(10/13) Friends at Thrush Green (23 page)

'Can't say I do,' puffed Betty, retrieving a drawing pin from the floor.

'For instance, they might say: "Caesar, seeing that the day would be fine and clear, summoned his centurions and their assembled cohorts, with their weapons and a vast array of horses and"—well, what do you think, Betty? "Had breakfast?" "Changed his socks?" "Sang a ditty?" "Faced the enemy?" You see what I mean?
Such suspense
for the listener!'

'I must say,' agreed Betty, 'it seems a bit silly. Perhaps Domestic Science was more my mark after all.'

By this time Margaret Lester was away from the school house, and Alan's mother was in charge. She was a small brisk Yorkshire woman, and the house was spick and span within twenty-four hours of her arrival.

Margaret had gone to the hospital recommended by John Lovell a few days before Christmas, and she remained there while the festivities were going on, at her own request. So far, Alan told the Shoosmiths, she was making a determined effort to overcome her problem, and the treatment she was getting was excellent.

Alan and his mother did everything possible to ensure that the little girls enjoyed their motherless Christmas. They were invited to several children's parties, including John and Ruth Lovell's and, as is the way with children, did not appear unduly cast down by their mother's absence.

Certainly, Mrs Lester senior was soon welcomed into the world of Thrush Green, and as she was an accomplished bridge player, she spent several happy afternoons at neighbouring houses once the school term started.

Isobel Shoosmith grew very fond of this near neighbour as the weeks passed. She admired her energy, her practical ability and her shrewd appraisal of people. Spotless washing billowed on the school house clothes-line on Monday morning and Thursday morning, and the old-fashioned baking day took place on Fridays when the school house was fragrant with the scent of freshly-baked pies, sausage rolls and jam tarts, as well as such traditional north country delicacies as parkin for the cake tin.

Alison and Kate looked relaxed and cheerful under this new régime. Undoubtedly they had sensed the tension in the household earlier, and were aware of their father's anxiety whenever their mother had immured herself in the bedroom.

They appeared to have forgotten the terrors of that black night which had taken them trembling to the Shoosmiths' door, and everyone tried to make the little girls' path as easy as possible while their mother fought her lone battle away from home.

One of the first people to call on Alan's mother was the rector, Charles Henstock. He had heard the rumours of Margaret Lester's trouble as had many other people in Lulling and Thrush Green, and had visited the house as soon as the Lesters had moved there. Now, months later when the news was out, he took to calling at the school house more often, and found a warm ally in Alan's mother, as well as Alan himself.

Alan and his mother seemed glad to discuss Margaret's condition, and the rector seemed remarkably well-acquainted with drink problems, much to Alan's surprise.

'Parsons aren't quite as unworldly as we may appear,' Charles told him, with a smile. 'We get our share of drunkards in country parishes, you know.'

'I haven't noticed a great many reeling out of The Two Pheasants,' commented Alan.

'Jones keeps a respectable house,' responded Charles. 'And so do most of the Lulling publicans. I'm afraid the trouble occurs when too much is taken in the home, as was the case with your poor wife. At least she was never violent with it; I know at least four cases in my parishes where the men absolutely terrify their families.'

'What do you do?'

'Remonstrate, of course. Usually to little effect. Then I try to get them to Alcoholics Anonymous who do wonders. My good friend Anthony Bull told me about them. He gets far more problems in his town living, and is far better at coping with them than I am, I fear. But I do try to comfort the families.'

'And that,' Alan assured him, 'you do superbly.'

'I agree,' said his mother. 'Now I'm going to mash the tea, and you must try some of my Grasmere gingerbread.'

News of Margaret Lester's absence from Thrush Green had reached as far as Barton-on-Sea, for Isobel and Agnes had kept in touch by telephone ever since the two school teachers had retired.

Dorothy and Agnes discussed the situation as they sat by the fire one grey January afternoon. Dorothy's attitude was inclined to be censorious. Agnes, less worldly, was more sympathetic.

'It must make a difference to the school,' commented Dorothy, lowering the crossword to her lap. 'I'm sure the parents must be unhappy at the thought of all that going on behind the scenes.'

'Isobel says that she has only heard sympathy for the poor man,' said Agnes. She was nursing Tim, fondling his ears which he particularly enjoyed.

'But it must mean that he is unable to give complete attention to the running of the school, Agnes. And as you well know, that is a
full-time
job.'

'He seems to be doing very well.'

'I'm not sure,' said Dorothy meditatively, 'that he shouldn't consider giving up the post in the circumstances. What an example to the children!'

Agnes ceased stroking Tim's ears. 'But surely, he's setting a very
good
example to the children! He's behaving bravely, carrying on his job, caring for his poor wife and children—'

At this moment Timmy, offended by the neglect of his ears, leapt to the floor, in a state of umbrage. Agnes bent to apologize.

'It doesn't alter the fact,' said Dorothy severely, 'that he has rather more to cope with than a normal headmaster should. I was never too sure that he was the right man to take over from me. It now seems my forebodings were justified.'

Agnes knew better than to argue when Dorothy was in this trenchant mood. Silently she attempted to lift the cat back to her lap. But Tim was not to be mollified, and stalked to the door.

'That cat,' remarked Dorothy, 'is getting too big for its boots. Teddy says he thinks we overfeed it.'

Sometimes, thought poor Agnes, I should like to scream when Teddy's name is mentioned, which seems to be every ten minutes.

'I don't think that Teddy knows very much about cats,' she ventured.

'He's never had one,' conceded Dorothy. 'But he really is most knowledgeable about
dogs.
In his time he has had two corgis, three cocker spaniels, and a Norfolk terrier. All devoted to him, of course.'

'Eileen told me that he doesn't seem to like her dog.'

