When Lily returned to Tom she was smiling.
‘So, shall we go?’ he asked.
‘We need to call in at school first, if you don’t mind.’
Tom drove into the car park and Lily hurried into school. He was surprised to see her reappear carrying a large teddy bear. ‘What on earth …?’
Lily climbed into the passenger seat. ‘Now, please can you stop on the High Street outside the General Stores? I won’t be long.’
Tom nodded, perplexed but happy to go along with whatever she was doing.
When Lily knocked on the rear door of the General Stores, Prudence stared wide-eyed at her.
‘This is for you, Prudence,’ she said. ‘Someone who needs a friend and a good home. He was in America during the war, but he can’t go back there. I spoke to Vera and she agreed you were the perfect person to look after him.’
For a moment Lily thought Prudence would burst into tears, but she took the teddy bear and hugged him. ‘Thank you so much.’
Little did she know then it was to be the beginning of a lifelong friendship.
It was getting dark when Prudence finally found the perfect place for her teddy bear. There was a shelf above the shop counter alongside a tin of loose-leaf Lyon’s Tea and an old advertisement for Hudson’s Soap and Carter’s Little Liver Pills. Here he could watch the world go by and meet all the customers.
Prudence stared at the bear for a long time. You could do with some smart clothes, she thought.
Late in the evening she was sitting at her dining table, her Singer sewing machine tapping out its regular pattern as a fine blue jacket took shape.
She sat back and smiled, and the teddy bear appeared to smile back at her. ‘You need a name,’ Prudence murmured to herself.
Then she nodded. She had made a decision. She gave a deep sigh and her eyes were soft with an everlasting sadness.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I shall call you Jeremy.’
Chapter Fourteen
Shed Heaven
William Braithwaite was a proud man. Today was the day of days. As president of the Ragley Shed Society he was so excited he could barely eat his second sausage sandwich. It was Monday, 27 April and the inaugural Shed Open Week was about to begin. There was also the competition for Ragley’s Best Shed – the result of which was destined to enter village folklore.
For a few days the men of the village would be able to explore the secret kingdoms of their fellow enthusiasts. However, today was particularly special for William, as he had recently constructed his second shed. The first was for his racing pigeons and the new one was for the committee meetings. So, on this bright April morning, he stood in his back garden and surveyed a wondrous sight – two sheds, side by side.
Predictably, it was the day he became known in the village as ‘Billy Two-Sheds’.
Joseph was in a good mood. A new day had dawned and the eastern sky was filled with a soft pink light. In the vicarage garden the rooks were building their nests in the highest branches, the sign of a good summer to come. Joseph had left early after agreeing to meet the Shed Committee in William’s shed. The men of this esteemed body considered Joseph to be the perfect judge for their competition. He was honest and fair, a man of the cloth. What could be better?
However, the well-meaning cleric had no idea what lay in store. John Pruett had told him to proceed with caution, as the men of Ragley were very proud of their sheds and on no account must he show any favouritism. As he walked towards the larger of William’s two sheds, Joseph heard the scolding cry of a thrush as it tried to crack a snail’s shell. It was an omen that he didn’t recognize.
After being greeted by the members of the committee he was given the list of sheds to visit during the week. The winner of the title Best Shed would be announced on the village green on Saturday morning.
Meanwhile, it never occurred to any of them that a shed might be owned by a woman …
As Lily cycled on the back road from Kirkby Steepleton, a gauze of mist covered the distant fields. All was quiet as she sped along, until the harsh shrieking of a pheasant shattered the peace of the beautiful morning. It flapped its wings in fury as it tried to protect its space, then it rushed across the road in front of her. She recognized its anger and understood its intent.
As she turned into Ragley High Street, she once again enjoyed the sight of this little corner of North Yorkshire. Outside the village hall the almond trees were in blossom, while the closed buds on the cherry trees were waiting for the trigger of life from the arrival of the warm days ahead. Daffodils and tulips brightened the tubs outside The Royal Oak and the weeping willow on the village green was flushed with new green leaves.
