2006 - Wildcat Moon (16 page)

The woman had her back to Fleep and as the snowball flew in her direction, she turned her face towards him. The snowball hit her on the back of her head and she gasped and then burst into a peal of laughter.

Fleep stared at her in wonder. Her face was flushed with exertion and rarely had he seen a look of such pleasure on another’s face.

He watched as the woman threw a snowball back at the child. The child squealed as it struck her on the shoulder and then her laughter rang out in the icy afternoon air.

Such a simple scene to behold, yet there was such an innocence about it that cut him to the quick. He’d abandoned innocence a long time ago, allowed himself to be led willingly into a dissolute life. A life from which now there was no chance of return. He turned away quickly and made off back into the woods. He began to run, feet kicking up the pine needles, snow falling gently from the branches of the trees, the sound of laughter ricocheting inside his head.

Archie helped Cissie over the stile that led into the grounds of Nanskelly School and then waited while Nan helped Mrs Galvini over with much shrieking and wheezing.

Nanskelly must have been a beautiful house in its time but now the paintwork was peeling, the masonry crumbling and the roof was a patchwork of misshapen tiles. To the left of where they stood there was a run-down sports pavilion and in front of it a bumpy hockey pitch, criss-crossed with the prints of gulls.

The door of Nanskelly was ajar and Nan stepped briskly inside, beckoning the others to follow her.

It was drab and gloomy inside the house. The walls were the colour of congealed mustard and the tiles on the floor, though patterned, were worn and faded. A few colourful paintings hung on the walls but the velvet curtains at the windows were washed out and worn thin with age. There was a pervasive smell of old shoes and worn Wellingtons; of chalk dust and sugar paper; pencil sharpenings and cheap glue.

Suddenly a small girl poked her head round a door on the left and yelled, making them all jump, “There’s more customers, Miss Thomas! Loads of them!” before disappearing again. They followed her hesitantly into a large hall with a stage at one end and stalls set out around the outside.

A handful of girls stood excitedly behind the tables and several more were in charge of a table bearing an enormous tea urn and a mountain of cakes and biscuits.

“I’m parched. I could kill for a cup of tea,” Nan said. “Come on, Lena, you and I’ll have a drink, let these two have a look around first and spend their pennies.”

Archie and Cissie walked shyly around the room looking curiously at the assorted items for sale. Cissie picked up a well-worn teddy bear and clutched it to her chest while Archie sifted through a box full of assorted cars and cigarette cards.

Soon the room filled up as more and more people arrived. Archie recognized Old Willy Spencer from Rhoskilly Village and the Payne brothers from the Peapods as well as the Misses Arbuthnot.

Cissie grew slowly in confidence and went from stall to stall handing over her pennies as if they were going out of fashion. Soon she was exhausted and went to sit with Nan and Mrs Galvini with an enormous pile of old toys lined up at her feet.

Archie spent his money more carefully. He bought a few trinkets that he thought his mammy would like, a few old detective books for himself and lastly a shiny red cricket ball.

When he next looked around, he saw that Nan, Mrs Galvini and Cissie had joined the queue for fortune-telling. They beckoned him over to join them but he shook his head shyly. He wasn’t going to part with his money to be told a lot of old nonsense.

He bought himself a cup of tea and a slice of walnut cake from the two smiling girls and sat down near an old man who was eating an enormous slice of Victoria sponge cake.

“All right, lad?” the old boy called across.

“Yes thanks.”

“Ever been up here to Nanskelly before?”

“No.”

“I first used to come here when I was a nipper. Used to scrump apples from the orchard here. Used to eat too many and end up with a hell of a belly ache. I got a job here in the end. Can’t eat the apples now, though, ‘cos I haven’t enough bloody teeth in my head.”

Archie grinned and moved a little closer.

“You like cricket?” the old man asked, nodding at the ball in Archie’s lap.

“I don’t know, I’ve never played it.”

“You never played cricket? That’s a crying shame.”

“I’ve got a bad leg,” Archie said, nodding down at his calliper.

The old man looked down at Archie’s leg and winced.

“That’s damn bad luck. I’m the same,” he said. “Lost this bugger in 1914.”

He tapped his right leg with his knuckles and Archie flinched at the sound of old bones on wood.

