Adventures of Arthur Mulrooney

John Bromley

Description

Who is Arthur Mulrooney? In the years following World War II, he arrives in the tiny hamlet of Little Bridge to spend his twilight years with his friend George Wallace. There is some doubt surrounding his past as a merchant seaman, and his obsession to remain anonymous arouses the suspicions of some of the villagers. When he unwittingly becomes involved in the lives of a young woman, her daughter and abusive husband, he is thrust into an attention he is so desperate to avoid, with dramatic consequences. It is only at the end that we discover who Arthur Mulrooney really is.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 31 mai 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528960885
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

The Adventures of Arthur Mulrooney
John Bromley
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-05-31
The Adventures of Arthur Mulrooney About The Author About The Cover Dedication Copyright Information © Synopsis Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Epilogue THE END
About The Author
The author is now retired after working as a policeman, publican and having spent many years in overseas trade, involving sales, finance and shipping. He now lives in West Sussex where he enjoys working in the garden while continuing to write and is currently working on another novel. He also spends many hours walking his King Charles Spaniel in the Sussex Countryside.
About The Cover
Who is Arthur Mulrooney? In the years following World War II, he arrives in the tiny hamlet of Little Bridge to spend his twilight years with his friend George Wallace. There is some doubt surrounding his past as a merchant seaman, and his obsession to remain anonymous arouses the suspicions of some of the villagers. When he unwittingly becomes involved in the lives of a young woman, her daughter and abusive husband, he is thrust into an attention he is so desperate to avoid, with dramatic consequences. It is only at the end that we discover who Arthur Mulrooney really is.
Dedication
To my wife, Patricia, for her patience and understanding while I write.
Copyright Information ©
John Bromley (2019)
The right of John Bromley to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528960885 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Synopsis
Who is Arthur Mulrooney?
He arrives in the tiny coastal hamlet of Little Bridge soon after the end of the Second World War to see out the remaining years of his life with his friend Doctor George Wallace.
The once thriving fishing community is now reduced to a few aged residents, but it gives Arthur the anonymity and tranquillity he craves after a supposed life as a sailor.
The harbour community rely on the larger village at the top of the hill for their daily needs, and for most of the residents who are unable to make the trek, Arthur and George are their lifelines. It is the villagers who begin to question the real truth about Arthur’s past, especially when he is drawn into the domestic abuse suffered by a young woman and her daughter. George warns him of the perils of becoming involved, but Arthur has a compelling need to help, with traumatic results.
In the meantime, Arthur’s love of reading also places him within the humiliating grasp of Florence Merryweather, the driver of the mobile library, whose salacious humour is merely a cover for her true feelings, although an affront to his sensitivity.
All these characters are finally drawn together as the story reaches a dramatic conclusion and an ultimate sacrifice
Chapter One
As another wave battered the side of the small fishing vessel, the deck was once more washed with a flood tide of angry, grey foam. Anything not secured before the storm struck was swept away and lost in the roiling sea. At the helm, Captain Arthur Mulrooney braced his feet further apart as he fought with the wheel to bring the boat head on into the storm. He knew for certain that, if he failed, the next wave that broke over the deck would roll the vessel beyond the point of no return and the five-man crew huddled into the cabin below would have no chance to survive.
Despite the icy wind that howled in the ink black night and rattled the fragile windows of the wheelhouse, Arthur felt beads of sweat trickle from beneath the peak of his cap as, little by little, the boat began to respond to his iron determination and brute strength. He allowed himself a thin smile of congratulation as once again he had cheated the sea out of his life and those of the men who relied on him for their livelihoods, and their lives.
“And where are you today, Arthur?”
The words broke into Arthur’s deep reverie, transforming his euphoric success into a disappointing reality. “What? Oh, sorry, George. I was miles away.”
“Aren’t you always?” George Wallace smiled benignly at his friend. “Where was it today?”
Arthur made no reply. Leaning against the weathered stone plinth that supported the rusted cast iron basket of the disused beacon, he continued to gaze longingly over the waters of the English Channel. He was standing, as he often did, at the end of the horseshoe-shaped harbour imagining the beacon beside him, and the identical one on the other side of the harbour entrance, alight and guttering in the wind as they guided the fishing fleet back into the safe embrace of the harbour.
But the fleet was long gone, together with most of the fishermen. And there was no wind whipping up the sea, just the late afternoon sun hanging low over the western horizon like a burnished copper disc that bathed the sea in an amber glow.
“I thought you might like a walk, before it gets too late,” said George, knowing it would be several seconds before Arthur fully acknowledged his presence.
It had always been the same. Arthur would drift away into one of his daydreams at almost any time, even during one of their daily games of chess, but it was all part of his friend’s complex character and, although sometimes annoying, a part he was prepared to accept. It was a small price to pay for companionship,
“I suppose so,” replied Arthur finally, dragging his attention away from the sea and starting off at a brisk pace along the harbour wall.
“Slow down a bit,” protested George, hurrying to catch up. “You forget your legs are longer than mine.”
In fact Arthur’s legs were a good deal longer. Although well into his seventh decade he was still a good six feet tall with a ramrod straight back that might have been the product of a career in the military. The top of his head was bald and tanned to the colour of old leather, but was surrounded by a thick tonsure of black hair which extended down to cover most of his face in a full beard. His size and appearance could well have had an intimidating effect on those who didn’t know him, but to those who did, he was shy and introverted to the point of appearing rude, reluctant to speak even when spoken to. George understood this and expected little from his friend in the way of conversation, although he knew Arthur could get quite animated on certain subjects.
When they reached end of the harbour wall, George prayed that Arthur would take the more leisurely route along the shore and not the hill up to the village. For a man of his years that was an arduous enough journey when necessity dictated, not one taken for simple pleasure.
“Let’s take the beach path,” he suggested, pre-empting any idea Arthur may have had to the contrary. “It’ll be a wee bit cooler in the trees.”
George heaved a relieved sigh as his friend turned to their right, taking the footpath that ran alongside the narrow beach before winding its way through the forest of pines that rose gently away from the sea.
Although of a similar age to Arthur, George Wallace had neither the legs nor the stamina to match his friend’s fitness, but it was only during these walks that he was able to drag Arthur out of his daydreaming and into an awareness of his surroundings. He did, however, sometimes wonder if it was worth the effort
As unseen seagulls screeched above the thick green canopy, the only other sound as they trudged between the trees was the crunch of dried pine needles beneath the thick soles of their brogues. With Arthur taking the lead they thread a path through the pines that eventually gave way to a greater variety of trees; silver birch, oak and beech, all interlinked with thick brambles that, to George’s benefit, slowed their progress. The arboreal change also marked the border of the grounds belonging to Luxford House.
They emerged from the trees onto what a more perceptive eye would have recognised as a once well-manicured lawn interspersed with a variety of exotic shrubs and bushes. The only evidence left of these were some overgrown rhododendrons, a few woody rose trees and the inevitable brambles.
“Such a shame,” mumbled Arthur, stopping and shaking his head, as he always did, to survey the sorry scene through his sad, dark blue eyes. “Something should be done about it.”
“Of course it should, but who’s got money to take on something like this. Not the government, they’ve got enough to worry about putting right what was destroyed in the war.” George agreed with his friend’s sentiment, but as a doctor his view on life was much more pragmatic. He had seen enough of suffering before, during and after the war to know what the priorities were. “The National Health Service was a start,” continued Arthur," but there’s still much to do. Come on, let’s get a move on. It’s getting late."
They picked their way across the thick, dried-out g