Village Centenary (23 page)

'How do you mean?'

'Well, I reckon we ought to have a hundred candles - those weeny little cake ones, you know - and now I'll need
two
hundred for the two cakes.'

It seemed what her husband would call 'a mort of candles' to me, but I supposed she knew best.

'I've got it all planned out, you see. I'm doing two big square cakes, because it's easier to cut them fairly that way. And if I put ten candles to a row, and have ten rows, it will work out lovely.'

I expressed genuine admiration.

'Oh, it's nothing,' said Mrs Willet modestly. 'I've been baking big cakes in Fairacre for all my married life - W.I. dos and Sunday School treats and that, but I want these two cakes to be the best I've ever done - a sort of "Thank you" to the school. Anyway, I enjoy a good baking day.'

'I bet Mr Willet does too,' I said.

'Oh, he's a splendid eater!' said his wife enthusiastically. 'Always was. We always said the Willet boys had enough in their dinner basket to feed the whole school.'

I remembered Mr Willet's remark about his recently dead brother who had carried the rush basket to school, and the largesse from Grandma which topped up the original victuals.

'I remember Miss Clare saying once that as long as a person could eat, then there couldn't be much wrong with him. She used to give us lessons about hygiene as we got to the top of the school. Very useful too in later life. Sometimes I used to think poor Mr Hope might not have taken to drink if he had had a better appetite. Hardly ate anything, you know. Mrs Hope used to worry about it. But there, he was a poet, poor soul, as no doubt you know, Miss Read, and poets don't seem to need food, do they?'

I thought of Timothy Ferdinand wolfing down Amy's delicious provender at her dinner party, and asking for the veal patties to take home.

'Some don't, I imagine, Mrs Willet,' I said diplomatically, 'but there are undoubtedly some poets who do.'

'Maybe, but what I was going to ask you, Miss Read, was could you possibly buy the candles for me when you go to Caxley on Saturday? I'd like to have them in good time, and I've no plans to go into town just yet.'

I said I would be very pleased to do it.

'And you will get a receipt, won't you?' she begged. 'The managers want to pay every penny, and have told me to make a note
of everything.
'

I promised that I would do so, and she departed looking relieved.

The job of dismantling the offending dormer window went along at a spanking pace. I thought ruefully that it was obviously much quicker to demolish than to build, remembering the months we had endured noise and the ingress of the weather.

To my surprise, Wayne Richards reappeared as well as his former companion. I asked after his father.

'Getting on fine, that's why I'm here for the rest of the week. Reg is in a bit of a taking over this business, and Dad said it would be best to help him out, as the job's got to be done quickly.'

I did not like to ask about his own plans for the future, but he volunteered the information.

'I'm starting in with Dad on a business footing at the beginning of December. Suits us both very well, and there's plenty of work about. He's not one to get in a panic about his health, but I think this last attack rocked him, and he won't do as much as he always has done. About time he eased off a bit, and I'll be glad to take over more of the work. There's only me to carry it on, so I'd better learn the ropes pretty quickly.'

He gave me a flashing smile through the black beard, and mounted the ladder again.

Amy arrived one afternoon in the same week just as the children were going home. She had asked me to look through the article about the sick room and to give her my opinion on it.

The two young men were up on the roof manhandling the large piece of perspex into place.

'Shan't see you tomorrow,' shouted Wayne. 'We'll have this fixed tonight in case we get some rain.'

'Well, thanks for all you've done,' I called back.

Amy and I walked across the playground to my house where Tibby, ever ravenous, gave us a rapturous welcome.

'What's his name?' enquired Amy, slipping off her coat.

'Who?'

'The bearded fellow. Miss Briggs's young man.'

'Miss Briggs's young man?' I echoed. 'That's Reg Thorn's young man! He's called Wayne Richards. His father's a builder too.'

'He's also Miss Briggs's young man,' said Amy patiently.
'At least, he's the one she was with way back in the summer. The one I told you about.'

