Regret to Inform You...

by Derek Jarrett

  Arthur walked along the short stretch of Meadow Way, finding Violet Rushton moving some jars, mainly of sweets, prior to wiping down the shelves in her shop. ‘Oh, do come in, Vicar,’ greeted the shop owner. Arthur immediately told her he had come to see her rather than make a purchase, although when he did leave he had purchased some of his favourite liquorice allsorts. As he later told Eleanor, he had found her much brighter than previously, for while talk about her mother remained the main topic, this appeared to be joyful recollections of her life.

  After his final call on ninety-three-year-old Ruth Watkins, he returned to the vicarage where Eleanor immediately offered a cup of tea. ‘Let’s go through to the conservatory, as the sun, though rather watery at the moment, is out,’ he suggested.

  Eleanor listened eagerly as Arthur told her of his visits and she had just embarked upon news learnt from Eliza Carey, when a loud knock at the door interrupted their conversation for the second time that day. ‘Wonder who it can be at this time? Certainly not Peter wanting to show us more about stamps,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘I’ll see,’ replied Arthur moving rapidly through the lounge and hall to the front door. He opened it and standing there with the biggest smile he thought he had ever seen, was Susannah Jones together with her husband, Sidney, holding a letter in his one hand. The clearly delighted lady let out a shout of delight and threw her arms round the astonished Arthur, a shout bringing Eleanor rushing to the door to find a lady, whom at first she could not identify so buried was her head in his chest, embracing her husband.

  ‘Oh, Vicar, and Mrs Windle, do please forgive me, but I can never, never thank you enough.’ Susannah had stepped back slightly, her cheeks aglow, still with a big smile.

  ‘What is it, Susannah?’ asked Eleanor. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘Oh, it’s quite amazing. Sidney, show the vicar the letter.’ Sidney, never a man of many words, excitedly passed the typewritten letter to Arthur. He read it, passed it quickly to Eleanor and turning to the couple invited them in.

  ‘No thank you, Vicar. We want to go and tell our cousins the good news. Fancy, the brewery giving us fifty pounds and it was all because of you writing that letter.’

  ‘This really is wonderful,’ replied Eleanor. ‘Sidney, you so deserve this because you have really suffered by losing your arm and your job. What will you do now, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘Well,’ replied Sidney, ‘it’s a lot of money, more than I could have earned in a long time at the brewery. We didn’t think we would get anything and I can’t thank you enough either, Vicar.’ Arthur modestly acknowledged the compliment with a nod, thinking of how he had invoked the support of the de Maines, particularly of Isabella who, in turn, had contacted her brother, Sir Lancelot Prestwish. The pressure on the brewery owners had obviously paid dividends.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued the excited Sidney Jones, ‘while we didn’t think the brewery would give us anything, we had still dreamt of what we might do. I expect you know that Mr Somerville is thinking of selling his butchery since Charlotte his wife died. We don’t know how much it would cost to buy the shop, but maybe we could manage it.’

  ‘And,’ went on Susannah with equal excitement, ‘two of our children will soon be leaving school and they could help us; maybe Albert would be interested as well.’ More congratulations and thanks were shared before they excused themselves, holding hands and with Susannah clasping the letter.

  ‘What marvellous news for them,’ Eleanor said as Arthur closed the door. ‘It was good of you to help so much.’

  ‘And the others, too,’ replied Arthur. ‘There’s no doubt about it that Sir Lancelot had the most to do with it.’

  The couple spent the rest of the evening in the lounge, contentedly reading. It wasn’t too long before Eleanor announced that she would retire for the night. ‘You follow when you’re ready, darling,’ giving Arthur a light kiss on his head.

  Arthur only read for a further few minutes before putting out lights and going up to his small, book-lined dressing room. His thoughts and his prayers blended to a conversation with his God. He felt close to his Maker.

  ‘Thank you, God, for all your gracious gifts. Thank you for Eleanor and her love, for our home and our friends in the village. Thank you for the happiness given to Susannah and Sidney Jones. I remember the Smith family; give comfort to mother and daughter, to Ruby Watkins and to Violet Rushton. May all in the village with worries be comforted and give me the strength to do what I can to help them. I ask that my parents may be helped to overcome any difficulty between them. Forgive me, Father, for all my sins, especially for the harm I have caused others.’

