Mrs. Pringle of Fairacre (12 page)

'I've got mighty little myself,' said Fred, dismissing the old memories bit, 'but you can have two quid.'

He rummaged in a back pocket and handed over two crumpled pound notes.

'You're a good sort, Fred. I won't forget.'

'You'd better not! It's a loan, not a Christmas present. You see you pay me back after your beating.'

'I'll do that, Fred. That I will. That's a promise.'

He held out a dirty hand. Reluctantly Fred shook it.

'Now I've been and dropped that matchstick, blast it!' he said.

'Best not let Maud hear you a-swearing,' laughed Josh and made his way into the night.

When Fred Pringle finally emerged from his haven, leaving two calendars to dry on the bench, his wife was waiting for him in the living room.

'And what did that waster want?'

'Old Josh? Oh, he just dropped in, you know. Christmas, and all that.'

Fred's airy tone did not deceive Maud.

'I asked what he
wanted
,' persisted the lady. 'Did you give him money?'

Fred had a sudden coughing attack.

'You'd best have your cocoa now,' said Mrs Pringle, 'we'll talk then.'

She departed into the kitchen and soon returned with two steaming mugs on a tray, and the usual pair of digestive biscuits which constituted their bed-time snack.

'Now, let's have the truth, Fred Pringle,' she said flatly. 'How much, and why?'

'Two quid, and because he's my brother,' replied Fred, who thought he might as well get the whole business over and done with.

'You're a bigger fool than I thought,' was his wife's
comment, stirring two spoonfuls of sugar into Fred's mug. 'You'll never see that again!'

'He knows it's only a loan. He's got money due from beating after Christmas.'

'If I was a betting woman,' said Mrs Pringle, 'which I am glad to say I'm not, I would bet my last penny that Josh Pringle will never pay you back. You're a fool, Fred, and weak with it. You should have sent him packing.'

'At Christmas time?'

'Particularly at Christmas time,' said Mrs Pringle, 'that's when he needs it most. If I know that good-for-nothing brother of yours he's already in "The Beetle and Wedge" drinking his way through your cash.'

'I was thinking of his poor kids.'

'His
poor kids,'
replied Maud, who had seen more than enough of them that day, 'are Josh's affair, not yours. Let him provide for his own.'

And with that she banged the two empty mugs on the tray, and swept out into the kitchen.

She was right of course.

Josh Pringle had gone to the pub in Fairacre's High Street, and there quaffed three pints of beer before closing time. He was not drunk when he emerged from the pub, but the path was slippery. He crashed to the ground outside Mr Willet's gate, letting out a great bellow.

Bob Willet, busy shutting up his hen house, heard the cry and went to investigate and, seeing who it was, assumed that Josh was drunk.

'Here, give us your hand,' he said, 'and remember to take more water with it.'

Josh staggered to his feet, gave a yelp of pain, and flung his arms round Mr Willet for support.

'It's me ankle,' gasped Josh, 'bin and done it in.'

He was certainly in pain and, although he smelt of beer, Mr Willet was pretty sure he was not completely intoxicated.

'You'd best come in a minute, and let Alice have a look.'

Leaning heavily on the shorter man, Josh hobbled up the path.

Alice Willet, who was getting ready for bed and had already taken down her bun and transformed it into a wispy grey plait, was not pleased to see their guest.

'Josh has done somethin' to his ankle,' explained Bob, depositing the patient in an armchair with a sigh of relief.

'Better let me see,' said Alice resignedly.

The state of Josh's socks gave her far more of a shock than his injuries. The former were tattered and decidedly noisome. His ankle was already beginning to swell.

'It's only a sprain,' said Alice. 'I'll tie a wet bandage round it.'

She departed into the kitchen and Bob Willet decided to open a window. When his wife returned, the air was much fresher.

'See if you can stand on it,' said Alice, 'before I strap you up.'

Josh heaved himself upright, gave a yell and collapsed back into the chair.