'Well, naturally. You know how badly-behaved it is. Eileen is quite incapable of training anything. Far too indulgent. All young things need a little discipline now and again. Teddy says that he and his brothers were very strictly brought up, and you see how well it has stood him in good stead in his affliction. Never a complaint passes his lips. An example to us all.'

The maudlin expression on Dorothy's face as she pronounced this eulogy was almost more than Agnes could bear. She rose to let the ungrateful cat make his exit, then returned to her armchair.

'How's the crossword?' she said brightly, intent on diverting the subject from Teddy.

Dorothy rose to the bait. 'Well, I really can't see what
DAIRY CATS
have to do with architecture, but according to the clue, which may be erroneous of course, there is some connection.'

'CARYATIDS
,' pronounced Agnes, and took up her knitting.

January grew steadily colder as the month progressed. The newspapers displayed chilling photographs of Scottish shepherds on skis searching for their flocks, and trains marooned in snowy wastes awaiting help from helicopters.

Further south, rescuers and rescued were shown taking shelter in the Izaak Walton Hotel at Dovedale in Derbyshire, and intrepid skaters at Cambridge were depicted attempting to reach Ely on the ice.

Even as far south as Barton-on-Sea the snow fell, and freezing fog and icy roads kept Agnes and Dorothy indoors for several days.

Dorothy began to get restive one Friday afternoon. 'I really think I should make the effort to call on Teddy. He so enjoys my reading to him, and I'm sure he must find this weather as depressing as we do.'

But within five minutes, while she was still resisting Agnes's attempts to dissuade her, the telephone rang and Eileen was in conversation.

'I really don't think you should venture out, Dorothy,' Agnes heard her say. 'It's not just that the roads are so slippery, but Teddy has an appalling cold, and I've forbidden him to move from the fire.'

'In that case,' said Dorothy who had become rather pink in the face, much to Agnes's alarm, 'I feel I should come and see him.'

'He says he would rather you didn't.'

'Oh, really?'

'He's so anxious that you might pick up the infection. You see you haven't had any flu jabs. I'm so glad I did, it gives me much more confidence in a case like this. No
please
, Dorothy, put off your visit until I let you know how my patient is.'

'Very well,' said Dorothy, in a tone as icy as the outside world. 'Give him our love, and I hope he will soon be better.'

She put down the receiver with unnecessary force, and turned to Agnes. 'I expect you heard all that—Eileen's voice is exceptionally loud. Obviously, I am not wanted there at the moment.'

'Perhaps it's as well,' said Agnes.

'What I
cannot abide,'
said Dorothy ferociously, 'is the perfectly dreadful proprietorial attitude that Eileen takes over Teddy! Anyone would think she
owns
the man! He will have to put her in her place one day. Her behaviour is outrageous!'

Agnes remained silent.

The cold spell was particularly severe in the Cotswolds: the stone houses crouched like sheep in the snow drifts, and many of the dry stone walls had vanished completely beneath the blanket of snow. The birds, fluffed out with the cold, sat motionless in the black hedges or lined the rafters in barns and out-houses, seeking what shelter they could from the bitter weather. The smallest birds, such as the wrens and tits, sought comfort in garden nesting-boxes, and huddled together for warmth.

Flocks of rooks swept the sky, searching the inhospitable fields beneath them for food and cawing mournfully. The farmers had rounded up their cattle and brought them down to fields and yards nearer the farm. Water was a problem: field pumps had frozen, water pipes burst and everyday living was a constant battle in these cruel surroundings.

People struggled on foot to the shops for such essentials as meat and bread, and one enterprising baker drew a sledge through the streets of Lulling to deliver his loaves.

Cars had been abandoned on many of the more exposed hills, and at one stage it was only possible to get through the lanes around Thrush Green in high vehicles such as Land Rovers.

The sky remained grey and fresh snow fell frequently, smoothing over the black ribbons made by tyres and the inky footsteps of each day's activity. Old people and young children were kept indoors, all longing for a return of sun and freedom.

At the village school the numbers were almost halved, for children living at any distance could not make the journey, and coughs and colds kept others in their beds. Simply keeping warm was as much as most people could undertake.

It was in this inhospitable period that Margaret Lester was driven home in an ambulance, the only safe vehicle to manage the main roads from the clinic to her house. She emerged, looking like a ghost, pale and dark-eyed, to be enveloped by her husband's arms and the happy greetings of her family.

The door closed behind her. The ambulance started on its return journey, and Margaret was left to continue on the long hard road to recovery.

17. Changes for the Better

THE thaw came at the beginning of February. It brought with it fog, filthy roads and influenza. The last remnants of snow lay along the roadside in dwindling heaps, discoloured by dirt thrown up by the passing traffic.

Under the hedges, beneath the dripping leaves, more snow lingered, fretted with the claw marks of innumerable foraging small birds. Mist floated in the valleys with no wind to disturb it, and the River Pleshey moved sluggishly between the bleached dead grass of its banks.

It was a dispiriting time, and the only comfort was that life could begin again, in a torpid manner, as the icy roads cleared and people began to move about their daily business.

It was a great pleasure to Nelly Piggott when the bingo sessions began again. The hall had been shut through the worst of the weather, for few people left their firesides after dark, and the practical difficulties of keeping the large hall heated and cleaned proved impossible.

Mrs Jenner called for Nelly and the two women made their way down the hill to their evening's amusement. Gladys Lilly did not appear.

'She may well be down with this flu,' surmised Mrs Jenner. 'I know Doreen's been
off
work this week with it.'

Nelly, who had been consumed with curiosity for months about the possible romance between Mrs Jenner's brother Percy and the young girl, felt that she could do a little circumspect investigation.