Christmas At Thrush Green Read online

  The party went on for a little longer in The Fuchsia Bush then Nelly looked at her watch. ‘If we don’t go home now, we’ll be in no fit state tomorrow.’

  She rang Bert Nobbs and asked him to come and collect her. The girls cleared the glasses and plates away and promised they’d be in early in the morning to wash up. There was one bottle of fizz remaining, and Nelly pressed it on Clare Border. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you,’ she said.

  Clare left to return home to her family, and the girls went out into the cold night air, chattering about where they should go next. They were determined to make an evening of it, but Nelly was longing to go home and put her feet up.

  When the taxi arrived, Nelly herded Albert and Percy Hodge down the steps and then she turned to look back into the room. There, on the middle shelf of the dresser, gently illuminated by lights from the street outside, was her beautiful teapot, her award.

  She pulled the door shut, locked it and went to join the others in the taxi. Bert Nobbs was holding the front door open for her.

  ‘Madame,’ he said, with a little bow.

  Nelly got in the taxi, making sure that her dress was tucked in around her, and sank back against the soft leather upholstery. It had certainly been an exhausting day - but what an exciting one!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A Rescue Plan is Hatched

  Preparations for Christmas continued at varying levels of urgency in most of the houses around Thrush Green. The big day itself was just a week away. Pretty wreaths made of holly and ivy, with flowing red ribbons, bedecked the front doors of most of the houses and cottages. The windows of The Two Pheasants were aglow with lights that winked and blinked in opposition to the lights Bob Jones had woven into the bay tree that stood in a tub outside the door into the saloon bar.

  As was his custom, Albert Piggott had cut holly, sparkling with bright red berries, from trees and bushes in Lulling Woods. He placed the evergreen on an old tarpaulin and slowly dragged it back to the village. He made one stop on the way - to deliver a really nice bunch, together with a piece of mistletoe, to Dotty Harmer. The rest he left outside the church door where the flower ladies would find it when they came to decorate the church for the next day’s Nativity play.

  At Tullivers, Phil was gazing at a long shopping list.

  ‘Lulling will be very busy, the supermarket especially, so the earlier you get there, the better it will be,’ she advised.

  Frank put aside the morning paper. There were two things he hated: one was shopping and the other was crowds. Put the two together, and it was purgatory. He knew Phil was right.

  ‘If I were you,’ Phil continued, ‘do the supermarket stuff first and leave the High Street until afterwards. Nelly Piggott said the mince pies would be ready by ten.’

  ‘I thought you always made your own mince pies,’ said Frank, looking over Phil’s shoulder at the shopping list.

  ‘I do normally, but not this year, not with the Nativity and the party. And this isn’t the main Christmas shopping list. I’ll do that next week. This is just for the party.’

  ‘Is Jeremy up yet?’ Frank asked. ‘I could do with some help lugging all the bottles and glasses to the car.’

  Phil laughed. ‘Jeremy up? It’s school holidays and boys have to have plenty of sleep.’

  ‘He shouldn’t go to bed so late,’ Frank grumbled, pulling on a jacket.

  ‘I think he and Paul were running through their words for the play,’ said the boy’s mother, coming to his defence.

  ‘What? To that ear-splitting pop music?’ And with that, Frank opened the back door.

  ‘Darling,’ called Phil softly. ‘The shopping list!’

  Frank turned back and took the list from her hand, gave her a sheepish smile and this time made it out of the door.

  Once he had left, Phil sat at the kitchen table and pulled a large pad of lined paper towards her. ‘Nativity’ was written boldly across the top, and below was a list of the things that still had to be done before the performance. But would they get through the day without another member of the cast dropping out? They had lost another angel the day before, although not from chickenpox this time. Phil wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but she had been told by Alan Lester that there were matrimonial problems in the home and the wife had decided to go and have Christmas with her parents, and was taking the child with her. Another little girl had been drafted in as a replacement.

