(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green

by Miss Read

  For Richard, she had to admit, was quite the most self-centred individual she had ever come across. Perhaps that was why, she surmised, dusting the windowsill, he had never married, although he was now in his forties.

  She ceased her work for a moment and gazed across the sunlit garden. It was true that years before he had expressed a fondness for Winnie's neighbour Phyllida, then a young widow, but she had turned him down, as gently as could be managed, and within a few weeks she was married to Frank Hurst.

  'I shouldn't think that dented Richard's armour very much,' commented Winnie to a surprised chaffinch on a nearby twig.

  No, Richard would not have changed much, if she knew anything about him. Probably the same old hypochondriac too, everlastingly fussing with his diet and his bodily functions. Well, she would see him before long, and it would be interesting to see if he appreciated Jenny's cheese scones as richly as they deserved.

  Time alone would tell.

  John Lovell, driving along the busy road to Oxford, was too engrossed in dodging lorries, queuing up behind tractors laden with bales of hay, and trying to look out for the turning to his new patient's, to turn his mind to any Thrush Green problems.

  As it was, he overshot the turning, for he had been looking out for the fir tree mentioned by Winnie, but evidently it had been felled since her visit, for nothing marked the entrance to the farm track.

  He managed to execute a neat U-turn in a lull in the traffic, and then was compelled to wait while yet another tractor, and its tail of fuming motorists, held up his right-hand entry into the lane.

  It certainly was narrow, as Winnie had warned him, and the surface was gritty. Banks of nettles and seeding cow parsley brushed the sides of the car, and here and there the vivid blue of cranesbill made splashes of colour among the tall grass. With the eye of a born naturalist John noted the variety of butterflies and birds that frequented such richness.

  The hedges were high on each side and badly in need of trimming, but John looked approvingly at the cascading wild roses, the brambles and the goosegrass which clambered from the ditch to drape its sticky shoots across the stronger twigs above. Plenty of good forage there for all manner of insect life, he thought.

  Now that he was free of traffic he turned his mind to another topic. Soon the new homes for old people would be allotted, and he had been asked to join the committee and to give his advice on the applicants.

  It was going to be a problem. As far as he could gather from the local grapevine, there would be no shortage of people applying for the houses. Some could be rejected pretty swiftly.

  Some, like Percy Hodge, were too well placed with a house and help already. Some were already so old and helpless that they really needed hospital care which the new homes could not provide. It was striking the balance which was going to be the main difficulty.

  He knew at least twenty people who would benefit from being rehoused. His work took him into some pathetically inadequate homes, many of them of picture-book prettiness outside. But under many a quaint thatched roof were damp walls, with fungus growth, and the stains of years. Windows were tiny, stairs crooked and uneven, and a menace to aging limbs. There were still cottages with oil lamps and candles, and John Lovell had seen and treated the outcome of three fires in such premises, all lived in by frail old people who should have had accommodation in just the sort of homes so soon to be allotted.

  He jammed on his brakes as a covey of young partridges ran from the overgrown verge. They took off with a whirring of wings and flew over the hedge.

  Shelving his future responsibilities, John continued on his way to the distant farmhouse.

  While John Lovell was driving cautiously along the neglected track, the subject which had been occupying his thoughts was also under discussion at Dotty Harmer's.

  She, with Kit and Connie, sat at the side of the cottage farthest from the noise of the workmen, mugs in hand.

  'Joan Young tells me that Edward is quite distraught with all the delays to those dear little houses of his.'

  Dotty always spoke of the old people's homes as though Edward owned the lot.

  'We're in the same boat,' commented Kit. 'They've just told me that the plumber has been taken to hospital.'

  'Oh no!' cried Connie.

  'Well, surely,' said Dotty reasonably, 'the plumber has a deputy? When my father was taken ill, the Second Master stepped into the breach, and simply adjusted the timetable.'

  'I've no doubt that things were rather better organised at Lulling Grammar School,' said Kit. 'As far as I can see, the work will be put back until Fred's on his feet again.'

  'What's the matter with him?' asked Connie.

  'Tummy pains. If it's appendicitis he'll be out in a few days. May not be too long.'

