Starting Over

by Jack Sheffield

  As usual, Violet was keen to impress. ‘Yes, we went to London and saw the Bertram Mills Circus.’

  ‘Really? It’s good, isn’t it?’ said Vera.

  ‘Oh – so you’ve been?’

  ‘No,’ said Vera with calm assurance, ‘I watched it on television last night. It was the programme just before What’s My Line?’

  Violet’s eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘You have a television set?’

  ‘Yes, Joseph brought it home on Saturday.’

  ‘We have a nine-inch screen,’ said Violet proudly.

  ‘Yes, so have we, but Joseph also has a magnifying glass that slips neatly in front of the picture.’

  ‘A magnifying glass?’

  ‘Yes, it increases the picture size to a full twelve inches.’

  Violet was aghast at the thought. ‘But that’s huge!’

  ‘I suppose it is,’ said Vera, unwilling to elaborate further but enjoying putting this boastful lady in her place. ‘Anyway, must get on. Lots to do.’

  Violet looked after her, feeling that since there were now two televisions in the village her importance had been reduced by fifty per cent.

  At lunchtime Vera called into the General Stores with her shopping list.

  ‘A tin of Nescafé, please, Prudence, and a bag of sugar.’

  Prudence looked surprised. ‘Coffee, Vera?’

  Vera sighed. ‘It’s for the staff-room … and it appears Miss Briggs has a liking for American drinks.’

  ‘I see,’ said Prudence. ‘Changing times.’

  ‘Indeed,’ added Vera with a knowing nod. ‘And Mr Pruett has taken to preferring it to his usual cup of tea.’

  ‘Where will it all end?’ murmured Prudence. She studied the side of the tin. ‘It says here that it’s composed of coffee solids and powdered with dextrins, maltose and dextrose added to protect the flavour.’

  ‘Goodness gracious, that sounds ominous! Whatever next? It will never catch on and, if it did, poor Mrs Clutterbuck would have a heart attack.’ Vera looked down at her neat list. ‘And a tin of Cherry Blossom Boot Polish.’

  ‘Would you like to try the new shade, dark tan? It’s proving very popular.’

  Vera looked surprised. ‘Brown shoes, Prudence? I don’t think we have any.’

  ‘Is there anything else, Vera?’

  ‘There is something,’ said Vera. She lowered her voice. ‘Joseph has brought home a television set.’

  ‘Goodness me!’ It took a moment for Prudence to recover. ‘You must let me know how it goes.’

  Vera nodded. ‘And a packet of Lyons tea, please.’

  Prudence smiled wistfully as normality was restored.

  Further up the High Street, Fred Kershaw, the local coalman, was delivering to the row of cottages next to The Royal Oak. His swollen knee had recovered thanks to the liberal quantities of goose grease his mother had applied to his leg. Significantly, he had not visited the doctor. As Tommy Piercy had remarked to him in the butcher’s shop, ‘Who needs a doctor when you’ve got goose grease?’

  There was a rumour that Fred never washed, because even during his first deliveries each morning his face was black with coal dust. Also, hanging from his bottom lip was a cigarette. Fred was a chain smoker and he was happy to share the knowledge that he was addicted to the best possible cigarette. As a tough member of the Ragley Rovers football team, he too had seen an advertisement in the News of the World of his favourite footballer, the Blackpool and England winger Stanley Matthews, advertising Craven A cigarettes. So Fred lit up another of his sixty-a-day habit, hefted a bag of coal on to his broad shoulders and scurried round the back of The Royal Oak.

  The school cook, Irene Gubbins, was doing some shopping on her way home and had called at the General Stores for a bag of potatoes. There was a pattern to the week’s meals in her household and if you arrived at her dining table it would have been possible to know the day of the week from the food being served. Harry Gubbins liked routine and his wife obliged. Sundays were a veritable feast, with a beef joint and giant Yorkshire puddings filled with delicious onion gravy. On Mondays it was always cold beef and chips, followed by beef stew on Tuesdays. After a visit to Tommy Piercy’s shop, Wednesdays featured sausage and mash. Thursdays involved the occasional surprise. Usually it was egg and chips but, on occasions, if Pete the Poacher had visited The Royal Oak, rabbit pie appeared on the menu. Fridays never varied. It was always fish, chips and mushy peas. On Saturdays a large plate of crab paste sandwiches and slices of Spam were devoured quickly before setting off to the local football match. It was a pattern to life much appreciated by Harry.

