Starting Over

by Jack Sheffield

  ‘That’s right, in the summer.’

  ‘Ah know t’secret of a ’appy marriage,’ said Mavis and she gave a conspiratorial wink in Tom’s direction.

  ‘And what’s that?’ asked John.

  ‘We go out twice a week for a meal.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Ah go on Tuesday an’ ’e goes on Friday.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  A Friend for Miss Golightly

  It was Saturday, 4 April and spring had arrived in all its glory. Tiny lambs tottered on uncertain legs in the fields and yellow petals of forsythia lifted the spirits. The log fires and long, dark days of winter were but a distant memory and thoughts of playing in the woods and Easter eggs filled the minds of the children of Ragley village. In the flower tubs outside The Royal Oak the daffodils raised their bright-yellow trumpets to the sky and the first swallows had returned to their old haunts to build their nests.

  When Lily cycled past the village green Big Dave and Little Malcolm were peering into the village pond and collecting frogspawn in jam jars. They gave a cheerful wave as she rode up the Morton road in the morning sunshine with the soft breeze in her face.

  She passed the village milkmen, Alfie Morgetroyd and his son Ernie. They were going at their usual sedate pace, accompanied by the familiar clip-clop of their horse’s hooves and the rattle of churns. The horse knew when to stop and women came out with jugs of all shapes and sizes. Ernie would scoop a ladleful of precious milk while Alfie passed the time of day.

  Lily smiled. It was a gentle scene that had become part of the fabric of her life. Finally, she turned into the vicarage driveway, parked her bicycle against the wall and went into the church hall. Vera and the ladies of the St Mary’s Social Committee were already hard at work preparing for that afternoon’s Easter Bring and Buy Sale. Lily removed her hat and gloves and walked over to a trestle table laden with books, toys and knitted dishcloths.

  Also, propped against the table leg was the most wonderful teddy bear she had ever seen.

  Edith Tripps, the thirty-seven-year-old headteacher of Morton Primary School and a dear friend of Vera, saw Lily’s surprise. ‘He’s magnificent, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, hello, Miss Tripps,’ said Lily. ‘Yes, I was just admiring him.’

  Edith stooped down and picked up the teddy bear. ‘He was left behind by a wealthy American who visited the village with her daughter and he was too big to fit in her luggage.’

  ‘I see,’ said Lily. ‘Well, we must find him a good home.’

  ‘I said exactly the same to Vera.’

  Joyce Davenport, the doctor’s wife and treasurer of the Social Committee, appeared carrying two brass candlesticks. ‘Where shall I put these, Edith?’

  ‘With the rest of the bric-a-brac, I presume,’ said Edith.

  Joyce pointed a candlestick at the teddy bear. ‘I see you’re admiring our furry friend, Lily. Rather than put him on sale, why don’t you take him back to school? I’m sure the children would love him.’

  ‘What a good idea,’ said Edith with a wry smile, ‘but we had better clear it with our leader.’

  They all turned and looked at Vera, who was checking the quality of the napkins on the refreshment table. She called across to them, concerned at their apparent inactivity, ‘Come along, ladies – Proverbs sixteen, twenty-seven.’

  Lily and Joyce looked puzzled. ‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Edith, ‘that’s one of her old favourites: “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”’

  ‘Right,’ said Joyce, ‘come on, ladies, back to work.’

  The teenage friends Nora Pratt and Shirley Makin were in the General Stores. ‘Good morning, Miss Golightly,’ said Shirley. ‘We’re goin’ t’make a cake.’

  ‘It’s for t’Bwing an’ Buy Sale,’ added Nora.

  ‘That’s wonderful, girls,’ said Prudence.

  Shirley put two pennies and three farthings on the counter. ‘Mrs Clutterbuck said can she please ’ave a dozen eggs?’

  Nora added another two pennies. ‘An’ two ounces of lemon dwops, please.’

  Prudence unscrewed the top of the jar and with a small scoop transferred the bright-yellow, sticky sweets on to the pan of the weighing scales. When it reached two ounces on the dial she added one more sweet for good measure and poured them into a blue paper cone, which she folded expertly at the top.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Golightly,’ chorused the girls, and as they walked out of the shop the doorbell rang merrily.

