Starting Over

by Jack Sheffield

  Jeremy Bear was wearing a Union Jack waistcoat, white trousers and a bowler hat.

  ‘Thank you, Elsie,’ said Prudence. ‘He’s so excited about watching a television for the first time. Captain Forbes-Kitchener has arranged for one to be set up in the village hall, so we’re closing the store at ten o’clock.’

  In Morton Manor Rupert Forbes-Kitchener was clutching the copy of the News Chronicle that had just been delivered.

  ‘Look at this, Alexandra,’ he said.

  The headline read, ‘The Crowning Glory: Everest is climbed. Tremendous news for the Queen’.

  ‘It says here that Edmund Hillary and his Sherpa guide have climbed Everest.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ said a weary Alexandra.

  ‘But this is the best of it, my dear,’ and Rupert pointed to the text in bold print. ‘It was conquered by men of British blood and breed.’

  ‘I thought he was a New Zealander,’ said Alexandra quietly.

  ‘That’s as good as being British,’ insisted Rupert, becoming red in the face.

  Alexandra seemed unconvinced. ‘Surely his little friend is from one of those Gurkha places?’

  Rupert was getting hot under the collar. ‘But he was just the guide. It was Colonel Hunt’s expedition. He was the brains behind it all. So it’s a British triumph and just in time for the Coronation.’

  ‘Yes, dear, I’m sure you’re right, and no doubt our new Queen will be told, but she will have other things on her mind.’

  Rupert looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, for a start, that dreadfully heavy crown she will have to wear.’

  Rupert shook his head, folded the newspaper and headed for the hallway.

  Violet Fawnswater had watched the programme About the Home and had taken advice from television chef Marguerite Patten with regard to refreshments to be enjoyed during the Coronation. She was expecting a dozen family members to descend on her home and it was important to cater for the discerning palate. With this in mind, she began to prepare melon cocktails and salmon mousse to eat while watching the television.

  Violet was unaware that Vera had seen the same programme and her response had been quite different. Vera had shaken her head in dismay and announced, ‘Standards are slipping, Joseph. How dreadful to eat off one’s lap in front of a television set.’

  It was a quarter past nine and Tom Feather was in the village hall. He fiddled with the dials on the Bakelite television with its nine-inch screen. It was the set provided by Captain Forbes-Kitchener and he knew a large crowd would gather. This was one of an astonishing 2.7 million television sets in the country, with an average of between seven and eight adults plus countless children watching each one. BBC TV had opened earlier than usual with the Test Card to allow viewers to tweak their aerials to achieve a better reception.

  When Tom was satisfied with the grainy black-and-white picture he stood back to admire his work. He looked at his wristwatch and hoped Lily might join him later.

  Across the road, Diane Wigglesworth and her mother were each smoking a cigarette while taking turns to do each other’s hair.

  The shop was closed and today the conversation was different. It made a change from the usual talk of liberty bodices, suspender belts, nylons and roll-on girdles, along with lusting after Richard Burton. Instead they analysed the various men in their lives and agreed that, just like a game of snakes and ladders, when the dice was rolled they would undoubtedly end up with a snake.

  ‘Ah pity t’Queen,’ said Diane, ‘marryin’ that Prince Philip.’

  ‘’Ow come?’ asked her mother.

  ‘Well, ’e’s a man.’

  Lily had helped John Pruett decorate the tables with red, white and blue crêpe paper and was now returning home on her bicycle. As she cycled out of the school gates flower candles on the horse chestnut trees gave notice of the summer days ahead. On the High Street bluebottles buzzed in the hedgerow where bracken was uncurling among the cow parsley, and the magenta heads of foxgloves waved as she swept by. On the back road to Kirkby Steepleton sycamore and ash keys hung in the trees above her head and the fluffy seeds of willow drifted on the heavy, still air.

  It was a time of renewal and Lily felt good to be alive, particularly as she was expecting to meet Tom later and give him a long-awaited answer to his proposal of marriage. She knew it was a decision that would please Tom and anger her mother.

  Back at Laurel Cottage, Florence was picking flowers in the neat little garden. She had offered to decorate the tables for the afternoon party at Kirkby Steepleton Primary School.

