(6/13) Gossip from Thrush Green Page 16

  Dimity could not feel quite as positive about Albert's delight as her warm-hearted husband, but passed on the good news to Ella.

  'God bless Charles!' cried Ella. 'If anyone can persuade Albert to take on extra work then he's the man to do it.'

  Charles was as good as his word. He left the car outside Ella's house and walked by the church to Albert's cottage.

  He found his sexton standing at the sink, washing up some crockery in water so murky and afloat with unsavoury flotsam that Charles wondered if it would really be more sanitary to leave the china unwashed.

  Charles explained the purpose of his visit while Albert prodded morosely at the congealed food in a pie dish. His expression brightened considerably when goats were mentioned.

  'Now, they're animals with a bit of character,' said Albert. 'It was my dad, not me, sir, as kept goats. We had two nannies and a billy. We was brought up on goats' milk, all the lot of us. My old mum swore you could get the tubercular from cows' milk. Lor' bless you, I can milk old Dotty's—I mean Miss Harmer's—Dulcie, with one hand tied behind me.'

  He waved the dripping dish mop confidently.

  'It's uncommonly good of you, Albert,' said the rector. 'I shall pay you myself while the arrangements last, of course. And I'm quite sure that Miss Harmer would want you to have any surplus milk. It would do your indigestion good, I'm sure.'

  'I always enjoyed a mug of goats' milk,' said Albert. 'And my cat'd help out.'

  'Then that's settled then,' said Charles, getting to his feet. He gazed thoughtfully at the bowl of filthy water in the sink.

  'Is there any hot water in the kettle?' he asked.

  'Plenty. Want a cup of tea?'

  'No, thank you, Albert. I'm having tea with Miss Bembridge who will be so grateful to you for coping night and morning with Dulcie's bounty. No, I just thought that some fresh hot water might make your present task easier. I fear I interrupted your work.'

  'They're clean enough by now, I reckon,' said Albert, casting a perfunctory glance at his handiwork. 'They'll soon be dirty again time I've used 'em. Housework's a thankless job at the best of times. Fit only for women, I always say.'

  Charles, thankful that no woman was present to take up the cudgels, hastened out into the fresh air of Thrush Green.

  The summer term proceeded with increasing activity, as Sports Day, Open Day, a Leavers' Service and end of term examinations all took place during the last few weeks.

  Dorothy and Agnes coped with their usual efficiency, but both confessed to being inordinately tired one summer evening.

  'You have every excuse,' Agnes told her friend. 'After all, the responsibility of the school's running falls largely upon your shoulders, and you have to be ready at any time to meet parents and managers and people from the office whenever any problem crops up. As well as coping with your poor leg,' she added.

  'I greatly fear,' replied Miss Watson, 'that it's old age as well. So often I have told friends that they can't expect to get through as much work as they did when they were twenty years younger. Now I realise that I ought to take my own advice, but somehow, Agnes, one never thinks of oneself as old.'

  There was a note of dejection in her voice which aroused Agnes's immediate sympathy.

  'You do too much, you know. I hesitate to put myself forward, Dorothy, but I would willingly take on some of your less important duties if it would help.'

  'I know you would. You are a great support and comfort, but I really think that the time has come to make a decision about retirement. I'm fifty-nine in a fortnight's time, and I intend to let the office know unofficially, early next term, that I propose to go at the end of the next school year.'

  'Whatever you decide to do will be right, I am sure,' said loyal little Miss Fogerty, 'but won't it be a terrible wrench?'

  'It will be whenever I go,' said Dorothy. 'But 1 shall feel much happier if I can see the end in sight. Can you remember how much in advance one's official resignation has to go in?'

  'Three months, I think.'

  'Then I shall put mine in at the end of the spring term. Plenty of time for advertisements to go in. Thrush Green School should draw many applicants. It's a pleasant spot to live in, and an efficient school, although perhaps it's not my place to say so.'

  'You are quite the right person to say so. And whoever takes on the job will have you to thank for a splendidly working and happy school.'

