(4/13) Battles at Thrush Green Read online

  'Poor devil,' said Harold. 'I hope he belongs to a good club.'

  'I really came,' said Charles, changing the subject tactfully, 'to have a word with you about this matter of the faculty. So far there are eight names on the list of objectors, but I fear that there may be some who object in their hearts but have not the courage to state so publicly.'

  'In that case,' said Harold reasonably, 'they shouldn't worry you. I suppose you still want to go ahead and apply?'

  'I do indeed. And so, of course, do most of the parochial church council members, as you know.'

  'I believe we could get the churchyard taken over by the parish council, if that body were willing. It has been done elsewhere, and then of course the upkeep comes out of public funds.'

  The rector put down his glass with a quick gesture of repugnance.

  'I shouldn't dream of it,' he said sharply. 'Would you?'

  'No, indeed. I think it is the church's business and should remain its responsibility.'

  'Absolutely! Absolutely!'

  'I only mentioned it as a way of solving our problem. Somehow, I didn't think you would jump at the idea.'

  'My chief worry is two-fold,' said Charles. 'The village must agree about the matter, so that there are no grievances, and secondly, we must consider expense.'

  'The faculty shouldn't run us into much more than ten pounds or so,' said Harold. 'The church funds can stand that all right.'

  'I'm aware of that. What disturbs me is the possibility of a real battle in the village. If those eight objectors are truly all we have to contend with, then there's hope. But if, suddenly, more join the fight, we may even need to call in lawyers, and you know what that means!'

  'It won't come to that.'

  'Who can tell? I was talking to the vicar of my old parish at the Diocesan Synod last week, and their affair went to a hearing in the Consistory Court. The expense was astronomical. It depressed me very much.'

  Harold took his friend's glass to the sideboard to replenish it.

  'I still say, it won't come to that. We'll fight our own battle here at Thrush Green. I feel sure that we can talk to the objectors on their home ground, and get them – or some of them, anyway – to see things as we do.'

  'You won't get Percy Hodge to,' said Charles, accepting the glass. 'He hasn't appeared in church since the meeting, and I fear that he is deeply hurt. The graves of his forefathers mean a great deal to him. It makes me very unhappy to see such bitterness.'

  The rector sighed.

  'Ah well, Harold. It does me good to talk over things with you. Somehow, they are never quite so bad after a gossip in this cheerful room.'

  He prodded a log with the toe of a shabby shoe.

  'Do you pay much for logs? he enquired.

  Harold told him.

  'And how much is coal?'

  Harold told him that too.

  Charles looked thoughtful.

  'Perhaps that's why we so seldom have a big fire,' he said, quite without self-pity. 'Dimity deals with the bills to save me trouble, and so I hadn't quite realised how much a big fire costs.'

  He stood up and smiled radiantly.

  'But how lovely it is,' he cried. 'I can quite understand people practising fire worship. I'm a little that way myself, I believe!'

  The night air was sharp as he crossed the green. Already the grass was becoming crisp with frost. Two miles away, at Lulling Station, a train hooted, and from Lulling Woods, in the valley on his right, an owl quavered and was answered by another.

  His tall house loomed over him as he unlocked the front door. It looked gaunt and inhospitable, he realised. His thoughts turned on the conversation he had just had with Harold.

  He found Dimity in the sitting-room, close to the fire. It was half the size of the one he had just left, he noticed, unusually observant. One could see the edges of the iron basket which held the fire. The coals were burning only in the centre of the container.

  He looked aloft at the distant ceiling, and at the expanse of sparsely curtained window space. Although the night was still, some wayward draught stirred the light drapings.

  The lamp by which Dimity was seated had a plain white shade which threw a cold light upon the knitting in her hands. Harold's shades, he remembered, were red, and made a cheerful glow.

  'My dear,' he said abruptly. 'Are you cold?'

  Dimity looked surprised. She put down her knitting, the better to study her husband.

  'Why no! But you must be. Come by the fire.'

