(10/13) Friends at Thrush Green

by Read, Miss

  Old Mrs Lester certainly was a tower of strength to the family during these first weeks of Margaret's return. It was planned that the whole family would go to Yorkshire at half-term, to take Alan's mother back and to give them all a change of scene.

  Meanwhile, Isobel and Harold, in company with other friends nearby, gave as much attention as they could to the family. The little girls were invited out frequently. The Shoosmiths took Margaret out with them on their afternoon strolls. Winnie Bailey and Ella Bembridge had pleasant henparties which included both Mrs Lesters. There was no doubt about it; what with her own determination, fears of what-might-have-been, and the support of family and friends, it was apparent that Margaret had every hope of winning her battle.

  When the first pale rays of spring sunshine emerged, life started to look more hopeful. The snowdrops, aconites and crocuses began to bring colour to the gardens, and along the road to Nidden yellow tassels of catkins waved from the hazel bushes.

  Seed catalogues were studied, and orders sent for stocking the kitchen and flower gardens. Travel brochures, adorned with sun-bronzed men and maidens with enviable teeth, hair and figures, were browsed over in the homes at Thrush Green and Lulling. Should it be Greece this year? Or Spain perhaps, or even Turkey? What about taking some savings out of the Lulling Building Society and having a real splash somewhere in the Bahamas?

  Most of these day-dreams were shattered by programmes on the television of fractious infants, exhausted mothers and bad-tempered fathers, jammed together in airport lounges for hours on end, awaiting flights which failed to materialize.

  The brochures were thrown away. What was wrong with dear old Ilfracombe anyway?

  Hardy souls such as Ella Bembridge took their first long walks of the year, striding along enjoying the exercise and the heady smell of spring in the air.

  Those who were just over bouts of the widespread influenza tottered out for a few turns in the lanes, well-muffled up against any chill in the air, and felt greatly relieved to get back to the comfort of their armchairs after ten minutes or so.

  Among this last category came Doreen Lilly and Gladys, each holding the hand of young Bobby. They came slowly up the hill and stopped to speak to Albert Piggott who was picking up litter by the church gate and depositing it in his bucket. Most of it came from careless customers at The Two Pheasants, for although Mr Jones provided a conspicuous litter-bin, there were always a few untidy consumers who preferred to fling their litter to the ground.

  When the wind was from the west, a certain amount ended up by the churchyard, much to Albert's fury.

  He was glad, as always, to stop work.

  'Say "Good morning" to Mr Piggott,' prompted Gladys.

  'I've 'ad the flu,' said Bobby with pride.

  'Oh-ah!' said Albert.

  'And my mummy. She 'ad the flu.'

  'Oh-ah!' said Albert again, looking at Doreen. She smiled but said nothing.

  'But my Granny never,' continued the child.

  'I was the lucky one,' said Gladys briskly. 'We thought a little fresh air would do us good.'

  'We're goin' to Uncle Percy's to see the lambs,' volunteered Bobby.

  Albert became more alert. 'Better watch they don't bite you,' he said.

  The child looked at his mother with alarm, but she remained silent.

  It was Gladys who answered. 'Mr Piggott's making a joke,' she explained. 'Lambs don't bite. Now, come along or we'll be late.'

  They nodded farewell and continued their journey towards the farm.

  Albert crossed the road to The Two Pheasants.

  'That girl don't say much, do she?' he said to Mr Jones. 'Cat had her tongue, I shouldn't wonder.'

  'I like a quiet woman myself,' said Mr Jones diplomatically. 'Maybe she's shy.'

  'Not shy enough, to my way of thinking,' commented Albert censoriously. 'Anyway, old Perce is "Uncle Percy" now. I suppose he'll be "Daddy Percy" before long.'

  'I shouldn't count on it,' advised the landlord. 'Not with Percy's record.'

  It was on one of these early spring mornings that an extraordinary event took place in the house of the three Misses Lovelock.

  It was the custom each morning for Violet to make a pot of Earl Grey tea in her bedroom, and to take a cup to each of her sisters.