  Sweet courses were rare but enjoyed on special occasions such as birthdays and bank holidays. However, the selection was limited and included rice pudding, semolina or tapioca, which resembled frogspawn. The pièce de résistance was Irene’s spotted dick, created from flour, water and a handful of raisins.

  Meanwhile, Ruby’s mother, Agnes, was in the village Pharmacy. She had a problem and it was there for all to see. Her false teeth lay on the counter.

  Eighteen years ago Agnes had been given a special present for her twenty-first birthday. All her teeth had been removed, as her father had said it made sense and would save a lot of trouble in the long run. She had been wearing false teeth ever since.

  Herbert Grinchley stared at the teeth and made a decision. ‘Try this, Agnes. It’s Dr Wernet’s Powder. Sez ’ere it gives all-day confidence. Y’jus’ sprinkle it on y’plate in t’mornin’ an’ it meks a sort of a cushion.’

  ‘Sounds right up my street,’ said Agnes.

  ‘An’ what about some soap?’ asked Herbert, never one to miss the opportunity of a sale.

  ‘Soap? Ah’ve got soap.’

  ‘But this is new an’ everyone wants a bar.’

  Agnes picked up the tablet of soap. ‘Breeze? What’s that when it’s at ’ome?’

  Herbert read the label. ‘It sez you’re country-fresh from top t’toe wi’ cool green Breeze.’

  Agnes shook her head. ‘No thanks, Herbert, ah’ll stick t’me Sunlight.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Herbert, ‘’cause ah’d got a bit o’ news.’

  Agnes loved gossip. ‘Mebbe ah’ll try some then,’ she said, picking up the bar of soap and smelling the scent.

  Herbert leaned over the counter. ‘Vicar’s gorra telly.’

  ‘A telly!’ exclaimed Agnes. ‘Can’t see Miss Evans tekkin’ that lyin’ down.’

  ‘Y’reight there, Agnes.’

  Back in the vicarage Joseph was explaining to Vera about the wonders of television. ‘It’s fifty-five shillings per month from Radio Rentals.’

  ‘As much as that?’

  Joseph took a step back. ‘It includes free tube and valves, Vera, so it’s a bargain, or so the man in the shop explained, and it’s a trial offer.’

  ‘A trial offer … I see,’ said Vera.

  ‘And servicing is free and I sent off for the free booklet on how it works. You had to send an unsealed envelope with a penny ha’penny stamp on it. There’s an option to buy it later.’

  Vera frowned. This was not what she had expected.

  In her classroom Lily was at her desk preparing for afternoon school. She sat there silent as the grave while above her head dust motes danced in the shafts of winter sunlight. The familiar scurrying of tiny mice could be heard, seeking out warmth and food in the dark recesses of the old Victorian building. Lily stared at her register and counted the names again. Fewer children than usual had returned to school at the start of term following a measles outbreak in the village and she hoped they would soon be well again.

  She began to think about the evening visit to the vicarage. John Pruett seemed most enthusiastic about collecting her in his car and driving her back to Ragley. Deep down she wished it could have been Tom.

  Irene Gubbins had called into the Pharmacy on her way home.

  ‘Hello, Irene,’ said Herbert, ‘and how are you today?’

  ‘Ah’m fed up wi�
�� toilet paper. We buy that IZAL Medicated.’

  ‘Ah know it,’ said Herbert. ‘In a box. Tough stuff, like strong tracin’ paper.’

  ‘Ah’ve asked Miss Briggs to only give ’em one sheet each, but does she listen?’ She shook her head.

  ‘So what’s it to be?’

  ‘Ah jus’ need some cream for me ’ands, ’Erbert. All that peelin’ an’ slicin’.’

  ‘Ah’ve got jus’ the thing,’ he said and produced a tube of hand cream as if by magic. ‘An’ ah’ve got summat special.’

  ‘Special?’

  ‘It’s Snowfire Face Powder. Y’need t’mek t’most of y’nat’ral charm.’

  ‘Ah’m not sure.’

