(9/13)The School at Thrush Green Read online

  Dorothy and Harold had finished their coffee long before Agnes had got half-way through hers, and as Dorothy had now reverted to her usual sensible self, after her bout of euphoria, she and Harold departed to the garage, leaving Agnes to finish her coffee in peace.

  It was while she was savouring the last few drops, that the door of The Fuchsia Bush was pushed open by a young man who was a stranger to little Miss Fogerty.

  He was exceptionally tall, with close-cropped auburn hair, and wore one gold ear-ring. He was clad in the usual blue denim trousers and a leather jacket, much decorated with studs and fringe.

  Rosa, whose nails were now finished to her satisfaction, sauntered over to this visitor, and exchanged a few words, which Agnes was unable to hear.

  Rosa accompanied him to the door, and appeared to be directing him along Lulling High Street towards the church. He vanished from sight for some minutes, and then appeared on the other side of the road, where he stood, partly concealed by one of the High Street's lime trees. He was taking a great interest in one or more of the buildings close to The Fuchsia Bush, and Agnes wondered if he were, perhaps, an architectural student of some sort. Certainly, there were several fine examples of Georgian buildings close by, which many people came to admire.

  He was still there when Agnes emerged to make her way to the garage. He was now making a sketch, it seemed, of the front of one of the houses.

  Without doubt, a student, thought Agnes kindly, with great plans and ambitions.

  If she had known the plans already fermenting in the young man's mind, little Miss Fogerty would have been severely shocked.

  The end of the Easter holidays was now approaching and, much to Dorothy's disappointment, the eagerly awaited new car had not arrived.

  A white Metro, she was told, would have to be ordered. If she would be content to have a blue, a red, a black or a green one then, of course, it could be supplied immediately.

  'It really is ridiculous,' fumed Dorothy. 'I'm sure there must be dozens of people asking for a white car. So frustrating! I was so looking forward to a trip to Barton during the holidays.'

  Agnes was much agitated. 'Oh dear! I feel that it is all my fault, Dorothy, for suggesting that we settled for a white model. Are you sure you wouldn't like to change your mind? You know that I shall be perfectly happy with any colour you choose.'

  'I shouldn't dream of it,' said Dorothy firmly. 'White it shall be, even if we wait until the cows come home.'

  They spent the rest of the morning tidying the school house garden. The daffodils were now dying, and Agnes felt how sad it was that this would be the last time that she snapped off the dead heads in this much-loved garden.

  She said as much to Dorothy who was attacking the garden bed beneath the kitchen window with a small hand fork.

  'And the last time, I hope, although I very much doubt it, when I shall be digging out this fiddling bindweed. These wretched roots travel miles underground, and keep snapping off just when I think I've conquered them.'

  She sat back on her heels and pushed the wisps of hair from her perspiring forehead. Agnes was standing, holding the bucket brimming with the golden heads of daffodils. She was gazing intently at the hedge between their garden and the school playground, and very soon Dorothy saw what had caught her attention.

  The tabby cat was emerging into the spring sunlight. It paused for a moment, as if to assess any perils in the offing, and then came steadily forward to greet Agnes with little chirruping sounds, half-mew half-purr.

  Agnes put down the bucket very gently, and held out her hand. Her face was suffused with pleasure, Dorothy noticed. Without any hesitation the cat came to rub round Agnes's legs and to respond to the rubbing of its striped head.

  Dorothy, sitting very quietly, watched this display of mutual affection with mixed feelings. It was touching to see the joy with which Agnes greeted her friend, and certainly the cat was a fine creature, far more handsome now than some months earlier when she had caught sight of the bedraggled animal in the garden. Agnes's succour had certainly been rewarded.

  On the other hand, how difficult it was going to be to part these two friends when the time came to leave Thrush Green. Dorothy gave a gusty sigh, and the cat suddenly became aware of her presence.

  It darted away to the shelter of the hedge again, and Agnes, still bemused with joy, picked up her bucket.

