(9/13)The School at Thrush Green Page 14

  One of the first people to visit and admire Dotty's new plaything was Winnie Bailey, who took advantage of a fine May afternoon to cross the green and take the footpath to Dotty's cottage.

  The air was soft and balmy. Rooks wheeled above the lime trees in the gardens behind The Two Pheasants, bearing food for their vociferous nestlings.

  In the Youngs' garden a sea of forget-me-nots surged around some splendid pink tulips lined up against the Cotswold stone of the fine house. A waft of warm air brought the scent of a bed of wallflowers, hidden from Winnie's sight by a mellow wall, and already the chestnut trees were showing embryo flower spikes.

  Nothing, thought Winnie, could touch the month of May for sheer natural beauty. There were many devotees of autumn, praising the blazing trees, the joys of harvest and the like, but May was a time of hope, of youth, of splendours to come. It renewed her strength every year with its promise of summer joys.

  She found her old friend in the chicken run, clutching an armful of wet weeds to her cardigan.

  'Ah, Winnie!' cried Dotty. 'How nice to see you! Just let me scatter this nourishing salad for the girls, and I'll be with you. Such richness! Chickweed, hogweed, dandelions, shepherd's purse, groundsel, and lots more – all teeming with natural goodness. I can't persuade Connie to use such things for us unfortunately, but I suppose we get the nourishment, at second-hand as it were, in the hens' eggs.'

  She cast her burden from her among the cackling birds, wiped her muddy hands down her skirt, and emerged from the run. Her bedraggled appearance somewhat shocked Winnie.

  'Don't you think you should change your cardigan, Dotty? It's soaking wet, and you know how easily you catch cold.'

  'Nonsense!' said Dotty, slapping her skinny chest. 'It'll soon dry. You're as bad as Connie.'

  Winnie did not like to point out that it was Connie who had to do any nursing of this rebellious patient, and she followed Dotty across the garden to the new pond.

  It certainly looked a fine piece of work, although still rather raw in appearance. No doubt, thought Winnie, once the stones had weathered and Dotty's tubs of plants were in place, it would be very attractive. The ducks seemed to be enjoying themselves, half of them diving with their feet waving happily, and the rest preening themselves on the surrounding stones in the sunshine.

  'Dear things,' said Dotty fondly. 'It's such a treat for them, and I've had four eggs already.'

  She waved her friend towards a garden seat, and they took their ease.

  'And you are keeping well?' asked Winnie, trying to ignore Dotty's damp bosom.

  'Just a touch of the jim-jams in my back, but Connie's taking me to see Tom Porter tomorrow, and he'll put me right.'

  'You still go to him?'

  Tom Porter was the local osteopath, used by a great many Lulling people, but Winnie had never had need, or desire, to take advantage of his gifts. Donald had never countenanced osteopathy and Winnie remained loyal to his beliefs.

  'I never liked to tell your dear Donald,' said Dotty, as if she could read Winnie's thoughts. 'I know he didn't approve, but I always felt that Tom had such a sound working knowledge of the skeleton!'

  'So have doctors,' replied Winnie defensively.

  'Not to the same extent. I'm sure that Donald was very good on muscles and skin and the fleshy bits. And, of course, all those inner tubes – so alarmingly complicated – but the framework seems to be somewhat ignored by general practitioners.'

  'Well, I shan't argue with you,' said Winnie. 'But what does he do?'

  'He makes me lie flat on his rather hard couch, and crosses one leg over the other for a start.'

  Here Dotty thrust out her skinny legs in their wrinkled lisle stockings for Winnie's approval.

  'Then he presses on one knee, quite gently, and keeps measuring the lengths.'

  'Of your knees?'

  'No, no, dear! My legs! One seems to get shorter than the other which makes my back hurt.'

  Winnie was about to say that surely the displacement of the back did the leg-shortening, but Dotty's grasshopper mind had already leapt to other topics.

  'Tell me about Dorothy and Agnes. Have they got their car yet? And have they found a house at Barton? I hear from Betty Bell that Ray and Kathleen Watson are going to visit them soon. I wonder if they might take the school house eventually? Ray must be almost at retirement age, and I'm sure that country air would be good for Kathleen's health.'