'I reckon I've bin and broke it,' he despaired. 'And I've got beating to do next week.'

'You'll be all right by then,' said Bob. 'Just have to keep it up over the next couple of days.'

Alice knelt down and began to swathe the ankle with a long strip of clean linen which had once been part of one of Bob's shirts.

'Gawd!' yelped the patient. On seeing Alice's scandalised face, he apologised.

'You'll have to put up with a bit of pain,' said his nurse.

'But how am I going to get home?'

Bob and Alice exchanged glances. Getting him home was the ardent desire of both, but it was now ten-thirty, and who would be going to Springbourne at that time?

Inspiration came to Mr Willet as his wife secured the last two inches of the wet bandage.

'What about Chalky White? I believe he's on night shift at the signal box this week. I'll nip round and see. Won't be a tick.'

He vanished through the door leaving Josh and Alice surveying each other.

'I'm real sorry about this,' began Josh. 'Your old man thought I was drunk, I believe.'

'Well, it wouldn't be the first time,' commented Alice
tartly. She was longing for her bed, but her natural kindness triumphed, and she asked if Josh would like a cup of tea. Good for shock, she said.

'No thanks, duck. You done enough.'

They sank into silence.

Meanwhile, some hundred yards away, Bob Willet was explaining his problem to Chalky, who owned a battered Ford of uncertain age because his hours of work as a signalman were erratic.

'It would be Josh, wouldn't it?' he groaned. 'Fair recking of ale, no doubt. And a good half mile out of my way. How's the time?'

He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, then hauled out a silver pocket watch from his uniform waistcoat pocket. He looked carefully from one to the other, while Bob secretly fumed. Chalky always took his time.

'Well, it's like this,' said Chalky at last, 'I have to be at Fox Bottom at midnight to relieve young Skinner. Now I reckons to get there at
five to
at the outside -
ten to
would be better - and I've got to have a bite before I go while Mother cuts me sandwiches. D'you follow?'

Bob said that yes, yes, he followed.

'So if you can get him here before, let's say, eleven-fifteen pip emma, I'll deliver him to Springbourne.'

Bob broke into a torrent of thanks, but Chalky White raised a hand for silence.

'I'm not doing it
willingly
, I don't mind admitting, but to oblige you and Alice.'

'Very grateful we are too, Chalky,' Bob assured him, and hurried back with the good news.

Their visitor seemed quite lively, but his poor Alice,
thought Bob, looked ready to drop. He went into action at once.

'Chalky'll drop you home, Josh. We'll take it easy. One arm round my shoulders, and my old blackthorn stick in the other hand. Let's try it.'

In this fashion, Josh limped to the door, then turned to Alice. 'Thanks for the help. I'm real grateful, Mrs Willet.' He held up the stick. 'See you when I return this.'

'No need to return it,' said Bob, urging him through the door. 'Keep it as a Christmas present. I've got half a dozen walkin' sticks. Now, watch the step, and put your weight on me.'

Alice watched them out of sight, put up the fireguard and went thankfully upstairs to bed.

Half an hour later, Bob Willet fell into bed beside her.

'What an evenin'! Thank heavens we got him to old Chalky's. I'll take a few eggs round to them tomorrow to thank him for helpin' us out.'

'That Josh!' murmured Alice. 'The yarns he tells! He'd been to see Fred, he said, and Fred had given him two pounds.'

'Bet that didn't go farther than "The Beetle",' observed Bob, with a mighty yawn.

'I don't think you should've given him that stick, you know, Bob. You was always fond of it.'

'I'd never see it again, anyway,' said her husband. 'No point in
lendin'
anything to our Josh. You'd never get it back.'

'Well, he said Fred Pringle
lent
him the two pounds.'

'Fred Pringle,' said Mr Willet, 'is a fool, and always was. Well, look who he married!'

Although Mrs Pringle did her best to distance herself from what she termed 'that Springbourne lot', Minnie Pringle turned up far more frequently than her aunt-by-marriage wished.

