(18/20) Changes at Fairacre

by Miss Read

  'Would you like that?'

  'Half of me fairly leaps at the idea, but the other half wonders if I should get restive after the first few months of euphoria. Like Miriam Baker,' I added, and began to tell her about Miriam's plans.

  After this we parted, Amy driving off southwards to Bent, while I locked up the house and then drove in the opposite direction to Fairacre.

  The village seemed deserted, and nothing stirred near St Patrick's and its churchyard. It was a golden evening of great calm, the kind of post-harvest lull when the stubble is still in the fields reflecting a warm September effulgence.

  I remembered that I needed some of the children's readers to check an order list I was sending to the office, and went to the school before going home across the playground.

  The brickwork threw out considerable warmth, and I could smell the drying paint round the window panes. Mrs Pringle had 'bottomed' the place at the end of the summer term, and would be up again in a day or two to see that all was ready for our opening again soon.

  Meanwhile, the school had remained locked. A few dead leaves whispered on the porch floor, as I inserted the massive key into the Victorian lock. The woodwork was warm against my hand, and I suddenly noticed that the crack of the door was sealed with a criss-cross of gossamer threads, spun by a host of small creatures who had been undisturbed for weeks.

  I stood numb with shock, the key motionless in my hand. This, I suddenly realized, would be the state of this well-loved school for ever, should its doors finally close. Dust, cobwebs, flaking paint, a few dead leaves, an overall acceptance of time's ravages and the onslaught of the seasons.

  It must have been several minutes before I could find the strength to twist that key and return to the present. But as the gossamer threads broke, and the familiar scent of the old schoolroom assailed me, I found my eyes were wet.

  13 Two Homes

  I MADE the move into Dolly's cottage before the end of the summer holidays, as I had planned. But only by the skin of my teeth.

  As everyone who has moved house knows, there are always snags. The day before the move, I returned to the school house from the Post Office to find a roll of stair carpet in the porch. This was supposed to have been delivered to Dolly's house where Mrs John was awaiting it. I rang the firm who expressed surprise and said: 'I'd better hang on to it, didn't I?' as the men could pick it up with my other 'bits and bobs' the next morning. And yes, yes, they'd certainly be at my place (School House wasn't it now, at Beech Green?) by nine o'clock prompt.

  I straightened out that one, rang Mrs John to apologize for keeping her waiting all the afternoon, hauled the unwieldy package further into the porch in case it rained, and hoped for the best.

  At ten o'clock the next morning, I rang the removal firm again. The same man answered. I recognized his adenoidal symptoms.

  'That's funny! The chaps as left that stair carpet had a note for you.'

  'It's not here.'

  'Well, we're working you in with a party at Cirencester.'

  'How do you mean? "Being worked in"?'

  'Well, there's a full load going to Cirencester, see, and a half-load being picked up there, and the chaps will call at yours for your bits to fill up the space, see, and drop it off at Beech Green on the way home, see. Save you all a lot of trouble.'

  'There's quite enough here to be getting on with,' I said tartly. 'So when can I expect this half-empty van from Cirencester?'

  'About midday.'

  'So I should hope.'

  'With luck, that is,' said Adenoids. 'This way you save quite a bit of money, you know.'

  'It doesn't save my time and temper,' I snapped back, crashing down the receiver.

  It was perhaps fortunate that I had been unable to catch Tibby earlier. That astute animal had seen the cat basket which I had attempted to hide in the cupboard, recognized it at once as the carriage which conveyed animals to the vet, and had made for open country. Luckily, just before twelve, Tibby appeared, accepted the last of the milk, and was corralled in mid-sip, poor thing. Together we sat, awaiting the van's return from the party in Cirencester.

  In the quiet, denuded room, I had plenty of time to look back over the years I had spent beneath this roof. They had been happy ones, busy with worthwhile work and enriched by Fairacre friends. Should I feel as secure at Beech Green, I wondered? Time would tell.

