(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green Read online

  Ruth continued to sip her soup in silence. When John was so short-tempered it hardly seemed possible to conduct a civilised conversation.

  However, by the time the apple tart stage had been reached, Ruth spoke.

  'I'm taking Mary to watch the bonfire just after six. Paul's home and Jeremy Hurst's going to be there as well. Joan suggests we have a drink with them, before or after, just which suits you best.'

  'I suppose Edward is attending this bean feast?'

  'Naturally.'

  'Well, I'll come along for a little while to the bonfire, but don't accept for me later. I'm on surgery duty tonight.'

  'Fair enough. We won't be late back. Mary will be tired out with all the excitement.'

  'You'll be a lot tireder, I surmise,' said John with a smile.

  He pushed back his chair, kissed his wife, and went back to his duties.

  Well, he seemed to have cheered up, thought Ruth, clearing the table. But if only he would try some of his own tonic!

  ***

  The weatherman must have known something after all, for by midday a watery sun was trying to disperse the mist.

  Winnie Bailey, taking a turn in her garden in the hope of finding a few flowers for the house, was cheered to see the sunshine. She dreaded the winter even more keenly now that Donald had gone. It was not so much the piercing cold of the Cotswold winters, as the short murky days which she found hardest to bear.

  She realised, with a shock, that this was the first time she had been outdoors for three days. The rain and dismal weather had turned her attention to a multitude of little tasks indoors. She decided that she would get some exercise during the afternoon by taking some magazines to Dotty, and hearing the news from her old friend.

  Meanwhile, she collected four somewhat battered late roses, a few sprigs of hardy fuchsias and two nerines which struggled for existence in the unwelcoming cold of this area, and realised that these were all the flowers to be gathered here in November. It was true that the pyracantha tree which she and Donald had planted years ago was ablaze with scarlet berries, but their prickly stems discouraged any picking, and in any case the berries would soon wither indoors. Better to admire them from the garden, thought Winnie, carrying her rag-taggle posy inside.

  Later she set off across the green, admiring the bonfire as she did so. Nathaniel Patten on his plinth seemed to smile benignly on the peaceful scene. Before school ended, as Winnie knew from earlier years, the children would carry the guy across and put him on the top of the pyre, where carefully crossed twigs made a chair for him.

  To her surprise, she found Dotty in the garden, throwing weeds over the top of the chicken run to an appreciative bevy of Rhode Island Red hens.

  'Should you be out in this damp weather, Dotty?'

  'Oh, yes, dear, it's perfectly all right, Connie and Kit are down in Lulling. Do come in.'

  She began to wipe muddy hands down her skirt, eyes beaming behind her spectacles.

  'Dear things,' she said affectionately to the scrabbling hens. 'You see, I know Connie is most conscientious in feeding them night and morning, but I feel that they miss fresh greenstuff. Now I have just given them dandelion leaves, groundsel, shepherds' purse and some dock leaves. A wonderfully healthy mixture of essential minerals. Have you ever read Gerard's Herball?'

  'Well, no, Dotty. But I know that Donald had a copy and read it with much enjoyment. He often said that the old boy knew what he was talking about.'

  'He was quite right. Dandelion and dock in particular he understood, and I'm sure he would approve of the hens having plenty of them.'

  'I must say they seem to appreciate your largesse,' observed Winnie, 'but don't you think you should come in now? Your slippers are soaked.'

  She ushered her hostess into the house, and was relieved to see her settled by the fire. Dotty took off her slippers, displaying a pink big toe emerging through a hole in her stocking, and Winnie put them in the hearth to dry. What a time Connie must have looking after this eccentric old aunt!

  'Now you must tell me all the news from Thrush Green,' said Dotty, arranging her legs on the sofa. 'Has Mrs Bassett quite recovered? And have you heard about Richard's baby? And is Percy Hodge still courting your Jenny? And how are Agnes Fogerty and Dorothy? And are you going to the Guy Fawkes' party? I believe Ella is.'

  For one supposed to be out of the swim of village affairs, thought Winnie, Dotty seemed remarkably up to date.

