(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green (18 page)

'It doesn't happen often,' Winnie pointed out.

Dotty gave a little shriek, lowered her legs from the sofa and snatched up the poker.

'Look, dear, a poor earwig on that log on the fire! Can you reach it? Let me get a shovel.'

Winnie followed her gaze, and bent to the rescue with her hostess. Not until the insect was safely deposited outside on the fence was Dotty able to relax again.

'What a mishap! I've always been devoted to earwigs. As children we used to chant a rhyme:

"
Marco Polo, Marco Polo
His mother was an earwig
His father was a whale.
"

'Now, I wonder what the derivation of that was?'

'I've no idea,' confessed Winnie, her head beginning to spin, as it so often did in Dotty's company. 'But I did hear some children chanting much more topically this morning:

"
Please to remember
The fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason
Why gunpowder, treason,
Should ever be forgot.'"

'And were they begging? With a guy I mean?'

'No, not this time. I wonder what they would expect these days? A penny for the guy wouldn't go very far, would it?'

'A pound probably,' said Dotty. 'Ah! I think I hear the wanderers returning. Stay for tea.'

Nelly Piggott, busy in the kitchen of The Fuchsia Bush, was still unsure about the answer to be given to Mrs Peters.

Her employer was out, chasing up some supplies which a tardy wholesaler had failed to deliver, and Nelly had not had a chance to put one or two queries to her.

Her first, and most overwhelming desire, was to accept the offer with all the delight she felt, but Albert had put one doubt in her head.

To be sure, he had not been much help in discussing this momentous news, when he had returned from the public house next door rather more befuddled than usual.

Nelly insisted on his drinking a cup of black coffee before she told him about Mrs Peters' offer, but she doubted if it did much to clear her spouse's brain.

'Partner?' exclaimed Albert. 'And what pay does that give you?'

Nelly told him. Albert continued to peer sourly into his coffee cup.

'She won't be giving you that much for nothin',' was his comment.

'What d'you mean? It's a fair offer, isn't it? I'll be working harder, that's all.'

'You don't reckon to be a partner unless you puts something into it.'

'Well, I am! My work, my experience, my know-how! And all that,' ended Nelly weakly.

Albert snorted, pushed away the cup, and began to lurch towards the stairs.

'You mark my words, gal, she'll want money before you're taken on as a partner.
Partner indeedl
Don't make me laugh! I'm off to bed, so come up quiet when you do.'

Nelly washed up the cup. Tears joined the water in the washing-up bowl. She did not believe Albert's words, but it had been a long hard day, and what she had needed was some support and comfort in this crisis.

Well, Albert was Albert! Half his trouble was jealousy, she told herself, mopping her eyes. He acually resented her success, that was part of it, the mean-spirited old toss-pot! She had been a fool to expect anything helpful from that source.

She went to bed in the little back bedroom, and lay awake listening to Albert's snoring next door, and wondering if, just possibly, he was right about having to contribute money to a firm if you were made a partner. She must get things straight with Mrs Peters before she accepted.

If only there were someone to ask! She supposed that she could consult someone like Mr Venables, but that would look as though she did not trust Mrs Peters, and anyway it would cost money.

Suddenly, she thought of her new friend, Mrs Jenner. The very person! Sensible about business affairs, and fair-minded. Tomorrow evening she would walk up the Nidden road, and have a good talk with her!

She had no idea, of course, that her friend was much nearer at hand, sleeping in the spare bedroom of the wardens' house, with the alarm clock set at six-thirty ready for her new duties on the morrow.

A light breeze sprang up round about five o'clock on Guy Fawkes' day, and the children rejoiced. Now the bonfire should blaze merrily, and the guy catch fire without recourse to unseemly proddings with paraffin-soaked rags and such demeaning aids to combustion.

It sat upon its funeral pyre looking splendidly remote. Harold Shoosmith's topee had tilted a little on its way to the summit, and gave the guy a slightly rakish appearance, but all agreed that it was one of the best efforts of Thrush Green school.

At six-thirty sharp the scoutmaster thrust a flaming torch into the base of the pyre and within minutes yellow and orange flames leapt skyward. Cheers went up from the spectators, and the boxes of fireworks began to be sorted out by those in charge, ready for the display.

The scoutmaster, freed from his chief duty, now began to supervise the positioning of the scrubbed potatoes in the bonfire base with the vociferous help of his charges.

What with the shouts of excited children, the crackling of the bonfire, and the sharp reports of a few premature fireworks, it was almost impossible to carry on a conversation, as John Lovell found, when at last he made his way from the surgery to join his family.

Mary was jumping up and down in a frenzy of ecstasy, her face scorched with the heat and her tongue wagging non-stop. Her cousin Paul and his friends were equally excited. It was plain that they would be a long time getting to sleep after such jollifications.

'Marvellous sight!' shouted John to Edward. 'Luckily, I had a short surgery tonight. All my patients are here, I reckon!'

He beamed across at a bevy of old people from the new homes, the jermyns, Mrs Bates, and the Crosses.

Edward followed his gaze.

'You've got one in hospital, I hear,' he said.

John glanced at him.

'Yes. But I'm not going to say "I told you so", if that's what's in your mind.'

'I should hope not,' snapped Edward, and moved away.

Pompous ass, thought John, turning away from the heat of the blaze. Edward was getting stuffier with every year that passed, the irritating fellow.

At that moment, the first rocket of the evening whooshed skyward, and sent down a cascade of pink and violet stars.

'Ah!' sighed the crowd in great contentment.

'Where's the next?' shouted one wag.

And, as if in answer, the second streaked away towards a black velvet sky.