“Gangrene. Took it off at the knee and later the whole bloody thing. Anyhow, whytt you buy a ball if you can’t play cricket?”

“I don’t know. I liked the colour, I s’pose, and I liked the feel of it.”

“Great game, cricket,” the old man said. “Used to be a big game of cricket here at Nanskelly every summer in the old days. Nanskelly School versus the village boys.”

“Did they play against the girls?”

“No. It were a boys’ school in the old days. The Villagers was a team made up of young lads from Rhoskilly and the Skallies and they used to play the Nanskelly boys.”

“Did they ever win?” Archie asked.

“Couple of times. The Headmaster, Mr Fanthorpe, was a nice fellow, cricket mad he was.”

“Did you ever play?”

“Course I did. I had two good legs then. Bit of a fast bowler in them days.”

Archie looked up at the old man with wonder; he couldn’t imagine him ever being a boy, he was so ancient.

“Tell you what, son, finish your grub and well take a walk out to the pavilion, show you a bit of history.”

Archie ate his cake, swallowed down his tea and then followed the old man.

As they walked through the hallway the old man said, “See, these floors here was all laid by Spanish craftsmen. Need restoring now but in the years gone by they reckon this were a real palace of a place.”

Archie looked down at the shabby tiles and shrugged. It didn’t look much like a palace now.

The door to the sports pavilion was stiff and with much puffing and pushing the old man managed to open it.

“Wood expands in the damp weather, see, that’s what makes the door stick. Come spring ifll free itself up. Bit like me, I stiffen up in the winter then come the spring it’s like the Almighty has dripped a bit of oil in my old joints.”

They stepped inside the pavilion and stood together looking at the racks of worn hockey sticks and moth-eaten shoe bags dangling from rusty hooks. There was a sprinkling of snow on the floor beneath a hole in the roof.

“We used to change in here. Not that we had bugger all to change into. Us lot used to have the arses hanging out of our trousers and we went barefoot most of the time in the summer. The Nanskelly boys were proper gents, had all the clobber, white shirts and flannels and proper boots.”

The old boy opened a door to the right and stepped into a large room sparsely furnished with a few rickety tables and chairs arranged as if it were a cafe.

“This is where they used to serve up the teas after the game. Lovely grub it were. Huge scones with great dollops of cream and jam. Cream puffs as big as a babby’s head. Sandwiches, apricot tarts and all sorts. Used to think we was in heaven. We never had a penny to our names in those days.”

“Sounds lovely,” Archie said, his mouth watering.

“There you go, look, up there on the wall. That’s me up there. Eighteen ninety-seven.”

He pointed to the far wall where a brown board hung precariously on a bent nail.

Archie screwed up his eyes and read the faded gold writing on the board;

Nanskelly v Villagers 1897.

Villagers won.

Player of the Match: William Dally.

“Was that you?”

“Course it were me. Told you I was a dab hand with a cricket ball.”

Archie read on down the list.

He stood transfixed when he came near to the bottom.

Nanskelly v Villagers 1899.

Nanskelly won.

Player of the Match: Charles Lewis Lloyd Greswode.

“Was that Old Mr Greswode who used to live at Killivray House?”

“That were he. Tidy cricketer he was. Spiteful little bastard though.”

Archie looked at the next entry, then stood spellbound, almost breathless with excitement.

Nanskelly v Villagers 1900.

Villagers won.

Player of the Match: Thomas Gasparini Greswode.

“Thomas Greswode! Why did he play for the villagers?”

“He was asked, of course.”

“But the other one, Charles Greswode, he played for Nanskelly?”

“That’s right. Both the boys were at school here. They used to be educated at Killivray but came here after the tutor at Killivray had a fall-out with Mr Greswode and left. Charles was Captain of sports or whatever they called them in those days. He got to pick the school team that played against the villagers.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Good old-fashioned jealousy, son. Like I said, his cousin Thomas was at Nanskelly School too. Lovely lad he were, sunny temperament, no side to him. Charles Greswode didn’t pick his cousin Thomas ‘cos he were too good a player, would have taken the shine off himself.”

“But that’s not fair.”

“Life ain’t fair, lad, so don’t ever go believing it is.”

