Knottingley & Ferrybridge Online

“You need to lose a few pounds,” said the nurse at the Health Centre when Rose attended for her annual check-up. “You are a bit overweight, and that isn’t good for you. Try and get more exercise and then stick to the diet sheet I gave you.” Rose promised that she would and true to her word, here she was at six-thirty in the morning walking on the grassy banks of the river with Barney her Labrador trotting along happily beside her.

She had tried to explain that she walked her dog every day, and apart from the usual household chores she was also a keen hardworking gardener, but the nurse didn’t seem to hear. “How much more exercise could she get?” Rose wondered. She told herself that everybody put on a little weight as they grew older. Then she smiled as she thought of Mags, her best friend and next door neighbour, who was a few months younger than she was. Mags was about five-and-a-half-feet tall and as thin as a matchstick despite having a hearty appetite and a complete aversion to any kind of physical exercise.

Clover grew in abundance beside the river and early in the morning, rabbits emerged from their holes in the steep banks to feast on the lush greenery still heavy with fresh morning dew. Rose wasn’t searching for four-leaf clovers that morning as she slowly traced Barney’s path, but suddenly there it was. It seemed to stand out like a beacon, willing her to take it. She bent down and picked it up carefully, marvelling at its size, for it was larger than any she had previously found. She gently wrapped it in a tissue and slipped it into her pocket.

Over the years she had come across a number of four-leaf clovers and had neatly and meticulously enclosed each one in clear plastic to preserve them. She didn’t regard herself as superstitious but she carried one around in her purse “just for luck” and others were scattered around her home in different places. One sat in the jug where she kept her lottery ticket, although it still had to work its magic and help her to win a huge fortune. She had even passed one or two on to friends, but their luck didn’t seem to have changed much either.

She arrived back home later that morning and had almost forgotten the four-leaf clover until she fumbled for her key in her pocket and the tissue enclosing it fell to the ground. Barney sniffed at it inquisitively, and she quickly snatched it up out of his reach.

After removing her coat and shoes she fed Barney then made herself a cup of coffee before turning on the radio. Seating herself beside the kitchen table she armed herself with a sheet of clear plastic (harvested from a Christmas gift of toiletries) scissors, and sellotape. A few minutes later she had fashioned yet another transparent cover to keep her latest find safe and secure whilst allowing it to be seen clearly.

The music on the radio was interrupted by the hourly news broadcast; most of it only half-heard run-of-the-mill political news, but then she heard the name Frank Sinatra and quickly turned up the volume, riveted on what the newsreader was saying. Some days earlier she had heard that her favourite entertainer was ill, but hadn’t realised the seriousness of his situation until now. She had been a fan since she was a teenager and like most folk had seen subtle changes in his style and presentation as the years progressed. She had seen him in his very early movies and then followed his career right through the entertainment spectrum to the rich maturity of his later years when she believed he had reached absolute perfection. News of his illness brought home to her the realisation of how many years had elapsed since “Anchors Aweigh” and “On the Town.” It was hard to believe that her idol was now over eighty years old! She caught a glimpse of her own now rather aged face in the mirror and smiled wryly as she shook her head. Thanks to the miracle of the movies, the Frank Sinatra she knew and loved would remain forever young.

She silently digested each and every word of the news bulletin on Sinatra. A world without him and his seemingly effortless singing was difficult to imagine. Who could ever replace him? As she neatly consigned yet another four-leaf clover to posterity she paused and held it in the palm of her hands for a few seconds. Suddenly she was inspired! She knew exactly what she was going to do. This one wasn’t going to be given away or consigned to a drawer or cupboard - she had plenty hidden away already. No! She would send this one to Frank Sinatra; after all, he needed all the luck he could get right now. But where would she send it? She didn’t have an address and besides, even if she did, would a man of such acclaim be remotely interested in a four-leaf clover from an aged, yet devoted, fan in England? What the heck! She would send it anyhow, what was there to lose?

The newsreader’s words still echoed in her ears and she recalled how he had mentioned Sinatra’s home in Los Angeles. She wrote a brief note saying that she was sending him a four leaf clover to bring him luck and that she hoped he would soon be feeling better. She simply addressed the envelope to Frank Sinatra, Los Angeles, California, U.S.A., feeling confident that that would be enough. After all, who hadn’t heard of Frank Sinatra?

