(9/13)The School at Thrush Green (9 page)

'That's very true,' agreed Frank Biddle. 'I suggest that we make a list of suggestions ready to forward to the rector.'

'Very well,' said Mrs Gibbons resignedly, 'if that is agreeable to you all.'

There was a murmur of assent.

'I must say,' went on their chairman, ripping off a clean sheet from the notepad, 'that I had envisaged something more
personal
, something more inspired, but there we are.'

She spoke more in sorrow than anger, as though her best students had failed Common Entrance through no fault of her own. Her three companions appeared relieved rather than rebuked, and smiled warmly at each other.

'Ideas again?' prompted Mrs Gibbons, pencil poised.

'Piece of glass. Vase or similar,' repeated Molly.

'Something for the garden,' said Frank, feeling that he should make some contribution as the only man present. 'Perhaps a garden seat?'

'Garden seat,' muttered Mrs Gibbons, pencil flying.

'Wooden salad bowl,' added Emily, conscious that it was really Molly's idea, but unable to think of anything of her own.

'And servers, if the money runs to it,' added Molly, smiling forgivingly at Emily.

'Very good,' said Mrs Gibbons sitting up from her task. 'And I think I shall add a picture of the school. Perhaps a water-colour or a
really good
photograph.'

'Now that
would
be nice,' exclaimed Emily who felt that they could now afford to be generous as the meeting was almost over and the list of suggestions was mainly their own effort.

'I agree,' said Molly. 'They'd treasure that, I'm sure.'

'A really bright idea,' said Frank, collecting his stick ready for departure. 'Thank you for managing things so splendidly, Mrs Gibbons.'

He gave her a polite bow and made for the door, soon followed by the two ladies.

'I don't know that I really approve of the suggestions,' said Mrs Gibbons to the Gauleiter later that evening, 'but they all seemed grateful for my guidance, so I suppose one must be content with that.'

At the school itself, young Miss Robinson who had recently finished her probationary year and was beginning to settle nicely with the lower juniors, was contemplating the same problem. It was she who would have to collect contributions, amidst deadly secrecy, from all the children and then decide what form the present should take.

She confided her worries to the rector when he called one afternoon. As always, he was comforting.

'I should tell the children that we do not want them to give more than say ten pence. It is fairer to the less well-off, and in any case should bring in enough to buy a beautiful bouquet, or a box of chocolates, something welcome but unpretentious, don't you think?'

'And a big card with everyone's name on it, I thought,' said Miss Robinson.

'I'm sure that it would be deeply appreciated by both ladies,' agreed the rector, giving her the gentle smile which mollified even the most militant of his critics.

Later, at the insistence of her own class, she was obliged to outline this plan, stressing the fact that no money should be brought until sometime during the summer term.

However, this did not dissuade one conscientious child from arriving one March morning and offering her a hot tenpenny piece with the words:

'It's for the teachers' wreaths.'

It was in March that Miss Watson was given her first driving lesson by Ben Curdle.

He arrived at six o'clock. The Fiesta gleamed with much polishing and not a speck sullied the mats on the floor.

A few children who had been playing on the green came to watch the proceedings, as Miss Watson, pink with excitement, took her place beside Ben.

'I'll take you up the Nidden road,' said Ben, eyeing the interested spectators. 'Be more peaceful, like. Then we'll change places when I've shown you the controls.'

'A good idea,' said his pupil, much relieved.

She decided to ignore the children. If she smiled at them, they might be encouraged to familiarities she did not wish for at the moment. On the other hand, it would not be fair to scold them. After all, they had every right to play on the green. It was just annoying that they appeared so curious. Perhaps a word about
being inquisitive
at tomorrow's assembly? But then, that would be an aspersion on their parents, who were every bit as agog at others' affairs. How difficult life was, thought Dorothy, trying to attend to Ben's explanations.

They drew up a little way beyond Mrs Jenner's house, where there were only a few black and white Friesian cows watching from one of Percy Hodge's fields.

Dorothy and Ben changed places and, with the car stationary, Ben began his lesson.

'First thing is the seat belt. Get that fixed. Then look in both mirrors and see if you can see the road behind in the top one and a view along at an angle in the wing mirror.'

Dorothy nodded vigorously and did as she was told, finding some difficulty in slotting the belt to safety in her excitement.

'Now these three pedals,' went on Ben, pointing floorwards, 'I expect you remember is the clutch, the brake and the accelerator.'

It was some twenty minutes later that Dorothy was allowed to switch on, to put the car into low gear and to let in the clutch.

The cows, who had watched with deep interest, now backed away in alarm as the Fiesta jerked forward in kangaroo hops.

'You wants to take it a bit smoother,' said Ben kindly. 'Let's start again.'

Half an hour later, Dorothy Watson reappeared in Thrush Green, driving at approximately twenty miles an hour in second gear, and feeling triumphant but exhausted.

She drew up at the gate of the school house and sighed happily.

'I
did
enjoy that, Ben. Thank you for being so patient. How did I do? Be truthful now.'

'All right, miss,' said Ben warmly. 'You'll soon get the hang of it, and everyone muddles the brake and the accelerator to begin with.'

'Will you come in and have a cup of coffee?'

'That's nice of you, but I'd best get back. Molly's expecting me.'

'Then I'll see you on Thursday. And many thanks again.'

Ben smiled at her, and drove his hard-worked car homeward.

He could do with something stronger than coffee when he got in, he told himself.

Little Miss Fogerty was all of a twitter when Dorothy arrived.

'And how did it go? Were you nervous? Was Ben pleased with you? Would you like a drink, or are you too tired?'