  ‘It’ll give you that finishin’ touch o’ glamour.’ Herbert could see he was close to a sale. ‘Also, ah’ve got some news.’

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘Y’can’t go wrong wi’ a luxury powder for only eightpence.’

  Irene opened her purse, dug out a sixpence and two pennies and placed them on the counter.

  ‘They’ve gorra telly in t’vicarage.’

  ‘Flippin’ ’eck! Miss Evans will give that brother of ’ers what for.’

  In Violet Fawnswater’s luxury bungalow she had closed the curtains and watched a film during the afternoon. It was entitled The Pluck of the Irish and featured James Cagney. She had begun to enjoy watching television in the afternoon and looked forward to sharing Children’s Hour with Phoebe.

  In the meantime, she had cut out a coupon from her Radio Times. She had decided to send for a sample packet of Weetabix from Mrs Marjorie Crisp in Burton Latimer, plus a free copy of a booklet, ‘Ever-Useful Weetabix’. She picked up her copy of the Radio Times, turned countless pages of radio schedules and, right at the back, found the small number of television programmes. ‘Now, what’s on this evening?’ she murmured.

  Back in Laurel Cottage, Lily had made sure Freddie had finished his meal and she was washing the pots in the sink. Florence came to dry the plates. It was clear she had something on her mind and Lily waited for her to speak.

  ‘I was talking to Mrs Merryweather yesterday, Lily. She’s had some business with one of the local solicitors. Nothing dramatic – just thinking ahead to making a will one day.’

  ‘Oh yes? This is news to me.’

  Florence gave Lily a searching look.

  ‘Is there a hidden message there, Mother?’

  Florence gave a wry smile. ‘Perhaps.’ She dried her hands on the tea towel and pulled out her diary from the pocket of her apron. ‘Anyway, I’ve written their names in here.’

  It was Lily’s turn to smile as she wiped her hands and scanned her mother’s neat cursive handwriting. She recalled seeing the brass plates of the solicitors on the wall outside their offices in the local market town of Easington. They would not have filled a prospective client with confidence. Fiddler & Sly specialized in house sales, whereas Crook & Cheatham had a penchant for family discord – or so it was rumoured. The latter triggered some interest for Lily and she copied the telephone number into her own diary for future reference.

  At a quarter past seven John Pruett crunched over the snow on Kirkby Steepleton High Street and pulled up outside Laurel Cottage. Florence was in Freddie’s bedroom while the little boy put on his pyjamas. She heard the car outside and peered through the curtains. By the flickering light of the street lamp she saw the headmaster pause, remove his trilby hat, smooth his hair and straighten his tie. She recognized the signs and smiled … And he is a gentleman with status, she thought.

  Lily hurried downstairs from her room and Florence was pleased to see how pretty she looked. ‘Enjoy your evening with the television,’ she said.

  Lily paused before opening the door and turned to look at Florence. ‘You could go instead of me. I really don’t mind. I could look after Freddie.’

  ‘No, not at all. You’re expected,’ and she opened the door and saw John’s eager face.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Briggs. I’ll make sure Lily is home at a reasonable time.’

  Lily smiled at her mother. ‘Come on,’ she said to John, ‘let’s go.’

  Florence stood in the doorway and noticed the attentiveness of the headmaster as he guided Lily into the passenger seat.

  What a kind and caring man, she thought … and perhaps …

  Within moments she left such reverie behind and went back inside to put Freddie to bed.

  By eight o’clock John Pruett and Lily were in the vicarage parlour staring at one of the wonders of the modern age. As usual, television programmes had closed down at 6.25 p.m. following Children’s Television, which had shown a cowboy film starring Tex Ritter, who had rounded up a gang of rustlers in the Wild West while never once looking untidy. Programmes resumed at 8 p.m. and the first of the evening was called Newsreel.

  ‘It’s a bit like the Pathé News,’ said Lily.

  ‘In your own home,’ added John.

  Vera seemed pleased. This was a genteel evening, the kind of which she approved, and she served tea in china cups with slices of Victoria sponge.

  At a quarter past eight they settled to watch a sporting documentary, Test Cricketers of Tomorrow, and Joseph and John shared their expert knowledge. The highlight, however, was a programme called Ballet for Beginners, during which Vera came to the fore and made sure her assembled guests knew the difference between a ballotté and a ballonné.

