Christmas At Thrush Green

by Miss Read

  And so the three of them made their way across the big hall and up the wide curving staircase.

  ‘We’ve seen from the time you’ve been here,’ Dimity said, from behind Ella, ‘that these stairs don’t seem to give you any problems.’

  ‘Those eighteenth-century chaps always built good staircases,’ said Ella, puffing a bit. ‘None of the uneven risers that I’ve got in the cottage.’

  Charles opened a door off the landing that led into a passage with a window at the end.

  ‘Being at the back of the house, these rooms get the morning sun but otherwise, I’m afraid, are a little dark.’

  Ella barked her laugh. ‘That won’t worry me, will it?’

  Charles opened a door on the left onto a not very large square room into which the pale winter sunlight was filtering. The walls were simply white-washed and in one corner the staircase from the kitchen below arrived. It wasn’t furnished in the proper sense, but there were two divan beds, a small scrubbed pine table and a couple of bentwood chairs. Standing in a row against the nearest bed were several suitcases and some cardboard boxes.

  ‘This is the closest we got to decorating when the choir came. Otherwise, as you can see,’ said Dimity, ‘the room is used as a sort of dumping ground. But it’s a very useful place to keep the cases. Saves climbing up into the attic.’

  Charles led the way back into the passage and showed Ella a slightly larger room next door to the first; it was similarly furnished although it had the luxury of a rag mat between the two beds.

  ‘There are three rooms on the other side of the passage, two quite small,’ said Charles, opening doors. ‘The bathroom’s in this one, but I suggest it would be better to take it out and start again.’

  He was probably right. There was a very stained narrow bath on legs, a large washbasin set in a wooden surround, and a lavatory with a cistern mounted high above on the wall.

  The three stood silently, surveying the dismal room. Then Ella broke the silence. ‘Could you leave me here for a moment?’ she asked. ‘I’d like to look around on my own.’

  Obediently, Charles and Dimity went back into the main house. ‘I’d forgotten how awful it is,’ said Dimity as Charles shut the connecting door.

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ said Charles, sitting down on a chair on the landing. ‘It’s suffering from neglect, that’s all. A lick of paint and a few open windows would make all the difference.’

  ‘Yes, I realize that,’ replied Dimity, running her finger along the top of a picture, and tut-tutting at the ridge of dust collected on her finger. ‘I must remember to get Mrs Allen to do these pictures next week.’

  ‘Talking of Mrs Allen, would she have time to do for Ella, too?’ asked Charles.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that, but in fact I think it would work very well. Mrs Allen told me only the other day that one of the people she cleans for is moving in the spring. Perhaps she would like to put in more time here instead. I’ll ask her.’

  ‘Once we know what Ella thinks,’ said Charles. He got up and walked along the landing, then stood and looked down into his much-loved garden. It was asleep now, of course, but soon things would be stirring. The first snow-drops wouldn’t be far away.

  And Charles was moved to quote one of his favourite poems.

  And in that Garden, black and white,

  Creep whispers through the grass all night.

  And spectral dance, before the dawn,

  A hundred Vicars down the lawn;

  Curates, long dust, will come and go

  On lissom, clerical, printless toe;

  And oft between the boughs is seen

  The sly shade of a Rural Dean.

  Dimity laughed. ‘I don’t think Rupert Brooke wrote that for you, my dear. No one could say you were “lissom”! Nor “sly” for that matter.’

  ‘I’m glad about that,’ said Charles. ‘Look, the sun is just touching the golden weathercock on St John’s. It’s turning out to be a nice day.’

  He returned to his chair and hummed to himself for a moment or two, then polished his spectacles vigorously on a large white handkerchief. ‘The thing is, Dim,’ he said at length, ‘I’m not sure Ella wouldn’t be better—’ but he broke off when the connecting door opened and revealed Ella’s large frame.

  ‘If I can do what I’d like to do then I think this would suit me very well,’ she said, almost as though she were talking to a shop assistant about a new dress she was trying on. ‘Let me show you.’

  Charles and Dimity exchanged glances and then followed Ella through the door.

