‘Good morning, Prudence,’ replied Lily, ‘and good morning, Jeremy.’
They both looked up. Today the bear was in an autumnal ensemble, with brown cord trousers, an oatmeal shirt and a green corduroy waistcoat.
‘We’re doing a little gardening later,’ explained Prudence.
Lily nodded in acknowledgement. She was aware that Jeremy, like Prudence, was a keen gardener. ‘Just a loaf, please,’ she said, ‘and four pounds of potatoes.’
‘Are you working in school this morning?’ asked Prudence as she weighed out the King Edwards.
‘No, I brought Freddie in. He’s got a Saturday morning job with Timothy in the Hardware Emporium. He’s saving up for driving lessons.’
‘Your brother is a fine young man. You must be very proud.’
Lily gave a shy smile and filled her shopping bag. ‘I’ll take a newspaper as well, please.’
Next to this week’s copy of the Radio Times, with its front cover of the handsome Richard Chamberlain as Dr Kildare, were all the daily newspapers. Recently the news had been dominated by Harold Macmillan’s resignation as prime minister and his replacement, Alex Douglas-Home. However, at that moment, the shop bell rang and a stream of new customers arrived. Lily thanked Prudence, looked at her wristwatch and decided to take a break in Nora’s Coffee Shop.
She was sitting at a corner table when Nora served her.
‘There’s y’coffee, Mrs Feather,’ said Nora, ‘an’ a cwumpet.’ The twenty-five-year-old had always had trouble with the letter ‘R’.
The Coffee Shop was empty apart from a few teenagers, including two sixteen-year-olds, Arnie Icklethwaite and his new girlfriend. They were holding hands. Nora looked across at them wistfully.
‘What is it, Nora?’ asked Lily. ‘You look sad.’
‘Jus’ wemembewin’,’ murmured Nora. ‘I ’ad a boyfwiend once.’
‘Who was that?’
‘My Fwank,’ said Nora. There was a faraway look in her eyes. ‘’E were lovely. We used t’go t’Easington market an’ ’e bought me a bwacelet.’
‘That was a kind thing to do,’ said Lily.
‘An’ ’e took me t’meet ’is mother an’ she gave me owange juice an’ Witz Cwackers an’ we used t’listen t’Buddy ’Olly.’
Lily nodded. ‘He was a wonderful singer and that terrible plane crash was so sad. I remember buying “Raining in My Heart”.’
Nora’s eyes were wide. ‘Oooh, my favouwite.’
The bell above the door rang and another customer walked in. Nora gave the table a cursory wipe with her tea towel and picked up the ashtray, as she knew Lily was a non-smoker.
‘So what happened, Nora?’
‘Well, ah loved ’im but ’e found someone else t’love.’
Lily looked at the youthful Nora as she hurried away and thought how love could be an unpredictable companion.
In the vicarage, Joseph was puzzled. Vera seemed distant. There was clearly something on her mind.
‘How are you, Vera?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ said Vera, but she didn’t look up from her Be-Ro Home Recipes book. She had decided to make a custard tart and had just rolled out the shortcrust pastry and lined a seven-inch sandwich cake tin.
‘I’m going into church,’ said Joseph. ‘I have a wedding this afternoon.’
‘Good,’ replied Vera without conviction.
Joseph shook his head and recalled Oscar Wilde as he walked out. He murmured to himself, ‘Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.’
The radio in the kitchen was burbling away when Brian Hyland’s 1962 hit single ‘Sealed with a Kiss’ was played. Vera stared out of the window and gave the hint of a smile, but her eyes were soft with sorrow.
Chapter Five
The Beatles Concert
It was an iron-grey morning on Friday, 1 November and a reluctant light spread across the land. The weather had changed and a long winter was in store.
In Laurel Cottage Lily and Freddie were eating a hasty breakfast. Tom was in the hallway unbuttoning his uniform having returned home after a long stint of night duty. He pulled an envelope from his pocket as he walked into the kitchen. ‘I’ve got the tickets,’ he said. There were four and he gave them to Freddie. ‘I was in Leeds so I called in and bought them.’
‘Brilliant!’ said Freddie. ‘I’ll pay you back.’