  He stayed kneeling for a few minutes thinking of the good things that had happened that day and then listening. He quietly stood, moved to the bathroom, changed into his night clothes and a little while later joined Eleanor in their bed. They had much over which to rejoice and show their love for each other.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Sunday, 4 August

  The Sunday of the August Bank Holiday surprised everyone, a fourth successive fine day. The morning service was a joyous occasion with a large congregation. Ever since the well-remembered village party in April, all had wanted to hear again, others for the first time, the singing of Eleanor Windle and Albert Jones. This morning they delighted everyone with Frederick Jerome’s beautiful duet for soprano and baritone, “Thy Will be Done”. ‘It was as if two angels were singing God’s praise,’ Judith Johnson remarked to her husband on their way home. ‘Indeed,’ replied Raymond, ‘they have such lovely voices. ‘Specially a surprise hearing young Albert.’

  Not spoken out loud at matins, but silently prayed by many, had been the hope that young Abraham would do well the next day and after the service much talk was of the race and the excitement of so many who were to have the day out at Stamford Bridge. ‘It’s going to be tremendous,’ smiled the unusually relaxed Fred Smith. ‘I’m looking forward to it so much. I hear that we’re gathering near the pond at quarter to eight, so that we’ve got plenty of time to walk down to Steepleton for the charabanc.’

  ‘That’s right,’ replied Willy. ‘But we don’t have to walk right into town as the charabanc company is quite happy to meet us at Pratchetts, which will save us half a mile.’

  Eleanor and Albert had been surrounded by many friends congratulating them on their wonderful singing, but as others moved away, Grace turned to Eleanor. ‘Mrs Windle, can I talk with you sometime? I realise now isn’t convenient for you, but I just wondered if I could, sometime.’

  ‘Of course, Grace, but only if you call me Eleanor. Mrs Windle makes me feel so old and there’s only a few years difference in our ages. Well, maybe slightly more than a few,’ added Eleanor. ‘At least tell me what it’s about. For such a beautiful morning, you look worried. If I can help, of course I will.’

  ‘Well, it’s nothing too serious, but when I was in Steepleton library last week I couldn’t help hearing two ladies talking and your name came up… Eleanor,’ she hesitatingly added.

  ‘Really? I hope they didn’t say anything too awful about me,’ she smiled.

  ‘Of course not. How could they, about you! No, they were talking about a meeting of women who support voting rights and your name was mentioned. One of them said that you had been at a meeting.’

  ‘That’s right,’ replied Eleanor, ‘but why do you mention this?’

  ‘Well, I’ve thought a lot about the suffragettes ever since I read a newspaper article. I think everyone should be able to vote and I wondered whether you thought I should join them. I know I would be too young to vote, but I think it’s something important for all of us.’ She had become a little breathless as she rushed out her feelings and her face was made all the more attractive with its pink glow.

  ‘Well, you must come round to tea sometime and we can talk it all over. Tomorrow, when we will have an opportunity to chat, we must arrange a time. Perhaps next weekend or one evening if you wish.’

 
; As Eleanor moved away, her place next to Grace was taken by Abraham. ‘Grace, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry there won’t be time to go for a walk this afternoon, although I would have loved that. You know how James Bagshott, the fellow I’ve raced against a couple of times, has invited me to stay tonight at his home in Ealing. It’s good because Jack Atkins is coming as well and really kind of James as it means we won’t be rushed if anything goes wrong. So we’re catching the quarter to four train from Steepleton which means we shouldn’t get to his house too late.’

  Grace smiled, ‘Of course, and you must not allow anything to go wrong. Keep your rushing for the race.’ She reached out and held his hand.

  ‘Thank you, Grace. And I want to say, how gorgeous you look today.’ He added, a little hesitatingly, ‘You always do, but that is a particularly beautiful frock. I love the colours.’

  ‘Thank you Abraham. I’m glad you like this frock.’ Abraham noticed how Grace put a particular emphasis on the word “this”. He also noticed her face embracing a broad smile.