  'A dear friend of mine,' mused Dotty, 'who nursed at Edinburgh Infirmary told me that one of her appendectomy patients cycled from there to Glasgow, or Perth, or perhaps Leith – I can't quite recall now – but some distance away, only four days after the operation. Wasn't that marvellous?'

  'I can't see our Fred returning after four days,' commented Kit, 'even by ambulance, let alone a bike. Still, we aren't quite as desperate as poor old Edward, who is supposed to have all ship-shape and Bristol-fashion by October, I'm told.'

  'Winnie tells me that they are going to be quite charming,' said Dotty. She bent down to stroke her spaniel's silky ears. 'But there's a rumour that animals won't be allowed. I shouldn't like that.'

  Connie and Kit exchanged glances.

  'You aren't still wondering about applying, are you, Aunt Dot?'

  'Well, no,' replied Dotty, sounding alarmingly doubtful.

  Kit took charge, as he did so often and so admirably.

  'Dotty dear, we've had this all out time and time again. You are staying here for ever. Understand? You can have all the animals you like. We are here to look after you, and even if you wanted one of Edward's homes, which you know you don't, you wouldn't get one for all those reasons.'

  'You don't really want to leave here, do you?' Connie pleaded, taking one of Dotty's skinny paws in her own. 'This is your home, and has been for years. You know you would hate to make a change, and we want you with us.'

  'Yes, yes,' agreed Dotty, much agitated, 'I know all that, and I know that's why we are building on, but sometimes I wonder if I shall be a nuisance to you. All young things should start married life on their own.'

  'I feel flattered,' said Kit, patting Dotty's bony shoulder, 'to be called "a young thing" when I'm in my sixties. Now, snap out of it, Dotty. We three aging bodies will settle happily under this one roof. That is, if ever it gets round to being thatched, which I'm beginning to doubt.'

  'There you are!' cried Connie. 'So stop harking back to those new homes. Your home is here.'

  'Tell you what,' said Kit, echoing Ella Bembridge, whose favourite phrase this was, 'if our builders get on at this rate we could probably all move into one of Edward's abodes for our last declining years.'

  'I shan't come,' said Dotty decidedly. 'They haven't got any upstairs. Very upsetting to have no upstairs. We're better off here.'

  'That's what we've been telling you,' said Kit, smiling at his wife.

  3 Market Day at Lulling

  ON Wednesday mornings throughout the year, unless illness, catastrophic weather or matters of extreme urgency cropped up, Ella Bembridge descended the steep hill from Thrush Green to Lulling.

  She carried a large basket, for it was market day in the little Cotswold town, and Ella always made a bee-line for the Women's Institute stall where she could be sure of beautiful fresh eggs, crisp vegetables, home-grown fruit and mouth-watering homemade cakes and scones.

  Business done she met her old friend Dimity at The Fuchsia Bush, and over a cup of coffee they exchanged news in the company of many other ladies and, very occasionally, one or two gentlemen.

  On this particular morning, Ella was carrying a raincoat as well as her laden basket. The morning was warm and humid, the sky
overcast, and the weather prophets had forecast heavy rain.

  'Not that they know any more than my strip of seaweed outside the back door,' pronounced Ella, in ringing tones. Dimity hoped that none of those present had close relations at the Weather Centre, although over the years she had become less sensitive to the reaction of others when confronted by Ella's trenchant remarks.

  'We could do with it,' replied Dimity. 'The vicarage lawns are terribly parched, and Charles won't use the sprinkler. He says it sets a bad example, when we've been asked to save water.'

  'I can't think why these whizz kids of science can't manage to store some of the water we get too much of half the year. One week we're sloshing abut in our wellies, and then after a fortnight's sunshine we are looked upon as criminals if we take a can of water to the carrots.'

  'Try one of these sponge fingers,' said Dimity placat-ingly. 'They melt in the mouth. I expect Nelly made them.'

  She pushed the plate across to her friend.

  'I reckon we did The Fuchsia Bush a good turn when we suggested that Nelly Piggott might help out in the kitchen,' observed Ella, spurning the excellent sponge fingers, but producing her cigarette-making equipment.