  'Isn't that wonderful?' she cried. 'It's the first time he has come up to me of his own accord! And I haven't even got his saucer with me! It shows how confident he is getting, doesn't it?'

  Dorothy scrambled inelegantly to her feet, and sat down on the nearby garden seat with relief. For once, she was speechless.

  Much troubled, she watched her friend as she carried her load to the distant compost heap. Agnes was singing quietly to herself. Her step was light. She was a girl again.

  Oh dear, oh dear, thought Dorothy! How would it all end?

  13. Bingo Gossip

  ONE bright morning, Betty Bell burst into Harold Shoosmith's study bearing two dusters and a tin of polish in one hand, and lugging the vacuum cleaner behind her with the other.

  'All right to do you now?' she cried.

  'Well -' began Harold, folding the newspaper resignedly.

  'Good. I always like to get you settled first,' said Betty, dropping the polish, and untangling the flex of the cleaner.

  'As a matter of fact – ' said Harold. The whirring of the cleaner drowned his words.

  'Where's Mrs Shoosmith then?' shouted Betty, above the racket.

  'Shopping.'

  'What say? Can't hear a word with this contraption going.'

  She switched it off.

  'I said that she was shopping.'

  'Ah!' Betty bent again as if to switch on, thought better of it, and stood up, hands on hips.

  'You seen Dotty's – Miss Harmer's pond?'

  'Not yet.'

  'It's a real treat. She called me in to see it as I was passing Monday. No – I tell a lie! It must have been Tuesday, because it was Bright Hour, Monday. Or was it Tuesday now?'

  'Does it matter?'

  'What, Bright Hour?' cried Betty indignantly. 'Of course it matters! Why, we have lovely talks about what to do after being in prison or hospital – after-care it's called – and how to keep your husband off the booze, and that!'

  'I'm sorry,' said Harold humbly. 'I meant, does it matter if you saw the pond on Monday or Tuesday?'

  Betty looked baffled. 'Well, I never saw it both days. Now I come to think of it, it was definitely Tuesday because my book come.'

  The book, as Harold knew, was her weekly magazine. Occasionally she had pressed a copy upon him, recommending one of the stories whose illustrations had been enough to quell any desire to read the text. However, he had kept it for a day or two, out of politeness, before returning it.

  'So, go on,' he said.

  'What about?'

  By now Betty was on her knees retrieving the tin of polish which had rolled under a chair.

  'The pond.'

  She sat back on her haunches.

  'It looks a bit of all right. Percy Hodge took the stones there, out of one of his old buildings what fell down. I bet he charged poor old Dot – Miss Harmer – more'n he should. He's that sharp, is Perce, must have been born in the knife drawer.'

  She stood up, puffing heavily.

  'And Albert Piggott and Mr Kit laid 'em round. Mind you, Miss Harmer stood by and told 'em how she wanted it, but between them all it looks lovely.'

  Harold could well envisage the operation, and particularly the part of overseer played by the redoubtable Dotty.

  'Well, can't stop here all day chatting to you,' said Betty cheerfully. 'Best get on.'

  She switched on the cleaner again, and Harold made good his escape into the peace of the garden.

  Here all was cool and calm. The schoolchildren were safely in their classrooms. The playground lay empty in the sunlight, and Betty's activities were muted by distance to
a low humming noise.

  Harold seated himself on the garden bench, and looked about him with approval.

  The tulips were making a brave show, stretching up to meet the budding lilac. The gnarled old red hawthorn was breaking into rosy bloom, and the irises were in bud close by. There was no doubt about it, Thrush Green was the right place to live!

  He thought of the years he had spent abroad, of the dust, the heat, the appalling smells of tropical lands where he had been obliged to spend his working life, and he sighed with pleasure at his present surroundings. He still came across old friends who had shared his life abroad, who bemoaned the fact that they had so litde help with their domestic duties, who bewailed the fact that it was they who now had to shop and cook, to clean and mend, where once the ubiquitous 'boys' obliged.