Lily parked her bicycle and walked across the playground, where Winnie Pickles and Edie Stubbs were playing two-ball against the school wall. Both their speed and their dexterity were impressive.
‘Good morning, girls. I used to do that.’
‘Can you show us, Miss?’
Lily put down her bag of books and picked up the two tennis balls. Hesitantly at first, but then with growing confidence, she began to bounce them against the wall.
‘Hey, you’re really good, Miss!’ said Winnie.
‘And so was I once upon a time,’ said another voice. Vera had arrived.
‘Perhaps Miss Evans would like to try,’ said Lily with a smile.
‘I seem to remember I did it with a partner.’
‘So did I,’ said Lily. ‘Let’s give it a go.’
Some skills are never forgotten, and when John Pruett pulled up in his car he saw his two colleagues giggling like schoolgirls amidst a flurry of tennis balls.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ he shouted from the car park.
Suitably embarrassed, Lily and Vera hurried into school.
‘There are some things you just can’t forget,’ said Vera.
There was a moment’s hesitation before Lily nodded and hurried to hang up her coat.
Big Dave had called for Little Malcolm on his way to school.
‘Are y’ready, Malc?’
‘Not yet. Ah’ve got summat t’show you.’
Little Malcolm’s aunty Maureen had brought him a present from Cleethorpes. It was a John Bull Printing Set and he looked at it in wonder.
‘Dave,’ he called, ‘come an’ look!’
Big Dave peered into the box. There was an inkpad and a stamper with little rubber letters.
‘Ah’ll ’ave a go,’ said Big Dave with the confidence of youth. Then he looked around furtively. ‘Where’s y’mam?’
‘In ’er shed mekkin’ ’er Devil’s Brew. It’s ’er new ’obby. M’dad sez it’s like paint stripper.’
‘So does mine,’ said Dave. ‘’E were poorly f’two days an’ me mam weren’t pleased.’
He picked up the letters carefully and thought of a word. Then he smiled and began to insert them on to the wooden block. Ah’m good at spellin’, he thought.
Little Malcolm had found his mother’s shopping list on the kitchen table. The reverse side was blank. Big Dave pressed the stamper on to the ink pad and stared at the row of letters. Then he pressed it firmly on to the paper, unaware that the letters had to be arranged in reverse order.
The two boys stared at the result.
Little Malcolm was puzzled. ‘What’s skcollob?’ he asked.
An angry shout from the kitchen disturbed their concentration. ‘Where’s my shoppin’ list?’ yelled Mrs Robinson.
‘Bloody ’ell,’ muttered Big Dave. ‘C’mon Malc, we’re off!’
Ten-year-old Robin Knutsford was in the kitchen of his house on the council estate. His mother was making him a jam sandwich for breakfast and the radio was blaring away.
‘Why do we listen to t’Shippin’ Forecast, Mam?’
‘’Cause it’s important for fishermen.’
‘But we don’t know no fishermen, Mam.’
Madge Knutsford smiled as she recalled how she had known one in the biblical sense on a day trip to Sa
ltburn-by-the-Sea. ‘Well, never you mind and gerron wi’ y’breakfast.’
‘Mr Pruett says ’e wants t’talk t’you, Mam.’
‘’Ave y’done owt wrong?’
‘No, jus’ opposite. ’E reckons ah’m very clever.’
Madge stared at her ginger-haired son, who always had his nose in a book, and thought of that red-haired seaman from long ago.
Joy Popplewell and Veronica Poole were in the General Stores staring up in wonder at Jeremy Bear.
‘Good morning, Jeremy,’ said Joy.
‘He was wondering if you liked his outfit,’ said Prudence. ‘He chose it himself.’
Today Ragley’s favourite bear sported a sailor hat, blue coat with brass buttons and white pillow-case trousers.
‘I think he looks really smart,’ said Veronica.
‘I like his shiny buttons,’ added Joy, clearly impressed.
Prudence was delighted. ‘Jeremy is very proud of his sailor suit. So, girls, what would you like?’
‘Well, I couldn’t decide between Pontefract cakes and mint imperials,’ said Veronica.
‘And I was thinking about dolly mixtures and sherbet lemons,’ said Joy.