  'Thank you, Agnes, but I don't forget my staff too. The one big problem now is where we shall live. Do you still favour Barton-on-Sea, or somewhere close by?'

  'It sounds perfect.'

  'Well, I propose that we both spend a few days there when we break up, and have a look at some of the properties the agents have sent. We can stay at that nice little boarding house, and take our time over things. Agreed?'

  'Yes, indeed, Dorothy. I shall look forward to it.'

  Miss Watson gave a sigh.

  'It will be a comfort to start moving towards retirement. And best of all, Agnes dear, to know that you feel you can be happy there with me. We must go into ways and means one evening when we feel more energetic, but I think my savings should be enough to find us somewhere modestly comfortable.'

  'I hope you will use mine too,' said Agnes. 'Now, can I get you anything? Something to drink? Something to read? Your knitting?'

  'What about a game of "Scrabble"? Always so soothing, I think.'

  And little Miss Fogerty hastened to get out the board.

  To the surprise of all Thrush Green, Albert Piggott approached his new duties with comparative zest.

  He was observed setting off soon after eight in the morning towards Dotty's and again about six in the evening. Ella's milk was delivered as usual, on his return at night, and Betty Bell's left in the cool larder at Dotty's for her to collect on her way home from her many duties at Thrush Green.

  Dulcie, always a generous nanny with her milk, seemed to take to Albert, and he carried home a plentiful supply for himself and his cat. Both appeared to flourish on it, and although Albert was teased by his usual colleagues at The Two Pheasants because he took to asking for half a pint of bitter instead of a pint, he put up with their joking with unusual good temper.

  It's a durn sight better dealing with animals than that church and graveyard,' he told them. That Dulcie's got more sense than any of you lot here. We gets on a treat. Goats is intelligent animals. And that's more'n you can say for men.'

  'You'll be getting fat,' someone said, swigging down milk.'

  'It's my belief it's doin' me good,' declared Albert. 'Wonderful soothing to the stummick. I reckon I'll buy some regular from Miss Harmer when she gets back. Saves me cooking too. Doctor Lovell said himself as milk's a whole food, and he's nobody's fool.'

  To Ella's delight, he also offered to feed the hens and ducks in the mornings to save her making two trips a day. Such a change of heart in such a curmudgeonly character made a fascinating topic for the inhabitants of Thrush Green, and all agreed that Charles Henstock never did a better day's work than calling on Albert for help.

  Meanwhile, Dotty remained in hospital. Her recovery was being very slow so that she had plenty of time to think things over.

  She was a surprisingly good patient. When some of the nursing staff had discovered that Dotty was in the women's ward there had been misgivings. Dotty's eccentricity was only exceeded by her obstinancy, as was well known in Lulling. The reputation of her fearsome father was still remembered, and in fact one of the doctors attached to the hospital was a former pupil of his, and could tell bloodcurdling accounts of his late headmaster's disciplinary methods.

  But, in truth, Dotty was a realist, and quite prepared to endure cheerfully what had to be. She saw now, as she rested against her pillows, that she had been foolish to think that she could cope with her energetic way of life v/ithout properly fuelling the machine which was her ageing body.

  She accepted the nurses' ministrations with grace and gratitude. She believed the doctor, who remembered
her father, when he told her gravely of the risks she ran by neglecting herself. He made it clear to her why she had been suffering from dizziness, why her back had a perpetual ache, why her legs throbbed and her heart palpitated so alarmingly. She would have to alter her way of life, he told her. If she intended to keep so many animals then she must have help. There really should be somebody living in the house with her. Had she thought of giving up altogether, and going to live in an old people's home? He could recommend several, very comfortable places, and with a warden to keep an eye on things.

  To Dotty, the prospect appeared bleak in the extreme. Not that she had anything against homes for old people, and in fact her regular visits to local alms houses had always been enjoyable, during her father's lifetime, when she was younger and took on such duties. And several of her friends lived in just such places as Doctor Stokes mentioned, and seemed remarkably happy with their little coffee parties and handiwork, and visits to the hairdresser and chiropodist obligingly laid on by more mobile friends.

