1902 Sunbeam Safety
Part 2

“Who’s this Georgina?” Aunt Jean demanded and how does she warrant the property on its own?”
“I think there must be some mistake Mr Turner,” Mum interjected, “This is my child here and George is definitely of the male persuasion.”
“Maybe it’s just a typo,” Uncle Bruce suggested, “George, Georgina – sound pretty much the same.”
Aunt Jean was really on her husband’s case, “Bruce! It still doesn’t account for why George, Georgina, whatever gets more than my three.”
“If you’ll let me explain Mrs Dunton.”
“Shut up Jean, let the man talk,” Mum slapped her sister down, “Please go on Mr Turner.”
“Your Uncle had the properties valued two months ago, the Mousehole property whilst currently being rented has been thoroughly modernised and similar properties are selling for around four hundred and fifty thousand pounds. The Penzance property is currently valued at around one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, of course all parties are free to sell or maintain the properties as is their choice, we would of course be happy to handle any legal aspects for the beneficiates.”
“Sounds fair enough to me,” Bruce offered.
“So, what do we do about this name business?” Mum, the ever practical one queried.

I was still in a daze an hour later as Mum poured the tea, we were taking in one of Camborne’s numerous tea rooms. A couple of hours ago I was, well not quite living hand to mouth but not exactly rich, living with my mum and no immediate prospect of that changing anytime soon. Now, thanks to a relative that I might have met once, who couldn’t even remember my gender, I’m a property owner.

“Well that was a turn up for the books,” Mum noted passing me a cup of tea.
“No kidding,” I agreed, “I get a house and a sex change in one fell swoop.”
“Mr Turner was pretty sure he could get that corrected.”
“And if he can’t I get nothing?”
“Well there’s always the alternative, it’s not like it would affect anything else and you could change it back later.”

Oh yeah, top idea Mr Turner, change my name to Georgina to satisfy the conditions of the will. What’s in a name, it doesn’t define anything I guess, it’s just a label I suppose.

“Goodness knows where he got the idea you were a girl though.”
“Maybe he just misheard, you did always call me Georgie.”
“Perhaps,” Mum agreed, “So we going to look at this house while we’re down here?”
“I guess so, I’ve got the keys so we could go this afternoon if you like.”

Four Church Lane turned out to be a tiny cottage, sandwiched between two and six of course, on a steep lane barely wide enough for two cars to pass, we had to park the car near the main road lower down the hill. The tiny front garden was a bit overgrown but inside it was tidy enough, even if there were stacks of magazines around the small living room. It felt, I dunno, a bit weird, wrong, poking around someone else’s house when they weren’t there, except of course Uncle Frank wouldn’t be coming back and once the paperwork was sorted out, this was now mine.

Nothing was exactly new, the stuff in the kitchen, fridge, cooker and so on, was all a few years old but well looked after, the stove clean for example. Upstairs, the tiny bedroom contained not much beyond a wardrobe and the bed, the bathroom must have been fitted in a formerly second bedroom at least thirty years ago – all moulded tiles and avocado ceramics. The surprise was at the back of the house, a narrow strip of yard cum garden some twenty metres long with some sort of outhouse at the far end.

“So, what do you reckon,” Mum enquired joining me at the bedroom window.
“It’s not exactly Buck Palace is it?”
“I think the term is bijou, I’m sure Mr Turner will know someone who does house clearances.”
“No, I think Uncle Frank deserves better than that, I’ll do it myself, you never know, there might be something valuable amongst all the dross.”
“You want a cuppa? there’s some long-life milk in the fridge, smelt okay.”
“Go on then, I’ll go and look in the shed, I’m guessing that's what this other key is for.”

To my surprise, the ‘shed’ was not just locked but alarmed, one of those keypad things, I tried the number on the tag, the thing beeped and the door clicked open. I guess I was expecting piles of rusting stuff, broken furniture and the like so I was quite surprised to find a tidy workshop, tools all in their place on a shadow board, even if I couldn’t imagine what some of them were for. Must be worth a pretty penny, I was about to leave when I spotted the envelope on the workbench, clearly propped up and addressed to ‘Georgina Stephens’.