Dorothy bore the spate of questions with composure. 'It went quite well, and I wasn't nervous. Ben said he was pleased with me, and yes, I should love a drink. Coffee would be perfect.'

The two ladies went into the kitchen. Dorothy set out two cups and saucers, and Agnes poured milk into a saucepan.

'And I've had some excitement too,' said Agnes, as they waited for the milk and the kettle to boil.

'And what was that, dear?'

'A little cat came to the back door - a tabby one. I think it must be a stray, as I'm sure I haven't seen it before.'

'Better not encourage it,' said Dorothy.

'Well, I did give it some milk,' confessed Agnes, 'it seemed so very hungry. And a few scraps of chicken skin from the meat dish.'

'It probably comes from one of those new houses off the Nidden road,' said Dorothy, snatching the milk saucepan from the stove where it was hissing dangerously.

'I do hope it has got a home,' replied Agnes wistfully. 'It had the sweetest little face.'

'I shouldn't think we'll see it again,' said Dorothy with satisfaction, lifting the tray.

Following her friend into the sitting-room, little Miss Fogerty hoped that Dorothy was mistaken. There was something so endearing about that tabby cat. It had backed away when she had attempted to stroke it, eyeing the plate anxiously, until Agnes had gone indoors. She watched it return and gulp down the food ravenously, and her tender heart was touched.

Dorothy waxed enthusiastic about her driving lesson, and explained to Agnes how difficult it is to let in the clutch
really smoothly
, and how pleasantly responsive the Fiesta was, and it might well be the right car for them, when the time came to buy.

Agnes smiled and nodded over her coffee cup, but she was not really attending.

Would that little cat have a warm bed tonight? She hoped so. Perhaps it would be possible to make a straw bed in the wood-shed? It would mean leaving the door ajar at night, and perhaps Dorothy would object.

'I shall turn in early tonight,' said Dorothy yawning. 'I must say, learning something new is very tiring. I must try and remember that when I'm teaching the children.'

Agnes nodded her agreement. She too was tired with hearing about the mysteries of the combustion engine, in which she had no interest.

Dorothy dreamt that she was driving a large and powerful car of Edwardian design across the grass of Thrush Green. Her right foot twitched in her sleep, as she did her best to distinguish between brake and accelerator.

But next door, Agnes dreamt of a tabby cat, warm and purring, asleep on her lap.

Part Two

Battling On

7. Spring at Thrush Green

THE long doleful winter seemed to be coming to an end when a welcome warmth crept across the land, the daffodils lengthened their stems, and lambs bleated in the fields near Thrush Green.

Hopeful gardeners itched to put out from their greenhouses the waiting trays of annuals. The vegetable plots were raked over in readiness for early potatoes, peas and runner beans. Older and wiser gardeners did their best to restrain these optimists, and took gloomy pleasure in pointing out the late snowfalls of yester-year and the innumerable frosts which April and May could bring with doom in their wake.

The ladies of Lulling and Thrush Green hastened to the two dress shops in the High Street to replenish their wardrobes with cotton frocks, only to be told, with considerable satisfaction on the part of the assistants, that all summer clothing should have been bought last October, and that now they were showing winter wear only.

'But surely that's rather silly,' commented Winnie Bailey, wondering if she would find a Viyella button-through frock a good investment, and deciding, on looking at the price ticket, that it might be wiser to invest in a few dozen gold bars instead.

'The Trade has always followed this traditional pattern,' said the assistant loftily.

Some rock music was blaring round them making conversation difficult.

'Do you think we could have that switched off?' asked Winnie.

The assistant looked shocked. 'Quite out of the question,' she replied. 'It's
Company Policy
to have background music. The customers like it.'

'Well, here's one who doesn't,' retorted Winnie with spirit, casting the Viyella frock across the counter.

She strode out into Lulling High Street, vowing never to darken the doors of that insufferable shop again, and noticed a fluttering of hands at the windows of the Lovelocks' house.

She responded vigorously, crossed the road, and was welcomed indoors by the three sisters.

'I don't know what's come over that shop,' commiserated Ada. 'Ever since that new woman came and called it "Suzilou" it has gone downhill.'

'We
always
bought our stays there,' volunteered Violet. 'Right from girlhood, but now they say they aren't stocking
foundation garments
! Would you believe it?'

'I believe it readily,' said Winnie. 'Also I am getting heartily tired of asking for a size sixteen or eighteen only to be told that those sizes are so popular that they have sold out.'

'Most trying,' agreed Bertha. 'If that is so, why don't the manufacturers make more of those sizes?'

All four ladies sighed and shook their heads.

'A cup of coffee, Winnie dear?'

'Or a glass of sherry?'

'Or we have some madeira somewhere, if you prefer it?'

'Nothing, thank you. Tell me, how are you faring at The Fuchsia Bush, and have you been able to get help in the house?'

Ada, as the eldest, took it upon herself to answer.

'On the whole,' she began judicially, 'we are being well served at The Fuchsia Bush. We go every Wednesday, and sometimes, when we feel we can afford it, on a Thursday as well.'

Winnie Bailey, who had known the sisters' parsimony for almost half a century, was not affected by the pathos of the Thursday decision.

'Of course, we always let Mrs Peters or Nelly know on the
Wednesday,
if we shall be requiring lunch on the
Thursday
,' explained Bertha.

'The food is excellent,' added Violet.

'But expensive,' reproved Ada.

'It's far dearer at The Fleece,' responded Violet, sounding militant. 'I looked at the menu outside when I was passing yesterday, and their set lunch is twice the price of Mrs Peters'.'

'We were not considering The Fleece,' retorted Ada. 'For one thing it is far too far to walk there, particularly if the weather is inclement. I can't think why you troubled to pry into their tariff at all.'