(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green (16 page)

Most of the residents were more than satisfied with their new circumstances, and Tom and Johnny, who had met before on various Lulling occasions, were fast becoming firm friends.

Each little house had a small garden at the back, and a slip of a garden beneath the front windows.

The two old men were soon busy planting their crops in the little plots. Johnny Enderby shared a bundle of fine wallflower plants with his neighbour, and their two front gardens were the first to be prepared, ready for a bright and fragrant show the next spring.

They took to walking along the Nidden road together on fine afternoons, Polly at their heels, and sometimes called at The Two Pheasants of an evening for a pint of ale. It was plain to the Cartwrights that here were two model tenants.

The Thrush Green residents took a great interest in their new neighbours. Winnie Bailey knew most of them from the old days when her husband had been in practice. Ella Bembridge and Mrs Bates were old acquaintances, and Sybil Angell had been to the same craftwork evening classes as Ella.

George and Mary Cross knew the Shoosmiths, and soon there was a good deal of visiting, and being visited, by old and new inhabitants of Thrush Green. Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty's first tea party for Miss Fuller was soon followed by other modest invitations, and the Cartwrights found themselves as busy as their charges in various hospitable engagements around Thrush Green.

'Seem to have settled down lovely, don't they?' said Percy Hodge to the landlord, when Johnny and Tom had departed to their homes across the darkening green.

'Ah! Lovely! Lovelily, I mean,' agreed Mr Jones, twirling a snowy cloth in a glass. He stopped suddenly. Somehow, that last word sounded wrong.

He resumed his polishing more slowly, still puzzled.

Say what you like, he mused, English was a deuce of a language to get right. It got worse the more you thought about it.

'Nearly time, gentlemen,' he said, putting the gleaming glass on a shelf.

That was plain English anyway.

11 Preparing for Bonfire Night

DURING the last few days of October, the large heap on Thrush Green of inflammable material such as wood, cardboard boxes and paper bags full of dried leaves, grew daily as November the fifth approached.

Miss Watson's class had made a splendid Guy Fawkes stuffed with straw, and dressed in some trousers which once belonged to Ben Curdle, a jacket of Albert Piggott's which Nelly had handed over secretly, much to her husband's rage, and some Wellington boots contributed by Ella Bembridge and destined to smell appallingly when the fire got going.

The guy was crowned, somewhat incongruously, by a solar topee which Harold Shoosmith had once sported in his working colonial days. As Isobel had pointed out, the sun in Thrush Green, even at its best, hardly warranted keeping such a piece of head gear.

Once the guy was completed, it had been decided by Miss Watson that such a great man-sized object would be best stored in her garden shed. This decision, however, caused such agitation, and even some tears, in the classroom, that she relented, and the figure hung from a hook on the back of the schoolroom door, and seriously impeded anyone going in and out.

It also frightened several of Miss Fogerty's infants who had been sent with messages to Miss Watson, and one particularly timid child had suffered night terrors as a result.

'It really makes one rather cross,' commented Miss Watson, handing over the letter from the child's irate mother to Agnes, 'when one sees the sort of horrors they watch on the telly. Why, our guy looks positively
benign
!'

Privately, it was not how little Miss Fogerty would have described it. In her opinion, there was something decidedly gruesome in the figure suspended from its hook. Visions of desperate offenders taking their lives in prison cells hovered before her, and she had every sympathy with the young child who had been so affected by the sinister guy.

'Well, it won't be long before we burn it,' she replied diplomatically. 'Frankly, I dread the fireworks far more than the bonfire. At least Thrush Green people seem to have the sense to keep their poor animals indoors.'

'Albert Piggott didn't keep his cat indoors last year,' responded Dorothy Watson somewhat tartly, i saw it myself.'

'Oh dear!' cried Agnes. 'The poor thing! Where was it?'

'Sitting by the bonfire washing its face,' replied Dorothy. 'Quite unaffected by the noise.'

