‘Very well, I think. Mr Mansfield is a really good boss. He’s so up to date with what’s happening in farming. I happened to go into his office the other day and I’ve never seen so many farming magazines.’ Grace nodded, as Abraham realised, she would often go into his room to clean. ‘He talks about moving more towards arable crops, saying that you must see what kind of farming gives the best financial return. Grace, you just said how kind Mrs Mansfield is to you, well, Mr Mansfield is like that, too. You’ll never guess what?’
This time it was Grace who rested her hand on Abraham’s arm as she encouragingly smiled for him to tell her. ‘Well, he said that there’s a course at Steepleton College in September about farm management for one and a half days a week and he wants me to go on it. He said that if I did well and worked really hard I would be able to help with managing the farm in three or four years.’
‘That’s wonderful, really wonderful. Oh Abraham, what an exciting future for both of us. How lucky we are.’
As they continued to lightly hold each other’s hands, they looked over to the other side of the barn and saw that two men were arguing. One was Lionel de Maine, the other, Bernie Thomas, the evening’s fiddle player, and that Lionel appeared the worst for his drink. His father quickly took his son’s arm and without any hesitation led him, quite forcibly, out of the barn. He returned a few minutes later and briskly walked over to rejoin his wife who had linked up with Mr and Mrs Mansfield.
‘My dear Major,’ beamed Jack Mansfield, his bushy eyebrows moving slightly with his smile: ‘your rendering of those two poems was splendid, just as everything about tonight is good. How fortunate we are to live in such a place. I know our village has a lot of people who find it hard enough to get by, but the kindness shown to us since we moved here is remarkable.’
‘Amen to that,’ added his elegant wife. ‘I wish we could do more for everyone, but maybe this evening goes some way to thank them.’
Mrs de Maine quickly came in on the conversation: ‘Mabel and Jack, we would love you to come over to dinner soon. It would be really nice to have a quiet dinner just for the four of us.’ Sebastian de Maine inwardly thanked Isabella for her gentle way of following on from their conversation about seeking advice from Jack Mansfield.
‘That’s very kind of you. We would love to, wouldn’t we Jack?’ The following Thursday was happily agreed, but their conversation was interrupted by Fred Jackson asking everyone to take their places.
As Mabel and Jack Mansfield moved to their seats, she turned to her husband, nodded in the direction of Grace and Abraham, saying, ‘What a splendid couple of youngsters they are.’
‘Indeed,’ replied her husband, ‘and I’m so glad you agreed that I should talk to young Abraham about him playing a bigger role in the management of Spinney Farm. I’m not getting any younger and I can’t think of a brighter young man than him and I’d bank my reputation on his integrity and loyalty.’
‘I agree, but you’ll be all right for a fair number of years yet, Jack,’ she smilingly added. ‘Do you think that young Grace and Abraham are becoming attached?’
‘Mabel, what an old romantic you are! They’re just old school friends and good company for each other this evening.’ Mabel Mansfield smiled to herself, taking her husband’s hand as they sat down for the next part of the evening.
Fred Jackson almost bounced on to the stage. ‘I hope that you are all well fortified with liquid refreshment not to mention the splendid things provided by Mrs Mansfield and others. Thank you to them; let’s give a big round of applause.
‘Our entertainers have lavished their excellence upon you, now it’s your turn. Time for some dancing and if you don’t know the steps, don’t worry as all will become plain. Ready for the “Gay Gordons”? Now we want everyone on the floor in pairs, so find a partner and then standing in those pairs, make a big circle.’
The younger men moved with considerable speed to find a partner, Abraham to Grace, Albert to Doris and Willy to his sister Ruby; the older men were a little more reluctant although Major de Maine and Mr Mansfield quickly helped make the circle with their wives. ‘Now, I’m going to ask our musicians to play and we’ll all join in,’ announced the compère. ‘I’ll call out the instructions and don’t worry if you get something wrong. Just try not to knock each other over!’
The quartet struck up and all joined in. After a few minutes all went well although as Willy remarked to his sister, ‘It’s just as well it’s not too light in here to show up where I go wrong.’
‘Oh Willy, you dance very well. It’s really good fun. Where did Lionel go?’
