(4/13) Battles at Thrush Green Read online

  'Don't worry,' said Harold. 'I didn't realise you had to call in at the school during the holidays.'

  'Lord love you,' responded Betty, 'that's my busiest time! I mean, term-time it gets a lick and a promise, as you might say, except for Friday nights. But I gives the whole place a thorough scrub through during the holidays.'

  'I should have known.'

  'I don't see why you should. Selling things was your line. Floors is mine. But you never saw such a pig's breakfast as that new floor. That young teacher lets 'em do as they like, from what I can see. There's glue and paint and plasticine and ground-up crayon, and enough bubble-gum to keep you going for a month.'

  'Not me,' said Harold, shuddering.

  'Well, you know what I mean. Now, Miss Fogerty's room is a real treat to do. Everything left tidy, chairs on desks ready for me to sweep, nice bit of paper lining the waste paper basket so there's no pencil shavings and that dropping through. She's even got a little brush to sweep up the coke bits! Takes me half the time to do her room.'

  'Bully for Miss Fogerty!' said Harold, making for the refuge of his study. It was plain that Betty was in full spate today.

  'Well, that's as it should be. Children wants training. I know my mum never let us leave things about. If we did, they was thrown in the pit, up the end of our garden. We never had no dustbins in those days. I can remember rescuing an old dolly of mine, in the pouring rain. She never looked the same after a night in the pit, but it learnt me a lesson, all the same.'

  'I had a nurse,' replied Harold, halted in his tracks, 'who threw my things on the back of the fire. I can remember watching a lead soldier – a cavalry officer, too – melting away. It broke my heart.'

  'That was downright cruel!' cried Betty indignantly. 'I hope she got the sack!'

  'She did, as soon as my father realised she was sampling his brandy,' said Harold, and made his escape.

  At much the same time, across the green, Jenny arrived at Winnie Bailey's. Jenny very rarely spoke unless she had something worthwhile to say, but this morning she looked unusually animated.

  'Had good news, Jenny?' asked her mistress.

  'Yes. Willie Bond brought a letter for the old folks. They've got a new house at last. One of those old people's homes the council built.'

  Jenny's honest plain face glowed with pleasure.

  'How wonderful! Just what they've always wanted. And when can they move in?'

  'About a month's time. There's got to be an inspection or something, to make sure everything works. As soon as that's done they can go in.'

  'And what about your present house, Jenny?'

  'Well, that'll come down. All our row will, and a good thing too. It's been condemned for years now. We knew it would happen one day.'

  'So what will you do?'

  'I'll face that when the time comes,' said Jenny cheerfully. 'I'll find a room somewhere I expect. Might even go nursing – I did a bit once – and I could live in the hostel.'

  'Would you want to do that?'

  'Not really,' said Jenny. 'Besides, I'm a bit old. I don't know if they'd have me. But I shall find something all right. Just get the old folks settled, and I'll start thinking.'

  She went humming upstairs to clean the bathroom, while Winnie turned over in her mind a plan which had been lurking there for some time.

  It continued to engage her thoughts as she sat knitting that afternoon. Her dislike of being alone after dark had certainly diminished as the weeks went by, but she could not honestly say that she was completely carefree. She had wondered if it would be sensible to let two rooms upstairs. She would still have a spare bedroom, quite enough for the modest entertaining she proposed to do in her widowed state.

  The two rooms adjoined. Both had wash-basins, one of which could be changed to a kitchen sink. There would be plenty of room for an electric stove and for cupboards, and it would convert easily into a comfortable kitchen.

  The room next door was larger and would make an attractive bed-sitting room. Both rooms overlooked the green and were light and sunny.

  The difficulty was, who would be acceptable? Winnie did not want a married couple, and such a minute flat would not be suitable for people with babies or pets. A single man might be useful for attacking the marauders that Winnie feared, but then he might expect his washing and ironing to be done, and his socks darned, and Winnie was beginning to feel rather too old for such mothering.

