(11/13) Celebrations at Thrush Green (8 page)

Thrush Green was particularly fond of coffee mornings to raise funds for whichever good cause was in need. Usually the posters proclaimed that those perennials, the church roof or the organ, were pleading for help. But sometimes the posters exhorted all folk of good will to save the children, or rain forests or whales.

On the whole these occasions were looked upon as a pleasant way of meeting friends and catching up with the local gossip, both laudable and necessary in a small community. The aim of raising money really took a lesser place of importance, although when the proceeds were counted, among the unwashed coffee cups and cake plates when the public had departed, it was usually found that the local good causes - Church Roof and/or Organ Fund - did rather better than Ethiopian Famine or Brazilian Earthquake.

'Which really,' said Winnie Bailey, seated in the warden's office at Rectory Cottages, 'is as it should be, I suppose. After all, charity should begin at home, and although we see all the dreadful things that are happening worldwide on telly, it's not quite the same as hearing the organ wheezing badly at Matins or watching a steady drip in the chancel.'

Jane Cartwright, the warden, agreed. 'I make it sixteen pounds forty-five,' she said, dropping piles of coins into plastic bags. 'That's all from the Bring and Buy stall. Nelly Piggott's seed cakes accounted for half that.'

'I can't understand this revival of popularity for
seed cake
,' mused Winnie. 'Frankly, I find it abhorrent.'

'All my old dears love it,' Jane told her. 'Takes them back to their childhood.' She turned again to her accounts, brow furrowed. 'So this can be added to the raffle money. That brought in five pounds and four pence, though how we managed to get
four pence
when the tickets were ten pence each, I can't imagine.'

'Poor sight,' said Winnie kindly. 'Mistaking a two-pence piece for a ten-pence one.'

'I thought it was uncommonly generous of the Lovelocks to give that rather nice cushion as a prize. I mean, it's usually impossible to get them to part with anything.'

'They probably disliked it,' replied Winnie. 'As a matter of fact, I gave it to them last Christmas.'

'Oh dear,' cried Jane, 'I hope you don't mind?'

'Not in the least. I'm all in favour of recycling. Actually, the tray I put in was one they had given me years ago, so I suppose we are quits.'

The two ladies put the proceeds into a cash box ready for the bank, and Jane helped Winnie into her coat.

Winnie suddenly gave a little cry, rocked unsteadily, then sat down on the chair she had just vacated. Her face was white, her eyes screwed up in pain.

Jane, who had been a nurse, loosened the fastening of the coat she had just put on, and took hold of Winnie's hand.

'I'll ring the doctor,' she said.

'No,' gasped Winnie. 'Don't bother him now. In any case, he's probably on his rounds.'

'What is it? Has this happened before?'

'Too often for my liking,' confessed Winnie. 'That's the second time within twelve hours.'

'You simply must see John Lovell,' urged Jane.

'I shall go this evening,' Winnie promised her. 'I've been putting it off for weeks. They say that doctors' relations are always the most procrastinating, but I really will go tonight.'

'I hope it isn't anything you've eaten here,' said Jane, much perturbed.

'I assure you it wasn't seed cake,' replied Winnie. 'And now I'm quite all right again, and will go home.'

But Jane insisted on taking her the short distance to her gate, before returning, very worried, to her warden's duties.

Later that day Winnie submitted to John Lovell's probings and pressings and innumerable questions.

'I'm going to send you on to Dickie's,' he told her, naming St Richard's, the large county hospital. 'You'll need X-rays and some pretty painless tests, and then you'll probably be forwarded quite quickly to the consultant, Carter. I know him well.'

'Is he good?' asked Winnie nervously.

'Good? Of course, he's good,' responded John Lovell. 'He's a St Thomas's man!'

As John Lovell was himself a St Thomas's man, Winnie said no more.

'It sounds like the gall bladder,' said the doctor. 'Much easier to cope with these days. Very often no surgery is needed at all. I'll give you a prescription, and just cut out fat in your diet. I'll see that you get looked at quite quickly.'

'And you think I may not need surgery? I must admit that I have a horror of the knife.'

'Now don't worry. The chances are that if there are any stones there they can be dispersed, and if it comes to surgery Philip Paterson is the real expert at Dickie's, and he's a St Thomas's man, too. You'll be in safe hands.'

'Well,' said Jenny when Winnie returned, 'what did Dr Lovell say?'

Winnie told her.

'Are there any other doctors at Dickie's? I mean, who haven't trained at St Thomas's?'

'Not worth mentioning, according to John Lovell,' Winnie said.

Now that term was well on the way, Alan Lester set about looking for more details about the opening of Thrush Green school in 1892.

Unlike his neighbour, Harold Shoosmith, he did not have to search through contemporary local newspapers for his researches. Three stout log books, with mottled leather-edged covers, were carefully stored in the bottom drawer of his school desk, and in the oldest of these Alan found all that he needed.

The first entry was for 15 August, inscribed in a firm copperplate hand. The ink had turned brown with age but the entry was clear:

Harvest now safely garnered, so that pupils could be admitted.

Sixty-two enrolled. Some twenty still hop-picking in Hampshire, and returning before the month's end.

Miss Mackintosh in charge of Infants. Miss Brown in charge of Juniors. Headmaster in charge of top standards.

School assembled in the playground as weather fine, and then marched into Prayers.

Text today: 'Be obedient to those set over you.'

And a very timely text too, thought Alan Lester, for the first day of a new school!

He turned the pages, and soon found a lengthy account of the official opening, which took place on 20 September in the presence of a goodly gathering. As well as dignitaries from the County Education Committee and a fair sprinkling of local worthies, the rector of Thrush Green, the Reverend Octavius Fennel, was much in evidence. He opened the proceedings with a prayer, and also gave a short address, his text being: 'Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the Kingdom of God.'

