(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green (14 page)

'My! I could do with a kitchen like this,' said Nelly enviously. She thought of the small room at Albert's where she cooked, cleaned and lived.

'Come any time you like,' invited Mrs Jenner. 'I like a bit of company, and although Jane and Bill are only down the road now, I don't suppose they'll have much spare time for a bit.'

'How do they like being wardens?'

'Very much. Mind you, they've only got one couple in at the moment, so things are easy. But they're a good pair, though I says it as shouldn't, and to my mind those old people are lucky to have them.'

'So I've heard,' said Nelly, 'and from several people too.'

Mrs Jenner looked gratified.

'Of course, how things will work out when all the houses are taken remains to be seen.'

'They'll shake down all right, I'm sure,' said Nelly.

'That I don't know,' answered her friend. 'I've had a lot to do with old people in my life, and it's my opinion that they can be downright awkward. Worse than children sometimes.'

Later, Nelly was to remember those prophetic words.

During the next two weeks, the new residents began to filter into the homes allotted to them.

Captain Eric Jermyn and his wife Carlotta had been the first to move in. Theirs was one of the larger homes at the farther end of the block. Jane and Bill Cartwright, the wardens, were now comfortably settled at the other end, and were glad to be welcoming the first of their neighbours.

Mrs Jermyn had been an actress before marrying her husband at the beginning of the Second World War. Remnants of youthful prettiness remained, but arthritis had distorted her hands and feet, and the pain made her querulous at times.

Her husband was considerably older than she was, thin, rather shaky, but still very straight-backed and dapper. They had lived in Lulling for some years since the war, and both given a great deal of service to the town.

Their means were small for their savings had vanished when a bank overseas had collapsed. They had lived in army quarters, and later in rented accommodation, and were grateful when they were allotted this present home in their old age.

Their black and white cat Monty was named after the late Field Marshal Montgomery, who was greatly revered by Monty's owner. He was a portly animal of much dignity, and protested loudly at being shut in a basket for several hours while the move was in progress.

The next day little Mrs Bates from the Lulling almshouses moved in, and two days after that Miss Fuller, who had been headmistress of the tiny school at Nidden, took up her abode next door to Mrs Bates. The latter had no pets to add to the usual confusion of moving day, but Miss Fuller's two lovebirds were carried in first thing, their cage heavily draped in an old bedspread.

A week later George and Mary Cross moved into the second double apartment, and Jack and Sybil Angell soon followed them.

Two single homes remained. Johnny Enderby, a retired gardener, was due to move in, and Tom Hardy and Polly the day after.

The rector still worried about uprooting his old friend from the riverside cottage, but when the day came, all was well.

It was one of those translucent October days when the distant hills seemed to have moved ten miles nearer. The sun shone from a cloudless sky, and the vivid gold of the horse chestnut trees vied with the pale lemon of the acacias in the Youngs' garden. It was heart-lifting weather, and the rector was sincerely thankful.

There had been no need to call on the Youth Club members for help.

With surprising efficiency, Tom had organised the move, parcelling up a few treasures, putting out the detritus of years of hoarding for dustmen, the local scrap merchant and the Cubs' jumble sale. It almost seemed, Charles thought, as if he welcomed this new start, despite his age and infirmities.

Polly looked upon the upheaval with a mild eye, seeking out a sunny place in the garden while the turmoil spread around her. As long as she was with her master, it was plain to see, she had no fears.

The last of the residents was safely ensconced by midafternoon. Polly explored her new home, found the familiar rag rug, and settled down on it with a sigh of pleasure.

Tom filled the kettle in his tiny bright kitchen, and switched on, marvelling at the speed with which it began to murmur. This was better than the old kitchen hob!

He sat down, his feet beside Poll on the rug, and gazed approvingly at his new abode.

In the end house, Jane and Bill Cartwright were also enjoying a cup of tea. Now all their charges were in residence, and the real job began.

Both were tired, but relieved that the moving in was over, and that, so far, no real problems had arisen.

Jane was perhaps more apprehensive than her sturdy husband.

'I can't help wondering if the hot water system is going to stand up to the demands made on it. Do you think we ought to give a gentle warning to the residents about running their hot taps? After all, Tom Hardy and Johnny Enderby have never coped with hot water straight from the tap. And we must make sure that the emergency bells work in each house. It would be terrible if anything happened, and we knew nothing about it.'

Bill Cartwright smiled at his wife's agitation.

'The bells have been tested time and time again, and everyone here can cope with the hot water taps. None of them's a fool. You just calm down, and see how easily things will run. Before it gets dark we'll go together to make sure they have all they want.'

Jane smiled back.

'You're right, as usual. Well, it's good to have our family around us. Let's hope they all get on well together.'

'I expect they'll turn out like any other family,' replied Bill, pouring a second cup. 'A good deal of affection spiced with bouts of in-fighting. We'll see soon enough.'

Edward Young, as architect, took a keen interest in the residents' reactions to his work, and on the whole was gratified. All agreed that the houses were light, warm, well-planned and easy to run.

The main objection came from John Lovell one day when he met his brother-in-law, by chance, as he returned from a visit to the Cartwrights.

'All going well there, Edward?'

'No great problems so far,' said the architect.

'There will be,' replied John.

Edward looked taken aback.

'How d'you mean?'

'Well, those outside steps, for instance. You've been extra careful to have no steps inside, but that flight outside could be a menace, particularly in slippery weather.'

