(6/13) Gossip from Thrush Green (5 page)

'Oh, I'd be with you,' said Percy, blowing his nose, 'and of course there'd be a few for your garden, Albert. Or don't you bother to cook spuds, now your Nelly's gone?'

Molly does some for me, now and again,' replied Albert, secretly nettled by this reference to his truant wife. 'I don't go hungry, and that's a fact.'

'Your Nelly was a good cook, that I did know. Same as my dear Gertie. A lovely hand she had with puff pastry. I miss her sorely, you know.'

Albert grunted. Who would have thought old Perce would have been so sorry for himself? Other men had to make do without a wife to look after them. He began to move slowly away from the wall. With Perce at a loose end like this he'd have him there gossiping all day.

'When d'you want me to come up?' he asked, slashing at a dock.

'Tomorrow night suit you? About six, say? Or earlier.'

'Say five,' said Albert. 'Gets dark early still.'

A welcome sound fell upon his ears. It was the landlord of The Two Pheasants opening his doors.

Percy Hodge turned to see what was happening. Albert put down his hook on a handy tombstone and looked more alert than he had since he awoke.

'Come and have a pint, Albert,' invited Percy.

And Albert needed no second bidding.

Hard by, at the village school, little Miss Fogerty was enjoying the exhilarating morning.

The view from the large window of her terrapin classroom in the playground never failed to give her exquisite pleasure. For years she had taught in the north-east-facing infants' room in the old building, and had pined for sunlight.

Now, transposed to this modern addition, she looked across the valley towards Lulling Woods and relished the warmth of the morning sun through her sensible fawn cardigan.

How lucky she was to have such an understanding headmistress, she thought. Headmistress and good friend, she amended. Life had never been so rich as it was now, living at the school house, and teaching in this delightful room.

She glanced at the large wall clock, and returned to her duties. Time for the class lesson on money, she told herself. There was a great deal to be said for the old-fashioned method of teaching the class as a whole, now and again, and some of these young children seemed to find great difficulty in recognising coins of the realm.

She bent to extract a pile of small boxes from the low cupboard. Each contained what Miss Fogerty still thought of as the new decimal money in cardboard. Time was, when she taught for so many years in the old building, that those same tough little boxes held cardboard farthings, halfpennies, pennies, sixpences and shillings. There was still the ancient wall chart, rolled up at the back of the cupboard, which showed:

4 farthings make 1 penny
12 pennies make 1 shilling
20 shillings make 1 pound

Miss Fogerty remembered very clearly how difficult it had been to trace the real coins and cut them out of coloured paper to fix on to the chart. But it had lasted for years, and these children's parents had chanted the table hundreds of times. She felt a pang of nostalgia for times past.

There had been Something so solidly
English
about farthings and shillings! And feet and inches, come to that. She hoped that she was progressive enough to face the fact that with the world shrinking so rapidly with all this air travel, and instant communication methods, a common monetary unit was bound to come some day. Bur really, thought Miss Fogerty, putting a box briskly on each low table, it seemed so
alien
to be dealing in tens when twelve pence to the shilling still haunted the back of one's mind.

'My granny,' said young Peter in the front row, 'learnt me a new song last night.'

'Taught, dear,' replied Miss Fogerty automatically.

'Called 'Sing a song of sixpence'. Shall I sing it?'

'Later, dear. Now, all sit up straight, and listen to me.'

'What is
sixpence
?' asked Peter.

High time we got on with the lesson, thought Agnes Fogerty, and directed her class to open the boxes.

Next door, Harold Shoosmith and his wife Isobel were admiring some early daffodils in their garden. From the house came the whirr of the vacuum cleaner as Betty Bell, their helper, crashed happily about her work.

'One thing about our Betty,' observed Harold, 'she tackles everything with a will. Lord alone knows how many glasses she's smashed since she's worked here.'