  ‘Who would have believed it?’ Prudence murmured to herself. ‘Rationing over – eight years after the war.’

  Back in Doris Clutterbuck’s kitchen, Nora and Shirley took turns to whisk the cake mixture with a fork for what seemed like an eternity. Naturally, they also took turns to scrape out the bowl and lick the cake mixture from the large wooden spoon.

  In years to come they would look back on this time in their young lives and think of these special days. They would remember treacle pudding and spotted dick and the vast array of preserved fruit – rhubarb, apples and plums in neatly labelled Kilner jars on the high wooden shelf in the pantry. It was a private ritual for them that after a plateful of plums and custard they would line up the plum stones around the edge of the plate and recite, ‘Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief.’ Anyone with eight stones would hope for a second helping to begin the recitation once again.

  Soon the cake was in the oven and the Bring and Buy Sale beckoned.

  Deirdre Coe walked into the General Stores and marched up to the counter. ‘Ah want a bag o’ sweets f’my Stanley.’

  How rude, thought Prudence. ‘Which ones, Deirdre?’

  ‘Them,’ said Deirdre, pointing to the large jar of liquorice torpedoes.

  ‘How much?’ asked Prudence as she unscrewed the lid.

  ‘Four ounce.’ And Deirdre slapped a coin on the counter.

  Prudence was a Christian lady, but it did not stop her from disliking Deirdre Coe, who was always disrespectful when she came into the shop. It was a relief when she departed. ‘Just as bad as her brother,’ murmured Prudence.

  She remembered that Stanley had continued as a pig farmer during the war, but in the evenings he had been an ARP, or Air Raid Precaution, warden. He had enjoyed shouting at the villagers and banging on their doors telling them to turn out their lights. When Prudence had covered her plate-glass window with strips of tape to reduce the chance of shattered glass after a bomb blast, Stan had complained that she hadn’t done it properly.

  That was when she had just lost Jeremy, taken from her life by the horror of war. She stared around her shop and felt a keen sense of loneliness. Through the window she saw Ruby Smith walk by pushing a pram and she thought of what might have been.

  Ruby was looking well again. Her cheeks were rosy and her chestnut hair fell in waves around her pretty face. She was proud of her baby, and villagers stopped and cooed in appreciation and felt the little girl’s soft skin and tiny fingers. ‘Jus’ perfec’,’ was the regular opinion.

  Ruby enjoyed this time of year. The final wisps of mist had disappeared in the early-morning sunlight. The first warmth of spring had brought new life to the quiet land. It was as if the trees and fields had emerged from a deep sleep. The cuckoo, the messenger of spring, had arrived along with new grass and primroses. On days such as this there was a lightness to her spirit and a spring in her step. She thought it was a pity that Ronnie was still in bed and not sharing this beautiful morning.

  In Doris Clutterbuck’s Tea Rooms the first customers were enjoying their morning cup of tea and a toasted teacake. On the radio Lita Roza was singing her hit record ‘How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?’ and everyone was humming along to the catchy tune.

  Doris was behind the counter reading an article in her Woman & Home magazine entitled ‘Can a woman run a home and a business?’ It featured a lady who ran a hat shop in York. She seemed to have the perfect life and said she owed it all to her nig
htcap of Cadbury’s Bournvita. Doris usually had a cup of tea and a digestive biscuit at bedtime but was now seriously considering changing the habit of a lifetime.

  It was late afternoon when Lily cycled from the church hall to school. In the basket attached to her handlebars was a large teddy bear. The Bring and Buy Sale had been a success thanks to the military organization of Vera and her willing team of helpers.

  A Land Rover was parked outside The Royal Oak and as she cycled past a coarse voice shouted, ‘Who’s y’furry boyfriend, sweet’eart?’

  It was Stan Coe and, as always, Lily ignored him.

  Happily he was inside the pub by the time she had put the teddy bear in the school’s store cupboard and set off down the High Street. She decided to call in to the General Stores to buy some sweets for Freddie. However, when she spoke to Prudence it was clear to Lily that there was something amiss.