‘No need,’ said Tom with a grin. ‘Save your money for driving lessons. The tickets for you and Rose are on me, but Sam and his girlfriend will need to settle up for the other two.’
‘Thanks, Tom.’ Freddie was excited. He knew Rose would be thrilled to travel into Leeds on Sunday to see the Beatles. They were her favourite group.
Lily looked at Freddie with new eyes. He had changed from a boy into a man in the blink of an eye.
When Lily arrived at school, John Pruett was in the entrance hall talking to John Grainger. Anne’s husband looked distinctly dishevelled. He hadn’t shaved and his thick cord trousers were stained with wood glue.
Anne was in the staff-room when Lily went to hang up her coat and scarf. ‘He’s volunteered to be in charge of the firework display on Bonfire Night,’ she explained.
‘That’s good,’ said Lily with an encouraging smile.
Anne sighed. ‘Well, it will keep him occupied, I suppose.’ There was a hint of sadness in her voice. Living with her woodcarver husband had become a life of monotony.
‘Let’s set up for the orchestra,’ suggested Lily suddenly. ‘It will give them a chance to shine in assembly.’
Anne thought ‘orchestra’ sounded rather grand as a description of the multifarious group of children who had expressed an interest in playing an instrument. Anne’s recorder group was to the fore, with a supporting cast playing Indian bells, tambourines, triangles and a wooden glockenspiel. The children loved it and Anne found contentment in their enthusiasm. Also, deep down, she knew Lily was trying to cheer her up.
Three miles away in Easington School, Freddie and Rose were sitting at adjoining desks in preparation for their A-level double English lesson. When Mr Charles Morris walked into the classroom all conversation ceased immediately. He removed his spectacles and surveyed the thirty pupils before him.
‘Before we study the poetry of Percy Shelley, I want you to remember that it’s important to read widely and not simply focus on the set texts.’ He stepped up to the raised teacher’s desk, put down a paperback novel and wrote Catch 22 on the blackboard. ‘This is one of the most significant novels of our time.’ He noticed Sam Grundy lower his eyes. His star rugby fly half was clearly not familiar with the Joseph Heller classic. ‘So, has anyone read it?’
A dozen pupils raised their hands, including Rose and Freddie.
‘Rose,’ he asked, ‘what did you make of it?’
Freddie turned to admire her profile.
Rose tapped her long, slender fingers on the desk top and removed her spectacles as she considered her reply. ‘Well, I was puzzled by the chronology.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Mr Morris said, encouraged by the considered response. ‘Heller uses third person omniscient narration, so events are described from the points of view of a variety of characters. These are often out of sequence, so it can be difficult to follow the plot.’
The discussion gathered momentum until finally he came to Freddie.
‘Now, Freddie, you usually give us some interesting insights. What’s your view?’
Freddie pondered a moment. ‘Well, I liked the fact it was set in the war, sir. My brother-in-law fought, but never speaks of it. I’ve often asked him, but it’s a closed book.’
Charles Morris nodded in acknowledgement. ‘I’m sure he will have his reasons.’ He had always appreciated Freddie’s thoughtful honesty.
‘I liked the character Captain Yossarian, sir,’ continued Freddie. ‘The only way out of flying bombing missions was for him to declare himself insane. It was crazy to continue flying into danger, so if he refused it meant he was sa
ne, but that meant he had to carry on. He couldn’t win.’
Charles smiled. Winning was everything to the earnest young man before him. Under the school badge on his navy blue blazer he sported his school colours for rugby and cricket. Charles had recommended Freddie, along with Sam Grundy, to take part in the trials for the Yorkshire Schools rugby union team. As captain of the Easington school team, Freddie’s determination to give his all in every game marked him out as a leader. When he spoke, others listened.
Mr Morris held up the novel. ‘In fact, Heller himself flew sixty bombing missions, so he knew this subject well. He used this satirical novel to present a paradoxical problem in which a resolution to a dilemma cannot be solved; hence the catch.’
Freddie leaned back in his chair and sighed. Life seemed to be full of paradoxes. He had grown to care deeply for Rose, but the words were not there to express his feelings. Also, the more he tried to help his sister, the more likely she was to sink into quiet reflection. It was as if there was a problem she could not solve and would not share. He wondered what it might be.