  ‘I would like to make this room,’ she said, indicating the first square room on the left, ‘my bedroom. Then’ - and she moved on down the passage - ‘if I was allowed to knock down these walls,’ and she indicated the walls of the rooms at either side at the end of the passage, ‘and build a new wall here,’ and she waved her good arm across the passage, ‘that would make a bigger room for my sitting-room by taking in this end of the passage and the rooms on either side. The two extra windows would make it much lighter, and it’s lovely looking out over the garden below.’

  Charles knocked on the passage walls. ‘I think they’re only partition walls, easy enough to take down.’

  ‘But if you blocked off the passage, it would be as dark as night here without the light that the end window now gives,’ Dimity said.

  ‘I’ve thought of that. If the door leading into the sitting room was a half-glass door, then the passage would be perfectly light enough - for me, anyway. Then,’ said Ella, indicating the middle room on the other side of the passage, ‘this would make a perfect little kitchen.’

  ‘But I thought you’d agreed to eat with us?’ said Dimity, immediately worried about Ella’s safety.

  ‘And so I shall, for the main meals. But I don’t see why I can’t have a small kitchenette - dreadful word! - so I can make my own breakfast, a snack if I want one when you are out, or even supper if you are entertaining and don’t want me hanging around. I could get one of those microwave things. I wouldn’t want an oven or anything like that.’

  Much relieved, Dimity said, ‘It all sounds an excellent idea.’

  ‘And then the bathroom. I agree with you, Charles, that it would probably be better pulled out and started again.’ Ella turned to face her friends, hands on hips. ‘Now, what do you think?’

  ‘It sounds as though you have it all mapped out,’ said Dimity. ‘I should have known that your talent for design would see a way of turning these dark rooms into something liveable in.’

  Charles raised a hand. ‘If I may come in here? I must point out that all this will need to go in front of the Church Commissioners. This vicarage is, after all, their property.’

  Ella turned to Charles. ‘Oh, Lord! I had quite forgotten the Church Commissioners. Will they allow this?’

  ‘I took the liberty of doing a little telephoning yesterday. The agents for the Church Commissioners with whom we shall have to deal were, of course, not yet back from the Christmas break. So I talked to Anthony Bull.’

  ‘Dear Anthony . . .’ murmured Dimity, which seemed to be the stock phrase whenever the name of Lulling’s previous incumbent was mentioned.

  ‘Anthony didn’t think there would be much difficulty. In fact, he reminded me that the Commissioners are selling quite a bit of their property, moving the clergy into smaller, newer houses, and selling off the larger properties for huge sums of money. He thinks it would find favour if we had someone else living here with us.’

  ‘Is there any chance that the vicarage will be sold off?’ Ella asked.

  ‘Anthony doesn’t think so. After all, we have the church fête here every year, and use the dining room for parish and endless other meetings. He has given me the name of a friend in Hampshire who apparently did just what we are planning to do. I shall ring him later this week.’

  ‘Thank you, Charles,’ said Ella. She had assumed a rather business-like manner which made Dimity smile. ‘Now, before we
go any further, I want to make one thing absolutely clear. I will pay for all the work that needs to be done - after all, I shall have plenty of money once the cottage is sold. And I will come here on a trial period. If it doesn’t work out, and we end up fighting—’

  ‘Ella,’ protested Dimity, ‘I’m sure that won’t happen.’

  ‘I’m sure, too, but we must make plans in case it were to. If it doesn’t work out, then I’ll find a place in one of those homes, but if I get to the end of the trial period with marks for good behaviour, then I think there should be a proper agreement setting out the terms of my rent and all that that encompasses. And there must be a clause whereby either of us can get out of the arrangement, say three months’ notice. So, assuming we get the OK from the Church Commissioners to go ahead, will you both agree to my terms?’

  ‘We agree,’ Charles and Dimity said in unison.

  ‘Wonderful!’ cried Ella. ‘I know I’d be very happy here, and although I’ll be heartbroken leaving my cottage, this will be a haven. And I shall be eternally grateful to you both for re-housing this broken-down old thing.’

  ‘What rubbish!’ said Dimity, mightily relieved that it looked as though - the Commissioners apart - Ella was prepared to give up her independence and live with them.

  ‘Now the garden,’ said Charles. ‘Like the house, you must treat that as your own.’

