Murdock the Murderer

Jennifer had a rich interior life. In that world she was no longer Jennifer May Browne but Queen Guinevere whose beauty stunned a nation. Alternatively she was Sir Lancelot, brave daring dragon slayer, (sometimes she experimented about being the dragon). When the Olympics were on she was at once an Amazon javelin thrower or a dainty, elfin faced ice skater.

In that world she climbed Mt Everest, explored jungles, entered haunted houses, flew planes and met every challenge with a sparkle in her eyes and a confident grin on her lips.

It was only later when she read Thurber's "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" that she realized that she was not the only one who lived like this.

Reality was, of course, different. She was eleven years old, just beginning a welcome growth spurt with fat light brown plaits that were frequently blue on the end because the boys who sat behind her liked to dip them in the inkwell.

She was the youngest child in a robust family that consisted of a firmly practical mother, a hardworking father and four large, loud brothers who resembled nothing more than a litter of half grown puppies with the same energy, table manners and mischief of their kind.

She loved them but there was no time or place for such "airy, fairy nonsense". That was mother.

"Sookie la la", that was the brothers.

And dad was too tired to even comment.

So she remained silent and soon everyone thought that was who she was until she began to believe that as well.

As she got a little older, philosophical ( not that she knew what that word meant) questions and imaginations began to occupy her. She would repeat her name until it sounded like something else. Something alien and "other". She couldn't quite grasp the meaning of this.

She heard her mother say, "Jenny is such a good little thing, no trouble at all, not like the boys".

She mused on that word "good". She had no theological framework but was aware of the existence of God, which was strange as this belief had been a fixed point in both her existences that she had never questioned. Good had to do with God but what was it?

Young as she was, she was certain that "good" was not what you didn't do but what you did do.

As she reflected on her life she saw that this was what her mother was alluding to. She didn't argue or fight with her brothers ( that she knew was prudent self protection). She did well at school ( that was no bother. She liked learning).

She had this hazy idea that "good" needed to involve some sacrifice . It needed to be something that, perhaps she didn't really want to do. it would need her to be brave

Now Jennifer, in real life, was not brave. she had nightmares about spiders, heights made her dizzy and at the same time she would get the urge to throw herself from them. She cringed under the covers in storms or high winds, she hated the dark. But her biggest fear was Mr Murdock, the blacksmith whose forge and derelict cottage was across the road from her house. The boys and the neighborhood kids had a plethora of stories about him. The worse was that he had murdered his wife by hanging her from the toilet chain and her ghost haunted the tree dense property at night.

Mr Murdock did not seem to wash, his skin always being dark and his beard scraggy. Jennifer would sometimes see him riding his bike or swinging a hammer in the forge while the fire sparked and spat beneath it.

The conviction came upon that her, Murdock the Murderer, would have to be the recipient of her act of goodness. She gasped and paled at the horror of this idea but it would not go away. She felt sick and even her mother inquired if she was all right.

Under the relentless pressure of her conviction and because she felt God would approve, she began to devise a plan. She concluded that extra virtue would be attributed to her if no one else knew about it, so she resolved to do this in secret.

Christmas was approaching so, emptying her money box, she bought a pair of bright plaid socks. She reasoned that they would stand out when Mr Murdock wore them and so she was sure to see them . She made a fruit cake one day when everyone was out. It sank in the middle which she remedied with a lavish covering of icing.

That night, Christmas Eve, seemed to be the epitome of everything she feared. The wind howled and bent the trees so far that she thought they would come crashing down on her ( another one of her phobias). There was no moon, everything was shrouded in blackness. Carrying her gifts in sack with some string she crept across the road and confronted the scene before her She suddenly wanted to go to the toilet. No, that was how his poor wife was killed. His wife! Was she walking tonight?

She realised that this act of goodness would probably do for a number of years. God was surely impressed with her.

With pitiful silent cries she entered the property, attached the sack to a tree and turned to run. but something strange had happened.

I suddenly felt the fear lift. I looked at the scene before me. The trees weren't going to fall on me, the moon slipped from behind the clouds and l could see a beauty in this place. lt was magical.

That was when l realised that fear needed to be confronted. I needed to see the truth and the truth would set me free. It was a lesson that stayed with me for the rest of my life.

I went home and celebrated the noisy, crazy day that was Christmas. With all the aunts, uncles, cousins and random strangers, the chaos reached epic proportions.

That night, Dad slipped into my room (being the only girl did have some perks). He sat on my bed and said "That was a very kind thing that you did, Jenny Girl". And slipped out again.

Did he know? To this day l'm not sure.

Oh and I observed Mr Murdock's ankles assiduously only to make the devastating discovery that he never wore socks!