(16/20)Summer at Fairacre Read online

  'Oh good!' I said politely.

  'What a misguided old fathead she is!' observed Horace, turning over the delicious chicken in a creamy sauce which was our main course. 'She'd have been burnt as a witch two hundred years ago!'

  I found myself feeling fonder of Horace than ever. What a wonderfully perceptive fellow he was, to be sure!

  'Well, she was warmly applauded,' I replied, trying to be fair.

  'That was only general rejoicing at the cessation of the lady's voice,' Horace assured me, and turned to talk to Amy's cousin beside him.

  'I have met Gerald Partridge of Fairacre this week,' said the vicar. 'What a charming fellow! Tell me, does he let the children address him by his Christian name?'

  'Good heavens, no!' I exclaimed. 'I shouldn't allow it for one thing, and I don't think it is respectful, do you?'

  'Respectful,' repeated the young man doubtfully. 'I was not so much thinking of respect as of friendliness. I wondered if the children of Bent would like to call me "Cyril".'

  'Well, that's your affair,' I answered, trying not to sound too shocked. 'I only know I should never dream ofletting them use my Christian name. They don't seem to suffer any terrible traumas by having to address me as "Miss Read". What did you do about the problem in your last parish?'

  'I'm afraid the children there were rather impudent, and some of them took advantage of my goodwill.'

  I suddenly felt sorry for him.

  'Well, if you'll take an old schoolmarm's advice, I'd say, remember that children on the whole are impudent, and will take advantage of gentleness. Time enough to indulge them when you know you can control them, but they soon get the upper hand if you are not firm from the beginning.'

  'You are probably right,' he said, looking downcast.

  'This is fresh fruit salad,' announced Amy, lifting the lid top from a beautiful scooped-out canteloupe melon. 'Or James will give you chocolate mousse, if you prefer it.'

  The vicar cheered up at once, I was relieved to see. Food is a great comfort in times of stress.

  As we were going to our cars at the end of the evening, James caught me alone as I was about to drive off.

  'I'm sorry I was so brusque with you on the telephone the other evening. I was worried to death, as I'm sure you knew.'

  'Of course, James. I was feeling just the same. I think Amy's little break has done her good, don't you?'

  'Funny affair, really. After all, she has everything she can want here. It seemed so odd to push off into the blue like that. I can only think it was a slight mental breakdown.'

  I felt a twinge of irritation. Was he really so obtuse or was he trying to square his conscience?

  'She told me,' I said, 'that she simply wanted to be herself-to be her own person—with no ties of any sort. I can understand it.'

  James studied his fingers on the edge of the car window. He looked thoughtful. James is no fool and I was wondering how he would react.

  'I do love her, you know,' he said at last, very seriously.

  'I don't doubt it for a minute,' I told him truthfully. 'And she's equally devoted to you. But no matter how happily people are married, they are still individuals, and have to have time now and again to realise it.'

  'Yes. It's a point to bear in mind.'

  'Dear old Donne,' I went on, watching Amy waving to a departing car, 'stressed that no man was an island, and so on. But I think each man is an island, and no one knows his neighbour completely. That's what's so shattering when someone we think we know well does something horrifying like stealing or committing suicide.'

  James laughed suddenly. 'Do you want me to have night terrors? No more sermons now, or I'll burst into tears!'

  He gave me a kiss through the window, and ruffled my hair as though he were my big brother.

  'Goodbye, James, and thank you,' I cried, moving off.

  'Thank you for casting pearls,' he replied cheekily.

  Trust James to have the last word.

  It was quite apparent that Mrs Pringle was not going to come again to clean my house, and so I felt free to accept Isobel's kind offer to approach the lady who lived between Fairacre and Beech Green.

  'Just see if she's willing,' I said, 'and I'll pop along after school one day, or at any time that suits her, to arrange things.'

  Isobel was as good as her word, and two days later I found myself sitting in little Mrs John's kitchen watching her spoon custard into her youngest's mouth.

  She was small and neat, with quick movements and bright dark eyes. She reminded me of a wren or a robin.