  No, a pleasant single woman was die answer! One with a job during the day, who enjoyed looking after her small domain, and who did not demand too much attention from her landlady. The financial side was something of a problem to Winnie, who had not the faintest idea what should be charged. Nor did she know if there should be some legal document setting out the terms upon which landladies and lodgers agreed.

  And then, supposing they did not get on? It was common knowledge that one really had to live with people before one knew them properly. Look at that terrible Brides-in-the-Bath man! No, thought Winnie, don't look at him, with dusk already beginning to fall!

  She rose to draw the curtains and to switch on the lamp. Across the green, she saw the rector marching purposefully toward "The Two Pheasants." Unusual, thought Winnie. Perhaps he was calling on his sexton, Albert Piggott, or on Harold Shoosmith nearby.

  But the rector was opening the wicket gate at the side of the public house, and vanished from sight.

  Winnie resumed her seat and her knitting. Over the past few weeks she had come to the conclusion that the person she would most like to share her home was quiet, devoted Jenny. That is, of course, if she would come.

  And now, with this morning's news, it looked as though there were a chance. She would await her opportunity, and put the proposition before Jenny. How lovely, thought Winnie, letting her knitting fall and looking at the leaping flames, if she agreed! The bogey of loneliness would be banished, and the tiresome business of trying to find out what would be a fair rent would also be solved, for Jenny would live there rent-free.

  Winnie allowed herself to indulge in happy daydreams for some five minutes, and then pulled herself together sharply. It was no good getting too hopeful. Jenny might well have other plans, besides the vague ones she had mentioned, and, in any case, a shared home at Thrush Green might be abhorrent to her.

  Well, time would show. Winnie picked up her knitting again, determined to remain cool-headed over the whole affair. But hope warmed her throughout the evening.

  Charles Henstock, whom Winnie had glimpsed from her window, was making the second of his visits that day on the vexed question of the graveyard.

  Percy Hodge had greeted him somewhat grimly, but had ushered him into the parlour, in deference, presumably, to his cloth.

  Frankly, Charles would have preferred the kitchen, where the life of the farmhouse revolved. For one thing, it was warm and cheerful, a great room dominated by an immense scrubbed table, and an Aga cooker which dispensed heat and a delicious smell of baking bread.

  The parlour was neither warm nor cheerful. Percy switched on the electric fire as he entered, but the rector might just as well have been in his own study for all the comfort it gave.

  Two enormous pictures of stags standing in water, against a background of Highland mountains, dominated the walls, and a vast three-piece suite, upholstered in drab moquette, filled most of the floor space. The linoleum, meant to represent, not very convincingly, a traditional Turkish carpet in crimson and blue, gleamed icily.

  'Take a seat,' said Percy. 'I take it you've come about me not coming to church.'

  Percy was nothing if not direct, thought Charles.

  'Not quite that, although we've all missed you and the family at our services. You are still opposed, no doubt, to the churchyard scheme?'

  'Of course I am,' said Percy forcefully. 'It beats me why more people didn't sign. You hear enough about it in the village, but people are afraid to put their names down.'

  'Are you sure? I shouldn't like to think that was so.'


  'Well, maybe they talk that way when I'm there. I don't know. Folk will try to run with the hare and the hounds, and to my mind you can't do both. You know my feelings on the subject. I'm against the thing.'

  'Tell me your strongest objection.'

  'My strongest objection is having the resting place of my forefathers disturbed.'

  'And if it were to remain undisturbed, would you then approve the project?'

  'How d'you mean?'

  Percy looked suspicious. Charles spread his hands towards the meagre heat from the electric stove, and began to outline the suggested proposals. He explained things gently and patiently, his brow furrowed with concern, and towards the end of the explanation, he took the sketch map from his pocket.

  Percy's expression grew grimmer as he listened.

  'Trying to buy me off, are you?' he said at last.

  For the first time in Percy's life, he saw a flash of anger cross the rector's face.

  'I should never have imagined that you would stoop to such a remark,' he said. 'It does you no credit, and is insulting to me. There is conflict in my parish which I am trying to stop. No one can ever know the grief which it is causing me.'