‘I can see it’s a difficult choice,’ agreed Prudence. ‘How much money have you got?’
‘I’ve got a penny,’ said Veronica.
‘And so have I,’ said Joy.
Prudence looked up at Jeremy. ‘What do you think?’
The girls stared up at the bear, expecting him to reply.
Prudence nodded sagely as if Jeremy had uttered private words of import. ‘Jeremy has a good idea. He says put some of each in the same bag.’
Prudence opened four jars and put a generous scoop of sweets into two bags.
‘Thank you, Miss Golightly,’ chorused the girls. They looked up. ‘And thank you, Jeremy.’
Prudence considered the idea of mixing various sweets in one bag. I must try this more often, she thought.
The General Stores was empty when Vera approached the counter. ‘Good morning, Prudence,’ she said. ‘I need a packet of tea, please.’
‘I feel I must ask you, Vera, as I’ve mentioned it to everyone else …’
‘Yes?’
‘These are new. They’re Tetley tea bags. Are you interested?’
Vera stared in astonishment. ‘Tea in bags!’
‘Yes, so you don’t need a tea strainer any more. You just pop them in the cup and add hot water.’
Vera composed herself quickly. ‘No thank you, Prudence. I’ll stick to the proper way of making tea.’
She picked up the packet of tea Prudence gave her, paid and marched out. Whatever next! she thought.
Traditionally Monday was washday in the village and Ruby Smith was busy. It was a routine she had completed many times and involved buckets of water, soap suds and a steamy kitchen. After possing the dirty clothes in the posser tub, she carried the wet washing outside to squeeze each garment through the mangle and remove the excess water. Often she would complete the drying process on the rack in front of the fire, but on this sunny April morning she was able to peg out sheets on her washing line.
While it was hard work for Ruby, it was even more difficult for some. Until recently her neighbour, Betty, would take her washing down to the stream and simply pound her clothes against a rock, then stretch them out on the grass to dry. Betty also used to make her own soap from mutton fat, caustic soda and water, but in recent times had taken to borrowing a bar of Sunlight soap from the generous Ruby. On this morning she arrived in the back garden, smoking a cigarette.
‘’Ave y’got a bit o’ soap t’spare, Ruby?’
‘In t’sink,’ said Ruby.
‘Ta, luv. Them sheets look clean,’ said Betty as she puffed cigarette smoke all over them.
‘Ah’m using that new Oxydol,’ said Ruby. ‘Sez on t’box it washes vivid white.’
‘Y’reight there, Ruby,’ agreed Betty as she stubbed out her cigarette and lit another. ‘It’s proper dazzlin’.’
Ruby laughed. ‘Any whiter an’ you’ll need sunglasses in our ’ouse.’
‘Ah’ve jus’ seen that stuck-up Deirdre Coe goin’ somewhere posh by t’look of ’er.’
‘All net curtains is that one,’ said Ruby with feeling, ‘an’ fruit in a bowl jus’ f’show.’
‘Y’reight there, Ruby, an’ she dresses t’kill.’
Ruby pegged her final nappy on the line. ‘Ah’ve ’eard she cooks t’same way.’
They both laughed and went inside to make a pot of tea.
In John Pruett’s classroom he had written a huge number on the blackboard. It was 29,999.
‘Now, who can tell me what that number is?’
Robin Knutsford was the first to raise his hand. ‘Sir, it’s twenty-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine.’
‘Well done, Robin,’ said John. ‘Now, children, this number has been in the newspapers recently. It’s the number of pounds Manchester United have paid Barnsley for their twenty-one-year-old centre forward Tommy Taylor.’
Everyone stared in astonishment.
‘’Ow can anyone be worth that much, sir?’ asked Big Dave.
‘It’s hard to say, David,’ said John, ‘but Manchester United are a big club with lots of money and they want the best players.’
‘Another pound would have made it thirty thousand, sir,’ added Robin for good measure.
‘That’s right,’ said John, ‘but the manager did not want to burden the footballer with a thirty thousand price tag, so during the negotiations he took a pound note from his wallet and gave it to the tea lady who was in the room at the time.’