In the fullness of time, the third child born out of wedlock arrived, and not long afterwards Mrs Pringle told me some surprising news.

'Believe it or not, Miss Read, but that Minnie is getting married.'

'Good heavens! It hardly seems worth the bother, does it?'

I was squatting down by the map cupboard, trying to extricate a large piece of cardboard which I needed for mounting the children's pictures.

The map cupboard is a dangerous place to work in: furled maps, ranging from 'Great Britain's Possessions Overseas' (somewhat out of date) to 'The Disposition of the Tribes of Israel' (equally out of date) not to mention 'Aids to Resuscitation in case of Inhalation of Gas' (fat chance in Fairacre where we have no gas) to 'The Muscular System of the Human Body'.

As well as these aids to education, all the awkward objects which have no real home seem to find their way into this cupboard: odd shoes, a broken croquet mallet, a moth-eaten rug, an archaic oil lamp and a cardboard box containing a jumble of jigsaw pieces which have lost their way over the years and share the space with an assortment of stray building bricks, bone counters, odd dominoes and the like.

'That cupboard,' remarked Mrs, Pringle, 'is a menace. That great Union Jack fell out on me Monday afternoon, and brought up a lump the size of a pigeon's egg.'

She put a hand to her head dramatically, while I tugged out the cardboard sheet successfully, wondering meanwhile why it is always a
pigeon's
egg. Why not a bantam's, or an owl's or even an everyday hen's egg?

'So who's the lucky man?' I asked, dusting myself down. It seemed rather silly to get married when Minnie had been doing as nicely as she was capable of, without benefit of the clergy, all this time.

'Quite a nice steady chap,' said Mrs Pringle. 'A widower with five children, called Ern.'

I began to see the reason for this marriage.

'But will Minnie be able to cope with such a large family? That will make eight altogether, won't it?'

'Well, one or two are off his hands now, married or working in Caxley, so there will only be a few home to sleep, and the biggest girl's quite helpful. And you see, he's got a council house, so Minnie will be getting a place of her own at last.'

It sounded as though it would be uncomfortably crowded, but Mrs Pringle seemed to think the whole affair was a good arrangement.

'Minnie wanted a white wedding,' she went on, 'with some of the small children as bridesmaids and pages and
that. She was all for bells and the organ as well, but her mum pointed out it would cost a pretty penny.'

'I should have thought a quiet wedding at Caxley Registry Office would have suited the occasion.'

'That's just it! It
is
an occasion! After all, every girl likes to remember her wedding day. I can quite see why Minnie wanted it all nice and lovely.'

I did not feel that this was the right time to remind Mrs Pringle that a bride in white was meant to represent virginity, and that Minnie could hardly be included in that state with three young children in attendance.

'So what with one thing or another, our Minnie's got a blue dress with a matching coat, and making do with a white hat she got at the Plymouth Brethren jumble last month.'

'Sounds splendid.'

'And I'm lending her my white confirmation Bible to carry.'

I privately hoped she would hold it the right way up. Minnie cannot read, but probably there would be no need to refer to it during the ceremony so the Bible would be for effect only.

'That's the
borrowed,'
said Mrs Pringle.

'The borrowed what?' I asked bewildered.

Mrs Pringle tut-tutted crossly.

'Something old,

Something new,

Something borrowed

And something blue', she quoted. 'Well, my Bible's the
borrowed,
see?'

At this moment, Joe Coggs rushed in to say that Ernest had got himself locked in the lavatory, and was hollering something awful.

Minnie's nuptials were forgotten as I went to investigate.

I did not come across Mrs Pringle during the rest of the day so heard no more of Minnie's plans for some time.

But that evening Amy called on her way back from Oxford, and while we were drinking coffee and admiring her purchases, the subject of matrimony cropped up. It often does with Amy.

'This is such a dear little house,' she said, 'such a shame that it only has you living in it.'