  ‘Thanks, Charles, that means a lot, especially since your garden is such a fine one.’

  ‘Excellent, excellent,’ said the vicar, rubbing his hands together. ‘Now, I suggest we go downstairs and have a celebratory glass of sherry. We can talk some more in the comfort of the drawing-room.’

  On the way down the main staircase, Charles suddenly stopped and turned to look back up at Ella who was following behind Dimity.

  ‘On the subject of the garden, Ella, what are you like at weeding?’

  The Youngs’ house on Thrush Green was a hive of activity. It was a case of all hands to the pump. Paul helped his father move small items of furniture out from the hall and drawing-room, making the two rooms look strangely empty.

  ‘I’ve got to go now, Dad,’ Paul said, looking at his watch. ‘Time to dance attendance on the Burwells.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Edward said as his son pulled on a warm jacket and woolly hat, ‘we’ll leave plenty for you to do when you get home. Work hard!’

  ‘Have fun!’ called his mother.

  Whatever Paul replied was lost as he slammed the front door behind him.

  He and Jeremy had spent the previous afternoon in Mrs Curdle’s old caravan in the orchard, Alfie curled up on an old cushion on the floor, and Jeremy had listened wide-eyed at the details of Paul’s escapade.

  ‘Gosh!’ he’d said. ‘You were brave.’

  ‘Well, those lights were truly awful. Dad was quite right to go demented about them.’

  ‘What did you have to do this morning?’ Jeremy had asked.

  ‘Clean old Burwell’s car - and I’ve got to do Ma Burwell’s tomorrow. I did it really slowly so I wouldn’t have to do anything else, but they cottoned on and hurried me up. Then I had to sweep out the garage and his workshop. I don’t know what they’re going to find for me to do right up to the end of the hols.’

  After Paul had set off for his two hours of hard labour, Edward went into the kitchen where Joan was stirring soup on the stove.

  ‘How many did you say we were going to be? I’ll need to check we’ve got enough chairs.’

  ‘With the Wilberforces, it’s twenty,’ said Joan. ‘I had hoped that either Kit or Connie would come but they’ve both decided to stay in with Dotty.’

  ‘Have we got twenty chairs?’ Edward asked.

  Joan paused, spoon in mid-air. She then conducted the spoon round the house. ‘You add up as I go. Eight in the dining-room, three in the drawing-room, two in the hall, two from your study—’

  ‘Forget those,’ said Edward. ‘We should have taken them out before we filled the room with furniture. It’s too late now.’

  ‘All right. I’d rather not use the chairs from in here. They’re not very comfortable. Where was I? Ah yes, upstairs.’ And so she counted on round the house. ‘How many is that?’

  ‘I make it eighteen. We need to get two from somewhere.’

  ‘You can have two of ours,’ said Molly, who was peeling oranges at the sink. ‘I’ll get Ben to bring ’em over when he gets home.’

  ‘Ah, thanks,’ Edward said. ‘And Ben is sure he’s happy to help us tonight?’

  ‘Course. We both are.’

  ‘Who’s looking after the children?’ Joan asked.

  ‘Well, you’ll never guess. Nelly’s coming over! There’s a turn-up for the books. She never done that before. Offered, too. I didn’t ask.’

  ‘So she’s not cooking a grand meal for your dad, then?’

  ‘No. He’ll be with his cronies down the pub, celebrating his retirement all over again. Ben an’ me will enjoy being here this evening. I’m looking forward to seeing Miss Watson an’ Miss Fogerty again. Seems ages since they was here.’

  ‘I think everyone will be glad to see them,’ replied Joan. She tasted the soup. ‘There! I think that’s just right. All it will need is heating through, and the cream adding at the end.’

  Wiping her hands on her apron, she peered at a large list that was attached to the fridge door with a magnet. ‘What’s next?’

  ‘I’ll go and collect the trestle for the hall, so if we could decide who’s sitting where, then I can get the chairs in the right place so the lightest people sit on the more delicate chairs.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Joan. ‘We’ll need a good stout one for Ella. That chair she sat on last Christmas has never been the same. And we’d better place her at the end of a table so her poor arm won’t get knocked. Oh, what fun this all is!’