‘Cor, ah bet she was pleased, sir,’ said Little Malcolm.
‘Now, I want you to imagine all the players in the Ragley Rovers football team are each worth the same as Tommy Taylor. So how many pounds would you need if every one of the eleven players was worth twenty-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds?’
A few children scratched their heads, but they were used to doing sums every morning and learning their tables, so long multiplication was fairly straightforward, even with numbers as large as these.
John smiled when Robin Knutsford was the first to raise his hand with the correct answer. He remembered that he needed to speak to Mrs Knutsford as a matter of urgency.
In morning assembly Joseph discussed the importance of praying to God.
‘So that’s why we say the Lord’s Prayer every day,’ he concluded.
Through daily practice, the children were word-perfect, with a few exceptions among the younger ones. Five-year-old Arnold Icklethwaite, a little boy with a constantly runny nose, was a case in point. Arnold closed his eyes and recited, ‘Our Father, who does art in heaven, Harold is His name. Amen.’
Arnold was destined to presume God had the same name as his uncle and to carry on with this version until he was eight years old.
Veronica Poole put up her hand.
‘Yes, Veronica,’ said Joseph.
‘Mr Evans, if God is watching in church on Sunday I can show him my new shoes.’
‘What a lovely thought, Veronica,’ said a beaming Joseph.
However, his confidence immediately took a beating once again when he was asked a question he couldn’t answer.
It was Arnold’s elder brother, Billy, who raised his hand, looking decidedly puzzled.
‘Ah’ve been thinkin’, Mr Evans …’
‘Yes?’
‘’Bout God.’
‘That’s good, William,’ said Joseph. ‘And what were you thinking?’
‘Well ’ow did ’e know ’e were God … who told ’im?’
John Pruett recognized a soul in torment and moved quickly to ring the bell for morning playtime.
In the staff-room at morning break Joseph was sipping tea and trying to recover from Billy Icklethwaite’s question. He looked at his sister with concern.
‘What’s wrong, Joseph?’ asked Vera.
Joseph gave a dee
p sigh. ‘I need a little gentle reassurance. As you know, I’ve been asked to judge the best shed in the village.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said John. ‘There’s a lot of competition.’
‘Did you know, Vera,’ continued Joseph, ‘there are three hundred and sixty-five assurances in the Bible?’
Vera sighed. ‘As a matter of fact I did,’ she replied pointedly.
For a moment Joseph looked crestfallen and Vera felt a pang of guilt.
‘Are you making some more of your delicious home-made wine for the May Day celebrations?’ she asked, changing the subject. She smiled as she witnessed the delight on her brother’s face.
‘As a matter of fact I am,’ he said. ‘My Honeysuckle Supreme is coming on nicely.’
While Joseph was a humble man, his modesty did not extend to his winemaking exploits.
At lunchtime Mrs Stubbs called in to speak to Lily about Bertie. He was due at the dentist that afternoon. Lily sympathized, as the local dentist’s was known affectionately as the Torture Chamber. After his patient had breathed in gas through a rubber face mask, the dentist would get to work with a fierce implement that had the sound and impact of a road drill. Also, Lily recalled, the old brown leather furniture gave off the smell of decay and death.
‘’E’s ’ad ever’thin’ that’s goin’, as Bertie,’ said Mrs Stubbs.
Lily reflected that there were always at least two or three children every week suffering from one of the common illnesses, including chicken pox, whooping cough and measles. Regular doses of Herbert Grinchley’s cod liver oil and rose hip syrup seemed to help. However, one remedy of which Lily was unaware was that Mrs Stubbs had spent the morning sitting in her front room with her feet in a bowl of urine in the hope it would cure her chilblains!
That afternoon Lily and John worked together with all the children for an activity session. It was John who decided that the girls and boys should be in separate groups. The girls did sewing with Lily, making raffia mats, while the boys did some basic carpentry and set about constructing wooden teapot stands.
Lily thought the tasks were functional rather than inspiring and was unimpressed when John refused to let any of the girls tackle carpentry.
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