'Isn't that just like a cat!' commented Agnes, much relieved.

The celebration of Guy Fawkes's attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament in 1605 was always a communal affair at Thrush Green.

The schoolchildren helped to build the bonfire and to supply the guy. Fireworks were given by various people who still enjoyed such things, and Harold Shoosmith and his friend Frank Hurst were among the most generous donors.

Percy Hodge always gave a sack of large potatoes which the Boy Scouts baked in the ashes of the bonfire for everybody, and Mr Jones of The Two Pheasants brought out glasses of beer and mugs of cocoa for the assembled throng.

The day before Bonfire Night turned out dank and drizzly, much to the dismay of the children. Would the bonfire light? Would it be too damp? Should they rush over to it and shroud it in a tarpaulin? Percy Hodge'd have one for sure. Could they buy a can of paraffin to make sure it would go? From school funds, say? Or what about firelighters?

Miss Watson dealt with all these anxious enquiries until she saw that a whole hour of arithmetic and geography teaching had somehow vanished, when she became extremely stern and threatened the entire class with Mental-Arithmetic-All-Through-Playtime, which somewhat sobered her pupils.

Over at Rectory Cottages Jane Cartwright decided to put on her raincoat and remind her charges that they were invited to the party on the green at six-thirty on the morrow.

The new steps and paths were slippery in this moist weather, and wet leaves lay like bright pennies wherever one looked.

She completed her tour successfully, and was touched to see how pleased everyone was at the invitation.

'Second childhood, it seems,' thought Jane indulgently, hurrying back to put on the sprouts for lunch.

But they were never to be cooked. Jane's feet went from under her on the top step, and she landed with a sickening crunch.

Lying dazed, Jane's nursing knowledge still functioned.

'The femur,' murmured poor Jane, closing her eyes.

While Jane was still engaged on her rounds that fateful morning, Joan Young and her sister Ruth were enjoying a cup of coffee together, and discussing the odd behaviour of their respective husbands.

'They really are a couple of sillies,' said Joan. 'What grandmother used to term "mardy babies". What on earth is the matter with them?'

'I'm always anxious about John,' admitted Ruth. 'He works far too hard, and I think this police business is worrying him.'

'What police business?'

Ruth explained about the robberies and John's involvement with Leys Farm.

'Funnily enough,' said Joan, 'Betty Bell said something about it, but I had no idea John was mixed up in it.'

'Well, he's not exactly "mixed up in it" as you say, but the young man whom John treated has been sighted evidently, and if the police can pick him up it means that John will probably have to identify him. I'm sure that's one of his worries at the moment.'

'Poor old boy! Luckily, Edward hasn't anything like that hanging over him, but he's remarkably short-tempered lately. I blame it on a job he's just undertaken near Cirencester. It's an old vicarage which they want Edward to convert into eight flats, and according to him it will only make six. There's a pretty ferocious battle going on at the moment, I know.'

'Never mind. It makes no difference to us,' replied Ruth comfortingly. 'They'll get over it no doubt, and we'll be able to have our card parties again.'

'Maybe they'll be more amenable at the firework party tomorrow,' agreed Joan, it's good that it coincides with Paul's half-term this year. He's bringing home a school friend, and Jeremy Hurst has his half term at the same time, so the house will be cheerful.'

'Will Edward be able to stand it?'

'He'll have to,' replied Joan lightly. 'Anyway, I notice that he has an enormous box of fireworks in his study, so that augurs well for all concerned.'

'That's good. Well, I must get back. It's John's half day, and there's lunch to get ready. He comes in straight from his morning round.'

'Not too busy, I hope, with this mild autumn?'

'No, touch wood! It's after Christmas that the trouble begins.'

The sisters kissed affectionately and parted.

Down at The Fuchsia Bush in Lulling High Street Nelly Piggott had been summoned to Mrs Peters' little office.

