The Coal Bin
What am I doing here?
I've spent years helping that family, and this is all the thanks I get.
There was a time when I stood beside the coal fire. Every evening I'd be filled with black coal, ready for another night of warmth. I wasn't just a bin. I had a job to do.
Humans never seem to realise that even an old coal bin likes to feel useful.
Then they moved in.
The old fireplace disappeared and a modern fire took its place. Suddenly I wasn't needed anymore.
For a while they kept me as an ornament.
Imagine that.
A coal bin...
...an ornament.
Then one morning someone picked me up, carried me into the back garden and left me on my side.
That hurt.
People think because I'm made of steel I don't notice these things. We do. A dent may not matter to you, but it does to us.
Days turned into weeks.
Rain drummed on my lid.
Frost settled on me every morning.
The wind found its way around my rim and whistled quietly.
At least they left my lid on.
Not because they cared.
It's been stuck for years.
One evening a hedgehog wandered over and nudged me with his nose. I think he hoped I'd make a good place to sleep.
"Sorry," I thought. "I'd let you in if I could."
He sniffed around for a while before wandering back into the hedge.
I rather liked him.
Despite the rain, I never rusted. That's the advantage of being well made. Thick galvanised steel and black enamel. They made things properly in those days.
Then one morning I was taken to the front of the house and left beside the low wall.
The afternoon sun warmed my black enamel.
Cars went past all day.
Nobody gave me a second glance.
One old terrier did.
Every morning he'd stop beside me, look around, cock his leg and wander off looking very pleased with himself.
Honestly...
I preferred the rain.
Teenagers were worse.
"Go on then."
"I bet you can't kick it."
The first kick caught me right in the side.
Clang!
I rolled across the pavement.
Clang!
I hit the kerb.
Clang!
Then I came to rest in the gutter.
The boys laughed.
I didn't.
For two days I lay there watching the world go by.
People walked past.
A runner disappeared down the path between the trees.
Dog walkers chatted.
Cars came and went.
Everyone seemed to have somewhere to go.
I was the only one waiting.
Then a little boy stopped.
He bent down, picked me up and carried me back to the gate.
"Well done, Sam," his mum called. "Leave it there. The scrap van will be here today."
The scrap van.
I didn't know exactly what that meant.
But I had a feeling it wasn't good.
I'd stood outside Number 36 for more than forty years.
Surely this couldn't be the end.
Just then I heard a familiar voice.
"You poor old thing."
It was Ben.
I'd know that voice anywhere.
He came over, bent down and ran his hand over one of my dents.
"I remember this old coal bin," he said. "It stood beside our fire when we lived here."
Sam smiled.
"I know. Mum says you used to live here."
Ben looked towards the house.
"Would your mum mind if I took this old bin? It's sentimental."
Sam disappeared inside.
A moment later his mum came out.
"Of course," she said. "We filled in the fireplace years ago. We were only waiting for the scrap man."
Only waiting for the scrap man.
"It obviously means more to you than it does to us."
Ben smiled.
"It does."
He picked me up.
Not like rubbish.
Not like scrap.
He simply picked me up and carried me to his car.
His new home wasn't far away.
A bungalow this time.
No coal fire.
Just a gas fire.
He took me into his workshop.
Gently, he worked the dents out of my sides.
Then he polished away years of dirt until I almost looked like the coal bin I used to be.
When he'd finished, he stood me beside the fireplace.
I don't hold coal anymore.
I don't suppose I ever will.
But every now and then Ben walks past, smiles, and gives my lid a little pat.
After everything that's happened...
I think I've finally found my way home.