  On the High Street outside her gate she could hear a group of excited boys playing cricket with dreams of representing Yorkshire. ‘Ah’m Freddie Trueman,’ shouted an aspiring fast bowler. ‘An’ ah’m Len ’Utton, t’best batsman in t’world,’ yelled another.

  Florence had collected bunches of marigolds, sweet peas and roses when Lily arrived. ‘How lovely, Mother,’ she said. ‘Let me help.’

  As they gathered flowers, bright-winged butterflies hovered above the buddleia bushes, while the drone of bees could be heard in their never-ending search for pollen. Cuckoo spit nestled in the lavender leaves, sparkling like bright foam, while the scent of roses hung in the air like a lover’s embrace.

  Meanwhile, Florence gave Lily a sharp glance and wondered why she appeared so elated.

  At half past ten everyone settled down to watch the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh leave Buckingham Palace for Westminster Abbey, then two hours later the world held its breath at the moment of the crowning. By two o’clock the villagers of Ragley and Kirkby Steepleton were opening their curtains and emerging bleary-eyed into the open air as the celebrations began.

  On Ragley High Street dozens of children wearing party hats made of folded newspaper sat down for their party tea outside the village hall. Vera put down a tray of North Yorkshire County Council glass tumblers filled with lukewarm home-made lemonade on one of the trestle tables, and Nora Pratt and Shirley Makin served the drinks to each child. There were crab paste sandwiches and biscuits, followed by a special surprise when Prudence Golightly appeared from the General Stores after her huge delivery of Wall’s ice cream. Each ice cream was in a brick-like carton and there was a choice of raspberry or vanilla. Prudence had also wrapped them in two sheets of newspaper to make sure the ice cream lasted for another two hours.

  Another collection of tables, covered in snow-white cloths and decorated with bright bunting, had been prepared under the guidance of Vera and the ladies of the Women’s Institute. These were for the adults, and an impressive tea appeared with military precision. Cold meats, pork pies, pickles, dainty cucumber sandwiches, hard Wensleydale cheese and freshly baked bread were laid out, along with jugs of home-made elderflower cordial. A few bottles of Joseph’s home-made wine also made an appearance, but were carefully avoided. Then Joyce Davenport and Edna Trott served tea and cake, including a huge plateful of Audrey Poole’s raspberry tarts. It was a veritable feast.

  Meanwhile, on the village green in front of The Royal Oak, the Ragley Brass Band, by now well lubricated with Tetley’s bitter, were playing some rousing tunes, including ‘On Ilkla Moor Baht ’At’ and ‘Jerusalem’.

  Three miles away in Kirkby Steepleton a similar party was taking place and, after the children had eaten their fill and were playing games, the adults sat down in the giant marquee to enjoy a well-earned drink.

  Florence was chatting with some of her friends and Millicent Merryweather came to sit with Lily. ‘You must come round for tea sometime, Lily,’ she said.

  ‘That’s kind,’ said Lily, ‘and I do love your cottage.’

  She had first visited Millicent’s home with her mother, following introductions from Vera, and they had been made most welcome. The sign on the gate read ‘BILBO COTTAGE’ and the house had a red front door with a shiny brass door knocker in the shape of a roaring lion. The kitchen had leaded windows and there was a spacious study full of books. In the
lounge was an oak-beamed ceiling, and a photograph of Millicent’s husband, Roger, an army captain complete with military moustache, stood on the mantelpiece. They had sat on a wrought-iron seat in the large garden next to a bed of floribunda roses. Blackberry and redcurrant bushes bordered an immaculate lawn and they had enjoyed tea and scones in the sunshine.

  Milly was a dear friend of Vera’s and together they attended the twice-weekly Ragley Cross-Stitch Club, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Florence had become their latest member and Milly would put her large canvas bag full of materials into the boot of her car and collect her new friend from Laurel Cottage.

  It was during these journeys that they shared stories of their lives during the war. Milly had joined the Auxiliary Territorial Service, or the ATS as it was known. She had driven a lorry and operated searchlights and anti-aircraft guns. ‘However, we weren’t allowed to pull the firing lanyard, worse luck. That had to be done by a man, even though I was better qualified.’

  ‘Too true,’ agreed Florence.