  ‘I hope you’ll be thinking the same in twelve hours’ time,’ laughed Edward, pulling a pad of paper towards him. ‘Who on earth are we going to put next to the burbling Burwells?’

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t put them anywhere near Winnie or Ella. They haven’t forgiven Jean for interfering with the crib in St Andrew’s.’

  ‘Now there’s a temptation,’ mused Edward, and in his neat hand drew two large rectangles on the sheet of paper. ‘That would really put the cat among the pigeons.’

  At the time that Albert Piggott would normally go into The Two Pheasants for his dinnertime pint, he set off along the little alleyway next to his cottage that led to the path to Lulling Woods. If such a thing were possible, there was a spring in the bent old man’s step. Four more hours, and then he’d be retired! But he was not such a fool that he didn’t realize that even he couldn’t spend all day in the pub, and he’d get bored with nothing to do. Which was why he wanted to have a word with his old friend, Dotty Harmer.

  Because it was a nice day, without any wind, Connie had not stopped Dotty going outside and pottering around the garden. It was here that Albert found her, gazing fondly at the ducks on the little pond.

  ‘Still usin’ that little landin’ stage I made for ’em, I sees,’ said Albert, coming through the gate.

  Dotty turned to greet him. ‘Hello, Albert. Just the person I need. Don’t you think that Jemima there’ - and she pointed to a large Aylesbury duck preening its feathers on the side of the pond - ‘is looking a little peaky?’

  ‘Um . . .’ murmured Albert. He wasn’t sure he could tell if the duck was under the weather or not.

  ‘I was just wondering if I might add a drop or two of my tincture of iron to her feed.’

  ‘What you make that from? Nettles, is it?’

  ‘No, no! I mean the iron tonic that Dr Lovell insists I take.’

  ‘She looks awright to me,’ Albert said hastily, hoping to spare the poor duck from a dose of Dotty’s medicine. ‘Now, what about a cuppa for your old friend? I’ve something I wants to discuss with you.’

  Over cups of tea in Dotty’s kitchen, Albert explained that as he was
about to retire he would have time on his hands. ‘What about me comin’ down ’ere a couple of days a week and doin’ any maint’nance work what needs doin’ in the garden? An’ I could dig you a little patch for some vegetables. What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s a splendid idea!’ cried Dotty. ‘It would be companionship for us both - and allow Connie and Kit to have some time off. They seem to think that I can’t be here on my own.’

  ‘Well, that’s fixed then,’ said Albert, and a rare thing happened. He actually smiled. ‘I’ll come down on Friday af’ernoon. I needs to be around in the mornin’ to check up that young Cooke has got out of bed and is at work.’ He slowly got to his feet, grimacing as arthritic pains shot through his ancient body.

  Dotty noticed. ‘And I’ll get you started on some of my best remedies for your rheumatics,’ she said. ‘Fair return for the help you’ll be giving me.’

  As Albert walked back to Thrush Green, he feared he might come off worst in this new arrangement. But he was fond of the old girl and, as she said, it would be companionship. He paused as he stretched out his hand to open the door of The Two Pheasants. There was a familiar car driving slowly along the side of the green.

  ‘That’s Miss Watson’s car!’ he declared to himself and then hobbled into the pub to be the first with the news that ‘the schoolteachers is back’.

  Isobel had positioned herself in the window of the sitting-room so she could watch for their guests’ arrival. They had said they planned to arrive in time for lunch and here they were, right on time.

  ‘They’re here!’ she called to Harold. ‘Can you come and help with the luggage?’

  Isobel opened the front door and flew down the garden path in order to greet Dorothy Watson and especially Agnes Fogerty.

  ‘Why, Agnes,’ she cried, having given her old college friend a huge hug, ‘I do declare you’re even smaller than ever. Have you shrunk?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ beamed little Agnes Fogerty. ‘Oh, Isobel, it’s so lovely to see you. And to be here in Thrush Green again.’ She stepped back across the little road and looked at the school house next door. It was bigger now, of course. Alan Lester had built on to it but the front was just the same. Memories of the years she had spent there with Dorothy came flooding back, but Isobel would not let her linger with them for long.