  'Mrs Bassett's much better, but Joan and Ruth watch her like hawks, I believe. No, no news of Richard, and as far as I know Jenny is free from Percy's attentions. In fact, I gather he has transferred them to Albert Piggott's wife.'

  'That won't please Albert, will it?' exclaimed Dotty with much pleasure. 'Go on, dear.'

  'The village school is in a state of great excitement, Molly Curdle told me. George can't wait for tonight when they light the fire. And no, I don't think I shall go, even if Ella does. Jenny and I get an excellent view from the house and it gets rather too boisterous for me with all those fireworks. Donald used to love it.'

  'I never did. The poor frightened animals, you know. Which reminds me, Kit and Connie are making plans to go to Venice.'

  'What's the connection, Dotty dear?'

  'Why, the animals! I went once as a girl and was quite shaken by the callousness of some of the inhabitants, to the cats, in particular. But I'm much relieved to hear that things are greatly improved. Still a lot to be done though, according to the Anglo-Italian Society for Animal Protection. Their report came yesterday. You must borrow it.'

  'Thank you. And when are Kit and Connie off?'

  'Oh, as soon as possible,' said Dotty somewhat vaguely. 'I tell them Venice gets foggy about now, but I don't think they mind about that. And I have warned them about being taken hostage on these aeroplanes, and advised them to pack a lemon or two to add to the drinking water if they are held up at some rather uncomfortable place like Beirut.'

  'It doesn't happen often,' Winnie pointed out.

  Dotty gave a little shriek, lowered her legs from the sofa and snatched up the poker.

  'Look, dear, a poor earwig on that log on the fire! Can you reach it? Let me get a shovel.'

  Winnie followed her gaze, and bent to the rescue with her hostess. Not until the insect was safely deposited outside on the fence was Dotty able to relax again.

  'What a mishap! I've always been devoted to earwigs. As children we used to chant a rhyme:

  "Marco Polo, Marco Polo

  His mother was an earwig

  His father was a whale."

  'Now, I wonder what the derivation of that was?'

  'I've no idea,' confessed Winnie, her head beginning to spin, as it so often did in Dotty's company. 'But I did hear some children chanting much more topically this morning:

  "Please to remember

  The fifth of November

  Gunpowder, treason and plot.

  I see no reason

  Why gunpowder, treason,

  Should ever be forgot.'"

  'And were they begging? With a guy I mean?'

  'No, not this time. I wonder what they would expect these days? A penny for the guy wouldn't go very far, would it?'

  'A pound probably,' said Dotty. 'Ah! I think I hear the wanderers returning. Stay for tea.'

  Nelly Piggott, busy in the kitchen of The Fuchsia Bush, was still unsure about the answer to be given to Mrs Peters.

  Her employer was out, chasing up some supplies which a tardy wholesaler had failed to deliver, and Nelly had not had a chance to put one or two queries to her.

  Her first, and most overwhelming desire, was to accept the offer with all the delight she felt, but Albert had put one doubt in her head.

  To be sure, he had not been much help in discussing this momentous news, when he had returned from the public house next door rather more befuddled than usual.

  Nelly insisted on his drinking a cup of black coffee before she told him about Mrs Peters' offer, but she doubted if it
did much to clear her spouse's brain.

  'Partner?' exclaimed Albert. 'And what pay does that give you?'

  Nelly told him. Albert continued to peer sourly into his coffee cup.

  'She won't be giving you that much for nothin',' was his comment.

  'What d'you mean? It's a fair offer, isn't it? I'll be working harder, that's all.'

  'You don't reckon to be a partner unless you puts something into it.'

  'Well, I am! My work, my experience, my know-how! And all that,' ended Nelly weakly.

  Albert snorted, pushed away the cup, and began to lurch towards the stairs.

  'You mark my words, gal, she'll want money before you're taken on as a partner. Partner indeedl Don't make me laugh! I'm off to bed, so come up quiet when you do.'

  Nelly washed up the cup. Tears joined the water in the washing-up bowl. She did not believe Albert's words, but it had been a long hard day, and what she had needed was some support and comfort in this crisis.