  'You wouldn't mind if I brought Teresa with me, I suppose?' she asked tentatively.

  I assured her that Teresa would be very welcome. If she liked, I added, she could play with some toys with the babies' class.

  This seemed to clinch the matter and it was arranged that the two of them would come on Wednesday afternoons, and a satisfactory wage was negotiated. Then a thought struck me.

  'You will have to push Teresa in the pram, won't you? It's a good mile and a half. Can you manage it? Suppose it rains?'

  Mrs John laughed.

  'I sometimes push her to Caxley,' she replied. 'Not often, I grant you, but I enjoy walking, and when I was a child in Wales we walked everywhere.'

  'If the weather is really bad,' I insisted, 'you mustn't venture out. I shall understand.'

  'I'll be there,' she promised, and I felt pretty sure she would be.

  By the end of the week the school was looking grubby despite all our endeavours at self-help. Curmudgeon though she was, and a sore trial at all times, Mrs Pringle was a first-class cleaner, and the school missed the touch of her heavy hand.

  On the following Saturday she arrived at my house, and I invited her in.

  'No, I'm not stopping,' she replied.

  'At least sit with me in the garden,' I said, making for the rustic seat, it will rest your leg before you go back.'

  She lowered herself slowly and sighed as she came to rest.

  'Well, doctor says my leg's no better, and forbids me to work,' she told me, with evident relish. I was not surprised.

  'That settles it then,' I said. 'I'll advertise at once for someone to take over. Does this mean you will be retiring for good?'

  She drew in her breath sharply.

  'Who said "for good"?' she demanded. 'I'm not giving in my notice and stopping "for good" for anyone! It's just while my leg's flared up. I told the doctor that.'

  'In that case,' I said, 'we shall have to advertise for temporary help.'

  'No need to waste money on advertising,' said the lady. 'My Minnie'd give a hand while I'm laid up. That house of yours could do with a bottoming by now, as well as the school, I don't doubt.'

  I explained, with secret pleasure, I must admit, that Mrs John had been engaged for my work.

  Mrs Pringle bridled. 'And who might she be? You'd better warn her about the weight of that spare bed of yours, and the way the bath tap comes apart if you aren't careful. Poor soul, whoever she is, she'll find plenty to do.'

  I explained who she was, and mentioned young Teresa.

  Mrs Pringle shook her head gloomily.

  'Ten to one she'll put her fingers in the electric sockets,' she warned me, 'and play with the switches. And you'll find fingermarks all over the place, no matter how careful this lady is. We knows children, Miss Read. You'll rue the day, I've no doubt.'

  She rose to her feet.

  'Well, I must struggle back, leg or no leg. Shall I tell Minnie to come up?'

  Panic enveloped me. I thought of the state of the school wash basins, and the floor of the infants' room. I also thought of the time it would take for the advertisement to be answered, and wondered if hopeless Minnie might just possibly be of use for the next few days.

  I took the plunge.

  'Yes, ask Minnie to come and have a look at the work. Make it clear to her that it will only be for a day or two until we get someone to take your place.'

  'She'll have to bring her
youngest with her,' said Mrs Pringle. 'But if you're having that Teresa I suppose you won't mind a toddler under your feet.'

  'Take care of your leg,' I said in farewell.

  'I'm the only one that does,' she replied bleakly.

  I returned to the garden seat and pondered on the future. The thought of Minnie, toddler or no toddler in tow, was daunting, but surely she could not do much damage to the basins with a tin of Vim and a dishcloth. It might be wise to supervise the scrubbing of the infants' room floor, I told myself. Minnie was quite capable of shaking Harpic into the hot water instead of soap powder, as she could not read, and any white powder would seem suitable to her.

  And I'd better make sure all the cupboards were locked, I decided. On one never-to-be-forgotten occasion she had decided to wash the shelves of the stationery cupboard, and had put back all the exercise books, coloured tissue paper, gummed squares and cartridge paper on the wet shelves, with disastrous results. As for the sacrosanct register which all teachers are supposed to guard with their lives, snatching it from any fire which may be engulfing the school, I thought it would be prudent to take it across the playground every night to my own house, while Minnie was at her mayhem.