'Not many since I came,' replied Isobel. 'You haven't noticed but I do the glasses now.'

'Ah! That accounts for the fact that I haven't had to buy any more for eighteen months! Marrying you was the best day's work I ever did.'

'Of course it was,' agreed Isobel matter-of-factly. 'How lucky for you that I took you on.'

A window opened above them and Betty's voice hailed them.

'
Telephone
!' she roared.

While Harold was engaged with his caller, Betty caught at her mistress's arm.

'Is it all right if I go a couple of minutes early? Dotty—I mean Miss Harmer - wants me to give her a hand moving out her dresser. Lost some letter or other down the back as ought to be answered today.'

Of course you can go,' said Isobel. Betty Bell was in great demand, she well knew. Dotty Harmer had employed her long before Isobel, or even Harold when a bachelor, had appeared on the scene. As well as these duties, Betty also kept the village school clean. Isobel was wise enough to recognise that a certain amount of flexibility in Betty's employment was inevitable.

I must say,' went on Betty, attacking a side table with a flailing duster, 'it's a sight easier working here than at Miss Harmer's. I mean it's clean to start with. And tidy. Always was, even when Mr Shoosmith lived here alone. You don't expect a man to keep himself decent really, let alone a house, but he was always nicely washed and that, and the house always smelt fresh.'

Isobel said gravely that she was pleased to hear it.

'But down Miss Harmer's it's a fair old pig's breakfast, I can tell you. Can't never find nothing, and the dusters is old bloomers of hers like as not. Washed, of course, but you can't get the same gloss on things with 'em like this nice one.'

Isobel felt unequal to coping with this conversation, and said she would go and see to lunch.

An hour later, Betty entered Dotty's kitchen to find her other employer sitting at the cluttered table studying a form.

'Oh, how nice of you to come, Betty! As a matter of fact I managed to reach this wretched letter by inserting a long knitting needle in the crack. It fell down, and I was able to get it by lying on the floor, and wriggling it out with a poker.'

Her wrinkled old face glowed with pride.

'Well, you won't want me then,' said Betty, swatting a fly on the table. 'Filthy things, flies.'

'Oh, do wait while I just fill it in,' said Dotty, 'and perhaps you would be kind enough to post it as you go past the box.'

'Sure I will,' said Betty, lunging with a handy newspaper at another fly. 'You've got some real nasty flies in here.'

'Poor things,' said Miss Harmer, putting down her pen. So persecuted. I often wonder if they are as dangerous to health as modern pundits suggest. My grandmother used to sing a charming little song to my baby brother when flies were
quite accepted.
'

She began to sing in a small cracked voice, while Betty watched her with mingled exasperation and amusement.

Baby bye, there's a fly,
Let us watch it you and I,
There it crawls, up the walls,
Yet it never falls.

I believe with those six legs
You and I could walk on eggs.
There he goes, on his toes,
Tickling baby's nose.

'Well,' said Betty, 'fancy letting it! Downright insanitary!'

Dotty tapped the neglected form with her pen.

'Now, how did it go on?

Round and round, on the ground,
On the ceiling he is found
Catch him? No, let him go,
Do not hurt him so.

Now you see his wings of silk
Dabbling in the baby's milk
Fie, oh fie, you foolish fly!
How will you get dry?

'Did you ever?' exclaimed Betty. 'I mean, flies in the
milk!
'

'Well, it only goes to show how kind-hearted the Victorians were. And really so much more sensible about disease. My brother grew into a splendid specimen of manhood, despite flies.'

Betty looked at the clock.

'Tell you what, Miss Harmer, I'll come back for that form this afternoon. It'll give you time to work it out, and anyway Willie don't collect till five o'clock.'

Besides that, she thought privately, there was her shopping to do, and heaven alone knew when that would get done if she stayed listening to old Dotty.

'Perhaps that would be best,' agreed Dotty, turning again to her task, while Betty made her escape.