  ‘You’re just in time,’ said the petite shopkeeper. ‘I was about to close up.’

  Lily bought a bag of mint imperials. ‘Is everything all right, Prudence? You look a little sad.’

  ‘You’re very observant,’ said Prudence. ‘I’m just lonely. Some days are better than others. It wasn’t so bad when I looked after a pair of evacuees, a little brother and sister from Whitechapel. They were lovely children and I enjoyed the company. It was very silent when they returned to London – no one to talk to once the shop door had closed.’ She glanced up at the clock. ‘Which reminds me …’

  She walked to the door and turned the sign from OPEN to CLOSED.

  Lily decided to take the initiative. ‘I’m not in a hurry, Prudence. I could stay a little longer if you like.’

  Prudence smiled. ‘That would be lovely.’

  They walked into a cosy sitting room and Prudence prepared a pot of tea and opened a packet of chocolate biscuits. ‘We haven’t really spoken much, have we?’ she said. ‘You seem to be enjoying your teaching.’

  Lily felt relaxed in the company of this gentle lady. ‘Yes, Ragley is an excellent school. I’m pleased to be part of it and the people in the village are so supportive.’ She sipped her tea and looked up. ‘Well, most of them.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Prudence. ‘I heard about Stanley Coe being the likely culprit when you fell off your bicycle.’

  ‘I’m still a little nervous, to be honest, when I approach that bend. Fortunately I haven’t seen him on that road for a while.’

  Prudence nodded. ‘I expect Sergeant Feather had a quiet word. He’s good at that. He spots problems before they get worse and deals with them.’

  ‘Yes, I’m lucky to have him as a friend.’

  ‘A friend? No more than that?’ asked Prudence softly. She peered over her spectacles.

  Lily looked down and stirred her tea.

  ‘Sorry, not my business,’ added Prudence with an apologetic and dismissive wave of her hand.

  ‘It’s just that affairs of the heart are sometimes difficult to discuss,’ said Lily.

  ‘I understand … really I do.’

  There was an awkward silence.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lily eventually, ‘Vera told me about Jeremy. You must have loved him very much. I’m so sorry.’

  Prudence glanced up at the mantelpiece and the photograph of the young Spitfire pilot. ‘I discovered long ago that love can be a fickle companion. Perhaps you need to grasp it while you have the opportunity.’

  Lily couldn’t ignore the message there. She looked around the room at the clock on the mantelpiece and the various photographs of Prudence as a younger woman and, of course, pictures of her and Jeremy.

  ‘Prudence … how did you know you loved him?’

  Prudence put down her cup and saucer. ‘I knew from the first time I sat next to him on the school bus.’ She settled back in her armchair and let her memories wash over her like gentle rain from heaven. ‘It’s quite a story.’

  Lily smiled. ‘I’ve got time.’

  ‘Well, it began in Woodchurch in Kent and as a schoolgirl I used to catch the bus to Ashford. It was an eight-mile journey and I knew every twist and turn. It used to stop in a little hamlet called Stubbs Cross and the driver would call out, “Stubbs Cross … and so am I!” We all laughed, even though we had heard it countless times. Then Jeremy would climb on board and he would sit next to me. He was my childhood sweetheart. There was never any other.’

  Lily watched the delicate movements and gestures of this considerate lady. She became animated as the fleeting pictures of her past were captured in her reminiscences. ‘I remember seeing a doodlebug and thought it was a noisy plane with fire coming out of the tail. Then three of them landed on our farm and I swept up the broken glass outside the cowshed.’

  ‘You were lucky to have survived,’ said Lily.

  ‘Petrol rationing meant a ride in a motor car was something very special, but Jeremy took me out to the coast one day in an old Austin Seven Tourer. After that, although the sea was only ten miles away, it was out of bounds. We had a picnic and he asked me to marry him. Of course, I said yes.’ Her eyes glistened with the memory of that moment.

  ‘That night Mother had made her speciality, rabbit stew covered in breadcrumbs. We thought it was a feast. It was our last meal together. He went off the next day and I was left behind. I never saw him again.’

  In the distance the church clock chimed the hour.