  ‘We also operated a sound locator unit that could identify enemy aircraft, which meant we could guide the searchlights and anti-aircraft guns. However, the result was we were exposed to the full force of German bombing. Scary times,’ she mused, ‘but somehow we survived.’

  Lily recalled Tommy Piercy saying to her, ‘Brave lady, that Milly Merryweather. No bigger than two penn’orth o’ copper, but she gave them Germans what for.’

  Secretly, Milly had found the war to be liberating and she had achieved tasks that in the past were only in the domain of men. During those times, her husband, Roger, had listened in awe when he returned on leave. However, he knew not to dissuade his feisty and confident wife from her sense of duty.

  ‘So what was the war like for you, Lily?’ Millicent asked her as they chatted after the Coronation party.

  ‘Not as exciting as yours, I’m afraid. I was in the Land Army and simply worked the land.’

  Millicent smiled. ‘I was courting a farmer once – long before Roger, of course. He was quite a catch. In fact, he asked me to marry him, but I didn’t fancy being a farmer’s wife.’

  Lily smiled and said nothing.

  ‘So, Lily, were there any men in your life?’

  ‘Now there’s a question!’

  ‘Well?’

  Lily sighed. ‘There was a man once … but that’s another story.’

  Millicent, although intrigued, recognized the closure of that line of conversation and moved on to a lighter topic. ‘Has anyone ever told you just how much you look like Vivien Leigh? She is one of my favourite actresses.’

  ‘It’s been mentioned,’ said Lily, her cheeks flushing slightly.

  Millicent looked at Lily and came to a decision. ‘Why don’t you go and meet up with your young policeman. I’m sure he would love to see you. I’ll clear up here.’

  Lily accepted her offer gratefully, said goodbye to Florence and gave Freddie a big hug before she left.

  She arrived back in Ragley as the brass band was playing ‘God Save the Queen’ and everyone stood to attention while they sang. Tom Feather beamed when he saw her and she went to stand next to him to join in the National Anthem. When the band moved on to a medley of popular dance tunes, couples were soon on their feet dancing in the street.

  ‘Would you like to dance, Miss Briggs?’ asked Tom with a wry grin and a formal bow.

  ‘Yes I would, kind sir,’ replied Lily with a mock curtsey.

  As they waltzed the moist air caused her hair to fall in damp tendrils over her high cheekbones and she flicked them back over her ears with a swift movement. Tom held her closer. He admired her profile and the smooth skin of her neck, wanting to kiss it gently … but not here … perhaps later.

  Deirdre Coe was further up the High Street in the public telephone box. She was coming to the end of a brief conversation with her rich cousin Donald in Richmond. Donald was determined: he had no intention of loaning even more money to her brother, the infamous Stan, regarded by Donald as the black sheep of the family. Stan had persuaded Deirdre to telephone him on the assumption he would be in a good mood on this special day.

  ‘The pips are going, Donald,’ shouted Deirdre. ‘Ah’ll ’ave t’put some more coins in but ah’ve no change left.’ The telephone went dead with a buzz like an insect and the call ended.

  ‘Oh ’eck,’ said Deirdre. ‘’E won’t be pleased,’ and she headed miserably back to The Royal Oak.

  On one of the benches outside the pub, Ruby and Agnes were watching over Racquel in her pram while Andy sat on the grass with a tumbler of orange juice. Agnes had been inside to find Ronnie. ‘’E’s past carin’ again, Ruby. On ’is fourth pint, said Clarence.’ She was holding two packets of Smith’s crisps. ‘’Ere y’are, luv,’ she said and gave one to Ruby.

  ‘My lucky day,’ said Ruby. The packets of crisps each contained a little blue waxed-paper twist of salt and Ruby had found two of them. She was rejoicing at the unexpected good fortune when a drunk Stan Coe staggered past and bumped into the pram.

  ‘Watch where y’goin’, y’big lump,’ shouted Ruby.

  Stan was too far gone to notice, but his sister had heard the remark. ‘Shurrup, y’skivvy.’

  ‘Skivvy, y’self, Deirdre Coe,’ retorted Agnes, ‘an’ tek y’brother ’ome.’

  Deirdre glowered at Agnes and led her brother away. There was a heated conversation between them and Agnes overheard Deirdre shout, ‘Problem is, Stanley, if y’go on like this you’ll be t’richest man in t’graveyard.’