  By one o'clock Tibby and I were still waiting, and both hungry. Tibby had some rather unpopular cat biscuits in the cat basket, and I dined on two somewhat fluffy wine gums from the bottom of my handbag.

  At two o'clock the van appeared, loaded up the last of my removables and took off for Beech Green.

  Tibby was put on the front seat of my car, protesting loudly at this indignity, and I drove away to our new home.

  ***

  Later that night, I climbed the stairs at Beech Green, weary with all the day's activities. Tibby was settled in the kitchen below, the doors were locked and the empty milk bottles stood on the doorstep.

  Everything was quiet. I leant out of the bedroom window and smelt the cool fragrance of a summer's night. Far away, across Hundred Acre field, an owl hooted. Below me, in the flowerbed, a small nocturnal animal rustled leaves in its search for food.

  A great feeling of peace crept over me. The tranquillity of Dolly's old abode and my new one enveloped me. I knew then that I had come home at last.

  My link with the school house was not entirely broken.

  At the governors' meeting the matter was discussed with all the sympathy I knew would be shown. Mr Salisbury, from the office, was among those who sat in some discomfort in the schoolroom after the children had gone home.

  I explained my position, knowing full well, of course, that my move to Dolly's cottage was known to all present, but these formalities must be observed. I ended by saying that I proposed to vacate the school house at Michaelmas, the end of the present month, so that it could be put on the market if that was, in fact, to be its fate.

  Here Mr Salisbury intervened. He was empowered, he told us, to make quite clear that there was absolutely no hurry in this matter. It would be perfectly in order for me to stay at the school house until the end of the year, giving me more time to see to my affairs. Any decision about the house's future would be taken then.

  I was truly grateful for this gesture. It meant that I now had ample time to clear up my domestic matters.

  The rest of the business went much as usual. The school log book was produced and handed round. The punishment book, its pages unsullied, was also scrutinized. The chairman, the vicar, thanked us all for coming, and the meeting dispersed into the September sunshine.

  Although almost everything of mine was now installed at Beech Green, I had left one bed and a chair beside it, in my old bedroom. This I had done for two reasons. Firstly, I might need to stay overnight if school affairs kept me late during this interim period, or if some unexpected weather hazard made it difficult to get home. Secondly, I had always used the school house in any emergency with the children. A sick child would be taken over there to lie down whilst help was fetched and parents informed. Somehow I felt safer in keeping a place of refuge close to the school in case of sudden need. Naturally, when the end of the year came I should have to face making other contingency plans, but it was good to know that these temporary arrangements had the blessing of the school authorities.

  I went home to Beech Green that day, very much happier in mind.

  The golden weather continued, and people were looking for blackberries along the hedges. It was plain that we were going to have a bumper crop of apples, and even the farmers could find little to deplore after an unusually good harvest.

  'Want a marrow or two?' asked Mr Willet. 'A proper marrow, I mean, not these 'ere soppy little runts what gets cooked whole. Courgiettes, or some such name. I reckon it's pandering to women as is too idle to cut the skin off a decent marrow. I fair hates to see a dish of them little 'uns, like a lot of chopped-up eels, and
my Alice knows better than to serve 'em up.'

  I refused the marrow - or marrows - as kindly as I could. A lone woman simply cannot cope with a full-sized marrow, and Mr Willet's were mammoth.

  'I thought you might like to make a bit of jam,' he said, looking hurt.

  'I don't eat much jam.' I said apologetically.

  'There's always bazaars as could do with it,' pointed out Bob. 'Good causes. Charity. All that.'

  'Well,' I began weakly.

  'I'll bring you up a couple,' he said swiftly. 'Put a nice bit of ginger and lemon with it, and it'll sell like hot cakes. Mrs Partridge has made twenty-five pounds of it with the marrows I took up to the vicarage last week.'

  This looked to me as if the local market for marrow jam would be overloaded already, but Mr Willet's undoubted dismay at my reluctance to accept his bounty had to be assuaged.

