Aunt Violet was glad to hear it. At least Mr Bauer seemed excited to have the children visiting.
A little way back down the lane was Rose Cottage. It was home to Albertine Rumble, known to almost everyone in the district as Granny Bert. As the old red bus clunked by, the woman woke from a nap and remembered that Lily Bauer had invited her to morning tea. Her granddaughter Daisy had already left for work at the doctor’s surgery. The girl assisted Dr Everingham in Highton Mill three days a week and helped out at Highton Hall two other days.
Daisy had helped choose her grandmother’s clothes that morning and left her with some sandwiches for her lunch. She hated leaving the old woman on her own, as Granny seemed to be getting more and more forgetful by the day. But at least Lily and Heinrich were close by and Mrs Greening, who lived with her husband in the Gatehouse, often dropped in to check on her too.
Granny Bert pulled on her cardigan and gathered up her handbag and walking stick. She never went anywhere without either one. She wobbled her way downstairs and out through the back door, taking the path to the front of the cottage. She was surprised to see a bus parked beside the hay shed and wondered where it had come from. Granny walked towards it and saw that the door was open. She poked her head inside and drew in a deep breath. There was something about the smell that brought back all sorts of memories.
She used to ride on the bus all the time. She’d go into the village, and sometimes much further, to see her sister who lived in Downsfordvale. Granny Bert smiled to herself, remembering the lovely feeling of the bus swaying and the excitement of a new adventure.
Lily Bauer had been rushing about all morning. She was just about to take the brownies out of the oven when Poppy called out that the bus had arrived. At least she had a few minutes to spare while Heinrich organised the children. He said that he’d take them straight to the henhouse to collect the eggs, which she planned to boil up and have as part of their lunch.
Her brownies looked perfect and smelt delicious. She popped them on the sink to cool and checked on the scones she’d baked earlier, scurrying about to fill the jam and cream pots.
Having awoken to a sky as big and blue as the sea, she’d asked Heinrich to set up a row of trestle tables outside, which she planned to use at morning tea and lunch. They’d had the hay shed on standby in case of bad weather but it looked as if they’d be able to enjoy the outdoors. There were enough chairs for the adults but the children would have to sit on the grass. Lily didn’t think they’d mind.
She wondered if she’d have time to pop over and get Granny Bert. The woman had never fully recovered from a bout of illness earlier in the year and she certainly wasn’t the same robust old lady they knew and loved.
Lily glanced at the clock and decided that Granny would have to make her own way over from Rose Cottage if she remembered, or no one would be getting fed at all.
Heinrich Bauer led his visitors through the gate and around the back of the pretty stone cottage the Bauers called home. Clementine stood beside Sophie and Poppy. The three girls giggled with excitement.
Suddenly, Poppy whispered, ‘What’s your Aunt Violet doing here?’ She had just noticed the old woman chatting to the other parents.
‘I asked her,’ said Clementine.
Poppy frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Mummy had an important meeting and Uncle Digby had to go to the doctor and I thought she might like to come.’
‘Is she going to be nice?’ Poppy asked.
‘I hope so. But you can never tell with Aunt Violet. She’s unper . . . un-pre-dictable. But she was good on the bus.’
Mr Bauer told the children about some of the plans for the morning. ‘We will be having a look at the chickens and the pigs and I think we might even find someone to help milk the cow.’
‘Cool!’ Joshua said. ‘That’ll be me.’
Mrs Bottomley was standing right behind the boy. ‘We’ll see about that,’ she replied.
‘If you will follow me, we will see if the chickens have been busy this morning,’ said Heinrich.
‘Two straight lines,’ Mrs Bottomley called as she watched the children amble off. She blew loudly on her whistle. ‘Where are your partners?’
‘The woman will give herself an aneurysm,’ Aunt Violet whispered. Joshua Tribble’s father was standing right beside her, and chortled to himself.
Aunt Violet turned and stared.
‘I didn’t think I’d like you at all, you old parking-spot thief! But you’re actually quite funny,’ he said.
