little girl! Well give you a good whack! Come here! one of the women grabbed my arm and dragged me away.

Aunt Elsie tried to intervene, but then a whistle blew. Kesh and the rest of us came running, freed my hand, and formed a circle around her. In unison we shouted:

Never hurt her or speak ill of her! Youll have us to answer to! Aunt Elsie is ours!

The women hissed, Youre just a bunch of hooligans! and fled.

Aunt Elsie kept hugging us. We werent troublemakers; we were simply one for all, all for one. With childlike hearts we felt the pain wed caused her.

The same still happens to many good soulspeople who feed birds, hand out food to the homeless, give away the last loaves they have, even when they can barely afford a drink themselves. Theyre called eccentric, even mad. Nowadays power, arrogance and rudeness are prized. People fear those who cant stand up for themselves, they bully, pry into lives, and wonder why anyone would spare a few pennies for a neighbour. Theyd rather keep it for themselves. They trample over others tears, delight in petty cruelty.

The world sighs silently, the planet weeps, sensing the balance of harmony slipping. We ought to live together, kindly.

A year later Aunt Elsie left townher husband had passed, and her Welsh relatives took her in. We all wept in the courtyard. Before she went, she handed out wafer biscuits, wept, kissed each of us, and gave us a large box of candy wrappers. She taught us to make secret seeds: wed take a wrapper, a flower, a shard of bottle glass, bury it, then dig it up laterpretty little treasures.

She also gave us a group photograph, agreeing to keep it safe in turns.

Ill be back in a yearjust to check that youre still here! she waved, pushing her massive suitcasebigger than herselfwhile Button trotted behind.

She never returned. We guarded the secret seeds, but there was no one left to show them to. No one handed us sweets or called us darling. We grew up, went to school, became adults, laughed, and sometimes a pause would bring tears to our eyes when we remembered Aunt Elsie.

We promised to meet again a year later in the old courtyard. By then, Inkywho had become a bank managerwas in a crisp suit, Olivia worked as an interpreter, and the rest of us had scattered. The old terrace was gone, replaced by a sleek new block.

There, in a pricey coat under puzzled glances, Kesh knelt in the grass and started digging.

What are you looking for? we asked, smiling.

The secrets. Aunt Elsies secrets. Its been so long, it still aches inside me. Where is she? Is she alive? Kesh sighed. Ive checked archives, nothing. Sometimes at meetings I picture her, handing me a candy, a smile. My wife brings sweets from abroad, but I never eat them. I just want that one childhood treat, the best one. He held up the old photograph. I still have it.

Same here. She was kind, or maybe just there, Olivia murmured.

And remember how she always said that even when we grow up we should keep a childs heart, find joy in everything, otherwise the elves get angry and life becomes dull, I added.

Those women who shouted at her were wrong. Were older now, but we havent forgotten her. If ever the world feels heavy and the cats claw at our souls, I still hear her voice:

Dont be sad, love. Have a candy. Everything will be alright.