  'By the way,' she continued, dropping tobacco flakes on to the cigarette paper, the tabletop and the floor, 'I think the Youngs may get Mrs Peters and the rest of the staff here to make some of the goodies for this lunch do.'

  'What lunch do?'

  'I thought you knew. They are having a fund-raising effort, half the proceeds to St Andrew's roof fund and the rest to Hearts and Chests, or Ears, Noses and Throats. Can't remember exactly, but it's medically inclined, and to do with tubes, not limbs.'

  'A coffee morning, you mean?'

  'More ambitious than that. Joan said a buffet lunch one Saturday should bring in much more cash. We shall have a few stalls, jam and cakes, you know, and I've promised some weaving and canework.'

  'It sounds marvellous,' said Dimity, trying to appear enthusiastic. 'When's it to be?'

  'End ofjuly, I think. I'll tell you when I know definitely. And Joan asked me to tell the Lovelock girls, so I'll bob in as soon as we've paid the bill.'

  'The Lovelock girls' lived almost next door to The Fuchsia Bush, in one of the pleasant Georgian houses which are dotted along Lulling's High Street.

  The three sisters were far from girlhood, their average age being closer to eighty than eighteen. They were a formidable trio, and had lived all their lives in the same house.

  Ada, Bertha and Violet had been left comfortably provided for by a wealthy and indulgent father. But they were renowned throughout Lulling and its environs for parsimony of an extreme kind. Visitors, bidden to lunch at the house, prudently had a snack beforehand, knowing that in winter they might be lucky enough to get one small chop from the neck end of lamb, with a spoonful of potato and half a dozen peas.

  If it were a summer lunch party the fare would be even more spartan. Miss Ada had been known to count the rounds of beetroot as she allotted them to the plates, and as the eyesight of all three sisters was now less than perfect, the lettuce was inclined to be crunchy with particles of garden soil.

  However, the linen was always snowy, the glass crystal clear, even if it only held tap water at the meal, and the ancient heavy silver beautifully polished.

  When Dimity and Ella entered the house the ladies greeted them effusively.

  'How lovely to see you!' cried Miss Ada.

  'Come through to the kitchen!' called Miss Bertha. 'We are just preparing lunch. Will you stay?'

  The two visitors, long familiar with meals here, made hasty apologies.

  Miss Violet was putting the finishing touches to the first course. Six slices of corned beef lay along an oblong dish, flanked with parsley at each corner. A few lettuce leaves, and one tomato, cut into four, seemed to constitute the accompanying dish.

  Ella wondered idly who would be so bold as to have the quarter of tomato left over. She hoped that there would not be an ugly fight.

  Bertha was concocting a small trifle from two slices of stale sponge cake, half a dozen strawberries cut into pieces and a spoonful of runny jam of indeterminate variety.

  Dimity and Ella looked upon these preparations as politely as they could.

  'I've only to moisten this with the top of the milk,' said Bertha happily, 'and then we can go into the drawing room.'

  That done, they did indeed traverse the hall again, and settle in the beautiful room which looked out into Lulling High Street.

  The drawing room was crowded with old and lovely articles. The sisters still lived in Edwardian style, with a number of small tables dotted here and there on the Chinese carpet, each laden with photographs in silver frames, tiny pieces of exquisite china, and other knick-knacks. The thought of the wreckage one small child or an exuberant dog could cause did not bear contemplating.

  An enormous bronze jug stood in the hearth containing the silver pennies of dried honesty, and the blue and green sheen of long peacock feathers. Dark brown velvet curtains were looped back from the windows, and the pictures were by some of the pre-Raphaelites. It was indeed a real period piece, thought Ella, seated uncomfortably, for one of her bulk, on a spindly mahogany chair decorated with fine marquetry work.

  'A cup of coffee?' asked Bertha.

  'No, many thanks,' said Ella. 'We've just had some next door.'

  'Ah! Mrs Peters makes excellent coffee,' commented Violet. 'And seems to be doing very well now that she has Mrs Jefferson and that rather vulgar Nelly Piggott to help her.'

  'I don't think,' said Bertha frostily, 'that there was any need for " rather vulgar", Violet. She seems a good enough woman of her type.'

  Violet looked abashed at this rebuke from her older sister.

