Brian joined a walking tour of the town where he’d lived for sixty years because the leaflet promised stories he’d never heard.
The guide, Anna, welcomed the group outside the old town hall. She said it had once been the site of a dramatic election dispute.
“It still is,” Brian said. “They argue about the flower tubs every spring.”
A few people laughed. Anna smiled and carried on.
At the bakery, she described a famous royal visit. Brian said the building had been a shoe shop then. Anna checked her notes. The visit had taken place in the bakery’s previous premises. She thanked him for the correction.
At the bridge, she pointed out the spot where a notorious smuggler supposedly hid his goods.
“Very inconvenient,” Brian said. “It floods.”
“Perhaps that was part of his plan.”
“Then he was smuggling fish.”
The group laughed again. Anna began to worry that Brian had bought a ticket mainly to offer commentary. She asked if he had a personal connection to the town.
“I used to deliver the post.”
“Then you’ll know it well.”
“I know who used to live behind every curtain.”
At the next stop, Anna mentioned an old tailor. Brian knew his daughter. At the chapel, he knew the man who’d repaired the roof. At the coaching inn, he pointed out a window through which someone had once thrown a piano stool.
“Was that a historic event?” Anna asked.
“It was to the pianist.”
Brian kept checking a folded sheet in his pocket. Anna assumed it was an old map until he opened it the wrong way round and revealed a photograph of a conservatory.
“Your notes?” she asked.
“Just some local points of interest.”
He folded it quickly. At the next corner he mentioned the excellent bus connection, then the new drainage work. Anna wondered which century they had reached.
By the halfway point, the visitors were asking Brian questions directly. Anna could have been annoyed, but his stories were good and the group was enjoying them. She invited him to add one at the old cinema.
Brian told them about a screening interrupted by a goat. He described the goat’s expression, the manager’s efforts, and the audience demanding it return for the second feature. Everyone laughed, including Anna.
“That’s a wonderful story,” she said. “May I use it on future tours?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know when it happened?”
“No.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“Who told you?”
“My brother.”
“Was he there?”
“Probably not. He lived abroad.”
Anna paused. Brian looked unconcerned.
“You said you delivered the post,” she said.
“I did.”
“So these are stories you heard on your round?”
“Some of them.”
“And the others?”
“The leaflet promised stories I hadn’t heard. I thought I’d bring a few you hadn’t heard.”
The group applauded. Anna decided that the goat could stay off her official route, but Brian might be useful at the next stop, where the facts were reliable and the road was steep.
At the top of the hill, she finished the tour and invited questions. A visitor asked Brian whether he would show them the old railway yard. Another wanted to hear more about the piano stool.
Brian said he’d be happy to help. He led them toward the market square.
Anna caught up with him.
“Have you ever thought of doing this professionally?”
Brian looked back at the little crowd following him.
“I’m trying.”
“You could run a tour.”
“No,” he said. “I’m selling my house. These people have already agreed the neighborhood is fascinating.”