(11/13) Celebrations at Thrush Green (17 page)

'I am relieved to hear it. Sometimes old people do odd things with their possessions.'

'Not Frederick,' Robert assured him. 'He has more sense in money matters than all the Bank of England directors rolled into one.'

'I am greatly relieved. Miss Fothergill seems an admirable person.'

'Miss Fothergill is worth her weight — and that's considerable, let me say — in gold. And when you come to visit us I will take you and Dimity to see Frederick and Miss Fothergill.'

'We shall look forward to it,' the rector told him. 'I shall write at once to Mr Fennel to thank him for this wonderful gift. I notice you talk of Frederick, and not Mr Fennel, so what is Miss Fothergill's Christian name?'

'I've no idea,' confessed Robert, 'and even if I knew, I should never dare to use it. Miss Fothergill is certainly a saint, but she's a dragon as well.'

Laughing, the two men went to join the others.

Later Charles drew Harold into his study and showed him the cheque. He had never seen his friend so moved. Harold's hands trembled as he held the cheque, and he spoke with emotion.

'It's unbelievable! What a relief this is, Charles! I've worried so much about it in these last few weeks, and now this means that we can really send something worthwhile to the mission. God bless Frederick Fennel, and I mean that sincerely.'

***

There was another shower of rain during the afternoon, and the people of Thrush Green began to look out mackintoshes and umbrellas for the evening's festivities.

'How sensible of Alan Lester to have an indoor event,' remarked Winnie to Jenny, as they sipped their tea by the drawing-room fire.

'And Mr Henstock too,' said Jenny. 'That's one good thing about religious affairs - they're under cover.'

Winnie could not help feeling that this was a somewhat diminishing view of church festivals, but let it pass.

As it grew dark, activity increased on the green. Percy Hodge arrived in his Land-Rover with the sack of potatoes. The scoutmaster appeared with his troop who were to cook and distribute Percy's largesse, and Albert Piggott was seen tottering across from his house carrying a paraffin can in case the bonfire was sulky because of the night's downpour.

Luckily, the rain had stopped by the time the celebrations were due to begin, and although the wind was boisterous it was not as savage as it had been during the night.

Charles Henstock drove his party up the hill from Lulling, and met Harold, Isobel, Dorothy and Agnes walking from their house.

A great crowd was gathering, and even the three Miss Lovelocks appeared, having been transported by the local taxi.

'Cor!' said Albert to Percy. 'That must have hurt them old ducks, paying out for Bert Nobbs' old banger!'

'Shows how much they wanted to take part,' replied Percy with approval.

It had been agreed that the youngest scout should have the honour of igniting the bonfire. A diminutive figure, brandishing a flaming torch made from a fire-lighter tied to a long dry stick, leapt to his task and, to everyone's relief, the bonfire began to crackle and blaze.

By the light of the flames Nathaniel Patten's statue showed clearly. The children's garland encircled his neck adding a raffish touch to his Victorian garb. Alan Lester thought his pupils had made a very good job of this, their own idea, and felt a pang of pride.

He was there with his wife Margaret and their two daughters, among many other parents now in charge of their own excited offspring.

Suddenly the first rocket went up. It was Harold Shoosmith's suggestion that fireworks should add to the general rejoicing, and certainly there was something wonderfully exhilarating about the bangs and crackles, the whooshing and waving, the sparkle and whirling of innumerable lights against the blackness of the autumn sky.

There was constant movement, too, among the company as friends met and mingled, the scouts scurried about their cooking duties and the excited children scampered about enjoying the last few hours of this never-to-be-forgotten celebration.

It was ten o'clock before the fire began to die down, and the last Catherine wheel had slowed its whizzing to a stop. The potatoes had been eaten, the scouts congratulated, and the crowd began to straggle away as soon as the final 'Hip, hip, hooray!' had been raised by the rector.

The Lovelock sisters departed early, taken back to their home by Harold. Robert Wilberforce and his betrothed also set off before the last cheers, and there was much speculation about the pair as they walked across the green to their car, Robert's arm protectively around his companion.

Soon only the scoutmaster and his valiant troop remained. It was the scouts' duty to see that the fire was safe to leave, and very zealously they discharged their responsibilities. The fact that an occasional baked potato turned up was an added bonus.

Now that the flames had gone and only a dim glow came from the hot ashes, it was possible to see the stars shining above Thrush Green. The wind had dropped to a light breeze, hardly enough to rustle the leaves of the chestnut trees, or to stir the trailing geraniums in Mr Jones's hanging baskets against the stone walls of the Two Pheasants.

At midnight Harold Shoosmith was alone downstairs. His spirits were buoyant. How wonderfully well everything had turned out, after his worries! Isobel and their two guests had retired an hour earlier, tired by the excitements of the day. Tomorrow Agnes and Dorothy would return to Barton-on-Sea, and the household would be as usual again. Frankly, Harold would be glad of it.

But as well as relief, Harold realized that there would be a sense of anti-climax after the activity of the last months. The excitement of the search was over. The outcome had been deeply satisfying, but what lay ahead?

He opened the front door and walked down the path to the open stretch of grass where Nathaniel Patten stood beneath the night sky.

The air was cool. How often, thought Harold, must Nathaniel have longed for this cool freshness, as he himself had done, under the burning African sky?

These immediate surroundings had changed little since the time when Nathaniel had set out, as a young man, for Bristol, accompanied by his older friend, mentor and benefactor, the good rector of Thrush Green.

How many lives those two had touched! His own, for one. He had chosen to come to Thrush Green on his retirement because he revered the memory of Nathaniel whose work he had admired in Africa.

Here he had met Isobel and made her his wife. Here he had revived the memory of Nathaniel Patten and caused this statue to be raised. Pride in their most famous son had been rekindled in present-day Thrush Green, and the work of his mission in Africa honoured.

It was through Nathaniel's letters that the true greatness of Octavius Fennel, one-time rector of this parish, had been discovered. It was those letters and the rector's own diary which had inspired so many people to carry on the good work begun so long ago.

And Robert Wilberforce and Dulcie Mulloy would not have met but for Nathaniel Patten. It was a happy thought.

What was more, Nathaniel's mission could continue, thanks to good friends and, in particular, the generous and unseen Frederick Fennel. Celebrations at Thrush Green had been justified.

Harold looked with affection at his old friend. The garland around his bronze neck was fast withering, but his memory would stay fresh with all at Thrush Green.

The words which the congregation had sung that morning came back to Harold.

And their work continueth,
Broad and deep continueth
Greater than their knowing.

Far away and close at hand, thought Harold, that was true.

He returned home, closed the door, and went, greatly content, to bed.