  It was a successful evening and when it came to an end John took Lily back to Kirkby Steepleton. He drove in silence and she wondered if there was something wrong, but then presumed he just needed to concentrate on the treacherous road conditions. For John’s part, he loved sitting so close to Lily but struggled to find an amusing anecdote or an interesting comment. As always, in her presence he was almost tongue-tied.

  When he had walked her to the front door, Lily thanked him for the lift and wished him a safe journey home. ‘See you tomorrow,’ she called after him. She was keen to get in out of the cold and closed the door quickly.

  It seemed an age later that John Pruett pulled up outside his own cottage. He walked to his front door, stopped under the porch, removed his hat and looked up at myriad stars. The night was calm now and the moon was bright in a clear sky. A feather of breeze ruffled his hair and he flattened it with his palm in that familiar habit of his. Suddenly his eyes were stung with tears and his heart was heavy.

  It was balm to his conscience to know that Lily respected him as a professional colleague, but it would never be any more than that. He smiled and shook his head. It had merely been the foolish fancy of an older man and he knew he should have known better.

  There was a slow comfort in feeling a few scattered snowflakes against his face and for a while he cherished the pain of the cold as it purged his thoughts and frozen dreams.

  ‘She could never be mine,’ he whispered into the empty night.

  Then he turned, opened the door and walked into the solitude of his empty home.

  On Tuesday evening, shortly before eight thirty, Vera was surprised to hear the doorbell ring and find six men standing outside. They were the church bellringers, led by Archibald Pike.

  ‘Good evening, Vera,’ said Archibald. ‘We’re here for the demonstration.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘On the television set,’ explained Archibald. ‘Joseph told us to come along after our bells practice. He said it would be of particular interest to us men.’

  ‘Really?’ Vera stood back. ‘Well, you had better come in.’

  In the vicarage parlour Joseph was busy rearranging the chairs into a semicircle around the television set. ‘Joseph, the bellringers are here – and why are you moving my chair?’

  ‘So everyone can see the television set. I want everyone to have a good view.’

  Vera did not like her furniture disturbed. ‘You failed to mention it to me.’

  ‘Sorry, dear, it must have slipped my mind. It’s just that I saw it in the Radio Times, so I mentioned it
to Archibald and he said the rest of the bellringers were keen as well.’

  ‘Keen? Keen on what?’

  ‘The television cook, Philip Harben, is giving a cookery demonstration. It’s called The Man in the Kitchen.’

  What a waste of time, thought Vera. She knew a lost cause when she saw one. However, with true Christian spirit she breathed deeply and composed herself. ‘Would you like some tea, gentlemen?’

  Vera’s comments over breakfast the next day clearly fell on deaf ears, because on Wednesday evening the Holy Dusters, the church cleaners, arrived to watch Welcome to City Varieties from Leeds. It was a lively variety show, the members of the audience were dressed in Edwardian costume and the music was far too loud for Vera’s liking.

  Thursday was even worse. Vera usually went to bed at ten o’clock, but Joseph had invited members of the Parish Church Council to come back to the vicarage following their monthly meeting in the village hall. They all enjoyed a programme about the Household Cavalry, and even Vera was interested as they were to play a big part in the forthcoming Coronation. However, at 10 p.m. no one was keen to leave when the next programme, Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral?, started. It was a fortnightly quiz programme in which a panel of experts, including Sir Mortimer Wheeler, the Professor of Archaeology from the University of London, attempted to identify a series of unusual objects.

  Thankfully, Friday was an improvement. Joseph invited the local Girl Guides to watch a programme after school about netball with expert advice from Mary Bulloch of the All-England Netball Association. Vera thought this was a good idea, as the girls were so well behaved and they departed before she had to start preparing the evening meal.

  However, the last straw for Vera occurred on Saturday afternoon when she returned from shopping at the General Stores. The parlour was full of local tradesmen, including Fred Kershaw the coalman, and they were all smoking obnoxious cigarettes and cheering loudly. A rugby league match between Bradford Northern and Leeds was being screened and an excitable man with a distinct northern accent was commentating. Vera had never heard of Eddie Waring, the popular voice of rugby league, and had no wish to hear him again.

  It was when he was shouting that it was an ‘up-an’-under’ that she made a decision.