  Phil turned the pad over, and across the top of this page was written ‘Party’. She gazed at the number of things she had to do. Sitting here wasn’t going to get things crossed off the list and she got to her feet, ready to put her shoulder to the wheel.

  In the vicarage at Lulling, Charles and Dimity Henstock were also having breakfast. Charles was a great advocate of starting the day with a good breakfast. ‘You never know if you’re going to get lunch’ was his maxim.

  ‘What are your plans for the day?’ Dimity asked.

  Charles picked up an old envelope and peered through his thick spectacles at the list he had written there.

  ‘I must spend a little time this morning finalizing the plans for the Christmas morning services,’ he said. ‘I must ring Harold to make sure he’s remembered that he will have to start the service at St Andrew’s. Everyone seems to want to chatter so much after the ten o’clock service here that it’s always a rush to get to Thrush Green for eleven-fifteen.’

  ‘You’d have thought they’d all want to get home to their presents,’ replied Dimity.

  ‘And then I must go to Rectory Cottages. Jane rang yesterday to say that Mrs Miller isn’t too well and asked me to go and see her.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Dimity, pouring herself a second cup of tea, ‘could you double-check that Mrs Bates has remembered about the Nativity play on Saturday, and that the brights will need to be done early. She often does them on a Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘She should remember because most of the Rectory Cottages crowd will be at the play. I just wish I could come, but there’s so much to fit in at this time of year,’ said Charles, rolling up his napkin and putting it neatly into its ring. ‘What time are you meeting the others to do the crib?’

  ‘I said I’d meet them at two o’clock. Lunch at one be all right for you?’

  ‘Perfect,’ replied Charles.

  ‘Can we be sure to have lunch on time today?’ Winnie asked Jenny as they were making the beds together.

  ‘Yes, of course. It can be earlier if you like.’

  ‘No, one’s fine. I’m due to prepare the crib in St Andrew’s at two, but I’d like to get there a little before then if possible.’

  ‘Then one on the dot it’ll be. I thought we’d have that smoked haddock. Would you like a poached egg to go on top?’

  Winnie laughed. ‘Bless you, Jenny! You know all my weaknesses. It’s a shame you never married. You would have made some man very happy.’

  ‘And probably much too fat!’ Jenny replied.

  Neither woman said anything, but both thought back to the time when Jenny had been seriously pursued by Percy Hodge, who’d been looking for a wife after his Gertie had died. Marriage was fine, Jenny thought, but when one dies the other suddenly has to cope alone. Marriage was wonderful, Winnie thought, and once more counted her blessings that she had Jenny to keep her company.

  ‘I must ring Edward in a moment, and see if he’s remembered it’s Crib Day,’ said Winnie, giving the bedspread a final tweak.

  ‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary,’ said Jenny, who was standing at the window. ‘Mr Young’s car is outside the church and he and Paul are offloading.’

  ‘Ah, dear man! He’s so reliable.’

  The Youngs’ large house had a very convenient attic floor where all manner of things were kept. Apart from the Nativity costumes, and the crib and its contents, there were boxes of bunting that were used for the summer fête, and various notices nailed to sticks: ‘Car Park’, ‘Teas’, ‘Bowling for the Pig’. That last o
ne hadn’t been used for years, and Edward, as he pushed it to one side in order to get to the two boxes containing the figures for the crib, made a mental note to have a clear-out. I can make it my New Year’s resolution, he thought, as he pulled forward one box. Then I won’t have to think of any of those awful things that one should really do - like Take Off Weight, or Be Prepared to Talk at Breakfast.

  He and young Paul now entered St Andrew’s. The church was opened each morning and shut each evening by a member of a team of responsible people. When Charles Henstock had moved from being rector of St Andrew’s to Lulling to look after four parishes, the PCC had discussed at length the question of whether to have the church open at all times, and be possible prey to those despicable people who were prepared to steal from churches - not only from the Donations box but candlesticks and other valuables as well - or to keep it locked and only open when services were to be held.