  Years before, of course, there had been a resident maid who would mount the stairs with a jingling tray and distribute the tea. She would also pull back the curtains, and comment on the weather in Lulling High Street.

  Those days had disappeared long ago, and Violet, with great initiative, had bought herself a tea-making machine which she installed in her bedroom and learnt to manipulate with commendable speed.

  She quite enjoyed the early morning ritual, and Ada and Bertha were grateful for her service. Each sister kept a tin of biscuits in her room. Violet favoured Gingernuts, Ada Rich Tea, and Bertha stuck to Digestive. Sometimes the cup of tea, with a dip into the biscuit tin, was all that was required by way of breakfast as the ladies grew older and frailer.

  On this particular morning, Violet carried in Bertha's cup and found her sister sitting bolt upright and looking rather flushed. She nodded her thanks as Violet deposited the steaming cup on the bedside table, and patted the bed, inviting her sister to sit.

  'What is it, dear?' asked Violet.

  'Spring-cleaning,' said Bertha.

  'It's rather early to be thinking of that,' countered Violet.

  'We'll start in here,' announced Bertha. 'This room has become most frightfully cluttered. Why have you brought up so much rubbish from downstairs?'

  'You brought it up yourself, Bertha.'

  'Nonsense! Why should I want all the silver and some of the furniture too! It hampers me. It must be cleared away.'

  By now, Bertha was becoming much agitated, and Violet decided to humour her.

  'Well, we must make some plans, dear. Meanwhile, drink your tea while it's hot, and I'll come in again when I'm dressed.'

  By that time, Violet surmised, her sister would have forgotten all about it, and the day would proceed in its usual way.

  But she was wrong.

  When, some half an hour later, she opened Bertha's door, it was to discover a scene of complete chaos. Wardrobe doors stood open. Every drawer gaped, and the unmade bed was piled with an assorted jumble of silverware, porcelain, photoframes and bric-à-brac of every variety.

  'Bertha!' cried Violet aghast. 'What on earth are you doing? I've never seen such a mess!'

  'Must make a start,' puffed Bertha, now scarlet in the face. She threw a silver tankard, presented years before to their father, on to the bed, dislodging a heap of smaller articles which cascaded to the floor.

  Violet took charge. She forcibly pushed Bertha into a wicker chair, and stood over her.

  'You will give yourself a stroke, rushing about like this, and then where shall we be? Just leave everything alone, get dressed, and Ada and I will help you to put everything away later this morning.'

  Bertha seemed to see reason and shrugged her shoulders. 'Very well,' she replied, with immense dignity. 'We'll spring-clean later on.'

  Without speaking, Violet collected Bertha's underwear from beneath a pile of assorted objects, and put the articles by her.

  'I'll be back,' she said at last, and went to apprise Ada of this latest domestic upheaval.

  Later she returned, meeting Bertha on the stairs. Her sister was carrying a large silver tray piled precariously with small objects.

  Violet took it from her and preceded her to the drawing-room, where she deposited the tray on a sofa.

  'Now sit down, Bertha, and we may as well sort out this pile now.'

  'Such an odd collection,' replied Bertha, who seemed quite calm. 'Do you know, I'm sure we have a silver coaster that is Charles Henstock's. And a pair of sugar tongs that I distinctly remember seeing at Ella's. Why on earth did they give them to us?'

  Violet, who knew very well the acquisitive nature of her sister and indeed had been equally guilt
y on occasions, decided to ignore the question.

  The two articles mentioned were on the tray, and she quietly put them aside. She also returned a pair of silver vases, three photoframes and a pair of candlesticks to the mantelpiece.

  'It looks better at once,' said Bertha approvingly. 'It was a very silly idea of yours to lumber up to my bedroom with all this stuff. And some of it, you see, not even belonging to us. It looks so dishonest.'

  'It does. Shall we go upstairs and fetch some more?'

  After an hour or two of sorting out, all three ladies were exhausted and decided to have lunch, which could only be biscuits and cheese with tinned pears to follow, then their usual short rest, before continuing with their labours.