  Tibby appeared from a clump of clove pinks, a mouse dangling from his mouth.

  Seeing me, he gave a triumphant mew. The mouse, having been dropped, beat a rapid retreat, pursued in vain by Tibby.

  Two minutes later, he returned lamenting loudly.

  'Cheer up, Tib,' I said, 'we all have our troubles.'

  12 Minnie Pringle Lends a Hand

  MISS Briggs was now back in the infants' room and the dividing partition shuddered every now and again from the impact of her stentorian tones. I thought wistfully of the peace we had enjoyed during Isobel's brief reign, but tried not to dwell on the change.

  The girl looked rather pale and thinner than usual.

  'It was a tummy bug,' she told me, 'and the first lot of pills disagreed with me, which made matters worse. The only bright thing is that I'm an inch smaller round the waist, and my wedding dress will have to be taken in.'

  I complimented her on her svelte appearance.

  'You should be getting your invitation this week,' she continued. 'I do hope you can come. Do you know Leamington?'

  'No, but I shall look forward to the wedding very much.'

  'Good. I expect Mum can put you up, although I know we've some aunts and uncles, and my father's mother coming up from Cornwall, and some cousins from Holland that have been invited, but I'm sure we can find room. We've three bedrooms.'

  I said hastily that I would not dream of troubling her mother when so many of the family would need accommodation, and I would look out for a modest hotel for my overnight stay.

  'Do you know, I'm quite looking forward to it,' she said, sounding surprised. I remembered her landlady's surmise that girls about to marry frequently suffered from prenuptial nerves. Obviously our Miss Briggs was made of sterner stuff, and good luck to her.

  Mr Willet summed it up when he met her on her first morning back at school.

  'Looks a lot better with half a stone off, don't she? I mean, she's still a fair old lump of a girl, but got a livelier look about her. That young Wayne's done her a power of good. Nothing like marriage, Miss Read, for setting you up. You wants to try it some time.'

  'Chance would be a fine thing,' I told him, opening the register.

  The prolonged heat, which I relished, began to take its toll of the garden and of the children's energy.

  The crimson petals pattered down from the peonies on to the dry soil. The downs shimmered in a blue haze, and I had to draw the curtains in my house against the heat of the midday sun.

  The rainwater butts were empty, and a loudspeaker van from Caxley toured the villages exhorting us to save water and forbade us to use sprinklers and hoses in the parched gardens.

  'I turns a deaf ear to that blighted van,' Mr Willet told me. it's only old Ted Bates anyway, throwing his weight about, and him no better than he should be with that fancy woman of his over Bent way. I've got some seedlings just up nice, and they gets a drop of water when needed, Ted or no Ted.'

  Here was another instance of sturdy country independence born of personal knowledge. What cared Mr Willet for a flashy van and the might of the local water board? Such power was soon cut down to size by knowing old Ted who was running the thing. I found it all very heartening.

  The children were listless. Perhaps they are so accustomed to the exhilarating freshness of our downland breezes that a warm and langorous environment, which suits me very well, saps their energy immediately.

  Our lofty windows were propped open to their fullest extent, and the door to the lobby, as well as the outside one to the playground, were permanently ajar. Two large flower pots made sure that they stayed open and Tibby took to sitting on the outside one, washing his face and occasionally looking into the lobby and classroom, much to the children's delight.

  But despite my efforts to mitigate their sufferings the children remained lethargic. I took them outside for lessons under the trees at the edge of the playground, but there was so much noise we did not get on very well.

  People from the towns have the fond idea that we in the country could hear a pin drop, and that silence enfolds us. Here, in June, Mr Roberts was busy hay-making. The baler thumped its way round and round the fields adjoining the school. The vicar's lawn mower, a few yards away over the vicarage wall, seemed to be doing overtime. Various dogs in the village enjoyed a healthy barking, and Mr Roberts' cows added their lowing every now and again.