She got some funny looks in the Post Office when she went to post the letter. “They probably think I’m a bit over the hill to be writing fan letters” she chuckled to herself as the assistant did a double take when she read the envelope. She returned home feeling rather pleased with herself that her carefully preserved four-leaf clover was now actually enroute to the great Frank Sinatra!

Over the next couple of weeks or so she thought about it frequently, wondering if it had reached its destination. She hadn’t told a soul what she had done, not even Mags, so she couldn’t talk about it with anyone. Anyhow, Mags would have thought she was completely bonkers! It felt nice somehow to have a secret that she alone knew about and one that could quite possibly yield the ultimate reward of a reply from the Great Man himself - although she hadn’t written to him with the expectation of receiving a reply. She had merely wanted to send him a tiny token of respect and gratitude in his time of need. Then slowly, as time progressed, the letter slipped out of her thoughts almost completely, only surfacing again when she heard his name mentioned on TV and the radio, or when she dusted his records on the shelf.

She continued to walk Barney each day by the river, but strangely enough she couldn’t find another four-leaf clover. Previously there had been a fairly abundant supply of these tiny harbingers of good luck and it had been an easy, almost effortless task to find one. Now, in spite of rigorous concentration, it seemed that they had all disappeared. The one she had sent to America had by now been almost forgotten, until she saw a news broadcast on television which said that Frank Sinatra had passed away, and her heart sank as she realised that her idol was now gone forever. It was almost like a personal bereavement for her. She had loved and listened to his voice for most of her life, and knowing that he would sing no more deeply saddened her. Her collection of Sinatra recordings instantly became much more precious.

For some weeks after his death she often wondered if he had ever received her letter and what he would have thought of some silly old English woman sending him such a trivial thing. “Do American’s believe that four-leaf clovers are lucky like we do?” she wondered.

Her letter to the U.S.A was the furthest thing from her thoughts when one day, some weeks later, she heard the rattle of her letterbox as the post arrived. Amongst her mail was a large brown envelope, which was postmarked Northern Ireland. Curiously she opened it and immediately she was overwhelmed by mixed feelings of sadness and deep disappointment, as she discovered her long-lost letter to Frank Sinatra, along with the four-leaf clover, still intact in its tiny plastic cover. Her letter had been opened, clearly to extract her name and address, and the envelope now bore a Los Angeles postmark alongside the one from England. Someone had scrawled in black ink “Not Known - Insufficient Address” over her own writing. “How on earth can they put Not Known” Rose muttered angrily; “Who on God’s earth hasn’t heard of Frank Sinatra?”

With a heavy heart she chided herself for being so juvenile and silly. What a total failure her little plan had proved to be. The great man himself hadn’t even come close to receiving her letter. It had simply spent weeks and weeks travelling the U.S.A. Suddenly, on an impulse, she reached for her purse, removed the four-leaf clover she had carried around for so long, and replaced it with the one that had just been returned to her. “It may not bring me luck” she thought “but I’ll be carrying around the most well-travelled four-leaf clover in the world!”

Almost a week later she returned home with Barney after his morning walk and gathered up her mail off the doormat. She opened an unfamiliar envelope and stared at the contents in total disbelief. A congratulatory letter informed her that one of her few long-held premium bonds had finally paid off! She stared at the cheque for £500, her hands shaking so much she could barely read it. Then suddenly she remembered the four-leaf clover in her purse that had travelled halfway around the world to come back to her. “Was it purely coincidence that it had been returned to her?” she wondered.

Deep in her heart she knew that it wasn’t just chance that had brought the clover back to her. Someone, somewhere, had realised that she needed a little help in attracting luck into her own life. She had tried to send a small token of good fortune to the man she regarded as the Maestro; the man whose singing had brought her so much pleasure over the years. She knew instinctively that even though her clover had never actually reached him in person, he was aware that she had sent it. Now as she cupped that same clover in her hands once more, she felt a sudden warmth and affinity with him, and her favourite singer of all time was never more special than he was right now. With a gentle smile she closed her eyes and whispered “Thank you Mr. Sinatra!” before slipping the clover back into her purse.

Mrs L.Neal