  But Dotty knew quite well that such a way of life would never do for her.

  For one thing, she would be tidied up. The haphazard clutter of objects, beneath her own thatched roof, which constituted home for Dotty, would have to be sorted out, given away or just put on the bonfire. She did not think that she could face such upheaval.

  And then the thought of living without any animals was quite insupportable. To Dotty, her animal friends were far more dear than her human ones. Like Walt Whitman she could easily 'turn and live with the animals, so placid and self-contained'. They demanded so little and gave so much in return. She appreciated, with the poet, that:

  They do not sweat and whine about their condition,

  They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins.

  and that they faced life with the same robustness as she herself faced it. The idea of living in a home, no matter how warm, clean and cared for she might be, but without even one animal for company, could not be borne.

  She came in the end to a compromise. As the animals died, she would not replace them. She could not betray them by giving them away unless it were possible to place them in as perfect a setting as their present one. Perhaps young Jeremy Hurst might like two of the rabbits? Or Joan Young's Paul? They would be well cared for there, she knew.

  The chickens and ducks were elderly, and Mr Jones from The Two Pheasants would dispatch them humanely when their time came, as he usually did. And she must resist the temptation to buy more pullets, or to put twelve lovely pearly eggs under a broody hen. How she would miss yellow chicks running around!

  The cats had been spayed, luckily, so that there would be no more kittens, sad though the thought was. As for Dulcie and Flossie they must stay on, and for a very long time too, Dotty hoped. She had been amazed to hear how willingly Albert Piggott had coped with the milking. With luck, he might be persuaded to continue, and of course, once Dulcie was dry, there must be no more mating.

  Well, it was all very sad, thought Dotty, and gave a great sigh. A little fair-haired probationer nurse hurried to her side.

  'All right, Miss Harmer?'

  Yes, thank you, nurse. I was only making a few plans for the future. Rather exhausting.'

  'Like a cup of tea?' asked the girl, offering the panacea for all ills.

  'Do you know,' said Dotty, sitting up and straightening her bed jacket, 'that would be most acceptable. Only a little milk and no sugar, please.'

  She was feeling better already.

  16. Sunday Lunch at the Misses Lovelock's

  ONE Sunday morning the Misses Lovelock fluttered along Lulling High Street to St John's church. This large and beautiful building stood in an open space south of the town, and its tall spire was a landmark for many miles around.

  It was three times the size of St Andrew's at Thrush Green and was noted for its stained glass windows, dating from the sixteenth century. Throughout the summer, coach loads of tourists came to see the church and to take photographs, particularly of the fine east window above the altar.

  In their younger days, the Misses Lovelock had taken their turn in manning the modest stall near the vestry where books and pamphlets, bookmarks and slides of the outstanding features of St John's were on sale. Invariably, after their visit, the tourists wandered across the green into the High Street and sought tea at The Fuchsia Bush.

  It was this recollection which formed the theme of their conversation as they proceeded towards morning service.

  'I really can't think that The Fuchsia Bush is any better off for closing at tea time. Why, only yesterday, Violet, I saw a coach stop, and the driver banging on the door. There were quite thirty people on board, and I'm sure they all looked the sort who would want sandwiches, scones and home-made cakes.'

  'Some,' said Miss Violet, with a sniff, 'looked as though they would want fish and chips as well.'

  'What I'm trying to say, dear,' pointed out Miss Ada, 'is that the Fuchsia Bush is turning away good money.'

  'Well, they get it at night, I suppose, at dinner time.'

  'I think not. I was talking to one of the staff at the fishmonger's and she says they are never more than half full. People are finding it too expensive, she said, and prefer to eat at home.'

  'And very sensible too,' put in Miss Bertha. 'I only hope that The Fuchsia Bush will see the folly of its ways, and remember that it is there to serve people. And people want tea from four o'clock onward. And if they desire to partake of fish and chips then, why shouldn't they find it provided?'