It was Albert who told Nelly where to find Mrs Jenner that evening. He had heard all the news during the day at The Two Pheasants, and a very pleasurable time he had had discussing morosely where the blame lay for the accident, and how long Jane Cartwright could expect to remain in hospital.

'It's not so much the surgeon's knifework,' he told his unimpressed listeners, 'as what the shock does to your system. I mean, all them muscles and glands and tubes, they must get in a fine old muddle when the knife goes in, and it's bound to take time to get 'em to join up again.'

He took a gulp of beer.

'That's if they ever do. Did I ever tell you about my operation?'

'Time and again,' said one.

'Too often, Albie! Don't start that again!'

The landlord interposed.

'Jane Cartwright will soon be back. Plenty of spunk there, and a nice healthy woman, like her ma.'

'She's over there now, I'm told, holding the fort.'

'That's right,' said Mr Jones. 'Knows when she's needed, and never been afraid of hard work.'

He looked pointedly at Albert who, by rights, should have been at his duties. Albert chose to ignore the hint until closing time.

The bonfire was at its peak of glory as Nelly crossed the green. As she stepped along the path to the wardens' house, a great cry arose from the watchers round the fire, and she was just in time to see the guy crash through the flames to the inferno below.

'Lot of babies!' was her private comment as she rang the bell.

Mrs Jenner looked tired, but her smile was as welcoming as ever as she invited Nelly to take a seat.

'Bill's just gone along to St Richard's to see poor old Jane,' she said. 'One thing, my duties are pretty light this evening, as about half the people are at the beano on the green.'

She told Nelly more about Jane's misfortune and made light of her own help.

'Oh, it's a good thing to be able to turn your hand to what crops up,' she said cheerfully. 'Keeps you on your toes, you know. Now, Nelly, what brings you here?'

Nelly began her tale, diffidently at first, but gradually gaining confidence from her listener's calm attention.

'And so I just wondered if Albert might be right. What do you think?'

'I should say that Albert is hardly
ever
right,' said she robustly. 'Obviously, you'll want to get things absolutely straight with Mrs Peters now this doubt has crept in, but I'm sure she would have said something about it from the start, if that's what she had in mind.'

'That's what I think,' cried Nelly, much relieved. 'She's absolutely straight, I'm sure of that, and I can't think of anyone I'd sooner work for.'

'Work
with!
' corrected Mrs Jenner. 'You see, Nelly, she realises that you are willing to try your hand at anything. She's had plenty long enough to watch the way you go about things, and believe me, she wouldn't have offered you this if she had any doubts about you being able to cope with it.'

'That never occurred to me,' confessed Nelly.

'You go ahead and accept. You have to look after yourself in this life, even if you are a married woman. And to be frank, Nelly, your Albert's rather more trouble than he's worth, if you'll pardon my saying so.'

Nelly laughed, slapping her hands on her knees.

'You never spoke a truer word,' she replied. 'Thank you, my dear, you've put my mind at rest. I'll be off now.'

'Not before you have a cup of coffee,' said her friend. 'I've still got to find my way around this place, but I found the teapot and the coffee pot before I'd been here five minutes.'

The embers of the bonfire still glowed red when Winnie Bailey undressed for bed.

She and Jenny had watched from the house for an hour or so, enjoying the children's caperings silhouetted against the bright flames. They watched until the last rocket had blazed its way skyward, and the last Catherine wheel had whirled itself to darkness. The sound of firecrackers went on, and small children waved sparklers until they too had gone and they were herded, protesting, to their beds.

It was very peaceful after the din. Winnie leant from her window to survey the scene. There was a moon showing between silver-edged clouds. It was almost full, and lit Thrush Green with a gentle light.

Nathaniel Patten's statue gleamed opposite, and wet branches glistened as the moonbeams caught them. An owl hooted from Lulling Woods and, high above, the landing lights of an aeroplane winked rhythmically.

Little drifts of smoke wavered across on the air, bringing that most poignant of autumn scents from the bonfire's remains.

Tomorrow morning, a ring of white ash and a few cinders would be all that would remain of the past hours' splendour. The children would scuffle among the debris, hoping for a stray burnt potato, or the gnarled metal of a firework component to treasure. Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty would deplore the state of pupils' shoes, and the yawns which would be the outcome of an evening's heady bliss.

They won't mind, thought Winnie fondly. They've had their fun, and nothing can take away those thrilling memories.

How Donald would have loved it, she thought with a pang, as she climbed into bed.

13 Old People's Fears

THE murky weather continued. By now the clocks had been put back, and it was time to draw the curtains at around four or five o'clock.

As Jenny remarked to Winnie Bailey: 'No sooner were you up and about than it seemed you were getting ready for bed.'

At the village school the lights were on all day, and Mr Jones' bar lamps, with their red shades, did their best to cheer the gloom.

In Lulling High Street the shops were already beginning to show signs of Christmas looming ever nearer. A large poster in the Post Office window exhorted customers to post early for overseas' mail, and agitated passers-by realised that yet again they had missed surface mail to New Zealand and Australia and would have to send to distant aunts and brothers by air mail. They went on their way toying distractedly with such gifts as silk scarves, handkerchieves and tights – anything, in fact, which could be weighed in grammes rather than pounds, and even then, they thought mournfully, the cost of postage would be devastating.

At The Fuchsia Bush a discreet notice stood in the corner of the window reminding customers that the last orders for Christmas cakes, mince pies and puddings must be put in immediately. The florists nearby requested early orders for holly wreaths and crosses, and the coal merchant's window had a large card saying sternly, 'Order now for Christmas'.