“What’ve you got there?” Mum enquired when I returned to the kitchen.
“Not sure, it’s addressed to Georgina so I guess it’s meant for me.”
“Well open it then.”

It was one of those big padded things, I opened it and tipped the contents onto the kitchen table. Several sheets of paper, a couple of ‘Yale’ type keys and one of those photo wallets you get hard copy prints in. the first paper was folded in half with just ‘George’ written on it, I opened it out and scanned the carefully handwritten script.

‘George,
yes, I know you aren’t Georgina, smoke and mirrors, just my little joke, let your Aunt’s family think I was going ga ga.

Of course, if you are reading this you already know the details of my will, I do hope you’ll look kindly towards me. I have a sort of last request, of course I’m not about to know whether you humour me or not but I would like to think you will. The keys in the envelope are for a pair of garages, lock ups if you like, at the top of the lane. The garages go with the house, the contents are yours to do with as you feel fit, so we come to a dead man’s wish.

If you can find it in you, I’d like for you to give the old bike a last outing with the Veteran and Vintage Bicycle Club. There’s a sheet with their contact details, I’m afraid they can be a bit anal, sticklers for detail and so on but they are a friendly enough bunch really. Just one ride, I had planned to ride myself but maybe that was a bit ambitious at my age eh lad!

I’ve put some photos in so you can see what you are letting yourself in for, the costumes and stuff – my friends at the theatre made me up a couple, they are in the wardrobe behind the bikes.

Well that’s about its ‘Georgina’, as that chap with the pointy ears used to say, live long and prosper.
Yours
Frank Penhaligon

“So?” Mum enquired when I finished reading.
“It’s from Uncle Frank.”
“Well I’d worked that out myself, what does he say?”

I pushed the note across to her and reached for the pack of photos. There were only half a dozen, snaps rather than professional shots, each a shot of ancient bikes and their riders.

“Bit of a strange request,” Mum opined.
“Bit,” I agreed.
“Will you do it?”
“Well I guess it’s not a lot to ask, I mean, he didn’t have to give me the house and stuff did he, it’s not like we were close or anything.”
“Best go and have a look at these garages then,” she suggested.

There were only two garages up the lane so not exactly difficult to find even if we were both puffing well by the time we got there. I opened the first door to find the old boy’s car under a dustsheet.

“Not seen one of those for a while,” Mum told me as I pulled the cover back.
“What is it?” I asked looking at the beefy vehicle.
“Interceptor , when you were small there was a chap up at Wressle had one, his was blue, I think. Looks like it’s in good nick.”
“Key’s in the ignition,” I noted opening the door.

Well you have to start the thing, right? and it is mine now. Click, click, Vrooom! I took my foot off the accelerator and let the engine tick over, a chuckling rumble that stirred the blood. Tempting as it was to take the beast out, I resisted and instead turned the motor off.

“Not taking it for a spin?” Mum queried, clearly smitten.
“Best not, don’t think my insurance covers it.”
“Not even a little ride?”
“I’ll ring the insurance people tomorrow,” I replied fishing through the glove box, “Excellent, log book’s here.
“Guess that means we’ll be coming back to Penzance then?”
“Yes mum, let’s see what’s in the other garage.”

Garage two was full of, well bike stuff of the human powered kind. Wheels, frames, boxes of bits, tyres, even complete bikes. There was less order in here although it was still tidyish, at the back several bikes were under a dust sheet and as promised, an ancient wardrobe. Mum beat me to the door, unlocking it and swinging it open, I couldn’t see in as the door obscured my view.