  'I'm sure I could cope with one of your lovely marrows,' I said bravely. 'It's just that, living alone, you know - '

  'Well, that could be righted,' observed Bob sturdily, 'if you wasn't so picky about chaps.'

  He turned to go, leaving me speechless.

  'I'll look you out a couple of beauties,' he promised, stumping away.

  Those 'couple of beauties', I told myself ruefully, would probably make another twenty-five pounds of marrow jam to add to Fairacre's surplus.

  One Saturday morning, soon after receiving four massive marrows from Bob Willet, I went into Caxley to buy a pair of shoes. I tried on about sixteen pairs which were either too tight or too loose, the wrong colour or design, and finally settled for the pair which hurt least, looked unobtrusive, and hoped for the best.

  Still in a state of shock at the price asked for the shoes I took myself to the store's restaurant and ordered coffee. At that moment I was hailed by Horace and Eve Umbleditch at a nearby table, and I was invited to join my old friends.

  'Just the girl we wanted to see,' cried Horace. 'We've been hearing about your move, and wondered if your school house was going to be put on the market.'

  I told them my story up to date, and that a decision about the house would be taken in the New Year, but it looked highly likely that it would be for sale then.

  'But not if the school stays open, surely?' asked Eve. 'Won't the house be kept in case the next head teacher wants it?'

  I explained that the school had been reprieved for the time being, but in any case the chances were that anyone appointed after I had retired, sometime in the future, would probably want to live elsewhere.

  'When I came years ago,' I told them, 'cars were not so abundant. I was jolly glad to have the school house on top of my job, so to speak. But nowadays the head of Fairacre School could live anywhere within striking distance by car. In any case, the school house is really only suitable for a single person.'

  'Any hope of building on?' said Horace, stirring his coffee thoughtfully. 'Eve and I were wondering if it would suit us. We're in the same position as you were - living in a tied house virtually - and it's high time we found a place of our own.'

  'It might suit you very well,' I answered. 'You have seen it, I know, but if you really are considering buying, do come over at anytime and have a good look at it. I love the place dearly, and it would be lovely to think of you there. But don't forget, you are cheek by jowl with the school, and all the noise that causes.'

  'We've thought about that. But after all, we should be away at our own school when your children are there, and we have long holidays when Fairacre School would be empty too. It might work out very comfortably.'

  The conversation then turned to the past school holidays which they had spent in France, and to my own spell in Scotland with Amy.

  We parted with renewed promises about their visiting the house, and I drove back to my new home at Beech Green wondering if my old house would one day see the Umbleditchs happily settled there.

  I must say, I liked the idea.

  The garden at Dolly's was beginning to look tidier, thanks largely to Bob Willet's efforts. He cycled over from Fairacre when he could spare the time, and did a stout job on the neglected borders, sometimes assisted by Alice Willet's nephew.

  Under his direction I too did my stint, and on some days I was assisted by Joseph Coggs who was always willing to come back with me in the car, eat a substantial tea, pitch into digging and weeding, hedge-trimming or tending a bonfire, and earning a modest sum in payment.

  I enjoyed his company. He was never going to be an academic person. His parents' distrust of 'book-learning' was partly shared by all the Coggs' family. But he loved natural things, flowers, birds, curiously-shaped stones, the evolution of tadpoles into frogs — in fact, anything which involved the living world and its past in the countryside around him. He had an enquiring mind retentive of all that really appealed to him. Moreover, the sense of wonder, which so often fades as a child grows older, remained as keen as ever, and we spent many happy hours together restoring the old garden.

  'The next real job,' said Bob Willet when the three of us were sitting on the bench under the thatch surveying the result of our back-breaking labours, 'is them old trees.'

  He was looking with great disapproval at the ancient fruit trees which were looking decidedly sick.

