The Tales of the Local Beadle

Hey, you wont believe whats been going on in our building lately. Weve just got a new caretaker Alex and honestly, hes brilliant. He sweeps the entrance hall spotless, gives the stairwell a proper wash every week and sticks to the schedule like clockwork. I cant think of a single thing to complain about until I think back to the lady who used to be here.

Her name was Nadia Ivanovna, and she treated our little ninestorey block like her own grand palace. Right by the front door, where the concrete was all cracked and the rebar stuck out, she would always lay down a bright rug. It looked a bit ridiculous, but it saved everyones shoes from the sharp bits and crumbling bits of concrete. The rug got torn up all the time, yet shed find another one and roll it out with the same care.

The windows on every floor were always dressed with little ceramic pots, quirky little turtle figurines and delicate vases. Dust never dared to settle on those sills. One evening, a bunch of lads from the sixth floor moved in you know the type, chainsmoking, guzzling cheap booze and probably something stronger. They turned those pretty pots into ashtrays, the cheap bottle collection became a colourful mess, and the little turtle statues ended up ground to dust under their boots. We all tried to avoid the noisy bunch, afraid theyd freak out.

Surprisingly, Nadia managed to befriend them. Not only did she keep her pots intact, she actually convinced the boys to move their raucous hangouts somewhere else. The loud parties in the hallway stopped, and in place of the turtle figurines a cute ashtray now sat, which Nadia cleaned and polished every day.

What really blew me away wasnt just her work ethic. Shed start her shifts at the crack of dawn, humming under her breath while she wiped down the lifts and railings with some sort of spiritbased cleaner long before anyone thought about disinfecting surfaces. And the way she talked to the residents was just so genial. When she saw the endless trail of cigarette butts littering the back garden, shed chat cheerfully with the smokers on their balconies, never scolding them for their nasty habit. Shed just comment on the weather and sweep away the evidence like it was nothing.

A while later, those butts stopped turning the garden into a ragmountain. Then, Alex I mean, our new caretaker broke up a flowerbed and suddenly tulips, blackeyed susans and big chrysanthemums started popping up under the windows.

What really stuck with me was Nadias look when she wasnt in her faded orange uniform. Shed have perfect makeup, a sleek hairdo, sensible shoes no matter the rain, and a wardrobe all in soft pastels. It was like she was half a queen heading for a royal garden party just missing the hat.

Her husband always picked her up from work, handed her a tiny flower, and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. He did it every single day.

Towards the end of August, the gossiping ladies on the bench whispered, Nadias last day is tomorrow shes retiring! I wondered how the hallway would survive without her.

The next day I bought a small bouquet for her. When I got to her little storage room the one full of brooms, dustpans and mops I found a crowd of neighbours gathered. Some had flowers, others brought a bottle of champagne or a splash of cognac, and the old ladies were handing Nadia nervous-looking pies and jars of pickles. Then the same lads from the sixth floor, the ones whod once turned our pots into ashtrays, swooped in. They started teaching 65yearold Nadia how to snap stylish selfies and showed her something intense on their phones. Im pretty sure they signed her up to Instagram and TikTok right then and there.

Her husband looked a bit bewildered, shoving flowers, cognac and the ladies homemade snacks into the boot of his car. Nadia herself, in a classic almondcoloured dress with a string of pearls and a slightly brighter makeup than usual, just tried to listen without tearing up. I think she realised that nobody ever threw a proper retirement party for someone in her line of work. Not here, not anywhere.

Maybe she also sensed that, without even trying, without any grand plan, shed made us the plain residents of a ninestorey block a little bit better and kinder just by doing her humble, unnoticed job. Its a funny thought, isnt it? Anyway, I just had to share that with you. Talk soon!