Archie sighed. Benjamin always used to say the same thing.

“Well, Charles Greswode thought he’d got all his own way like he always did but then it all backfired on him,” the old man said with a chuckle.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, Mr Fanthorpe, the Head, he was a fair-minded man. Said that if Thomas wasn’t playing for Nanskelly he was entitled to play for the villagers seeing as he was a local boy.”

“Blimey.”

“A corker of a game Thomas Greswode had even though he were only young. Best left-handed bat I ever saw. Made eighty-nine with two sixes and a handful of fours.”

Archie’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement. He didn’t understand much about cricket.

“Even though it were donkey’s years ago I can see his face now when Mr Fanthorpe presented him with the cup. Chuffed to bits he were. We carried him shoulder high all the way back to the Skallies, we were that proud of him.”

“He died not long after, didn’t he?” Archie said suddenly.

William Dally nodded, “Never got to make old bones sadly.”

“He drowned, didn’t he?”

“He did and bloody tragic that were. Awful waste of a young life. He had a natural way about him, young Thomas, not like the rest of the bloody Greswodes.”

Archie saw a tear prick in the old man’s eye as he took out his handkerchief and blew his nose.

“Mr Fanthorpe was real cut up about it, we all were. But he blamed himself for a long time after.”

“Why?” Archie asked.

“Apparently, Thomas came out to see him one day, must have been a few weeks after the match. The school had broken up for the holidays. Young Thomas was in a terrible state.”

“Why?”

“The Lord only knows. But Mr Fanthorpe wasn’t here.”

“So why did Mr Fanthorpe think it was his fault?”

“Thought if he’d seen Thomas he’d have been able to talk to him. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone back out in his boat.”

“And was that the day he drowned?” Archie asked.

“No. It were the following day. The old gardener came here to the pavilion. Found Thomas here where he’d slept the night.”

“What happened?”

“The gardener sent him packing. Told him to get home else his uncle Mr Greswode would be angry.”

“But he didn’t go home?” Archie said sucking in his breath.

“No, he didn’t He never went back to Killivray. A couple of hours later he were gone for ever.”

“He drowned off Skilly Point, didn’t he?”

“He did, poor devil; must have rowed out way past Skilly Point and the boat were found days after that Eventually he were washed up on Skilly Beach ‘bout three weeks later. It was Master Charles that found him. I never liked him but that must have been a hell of a shock.”

“Why do you think he didn’t want to go back to Killivray?”

“No idea, son. Had a tiff, argument or suchlike, I spect. You know what kids are. No one ever knew for sure, it were just a terrible accident”

“You don’t think he meant to drown himself?” Archie asked.

“Good God no! He were always full of the joys of spring. Had his whole life ahead of him. Whatever makes you ask a daft question like that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Anyhow, not long after, Mr Fanthorpe closed the school.”

“Because Thomas Greswode drowned?”

“No, lad. Mr Greswode, Charles Greswode’s father, gave him notice to quit Nanskelly.”

“What does that mean?”

“The Greswodes owned Nanskelly back in them days. They fell out after Thomas died and that was that. He was a vindictive old bugger, Mr Greswode, like most of the family.”

“That’s why there were no more matches then?” Archie said, looking up at the board.

“That’s right. End of an era. Fair broke Mr Fanthorpe’s heart having to close Nanskelly. Greswode sold the house and a family lived here for a good many years. Then, lo and behold, Miss Fanthorpe and Miss Thomas came back from abroad and started up the girls’ school.”

“I see.”

“Miss Fanthorpe, she’s Mr Fanthorpe’s daughter, ‘course he’s long dead now, God rest his soul.”

Archie thought about the letter that Benjamin had left for him. What was it he’d said?

There’s a couple of old biddies over at Nanskelly School who would do you a good turn if you were in need
.

The old man interrupted his thoughts, “Anyways, that’s enough of all this maudling talk. Come on, then, we’d best be getting back or your folks’!! think you’ve gone missing.”

“They won’t. They’re queuing up for fortune-telling.”

“Good for them. That Miss Thomas has a way with her telling fortunes. She can see into the future, they reckon.”

They walked together back across the lawns in silence and stopped at the front door.