“Well?”
“Costumes like he said, looks like stuff from one of those period things on the telly.”
“Doubt if they’ll fit me,” I mentioned with a shrug.
“We can get them altered, I take it you’ve decided to do the ride thingy?”
“I feel I owe him, despite his sense of humour.”
Mum closed the wardrobe, “Well unless we are staying here tonight, we should probably get going Georgina.”
“Mu-um,” I complained.
“I always envied Jean her daughters and now I’ve got one.”
“Whatever,” I sighed relocking the bike garage.

“I’ve been talking with some of my colleagues,” Mr Turner advised after we’d exchanged the usual greetings.
“That sounds a bit ominous,” I allowed with a sigh, “So what’s the crack then?”
“In layman’s terms, any changes to the Will would effectively make it null and void, we’d need to take it to arbitration and your Uncles wishes could be challenged. It’s happened before, some of the Charities can be quite, er, combative and there is the possibility that not only you but the other family bequeaths could be overturned.”
“So, what do we do then?”
“My colleagues are all in agreement that the safest course of action for Frank’s estate would be for you to change your name by deed poll, it’s still a little dodgy if you like but if it ever went before a judge it’s unlikely, they’d query it.”
“Is it likely to go to court?”
“I don’t think so, unless another party decided to contest the Will, if we dot all the i’s and cross the t’s they’ll have less grounds.”
I sighed, “And this Deed Poll thing, I can change it back later?”
“Certainly, but I’d suggest keeping the new persona until all the legalities with the Behest are done and dusted.”
“Which will take?”
“It could be up to a year.”
Uncle Frank, I could kill you for this!
The legal beagle went on, “I can sort the paperwork out today, we can be all ‘legal’ with Georgina in about ten days.”
“Go on then, do it.”
“Look at it this way, you can at least still go by George.”

There wasn’t a lot we could actually do once that was set in motion, so we returned to the sightseeing that we’d planned. Well apart that is from slipping down to Penzance to give Mum that ride in the Jensen, the extra insurance was a bit of a shock, apparently its some sort of classic. Anyhow, we did our joy ride on Friday, taking the opportunity to call in on Gran again, of course Aunt Jean had filled her in on all the Behests.

Even Gran cracked a smile over the whole ‘Georgina’ thing.
“He was always a joker.”
“Well I wish he hadn’t done it with a legal document,” I sighed.
“Will you keep the house?”
“That’s what I want to know,” Mum slipped in.
“Not sure Gran, guess I could rent it out.”
“Or move down here.”
Yeah, or move down to Cornwall.
“My life is up in Yorkshire.”
“Hmmph!”
Okay, it’s not much of a life, and what about Mum?

I’ll say this, Mawnan, Smith and Turner were quick, we’d only been back home three days before a registered letter arrived with my Deed Poll inside. I got old Jack Thomas over the road to witness for me, well he’s half blind so there wouldn’t be any awkward questions from that quarter. Mum had it back in the post to Cornwall the next day, she mow officially has her ‘daughter’, at least in name – not that I’ll actually be going by Georgina anytime soon.

Of course, nothing is ever that simple, to stay legal some paperwork did need to be changed, Driver’s licence, work, doctor and the bank. I might have got away with some stuff but I didn’t just go from George to Georgina, oh no, Mum somehow landed me with a middle name, I’m now legally speaking Georgina Annabel Stephens – what a GAS – not!

With the name change sorted Mr Turner as executor expedited the Will registration, a stream of legal documents flowed between Cornwall and Yorkshire. Aunt Jean had decided not to challenge anything after a visit to ‘my’ cottage, the property her offspring were given, clearly much more valuable than my ‘gift’. Of course, we were not exactly broadcasting the details of the garage contents.

Of course becoming Georgina didn't suddenly make me rich or anything, not only that but I wasn't even certain that I wanted to 'liquidate' my new Cornish assets. Firstly, I needed to find out exactly what those assets are, oh I know there's the cottage, the car and the bikes but what else is in the house or hidden around the various buildings? And so, started my weekly commutes from Yorkshire to Cornwall.