  Well, Albert was Albert! Half his trouble was jealousy, she told herself, mopping her eyes. He acually resented her success, that was part of it, the mean-spirited old toss-pot! She had been a fool to expect anything helpful from that source.

  She went to bed in the little back bedroom, and lay awake listening to Albert's snoring next door, and wondering if, just possibly, he was right about having to contribute money to a firm if you were made a partner. She must get things straight with Mrs Peters before she accepted.

  If only there were someone to ask! She supposed that she could consult someone like Mr Venables, but that would look as though she did not trust Mrs Peters, and anyway it would cost money.

  Suddenly, she thought of her new friend, Mrs Jenner. The very person! Sensible about business affairs, and fair-minded. Tomorrow evening she would walk up the Nidden road, and have a good talk with her!

  She had no idea, of course, that her friend was much nearer at hand, sleeping in the spare bedroom of the wardens' house, with the alarm clock set at six-thirty ready for her new duties on the morrow.

  A light breeze sprang up round about five o'clock on Guy Fawkes' day, and the children rejoiced. Now the bonfire should blaze merrily, and the guy catch fire without recourse to unseemly proddings with paraffin-soaked rags and such demeaning aids to combustion.

  It sat upon its funeral pyre looking splendidly remote. Harold Shoosmith's topee had tilted a little on its way to the summit, and gave the guy a slightly rakish appearance, but all agreed that it was one of the best efforts of Thrush Green school.

  At six-thirty sharp the scoutmaster thrust a flaming torch into the base of the pyre and within minutes yellow and orange flames leapt skyward. Cheers went up from the spectators, and the boxes of fireworks began to be sorted out by those in charge, ready for the display.

  The scoutmaster, freed from his chief duty, now began to supervise the positioning of the scrubbed potatoes in the bonfire base with the vociferous help of his charges.

  What with the shouts of excited children, the crackling of the bonfire, and the sharp reports of a few premature fireworks, it was almost impossible to carry on a conversation, as John Lovell found, when at last he made his way from the surgery to join his family.

  Mary was jumping up and down in a frenzy of ecstasy, her face scorched with the heat and her tongue wagging non-stop. Her cousin Paul and his friends were equally excited. It was plain that they would be a long time getting to sleep after such jollifications.

  'Marvellous sight!' shouted John to Edward. 'Luckily, I had a short surgery tonight. All my patients are here, I reckon!'

  He beamed across at a bevy of old people from the new homes, the jermyns, Mrs Bates, and the Crosses.

  Edward followed his gaze.

  'You've got one in hospital, I hear,' he said.

  John glanced at him.

  'Yes. But I'm not going to say "I told you so", if that's what's in your mind.'

  'I should hope not,' snapped Edward, and moved away.

  Pompous ass, thought John, turning away from the heat of the blaze. Edward was getting stuffier with every year that passed, the irritating fellow.

  At that moment, the first rocket of the evening whooshed skyward, and sent down a cascade of pink and violet stars.

  'Ah!' sighed the crowd in great contentment.

  'Where's the next?' shouted one wag.

  And, as if in answer, the second streaked away towards a black velvet sky.

  It was Albert who told Nelly where to find Mrs Jenner that evening. He had heard all the news during the day at The Two Pheasants, and a very pleasurable time he had had discussing morosely where the blame lay for the accident, and how long Jane Cartwright could expect to remain in hospital.

  'It's not so much the surgeon's knifework,' he told his unimpressed listeners, 'as what the shock does to your system. I mean, all them muscles and glands and tubes, they must get in a fine old muddle when the knife goes in, and it's bound to take time to get 'em to join up again.'

  He took a gulp of beer.

  'That's if they ever do. Did I ever tell you about my operation?'

  'Time and again,' said one.

  'Too often, Albie! Don't start that again!'

  The landlord interposed.

  'Jane Cartwright will soon be back. Plenty of spunk there, and a nice healthy woman, like her ma.'

  'She's over there now, I'm told, holding the fort.'