  What was really peculiar, thought Violet, as she lay on her bed after lunch resting her aching bones, was the way in which Bertha had put aside all those pretty pieces which had been begged, permanently borrowed, or simply purloined over the years, and those which were legitimate Lovelock property. Could there be some deep-seated guilt which had been suppressed all these years? Was this frenzy of activity a form of remorse? Or was Bertha simply suffering from another mental breakdown, and would she be her usual inconsequent and kleptomaniac self by morning?

  It seemed best, thought Violet, to go along with this spring-cleaning urge. At least, it restored Bertha's hoard to their rightful places in the house, and a lot of prized objects to their rightful owners. It was not going to be simple, thought Violet uneasily, explaining the return of such valuables as Ella's tongs and Charles's coaster, but it would just have to be done. Bertha's eccentricity would be a good excuse.

  Wearily, she clambered from her resting place and went into Bertha's still cluttered bedroom.

  The clearing of the room, and its return to comparative normality, took the three sisters the best part of a week to complete.

  Bertha still maintained her air of perplexity about the amount of things collected in her room, and it was apparent to Violet that nothing much could be done about it. Was Bertha genuinely confused, or was she deliberately blaming others for her own behaviour? Violet guessed rightly that no one would ever know.

  The only practical thing to be done was to return other people's property, and this unwelcome duty she undertook.

  It was humbling to find how kindly friends responded to her apologies. In truth, the Misses Lovelocks' ways were such common knowledge in Lulling and its surroundings, that it was quite a pleasant surprise to see their property again.

  'I must admit I had wondered where that coaster had hidden itself,' said Charles. 'It was one of a pair that Anthony Bull gave us one Christmas, with two bottles of exquisite claret. I am delighted to know it is safe.'

  Ella was equally understanding about her purloined Victorian sugar tongs. The Shoosmiths welcomed back a bonbon dish, and also collected a cigarette box which had been Miss Watson's. The Youngs were glad to see an Edwardian dolls' tea-set again, and John Lovell was delighted to receive a silver ash tray which he had never missed.

  All in all, Violet had an easier time than she had envisaged as she returned these long-held objects, and was grateful that no recriminations were forthcoming. It was, she felt, really more than she deserved, and said much for the generous spirit of their old friends.

  As the days lengthened people's spirits rose. It was good to get out and about again in the light, and to go and come back from an afternoon tea-party without having to remember a torch.

  The sun appeared almost every day, and gardeners were already busy. So were the birds, flying with grass and feathers trailing from their beaks, as they set about nest-building. Prudent housewives were already planning dates for the chimney sweep, the window-cleaner and painters and decorators.

  The January sales were far behind, and Lulling shops already displayed summer hats and frocks, and even swimsuits for those who had been bold enough to book a holiday abroad.

  It was a heady time, and at Barton-on-Sea Dorothy broached the subject of a few days away.

  'We both need a change,' she declared. 'You've looked quite peaky ever since that last cold, and my hip is definitely getting arthritic. Somewhere fairly flat, I think, don't you? What about East Anglia? I had a wonderful cycling holiday there as a girl. Hardly ever needed to get off, you know, the slopes were so gentle.'

  'There are some splendid churches,' said Agnes. 'We could go on day-trips by bus perhaps, if we found somewhere central.'

  'We should have the car for that,' said Dorothy. 'I'm not so arthritic that I can't drive.'

  Agnes fetched the engagement calendar, and the two ladies studied it.

  'Very little on in the next few weeks,' commented Dorothy. 'I can swap church flower duties with someone, and we can cancel that Conservative lunch.'

  'Good! I was already wondering what to wear. My best suit needs cleaning.'

  'There's just Teddy, of course,' mused Dorothy, tapping the calendar with her pencil. 'Still, I should think Eileen could read the newspaper to him quite as well as I do.'

  'Not as well,' said Agnes, 'but adequately, I expect, for such a short time.'

  At the end of the month the schools of Lulling and Thrush Green broke up for half-term.

  The weather continued to be mild, and the Lesters were ready packed to get off early on the Saturday morning. Alan's mother had said her farewells, and promised to return to the village in the summer.