  He threw off his coat and took the armchair opposite her, spreading his hands to the meagre warmth.

  'I don't mean just now, my dear. Do you find the house cold? Habitually, I mean? Do you find it colder, say, than Ella's?'

  'Much colder,' agreed Dimity, still looking puzzled. 'But naturally it would be. It faces north, and it's twice the size.'

  'And we don't heat it as well, I fear,' said Charles.

  'Ella always liked more heat than I did.'

  'I've just come from Harold's. His fire seems enormous. I'm beginning to think we must give a very chilly welcome to visitors here. But my main concern is for you. You know that you tend to be bronchial. We really must keep a better fire, or see if we can put in some central heating of some sort.'

  'Charles dear,' said Dimity, 'it simply can't be done. Do you know how much coal costs?'

  'Harold told me. I couldn't help thinking that he must have made a mistake. Why, as a boy, I remember coal carts coming to the house with a large ticket displayed, saying two-and-six a hundred weight.'

  'And that,' pointed out Dimity, 'was over half a century ago! Times have changed, and I'm sorry to say that Harold's figure is the correct one.'

  'There must be many ways of making this place snugger,' argued Charles, looking about him with fresh eyes. 'What about a red lamp shade, like Harold's?'

  'We could do that,' said Dimity, nodding.

  'And a screen? My mother had a screen. She said it kept off draughts. And a sausage filled with sand at the bottom of the door. That would help.'

  Dimity suddenly burst into laughter.

  'Oh Charles! To see you as a domestic adviser is so funny! And such a change! What this house really wants is double-glazing, central heating, thick curtains and carpets, cellars stuffed with coal, and a log shed filled with nice dry logs. But we should need to find a crock of gold, my dear, to provide ourselves with all that.'

  'But the shade,' pleaded Charles. 'And the screen?'

  'We'll manage that, I think,' smiled Dimity. 'And I'll make the door sausage before the week is out. By the way, it's proper name is a draught-excluder.'

  'Let's hope it lives up to it,' said Charles, recklessly putting two lumps of coal on the fire.

  The subject still occupied Charles's mind later that night. Beside him, Dimity slept peacefully, but the rector could not rest.

  There was no doubt about it, he was failing as a husband if he could not provide such basic things as warmth and shelter for his wife. It was not fair to expect Dimity to put up with such discomfort. He was used to it. He hardly noticed it, unless it was drawn to his attention, as it had been that evening, by the contrast between Harold's circumstances and their own.

  Well, he supposed that he could look out for another, better-paid, living; but the thought appalled him. He loved Thrush Green, and now that he had embarked on the churchyard venture it would seem cowardly to run away from it and all its many problems.

  Then there was the possibility of part-time teaching at the prep school in Lulling which Paul Young attended. Charles was friendly with the headmaster, and he recalled now that only a week or two earlier he was saying that he was looking out for someone to take Religious Instruction. No doubt, he had been sounding him out, thought Charles, but at the time he had not realised that, in his innocence.

  But would it bring in any reasonable sum? And how much of that would be taken away in tax? And had he really the time to pay three or four visits a week to the school? His parish
was an extensive one, and he took sick-visiting seriously. It was one of the qualities which endeared him to his flock.

  The poor rector tossed unhappily. Something must be done. He had certainly been failing in his duty towards Dimity. Because she was so uncomplaining, he had let things slide.

  'Sins of omission!' sighed Charles, thumping his pillow. 'Sins of omission! They must be rectified.'

  He fell asleep soon after three o'clock, and dreamt that he was stuffing a red draught-excluder with sausage meat.

  14 Dotty's Despair

  AS the end of term approached, the preparations for the nativity play made uneasy progress.

  Miss Watson turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to the protests of her truculent staff, but some points had to be conceded.

  For one thing, Miss Fogerty refused point blank to try to train the infants in speaking parts. They were too young for it. They would be unreliable and let the others down. They could sing the carols at the end of the performance and she was quite willing for them to take non-speaking parts, such as oxen and asses and so forth, which were well within their capabilities, but the speaking cast must come from the junior school.

