by D. E. Harker
‘Oh thanks,’ Steve said as I handed him my fiver. ‘How did you enjoy the evening?’
‘Very much,’ I replied. ‘By the way, I noticed two or three of the chaps were wearing badges with F.W. on last night – what are they in aid of?’
‘Those are Free Wheeler badges, given to past presidents of the Round Wheel. They get one of those and an inscribed tankard when they have completed their year of office. In due course, Ken will receive his – rather an honour really.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ I said. ‘How does one get to be a member of the Round Wheel?’ (I came right out with it – decided not to beat about the bush any longer.)
‘Well, of course, you have to be proposed and seconded by members and it is a rule never to have more than two of the same trade or profession in the Wheel at any one time.’
This was fairly promising. I didn’t remember anyone else I’d met being in the timber trade, although I could be mistaken.
‘We have to see “how the face fits”, as it were, so prospective members usually come to two or three of our functions and, all things being equal, they are formally asked if they would like to join. The A.G.M. is in December, when new names are considered; I suppose I could put a word in for you.’
I felt quite overcome with gratitude, and when Steve suggested that I help with the annual Wheelers’ It’s A Knockout at the end of August, I said, ‘Anything I can do to help, feel free to ask.’ And I meant it most sincerely.
June 14th – Sunday
Another hot, sunny day. Julie was all for dozing in the garden again after lunch but I managed to persuade her to come and see the show house which O’Hooligan had mentioned, in which our hardwood handrails and window boards have been incorporated.
‘It had better be something special,’ she muttered, putting away her sun tan oil.
It was very hot in the car, even with the windows open, and I switched on the car radio to distract Julie, who was still muttering. It was one of those continuous “pop” programmes and a disc jockey with a fake American accent was doing his chat at breakneck speed. Julie and I looked at each other as he suddenly said something like, ‘And now folks here is that up and coming new group The Dregs with their great number “Cow Eats Thistle”.’
‘It sounded as if he said The Dregs,’ I said, ‘but it couldn’t be.’
‘I thought he said that too, but he was going so fast I couldn’t be sure,’ Julie said.
‘We must have been imagining things.’ We listened to the record but, not knowing The Dregs’ “sound”, it meant nothing to us, being indistinguishable from all the rest, and we forgot the incident as we arrived at Fitzherbert Crescent.
The place was deserted apart from a young chap sunbathing in a deckchair outside the site office.
‘We’d like to see the show house,’ I said loudly and he blinked up at us then vanished inside to get the key.
‘When you get inside, you’ll find a switch on the right of the front door. Press it down.’ And with that he returned to his sunbathing.
‘It will look better, of course, when there are a few trees here and a bit of grass,’ I told Julie as it all looked a bit raw to her eyes but she admitted that the houses themselves were elegant, with their fibre glass columns reaching up to the tiny wrought iron railings of the balconies. Even the garages had a generous show of pillars. I considered the whole estate to be in very good taste and Julie agreed.
Although there was one row of terraced Georgian-style villas, most of the houses were detached by a small space and the show house was one of these, with two small bay trees in tubs outside the porticoed porch. As I put the key into the panelled door, in which a half-moon fanlight was incorporated, I said, ‘Perhaps our next move will be to one of these.’
Julie loyally said, ‘Oh, I’m very happy in Springcroft Meadow.’
The smell of new paint greeted us. The hall was light and airy with pale green walls and a dark green fitted carpet. In a small fibrous plaster niche by the stairs was a white urn filled with a splendidly colourful array of plastic roses.
‘Don’t forget to press the switch,’ Julie reminded me. ‘I expect it’s air conditioning or something.’ I pressed it and we nearly jumped out of our skins as a loud voice boomed over the house.
‘Welcome folks – welcome to the graciousness of yesteryear. Step with me into the elegant past of our forbears for a few precious moments. You are now standing in the well-proportioned hall. Note the cloakroom on the left with its Aubergine wallpaper and matching wash hand basin.’ We quickly obeyed orders and went to inspect the cloakroom while the voice paused briefly.