  ‘Grace, am I missing something? I just wanted to say how I liked this frock, but you made it sound as if I almost didn’t like what you usually wear.’

  ‘Not at all. You are very kind about what I wear, but I just remember a time when that wasn’t so.’ Her smile became broader.

  ‘Grace, I’m sorry, but I don’t remember that.’

  ‘I know you don’t. It was at the party several years ago when we were celebrating leaving school. I spent hours making a lovely green and orange frock for the occasion, just for you, and you never noticed. You were just mucking about with the boys.’ She reached out and took his hand and gave him a light kiss on his cheek. ‘I’ve still got the frock so maybe I should wear it. Trouble is I don’t think it would fit.’

  Abraham looked at her glorious figure. ‘I don’t think it would,’ he blushed. They were the last to leave the church grounds.

  The sun continued to spread its warmth over the conversations about the great outing the next day.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Morning & Afternoon, Monday, 5 August

  ‘It feels like Moses leading the children of Israel to the Promised Land,’ Eleanor laughingly remarked to Olivia Atkins as they walked along the road out of Rusfield on a gorgeous summer morning.

  ‘Except,’ smiled Olivia, ‘that Abraham’s friends are leading the way for the charabanc in Steepleton. The Promised Land must be Stamford Bridge.’

  At the front, led by the quick striding Willy Johnson, were Albert Jones, James Carey and Fred Smith. They were slightly outnumbered by the young lasses who were with them: Willy’s sister Ruby, Doris and Elsie Groves, Judith Edwards and Grace Reynolds who could hardly believe that her new sweetheart, Abraham, was the centre of everyone’s thoughts. Boney and Doris were walking hand in hand.

  The sixty who had set out from near the pond were well strung out. Sammy Hatfield and Bernie Thomas along with Robert Berry had accepted the alternative mode of transport to Steepleton as Sparky Carey, as usual, had come up trumps with a pony and trap. Old Peter Groves had turned his hand from general worker at the de Maines to driving the farm’s enthusiastic Gallop, a willing seven-year-old driving pony which was thriving in the excitement. The major and his wife had set off with Peter, along with young Tommy Bruce who had sprained an ankle the previous day, but was determined not to miss his fellow worker’s great day.

  Willy had been delighted to see that Ruby and his good friend Fred were walking together. ‘But Fred,’ remarked Ruby, ‘you seem to be worried about something. Is it your Gran? I know she is really poorly.’

  ‘It’s partly that,’ responded the ever pale-faced Fred, ‘but there’s one or two other things as well. I don’t want to spoil this special day so let’s talk about you, Ruby.’

  ‘Well, it’s been much nicer at the manor since Lionel went off. No one seems to like him, not even his parents very much.’ She paused. ‘Oh, Miss Hazlett and the Reverend Gregg. I didn’t see you catching up with us.’ She turned to Betty Hazlett, the village nurse, and to the Methodist minister, both of whom had been around long enough for most villagers to get to know them. Betty had never been so happy; the manse occupant finding it harder to settle in, but both had found themselves caught up in the village excitement and joined the London pilgrimage.

  ‘I didn’t know you were coming up to London with us,’ continued Ruby.

  The squat, orderly, middle-aged and ever-optimistic nurse smiled. ‘Well, truth to tell I just couldn’t miss out on such an occasion. It’s all very exciting.’ Turning to Ruby she asked: ‘Do you often walk to Steepleton?’

  ‘Not very often, but sometimes if I need something special, like at Christmas and then…’ She stopped in mid-sentence and stride. She almost bounced in the air pointing over to her left and calling out: ‘Look over there everyone. Willy, come quickly.’ She excitedly called out to her brother who was just a few yards ahead.

  ‘What on earth is it, Ruby?’ As she began to speak he followed her pointing hand and immediately saw it. ‘Well done, Ruby. You’re right, it is a buzzard.’ In a moment their friends and others were grouped round. ‘Look,’ pointed out Willy. ‘Look near that short post on the other side of the field and you’ll see the brown bird sitting on a tree stump. Can you see its pale necklace of feathers catching the sunlight?’ Everyone looked and gradually all saw it.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ agreed Eleanor, whose group had now arrived, first wondering what the excitement had been about. ‘Well done, Ruby. Thank you.’

