by Miss Read
'All is as it should be; life is like that,' she comments.
Everyday life for me was certainly bearing this out.
After my night of weeping, some peace had returned. Although, from now until the end of my own days, I knew that there would always be this poignant sense of loss, yet there was no need for prolonged grief. A long and lovely life had ended, but Dolly would be remembered by many, for years to come. There had been no children of her own as immediate heirs, but all those who had passed through her hands had come under her wise and gentle influence, and this must shape their views and outlook for the rest of their lives.
It was with gratitude, not grief that Dolly would be remembered.
Amy came over to see me one evening soon after the funeral and said that I was looking distinctly peaky.
'Well, if you must know,' I responded, 'it's exactly how I feel.'
She had been in touch by telephone during my stay with Dolly Clare, but this was the first occasion that we had seen each other face to face for some considerable time.
She looked deeply concerned, and I began to feel guilty.
'No, I'm really all right. There was quite a bit to do tidying up Dolly's affairs as executor, and of course I was horribly shocked when it actually happened, but I am over that now.'
'Well, you don't look it. I think you want a tonic, plenty of good food and sleep, and a few days' holiday. Come and stay with us next weekend as a start.'
'I'd love to, but I can't. Perhaps towards the end of the month. We're getting a week off then.'
'Half-term?'
'Sort of. The powers that be are feeling their way towards a four-term year sometime in the future, and this is part of the preliminary trial. Actually, I hope it comes off, though I can't see it happening before I retire.'
'A week at the end of June,' said Amy thoughtfully, and I knew from her expression that she was planning something for me.
To distract her I asked after James and the semi-permanent lodger Brian.
'He's decided to look for digs near Bristol, so we haven't seen so much of him recently. James seemed to think that I was instrumental in pushing him out, but I can assure you I'm quite innocent. I think the idea of ejecting a hero who had once scored a century against Eton or Harrow, or possibly both, was more than James could face. Anyway, I told him that my conscience was as pure as driven snow, and that it was Brian's idea entirely, which it was.'
She began to smile.
'Mind you, when he broached the subject, I didn't cling to his arm with tears in my eyes to dissuade him. And it is lovely to have the bathroom to myself again, I must admit.'
'What about a turn around the garden, like Jane Austen's young ladies?' I suggested.
It was a perfect June evening. Mt Roberts had a field of beans somewhere nearby and there was a wonderful scent of flowers. The wistaria was in bloom, and the Mrs Sinkin pinks, which do so well on our chalky soil, added their scent to the evening air. The ancient Beauty of Bath apple tree had grey-green velvety marble-sized fruit on it and, judging by the plum blossom, we were going to be well off for fruit this year.
After our stroll, which we took with our arms round each other's waists like true Jane Austen characters, we sat on the garden seat to resume our conversation.
'Are you proposing to live at Dolly's now?' asked Amy.
'Not immediately. There's quite a bit to do there, and I don't want to make a long-term decision just yet.'
'Very sensible.'
'Besides, I've everything I need here, and it's so much closer to the school. I certainly do intend to go to Dolly's cottage eventually, as she wanted, but I'm staying here until the end of the summer term, and then I'll see how things go.'
A blackbird came out of the flower border followed by one of its young which was rather larger than its parent. It squawked incessantly as it badgered its harassed father for food, and we watched the two running back and forth across the lawn in their searchings.
Amy slapped her leg and the birds flew off.
'Mosquito!' she exclaimed. 'Just as we were enjoying Paradise.'
'We'd better go in,' I said getting up. 'Every Eden has its serpent.'
'I must go anyway,' said Amy, and I walked with her to the car.
'Tell me the dates of your holidays,' she said.
I told her, and she nodded looking rather mysterious.
'Ah! I have some thinking to do,' she said, and drove off.
Now what is she up to, I wondered?
Soon after Amy's visit Mrs Pringle apprised me of the fact that her niece Minnie had been obliged to go to hospital for a few days.
