(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green

At Home In Thrush Green

Miss Read

Illustrated by J. S. Goodall

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Boston New York

For
Nina and Bill
with love

First Houghton Mifflin paperback edition 2002
Copyright © 1985 by Miss Read
All rights reserved

For information about permission to reproduce
selections from this book, write to Permissions,
Houghton Mifflin Company, 215 Park Avenue South,
New York, New York 10003.

Visit our Web site:
www.houghtonmifflinbooks.com
.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Read, Miss.
At home in Thrush Green.
ISBN
0-395-41224-2
ISBN 978-0-618-23858-3
I. Title.
PR
6069.
A
42
A
8 1986
823'.914—dc20 86-20864

Printed in the United States of America
DOH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4

Contents

P
ART
O
NE

Work in Progress

1 June Afternoon 3

2 Problems at Thrush Green 16

3 Market Day at Lulling 29

4 Family Demands 43

5 The Longest Day 57

6 The Fuchsia Bush to the Rescue 71

7 Summer Visitors 83

P
ART
T
WO

Moving In

8 New Neighbours 99

9 Some Malefactors 111

10 Settling Down 124

11 Preparing for Bonfire Night 136

12 The Fifth of November 148

13 Old People's Fears 161

14 Visitors 174

P
ART
T
HREE

Getting Settled

15 Christmas 187

16 Winter Discomforts 200

17 Nelly Piggott Meets the Past 214

18 A Hint of Spring 229

19 Various Surprises 241

20 Richard's Affairs 252

Part One

Work In Progress

1 June Afternoon

'I must pay a visit to Thrush Green this afternoon,' said Dimity Henstock to her husband Charles.

They were breakfasting in the kitchen of Lulling Vicarage. Charles buttered a slice of toast carefully.

'I can drive you there before two, my dear, but I have this meeting in Oxford at three.'

'Don't worry, I shall walk. Ella is clean out of light blue tapestry wool for her lovers' knots, and I have some here.'

'Her lovers' knots?' echoed Charles, toast poised.

'Round the edge of the chair seat,' explained Dimity.

She rose and began to clear the table. Charles, still looking bewildered, chewed the last mouthful of toast.

'I must get on, dear,' said Dimity. 'Mrs Allen comes today, and I like to get things cleared up.'

'I always thought that we employed Mrs Allen for the express purpose of clearing up for us.'

'Yes, one would think that in theory, but in practice, of course, it really makes more work to do.'

'Then I will go and water the greenhouse,' said the vicar of Lulling, rector of Thrush Green, and general priest in charge of Lulling Woods and Nidden – otherwise Charles Henstock.

He stepped out of the back door into the dewy freshness of a fine June morning, and made his way happily through the vicarage garden.

***

As he tended his seedlings in the pleasantly humid atmosphere of the greenhouse, Charles pondered on the felicity of his life in Lulling.

His present vicarage and its garden were both mellow and beautiful, owing much to the care given by his immediate predecessor, Anthony Bull, who now had a living in Kensington, where his good looks and slightly dramatic sermons were as much admired there as they had been at Lulling. Charles and he remained staunch friends.

Charles had been twice married, and after the untimely death of his first wife life had been bleak. Soon after, he had been appointed to the living of Thrush Green, where he dwelt in the ugliest and coldest house there. Most of the dwellings round the large triangle of grass which gave the place its name, were built of Cotswold stone and tiled to match. Why a Victorian builder had ever been allowed to erect the gloomy pile which had been Charles's home for so many years, remained a mystery.

The good rector, the humblest and most hard-working of men, seemed oblivious of the draughts, the murkiness, and the sheer discomfort of his home. When he married his second wife, Dimity, who had shared a cottage with her friend Ella Bembridge nearby, he was perplexed to hear her complaints about her new abode, and did his best to help her to render the rectory more comfortable.

In fact, it was a losing battle. The house faced north-east, was shoddily built, and had a long corridor, leading from the front door to the back, which acted as an efficient wind tunnel and chilled the atmosphere whenever either door was opened.

Two or three years before the present June morning, the whole place had been consumed by fire, and very few local people regretted its passing.

Charles himself was devastated. He and Dimity had been away from home on the night of the fire, but he knew that he could never forget the sight of the smoking ruins which greeted him on his return.

He shuddered now at the remembrance, standing upright, a minute seedling of Cos lettuce held between thumb and forefinger, and his gaze fixed, unseeing, upon the present splendour of his Lulling garden beyond the greenhouse glass. His mind's eye saw again the blackened heap, the drifting smoke, and the pathetic huddle of his salvaged possessions at some distance on the green.

And then he remembered his neighbours, the comforting arm about his shoulder, the stricken looks of those who mourned with him, their blackened hands offering mugs of steaming tea, their eyes reddened with the acrid smoke. It was their sympathy and practical help which had supported him and Dimity through the weeks that followed. He would never forget.

A sneeze shook him back into the present. With infinite care he lowered the threadlike roots of the seedling into its tiny home, and gently made it secure.

Dimity set out for Thrush Green as soon as lunch was over, leaving her husband sorting out the papers he would need for the afternoon's meeting at Oxford.

It was a time of day that Dimity always enjoyed, the slack period when most people were digesting their midday meal, the streets were quiet, and an air of torpor hung over the little town.

Most of the Lulling shops still closed for an hour or more. Old customs die hard in this part of the Cotswolds, and some shopkeepers still lived above their businesses, or near enough to go home to a midday meal. Dimity approved of this sensible practice, and did not rail, as many of her friends did, about the difficulty of shopping in the middle of the day.

The two modern supermarkets, made hideous with garish window stickers, seemed to be the only places open, as Dimity made her way along the High Street. Even they appeared remarkably quiet, she noticed. So far, Lulling folk seemed to keep to their usual ways, and would not be emerging from their rest until the older shops turned the
CLOSED
notice to
OPEN
, unlocked their doors, and pulled out the awnings to shade their wares should the sun have arrived.

Dimity did not hurry. The sun was warm, and she was pleasantly conscious of its comfort on her back as she admired, yet again, the honey-coloured stone of the buildings, the fresh green of the lime trees, and the plumes of lilac, white and purple, which nodded from the front gardens, and scented the warm air.

A tabby cat was stretched across the sunny doorstep of the draper's shop. Dimity bent to stroke it, and it acknowledged her attentions with a little chirruping sound and a luxurious flexing of its striped legs. Hard by, in the dusty gutter, a bevy of sparrows bathed noisily, but the cat was too lethargic to stir itself into action in the present warmth.

Dimity made her way through the somnolent town, crossed the murmuring River Pleshey, pausing to watch its eddies and dimples for a few minutes, and then faced the steep hill which led to Thrush Green and her friend Ella Bembridge.

Ella was one of those squarely-built, gruffladies of mannish appearance whose looks belie their gentleness.

Her large hands, rough and brown from gardening, were equally at home with weaving, smocking, embroidery and tapestry work. Those hands had also tackled pottery, carpentry, painting and metalwork in their time, but now that Ella lived alone she preferred to enjoy the handiwork which she could do in her own home, without the complications of potter's wheels, lathes, soldering irons and the like.

She and Dimity had spent several happy years together. Though different in looks and temperament the one had complemented the other. When Dimity had been carried off by Charles, first to the rectory across the way at Thrush Green, and later to the vicarage at Lulling, Ella had missed her old friend, but rejoiced in her good fortune.

She was not one to pine, and her innumerable projects kept Ella busy and cheerful. It was lucky that Dimity lived so near, and that the two could see each other frequently.