Village Centenary (22 page)

But if I were relieved to see the back of Minnie's brood, I was really sorry to say farewell to the shepherd's children. Perhaps he had found a better job than his new one with Mr Roberts?

Mr Willet enlightened me.

'Bin pinchin'. Not just the odd egg or swede and that. He done in one of Mr Roberts's sheep, and sold it to that back-street butcher in Caxley. Ought to be deported, the pair of 'em, but I don't suppose they'll get more than probation when the case comes up.'

'Well, they certainly won't get deported,' I assured Mr Willet. 'Anyway, who'd want them?'

'We don't, that's for sure! And Mr Roberts is hopping mad. Now he's got to start all over again getting some new chap. Can't trust a soul these days, Miss Read. They'd take your teeth off of the table if you was fool enough to leave 'em there.'

'At the moment,' I told him, 'my teeth - what are left of them - don't take out.'

Mr Willet looked sympathetic.

'Then you've a mort of trouble ahead of you. I'm thankful to say all mine are national gnashers now, and it's a great comfort to be able to take 'em out now and again to give me gums a nice airing.'

He set out across the playground, and then turned.

'Bring the numbers down a bit though, won't it? Them Pringle kids and shepherd's lot? Bet you'll be hearing from the office.'

'Oh, shut up,' I begged him.

For the horrid fact was much in my mind too.

Another cause for relief was the absence of Reg Thorn's men. I had grown quite fond of them both, and found Wayne particularly sensible and friendly. Nevertheless, it was wonderful to be free of that everlasting cacophony from their transistor radio, and from the bangs and thumps as they worked overhead.

Mr Willet still looked askance at the finished product, but as I pointed out, no rain had come through now that it was completed, and we certainly seemed to have more light.

'Hasn't had a fair test yet,' Mr Willet warned me. 'You wait till that old wind gets up!'

Unfortunately, we did not have to wait long. The halcyon October weather broke early in November with lashing rain and a high wind.

I was relieved to see that no water came through, as it certainly would have done in the old days, but there was an annoying drumming sound as the wind caught the jutting framework. I was not too happy about this vibration, and rang Reg Thorn during the dinner hour. For once he was at home.

'I've got to come over to Springbourne this afternoon,' he told me. 'I'll pop in on my way.'

As one might expect, the wind had dropped considerably by the time he arrived, and the drumming was hardly in evidence. Nevertheless, he clambered up to the window and seemed to make a fairly exhaustive study of the structure.

'Right as a trivet,' he assured me when he descended. 'Good bit of work that! You don't need to worry about a thing. Them boys of mine know what they're up to. By the way, have you heard about Ted Richards?'

I looked blank. 'Do I know him?'

'Young Wayne's dad. He's had a stroke. The boy's
off
work for a few days, helping out.'

'I'm sorry to hear that. How's the old man getting on?'

'Pretty well. His speech is back, and the doctor says his arm is coming round. Shook the old boy though. I reckon I'll be losing Wayne, and I'll be sorry. He's a good worker, and a bit more up top than some I could mention. Still, his dad comes first, I can see that.'

He stepped back to take a last satisfied look at his creation, and then departed.

I woke in the night to the howling of a terrific gale. I could
hear a door banging downstairs, and got out of bed to go and shut it. As I did so a horrific rumbling sounded overhead, and I guessed that a tile had blown loose and was bumping down the roof.

The larder door was ajar and banging every time the gusts came through the small window. I closed both, and returned through the roaring to my bed.

But sleep was impossible. We get these frighteningly strong winds up here on the Downs, and a great deal of damage is done to our houses and farm buildings, not to mention trees and gardens. Usually I comfort myself with the thought that I have survived plenty of these rough nights, but this one seemed peculiarly vicious. One thing, it would test Reg Thorn's new window, I thought.

I dropped off again about six, the storm still raging, so that I overslept and had to hurry around to get over to school in time. To my dismay there was rain water on the floor beneath the window. On looking up, I could see that the whole structure seemed to be slanting, but that the water appeared to be dripping to the right of it.

1 went outside and bumped into Mr Willet, and pointed out the damage. He surveyed it in silence for a full minute.

'It's the roof timbers, I reckon, not so much the window. It's no good patching old with new and expecting 'em both to thrive. Best get old Reg again, I suppose.'

He came inside with me and surveyed the puddle. Drips from above enlarged it steadily.

'Quite like old times, ain't it?' said Mr Willet, with evident satisfaction.

I rang Reg and left a message with his wife as he was out, of course. Mrs Pringle was mopping up when I returned.

She was wearing a new cretonne overall and an expression of extreme martyrdom.

'This is something I could have done without,' she said sourly. 'My leg's proper blazing this morning. I didn't hardly know how to get up the street.'

'I'll get one of the children to do it,' I said. Mrs Pringle wrung out the floor cloth, and shuffled to her feet.

'Too late! It's done now. And I hope you'll tell Reg Thorn what you think of him when he deigns to turn up.'

I told her that I had telephoned.

'Well, I shall have a word with him whatever you decide to do. Shoddy workmanship, that's what that is.'

'What a very pretty overall,' I replied, trying to pour oil on troubled waters. The old harridan looked slightly less gloomy.

'Minnie give it to me when she left. That's one blessing, I must say, to have the house to myself at last. But for how long, I wonder? That girl's still hankering after that Bert, you know. It's as though she can't help herself. Nothing but a prawn of fate, if you take my meaning.'

I said that I thought I did.

'Well, Em's come round, and seems to be working regular - if work you can call it, leaning on a spade up Springbourne Manor and having cups of tea at all hours in the greenhouse. He don't know yet about Bert, and I've threatened to tell him, to try and get our Min to come to her senses. Sometimes I wonder if she's right in her head, Miss Read, I do straight.'