  When little Miss Fogerty adopted this militant attitude, Miss Watson knew that she must give way. Dear Agnes was usually so co-operative, but there was no doubt about it, she had not been her usual tranquil self this term, and it would be as well to humour her.

  Consequently, the long desk at the side of the infants' room was piled high with animal masks of extraordinary variety. The most life-like was one made by an artistic young mother who had adapted an oblong box, which had once held sticks of chalk, into a splendid muzzle for a cow. With a head-dress of magnificent horns, her daughter was the envy of the class.

  There were several donkeys, recognisable mainly from their long ears, although most of them drooped so pathetically that Miss Fogerty privately thought that they looked more like the Flopsy Bunnies. However, the mothers would form the most important section of the audience, and the eyes of these beholders would see only beauty and delight.

  To Miss Watson's secret dismay, Miss Potter was being extremely awkward about using the terrapin hut for the performance. She ignored her headmistress's requests to take down models, remove sand trays, dismantle the nature table and generally clear away such obstacles which would impede rehearsals. She also refused point-blank to attempt to make scenery of any sort. Miss Watson was nonplussed by this rebellious attitude.

  'No one has scenery now,' the girl assured her. 'If we must have this play which, frankly, I think far too ambitious for these children, then the audience must imagine the settings. We were always taught at college that it was better training for the children to leave the stage clear for their own interpretations. Besides, where could we store the stuff? And who's to assemble it and take it down?'

  There was much good sense in these remarks, but Miss Watson could not get over the fact that they had been expressed by a very junior member of staff to her headmistress. To give up the idea of the play was out of the question. Nevertheless, if it were to be done at all, it would have to be done, as Miss Potter said, without scenery.

  'We've always managed before,' Miss Watson told her frostily, 'but there's no harm, of course, in making the experiment. Let no one say that I set my face against progress! We'll try it without scenery. It will certainly simplify matters.'

  Miss Potter's partial victory, however, did not seem to sweeten her attitude to the project. Her children were slow to learn their lines, their costumes were slipshod, their movements ungainly. Miss Watson's and Miss Fogerty's classes were well-trained and showed up the deficiencies of the younger juniors. Miss Watson found it all very vexing. In the old days she could have discussed the difficulties with Miss Fogerty, but that lady's distant manner did not encourage confidences.

  It was a wretched time for all concerned, and when the great day came, Miss Watson was obliged to go into the terrapin herself to take down pictures, diagrams and wall charts which she had expressly asked Miss Potter to remove. One would have thought the girl would have realised that the Three Wise Men would not look right against a background of 'Wild Birds of Britain' and 'Have You Learnt Your Kerb Drill?' Or was she being deliberately obstructive?

  Torrential rain persisted throughout the day, so that the cast were obliged to wear Wellingtons under their Eastern costumes, and the dark powder ran in rivulets down their faces as they splashed from the school to the terrapin. Matters were not improved by Miss Potter asking audibly what could you expect without a green room at the terrapin?

  By the time the mothers and their young children arrived, the playground was awash, and still the rain fell. The lobbies were cluttered with dripping prams and umbrellas, and steam rose from the audience when at last they had paddled through the floods to their uncomfortable seats. Miss Potter and Miss Fogerty wore looks as black as the clouds above whilst trying to keep their flocks in order.

  It says much for Miss Watson's self-control that she was able to welcome her packed audience with smiles, and to assure them of 'a lovely performance.'

  Before the clapping had died down, one of the Flopsy Bunnies was led on by Joseph, horribly impeded by a blanket which had slipped from his shoulder, and followed by Mary in Miss Watson's blue dressing gown which, she was sorry to see, was trailing along the wet floor, much to its detriment.

  There was a painful silence, broken only by the thumping of Joseph's walking stick on the boards and the impatient prompting by Miss Potter from her seat on the side radiator.

  At last Joseph gave tongue and Thrush Green's ill-fated nativity play stumbled into life.