  Then Deirdre hurried back down the High Street, leaving Stan slumped on a bench against the wall.

  ‘That Deirdre Coe is a reight sourpuss,’ grumbled Agnes. ‘She never ’as a kind word for anyone.’

  ‘Ah jus’ ’ope ’er Stan gets ’is comeuppance one day,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Y’reight there, Ruby. ’E should be ’ung, drawn an’ quoted.’

  It was early evening and the party was coming to a close for the children. Families were making their way home and Lily and Tom were sitting on the bench under the weeping willow tree. Tom was wearing his best suit and had put his jacket over Lily’s shoulders as the temperature began to fall.

  ‘So, have you given it more thought?’

  Lily felt comfortable leaning on the shoulder of the giant policeman. She could feel the heat of his body and luxuriated in its warmth.

  ‘About what?’ she murmured.

  ‘Marriage,’ said Tom. ‘You know how I feel … I thought you felt the same.’

  ‘It’s a big step, Tom. But you know I’m keen.’ She was torn between her past and a possible future, but deep down she knew she wanted this man. She had looked into his eyes and seen his soul.

  ‘I can wait a little longer if you want,’ he said, but she could see the disappointment on his face. Tom recognized the signs. It was as if she was so close to saying yes and relaxing in his arms, but then a door closed.

  ‘In that case, Tom Feather …’ said Lily with a smile …

  It was then that little Rosie Finn shattered the moment. She ran across the green towards her clutching a small bunch of buttercups and shouted, ‘Do y’like butter, Miss?’

  Lily smiled and crouched down as Rosie thrust the buttercups under her chin. A golden glow reflected on her skin.

  ‘Y’do, Miss!’ shouted Rosie in triumph. ‘Yes, y’do. Y’like butter.’

  She ran off to make a daisy chain and Lily sighed at her innocence.

  ‘’Scuse me, Sergeant.’ It was PC Dewhirst, looking anxious. ‘We need to open the road t’traffic.’

  The spell was broken and Tom stood up. He had moved smoothly back into professional mode. ‘I had better go.’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘We can talk later.’ Lily handed him his jacket. ‘Keep it for now,’ he offered.

  ‘No, I’ll collect my coat and bag from school,’ she said.

  Tom slipped on his jacket and smiled. ‘Fine, I’ll be back soon.’

  He set off briskly back down
the High Street and Lily walked slowly towards the school gate.

  She was unaware that she was being watched.

  A few minutes earlier a car had parked on the outskirts of the village outside St Mary’s Church and a tall, fair-haired man had got out and looked around him. He stretched. It had been a long journey.

  Although he was a stranger to Ragley he had studied the various locations on an Ordnance Survey map. He knew where the village hall stood, the local public house and, in particular, the school. The day of the Coronation had seemed an ideal time to visit. There would be crowds and he could stand in the shadows and watch. He walked along the Morton road, looking wistfully at families as he passed them. They appeared happy, relaxed and content. In the distance he could hear music and laughter. There was a shady alleyway next to the village Post Office and he paused there and lit up a cigarette.

  Then, when he saw what he was looking for, he watched silently from the shadows.

  Lily put on her coat and picked up her bag from the staff-room. The school was silent apart from the creak of the entrance door as it swung on its hinges. As she closed the staff-room door and stepped out into the gloomy corridor, a hand gripped her shoulder and she screamed.

  ‘’Bout time you ’ad a real man instead o’ that snobby do-gooder of a copper.’

  She could smell the beer on his foul breath.

  ‘’Ow ’bout a nice kiss f’Stanley?’

  Lily struggled as he pushed her against the wall and she shuddered with distaste that this man was so close to her.

  Then suddenly Stanley Coe was no longer there. A pair of strong hands had dragged him off his feet and punched him in his bloated stomach. As Stan doubled up in pain, he was pulled outside and a single powerful blow under his chin sent him crashing against the boiler-house doors. He lay there in a crumpled heap, unconscious but still breathing.

  Lily stepped back in astonishment and looked up at the tall, fair-haired man. ‘Rudi! Rudi! Where did you come from?’

  He was still for a moment, drinking in the sight of her. ‘It looked like you needed saving again.’

  Lily was overcome with the shock of being attacked by Stan Coe and confronted by her past.