It was a quarter to twelve. Morning coffee was practically over, and the midday lunch was well ahead, being supervised by Nelly's two competent kitchen maids.

What could this be about, she wondered, taking off her overall? It wasn't like Mrs Peters to interrupt kitchen activities at such a time, unless something urgent had cropped up.

'Sit down, Nelly,' said her employer. 'I won't keep you many minutes, but I thought you ought to know Mrs Jefferson called last night, and she's definitely giving up. The doctor insists, so that's that. You can guess how sorry I am. We've soldiered on here together for many years, and I'm going to miss her.'

'So am I,' said Nelly, with feeling. 'She's one in a thousand. What will you do?'

'That's the question. I shall have to advertise for someone experienced, but the two girls are doing well under you, and can take a certain amount of responsibility.'

She began to fidget with papers on her desk, and Nelly began to wonder what the future would hold for herself.

'If you want me to do more,' she offered, 'I think I could arrange things. Albert's no bother, and you know I enjoy working here.'

Mrs Peters nodded abstractedly.

'Yes, thank you, Nelly. You've been an enormous help, and it's due to you that we're building up this home catering side so successfully. It's plain to me, Nelly, that that's where our living's going to be in the future. That christening party of Mrs Thurgood's has sparked off six, and probably, eight more functions. I'm thinking of investing in a van of our own.'

'Well now, isn't that good news!' exclaimed Nelly. Things must be going better than she had thought. A year ago Mrs Peters had been worrying about the state of the business. Now, it seemed, the outlook was brighter.

As if reading her thoughts, Mrs Peters began to explain.

'We're not suddenly rich, Nelly, or anything like that, but business is certainly looking up and I was left a house last Christmas by an old aunt of mine. It's way up north, at a little town called Alnwick, and as I shall never use it I put it on the market and have a little over twenty thousand from the sale.'

'That must be a great relief to you,' said Nelly warmly.

'It certainly is. But what I wanted to tell you is something I've had in mind for some time. Poor Mrs Jefferson's retirement has brought it to a head.'

She resumed her fidgeting, and Nelly began to wonder if the apple crumble was getting overdone.

'If I get a van and do more of this catering on the spot, I shall need someone who can take complete charge at this end. Would you consider becoming a partner in the firm, and doing that?'

Nelly, for once, was flummoxed.

'Heavens alive!
Partner
? But I could take charge here as I am, couldn't I? I mean, to be a
partner
–'

Words failed her.

'Nelly, I want someone who has the interests of this place at heart. And you have shown that you are proud of The Fuchsia Bush, and willing to turn your hand to anything. All the girls respect you. If you feel you can take this on, I shall be very much relieved. Naturally, your income would be greater.'

She named a sum which to Nelly sounded colossal, and she was about to remonstrate.

'Say nothing,' urged Mrs Peters. 'Think it over. Talk to Albert about it, and let me know before the end of the week.'

She rose and patted Nelly's massive shoulder.

'I'm fair bowled over,' said that lady. 'But it's a wonderful offer, and I'm proud.'

'Off you go then,' said Mrs Peters. 'Something smells good in the kitchen.'

'Well-done apple crumble, I shouldn't wonder,' replied Nelly, making towards her own domain.

The first person to reach Jane Cartwright lying prone on the damp steps was Carlotta Jermyn. She had just emerged from her home and was bound for the Crosses on one of her morning calls.

She was surprisingly calm and competent in this emergency, and knelt down beside Jane, murmuring reassuring words and ignoring the dampness which stained her knees.

'Don't move, my dear,' she said. 'I'll get someone to you immediately.'

But Bill had already arrived and taken charge.

Heads emerged from doorways. Faces were stricken, and lamentation loud.

'If you could go to Doctor Lovell's,' said Bill, supporting his wife's head, 'it would be a great help.'

Carlotta hurried across the green, leaving Bill to comfort his wife, and organise a rug and cushions to ease her position. He was not short of helpers. Everyone, it seemed, was anxious to render first aid.