  Apart from one disastrous incident in the shepherds' scene, when young Richard Wright found himself pinned to the floor by the heavy foot of a Flopsy Bunny, and was unable to rise after his obeisances, and consequently uttered a terrible word which should have been unknown to, let along uttered by, one of such tender years, all went well.

  Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty turned pink. Miss Potter shrugged her shoulders. The mothers tried to suppress their giggles, and the play continued. But no one could pretend that it was a success, and when at last the children bowed, Miss Watson had the uneasy feeling that the applause was of relief rather than rapture.

  When the last of the mothers and children had splashed homeward, Miss Watson surveyed the general chaos of chairs, muddy floor, and discarded costumes.

  'Well,' she said, with forced brightness, 'it went better than I expected.'

  Miss Fogerty preserved an ominous silence.

  'I thought it was a disaster,' said Miss Potter shortly. She took her coat from the peg on the door, and set off for home, with never a backward look at her ruined classroom.

  Winnie Bailey observed the exodus of mothers and children from her bedroom window. She had gone upstairs to put on her coat, ready to make a dash through the rain to St Andrew's church.

  How dark it was! How wet and gloomy! But there, she told herself, it would be the shortest day very soon, so what could you expect? She had been kept in by the appalling weather, all that day, and felt that she must have a breath of air before settling by the fire for the evening.

  She had promised to be responsible for the Christmas roses on the altar on Christmas day. Were there any pin holders in the vestry cupboard, she wondered? It was a good excuse for an airing. Tying a scarf over her head, Winnie set out.

  Rain lashed her umbrella, and the onslaught took her breath away. She was glad to gain the shelter of the church porch. Across the road, she saw Albert Piggott's morose countenance pressed against the window pane. He was keeping a sharp eye on his property evidently, thought Winnie, shaking her umbrella free from drops.

  She pushed open the door, and was met by that indefinable smell of damp stone, hymn books and brass polish which greets so many church-goers. She made her way to the vestry, which stood below the belfry, and began to rummage in the cupboard which held vases, crumpled chicken wire, balls of plasticine and
other aids to flower arranging. At the very back of the bottom shelf she found four pin holders, heavy and prickly. Should she take them home for safety, or should she leave them here and trust that none of the other flower ladies appropriated them?

  She had just decided to take two and to leave two, when she heard a faint noise. Tip-toeing to the door of the vestry she gazed down the length of the aisle. A small figure was kneeling in one of the front pews.

  It was so dark by now that Winnie could not recognise the person, although she guessed it was a woman. She hoped that her movements had not disturbed whoever-it-was at her devotions.

  She tip-toed back to the cupboard and replaced two of the pin holders. The remaining two she thrust into her handbag.

  Very quietly she emerged from the vestry and began to tip-toe to the door. At that moment, a loud sniff shattered the silence. The little figure stumbled from the pew and hastened up the aisle towards Winnie, who saw, with astonishment, that it was Dotty Harmer, and that she had been weeping.

  Winnie did not speak until they were both in the porch. She retrieved her umbrella.

  'I'm going back, Dotty dear, to make myself some tea. Come and join me.'

  Dotty nodded.

  Winnie put up the umbrella, and linked Dotty's frail arm into her own. The lights were beginning to glow from the windows at Thrush Green.

  'Not fit to be out,' shouted Winnie above the noise of the wind and rain. A faint pressure on her arm showed that Dotty had heard, but she said nothing. Winnie began to find this unusual silence unnerving, and was glad when they reached her home and she could busy herself with the latch key.

  'Come by the fire, Dotty, while I put on the kettle. Here, let me take your mackintosh. It can drip in the kitchen.'

  She drew a chair close to the blaze and settled the woebegone figure in it. There were no tears now, but Dotty looked white and exhausted. What could be the matter?

  When she returned with the tea tray and a plate of homemade shortbread, she found Dotty leaning back with her eyes closed, but to her relief she sat up when Winnie began to pour the tea, and drank the liquid as though she had not had food for hours.