Back in Ragley, Joseph Evans had just finished a Bible studies lesson with John Pruett’s class as the bell rang for morning break.
The twins Luke and Scott Walmsley were clearly impressed by Joseph’s words of wisdom. He considered the two nine-year-olds, who were completely dissimilar in every way. They were non-identical dizygotic, or fraternal, twins who also had different personalities. Luke was polite, thoughtful and neat, whereas Scott was careless and loud.
‘Thank you, Mr Evans,’ said Luke.
‘That were a good story,’ added Scott, ’bout doin’ good an’ sharin’ an’ suchlike.’
‘We’re goin’ to ’elp our ’Enry when we get ’ome, sir,’ said Luke.
‘Henry?’ asked Joseph. He was unaware they had a brother.
‘M’mam sez ’e’s depressed,’ explained Scott forcefully. ‘Really depressed.’
‘Depressed? Oh dear! Why is that?’
‘’E’s on ’is own all day,’ said Luke.
‘Prob’ly gets lonely,’ added Scott.
Joseph delved further. ‘How old is Henry?’
‘Three, sir,’ replied the twins in unison.
‘Only three,’ said Joseph in surprise. ‘But I thought your mother went out to work.’
‘Yes, sir, she does,’ confirmed Luke.
‘That’s why ’e gets fed up,’ said Scott, ‘’cause ’e’s no one t’talk to.’
Joseph was concerned. Suddenly this was a serious matter.
‘We try t’cheer ’im up,’ continued Luke. ‘We give ’im cucumber.’
‘An’ bananas,’ added Scott.
‘Well, that sounds very healthy,’ said Joseph, keen to bring this conversation to an end. He glanced at his watch. ‘Time to go out to play now, boys.’
They rushed off and Joseph hurried to the staff-room. Vera was on her own preparing a pot of tea.
‘Tea, Joseph?’ she offered.
‘Yes, please.’
‘How did your lesson go?’
‘Er, fine, thanks,’ said Joseph, clearly preoccupied.
Vera stirred the tea leaves in the boiling water and replaced the lid on the pot. ‘What was your theme?’
‘Do not forget to do good and to share with others,’ recited a distracted Joseph.
‘Hebrews, chapter thirteen, verse sixteen,’ murmured Vera without looking up from pouring the tea.
‘I need to have a word with John about the Walmsley twins.’
‘Really?’
‘We may need to contact Social Services. Apparently they have a little brother who is left alone.’
‘A brother?’
‘Yes, Henry, three years old, clearly neglected … and he’s depressed.’
Vera held out the sugar bowl. ‘Sugar, Joseph?’
Joseph was surprised. ‘But you know I don’t take sugar.’
‘I think you need some sweet tea this morning.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘And I wouldn’t mention Henry to our headmaster.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Henry is a hamster!’
‘Oh … I see,’ mumbled Joseph as realization dawned.
Vera stared out of the window and smiled. ‘Never mind, Joseph, we all stumble in many ways. James, chapter three, verse two.’
Joseph sat down and added two heaped spoonfuls of sugar to his tea. It was the first time in his life that he had had empathy with a hamster.
It was Saturday morning and Mary McConnell had prepared scrambled eggs on toast for Rose and herself, while Brian had gone into York Railway Station for a morning meeting.
‘It’s ready,’ shouted Mary.
Rose was working at the table in the dining room and she closed her History textbook and a summary of the Franco-Prussian War. It was a subject she enjoyed.
‘Thanks, Mother,’ she said.
They sat down together in the kitchen and Mary studied her daughter. ‘How’s it going?’ she asked.
‘Fine,’ said Rose, ‘but there’s something happening next week. We’ve been asked to make cakes for a school party, so I thought I might make a Victoria sponge.’
‘I’ll get everything you need,’ offered Mary. ‘I’m going shopping later. We’ll do what we did last year in Domestic Science and put all the ingredients in the old Christmas biscuit tin. The eggs will need packing carefully.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
Mary always made sure her daughter received every encouragement and Rose had gained top marks in her O-level Domestic Science examination. It was a subject in which she had excelled.
For a few moments they ate in silence, each with her own thoughts.
‘Pity there isn’t an A-level in Domestic Science,’ remarked Mary. ‘You would have passed easily.’