  'That's right,' said Mr Jones. 'Knows when she's needed, and never been afraid of hard work.'

  He looked pointedly at Albert who, by rights, should have been at his duties. Albert chose to ignore the hint until closing time.

  The bonfire was at its peak of glory as Nelly crossed the green. As she stepped along the path to the wardens' house, a great cry arose from the watchers round the fire, and she was just in time to see the guy crash through the flames to the inferno below.

  'Lot of babies!' was her private comment as she rang the bell.

  Mrs Jenner looked tired, but her smile was as welcoming as ever as she invited Nelly to take a seat.

  'Bill's just gone along to St Richard's to see poor old Jane,' she said. 'One thing, my duties are pretty light this evening, as about half the people are at the beano on the green.'

  She told Nelly more about Jane's misfortune and made light of her own help.

  'Oh, it's a good thing to be able to turn your hand to what crops up,' she said cheerfully. 'Keeps you on your toes, you know. Now, Nelly, what brings you here?'

  Nelly began her tale, diffidently at first, but gradually gaining confidence from her listener's calm attention.

  'And so I just wondered if Albert might be right. What do you think?'

  'I should say that Albert is hardly ever right,' said she robustly. 'Obviously, you'll want to get things absolutely straight with Mrs Peters now this doubt has crept in, but I'm sure she would have said something about it from the start, if that's what she had in mind.'

  'That's what I think,' cried Nelly, much relieved. 'She's absolutely straight, I'm sure of that, and I can't think of anyone I'd sooner work for.'

  'Work with!' corrected Mrs Jenner. 'You see, Nelly, she realises that you are willing to try your hand at anything. She's had plenty long enough to watch the way you go about things, and believe me, she wouldn't have offered you this if she had any doubts about you being able to cope with it.'

  'That never occurred to me,' confessed Nelly.

  'You go ahead and accept. You have to look after yourself in this life, even if you are a married woman. And to be frank, Nelly, your Albert's rather more trouble than he's worth, if you'll pardon my saying so.'

  Nelly laughed, slapping her hands on her knees.

  'You never spoke a truer word,' she replied. 'Thank you, my dear, you've put my mind at rest. I'll be off now.'

  'Not before you have a cup of coffee,' said her friend. 'I've still got to find my way around this place, but I found the teapot and the coffee pot before I'd been here five minutes.'
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br />   The embers of the bonfire still glowed red when Winnie Bailey undressed for bed.

  She and Jenny had watched from the house for an hour or so, enjoying the children's caperings silhouetted against the bright flames. They watched until the last rocket had blazed its way skyward, and the last Catherine wheel had whirled itself to darkness. The sound of firecrackers went on, and small children waved sparklers until they too had gone and they were herded, protesting, to their beds.

  It was very peaceful after the din. Winnie leant from her window to survey the scene. There was a moon showing between silver-edged clouds. It was almost full, and lit Thrush Green with a gentle light.

  Nathaniel Patten's statue gleamed opposite, and wet branches glistened as the moonbeams caught them. An owl hooted from Lulling Woods and, high above, the landing lights of an aeroplane winked rhythmically.

  Little drifts of smoke wavered across on the air, bringing that most poignant of autumn scents from the bonfire's remains.

  Tomorrow morning, a ring of white ash and a few cinders would be all that would remain of the past hours' splendour. The children would scuffle among the debris, hoping for a stray burnt potato, or the gnarled metal of a firework component to treasure. Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty would deplore the state of pupils' shoes, and the yawns which would be the outcome of an evening's heady bliss.

  They won't mind, thought Winnie fondly. They've had their fun, and nothing can take away those thrilling memories.

  How Donald would have loved it, she thought with a pang, as she climbed into bed.

  13 Old People's Fears

  THE murky weather continued. By now the clocks had been put back, and it was time to draw the curtains at around four or five o'clock.

  As Jenny remarked to Winnie Bailey: 'No sooner were you up and about than it seemed you were getting ready for bed.'

  At the village school the lights were on all day, and Mr Jones' bar lamps, with their red shades, did their best to cheer the gloom.