I agreed warmly. Mrs Pringle picked up her pail and limped to the lobby.

Later, Miss Briggs and I surveyed the damaged window more closely, as we awaited the arrival of Reg Thorn.

'It seems such a shame after all that hard work,' said my assistant.

'It does. By the way, did you know that the dark young man's name was Richards?'

'Yes.'

'Reg Thorn tells me that his father has had a stroke, poor fellow.'

'I know.'

'I wonder if it means that Wayne will have to leave Reg Thorn? He seemed to think so. It is bad luck.'

'Not for Wayne, I shouldn't think,' observed Miss Briggs, and the conversation ended abruptly as the youngest Coggs child approached bearing a dead, and very smelly, starling.

Afterwards it occurred to me that Miss Briggs seemed to know far more about the Richards than I did. Hardly surprising, I told myself, as she talked to the two boys far more than I did, and may well have bumped into them in Caxley recently.

Reg Thorn did not arrive until school ended. It was still blowing, still cold, and still depressing. I went indoors for my tea, leaving him to discover the worst. Twenty minutes later, having thawed out, I repented, and took him out a mug of tea.

But he had gone.

Rehearsals continued, and I was glad to see that the children seemed much less self-conscious as they began to be familiar with their lines and their movements about the stage—or rather, the schoolroom floor.

The costumes were practically finished, thanks largely I knew to Mrs Moffat's generosity with her time and skill.
Nothing second-rate ever came from that lady's needle, and I was confident that our cast would be beautifully dressed.

We ran through the whole programme to time it one afternoon, and were pleasantly surprised to find that the whole thing took about an hour and a quarter. As we were following this with our tea party, we should have two full and happy afternoons, the first for the infants' parents and friends, and the repeat performance the next day for the juniors and the rest of those wanting to come.

The vicar called in one day to give me the good news that the managers were providing our birthday cake, and that Mrs Willet had offered to bake it - or rather two of them, one for each afternoon.

'It's very generous of them,' I said. 'And if Mrs Willet's in charge of the cooking, we know everything will be absolutely superb.'

'It was Henry's idea really. He thought Mrs Willet, as an old Fairacre pupil, might be agreeable, and she just jumped at the chance. She said it would have been a disgrace to ask some Caxley baker to make Fairacre's centenary cake. She's working out the cost, which we're delighted to meet as our small contribution to the fun.'

It was marvellous to see how enthusiastic the whole village was about our celebrations. There was no doubt about it, Fairacre School was the heart of our village, and memories of their own schooldays quickened the adults' response to this tribute to its hundred years. Its influence could never be estimated. I only hoped that it would be able to continue to serve the village as it had always done.

Our numbers were smaller than ever before, and I did my
best to push that unpleasant fact, and its even more unpleasant consequences, into the back of my mind.

But I was not always successful.

Joan Benson rang one evening to invite me to a small party for farewell drinks.

'I'd love to come,' I said, 'but "farewell" sounds so sad.'

'Oh, I think I shall pop back from time to time,' she said cheerfully. 'Miriam insists, and so do Irene and David. I must say that now it's arrived, I feel much happier about going than I have all these months.'

'So you've found something in Sussex?'

'I think so. Nothing really fixed yet, but David and Irene have sold their flat, and their buyers want to move in almost immediately. The Mawnes were very sweet and did not want to hurry me - in fact they'd made plans to stay in Caxley, or with Henry and Elizabeth - but it's far better for everyone if they move in here at once, and in any case, I can stay with my daughter until my new abode is ready.'

'We shall all miss you. Particularly Miriam.'

'It's kind of you to say so. Actually Miriam seems much more settled about the move now. I think she's suddenly realised that the Mawnes genuinely want her to stay, and now that she feels she can be useful to them, her attitude has changed entirely. I must say, I feel much happier about deserting her. She so loves Fairacre, it would have been tragic if she had had to uproot herself after such a short stay.'

I wished her luck with her plans, and said that I would look forward to the party on December the first.

Two days later Reg Thorn arrived with three men who, from their somewhat formal attire, were probably from the
building department of the county education office. They all gazed at the poor dormer window, still hopelessly askew, and a good deal of head-shaking went on and grave looks were exchanged. From my strategic lookout post by the classroom window it seemed that Reg Thorn grew increasingly unhappy during the conference, but of course I could not hear what was being said.

After about half an hour, when we had settled down to arithmetic, one of the three strangers knocked at the door and asked if he could have a word with me. Reg Thorn and the other two men seemed to have disappeared.

'I'm afraid that this is going to be a bigger job than we thought,' he said. 'Mr Thorn will be dismantling the present structure immediately, as it is not too safe.'

I must have looked alarmed, for he went on hastily.

'Nothing too daunting! You and the children will be quite all right. But for the time being we propose to put a large piece of perspex over the aperture to keep out the weather while we investigate the roof timbers again.'

Trust our Mr Willet to have been right from the word 'Go', was my private comment, but naturally I kept mum.

'And when will Reg Thorn start the dismantling?' I asked.

'This afternoon,' replied the man. He sounded rather grim, I thought. 'And the sooner the better,' he added.

I was in entire agreement.

Mrs Willet called in during the evening to return a cookery book which I had lent her some time ago, and I took the opportunity of saying how pleased we all were to hear that she was making the birthday cake.

'Cakes,'
she corrected me. It wouldn't be seemly to have half a cake at the second tea party. It's just as simple to make two nice cakes as the one.' She hesitated for a moment. 'Which brings me to the candles,' she continued.