  'She always cleaned our silver very well,' put in Ada. 'It was the cooking which we found disappointing. Not that she did very much here, but we found her very extravagant. Particularly with butter and eggs.'

  'Nevertheless,' said Violet, striking a blow for justice, 'her food was delicious, you know. And they say that The Fuchsia Bush is packed every lunch time.'

  'So we hear,' said Ella. 'It's partly because of that that Joan Young thought she might ask Mrs Peters to make up a few cold dishes. Pies and quiches and salads, you know.'

  She proceeded to outline the plan for raising money by a buffet lunch at Thrush Green. The sisters, Dimity noted, grew steadily more apprehensive. Obviously, the thought of having to spend money was daunting.

  Nevertheless, Ella ploughed on with her task.

  'I'll let you know the date, and the price of the tickets and so on, as soon as things are settled,' she promised. 'There will be a bring and buy stall too, of course, and probably a raffle.'

  The expressions on the three wrinkled visages became more relaxed.

  'Oh, I'm sure we can find something suitable for the stall or the raffle, even if we can't fit in the lunch party with our other duties,' said Ada.

  'Those ear-muffs I knitted, and the brooches made of beech husks should be quite acceptable,' agreed Bertha, 'and Violet made some excellent elderberry wine last autumn. Not all the corks blew out, if I remember rightly, and I'm sure there are a few bottles left.'

  'Well, we'll keep in touch about it,' replied Ella, with rare diplomacy, and she and Dimity rose to depart. The ladies of the house followed them to the front door.

  The pavement was now spotted with rain, and Ella began to struggle into her raincoat. Dimity, less well protected, looked dismayed, but turned up the collar of her summer suit.

  'You simply must borrow Father's umbrella,' fluttered Miss Violet, darting to a cylindrical vessel, decorated with improbable bulrushes, which stood in the corner of the hall. 'It was a present from the lodge of his Freemasons. He valued it highly, and we always lend it to our friends on just such an occasion as this.'

  It was certainly a handsome object, made of heavy black silk, with a splendid malacca handle embellished with a gold ring.

  'I hardly
like to take charge of it,' admitted Dimity. But the umbrella was already being opened above the three steps leading down to the pavement, the rain was increasing every minute, and she accepted the umbrella's protection gratefully.

  The three sisters waved goodbye, and then retired behind the front door, no doubt to discuss the dreadful possibility of having to purchase tickets for Joan's buffet lunch.

  'Well, thank God we weren't staying to lunch,' said Ella when they were safely out of earshot. 'I'm going back to eggs and bacon. Like to join me?'

  'I mustn't, Ella, many thanks. Charles and I are having some chicken in a casserole, and I've a horrid feeling I forgot to switch on the oven before coming out.'

  'You'd better drop into lunch with the Lovelocks,' said Ella, 'if that's the case.'

  And the two friends departed cheerfully.

  The rain grew heavier, and by midday the gutters were gurgling, the thatched eaves were dripping, and the puddles in Thrush Green's school playground grew larger every minute.

  Miss Watson, the headmistress, and her devoted assistant Agnes Fogerty surveyed the scene anxiously.

  'You would think,' said Miss Watson tartly, 'that parents would have the sense to provide their children with mackintoshes, especially when the weather man specifically forecast rain in the south.'

  'He's often wrong,' protested Agnes.

  Miss Watson gave one of her famous snorts, much mimicked by the naughtier of the pupils.

  'Well, it can't be helped. Those who go home to dinner must hurry along as best they can. Obviously, this has set in for the day.'

  Little Miss Fogerty supervised the departure of the few children who went home for their meal, organising the sharing of umbrellas, buttoning the raincoats of those prudent enough to sport them and exhorting her charges to: 'Hurry home, and keep out of the puddles,' a forlorn hope, as well she knew. Meanwhile, Miss Watson and the remaining assistant attended to the distribution of school dinner.

  It was impossible for the children to take their break in the playground after the meal, and conditions were just as bad when afternoon playtime came. Out came the dog-eared comics, the jigsaw puzzles, the dominoes and draughts which featured so monotonously in the winter. The past spell of fine weather had made both staff and pupils forget the frustration of wet days indoors.