  She gave a stern look at Miss Violet who pretended not to see, but rearranged a dove-grey glove.

  'Winnie Bailey was wondering if a petition might be a good idea, with lots of signatures, you know, to persuade the management to open again at tea time.'

  Bertha bridled.

  'I shall certainly not append my signature. I do not intend to kow-tow for the sake of a cup of tea which I can brew for myself rather better next door.'

  'I was thinking of the visitors, Bertha,' ventured Violet.

  At that moment, the chiming of the church bells changed to one steady tolling of the tenor bell.

  'We must step lively,' said Bertha, quickening her pace. 'It looks as though our hall clock must be running slow.'

  During the sermon, Violet allowed her gaze to dwell on the glowing glass of the famous window. To be sure, she had never been able to see with absolute clarity just what the pictures showed. She knew that the incidents depicted were the draught of fishes, Jairus's daughter, and the miracle of water turning into wine. The illustrated pamphlet told her so. The colours were really magnificent, but there were so many pieces of glass in each picture, and all so intricately interposed, with those squiggly worms of lead everywhere, that she had often wondered if that really was a net full of fishes (Herring, perhaps? Surely not in the Sea of Galilee?) or simply the lower part of the fishermen's robes. Not perhaps the most practical garment for a fisherman, when one came to consider it.

  Thus musing, she let her eyes pass from the mystery of the windows to the frank and handsome face of dear Anthony Bull as he stood declaiming in his beautiful voice.

  What an actor he would have made, thought Violet! Such a presence, such manly beauty, such clarity of diction! And he really gave very sound sermons, nothing too highbrow and yet not patronisingly simple, as though his congregation was composed of non-intellectuals. This morning's subject, for instance, on the theme of good fellowship and the need to consider the feelings of others in everyday life, was being very well expressed.

  She only hoped that Bertha, who could be rather unnecessarily tart at times, was listening attentively. How lucky they were in Lulling to have such a fine vicar! He really deserved a larger and more knowledgeable congregation than this quarter-filled church. A better house, thought Violet, was how it would be put in theatrical circles. Certainly, such a star performer, she decided, admiring a graceful gesture of his hands, deserved a truly discriminating audience, and no doubt he
would have one someday.

  Meanwhile, it was to be hoped that he would remain the vicar of Lulling for many a long day, delighting them all with his outstanding looks, his kindly manner and the genuine goodness of his way of life.

  Sunday lunch at the Lovelocks' was always cold. Violet had set the table before going to church. Starched linen, heavy silver and Waterford glass dressed the table with splendour. It was a pity that the meal set upon it was so sparse.

  Six thin slices of corned beef were flanked on one side by a Coalport dish containing sliced cold potatoes, and on the other by equally gelid carrots. A beautiful little cut glass bowl contained beetroot in vinegar. Liquid refreshment to accompany this inspired course consisted of lemon barley water in a glass jug covered with a lace cloth beaded round the edge.

  'A very good sermon this morning,' commented Bertha, chewing her corned beef carefully with her few remaining teeth.

  'Such a pity there were not more to hear it,' agreed Violet. 'I was thinking so in church.'

  'Well, we appreciate dear Anthony even if we are only a few,' said Ada. 'I think we can pride ourselves on being discriminating here in Lulling. We are very lucky to have him.'

  Bertha cut a ring of beetroot carefully in half.

  'But for how long, I wonder?' she said.

  Her two elderly sisters gazed at her with curiosity. Had Bertha heard a rumour? And if so, from whom? And why had they not been told?

  Bertha attempted to assume an air of nonchalance under their scrutiny. She was not very successful.

  'Oh, it was just a chance remark of Mrs. Bull's when I saw her at the draper's yesterday. She was buying some hat elastic.'

  'Bertha, people don't buy hat elastic these days!' cried Violet.

  'Well, no, but I imagine she needed it for her undergarments, and one wouldn't want to ask for knicker elastic in a public place.'

  'Knicker or hat,' pronounced Ada, 'is beside the point. What did she say?'