'You didn't tell me it was
Wayne,
' I said accusingly.

'I didn't know it was Wayne until two seconds ago,' said Amy reasonably. 'But that's certainly the same fellow. I couldn't forget a beard of that magnitude.'

'Well, I'm blowed!' I said, turning over this interesting piece of knowledge. 'I had no idea this was going on, but it explains quite a lot.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, the improvement in temper, and the willingness to stay after school - at least, until the boy finishes work. I wonder I didn't twig before, with all this happening before my very eyes, as they say.'

'Why should you? They weren't likely to be particularly demonstrative before you and all those knowing pupils. As two sensible young people they hoped to keep their affairs to themselves, as far as you can in a village.'

'Well, I must say I'm delighted with the news. He's a good fellow, and going to have a steady job with his father. I would have thought he could have done better than our Miss Briggs, though.'

'No doubt she has hidden charms,' said Amy.

'Obviously.' I continued to think about this interesting disclosure.

'One thing,' I told Amy. 'She'll probably stay here teaching. It will be nice to know that I shan't have to start advertising for another infants' teacher yet.'

'Aren't you rushing ahead a trifle?' enquired Amy. 'Give the poor things time to sort out their romance.'

'Who started all this anyway?' I retorted.

Our temporary skylight was a great success. For one thing, it was considerably wider than the original one, as the aperture had been made larger
to
take the ill-fated dormer window, and so allowed much more light to come through.

As it lay snug and flat against the roof there was no dreadful drumming noise, and from outside, I must say, the line of the roof looked better to my eyes than the somewhat clumsy dormer window. I was beginning to wonder if the powers that be would finally decide to replace the old skylight with another of more up-to-date construction.

The men who had come with Reg Thorn to inspect the damage after the gale, came again after school one day and spent a long session inside and outside the old building.

Their decision was conveyed to me later by a letter from the office telling me that work on the roof timbers would be put in hand as soon as school broke up. The new window would be finished before the children returned in January, and they were sorry for the inconvenience. They added, rather decently 1 thought, that unusually severe weather had jeopardised Mr Thorn's work, and that further consultations would be needed to settle the design of the new lights, under the circumstances.

'Mark my words,' said Mr Willet, when I mentioned this
to him. 'Reg Thorn will be putting in another skylight. And a durn good thing too. That dormer was wrong from the start, for our old roof. I told you, didn't I, they must have gone into all that pretty thorough when the old place was built in 1880? And they built to last then too.'

Mrs Pringle, who had entered during this conversation, added her mite.

'One thing, it should make Reg Thorn get a move on for once. 1 take it he won't get paid till the job's done, and he must have lost a packet already. It's an ill wind as blows nobody any good.'

Joan Benson's sitting room was crowded when I arrived on the evening of the party.

It was a pleasant surprise to see David and Irene Mawne among the guests, and Joan was busy introducing the new owners of Holly Lodge to the one or two people whom they had not met before. Irene's brother, Horace Umbleditch, who teaches at a prep school not far from Amy at Bent, was also there, and it was good to see him again.

The room was looking very festive with a ceiling-high Christmas tree already in place.

'Too early, I know,' said Joan, to the admirers, 'but I intended to enjoy my last Christmas here, and to have all the trimmings.'

I found myself by Henry Mawne and asked when his nephew hoped to move in.

'Just before Christmas, I think, though one can never be certain of these things. The removal people seem to think about the 20th December, and Joan has been absolutely adamant that she will be out by then. We are full of admiration for the way she is coping. She's definitely having the
house she went to see a week or so ago, and luckily, those people are off on the twelfth.'

'Can she be sure?'

'He's in the army and being posted to the Middle East. That's one thing about the services, once you've got your marching orders, you know where you are. A great relief all round. David's buyers fiddled about until he and Irene were nearly demented, but now that's satisfactorily tied up.'

Miriam Quinn approached and Henry drifted away to talk to the vicar. I asked her if she were going away for Christmas.