'So there am I,' she said dourly, 'stuck with those little 'uns of hers. If you could see your way clear to having Basil in school for a day or two, it would a be a real help.'
I felt sorry for my old cleaner and said we could manage Basil in school hours. She seemed relieved, which was more than I was.
Ideally, he should go into Mrs Richards's class. He was not yet five, but lethargic in the extreme. I knew from experience that it took him some time before he could let us know that he needed the lavatory - and then too late.
I decided that I would keep him with my own class. He could have a large ball of modelling clay, paper and crayons. These should keep him 'properly creative' as earnest educationalists say, or 'keep his idle fingers out of Satan's way', as our grandparents would have preferred to put it.
'Is Ern capable of looking after the children while Minnie's away?' I asked. Ern, Minnie's husband, appears to me to be at about the same stage of efficiency as Minnie.
'Not really. Ern don't like children.'
As he had five of his own when he married Minnie, and took on her three as well, it seemed odd that he did not like children. Unless, of course, the eight offspring had been the cause of his dislike.
'How long does she expect to be in hospital?'
'Not long. The doctor said it was her Salopian tubes.'
Confused images of underground trains hurtling through Shropshire vanished when I surmised that Mrs Pringle meant Fallopian tubes, but I did not intend to enquire further. I know virtually nothing about my own, or anyone else's internal organs, and am content to remain ignorant.
Once I had been foolish enough to ask my doctor what he proposed to do to a minor leg injury. He was a painstaking fellow, and after his explicit and conscientious account of the proceedings to be undergone, I vowed never to be enlightened again. On the rare occasions when I have had to go to hospital, I have said: Tut me out, watch your work, and don't wake me up until all the blood's gone!'
So I did not press Mrs Pringle for details, though I might have guessed that she was more than keen to give them.
'Oh, it only takes a day or two. It's a job that's got to be done if you wants any more babies.'
I was about to ask if Minnie, with eight children already, really hankered for more, when Mrs Pringle continued.
'They just blows them out. They takes one of them instruments -'
'Good heavens,' I cried, 'is that the time? I must get the children in.' I rushed away, and Mrs Pringle, deeply umbraged, limped after me.
Later I went into the infants' class to borrow some simple jigsaws for Basil. The modelling clay had inspired him sufficiently to roll out a worm-like object which he had seemed content to leave at that. My suggestions that he could coil it round and make a flat dish or, even more ambitiously, a small vase, was met with a stubborn shake of the head.
The crayons were not a great success either, and after I had discovered him crunching a particularly virulent-looking green one, I decided that his activities needed to be channelled into another direction.
'Would you like me to have him in here?' inquired my noble assistant, but I could not accept such self-sacrifice.
'Of course,' she went on, 'if we had all Minnie's school-age children, we shouldn't need to worry about the school closing. Besides,' she added hopefully, 'she might have more. She's no age, is she?'
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br /> I thought of the Salopian tubes, and agreed that there was every possibility of Minnie's family increasing over the years.
'But strictly speaking,' I told her, 'they are living in the Beech Green area. It's only because Mrs Pringle is taking on the three youngest that we can claim Basil - and then he's not on the roll, of course.'
At that moment, Joseph Coggs appeared in the doorway to announce that our visitor had 'gone to the lavatory'.
As was quite apparent when I returned to deal with the puddle, that was exactly what Basil had not done.
Dolly Clare's cottage, for so I always thought of it, was not neglected. Mrs John went in several times a week to air it, do a little dusting, and generally tidy up, and I went over each weekend, and sometimes during the week after school.
I asked Wayne Richards to come and have a look at it for any signs of immediate repairs which might be needed.
His verdict was favourable on the whole. 'It's pretty sound inside, though there's a nasty damp patch on the kitchen wall. Probably had a tub with brine in it years ago, for salting the pork, and the salt's leaked in. But I could seal that, I think. And there's woodworm up in the loft but there again I could treat it.'
