My Golden Nib

Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?

A short story by Geraldine Banks

©GeraldineBanks2024

I was only three years old when my grandfather died.I wasn’t even able to form my letters.

My mother kept my grandfathers bequest safe in her jewellery box until I was eight.

On my eighth birthday she gave me grandad’s golden nib that he had left me in his will.

My mother’s present to me on that special day was an expensive fountain pen and a beautiful inkwell and writing set for me to use.

She showed me how to fit the shiny,beautiful nib to my fountain pen and proudly explained the meaning of the hall marks on the gold nib as well as how to use the ink well and blotting paper.

It was quite a momentous day,and, subsequently, I passed many happy hours forming my letters and writing sentences and paragraphs. Sometimes, I would just copy my favourite children’s books for fun.

When I was about sixteen ,my mother grew increasingly worried about me.My writing and copying habit was so prolific that,yes, she could see I could write beautiful script,but my school work had suffered.

I had fallen behind with maths and science, and as our family were important in the Medical Profession, in the area, and it was hoped I would follow that path.My mother sat me down in the hope that we could address my obsession with using my Golden Nib.

My science marks did not improve.Infact, they got worse ,and my mother was in tears the day that she found out I had failed to get into medical school. I looked at her blankly.

“That bloody pen! You’ve wasted too much time copying, and now,now look where you are!” She screamed at me. I looked at her aghast as she ran out of the living room and upstairs to my bedroom.There she took all my writing equipment and threw it in my bin,brought it downstairs and threw it all in the waste bin outside.

“This has got to stop!” She cried,no more copying script,do something more useful with your life!”

“OK mum”. I said ,defeated and hunched shouldered,I left her and went back upstairs to my room. I sat down on my bed and felt in my pocket for my golden nib. It felt good between my fingers.

“It’s alright, Grandad ,phase two,no more copying,but I am going to write some very beautiful books.Thanks Grandad”.

The End