He then resumed, saying persuasively, ‘Come with me into the drawing room – the first door on the right of the front door.’
He then obligingly waited while we entered the drawing room, continuing with, ‘Now here we have a truly charming room where you will be pleased to entertain your guests, sitting round the Adam fireplace on a chilly winter’s eve,’ (this was not entirely appropriate with the sun blazing down outside – still, I got his point), ‘as you toast each other in mulled wine.’ He suddenly became practical, ‘All rooms have at least two power points.’
Was just going to tell Julie that I liked the green and white striped curtains when she said, ‘Sshh, don’t interrupt him.’
‘- go through the arch now and you will see that you are in the dining room with all the delicious food that these words conjure up – the Christmas dinner and the whole family sitting there with happy faces.’ This recording must have been made in the depths of winter.
‘You will notice the convenient hatch through to the kitchen – a great time-saver on Mary-Jane’s day off – ha ha. The French windows give on to the spacious patio, the ideal spot for sipping your mint julep, and beyond that you will have ample scope to create your dream garden with magnolia trees and trellis weighed down with clematis and honeysuckle.’
We stared out on to a piece of parched earth.
We were then hurried into the kitchen.
‘Inspect the fitments for yourself, you will be amazed at the quality.’ The voice became confidential. ‘Can’t you just smell that wonderful aroma of home-baked bread and Momma’s apple pie floating round this kitchen while you sit having coffee with your friends? The dustbins have their own special covered hideaway outside the back door. Now back into the hall, folks, so we may climb the stairs to further delights.’
I just had time to point out to Julie, with pride, the stair rails made from our own wood, when our guide started up again from a small loudspeaker at the top of the stairs.
‘The second door on the right brings us to the master bedroom with its echoes of a bygone age. Yes, one can imagine Scarlet O’Hara in such a room, getting ready for a ball.’
‘She’d have a job,’ I remarked to Julie. The room was completely taken over by an enormous four-poster bed and we had a job to squeeze past it to look out of the window.
‘Pause to admire the fitted wardrobes with their louvered doors,’ he went on. ‘You will see from the window that there is a small balcony outside with a wrought iron railing. On no account should you make any attempt to get out on to this balcony as it is for decorative purposes only. Nevertheless, the perfect place for your geraniums and trailing ivy. And now to the bathroom at the head of the stairs.
‘What could be more truly tasteful than these avocado tiles?’ He paused to give us time to take in the pale green tiles covering the bathroom. ‘The shower and the bidet – those two essentials of modern living – are included at no extra cost!’ While this sank in, we admired the plumbing.
I suddenly heard someone trying to get in downstairs so I went to inspect.
Julie continued and saw the other two bedrooms while I explained the procedure to the young couple with a baby, after I’d let them in.
‘I should wait here in the hall – we won’t be a minute,’ I said and rejoined Julie just in time to hear, ‘I hope you have enjoyed our little tour together as
much as I have. These graceful residences manage to combine olde worlde charm with up to date liveability. For more details, ask for our full colour brochure at the site office – and don’t forget, mortgage arrangements can be made through the Ever Trust Building Society. Thank you and I hope it is only au revoir.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Julie.
‘Well, that’s a funny sort of selling gimmick,’ I remarked as we went downstairs to the strains of “Greensleeves”. ‘I suppose it might work on some people.’
‘He had a lovely voice,’ Julie went on. ‘He could have sold me anything.’
As ‘Welcome folks – welcome to the graciousness of yesteryear’ started all over again for the young couple, I had to restrain Julie from joining them for another session.
