Gregory: The seaside man of pipes and licorice

I really don't know what all of this means for me personally.  I have some ideas, but I'd rather not divulge them.  I am also really into pipe tobacco and licorice.  So this just is what it is.

I'll just say that I was on cruise control going through all sorts of planes and atmospheres in my subconscious mind.  At this point, it may as well have been in a dream, because I was viewing all of this, as if through a film reel.  I am not sure if my eyes were open or shut, I was having an out of body experience.

I could see a seaside town in England.  It could have been in Tyne & Wear or some place in Suffolk.  There was no way to really be sure.  A man returned from the Great War on crutches.  His injured legs were in dire condition, which would become a lifelong problem for Gregory, but that wasn't what was on his mind, at the present.  Gregory was never lucky with the ladies in the pubs or even the functions in the local church.  So the lady on Gregory's mind was his mother.  He was also thinking about where he was going to find his favourite brand of licorice.  He'd been to four stores, on the way home from France, and he couldn't find it anywhere.

Finally, Gregory rested on a park bench, and reached for his pipe.  It was a military issue with a silver band.  Gregory broke off a piece of tobacco from a heavily latakia-laden plug and began his smoking ritual.  These were Gregory's two favourite things in his life, two very simple luxuries.  Pipe tobacco and black licorice.

Gregory soon discovered, after talking to his mother, that the licorice company had gone out of business during the war.  They had to switch to making MREs during the war and were bombed during the German air raids.  The owner decided not to reopen, and retired.  Gregory couldn't believe what he was hearing.  There was only one brand of licorice in his English town.  That one.  Now what will he do?  The two remaining pieces in his pouch certainly wouldn't do.

So Gregory decided to learn everything he could about licorice that summer, while he lived at home his mother.  His father had been killed in the Boer war and it was a great comfort to his mother to finally have a man in the house again, as he was an only child.  After much intense reading, he worked with an importer in a larger town about 16 or so km away.  Finally, Gregory had all of the ingredients he needed to begin making his first home-made batch of licorice candies.

The first batch, was so amazing, he decided to celebrate by heading back to the park bench he sat at, to rest awhile, on his way back home from the war.  After finishing another heavy bowl of latakia and orientals, he enjoyed the licorice he had made himself, and felt a deep sense of satisfaction.  Finally, the idea came to him, as he packed a second pipe.  He would make his licorice as a profession.  This would be a business for him.  He would replace the missing licorice in all of the stores many had come to miss.

After talking to the gentlemen who ran the old licorice factory, and learning many tricks of the trade, he saved his military pension until he could finally afford to buy a small warehouse, which he in turn converted into a licorice factory.

Gregory did very well for himself.  Gregory eventually married, and had two young sons.  Gregory was very well loved by everyone around him, especially his wife, his children, and his many employees, whom he paid better than any other manufacturer in town.

When it became time for Gregory to retire, and for his son to take the reigns of the business, Gregory became a fixture at that old bench, in the park.  He would sit there for hours at a time smoking fine English blends, and enjoying his own licorice.  He still thought about that old brand of licorice he enjoyed very much.  His was very nice, but in his heart, he knew he liked his old brand, more than his own.  He wondered if his customers secretly felt the same way.  Regardless, Gregory felt a deep sense of contentment, and satisfaction, about his life.

After Gregory died, licorice waned in interest in the country.  The factory was not doing well because of the new German and American candies that were pouring into the country.  Finally, Gregory's son, Geoffrey, decided to close the factory.  Eventually, it was forgotten by most people in the UK that the town ever even produced licorice.  Only very few very, very old men would speak of their fathers lending them some  of the licorice as young boys.

No one in town remembered Gregory, where he lived, or anything about his family.  Over one hundred years had gone by, and a lot had changed in the town, since time of the war, and Gregory, and the licorice.

However, the park where Gregory enjoyed his pipe remained in place.  In fact, it hadn't changed much at all.  Except for one small thing.  At the spot where Gregory almost religiously sat and enjoyed his licorice and pipe tobacco at one time, there was no longer a park bench at all, in fact there was only green grass, and a large natural rock formation.  However, there was something very special about the rock formation.

The rock formation, to many young people who have gazed upon it, ALMOST appears to be a man sitting upon a bench or a ledge of some sort.  You can even make out his very prominent chin.  Gregory was known for his prominent chin.  And most amazing of all, the rock formation seems like a man with a pipe in his mouth.  It was never carved this way.  It is natural.  It just a strange, freakish occurrence in nature.  One day, a young school boy announces to  his mates: "This man, with this pipe, he is an old codger here, yeh boys, this here is GREGORY. All he does, is is sit there, all day long, rest his old bones, smoke that pipe, and chew on licorice.  Old gregory.  Look at him there.  God bless the old bastard."  The boy knew nothing about the true story of Gregory, his pipes, or his licorice, the story just came to him naturally, the place almost seemed to saturate his mind with the story.

Gregory lived on.  Immortal.  He sat there, in his park, imade of stone. Pre-eminently happy.  Enjoying two small, moderately priced luxuries a working man can afford:  pipe tobacco and black licorice.  A stone monolithic permanent state of ego loss and pure contentment free from desire.