The first couple of visits mum came down to help, curiosity as much as a desire to help, I think. We used a b&b the first week but apart from being costly it did seem a bit daft when I own a perfectly good house. A visit into Penzance supplied some new bed linen – it just seemed a bit weird to use Uncle Franks’ stuff, anyhow mum used the bed and I camped on the sofa.

I don't know what I thought might be lurking but once the old papers, magazines and clothes were disposed of the cottage seemed to have given up all its secrets. There wasn't much, a few quid in a tin marked 'xmas' and a variety of bits and pieces that just about everyone seems to accumulate. Anything remotely family we boxed up, Gran can decide what to do with it, the rest was earmarked for one of the local charity emporiums.

“So, what're you going to do about the garages?” Mum asked as we headed north yet again.
“Do?”
“You know, the car and the other stuff.”
“Dunno, seems a shame to just cash them in.”
“And exactly what will you do with a fifty-year-old sports car?”
“Thought you liked it?”
“There's a difference between liking it and owning it,” she suggested.
“So, you'd sell it?”
“It must be worth a few bob,” she pointed out.

The Traffic cop looked at my licence, he’d pulled me over, I’m sure just to check the Jensen out, I was on my way back to Yorkshire with it. Three weeks after mum’s intervention and I still hadn't made a decision so I was bringing it north, at least mum can get a few more rides while I think about it.

“Georgina Annabel Stephens? Are you sure this is your licence sir?”
“My Mum wanted a girl?”
“very droll sir.”
“It’s the truth, look, it’s my picture on there.”
“Hmm, if you can join me in the patrol car please sir.”

Having registered the Deed Poll, his enquiries soon confirmed my identity and I’m sure they had a good laugh at my expense down at the station later. I am so changing my name back as soon as I get the nod.

With all the personal stuff removed I decided to let the cottage out until I’d made up my mind, it’s not like I was desperate for the money. As a holiday let it only needed a few quid spent on white goods, a new telly and it was good to go. A local agency was happy to administer things and my cut was quite handsome, certainly enough to make a quick decision unnecessary.

Of course, my name change caused the odd eyebrow lift although for the most part people weren't actually aware of it. It’s not like my bank card actually had the new moniker spelt out on it, just GA Stephens only the extra initial different to the original. My signature has always been a bit of a scrawl so I hadn't even adjusted that – no, apart from instances like the police stop there hasn't actually been any fall out, it’s not like I’ve changed sex is it?

Whilst in pretty fair trim, the Jensen did need some work, whether I was keeping it or not and I found a Jensen specialist in a Sheffield back street who was all too willing to part me from my cash to get it into tip top condition. I mentioned before that I'm hardly a petrol head, I might have cut and run if I had been, apparently, I’ve got the FF model with a rare manual gearbox mated to the huge six litre Chrysler power cube. FF, yeah got me too, think four wheel drive a decade before Audi got there which in turn means expensive.

It wasn't really necessary as the agent was supposed to do regular checks but I made a point of going south once a month to check on the property. The rental takings financed the building maintenance, new gutters, a lick of paint on the walls and during a rare unlet week, a refurbished bathroom. That of course really did cost a pretty penny, sorting out tradesmen at quite short notice will always involve a bit of palm greasing.

Uncle Frank had passed in April, by June things were settled pretty much, whilst I had the rental income and the Jensen, nothing else has really changed in Howden. My cousins however had liquidated their bequest as soon as the ink was dried, mum reckons they lost quite a bit due to their haste. That’s not to say they hadn't managed a sizeable return, Gran had hinted at something just over four hundred thousand pounds – good luck to them. Dad always went on about the security of bricks and mortar, it sounds a bit pat but I'm of the same mind – you can't spend bricks very easily and what you've not had you can't miss right?

It was some months later that Mum reminded me about the old bikes and my sort of promise to my departed Uncle.

Maddy Bell © 16 November 2018