  It hadn’t been much of a discussion, really. No one wanted to see the church kept locked. For a time, Albert was given the responsibility but after the church had been left unlocked on three occasions when, due to drink taken, he had quite forgotten his duties, it had become necessary to set up a rota of willing people living round the green.

  Harold Shoosmith was in charge of this rota and, accordingly, it worked like clockwork. If someone whose turn it was realised they couldn’t do it that day, they rang Harold who either found someone else to do it or, more usually, did it himself. He always enjoyed the walk across the green to open or shut the church - even if it was raining. The years he had spent in Africa deprived of rain for much of the time meant that he took a strange pleasure now in getting wet.

  Edward switched on the lights in the side aisle. ‘We’ll put the crib and boxes here. That’s where Winnie and her team usually set it up.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be helpful if we did it now, and save them coming over later?’ Paul asked.

  His father laughed. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea at all. They are very proprietorial about setting up the crib. I think we should leave it to the women.’

  As they were about to leave, the door swung open and Mrs Bates arrived to do the brasses. Everything, it seemed, was falling into place - in the church, at least.

  Phil had spent the time while Frank was out shopping and, it has to be said, out from under her feet, getting down large platters not much used from the top cupboards in the kitchen. She was standing precariously on the little pair of steps when the telephone rang.

  ‘Oh bother!’ she muttered.

  She leaned down and put a large blue-patterned plate on the top of the lower cupboards, and then carefully climbed down the steps and picked up the kitchen telephone.

  ‘Ah, Phil, I thought you must be out.’ It was Alan Lester.

  ‘Sorry, Alan, I was up some steps. It’s not more bad news, is it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Mrs Todd has just got back to me and says Jimmy definitely cannot be a king after all.’

  ‘But why?’ cried the distraught Phil. ‘You thought it would be possible.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry. My fault. Because he took part in the little performance of Robin Hood we put on last summer, I thought it would be all right. But because it’s the Nativity and in the church, it isn’t allowed by the Plymouth Brethren.’ As he heard Phil’s groan down the line, he hastily continued, ‘I’ve a couple of errands to do now, but then I suggest I come round and we’ll go through the cast list together and see if we can juggle about some of the parts.’

  ‘But no one will know their words if we do that - and the costumes, what about the costumes?’ she wailed.

  ‘Don’t worry for the moment. We’ll think of something. The show will go on!’ And with that, the headmaster rang off.

  Phil slumped onto a chair, and pulled her list headed ‘Nativity’ towards her. The original cast list was much rubbed out, crossed out and written over. She picked up a pencil and scored heavily through Toddy’s name. Now what do we do? she thought.

  At that moment, the back door banged open and Frank staggered in with a case of wine. ‘Where shall I put this? In the hall? I’ll probably have the drinks table there.’

  ‘No, not there,’ said Phil, quickly getting to her feet. ‘I haven’t cleaned yet. Can’t they stay in the garage for the time being? I’ll do the hoovering and dusting tomorrow and then you can set up.’

  Frank executed a circle round the table and disappeared outside again. Phil picked up the big plates she had got out of the top cupboards and crossed to the sink to give them a good wash. Her head was still buzzing with how they could get over this latest defection from the cast. Perhaps Frank would have some ideas, she thought, as she ran warm water into the sink.

  As arranged, Winnie and Jenny had their lunch promptly at one o’clock. Afterwards, Jenny waved away Winnie’s offer to help wash up.

  ‘You get off to the church. I know how you enjoy that,’ she said. ‘But wrap up warm, mind. That church can be very chilly and we don’t want your bronichals to be affected again.’

  Winnie smiled, and pulled on her tweed coat and wrapped a scarf round her neck.

  ‘Here,’ said Jenny, handing her a couple of dusters, ‘you’re sure to need these. And ’ave you got the piece of carpet?’

  ‘Yes, it’s ready by the front door,’ and with that Winnie set forth on what was one of the highlights of her year.