  ‘So what’s your story, Lily?’ asked Prudence.

  Lily smiled and shook her head. ‘Nothing like yours. I was in the Land Army and, after the war, I continued my education. I attended Royal Holloway and gained a General School Certificate in Maths and Physics. That was followed by a Diploma in Education at the London Institute, because I always wanted to be a teacher. They gave me a grant, which meant I had to agree to teaching in a southern counties school. Then, after my father died, I secured the vacant post here in Ragley and we moved to Yorkshire.’

  ‘And I’m so pleased you did,’ said Prudence. ‘The school has gained a wonderful teacher and I have a new friend.’

  A new friend, thought Lily as she cycled home. The beginnings of an idea were forming in her mind.

  It was late evening when Doris Clutterbuck took out her Ewbank carpet sweeper from the cupboard under the stairs and began to clean the floor of the Tea Rooms.

  ‘Important t’freshen it up,’ she said to herself.

  Finally, she climbed the stairs to her flat and took a sip of the hot bedtime drink that was waiting for her. She smiled. ‘Sleep sweeter … Bournvita,’ she sang quietly to herself.

  Easter Sunday morning was bright and clear, and Captain Rupert Forbes-Kitchener was immaculate in his neatly pressed uniform as he inspected the local Combined Cadet Force. They were forming the guard of honour outside St Mary’s Church as the Brownies, Scouts and Guides trooped past carrying their various flags and colours. It was a fine ceremony and supported every year by the villagers of Ragley and Morton – a time for the two villages to come together.

  The Cadet Force was a thriving institution; most of the teenagers in the area joined and took part in its many parades. Grammar schools and independent schools had provided the vast majority of officers during the Second World War and, in consequence, the tradition was continued afterwards. It was a common sight in Ragley, as in other villages, to see young boys dressed in full khaki uniform with Blancoed gaiters and shiny black boots marching up and down and practising drill with .303 rifles. Captain Forbes-Kitchener had a .38 revolver in a leather holster attached to his belt and took pride in the fact it was always fully loaded!

  For these teenage boys learning to fire guns on the rifle range was the norm. After all, it was expected they would all go on to do their National Service, so getting used to firearms made sense.

  Tom and Lily joined the steady stream of villagers from both Ragley and Morton as they walked through the guard of honour. Soon the church was filled for one of the special services of the year and Joseph Evans was in his pulpit.

  After his
sermon he mentioned the news that had shocked the nation. In a solemn voice he said quietly, ‘We also must continue to remember Queen Mary in our prayers.’ On 24 March the country had come to a standstill when the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, announced on the BBC Light Programme that, after an illness, the Queen had died peacefully at the age of eighty-five.

  ‘Happily,’ said Joseph, trying to lift the spirits of his congregation, ‘she lived to see her granddaughter, Queen Elizabeth, ascend the throne and soon we shall all have the opportunity to witness her Coronation … and what a wonderful day that will be.’

  ‘We’re buying a telly,’ whispered Aloysius Pratt on the back pew to Tommy Piercy. ‘Once in a lifetime t’see a Coronation.’

  ‘Will y’be invitin’ y’friends?’ asked Tommy.

  Aloysius stared down at his hymn book and smiled. ‘Mebbe them that brings some sausages.’

  It had certainly been a remarkable event when, in the week following her death, over a hundred thousand people had filed past the late Queen’s coffin in Westminster Hall before she was laid to rest at Windsor.

  ‘And may I remind you,’ said Joseph, ‘that official mourning will last until the twenty-fifth of April.’

  After the service the villagers milled around, sharing news.

  ‘Can I give you a lift home?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Lily, ‘but first I need to speak to Vera.’

  Tom leaned against the church wall and watched Lily, smart in a new cream suit that emphasized her slim figure. Their relationship had developed during the past few months and they were clearly viewed as an ‘item’ in the village. However, there was still something holding Lily back. He sensed she loved him as much as he loved her, but she was cautious when he spoke of a future together. A life shared with this beautiful woman was his dream and he knew he had to be patient.

  Meanwhile, it was clear that an animated conversation was taking place. He saw Vera nodding vigorously and saying, ‘Yes, perfect.’