Down an English Lane (2 page)

‘We’ll have you up on the stage to take a bow, Audrey Fairchild,’ laughed Doris, ‘whether you’re scared or not. You’ve worked harder than any of us for this ’ere concert, training them kids. Gosh! I don’t know how you handle ’em. My Sunday school class are little devils! Oops…!’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘I mustn’t let yer mam hear me say that, Audrey.’

‘She’s too busy,’ laughed Audrey, glancing across the kitchen to where Patience Fairchild, the rector’s wife and Audrey’s mother through adoption, was occupied in adding the finishing touches to the large bowls of trifle; sprinkling the mock cream that covered them with tiny multi-coloured hundreds and thousands. ‘Mum’s not all stiff and starchy, though, even though she’s married to the rector. Neither is Dad for that matter. Of course you know that, don’t you, Doris? Actually, you’ve known them a lot longer than I have…’

Maisie noticed that her friend, Audrey, was looking a little pensive; not unhappy, but just thoughtful. A day such as this, of course, celebrating the end of the war in Japan as well as in Europe, must remind her forcibly of the losses she had suffered during the course of the war. The deaths of both her parents, her mother’s through illness, but her father’s as a result of the blackout in Leeds. But how heartening it was to hear Audrey
referring to the rector and his wife, her adoptive parents, as Mum and Dad. It had been very hard for her at first, and for Timothy, their second adopted child, to get used to the names; but the arrival of baby John Septimus in the September of 1941 had made all the difference.

He was the natural child of Patience and Luke, the one they had never expected to have, coming as a great blessing after twelve years of marriage. As John grew from a baby to a toddler, and now to a sturdy little boy of almost four, learning as he developed to say ‘Mama’ and ‘Dada’, and then ‘Mummy’ and ‘Daddy’, it had come naturally to Audrey and Tim, also, to start saying Mum and Dad.

Maisie looked across at Patience Fairchild, the woman who had taken her into her home and made her so very welcome in the September of 1939. Maisie had loved her very much; and she still did. Patience had been a substitute mother to her until the time that her own mother, Lily, had come to live in Middlebeck, and the two of them, Maisie and Patience, had become very close. She was still Aunty Patience to Maisie; she knew that that was how she would always think of her, although she called the rector Luke, as did most of the folk in the parish who knew him well.

In Maisie’s eyes Patience looked just the same, not a day older than she had six years ago, although she was now in her mid-forties. Her hair was a deep
and glossy auburn, with just a few silvery wisps showing at the temples, and the bright blue of her eyes was the exact colour of the dress she was wearing; a blue background with white polka dots and finished off with a red belt. Patriotic colours, such as most of the women, both old and young, were sporting today.

Patience became aware of Maisie’s glance and she looked up, smiling at her enquiringly. ‘Yes, Maisie, love? Are you ready for another job to do?’

‘Yes, I think so, Aunty Patience. We’ve just about finished all the sandwiches. D’you want some help with these trifles?’

‘No, thank you, dear. They’re just about ready, and we’re not going to dish them out until the children have finished their sandwiches and cakes. Some of them might prefer to have just the red jelly… Is there something the matter, Maisie?’ Patience was looking at her concernedly. ‘You seem rather preoccupied.’

‘No…not really,’ replied Maisie. ‘There’s nothing the matter. I was just thinking that today, well, it’s a sad day, sort of, for some people, isn’t it, as well as us celebrating the end of the war. Audrey and Tim; it’s them I was thinking of, really. It’s sure to remind them of their parents… Of course I know that you and Luke are their mum and dad now, and that they’re very happy…’

‘I know exactly what you mean, my dear.’ Patience put an arm around her and gave her a
quick hug. ‘You’re always a great girl for thinking things through, and, do you know, you and I always seem to think alike.’

‘Great minds, eh, Aunty Patience?’ smiled Maisie.

‘Of course! Yes, as you say, Audrey and Tim are sure to have memories today, but let’s hope that the pleasant ones outweigh the not so pleasant. Although none of us must ever forget… It’s a day of mixed feelings for a lot of folk; for your friend, Doris, as well. She’s always bright and cheerful, bless her, but there must be times when she thinks about her father… That tragedy all came about as a result of the war.’