'What about the roof?' I asked.
'You'll have to face having that roof re-thatched in three or four years' time, but it'll do a few winters yet.'
I was glad to hear it. Now that I was a property owner, I knew that I should have to use my meagre savings to put the place in order and I looked forward to doing it. Nevertheless, I could not face such a major job as re-thatching which, I knew from other cottage owners, could run into thousands of pounds.
'I thought of having it redecorated inside,' I said. 'Dolly could not face the upheaval in the last few years, but it really should be done. Could you do it?'
'No problem. Except time. I could give it a good doing with emulsion paint on the walls, and some good hard gloss on the woodwork. That'd do you for years.'
'You'd better give me an estimate for that and the other odd jobs,' I told him, 'and then we'll see what's urgent, and how soon you can start.'
'Right. You thinking of keeping it all white inside?'
'Yes. It looks fresh and cottagey. Besides, all the carpets and curtains go well with it.'
He laughed, and drove off, leaving me to lock up and return to Fairacre. But before I set off I wandered round the garden which Dolly had enjoyed all her years.
It was not as big as my own, and the fruit trees were not as healthy or as prolific. Sometime in the past a knowledgeable headmaster had stocked the school-house garden, and I was well supplied with plum and apple trees, an espalier pear by the garden shed, and gooseberry and black and redcurrant bushes.
At times I cursed the bounty of my garden when I returned tired from school duties and was faced by an abundance of red and blackcurrants, all needing to be picked, stripped, washed, bottled, frozen or made into jelly or jam. But my friends were always glad to help me out, and Alice and Bob Willet made good use of my surplus.
With the exception of a sturdy old Bramley apple tree, Dolly's fruit trees were past their prime, and I resolved to get Bob Willet's advice about replacing them in the autumn. The vegetable plot too, I decided, should be halved. Room for a few lettuces, some new potatoes, spinach and runner beans would suffice. There are several first-class market gardens nearby and in any case I am given no end of fresh vegetables in the autumn and winter, from friends and neighbours who have enjoyed my surplus fruit during the summer.
The flower border too looked in need of attention, and would need a good load of manure later on after I had divided some of the perennials. There were one or two particular favourites of mine in the school-house garden which I proposed to bring over, phlox and penstemon and various pinks.
There was a lot to do; the paths needed weeding, the hawthorn hedges needed a trim, and the laburnum tree by the gate was almost split in two with advanced age and the rigours of many downland winters, but I surveyed my inheritance with love and pride. I hoped to keep Dolly's cottage as well as she had done, and hoped too that I should be lucky enough to have many happy years there, as she had.
Perhaps, too, I should be as fortunate in my end, surrounded by my garden and the distant downs, and sheltered by my own thatched roof.
I was rather touched to receive a visit from Minnie Pringle one evening.
'Come to say thank you,' she said, 'for having our Basil. Auntie don't get on with Basil ever since he spat in the jam she was making. She's funny that way.'
For once, Mrs Pringle had all my sympathy, but it seemed best not to comment on this disclosure.
'Well, it's good to see you up and about again,' I said. 'Would you like some coffee?'
She followed me into the kitchen and I saw her eyeing a bowl of blackcurrants awaiting attention on the table.
'Those are to spare,' I told her, hoping to be let off a tedious job, 'if you would like them.'
She said that she would, and I gave her a bag and let her scrabble away while I filled our mugs.
'Basil wasn't much bother,' I said, nobly squashing the memory of constant sniffing, complete absence of interest in his surroundings, and the regrettable puddle on the floor.
'He liked it,' said Minnie, with her mad grin. 'I wish they could all come here, but they has to go to Beech Green. Ever so strict that Mr Annett is! Give our Billy the cane once.'
'Why?'
'Well, he shut one of the other's fingers in the door. Could've been an accident, I told Mr Annett when I went to complain.'
'And was it?'
'Not really. Billy got some other boy to hold the first one while he slammed the door.'