‘I really don’t know,’ replied Willy. ‘Let’s just enjoy the dancing.’ And everyone did. There followed similar instruction for the “Military Two-Step” and whilst some of the footwork was not embraced by all, the result was greatly enjoyed. Abraham noticed that Albert and Doris Groves made off to the darkest corner of the barn where they sat together on the deep layer of straw.
After the dances, there followed much light-hearted talk with most apologising to partner for treading on toes. Folk found somewhere to sit with a few filling up their glasses. Fred Jackson took to the stage again and announced that by popular request all were invited to join in singing “Daisy, Daisy” again. Whilst this twenty-year-old favourite was being sung with great gusto, few noticed that Eleanor Windle had moved from the guest seats.
There was little doubt why Albert and Doris had found one of the darker areas of the barn. Albert was wondering how far he could go when he realised someone was standing immediately in front of him. ‘Albert, are you ready? It’s nearly our turn.’ He wondered if it was a knowing smile on Eleanor Windle’s pretty face.
Fred Jackson called for silence. ‘Two of our number have particularly fine voices. We are grateful to them for prompting the rest of us in the communal singing, but now you can enjoy them as soloists and then in a duet. It is my great pleasure, first to introduce Mrs Windle. Our vicar’s wife needs no further introduction.’
Eleanor stepped on to the stage. Wearing a long crimson skirt with a lighter red blouse she was, indeed, a very attractive soloist. ‘Dear friends,’ Eleanor started, ‘just two songs. The first is a poem recently set to music by Edward Elgar: “Dry Those Fair, Those Crystal Eyes”.’ Miss Small was the sole accompanist this time as the audience sat enraptured as Eleanor sang. She was known to have a beautiful voice as she was heard with the St Mary’s choir, but tonight was different. Few present knew the song, but there was not a movement from her audience and some later admitted to shedding a tear.
Her second song, “I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls” was known by some and as Major de Maine remarked to his wife, ‘That was even more beautiful than the first, and that was lovely.’ The applause was great as she gave a delightful, self-effacing curtsey and left the stage.
‘Thank you,’ said Fred Jackson who appeared slightly humbled by Eleanor’s singing. ‘Now we have another fine singer who may come as a big surprise to you: to sing firstly “Did You Not Hear My Lady” and then “Lead, Kindly Light”: young Albert Jones.’
As the tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped on to the stage there were both cheers and gasps of surprise. ‘Well,’ whispered Abraham to Grace, ‘I know he had a good voice at school and he sings in the church choir, but he has kept quiet about this. Let’s hope it’s all right.’ He was later to admit that his cousin’s light baritone voice was the finest he had ever heard. The audience responded with rapturous applause.
Eleanor joined Albert on the stage as the applause died down and quietly announced that they would sing two duets, hoping that everyone would join in the second. The first, “Love, Could I Only Tell Thee”, was to be talked about for many days to come, the two voices blending beautifully. The second, “Land of Hope and Glory” with its patriotic words to Elgar’s rich music was a triumphant finale.
As the two singers left the stage, they smiled at each other, both recalling the hours they had practised under t
he tutelage of Miss Small. ‘So, to our very last item: another dance. Take your partners for a waltz.’ Abraham again partnered Grace, Albert with Doris and, as Willy asked Elsie Groves to dance, he was delighted to see that his good friend, Fred, had taken Ruby on to the floor. Two waltzes followed to bring to a conclusion a memorable evening of entertainment in Rusfield. A flourish on the piano from Miss Small brought silence before everyone joined in the national anthem.
Many conversations, along with laughter and some with arms round another’s shoulders, broke out. It had been agreed that workers from all three farms would come in at half past six the next morning to clear everything away; to do that now would have been an anticlimax to the evening. It continued a warm evening for early April and the moon gave good light as all the villagers walked to their homes. Albert was holding Doris’ hand, their bodies often touching as they talked; Abraham and Grace walked together and when they reached Grace’s cottage, Abraham, after rehearsing in his mind several times what he was going to say, said: ‘Grace. It’s been a perfect evening. I found out that the reason Mr Jackson knew the dances is that he and Mrs Jackson go to Steepleton on the first Friday of each month where there is dancing and a music hall at the Victoria Palace. I wondered if you would like to go?’