  Blushing from the praise being heaped on her, Ruby responded: ‘Well, I think it’s a lucky sign and means the day is going to be even better.’

  At that moment there were calls of “move over” and the two pony-drawn traps approached from behind. Both vehicles pulled up and conversations broke out between those in the carriages and those on foot. It must have been the movement of the two vehicles that caused the buzzard to take off, magnificently flying across the barley field towards them before veering to its left, then wheeling above the trees and disappearing beyond the nearby wood. Some thirty minutes later, everyone was relieved to see the two brown and orange charabancs waiting outside Pratchetts. There were cheers and a hastening pace became evident.

  Slight, but good-natured jostling to sit with particular friends ensued, but it did not take long for everyone to find a seat on one or other of the charabancs. The long vehicles, with highly polished chrome round their extensive bonnets, had been well prepared for the occasion. Access into the vehicles was easy as each row of wooden seats had its own side door, although some villagers had to squeeze up to fit everyone in. ‘Makes it all the more friendly,’ Nurse Hazlett remarked to Violet Rushton; they had become good friends which had helped the haberdashery owner overcome her grief at the loss of her mother.

  Straw hats and bonnets were quite plentiful although flat caps were most in evidence. Sitting behind Jack Mansfield who was wearing a straw hat, Rita Small wondered if it had been made from straw plaited in Rusfield. ‘Mind you,’ she whispered to her teaching colleague, Priscilla Picton, ‘I prefer my bonnet which at least won’t blow off.’ Union Jacks and some home-made banners appeared among passengers and Albert Jones had a large one which he needed help to display: “Come on Racer; all Rusfield is running with you”.

  At the rear of the first vehicle Ruby and Fred were engrossed in conversation as were Doris and Boney. Eleanor, a few rows in front, turned to Arthur and remarked: ‘I see that romance is flourishing in this fine weather. It’s lovely to see the young people together.’ Arthur could not think of a suitable reply and just smiled. Not for the first time that morning, he wished he had listened to her advice more carefully about what he should wear; it was already warmer than he had expected.

  Conversation and scenery vied for the travellers’ interest, the former generally winning. After passing close to Colchester, Sammy Hatfield remarked that a stop would be in order. This was a view shared by a growing number,
a need not felt by the younger passengers, but one which reached Jack Mansfield. He moved forward and had a whispered conversation with Fred Jackson. It was agreed they stop at Braintree where Charlie Border, the driver, knew there were some public lavatories. ‘If it had just been for us lads we could have stopped near any one of the trees or hedges,’ Sammy remarked to Bernie Thomas, ‘but it’s nice having some of the lasses aboard.’ He noticed that his friend, too, had cast an eye in the direction of Doris and Grace.

  Jack Mansfield and Abraham had thought Braintree busy with its Saturday market when they had been held up six weeks previously, but it was nothing compared to the scene that greeted them now. Not only was there a market, but accompanying fair stalls spread down the main street.

  Charlie Border pulled to a halt, his colleague, Cyril Hemsley, following suit, just before the main market stall area. He spoke in a booming voice: ‘It’s best if those who need to, get out now. You’ll find the public lavatories in the main square, about a hundred yards on. Then, if you continue straight on you’ll find both coaches waiting just beyond the square. We’ll meet up in twenty minutes.’ He leapt out and trotted to the other charabanc to make a similar announcement.

  Doors of both charabancs opened and passengers spilled out. There was a general movement forward, although it was noticeable that some moved on more quickly than others. Frederick Abrahams smiled at his wife saying, ‘I would think everyone for miles around now knows why we’re stopping. Not, perhaps, the most subtle announcement.’ It was not long before all were plunged into the midst of a great variety of market and fair stalls.

  Fred found Willy by his side. The well-set and kindly Willy touched his friend on the elbow and in a gentle voice said to Fred: ‘Forgive me for mentioning it, but Ruby said that you were worried about something. Is it something you want to talk over? With all this crowd and noise no one else will be able to hear us.’