Aunt Violet rolled her eyes. ‘You haven’t heard the half of it.’
Lily Bauer came out of the kitchen and said hello. She advised Mrs Bottomley that there were tea and scones for the adults in the garden.
The teacher shook her head sharply. ‘We must go with the children.’
‘You told the children the parents wouldn’t be any use on the excursion anyway,’ said Aunt Violet archly. ‘So I’m happy to accept your invitation, Mrs Bauer. A cup of tea is just what’s needed.’
‘I did no such thing,’ insisted Mrs Bottomley. She was trying to remember if she’d actually said that out loud at any point. She knew she’d thought it.
At the far end of the garden, Mr Bauer was leading the children towards a high stone wall. The henhouse was on the other side. He opened a timber door set into the stone and called, ‘Come on, everyone.’ Mrs Bottomley was trotting behind them, doing her best to catch up.
‘Wow, it’s like a hotel for hens,’ one of the little boys exclaimed.
‘Thank you, young man,’ Heinrich said, grinning. ‘We are very proud of our chickens. They give us eggs for the whole estate.’
Mrs Bottomley was horrified to see that Mr Bauer had taken all of the children inside the henhouse. She stood back from the doorway and crowed, ‘Mr Bauer, do you think it’s a good idea to have those children in there with all of those feathers and claws?’
‘Of course, Mrs Bottomley,’ the man called back. ‘Please come inside and shut the door.’
Rows of hens – white, black, grey and red – sat in their boxes, clucking away.
Heinrich pointed at a pretty black speckled hen, which was making a very loud noise. ‘Can anyone tell me what she is doing in there?’
‘She’s tired,’ Angus said.
Heinrich shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘She’s lazy,’ Joshua called.
‘B-cark, b-cark, b-cark.’ The hen’s clucking was getting louder and higher with each call.
Clementine put up her hand and waited to be asked.
Heinrich pointed to her. ‘Yes, Clementine.’
‘I think she’s just laid an egg,’ Clementine replied.
Heinrich walked up to the box and reached in underneath the fowl. He pulled out a light-brown egg.
Everyone cheered.
‘Would you like to hold it, Clementine?’ Mr Bauer asked. She nodded and held out her hands. Heinrich placed the egg down gently.
‘It’s warm,’ Clementine said with a grin.
‘I need some helpers to collect the eggs today,’ the man said. He picked up three wicker baskets.
Everyone wanted to have a turn, so Heinrich asked Mrs Bottomley to choose six children who could go to different parts of the henhouse.
‘Astrid. You can choose someone to take with you,’ Mrs Bottomley said. Astrid selected Sophie.
Next, the teacher called to the tallest lad in the class, who seemed to wear a permanent frown. ‘Lester, you can choose someone as well.’ The boy pointed at Eddie Whipple.
‘And Angus, why don’t you ask someone to help you too,’ Mrs Bottomley finished.
Joshua was ready to jump as soon as Angus said his name. But this time, Angus didn’t.
‘Angus, who would you like to be your helper?’ Mrs Bottomley asked again.
Th
e curly-haired boy pointed.
‘Clementine,’ Angus said.
Joshua snorted loudly.
Clementine was surprised to hear her name. She wondered if he’d meant to say it.
Joshua kicked at the dirt. ‘That’s his girlfriend.’
‘Is not.’ Angus shot Joshua a sneer.
No one else said a word.
Heinrich handed out the baskets and nodded at Mrs Bottomley. While the teacher watched the six children make their way through the henhouse, he took the rest of the class out through another door to show them where the geese slept each evening. Apparently they were roaming around the bottom field, nowhere near the henhouse. This was just as well, as Mrs Bottomley felt very uneasy about the geese. The creatures had a bad reputation for behaving like guard dogs, and she wasn’t keen for her students to disturb them.
Inside with the chickens, Angus had found three eggs already and Clementine spotted another two. Clementine made sure that she deposited each new egg slowly, so it didn’t clunk against the others. Angus did the same. They continued checking each box.