‘That would be lovely, Abraham. Thank you. I will very much look forward to it. Thank you for seeing me home and sharing so much of the evening with me.’ She smiled at Abraham who lent towards her and gave her a gentle, but quick kiss. They parted, no longer just old friends, but with sparks of love and admiration for each other.
When, a short while later, Albert bade goodnight to Doris their kisses were stronger as his arms encircled the willing Doris.
Eleanor Windle was the one person who did not walk home. Sparky Carey was waiting with the pony and trap a short distance from the barn and as Eleanor stepped into the small carriage, she thanked him saying: ‘I could easily have walked home, but it is very kind of you to collect me. I’m sorry that your son, James, could not make the party tonight. Young Albert Jones explained that he is working away and won’t be home until late tomorrow.’ The drive was a short one and with the pony delighted to have an unexpected run out, they soon drew up outside the vicarage.
She pushed open the door and went in. As she hung her crimson shawl over the chair in the hall, Arthur came from the lounge to greet her with a kiss. ‘I hope you had a good evening, my love. I’m sorry I couldn’t join you; when I called on Mrs Rushton I thought it would be a short visit, but soon after I got there, Doctor Christopher arrived.’
‘So, how are things?’
‘He could do nothing for her. He sat with her whilst I stayed downstairs with her daughter. After a while he suggested Miss Rushton went upstairs. I followed her and we sat there quietly and after some thirty minutes she died. Miss Rushton asked me to pray with her and so we stayed together for a while. She was, of course, very upset but did say that her mother had been in a lot of pain recently and so this evening had brought some relief. I’ve been to her shop often enough, but tonight I got to know what a sweet lady she really is. Apparently she has no near family, but said she has good friends in the village. I suspect most are customers whom she has got to know over the years and she may have very few, if any, close friends. We must keep a close eye on her.’
He knew that more than anyone else Eleanor would call, not just to express immediate sympathy, but would continue the contact. ‘Incidentally, I discovered her Christian name. It’s Violet, a pretty name and so apposite for this lovely lady. Of course, this all meant I missed the meeting earlier this evening in the vestry about Empire Day. On my way back from Miss Rushton I called in to apologise to George Cooper but as you can imagine, he wasn’t pleased. It was far too late to get up to the party so when I got home an hour ago I had a bath and it seemed sensible to put on my nightwear. But amid the sadness of the evening, I heard some good news from Doctor Christopher. It appears likely that the hospital board will agree to a nurse coming to live in Rusfield; but tell me about your evening.’
‘I’m so sorry for Miss Rushton; thank you for all the support you’re giving her – and your news about having a village nurse is wonderful.’ Eleanor went on to paint a most happy picture of the evening saying how some unexpected talents had become apparent, particularly Albert Jones’ singing. ‘I think I will just run a bath as well,’ she said. ‘With all the activity this evening and so many people there, the barn got really warm and the dancing was quite energetic.’
‘I’ll just draw off the water for you.’ This was now an easy job since the gas water-heater had been installed.
When Eleanor emerged to have her bath, Arthur went across the landing into his dressing room, or little sanctuary, as he sometimes called it. He sat quietly, his thoughts moving over many village events and villagers. He then knelt before the unadorned cross, and prayed: ‘Oh God, I know that the soul of Mrs Rushton is safely with you. Help us all to give comfort to her daughter in her sad times. Be also with Martha Smith in her hour of need and may her daughter receive help and feel support at this time. There are so many in our village that have great worries and needs. Give me the strength and wisdom to do what I can do to help.’ He paused for a while before continuing: ‘God forgive me for all my sins; I have so totally failed in my duty as a humble priest. Memory of my sin lays heavy on my heart.’ He crossed himself, slowly rose, turned out the lamp and went to check that doors were locked, candles and lamps extinguished.