  We also get a number of aircraft from a nearby aerodrome, and are in the flight path from an international airport. Some distance away, but quite audible when the wind is in the south-west, there is a motorway, and the hum of the traffic can become a roar in high summer. Fairacre itself is little changed, but sometimes I wonder if it is not a place besieged by outside pressure.

  There was little activity at playtimes. Even the coke pile was neglected as children were too idle to climb it. Mostly they sat in the shade of the trees, rolling marbles or chewing grass in a desultory fashion, whilst only the really industrious essayed such feats as making daisy-chains or knocking the heads from plantains.

  Nevertheless, it was rewarding to see how tanned and well they all appeared in their skimpy tee-shirts and cotton shorts or skirts. Even Joseph Coggs who rarely seems to enjoy a change of clothes, was clad in some good summer garments which I suspect had been bought at the W.I. jumble stall so bravely supervised by Miriam Quinn. With any luck, I told myself, this blissful spell of sunshine should set us up for the coming winter.

  Mrs John began her ministrations much to my relief, and although I did not see much of her as I was in school, I did nip across at playtime to make sure she had a cup of tea.

  Teresa seemed to be a model child and played or slept in her pram in a shady part of the garden. I returned to my duties congratulating myself on my new helper.

  It was a different kettle of fish, of course, with Minnie Pringle barging about in school. She was only engaged to work after school had ended. The thought of facing Minnie Pringle at the beginning as well as the end of a school day was more than I could endure, and I said that we could easily manage first thing.

  I stayed with Minnie on her first visit, hovering protectively, not on my helper's account, but to look after the school property. Fortunately, the toddler had been left with a neighbour, so I only had Minnie to direct. I let her start on the wash basins, putting out the Vim tin, drawing her attention to its size and colour, and even—such is the ardour of the true schoolmarm—pointing out that the three letters on the side spelt VIM. Minnie nodded her tousled red locks energetically, grinning madly the while, and I wondered how soon she would forget my first lesson.

  I managed to dissuade her from giving the lower panes of the lobby windows a brisk drubbing with the Vim-coated dishcloth, but she attacked a mirror with such vigour while my back was turned, t
hat I feared the resultant scratches were there for good.

  She swept the floors rather well, I thought, and I initiated her into the art of filling a pail half-full rather than brimming over, and showed her where the kneeler and scrubbing brush were kept, and the carton of soap powder. The latter perplexed her.

  'You just put in enough powder to make a lather,' I told her, demonstrating with the plastic beaker kept inside. 'One measure is enough for half this size bucket.'

  I swished about energetically until we had a useful mixture.

  'There isn't time to do much this evening, Minnie,' I told her, 'but if you could start at the other side of the infants' room, it would help. Do a little each evening, I suggest.'

  'It's dirtier by the door,' she pointed out. 'I'd best begin there.'

  'Start over by the windows,' I directed, 'and work gradually this way.'

  'Why?'

  'Well, you won't be walking on the bit you've scrubbed, and you'll be kneeling on a dry part of the floor.'

  She gazed at me in mystified silence, before bursting into a cackle of laughter.

  'What a head-piece you've got on you, miss! No wonder you can learn them kids right.'

  She spent the last quarter of an hour of her time working hard on the further strip of the floor. I dusted both rooms, partly to help and partly to keep my eye on our property.

  'Time's up,' I said at last, it all looks splendid, Minnie.'

  I was about to tell her that when the short hand was at five and the long one at six it meant that her duties were at an end, but somehow the thought of giving a lesson to Minnie on telling the time, after a full day's teaching, became insupportable. After all, she had already been initiated into the whereabouts of her cleaning materials, and the desirability of washing the floor without treading on the clean part.

  I felt it was enough for one day. If not for Minnie, certainly for me.

  On Sunday morning I breakfasted in the garden. The sun was pleasantly warm. Later, it would be too hot to enjoy its direct rays, but at nine o'clock all was perfect.