  'That old Bramley will do a few years yet,' said Bob, 'but I'd have them two plums and that pear and greengage out as soon as they've dropped their leaves. Riddled with canker, I'll lay. Best put in some new stuff - bush type, I'd say so as you can pick 'em easy.'

  I agreed to all his wise advice. When the time came, I knew that Mr John and George Annett would give a hand in getting the trees down. Meanwhile, Joe and I were content to obey our mentor, and went on with our humble weeding and other unskilled labour under his watchful eye.

  The spare bed in the near-empty school house was used only twice during the next few weeks. One of Mrs Richards's little boys looked flushed and was tearful. On investigation, we discovered an ominous rash on his chest, and whipped him across to the school house before the rest of the infants showed the same symptoms. As it turned out, our fears of measles or chickenpox were groundless. A new jersey, desperately tickly, had irritated the poor child's chest, and he was back in school within two days.

  On the second occasion, I occupied the bed myself after a long evening of gardening. I was splitting up the roots of my favourite perennials to take over to the Beech Green garden, and found that my back was in such a parlous condition that driving was next to impossible.

  An early night under the old familiar roof eased the pain, and I was able to nip over to Beech Green to feed Tibby before breakfast. The poor animal had missed supper, and I was greeted coldly.

  After friends had been given any particular object of their choice, surplus furniture from my old house, and from Dolly's had been sent to the auctioneers and had brought in a tidy sum. Dolly, I felt, would have approved.

  The thatched roof insulated the cottage well, keeping it snug in winter and cool in summer. The ceilings were low, so that the rooms soon warmed up when the electric fire was on, and I found the staircase easier to negotiate than the rather steep one at the school house.

  I relished my new home, and looked forward to returning to it after each day at school. I began to realize that a few miles between one's place of work and place of home made all the difference to one's relaxation. Hitherto I had gone between house and school many times between dawn and dusk. In truth, I was always on duty, and fair game for any parent or governor who wished to drop in and discuss school matters. Now I was less vulnerable, and I appreciated this change in my life.

  Tibby too seemed to enjoy an environment without children, and explored the new hedges, trees and ditches with fresh energy.

  We settled into this different routine with great satisfaction, now that the worries of the move and the clearing-up of Dolly's affairs were over, though nothing could take away the sharp sense of loss which overcame me now and again. The pungent scent of southernwood by the back door, the phot
ograph of Dolly which hung over her desk, and the sight of the bright rug she had made for the landing, all sent a pang of loneliness through me. How potent such inanimate things are!

  Horace and Eve Umbleditch came to see me one Saturday soon after our encounter in Caxley, and we drove over to Fairacre to see the school house.

  'It doesn't look at it's best unfurnished,' I warned them, 'but at least it is all newly decorated upstairs, and you'll get some idea of size and outlook.'

  It was a balmy afternoon, and the school-house garden was looking tidy. I still had the key, of course, by courtesy of the school governors, and water and electricity were still available. Our footsteps echoed hollowly on the bare boards and the uncarpeted stairs.

  'This looks very monastic,' observed Horace in my old bedroom. He was looking at my lone bed, chair and electric heater. There were no curtains at the windows and no covering on the floor. Somehow it looked even more bleak than the completely bare rooms elsewhere, I realized.

  I explained about the emergency arrangements.

  'But I really think it's time to get the removal men to take these few things to the sale room. With luck, I'm not likely to need them again before the end of term, and anyway I must make other plans after that.'

  After they had looked at the house, we sat on the grass in the sunny garden. A bold pair of chaffinches came close, hoping for peanuts. A lark sang high above us, and in the distance we could hear the bleating of Mr Roberts's sheep.

  'It's a blissful spot,' said Eve.

  'It is indeed,' agreed Horace, chewing a piece of grass lazily. 'It would be worth waiting for if you think it will really find its way on to the market.'

  'Not for me to say,' I responded. 'But all the signs point that way. Sometime in the New Year, I imagine.'

  We returned to Beech Green for tea. They were both very quiet on the journey there, obviously mulling over all that they had seen.