  'Or earlier if I'm needed,' she confided to Isobel, 'but I pray it won't be necessary. So far, so good. I can't tell you how I admire Margaret over this affair. She's doing splendidly.'

  'She had your help,' pointed out Isobel, 'and the support of the family.'

  'That was very little really. She knew it was a case of self-help, and she's stuck to it.'

  Later, Alan came round to leave the key and the Yorkshire telephone number. 'I think I've switched off everything possible,' he told Harold, 'but no doubt I shall remember something vital when we're halfway up the Ml.'

  'Then ting us,' smiled Harold. 'Go and enjoy yourselves. See you next week.'

  Ten minutes later they saw the Lesters drive away, a bevy of hands fluttering their goodbyes.

  18. The Birthday Party

  MISS Bertha Lovelock had been born on February the Twenty-Eighth in a Leap Year. Her mother had often told her how narrowly she had missed being born on the last day of February in a Leap Year, and the horror of having only one true birthday every four years.

  This particular year was Bertha's eightieth birthday, and Violet intended that the occasion should be marked by a party. It would only be a small one, all the sisters agreed, just for a few old friends, and after considerable thought and discussion it was decided to have a modest tea party at the house.

  Consequently, Violet went next door one morning to The Fuchsia Bush to order a birthday cake, two dozen scones and other small cakes for the celebration.

  Mrs Peters attended to her, and was extremely helpful. She was fond of her eccentric neighbours and Bertha's pilfering was now, everyone hoped, a thing of the past.

  'Not too rich a mixture,' said Violet. 'We shall all be elderly, and not able to digest anything too heavy.'

  'None of our produce is heavy,' protested Mrs Peters, stung by this criticism of her wares, 'but I do understand. Would you prefer a madeira cake, suitably iced, of course?'

  Violet pondered awhile. 'No. I think a fruit mixture, but without brandy perhaps. I will leave the recipe to you and Mrs Piggott. I feel sure it will be delicious.'

  'I wonder,' said Mrs Peters diffidently, 'if you would like one of my girls to come in and wait on you? It is early closing in the town on that day and we are never busy then. I could spare Rosa or Gloria for two or three hours if it would help.'

  'That is most kind,' said Violet sincerely. 'We shall be about ten or twelve altogether, and should be glad to have one of the girls.'

  So it was left, and Mrs Peters also made a note to order a small bouquet to be taken in as a tribute from all at The Fuchsia Bush.
It was a great relief to have things on an even keel again. Keeping the boat upright, she thought, as she bustled about her duties, was a tricky job anywhere. Next door to the dear old Lovelocks, it was doubly so.

  The great day was blessedly mild and sunny.

  Violet took a suitably celebratory breakfast, the brownest boiled egg, boiled lightly, to her sister, and she and Ada sat sipping their tea as Bertha unwrapped their presents.

  Ada had given her a silk scarf which all three recognized as a Christmas present to Ada from a distant cousin. Naturally nothing was said about this, but the three frugal sisters secretly approved.

  Violet's gift was a box of Floris soap, and this she had actually bought at the local chemist's. It was much appreciated.

  'Now you must take things gently today,' said Violet. 'Ada and I are going to cut a few sandwiches after we've had our afternoon rest, and then we shall dress in readiness for our friends.'

  'Are they all coming?'

  'Well, no, dear. I think I told you yesterday that the Bulls are abroad, and Ella is staying with a school-friend in Scotland.'

  'So who are we expecting?'

  'The Henstocks, the Venables, and Winnie Bailey. There's just a chance that Dotty Harmer will come, but she was expecting some wire netting to be delivered, and particularly wanted to see the man as the last lot started disintegrating far too soon, according to Dotty.'

  'Oh dear! I wonder how long she had had it?'

  'Since Coronation Year, I gather, but Dotty thinks it should have gone on for another ten years or so.'

  'Well, we must just hope that we will see her,' said Bertha, putting aside the breakfast tray. 'Anyway, it is going to be a lovely day for me. I suppose eighty really is a great age?'