'I don't see,' said Edward frostily, 'how you can overcome a natural incline except by steps – and these are particularly shallow ones – or a ramp. As it happens, I've provided both. And an adequate handrail.'

'No need to get stuffy!'

'I'm not getting stuffy,' retorted Edward, 'but I do dislike outsiders criticising something they don't understand. You don't seem to realise the difficulties that confronted us when facing the problems that this site gave us.'

'I'm not such an outsider that I can't see what a mistake you made with those steps –'

'
Mistake?
What rubbish! You stick to your job, John, and leave me to mine.'

'Unfortunately, I shall have to patch up the results of your mistakes! Mark my words, a few slippery leaves, or later on some snow and ice, and I shall have some old people in my surgery with sprains and breaks. It could all have been avoided with proper planning.'

'Are you suggesting that I'm a bad architect?'

'Not always. But to design an old people's home with a hazard like that, is not only stupid, it's downright criminal.'

By this time, both men were flushed with anger. They took their work seriously, and were sensitive to criticism. The fact that normally the two brothers-in-law got along very peaceably made this present exchange particularly acrimonious.

'The steps are perfectly safe,' said Edward, with considerable emphasis. 'You're getting a proper old woman, John, seeing danger where there is none. I shan't come criticising your healing methods, though I gather that some of them leave much to be desired, so I'd be obliged if you left well alone in my field.'

He strode off across the green to his home, leaving John fuming.

'Pompous ass!' said John to the retreating back. 'You wait till I get my first casualty from the homes! I shan't let you forget it!'

As was to be expected, the new residents soon had visitors. Sons and daughters, grandchildren, and old friends called to see how they had settled into their new quarters.

Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty were greatly intrigued by the comings and goings, and agreed that it would be right and proper to invite Miss Fuller, whom they knew slightly through their teaching activities, to have tea with them.

'I always liked her,' said Agnes warmly, as they carried the tea things into the sitting room. 'She was always so good with the mothers.'

'Sometimes a little too good,' responded Dorothy, arranging tomato sandwiches neatly. 'I think a headmistress should keep her distance with the parents.'

She began to set out the best cups on the tea tray.

'Such a pretty tea set,' commented Agnes, anxious to turn to a safer subject.

Her friend sighed.

'Mother left a very fine Wedgwood tea service to Kathleen in her will, although she must have known that I'd always hoped for it. But there you are, Kathleen did her wheedling to good effect, and I have to make do with this.'

'And very nice too,' Agnes assured her, as she added teaspoons to the saucers. But privately she pondered on the unhappy results following the distribution of the worldly goods of the recently dead.

These melancholy thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the front door bell, and she hurriedly joined Dorothy in welcoming their guest.

10 Settling Down

OCTOBER, drawing to its close, saw Lulling and Thrush Green in their most vivid colours.

The horse chestnut avenue outside the Youngs' house glowed a bright gold, and the glossy conkers were fast being snatched up from beneath them by the village school's pupils.

Scarlet berries beaded the pyracantha growing over The Two Pheasants, and the Virginia creeper clothing Winnie Bailey's house was the rich colour of red wine.

The hedges along the Nidden road were spangled with scarlet hips and crimson haws, while a few late blackberries, glossy as jet, waited for the birds' attentions.

In Miss Fogerty's room, sprays of cape gooseberries brightened the corner by the weather chart, and such seasonal joys as collecting hazelnuts and mushrooms enlivened the children's days.

Miss Fogerty gave her usual autumn handwork lesson on the making of chairs for a dolls' house from horse chestnuts, pins and wool. This involved four pins for the legs, five for the back, and simple weaving of the wool, in and out of the latter, to form a comfortable back rest for the diminutive occupants.

This operation was always accompanied by heavy breathing, enormous concentration and ultimate rapture. Agnes Fogerty enjoyed this annual instruction in the art of miniature furniture making, and felt great satisfaction in watching the children bearing home the results of their labours.

'I suppose,' she commented to Dorothy, over tea that afternoon, 'that they get so much more satisfaction from making a three-dimensional object. I mean, one would far rather have a cat than a
picture
of a cat.'

'Although, of course, a
picture
would be less bother,' observed her headmistress, after due thought.

The tiff between John and Edward still made itself felt. The two couples frequently had an evening together playing cards, but when Joan broached the subject to her husband she was surprised at his response.

'Oh, skip it for a bit! John's in one of his awkward moods. Let him simmer.'

'How do you mean?'

'Oh, he was rather offensive to me the other day.'

'John? Offensive? I can't believe it.'

Edward began to fidget up and down the room.

'Nothing too personal, I suppose, but he was throwing his weight about over the steps at the old people's place.'

'Well, he may be right. Mr Jones mentioned them to me the other morning. He hoped the residents there wouldn't slip on them.'

'Oh, don't you start! There's absolutely nothing wrong with those steps,' exploded Edward. 'The point is I don't particularly want to spend a whole evening in John's company at the moment.'

'Well, calm down,' begged Joan, taken aback at such unaccustomed heat. 'You'll have a seizure if you get into such a state, over such a silly little thing.'

'It isn't a silly little thing to me,' almost shouted her incensed husband, it's a criticism of my work, and I'm not standing for it.'

At that Joan shrugged her shoulders, and went out, without comment, to do her shopping.

***

Ruth Lovell, Joan's sister, was also perplexed by her husband's moodiness. She knew from experience that he took everything seriously. It was one of his qualities which his patients appreciated. He was willing to give time, as well as his medical expertise, to their troubles, and this they warmly appreciated.