  She decided not to cross the green to the church, but sensibly walked round on the pavement. As she passed Ella’s cottage, she saw the little front garden had a fine display of Helleborus niger, the Christmas rose. The plants’ white, nodding, cup-shaped flowers shone out from their dark green leaves. How pretty they were!

  A few minutes later, Winnie pushed open the door of St Andrew’s and stood for a moment in the gloom. English country churches had a very special smell about them, and this one was no different. Just a bit musty. And then her nostrils picked up the smell of the flowers placed on the font nearby. That meant the flower ladies had been in. Muriel Fuller, one of the residents at Rectory Cottages, was a first-rate flower arranger and led the team.

  After standing there quietly for a few moments, she turned on the church lights and made her way down the side aisle where she knew Edward Young would have placed the crib and boxes of figures. And she stopped short - and stared in complete amazement.

  The crib had already been set up, but not with the much-loved figures that St Andrew’s always had. Set around the crib were different figures, new figures, horrid figures.

  Winnie’s heart beat so hard that she could almost hear it herself. Staggering slightly, she sat down in a nearby pew. ‘What on earth . . . ?’ she cried. In her agitation, she realized she was twisting the two dusters round and round in her hands. She dropped them into her lap but then found her hands were shaking so much, she picked them up again and began twisting them once more.

  After a minute or so, she felt a little calmer and got to her feet. Steadying herself on the end of the pew, she peered at the crib. Yes, that was the Thrush Green crib but the figures most definitely were impostors. The face of the Virgin was pert, with reddened curved lips. Joseph was not so bad although his robe was a hideous maroon colour. The figures of the two shepherds were much too boyish, and as for the Wise Men - they looked cheap and modern.

  Winnie had a quick look round to see if there were any clues as to who might have placed these dreadful figures here. All she could find were the boxes of Thrush Green figures, and just as she was pulling the second one out from under the front pew where it had been pushed, the main door opened at the other end of the church.

  ‘Hello, Winnie! We thought you’d get here first.’

  That was Dimity’s voice, and she and Ella now came down the side aisle to where Winnie was standing.

  ‘Oh, you’ve already set things up,’ cried Ella. ‘You might have waited for us.’

  But while Ella’s failing eyesight didn’t pick up the different figures, Dimity saw immediately, a
nd clapped a horrified hand to her mouth. ‘What in heaven’s name has happened?’ she cried.

  Ella moved closer to the crib and peered at it. She now saw the horrible figures. ‘Winnie! Did you put these beastly figures there?’

  ‘Of course not!’ responded Winnie sharply. ‘Why on earth would I do that? Our figures are here,’ and she pointed to the familiar boxes she had found.

  Dimity tilted the figure of the new Virgin Mary towards her to examine it more closely. ‘This is truly horrible. Who on earth has done this? And just look at the Baby Jesus - it’s . . .’ Her voice faded away. ‘Charles will be horrified.’

  Winnie seemed to pull herself together. ‘It doesn’t matter now. What matters most is that we should replace them with the proper figures. Did you bring the straw, Ella?’

  Ella shoved her hand in a carrier bag she was holding. ‘With Dotty’s best compliments,’ she said.

  The three women silently went to work. Dimity found some old cardboard boxes in the vestry, and the offending figures were placed in a couple of them. Ella lifted the crib to one side so that Winnie could put down her piece of blue carpet that was always used for the occasion, then the crib was placed on the carpet and Ella sprinkled the fresh straw round the base of the crib. One by one, Dimity handed Winnie the figures that were placed in exactly the same position as they had been for the last twenty years.

  All right, maybe they were a little shabby but, they all agreed, they were the Thrush Green figures and that was that.

  Ella picked up one of the boxes that now held the unwelcome intruders and staggered to the vestry with it. From the noise, it sounded to Dimity and Winnie that she had dropped it onto the stone floor from some height. They guiltily smiled at each other. The second box followed suit.