At the other end of the building, Astrid and Sophie were excitedly counting their eggs and
Eddie and Lester were going about their business very seriously too.
Heinrich reappeared and beckoned the children to come out and show the rest of the class their treasures.
Astrid and Sophie had eight eggs, Eddie and Lester had collected nine and Angus and Clementine had found a record-breaking thirteen.
The class was very impressed with the haul.
‘I know that seems like a lot,’ Heinrich explained. ‘But many people live on the estate. Lily makes up cartons and delivers them to Mrs Oliver up at the Hall, Mrs Greening and Granny Bert, and if there are too many we give them to the neighbours as well. We seem to get through them and it’s bad news if the girls stop laying. Last year they went on strike for a month and there were no eggs for anyone.’
‘Why did they do that?’ Astrid asked. ‘Did they want a better henhouse?’
Heinrich Bauer smiled. ‘No, they already have the best henhouse. I discovered Mr Fox was paying them a visit each night. He couldn’t get in but he spent a long time staring at the girls. I think it made them very nervous.’
‘Did you shoot him?’ Joshua asked. ‘Because I would shoot him.’
Sophie frowned at him. ‘What with? Your water pistol?’
Heinrich Bauer shook his head. ‘Mr Fox has been relocated.’
Clementine wondered what that meant.
‘Children, would you carry the eggs up to the house and leave them at the back door for Lily?’ Heinrich directed.
Mrs Bottomley could sniff an impending disaster. ‘Do you really think that’s a good idea, Mr Bauer?’
‘It will be fine,’ the man replied.
The egg collectors walked in pairs on either side of their baskets, carrying their treasures carefully. Clementine and Angus were the last to go, and just as Clementine was walking past Joshua, the boy stretched out his foot.
‘Ahhhh!’ Clementine cried out as she thudded to the ground. The eggs spilled everywhere, splattering all over the lawn and on Angus’s t-shirt as well.
‘Why did you do that?’ Angus yelled at Clementine and scrambled to his feet.
‘I didn’t.’ Clemmie began to cry.
‘What in heaven’s name?’ Mrs Bottomley swooped on the pair. ‘What a mess! What a disaster! I knew the children couldn’t be trusted with the eggs.’
Angus turned on Clementine. ‘It was her fault. She tripped over and then she made me fall over too.’
Joshua had rushed ahead as soon as the pair had fallen and was now watching the drama and chuckling behind his hands.
‘It was Joshua,’ Clementine wailed. ‘He tripped me.’
‘Never mind,’ Heinrich said. ‘It was an accident.’ He looked at Clementine’s big blue eyes.
‘I . . . I . . . I’m sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘Of course you didn’t mean to.’ Heinrich patted the girl on the shoulder.
‘I saw him,’ Sophie told Clementine. ‘Joshua tripped you over on purpose.’
‘I did not,’ Joshua lied. ‘I wasn’t even near her.’
Poppy stared at the boy, whose tongue shot out at her like the sneaky snake that he was.
‘Angus doesn’t believe me,’ Clementine said.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ said Sophie.
The children walked up to the back of the house where Lily had organised some fruit and brownies for their morning tea.
Lily took one look at Clementine and exclaimed, ‘Oh dear, what’s happened, Clemmie?’ The little girl began to cry again.
‘I smashed the eggs,’ Clemmie sobbed.
‘But it was an accident, I’m sure,’ Lily said as she hugged Clementine.
‘Look what she did to me,’ Angus exclaimed. Raw egg dripped from his t-shirt.
‘Never mind.’ Odette Rousseau came to the boy’s rescue. ‘I’m sure we can get that off. I’ll get some wipes.’
Joshua Tribble was enjoying the scene in front of him. If Angus was going to choose a girl instead of him, then he’d have to pay for his decisions. His father noticed his smug smile and stalked across the yard, eager to find out if his son had been involved. Fortunately, the man wasn’t easily fooled.
Aunt Violet approached Lily and Clementine.