  'I don't know much about Ray and Kathleen's plans,' began Winnie, 'but I know that Dorothy is still waiting for a white car, and I don't know if a house at Barton has cropped up yet.'

  She paused, while Dotty leapt to her feet, entered the nearby garden shed and reappeared with a hunk of stale bread which she began to tear into pieces and throw to the ducks.

  A frenzied quacking and splashing ensued, while Dotty beamed upon her charges and scattered her largesse.

  She really grows scattier every month, thought Winnie, but when it came to keeping an eye and ear open to local gossip then Dotty was as sharp as the rest of Thrush Green.

  Part Three

  Journey's End

  14. Trying Times

  AFFAIRS at Thrush Green school seemed to grow more hectic as the weeks passed. As well as the interminable tidying up, wondering what to reject completely, what to pass on to Miss Robinson for future school use, and what to keep 'just in case', the two retiring ladies had had several visits from would-be future teachers at the school.

  To give them their due, these aspirants were careful to make an appointment and were sensible enough to make their visits brief, but nevertheless Dorothy found the interruptions to routine excessively wearing.

  'I suppose it is only right that they should want to see where they might be spending the rest of their lives,' said Dorothy, 'and these are all on the short list.'

  'I wonder how many have been invited?' pondered Agnes.

  'Five or six for each post, I presume,' replied Dorothy. 'I imagine they'll appoint to both posts on the same day. What do you think?'

  'I've no idea,' said Agnes, secretly hoping that none of them would be as nervous as she had been when she applied for her present post so many years ago.

  'Quite a few men among the applicants, I noticed,' went on Dorothy. 'For the headship, of course. Naturally, a woman will take on your place.'

  'I don't see why a nice man couldn't do the job,' said Agnes, with some spirit. 'I particularly liked that young fellow in the National Trust tie you brought in.'

  'I can't see him coping with young children,' said Dorothy grimly. 'He talked of nothing but racing cars and rugby football.'

  'No news, I suppose, from Better and Better?' asked Agnes, steering the conversation into different, if not less controversial, waters.

  'A small house and two flats,' replied Dorothy, fishing in her handbag. 'I meant to show you at breakfast but you were out feeding that cat.'

  'Any hope?' said Agnes, ignoring the slight on her pet.

  'The small house,' said Dorothy, adjusting her glasses, 'is reached "by a long drive". That means we'd have to keep it up, dear, unless it's a cart track, in which case it would probably be impassable for part of the year.'

  'And the flats?'

  'In the same garden, and four miles from Barton.'

  'So we are no nearer?'

  'As you say. Sometimes I think our estate agent should be called "Worse and Worse". If only we had the car, we could run down and visit the estate agent and try and get some sense out of him.'

  'Perhaps another letter – '

  'I sometimes wonder if they ever read letters,' replied Dorothy with despair. 'Ah well! There's the bell. Better get back to our classrooms.'

  Some of the applicants had asked to see the school house, although they knew that it did not now automatically go with the post, and Dorothy and Agnes had readily invited them to view the property in case they wished to buy.

  Otherwise, only Richard and Fenella, and a local couple who had heard about the fut
ure disposal of the building, had visited the ladies, and for this Dorothy was grateful.

  She admitted to herself that these last few months were a great strain. After so many years of well-organised living she found the unknown a little daunting. Impatient by nature, she suffered far more from the frustration of waiting for the new car and from the interminable delay of finding suitable living places in the Barton area, than did Agnes.

  Agnes, however, was equally agitated about the change of circumstances. Devoted as she was to Dorothy, would it be difficult to live for the whole of the day, every day, with her partner? She had found her extremely short-tempered of late, and although she knew only too well that they were both living under extra pressure, she was secretly hurt by one or two wounding remarks, and had had to curb her own tongue.

  Then too, she was beginning to get very anxious about the cat. It was now remarkably tame and affectionate, and Agnes felt quite sure that it could be introduced into the school house, and later transported to Barton, without much trouble.