June 15th – Monday
Very hot. I don’t know if it is the weather but tempers at the office seemed a little strained this morning. The air was stifling and several flies were making a nuisance of themselves, particularly one which kept landing on the iced bun Mrs Lush was having with her coffee. Brimcup suddenly got up and went to the cupboard where some of the cleaning items are kept and produced a fly spray of an especially pungent odour, with which he proceeded to drench everybody and everything in sight, including the iced bun. This did not seem to please Mrs Lush, whose language became quite interesting.
The spray went immediately to my lungs and I was soon gasping for breath.
‘Open the window!’ I yelled to Trina, who was sitting next to it.
‘Oh, no, I don’t want to do that – it would put me in an awful draught,’ the stupid girl said.
‘Don’t be so silly, the temperature is up in the 80s today,’ I replied. We had quite an argument about it, which culminated in me striding over to the window and grasping the handle. The wretched thing refused to budge although I applied quite heavy pressure.
I was suffocating by this time and did the only sensible thing, under the circumstances: I rushed out to the car park and took a few deep breaths, which brought a strange look from P.H., who had just driven in.
‘Anything wrong, Porter?’ he enquired as we walked in together.
‘No – not a thing P.H.,’ I lied – never one to make a fuss.
‘What’s that strange smell – is it your new aftershave? No offence, Porter, but isn’t it a trifle “fruity” – if not downright unpleasant.’ I just caught these words he muttered to himself as he turned into the door of his office.
Had no idea what he was talking about until I suddenly realised that I must have been covered in fly spray. Went to the gents and had a good wash but had a nasty feeling that the smell lingered on in my hair and on my suit, as my appointment after lunch with Groyne’s Do-It-Yourself Shop was not a resounding success. People were definitely not keen to come too near me – no small talk over a cup of tea or anything like that. Groyne’s secretary knocked over a chair as she hurried to open the window, saying, ‘Stifling this afternoon, isn’t it?’
Was glad to get home. Julie was out playing tennis. The dog backed away from me and Trev said as we met on the stairs, ‘You smell worse than a filthy night in the Kasbah,’ I don’t know where he got this saying from – it certainly wasn’t me.
June 16th – Tuesday
What a social summer this has turned out to be! Steve has asked us to the inauguration of his barbecue a week on Saturday.
‘Here’s hoping for a fine evening weather-wise,’ he said. ‘By the way, I hear your good lady is on the short list for the Cock and Bull tennis team. It’s between her and Una apparently. May the best man win, as they say.’
‘Julie must have been keeping it a secret. I hope it won’t be the end of a beautiful friendship,’ I laughed.
‘I bumped into Ken on Saturday,’ Steve went on. ‘He had rung up his friend Diplock – to say he was a bit fed up by old George Ferris’ effort at the gourmet dinner. Apparently Diplock said, “I never recommended him as an authority on wine, I just said he was very interested in drink, which is perfectly true – he’s the local soak”. And after he staggered from our midst, he apparently delivered a very spirited (ha ha) talk to the Psychic Society, kept them enthralled for half an hour.
June 17th – Wednesday
Julie said she had been keeping the tennis team news as a surprise and was rather annoyed that I had got to hear of it. ‘Anyway, Una and I are fighting it out on Friday evening. There’s going to be a match against the Crag Ferry tennis club next week. If I get into the team, I may have to be out in the evenings quite a bit.’
‘That’s alright. We’ll come along and watch you, won’t we?’ I said, giving Trev a wink.
‘No, you mustn’t do that – it would put me right off,’ she replied quickly. ‘I’m just off to get in some more practice. Nina said she’d give me some coaching.’
‘Well, don’t get so carried away that you forget we’re going out to the theatre tomorrow night,’ I reminded her.
‘Oh, I hadn’t forgotten and, by the way, the Spicers want to take us all in their Citroen.’
June 18th – Thursday
I’m glad we had been warned in advance of the Spicer’s offer of a lift in their Citroen, otherwise I might have worn my “suede” jacket. I know it is only suedette, but it is quite smart, apart from its tendency to crease badly, and I had a feeling that it was going to be a cramped journey this evening.