‘I remember breaking eggs once when I was your age. And I can tell you that your great-grandmother was much more concerned about it than Mr and Mrs Bauer. It might have had something to do with the timing, as Mama was hosting a dinner party for the Highton-Smiths that very evening and wanted her cook to show off all manner of tasty treats. I was sent to bed without any dinner.’
Clementine looked at her great-aunt and sniffled. ‘Really?’
‘I certainly was,’ the old woman said. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at Clemmie’s face.
‘That sounds an entirely suitable punishment for today’s behaviour,’ Mrs Bottomley chimed in. ‘Clementine, I think you can forget about having any of those brownies Mrs Bauer has made. You need to be more careful and less wasteful.’
‘How dare you.’ Aunt Violet drew herself up and stood over the stout teacher. ‘It was an accident. Clementine is clearly sorry about what happened and she will eat exactly what the other children are eating.’
Mrs Bottomley was about to argue when she saw Joshua Tribble laughing loudly and pointing at Clementine.
‘We’ll discuss it later,’ the old woman huffed, and bustled away.
‘No, we won’t!’ Aunt Violet barked after her.
Clementine nibbled her chocolate brownie, wondering if Mrs Bottomley was going to appear at any moment and take it from her. Aunt Violet was keeping an eye on the situation too, determined that the woman would do no such thing.
Fortunately, the teacher was caught up sorting out a disagreement between some other children.
After morning tea, Mrs Bottomley insisted that everyone go to the toilet, including the parents. There would be no accidents on her watch. Unfortunately, the queue was rather long and the group was running far behind Mrs Bottomley’s schedule.
‘Two straight lines, children. Now!’ the woman snapped before blowing her whistle.
‘Godfathers!’ Aunt Violet muttered. ‘Does she really need to do that?’
Clementine rushed to her place at the head of the line, beside Angus. Despite Mrs Rousseau’s best efforts with a wet wipe, his shirt was still splattered with egg yolk and starting to smell nasty too.
‘I’m sorry about before,’ Clementine whispered.
Angus shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about it.
‘Will the parents be joining us this time?’ Mrs Bottomley called. It wasn’t really a question.
Lily Bauer looked around and realised that Granny Bert had never arrived. ‘Heinrich, I’m just going to see Granny Bert.’
‘Oh, good idea, we forgot about her,’ the man replied.
‘I suspect she might have forgotten about us too,’ Lily said hopefully.
‘What are we doing now?’ Sophie asked Heinrich.
‘We will go to see the pigs,’ he replied.
Sophie smiled.
The class followed Heinrich Bauer in two straight lines to the pigpen that was attached to the end of the barn. His wife walked with them then shot off down the lane to Rose Cottage to find Granny Bert.
The pigpen had a shelter in the corner, and water and feed troughs near the fence. A huge mother pig lay on some scattered straw with six piglets attached to her teats and suckling noisily. Over by the fence was a large mud puddle. Judging by the crusty patchwork of brown on the sow’s body, she had enjoyed rolling in it.
Joshua held his nose. ‘Pooh! They stink!’
‘Does anyone know what pigs eat?’ Heinrich asked, ignoring the lad’s antics.
‘Girls,’ Joshua said.
Mrs Bottomley glared at the boy. Joshua’s father poked him in the back and shook his head.
Heinrich pointed at Astrid, whose hand had been the first to go up.
‘Pigs are omnivorous, which means they can eat vegetables and meat. Mostly people feed them vegetable scraps from the kitchen,’ Astrid said. ‘But the piglets are drinking milk from their mother.’
Heinrich nodded. ‘You’re a clever girl. We also give our pigs some kibble that we feed the dogs.’
‘And sometimes they eat cupcakes,’ Clementine announced.
‘How ridiculous, Clementine.’ Mrs Bottomley rolled her eyes. ‘Pigs do not eat cupcakes.’
‘Lavender does. She loves them, but we only let her have one on special occasions, like when it’s someone’s birthday.’
Clementine Rose and the Farm Fiasco 4 Page 4