‘Maybe … but the time needed for the practical part of the course would have made my three A-levels impossible.’
Mary nodded. ‘And you could do with another apron. I could make one for you.’
Rose gave a whimsical smile. ‘Perhaps in a brighter colour.’
At her previous school in Doncaster, Rose had made a pinafore and hat in the sewing class. This had been a compulsory forerunner to the Domestic Science lessons. The material had been provided by the school and resembled old army surplus.
Mary enjoyed these conversations with her daughter. Rose seemed to have grown up so quickly and she knew her almost better than Rose knew herself. ‘Do you think you might continue with cookery after sixth form? There’s a good course at the college in Bingley and another at the Ilkley College of Housecraft. You could become a Domestic Science teacher.’
Rose shook her head. ‘Not sure.’
In the background the radio was on with the volume turned low. Gerry and the Pacemakers were singing their number-one hit record ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’. Rose smiled. It was one of Freddie’s favourite songs.
‘You would need to complete an application form,’ said Mary.
Rose considered this. ‘I’m still keen to be a teacher.’
‘That’s wonderful, darling.’
Rose put down her knife and fork. ‘The thing is … I’m enjoying English.’
Mary nodded. ‘And your marks are excellent.’
‘So that’s another possibility.’
Mary was keen for her daughter to focus. ‘Where would you apply?’
Rose replied with confidence, ‘Probably Leeds University. That would be my first choice. Maybe Sheffield after that.’
Mary was quietly pleased. Far enough for the break from home … but close enough to visit. ‘Well, anything you need, just say and your father and I will do everything we can to help.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Rose got up to return to the dining room.
‘Are you looking forward to the Beatles?’
‘Can’t wait,’ said Rose. Her cheeks flushed. She had bought their first number-one record ‘From Me to You’ back in April and had played
it so often even her father knew the words. ‘Sam Grundy’s driving us there in his mother’s car.’
Mary considered this. ‘Well, make sure he doesn’t drink.’
‘Don’t worry, Sam and Freddie are very sensible.’
Mary was aware of Rose’s developing relationship with Freddie Briggs. ‘So … has Freddie any plans for his future?’
‘Yes, he wants to read Languages at university.’ Rose walked out of the kitchen.
A thought occurred to Mary. ‘And where will he be applying?’
‘Leeds,’ called out Rose from the next room.
I should have guessed, thought Mary.
Lily was deep in thought as she and Freddie drove on the back road from Kirkby Steepleton. Beyond the hedgerows, mist shrouded the silent fields like a cloak of secrets.
It was clear to Lily that Freddie was besotted with Rose. They seemed to go everywhere together and she hoped it would not affect his future. Freddie had switched on the car radio and was humming along to the Searchers singing ‘Sweets for My Sweet’. A busy day was in store. After a morning assisting Timothy Pratt in the Hardware Emporium, he had arranged to meet Rose in the Coffee Shop. From there Sam Grundy had offered to drive him to Easington for the afternoon rugby game. Then, tomorrow, it was on to Leeds and the Beatles concert. Another evening with Rose beckoned and he felt content in his world.
Lily glanced at the fuel gauge and pulled up next to the single pump on the forecourt of Victor Pratt’s garage.
Victor ambled out wiping his greasy, oil-smeared hands on his filthy overalls. ‘’Ello, Mrs Feather. What’s it to be?’
‘Four gallons, please, Victor.’
Petrol was five shillings per gallon and Lily took a pound note from her purse. ‘And how are you?’
There was always something amiss with Ragley’s local mechanic and this morning was no exception.
‘M’back’s killin’ me.’ Victor was a martyr to his ailments.
‘Oh dear,’ said Lily. ‘Perhaps you ought to visit Doctor Davenport.’
‘Thank you kindly, Mrs Feather, but m’dad gave me some goose grease. ’E sez it never fails.’
Lily had her doubts, but had learned not to contradict the old-fashioned remedies supported by the locals. She drove into Ragley under a leaden sky and the torn rags of cirrus clouds. As she pulled up on the High Street, the first harsh frosts heralded the coming of winter and the smell of wood smoke hung in the air. The villagers had put on their warmest coats before setting off for Prudence Golightly’s General Stores and the welcome smell of freshly baked bread.
Changing Times Page 6