4. Dimity Gets Her Way

A
S
the Hursts' departure for America drew nearer there was much speculation about the temporary residents who were going to stay at Tullivers.

'Well, for your sake, Winnie,' said Ella Bembridge, 'I hope they're a quiet lot. Don't want a posse of hippies, or a commune, or whatever the "in-thing" is.'

'Good heavens,' said Winnie reassuringly, 'Frank and Phil would never let the place to people like that! I have every confidence in their judgement. They both liked the young couple, I know, and Frank knew his father years ago.'

'That's not saying much,' said Ella, lighting a ragged cigarette. 'I know a lot of respectable people of my age with the most
extraordinary
children.'

'Jenny says Phil is putting away her best glass and china, which is only prudent, but she seems quite happy to leave everything else as it is. And if she's content, I don't think we need to worry.'

'And how is our Jenny now?'

'She's still got this wretched cough, but won't stay in bed. She's up in her room now, in her dressing gown, dusting the place. I'm getting John to look at her again today. She's still so flushed, I feel sure she's running a temperature.'

'Will she need to do anything at Tullivers?' asked Ella.

'Phil won't hear of it,' replied Winnie. 'She offered, you know, but now that these young people are coming, they can cope, and I intend to dust and tidy up before they arrive, to save Jenny's efforts.'

You'll be lucky! You know Jenny. A glutton for work!'

She was about to go when Dimity and Charles entered.

'We did knock,' said the rector, 'but I expect you had something noisy working.'

Winnie looked blank.

Like the vacuum cleaner, or the fridge, or the washing machine,' enlarged Charles.

Or the mighty wurlitzer,' added Ella.

'No need to knock anyway,' said Winnie, returning to normal. 'Do sit down. We were just discussing our new neighbours-to-be.'

'I shall call as soon as they have settled in,' said Charles. 'It will be so nice if they turn out to be regular churchgoers.'

'He plays the guitar,' said Ella.

'I trust that does not preclude him from Christian worship,' commented Charles.

'I heard that they met at Oxford, but didn't finish their courses,' contributed Dimity.

'Perhaps they preferred to get out into the world and earn their livings,' was Ella's suggestion. 'Bully for them, I'd say.'

'Well, he's an estate agent now,' said Winnie. 'Or at least, he will be. He's joining a firm somewhere near Bicester, I believe, so Robert said. Frank mentioned it.'

'Dotty intends to supply them with goat's milk,' said Dimity.

'Do they like it?' asked Winnie.

'They will after Dotty's called on them,' forecast Dimity.

'Well, I'm sure they will be very welcome here,' said the rector. 'We must see that they have an enjoyable stay at Thrush Green.'

Later in the day, Doctor Lovell mounted the stairs to see Jenny. She had insisted on dressing, but lay on her bed, trying to read. Her flushed face, and hot forehead, bespoke a high temperature.

'Let's have a look at your chest,' said John Lovell, after studying the thermometer.

Jenny cautiously undid the top button of her blouse.

'I shall need more than that, Jenny,' observed the doctor. You needn't be shy with me.'

Jenny undid two more buttons with some reluctance, and John studied the exposed flesh.

'Ever had chicken-pox?'

'I can't remember,' said Jenny. 'We had all sorts up at the orphanage.'

'Well, you've got it now,' said John. 'So no stirring from this bed until I tell you. Keep on with the tablets, and I'll see you have a cooling lotion to dab on the spots.'

'But what about Mrs Bailey?' cried poor Jenny. 'Won't she catch it?'

'If she had any sense,' replied the doctor, 'she caught it years ago, and is immune. Now, into bed with you.'

Jenny's illness made a pleasurable source of discussion at The Two Pheasants that night.

'No joke getting them childish ailments when you're grown up,' said the landlord, twirling a glass cloth inside a tumbler. 'My old uncle caught the measles when he was nigh on seventy, and we all reckoned it carried him off.'