  He rose as if to go.

  'Sit down, sir, sit down,' urged Percy, looking uncomfortable. 'I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I know you well enough to know you're dead straight. Sit down, and tell me more.'

  The rector resumed his seat.

  'When I was a schoolboy,' he said, more calmly, 'we had a prayer about being careful not to mistake bluntness for frankness, and obstinacy, I think it was, for constancy. You know, Percy, I have always respected your principles, but you must face the fact that we all have to make compromises in this life, if we are to live amicably together. All I am doing, is to show you how willing we are to settle things for the best. Even hares and hounds have to shake down in the same world.'

  'Let's have a look at the plan,' said Percy, holding out his hand for Harold's rough sketch. He studied it in silence, while the rector observed him. A whirring noise from the wall clock behind him caused him to turn. A wooden cuckoo burst from its lair and shouted three times. In the distance the cows lowed. It would soon be milking time.

  'What happens,' said Percy, returning the sketch, 'if we don't change our minds?'

  The rector told him of delays, expense, the possibility of a consistory court, and the usual procedure in such a case.

  Percy listened attentively.

  'Well, I'm not going to say now one way or the other, but I'll think things over, and let you know. I'm not an unreasonable man, I hope, but I want to do what's right.'

  'I'm sure of that.'

  'And I'll tell my two men what you've told me,' went on Percy. 'They'll do as I do, of course.'

  Charles felt a tremor of dismay.

  'I shouldn't want them to go against their consciences. You know that, I feel sure. They must weigh things up, just as you are going to do.'

  'I'll see to them,' said Percy, and with this somewhat ambiguous remark, he saw the rector to the door.

  It was not much, thought Charles Henstock, as he walked home to Thrush Green, but at least he had not had the door slammed in his face. He bitterly regretted his own flash of anger, but Percy's remark had cut him cruelly. Perhaps, however, his own outburst had cleared the air. Certainly, Percy seemed more reasonable after it.

  He went into the long corridor leading to the kitchen, expecting to find Dimity, but remembered that she had proposed to go shopping in Lulling. The kettle purred on the stove, and he wondered whether to make tea.

  It was now half-past three. This would be a good time to call on the Jones'es. Lunch would be over, and the pub would be closed until six.

  Heartened by the glimmer of hope given him by Percy, he decided to try his luck, and set off.

  Mr Jones was alone and showed the rector into a sitting-room which was the very opposite of Percy Hodge's.

  'The wife's gone shopping,' explained Mr Jones. 'We don't get much time for that sort of thing. Very tied with a pub, you know, but it suits me.'

  He indicated an armchair and Charles sank down into depths so soft that he wondered if he would ever be able to rise again. There were flowers everywhere. The covers were ablaze with roses, the walls with wistaria hanging on trellis. On the mantelpiece, above the roaring fire, was an arrangement of plastic flowers and fern, where tulips, delphiniums, crocuses and chrysanthemums rioted together in defiance of the seasons.

  Even the kettle-holder, hanging on a hook by the fireside, had a posy of forget-me-nots on it, and the spaniel which lay at their feet, Charles remembered, was called Blossom.

  He began to feel guilty, a worm in the bud, a serpent in this bower of flowers.

  'What can I get you, padre?' asked his host. 'Whisky? Drop of rum to keep out the cold?'

  'No, nothing, thank you. I shall be having some tea very soon. How snug you are in here!'

  'We need somewhere comfortable when we're on our own,' said the landlord. 'Our job means you've got to be among a crowd most of the time. And standing too. It's good to sink down in here when we can.'

  'I've just come from Percy Hodge's,' said the rector, coming straight to the point.

  Mr Jones began to look wary.

  'About the churchyard? What's Perce say?'

  The rector told him the gist of their conversation, and handed over the sketch map.

  'Could look rather nice,' said the landlord slowly. Charles's spirits rose. He remembered that Mr Jones was a great gardener.

  'If it did come about,' he said cautiously, 'we should need some advice about planting and so on. At the moment, Miss Watson and Mr Shoosmith are thinking about shrubs.'