Maisie nodded, remembering how Doris’s father, Walter Nixon, had been killed, not by enemy fire, but on a training exercise in his army camp in the south of England, by a stray bullet. He had not even needed to have joined up at all as he was over forty years of age and, moreover, he was a farmer in a reserved occupation.

‘Yes… Doris as well, of course,’ said Maisie thoughtfully.

‘But let’s not be down-hearted,’ whispered Patience in her ear. ‘Come along; let’s make sure that we’ve got everything ready. It won’t be long before the hordes descend on us.’

‘Audrey…’ she called to her daughter, ‘and you as well, Doris. I think the next job is to put a selection of sandwiches on big plates to put in the
middle of the tables. Allow three sandwiches each…’

‘Supposing some take more than three?’ said Maisie. ‘I’m thinking about our Jimmy actually. He can be a greedy little pig when he gets going, and I can just see some poor little kid only getting one.’

‘Mmm…good point,’ agreed Patience. ‘But we’ll be circulating, won’t we, to make sure there’s fair play? And I suggest we don’t put the cakes out until the sandwiches have gone.’ She laughed. ‘That’s what my mother used to say when I was a little girl. “Bread and butter first, Patience, and then you can have your cake.” And I’ve never forgotten it.’

‘And you’ve never let us forget it either, Tim and me and little Johnny,’ said Audrey, with a sly grin at her.

‘No; children don’t change much over the years,’ said Patience, smiling, ‘nor do mothers’ words of wisdom… Now, girls, I’ll leave you to get on with that little job, and I’ll go and help Mrs Hollins and Mrs Spooner with the big jugs of orange squash. And there are some little sausage rolls that Mrs Campion has made. I think it would be a good idea to hand those round, then we can make sure that nobody takes more than one… Oh help! They’re beginning to arrive already, and we did say not till half past three…’

It was early for a teaparty – too soon after dinner, some had said – but it was necessary because the hall would need to be cleared afterwards and the chairs re-arranged ready for the evening concert. And whether the children had eaten a mid-day dinner or not, they all tucked in with gusto to the delectable treats on offer. The sandwiches and tiny sausage rolls, each one no more than a good mouthful, were soon demolished, and then it was time for the cakes to be handed round. Mouth-watering offerings, home-baked by the members of the Women’s Institute and the women of the St Bartholomew’s congregation: jam tarts; fairy cakes; iced buns decorated in white and blue, with a red cherry in the middle; chocolate clusters; and almond tarts and moist gingerbread for the children with a more sophisticated taste.

Maisie, going round from table to table, handing out cakes – ‘Just one each at first’ – was viewing the scene with great interest. The grown-up helpers were pretty much the same, plus one or two new ones, as she remembered from her early days in Middlebeck. Mrs Muriel Hollins, with her co-workers – her minions, as they were often referred to – Mrs Jessie Campion and Mrs Ivy Spooner were very much in evidence. At the start of the war they had been stalwart members of the WVS, as well as the WI, whose job it had been to organise the evacuation scheme in their town. They appeared very little different now, some six years
later. Mrs Hollins was just a shade plumper, maybe, and certainly a shade bossier; although she was jovial today, rather than her usual bossy self, determined that the children should have a whale of a time.

‘Now then, tuck in and enjoy yourselves, boys and girls,’ she boomed at them. ‘Isn’t this fun? And how smart you all look today. I can see a lot of mothers have been busy on their sewing machines.’ Suddenly, she burst into song, to the amusement of many of the children who started to giggle behind their hands.

But her rich contralto voice was really quite a joy to listen to. Maisie knew that Muriel Hollins, also, would be singing a solo at the concert that evening.