I changed the subject. Despite my dwindling numbers, I did not feel inclined to welcome any more of the Pringle tribe to Fairacre school.
'And how's Ern?'
'He's a bit cross with me.'
This I knew might well be construed as being violent. Ern is not above attacking Minnie when he disapproves of her behaviour.
'It's Bert, see,' she went on. 'Bert come up the hospital to see me, and Ern didn't like it.'
As Bert has been an admirer of Minnie's for many years and, according to local gossip, the father of two of her young children, it is hardly surprising that Ern views his attentions to Minnie with great disfavour. The two men have come to blows in their time, and Minnie appears to be rather proud of the fact.
'Bert brought me some roses and the nurse put 'em in a vase by my bed, and Ern wanted to know where they'd come from. So I told him. He was that wild!'
Minnie smiled happily at the memory.
'Why did you tell him?'
'He asked didn't 'e? All I done was tell 'im the truth.'
'So what happened?'
'Ern went down 'The Spotted Cow' in Caxley that night, and had a real old turn-up with poor Bert. Blacked his eye, and knocked a tooth out, and made his nose bleed somethin' terrible, Bert said.'
'Bert told you?'
'Yes. He came up to see me the next night with some carnations. I was ever so sorry for Bert.'
I began to feel ever so sorry for poor Ern, but kept quiet.
'Best be getting back,' she said, rising briskly. 'I've left the kids with Auntie, and there's Ern's tea to get. He gets a bit nasty if he has to wait for his tea. Thanks ever so for these currants.'
She bustled off to the door.
'I hope Ern is looking after you properly,' I ventured.
'Nice as pie,' she replied. 'Never laid a finger on me since I come back from hospital. The doctor had a few words with him, see. Mind you, once I'm really better I shouldn't be surprised if he turned nasty about Bert. Funny really, I keep tellin' 'im I knew Bert long before I knew him, so why shouldn't we be friends? But he's real funny that way.'
She skipped off down the path to collect her offspring from Mrs Pringle's. A stranger, seeing her for the first time, might have guessed her age at twelve or thirteen.
Mentally and morally, I thought,
she was a good deal less than that, but it was nice of her to come and thank me, I decided charitably, as I went to get Tibby's evening meal.
Later that week I had another visitor. It was Amy, elegant in a cream trouser suit, and I hastened to brush down the sofa before she sat on it.
'I was stripping redcurrants an hour ago,' I told her, 'and I don't want you to sit on any stray ones.'
'But surely you do that in the kitchen?'
'Not when there's an old film of Fred Astaire's on,' I told her, lifting up a glossy report of some unknown firm which was at one end of the sofa.
Amy settled herself and turned the pages idly. 'I didn't know you had shares in this. James is one of its directors.'
'Aunt Clara left them to me,' I explained, 'with her seed pearls, and a nest of occasional tables which I handed on to one of my god-daughters.'
I saw her studying a page of photographs at the beginning of the booklet.
'I can't think why they put those in,' I said, peering over her shoulder. 'Far better to leave their shareholders in ignorance. It may be the fault of the photographer, of course, but at a quick glance, would you trust any of those with five bob?'
'There's James,' said Amy, pointing to one of the photographs.
I peered more closely. 'So it is. Well, he's certainly the best looking by a long way.'
'Of course,' agreed Amy smugly. 'Now sit down, and I'll tell you why I've come. You haven't a spot of sherry, I suppose? Not that stuff you won at our raffle, I mean.'
'I've got some Croft's.'
'Perfect.'
I poured out two glasses.
'I've been thinking,' said Amy, after an approving sip.
'Oh, Amy,' I wailed. 'Not another prospective husband for me? I've got such a load of trouble already.'
'No, no, no!' tutted Amy. 'How you do harp on MEN!'
I was too taken aback by this unjustified aspersion to retaliate, and she continued unchecked.
'It's really about James and his trip to Scotland. He's flying up, a few days before he planned, to meet this fellow.'