A somewhat kindlier text, thought Alan, than the headmaster's original one.

Those present at this occasion were carefully listed, and one or two familiar names appeared, such as Lovelock and Harmer. Having found what he needed, Alan Lester returned the weighty volume to its resting place, and pondered on the most suitable festivities to promote on 20 September, 1992.

Meanwhile, Harold Shoosmith and Charles Henstock had been similarly engaged upon their researches, and were beginning to wonder about the best way to celebrate that other official opening, so far away under sunnier skies, at much the same time in 1892.

Both men had found Octavius's diary fascinating. The entries were brief, and one of the earliest was for 7 December, 1892. It read:

Received with joy letter from N. All well.

The diary was not kept daily, but very few weeks went by without some entry. Charles read it with particular sympathy. As he turned the pages, it became clear that his predecessor had been a man of outstanding kindliness and with a wide range of interests.

He obviously shared with so many Victorians the fascination of scientific discoveries. He mentioned meetings of the Lulling Scientific Society ('Lantern slides by courtesy of Oliver Lovelock, Esq.'). The Astronomer Royal had honoured them with a visit on his way to Somerset. He himself had felt obliged to speak out against some of the theories of Charles Darwin.

What came through most strongly was his steadfast belief in God and the teachings of the Anglican Church. Those theories of Charles Darwin's, about which he disapproved, were evidently contrary to his own religious beliefs and, no doubt, he looked upon them as heresy.

But the diary gave evidence not only of an upright man of God, but also of an endearing fellow who loved his neighbours, was compassionate and generous to the poor and sick, and was passionately fond of flowers, animals and the natural world about him.

Picked a dozen pyramid orchids by Lulling Woods. Took them with butter and eggs to poor old Biddy Bolton at Drovers' Arms. Lower limbs much afflicted with dropsy.

Entries mentioning Nathaniel came two or three times a year, each ending with 'see accounts'. It was plain that Octavius had financed this venture of Nathaniel's entirely from his own pocket.

By piecing together the material relating to Nathaniel in the diary, it was quite apparent to Charles and Harold that they now had a very good idea of the story.

Oliver Lovelock's useful article in 'Local Benefactors' on the subject of the Reverend Octavius Fennel was also very enlightening. Oliver obviously had great affection and respect for his clergyman friend, and also threw light on the relationship between Octavius and his protégé Nathaniel.

It appeared that the young missionary had been in his twenties when he embarked on his great adventure. There had been some preliminary correspondence with the Dr Maurice, already in Africa, mentioned in Nathaniel's first letter, and who was obviously about to welcome the young man on his arrival.

Oliver Lovelock's account gave something of Octavius's background. His wealth came from the Lancashire cotton industry. The fact that earlier generations in his family had thrived at the expense of slave labour in the cotton fields of America seemed to weigh heavily upon the clergyman's conscience. Was this one of the reasons, wondered Charles and Harold, which prompted his compassion and generosity to his contemporaries?

As a young man he had travelled extensively, mainly in Europe, visiting various capitals rather in the manner of earlier travellers undertaking the Grand Tour. Russia in the days of the Tsar had much impressed the young man, and he evidently gave a lecture on the subject later in Lulling, according to Oliver Lovelock's biography.

After being ordained he spent some time in the poorer parts of London, taking great interest in the children, and in his early thirties he was given the living of Thrush Green, where he was to spend the rest of his life.

Charles Henstock's comment was typical. As a home-loving man himself, he told Harold that Octavius must have felt as if he had found a safe haven after so many trips abroad.

But Harold wondered if such a lively mind as Octavius's ever looked back upon his adventures with nostalgia. Would he ever have secret regrets for the life he had given up? On the other hand, Harold reminded himself, he, too, had travelled widely but had not regretted, for one instant, his decision to settle in the little world of Thrush Green.

No doubt Charles was right and Octavius was content with his lot. Certainly his diary gave proof of that.

There was a photocopying machine at the stationer's in Lulling High Street, and Harold used it to make copies of the relevant pages of 'Local Benefactors'.

On his way back, he called at the Lovelocks' house to return the leaflet and the torch to the ladies.

He was invited into the drawing-room, and sat among the clutter of occasional tables, armchairs, china cabinets, book cases and even a what-not, and told the three sisters how much he had appreciated their father's account of Octavius and his good works.

'My father had a great regard for him,' said Bertha. 'Of course, we hardly knew him, as we were in the nursery then. In fact, I doubt if Violet was born. If I remember rightly, Octavius died just before the 1914–18 war.'

'Quite right,' said Harold.

'He brought Father a charming little paperknife from St Petersburg. It is still on the desk in his study.'

'And he gave us a Russian egg,' recalled Ada. 'I wonder what happened to it?'

'I think I saw it in the loft,' Harold told them, 'with other toys.'

'One day,' said Bertha, 'we must get someone to clear out that loft for us, and dispose of the contents.'

She gazed speculatively at Harold. He saw again, in his mind's eye, the stack of iron bedsteads, the heavy trunks crammed with the detritus of years, the decrepit chairs, the hip baths, the towel rails and the floor sprinkled with mouse droppings.

'I really must be off,' he said rising. 'Thank you again for your help. Your father's notes have been invaluable.'

Violet escorted him to the front door.

'What a nice man!' she remarked to her sisters when she returned. 'And he has put a new battery in the torch, too.'

'We may as well keep it downstairs,' said Ada. 'There's no point in having a new battery in a torch which is going to be kept in the loft.'