A single candle was burning near the bedside. Eleanor was sitting in bed and on seeing her husband come in, opened her arms to him. He walked across, climbed on to the bed and they held each other close. ‘My darling,’ were Eleanor’s only words as she gently came out of his arms, leant forward and drew her nightdress over her head, dropping it on the floor beside the bed. She lay back with that wondrous smile that Arthur knew and loved so well. He pulled off his night attire and lay next to her. They kissed with increasing passion, tongues touching and hands feeling each other’s body. Arthur raised his head, moved down and kissed her breasts, nipples brown and erect. His tongue and lips moved downwards and he seemingly kissed every curve and part of her body. As he lingered lower, Eleanor gave a gentle gasp and her legs moved slightly apart. She had never felt such love. She reached down and gently lifted his head, ‘Now let me kiss you.’ She touched and kissed Arthur’s body, stopping for a while as she reached his very manhood which was so ready to consummate their love.
It was an hour later that Arthur extinguished the candle. As he came back in to the bed, Eleanor’s arms enveloped him; they kissed and lay together, exhausted by their lovemaking, rejoicing in it.
THIRTEEN
Thursday, 4 & Friday, 5 April
Peter Woods could never believe his good fortune in becoming a postman. He had always wanted an open-air job and realised how well life had turned out; his weekly wage packet of £1 6s 4d was enough for his modest needs. When attending Steepleton Board School he had known his academic record was easily surpassed by other boys leaving school, nor was it just an academic shortcoming that made progress unlikely, more against him was being blind in his left eye.
Even at the age of twenty-one he occasionally reflected on how he and his younger brother, Walter, had gone out to look for birds’ eggs. They had a good collection, but at the age of ten Peter did not have a jackdaw’s egg. Jackdaws tend to build their nests in old chimneys, but such structures were outside the scope of even the adventurous Wood brothers. Then Peter had spotted one as it returned with sticks to a substantial elm tree on the edge of the town. Eggs might be there.
The nest was high and after a fifteen-minute hard climb he made it to the nest and saw four pale blue eggs with their blackish-brown markings. He realised that he needed both hands free to climb down and did the only possible thing, placing the egg in his mouth which was a preferred option to his trouser pocket where it would almost certainly break. Still eight feet from the ground, he missed his footing
and in trying to catch a branch only succeeded in catching his left eye on another protruding one; the egg breaking in his mouth. Visits to the doctor and to the small hospital in Steepleton failed to save his eye; he could still taste the egg.
When he left school nearly three years later, Peter had come to terms with his impairment and obtained a job as a messenger boy, but was now a fully-fledged postman. Smartly dressed in his blue uniform, proudly wearing his peaked cap, he was a well-known figure cycling the four miles from Steepleton to Rusfield. His cheery disposition was a major reason for people happily waving as he rode past, but he also thought it had much to do with delivered letters usually carrying good news. There soon built up a warm relationship between villagers and this tall, lean young man with ginger hair hidden under his cap.
On this Thursday morning, he entered the village and dropped off a letter to Mr Jackson at the farm, the red metal carrier at the front of his bicycle lightly piled with post. It had been sorted into a number of small postal sacks, each one for a different part of the village. On the way to Rusfield, he would deliver post to the few farms and isolated houses on the left-hand side of the road, delivering to the other side on his return.
This morning after delivering one letter to Miss Small, he continued along Wood Lane to the farm where Mr and Mrs Mansfield were regular recipients of mail. He managed to squeeze the small parcel through their letter box, noting that it was yet another one from a London company called Gamages and bearing a red stamp. As he cycled back towards the main part of the village he saw Mr Mansfield talking to his fellow farmer outside one of Mr Jackson’s barns. He waved to them and both gave a cheery return greeting.
On to the houses in Pond Street, but apart from one for the smithy’s house, there was nothing until he reached the vicarage. He pulled out a letter addressed to Mrs E. Windle, The Vicarage, Rusfield. It had the usual red one-penny stamp which bore the image of the new king. Since ending his interest in birds’ eggs, he had taken up stamp collecting. If he delivered a letter bearing a stamp unknown to him, relatively unusual in Rusfield, he would not hesitate to knock and politely ask if he might have the stamp on his next visit. He had been delighted that just recently there had been letters with Canadian stamps, an exciting addition to his collection. He now slipped the letter through the brass letter box in the dark blue vicarage door and went on his way. The rest of that morning’s round was uneventful and his mind turned to a four-day holiday.
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