Till Death

05-01-2014 Sunday


Nope, I did not have time to report back yesterday. But, I am here now, so your worries are over. Hopefully you are doing fine, too. I am doing just great except for a little headache. Thanks for asking. In case you haven’t noticed I am trying my best to be a bit more sociable. After having done some research (I asked Mum, Dad and Grandma), it appeared to me that these are some of the things people say when they want to start making small talk. I think I am not very good at making small talk … or big talk for that matter.

Last day of my holiday and what am I going to do … nothing. I am going to finish the story I started telling a couple of days ago. Mr Bent was very enthusiastic when I told him about my blogs. He is not much of a social media person himself … he is not much of a social person. He kind of keeps to himself most of the time. I hardly ever see anybody come over and in the few cases I meet him outside, he either just went down the road to get his groceries or he is putting his rubbish out. He is a great storyteller though, wish more people would come and listen to him. No, I don’t, actually.


‘Sarah continued coming to the bank every day. She would always ask the same question over and over again,’ Have you seen my brother?’. Of course, nobody had seen him. Well, some had seen him, but that was before he died or … when he died. In any case, sometimes Sarah was given some money so the bank could buy off some of their feelings of guilt (if they had any at all … feelings that is), and sometimes she’d insult the workers and scream at them.

At some point Sarah started thinking that the bank was keeping a large sum of money from her. Did Philip not leave her money after his death? Didn’t he have a bank account there? Were they keeping this from her on purpose? How much would it be? All these questions started running around in her head.

It is said that on one occasion she even insulted a very important person at the bank, a certain Baron Rothschild. He was just minding his own business, when Sarah walked in again, wearing her usual black clothes, asking after her brother and receiving some money from the clerks. When she saw Baron Rothschild she started accusing him of being a villain and a robber. Screaming how he was keeping a very large sum of money from her, some 2000 pounds – which was a lot of money early 19th century. He gave her some petty cash, which seemed to please her … for a day. She’d just be back the next day, and the day after, and so on, and so on, etc. etc.

After 4 years of coming to the bank each and every day, the bank finally grew tired of her. So tired that they decided to offer Sarah a large sum of money. They made her sign a contract that she was never to return to the bank again her entire life. As Sarah was a woman of her word she never set foot inside the bank again her entire life. And then she died …’


Mr Bent stopped and stared out of the window for a minute. He looked up at the ceiling, then he moved his head down very slowly. He took a deep breath as he looked at me and then continued.


‘The contract never said anything about not coming back after her death. She is often seen on Threadneedle Street. She is still dressed in black and referred to as the Bank Nun and she’s still repeating that very same line she repeated for some 4 years,’ Have you seen my brother?’.’


Time sure is fun when you’re having flies. I’ve been spending a lot of time on this blog. I am not sure if I will have so much time when school starts tomorrow. Even though the story of Sarah and Philip is finished, the story of Mr Bent is not finished yet. It will have to wait till tomorrow I’m afraid, because dinner awaits and after that it’s homework. I don’t know why, but school seems to like giving tests right after a holiday. So long everybody. See me tomorrow.  Image