You might say Cyril Rum was an eccentric. He lived alone at the end of the street, his yard was unkempt, his friends were one Mildred Thrup his next door neighbour and even she would say she wasn’t all that sure about him.
No one seemed to know when it was Cyril moved into his house, it was like he was suddenly there.
Cyril was marked as weird by the people in his street. They liked to know every one’s business and Cyril, they decided, was not like them. They felt knowing each other’s business was a healthy thing. But Cyril gave them nothing; at least nothing worthwhile and gossipy.
When he walked down the street he nodded to his neighbours, bid them a good day and moved on. He wasn’t one for conversation.
The neighbours didn’t like that, Cyril had an obligation to his neighbours to tell them who he was and where he came from.
But Cyril would never do that. Revealing who he was would only set their tongues fluttering and Cyril didn’t want any fluttering tongues.
On any normal day, the street was a conglomeration of life’s mysteries. Cyril was learning the ways of his neighbours, and the more he learned the more he knew he didn’t want to be like them. To understand anything and anyone he had Mildred to consult. Mildred was more than willing to tell Cyril everything he wanted to know.
It was when Cyril appeared at Bill Wilson’s front door that the neighbours took more interest in Cyril, or was it less interest?
Bill Wilson bashed his wife on a regular basis. Mrs Wilson’s face had changed a lot over the years. After Cyril’s visit the bashings stopped and Bill Wilson became a very quiet man.
Cyril liked peace and harmony and each evening sat out in his yard on one of the two white seats he had. To anyone looking over his fence, Cyril was talking to the other chair.