  Perhaps Charles had gone too far and too fast. The landlord's face tightened, and he handed back the piece of paper.

  'What happens if we still object?' he said. Charles was reminded that Percy and this man were related.

  He told him. Mr Jones nodded.

  'You don't want to get mixed up with lawyers,' he said, at last. 'You'll have Thrush Green in debt for years if you take this matter to some court or other. I'm not saying yes or no, but I can see your point, and I reckon we ought to settle this business here in the village ourselves.'

  'Exactly my feelings,' said the rector.

  'What did Perce say?' he repeated.

  'He said much the same as you are saying, that he wanted time to think about it.'

  'And what, padre, do you think? As man to man, I mean?'

  'I want the churchyard to look beautiful, a fitting place for the loved dead here. But I want harmony among the living. If we give and take – all of us – I think we can resolve our difficulties. That's why I'm approaching all the objectors.'

  'Well, you've got some pluck, that I will say, and I promise to think it over. Mind you, I've shot my mouth off about it pretty strong in the bar here, but I'm not above changing my mind if it's the right thing to do.'

  'It isn't a sign of weakness,' said the rector, attempting to struggle from the chair, 'rather the contrary.'

  'Here,' said Mr Jones, proffering a hand, 'let's give you a haul up.'

  The two men stood on the hearthrug smiling at each other. A smell of singeing made the rector move suddenly from such unaccustomed heat.

  'Well, I'll be off, and leave you to your rest,' said Charles. He turned at the door.

  'You'll let me know your decision, won't you?' he pleaded. T care very much about the outcome.'

  'You shall know before the week's out,' promised the landlord.

  At Tullivers, that evening, Frank Hurst broached again the thorny subject of Jeremy's schooling. Little had been said about it since their earlier difference of opinion, but Phyllida remained determined to keep the boy at home for a few more years, and Frank was equally desirous of the child going to his own old prep school, which he remembered happily.

  'Tom's taking his youngest down to Ribbleworth next week,' he announced, when Phil returned from putting Jerem
y to bed. 'He's sitting the entrance exam.'

  'Is he?' said Phil guardedly.

  'Do just come and have a look at the place,' persuaded Frank. 'I know how you feel at the moment, but indulge me, and pay a visit with me. You may change your mind. I could ring the head, and make an appointment.'

  Phil hesitated. It seemed a complete waste of time to her. She was against the principle of wresting young boys from their homes, particularly in Jeremy's case where the child had had some tough knocks in his short life and was getting over them well in his present happy circumstances.

  On the other hand, she could see Frank's point, and it would be unkind to ignore his wishes.

  'Very well,' she agreed. 'But it will have to be a positive paradise to convince me. You know that well enough.'

  Frank laughed.

  'I'll take the risk. Here, sit down, and I'll bring you a glass of sherry.'

  18 A Cold Spell

  LITTLE Miss Fogerty returned from her Christmas holiday two days before term began.

  She had not intended staying so long with her friend Isobel, but had been persuaded to extend her visit. Isobel, recently widowed, said that she would be grateful for her company, and Miss Fogerty, touched and flattered that she should be needed, readily agreed to stay.

  'Besides,' added Isobel, 'you don't look as fit as you usually do. I expect you have been over-working.'

  'It has been a trying term,' admitted Miss Fogerty, but wild would not have dragged from her the true miseries shadows under horses would not have dragged from her the true which had caused the shadows under her eyes, and the wretchedly disturbed nights.

  She certainly began to feel better after a week or so with dear Isobel. The house was large and warm. The spare room had a bed which was plump and soft, and a bathroom of its own which Miss Fogerty considered the height of luxury. The bath sheet alone gave Miss Fogerty an exquisite sense of being cossetted. It was pale blue, and so large and fluffy that it could wrap her small frame twice round, and then have a generous wrap-over. Mrs White's bath towels were less than half the size, and made of some harsher striped towelling which simply pushed the water from one part of one's body to another without doing its proper job of absorption.