  Harold had no time for such self-pity. Left alone, he had managed pretty well and enjoyed the change of occupation. His happy marriage had added to his well-being, and the advent of the boisterous Betty into the household had certainly helped with the everyday chores. He was a lucky man!

  He could hear her now, voice uplifted in song.

  'See what the boys

  In the back room will have,

  And tell them

  I'm having the same!'

  carolled Betty. Her fresh country voice was in complete contrast to the husky tones of Marlene Dietrich's rendering which Harold recalled from years ago.

  'I bet she didn't learn that at the Bright Hour,' observed Harold to a gaggle of chaffinches nearby, and went in to find his newspaper.

  Dotty's pond was now a topic of discussion generally at Thrush Green. Albert Piggott was flattered to find several people congratulating him on his efforts. In such a beneficent atmosphere he almost smiled, and certainly Nelly found him a relatively cheerful companion when she returned from her labours at The Fuchsia Bush.

  'It's the exercise,' she told him, as she sizzled liver and bacon for their supper. 'That's what you need. You're always on about your diet, but good food never hurt no one, and I don't care what Doctor Lovell says. A good bustle about in the fresh air is all you need.'

  'In moderation! In moderation!' growled Albert who did not want to abandon his role as a martyred invalid too readily. It came in useful when unwelcome jobs such as tidying the church cropped up. 'That's what my old dad always said,' he continued. 'So don't think you can go on everlasting with that frying pan, just because me ulcer's a bit better.'

  Nelly snorted, and slapped a heaped plate before her husband. It gave her some satisfaction to see that it was cleared in ten minutes.

  'It's my bingo tonight,' she informed him. 'So don't go swilling beer next door while I'm out.'

  She cleared the table, bustling briskly about the kitchen despite her bulk, and was ready within half an hour to accompany her friend Mrs Jenner to the Corn Exchange at Lulling, for her weekly treat.

  Half-way through the evening's proceedings there was always a welcome break for coffee and biscuits. On this occasion, Nelly found herself sharing a small table with Gladys Lilly, and asked how Doreen was faring at the Lovelocks.

  'It's pretty hard going,' admitted Mrs Lilly, 'as you said it would be, but I tell her she's lucky to have a job at all.'

  'That's right,' agreed Nelly comfortably.

  'But between ourselves,' continued Gladys, lowering her voice, 'she's proper unsettled. Keeps wanting to go out of an evening instead of stopping in with the baby. After all, I have him all day. It's only fair she takes over when she's home.'

  'Well, she's young, of course,' said Nelly indulgently. 'Probably misses her husband.'

  'He never was her husband,' said Gladys shortly.

  'Sorry. I never thought.'

  'To tell you the truth, that's another worry.'

  'What is?'

  'That chap of hers. I don't mind telling you, because I know it won't go any further – '

  'Of course not,' said Nelly, now agog.

  'But he was sent down for a twelvemonth for stealing, and I reckon he's just about out now.'

  'In prison?' breathed Nelly.

  'It wasn't all his fault,' said Gladys. 'Mind you, I'm not making excuses for him. I'm chapel and proud of it, and stealing's stealing, no matter what these social workers tell you. But all I'm saying is that the lad got into bad company soon after he left school, and they led him on. You know how it is. A bit of threatening, and a bit of jeering, and some of these tough boys can get the weaker ones to do the dirty work.'

  'Well, I never!' gasped Nelly, suitably impressed with these disclosures. 'So where is he now, do you think?'

  'That's what I don't know, but I hope he doesn't come worrying our Doreen to go back to him. She's that soft, she might well give in.'

  'Surely not, if he left her in the first place?'

  'Well, I hope not, but girls these days are soppier than we were, for all their dressing tough in denims and that. I blame this pill for a lot of it. In my young days we just said "No", and that was that.'

  'You're quite right,' agreed Nelly virtuously.

  At this moment the master of ceremonies called the company to the second half of the proceedings.

  'Mind, not a word to anybody,' warned Mrs Lilly, as the two made their way back to their seats.