'Yes, I'm off to Norfolk to my brother's. I thought it would be more fun for David and Irene to have their first Christmas here on their own. Of course, young Simon will be here, and I believe Henry and Elizabeth have been invited to Christmas dinner. Quite a family affair, and I shall enjoy being with my own folk too, of course. What are you going to do?'

I told her that I had in mind to invite Dolly Clare to spend Christmas and Boxing Day with me. She would be with me overnight for the centenary celebrations earlier in the month, but if she were willing to come later as well, it would be an added joy.

'Do you know, I've never met her, and would love to.'

'Then we'll fix up a meeting in the New Year,' I promised. 'But we're being called to order.'

Sure enough, the vicar called for silence, and made a graceful little speech, wishing Joan well and welcoming the young Mawnes. We raised our glasses, and drank their healths.

I thought, yet again, how lucky we are in Fairacre to have
so many good people united in friendship within our parish bounds.

As our two-day celebrations drew near, excitement began to run high. As well as the entertainment, it was my duty, as always, to provide the annual village tea party. This is paid for from our school funds, raised during the year by such things as jumble sales and bazaars, and I do the ordering.

This time it was obvious that we should need twice as much food, although Mrs Willet's masterpieces should certainly fill up appreciative stomachs. We are lucky enough still to have a baker in Fairacre. He also keeps the village shop, so that I went up one evening to discuss with him such things as scones, buns, lardy cake, and what he calls 'confections' - that is such mouth-watering and fattening things as almond slices, macaroons and madeleines.

Usually I order sliced loaves as well, and spend hours making sandwiches in my kitchen. But this year, with so much else to occupy my time, I decided to give them a miss.

By the time we had finished poring over the order, it was plain to me that we should have to have some more money-raising efforts early in the New Year, as the existing school kitty would be seriously depleted.

And why not, I asked myself? It's not every year that one celebrates one's hundredth birthday! Fairacre School was going to do its friends proud - and enjoy every minute of it.

The two performances and tea parties were to take place on the last Thursday and Friday of term.

Mrs Annett from Beech Green (who as Miss Gray was once my infants' teacher until the neighbouring headmaster snatched her from me into matrimony) brought Miss Clare with her, as our old friend was to stay the night so that she did not get over-tired. I was to return her to her own cottage on Friday evening.

At half-past two parents and friends came flooding into the ancient schoolroom. We had pushed back the dividing partition, and the action was to take place at the infants' end of the room. The quaking actors and actresses were huddled into the lobby. Miss Clare, serene as ever, did her best to calm their nerves while I greeted our guests, and told them a little of what they would be seeing - with reasonable luck.

I had never seen our little school so packed, and this, of course, was only half our audience. I found it intensely moving to see so many old people, some of whom had been pupils before the first world war and would remember Miss Clare as a young pupil teacher. It was good too to see so many friends, some comparative newcomers to Fairacre, like the Mawnes, who had come to do us honour and to join in this home-spun tribute to our school.

I read the entry from the original log book, and Linda and Patrick took the stage. There was warm applause as they entered, due largely, I think, to the superb costumes which Mrs Moffat had created.

After looking somewhat scared at this unexpected welcome, the two became quite confident, and went through their little scene. The caning went down extremely well, and a baby in the front row brought the house down by shouting: 'Give 'im some more!' in the most bloodthirsty manner. Obviously, I should have to keep an eye on this juvenile sadist when he came under my care in two or three years' time.

In King Edward the Seventh's reign,' I said loudly, for
hidden Dolly Clare's benefit, 'Fairacre School had a new young pupil teacher.'

Here Dolly entered, smiling, and the applause grew deafening. We had placed the old high chair, in which she had sat for so many years, in front of the audience, and with just one page of notes Dolly began her reminiscences.

Her listeners gave her rapt attention. She confined her memories to the early years of her teaching at the school, and mentioned many children - many now dead, or killed in the 1914–1918 war - remembered clearly by the older ones present.