The Spicers tooted loudly at 6.15 and we climbed aboard, crushing the Uppes as we did so.
‘Well, we’ve been looking forward to this,’ I said, trying to ignore the fact that my rib cage was being punctured by Alan’s elbow.
‘We thought we’d dine “in situ” so to speak, after the play. There’s quite a decent little steak bar incorporated in the building.’ Alan twisted round to address me and we all had to adjust our sitting positions.
By the time we arrived at the Pleasure-Drome, my legs had pins and needles. Then the four of us in the back stumbled out stiffly and had to limber up a little to get some feeling back into our limbs. I could sense Julie was regretting that she had worn that particular skirt, as from the back it now resembled a piece of rag, although of course I didn’t mention the fact.
I don’t quite know what I had imagined the play would be like. School for Scandal – it sounded light and perhaps a shade risqué, but I hadn’t been prepared for the powdered wigs and eighteenth century dialogue. I soon lost track of this. Also, I may be old- fashioned in this respect, but I couldn’t get used to the lack of a curtain. There was just this rather bare stage with no interesting scenery to look at. Still, the seats were very comfy and soon I was well away making new plans for the garden.
During the interlude, Alan led the way to the bar and I treated everyone to a round of drinks, Brenda choosing a Pimms full of fruit salad. This last mentioned took the barman so long to concoct that quite a queue formed behind us and we got several nasty glances as the bell went for us to return to our seats.
The second half of the play passed in a dream – literally – so I was secretly dismayed when Alan said, as we settled into our seats in the steak bar, ‘Well, what did you all think of the play, eh? How about you, Pete?’
I searched my mind desperately for something relevant to say.
‘The acting was magnificent,’ I said forcibly.
‘But what did you think of the character of… ?!’ Luckily, Julie who had obviously followed every word, came to my rescue at this point and eventually the conversation got round to holidays.
I felt on much safer ground here and gave an outline description of our plans for the caravan in South Wales.
‘What about you, Alan? What crafty schemes are afoot in the Uppe household?’ I asked.
‘Oh, we have the good fortune to be joining up with our old friends here,’ he replied, smiling and nodding at the Spicers. ‘We’re taking a cottage in Cornwall at the end of August. Cordelia is taking part in a gymnastic competition on the 15th August, so we can’t get away before then.’ Did I see a
momentary look of annoyance flash over Ron Spicer’s face – if so, it was gone just as quickly.
The service at the steak bar was very slow and it was midnight before we had finished our meal.
As Julie said, ‘It was lucky that Trev was staying the night at Craig’s.
The return journey was even more uncomfortable after steak, chips and ice cream, and I suffered badly from indigestion.
‘How about coming in for a nightcap?’ I asked everyone half-heartedly, as we drew up outside our house.
‘That’s very civil of you,’ Alan said quickly.
‘Do you mean whisky or cocoa?’ Ju1ie hissed at me as we walked to the front door. ‘Because we’ve got neither.’
After a frenzied search, Julie produced a small tin of decaffeinated coffee, purchased at a discount of l0p some weeks previously, which she mixed with some instant coffee granules. It seemed to go down very well – in fact, Ron Spicer remarked that it was the best cup of coffee he had ever tasted.
June 19th – Friday
Hurrah – Julie has got into the tennis team. Felt very proud when she came home and told us the good news. (Hope this won’t mean no supper on too many evenings.)
June 20th – Saturday
A fair has been at Weston, in the largest car park, these last three days and Trev and I decided to walk along and inspect it this afternoon. What a noise! You could hardly hear the old Beatles’ records above the din of the machinery and the hundreds of people who seemed to be there. Caught sight of Steve and Tracey whirling round on the Big Wheel eating candy floss. Later, we caught up with them on the way home. It was difficult hurrying along with the three goldfish we had won, but I particularly wanted a little chat with Steve – principally to make sure there were no hard feelings over the tennis team.