  'Trust me,' Nelly assured her.

  Of course, she told Mrs Jenner this delicious morsel of gossip as they returned home after bingo, and her friend was suitably impressed.

  'I don't like to speak ill of anybody,' said Mrs Jenner, who was obviously about to do just that, with every appearance of enjoyment, 'but Doreen Lilly was always a fast hussy, and Gladys Lilly was too soft with her by half.'

  'Is that so?'

  'There was talk of a baby on the way when she was in her last year at school. I never knew the rights of the affair, but there's no smoke without fire, I always say.'

  'Very true. Some of these young girls get very headstrong, I must say.'

  'They bring their troubles sometimes,' agreed Mrs Jenner. 'And I'm always so thankful that my Jane never gave us cause for concern. A thoroughly good girl she always was.'

  'Properly brought up, that's why,' said Nelly, as they puffed up the hill to Thrush Green.

  'Well, maybe that had something to do with it,' conceded her friend.

  They said goodnight with affection, and made for their own abodes with the comfort of this new nugget of news to warm them.

  ***

  Within a week or so, as might be expected, it was generally known that the father of Doreen Lilly's child had been in prison.

  Probably the only two people unaware of this interesting fact were Dorothy Watson and Agnes Fogerty. They had more than enough to do to cope with their own affairs at the moment.

  This last term at Thrush Green school seemed to be packed with out-of-classroom activities. Already the ladies had been asked to keep the final afternoon of the school term free, for what Charles Henstock called 'a little celebration'.

  He was considerably agitated when Dimity pointed out that 'a tribute' might have been a better way of putting things.

  '"A celebration" might sound as though you are celebrating their departure,' explained Dimity.

  'Well, we are,' protested Charles.

  'Yes, but you are not pleased that they are going! It's like those notices in the "Deaths" column about a service of thanksgiving. If only people would fork out the extra money to add: "For the life and work of etc.," all would be clear, but it does look sometimes as if the bereaved were thankful to see the back of the dear departed.'

  'Really,' exclaimed Charles, 'you horrify me! I had never in all my life, looked at it that way!'

  'That's because you are a thoroughly good man,' said Dimity affectionately. 'Now stop worrying about it.'

  The two teachers had also been asked to 'a meeting (venue to be arranged)' on the last Sunday of term, and to the July meeting of the Parent-Teacher association when 'a presentation to two well-loved ladies' was planned.

  The
engagement diary, kept beside the telephone in the school house, was getting uncommonly full although it was only May, and already Dorothy and Agnes were beginning to feel somewhat harried.

  'I know it is all meant so kindly,' said Dorothy after school one day, when the two were restoring themselves with a cup of tea in the sitting-room, 'but I must say I shall be quite relieved when it is all over.'

  'I feel exactly the same,' confessed Agnes.

  The telephone rang, and Dorothy padded out in her stockinged feet to answer it.

  She was some time in the hall, and Agnes sipped her tea and studied Dorothy's abandoned shoes lying askew on the carpet.

  'Not another party?' she asked when her friend returned.

  'Worse,' said Dorothy. 'Ray and Kathleen are calling in on their way back from Dorset next week.'

  'How nice!' exclaimed Agnes. Dorothy's brother Ray and his wife were always more welcome to Agnes than to Dorothy who had little time for Ray and even less for his self-pitying hypochondriac of a wife.

  'Well, at least they won't stop long,' said Dorothy, thrusting her feet into the shoes. 'They're stopping for tea before they get here, so a glass of sherry should foot the bill, and make less washing up.'

  'Do you think they will bring their dog? What's-his-name?'

  'Harrison? Heaven forbid!' Dorothy shuddered at the remembrance of the havoc caused by the exuberant animal in the house.

  But Agnes was anxious about the well-being of her dear little cat, who might be scared away from the garden by the boisterous visitor. With commendable restraint she forbore from mentioning her fears to Dorothy, but she hoped that Ray and Kathleen would have the sense to leave their pet safely in the car.