You know how it is when you are little and you visit your Grandparents and you see the same pictures on the wall for years and years, the same ornaments in the china cabinet, the same doo-dads and baubles on dressers and end tables? Sometimes they fascinate you and you ask your Grandma where they came from and sometimes even what they are, and sometimes the answer amazes you and you remember it throughout your childhood and into your adulthood. Everytime you visit you want to see these things and to be told the story once more. Then the years go by and all of a sudden you realize that you are now the holder of the story, and if it isn't shared, then it will die with you. It's a bit of pressure, really, knowing that all that is left is what is in your heart, and you want to tell the story properly and have other people be touched by it too. Such is the story of Jenny and Leo, and I am the holder of all that remains....a yellowed and brittle 4 leaf clover in a frame, with a faded notation that reads : "4 Leaf Clover from Mrs Bishop. June 13 1939"
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Leo was a part of my family from my earliest memories, but only until I was eight. Lots of people claim that children have no solid memories much before the ages of 5 or 6, but I can remember things from when I was 2. Thus, I can claim to have 6 years of memories of Leo Bishop...off and on mind you as we only visited during the summer. We would go to The Sunrise Hacienda....a huge, huge house, even to my little eyes, that sat on a chunk of land at the very end of Ten Mile Point in Victoria. The road to get there was narrow and the trees were huge and almost met at the top, creating a sort of green tunnel...dark and mysterious. I called it "The Secret Road to Grandma's House" although the official name was McAnaly Road. At the end of the road was "the house" and the ocean. The land was filled with gravelled paths that wound their way to secret spots with benches that overlooked the water. There were ponds and little waterfalls and tiny pools filled with goldfish and salamanders. In retrospect, I suppose it was worth millions even then, but to an only child, it was a secret land, and I also suppose that this is where I got my love of fantasy....Narnia, The Littles, all that sort of thing.
My mother would read me the books and I would then run out to play on the grounds, imagining I was in one of those magical places. When I was finished playing, or was called for dinner, I'd run into the house and jump on the Magic Stairs and race down the long hallway, past doors and rooms that I wasn't allowed into, until I came to the end room where I would knock and wait for a "Come in" and then I'd climb up on the big mysterious bed and tell my beloved Uncle Leo my adventures of the day. He would listen intently and then he would smile and send me on my way. Again, in retrospect, the Magic Stairs were not magic, it was a chair that rode up the stairs on rails, as Leo could not go up and down stairs anymore. That was a pretty modern invention for the early 1960's. His bed was not so mysterious once I realized it was a hospital bed, and he'd send me on my way because he was tired, but he would still listen to my stories and show me some magic items of his own.
When I was 8, he passed away and his was the first funeral I ever went to. I remember my mom telling me that he would look like he was sleeping, and I remember thinking that he did indeed look exactly he like he was.
But who was this man? Francis Leo Bishop? I called him "Uncle" but he wasn't. My Grandmother lived with him for many years, but they were not married, and that simply wasn't done in the 50's. Where did he get all his money from, and who was the beautiful woman in the picture? All I knew was that her name was Jenny.
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