There was, indeed, an abundance of red, white and blue in the church hall, not only in the Union Jacks and the bunting and streamers strung across the room, but in the clothes of all the children and a goodly number of the adults. Maisie knew that her mother’s draper’s shop had run out of the special red, white and blue ribbon which they had ordered for the occasion. It now adorned the heads of the girls, both the big and the little ones, setting off all kinds of hairstyles: plaits and pony tails,
bobbing ringlets and straight short hair finished off with a fringe.

There had been a run, as well, on the red-and-white, and blue-and-white gingham that Lily had in stock. The majority of the smaller girls wore gingham dresses, and there were several boys, too, wearing shirts of the same material. Others wore white shirts, many with red or blue bow ties.

The grown-ups, also, had risen to the occasion. The WVS ladies were not dressed in their usual green today, which they had proudly worn when occupied on their wartime duties. It would have been too hot for such clothing; besides, the war was over and it was time now for a bit of frivolity. Mrs Hollins wore red, not really a good choice for such a florid-faced lady, although it could be said that her dress matched her complexion. Maisie had never seen her so excited. Mrs Spooner wore a mid-blue dress with a white lace collar and a pretty white lace-edged apron; sensible attire for a sensible lady; and Mrs Campion looked like a stick of rock in vertical red, white and blue stripes.

Miss Amelia Thomson, the spinster lady who lived in the house across the green, opposite to the Rectory, was more soberly clad, as one might have expected. Her ankle-length dress was of navy-blue crêpe de Chine with tiny white spots, but she had actually trimmed it with an artificial red rose pinned discreetly to one side. The woman had mellowed considerably over the long years of the
war, Maisie thought to herself, remembering the forbidding person whom she and Audrey had met on their first day in Middlebeck.

‘Maisie, Maisie…’ shouted a little piping voice, near to her elbow. ‘Cake for me…please,’ he added, as he knew he should. It was Johnny Fairchild, bouncing up and down with excitement, but being kept in check, more or less, by his adoptive brother, Timothy, who was sitting next to him. A couple of Tim’s friends seemed to be finding the child highly amusing; and Johnny, knowing he had a captive audience, was acting up for all he was worth. He was normally a very well-behaved little boy. It didn’t help, though, that Maisie’s mischievous brother, Jimmy, was also at the same table.

‘Yes, Johnny; which cake would you like?’ asked Maisie.

‘That ’un,’ said Johnny, laughing and pointing to an iced bun with a cherry on the top.

‘You mean, that one…please,’ said Maisie, frowning a little at him. ‘Say it properly, Johnny.’

‘Please can I have that cake, Maisie?’ he asked, more quietly, with a twinkle in his blue eyes, the legacy of both his mother and his father. Her heart leapt with a surge of affection for him. How like his mother he was with his shock of auburn curls and his winning smile; but you could see Luke there, too, in his finely drawn features. He would be a handsome lad when he grew up.

The rector was still a handsome man. Maisie
could see him now, out of the corner of her eye, standing at the side of the room and smiling indulgently at his son, but not wanting to interfere. He would know it was unlikely that Johnny would get too much out of control. She gave him a quick meaningful grin and turned back to his son.

‘That’s better, Johnny. Take the paper case off the bun… That’s right. And you, Jimmy…’ She frowned at her brother. ‘Don’t encourage him to be silly. Now, think on! Be a good boy.’

‘What, me? I’m always good!’ replied Jimmy, to guffaws of laughter from the rest of the table.

‘Shh…’ she admonished them. ‘Mrs Hollins and Mrs Campion are coming round to see who wants some jelly and trifle. They won’t give it to silly boys and girls.’

Sure enough, the two women, Muriel Hollins in the lead bearing the trifle dish, and her second-in-command, Jessie Campion, following behind with the dish of jelly, were already doing the rounds. The lads fell quiet. Some of them had been in Mrs Hollins’s Sunday school class and knew her as something of a dragon.

Audrey appeared at Maisie’s side with a large jug. ‘Now, boys; who’s ready for some more orange squash?’ she asked.

‘Me, me, me!’ shouted Johnny, bouncing three times on his chair. Audrey scowled at him in a pseudo-stern manner, and he added, angelically, ‘I mean…can I have some, please, Audrey?’