  Alone, of course, there would have been no difficulty, but Dorothy still appeared adamant, and showed no sign of relenting, or even being willing to discuss the matter. With so much else to occupy their minds, Agnes had shelved the problem, and simply enjoyed the growing companionship of her new friend.

  She was the one, she realised, who would miss severely the children and all their old friends in Thrush Green. Dorothy was more out-going and would soon make friends at Barton. Agnes, less bold, knew full well that it would take her longer.

  However, there was not much one could do about it at this stage, and apart from deciding to keep up with such dear neighbours as Isobel and Harold, Winnie Bailey, Muriel Fuller and the like, by letter writing, or the occasional telephone call, Agnes pursued her gentle way from day to day, and dealt with the problems as they turned up.

  It was about this time that Isobel received a letter from her old friend in Sussex. It was several pages long, and seemed to engross Isobel all through breakfast time.

  'Your post seems more interesting than mine,' observed Harold. 'I've only got one offering me a loan, another asking me to support a family in Africa, and a demand for the rates.'

  'This is from Ursula,' said Isobel.

  'The one who gave you splendid picnics on the way to see some aged relative? Strawberries and cream, wasn't it?'

  'And cold asparagus wrapped in brown bread,' agreed Isobel, smiling at him. 'How greedy you are!'

  'What does she want?'

  'Nothing. Just the other way about in fact. She has a rather splendid tea set to give me.'

  'How's that?'

  'The aunt at Barton has evidently left it to me. Ursula said I admired it, and her aunt made a note of it. Very sweet of the old lady, I must say. I remember it well – Wedgwood, white with a gold band, very elegant. We must keep it "for best", Harold.'

  'Does she want us to fetch it?'

  'That's the idea. She's at Barton clearing up the place. I imagine she will live there eventually.'

  'Well, it won't take us long to run down. Does she give her telephone number?'

  'She does indeed. I will ring this evening. Isn't it a lovely surprise?'

  'A much nicer one than my rates demand,' agreed Harold.

  ***

  Ray and Kathleen's visit coincided with a particularly trying day at Thrush Green school.

  For a start, one of Agnes's children fell in the playground before school began. The boy grazed both knees, and understandably yelled the place down, which upset Agnes considerably. Furthermore, he resisted any attempts at first aid with such violence that Agnes was obliged to scribble a note to his mother, luckily at home nearby, and dispatch note and child in the care of the oldest and most responsible girl in Miss Watson's class.

  In her classroom, after assembly, Dorothy noticed a girl weeping. Her face was flushed, her forehead afire, and on examination Miss Watson discovered a fine bright rash on the girl's chest, which she readily recognised as chicken-pox.

  As the child had twin sisters in Miss Robinson's class, it seemed sensible to send all three home, but both parents were at work, and there seemed to be no obliging aunts, grannies or neighbours to take charge.

  Dorothy took them over to the school house, put the sufferer on to the spare bed with a doll and two books, and ensconced the twins in the kitchen with lemonade and drawing paper.

  At playtime it was discovered that all the milk was decidedly off-colour, and none of the children would touch it. The staff's coffee had to be black which none of them liked.

  By midday, the mother of the three invalids had arrived in answer to the message sent to her place of work. She seemed to blame Miss Watson for allowing her child to catch chicken-pox, and gave no word of thanks for the care which the children had been given.

  School dinner consisted of fatty minced meat and boiled potatoes with the eyes left in. Jam tart, normally greeted ecstatically, was burnt round the edges and refused by a number of pupils.

  The nurse who came to look at heads arrived unannounced in the middle of the afternoon, and when Dorothy, interrupted in her reading of Tom's Midnight Garden, remonstrated, nurse told her that she knew for a fact that notice had been sent a fortnight before, and it was probably that Willie Marchant's fault for not delivering it.

  It did not improve Dorothy's temper to discover the letter later, unopened, tucked inside a stern missive from the office about 'Economy and School Stationery'.

  After school, Agnes had felt obliged to call at her wounded boy's home to see how he was faring, and found him, catapult in hand, doing his best to hit a nearby sparrow, luckily without success. His mother was perfunctory in her thanks, and Agnes tottered back to the school house ready for tea.

  'I could well do without a visitation from Ray and Kathleen,' commented Dorothy, as they cleared away their teacups, 'but there it is. I only hope they don't stay long. What a day it has been!'

  The ladies went upstairs to change from their workaday clothes, and Agnes was just trying to decide whether the occasion warranted the addition of her seed pearls to the general ensemble, when the car arrived.

  Dorothy admitted her brother, his wife and the boisterous Labrador dog Harrison who, luckily, was on a lead.

  'Is he going to stay indoors?' queried Dorothy, in a far from welcoming tone.

  'He'll soon calm down,' Ray was assuring her as Agnes entered the sitting-room. 'He's very obedient these days.'

  Harrison leapt upon Agnes and nearly felled her to the Axminster carpet. She sat down abruptly on the couch.

  'Down, sir!' shouted Ray in a voice which set the sherry glasses tinkling. 'D'you hear me? Down, I say!'

  Dorothy put her hands over her ears, Kathleen bridled, and Agnes attempted a polite smile.

  'It's just that he's excited,' bawled Ray, tugging at the lead. 'So pleased to see everyone. Awfully affectionate animal!'

  The affectionate animal now attempted to clamber on to Agnes's lap. As it was twice her size and weight, she was immediately engulfed.

  'Take him out!' screamed Kathleen. 'He's obviously upset. He's extremely highly-strung,' she explained fortissimo, to the dishevelled Agnes.

  Reluctantly, Ray tugged the dog outside, and to the relief of the two hostesses Harrison was deposited in the car.

  'Well!' exclaimed Dorothy. 'I should think you could do with a restorative after all that. Sherry, Kathleen?'

  'Thank you, but no,' said Kathleen primly. 'I have to keep off all alcohol, my doctor says.'

  Tomato juice, orange juice?'

  'Too acid, dear.'

  'Perrier?'

  'I simply can't digest it,' said Kathleen, with great satisfaction.

  'A cup of tea? Or coffee?'

  Dorothy was starting to sound desperate, and Agnes noticed that her neck was beginning to flush.

  'If I might have a little milk,' said Kathleen, 'I should be grateful.'

  'I will fetch it,' said Agnes, anxious to have a moment's pe
ace in the kitchen.

  It would be today, she thought, examining the dubious milk, that Kathleen wanted this commodity. For safety's sake she took the precaution of pouring the liquid through the strainer into a glass, and hoped for the best.

  Without Harrison the sitting-room was comparatively tranquil. There was general conversation about the Dorset holiday, the state of their respective gardens, Ray's health, soon disposed of, and Kathleen's, which threatened to dominate the conversation for at least two hours, if not checked.

  Over the years, Dorothy had developed considerable expertise in cutting short the recital of her sister-in-law's complaints and their treatment. At times, Agnes had felt that she was perhaps a shade ruthless in her methods, but today, exhausted as she was with the vicissitudes it had brought, she was glad to have the conversation turned in the direction of their own future plans.

  'It surprises me,' said Kathleen, 'to know that you haven't found a house yet.'

  'It surprises us too,' replied Dorothy tartly. 'It's not for want of trying, I can assure you.'

  'Time's getting on,' observed Ray. 'You ought to make up your mind. Prices seem to rise every week.'

  Agnes trembled in case Dorothy responded with a typical outburst, but for once her friend remained silent.

  'Once we have the car,' Agnes said timidly, 'Dorothy and I intend to have a thorough look at houses.'

  'I imagine that you will be getting rid of a good deal of furniture,' remarked Kathleen. 'What do you propose to do about it?'

  'Nothing, until we've seen what we need in the new place,' said Dorothy.

  Kathleen drew in her breath. Agnes noticed that she cast a quick glance at her husband.

  'I only ask,' she continued, 'because we wondered if we could help at all by taking it off your hands.'

  'What had you in mind?' enquired Dorothy, with dangerous calm.

  'Well, this nest of tables, for instance,' said Kathleen, putting down the glass of milk, 'and dear mother's kitchen dresser, and any china which might be too much for the new home.'

  'Anything else?' asked Dorothy, her neck now scarlet.