(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green (12 page)

Thrush Green village school was now well into term time. Tearful newcomers had settled into Miss Fogerty's class and now knew their way to classrooms, lobbies and lavatories, without the guidance of their elders and betters.

Text books and exercise books had been distributed to the older children, desks allotted, monitors appointed, weather charts fixed to the walls and nature tables laden with the produce of a mellow September. Taking it all in all, both Dorothy Watson and her loyal assistant were glad to get back into harness.

It was Agnes who first noticed the removal van outside the wardens' house, at the end of the block of new homes. The name of the firm was emblazoned on the side in a type of Gothic script so fanciful that even little Miss Fogerty, used to all manner of calligraphy, found it impossible to read. But lower down, in large clear Roman capitals, was the word RIPON.

'Ripon,' mused Agnes. 'Yorkshire, surely? And an Abbey or something similar? I must ask Dorothy.'

At that moment, John Todd fell from a low bench, 'meant to be
sat
upon, and not
stood
upon', as his teachers had told him innumerable times, grazed his knee, and set up a hideous howling which drove all geographical conjecture from little Miss Fogerty's mind until later in the day.

Dorothy affirmed that Ripon was indeed in Yorkshire.

'
North
Yorkshire, I think, is the correct postal address. Why we couldn't keep those nice Ridings heaven alone knows? A charming place, Agnes. I went there as a girl. One day, when we have retired, we must go north again. A coach tour of the Dales should be very pleasant. What put it into your mind?'

Agnes explained about the removal van, and her headmistress became very animated.

'But this must mean that Mrs Jenner's daughter and her husband have the post of warden. What good news! I wonder why we haven't heard before?'

'Betty Bell has usually left the school before we arrive in the mornings,' pointed out her friend.

'And we have gone when she comes after school on most days,' agreed Dorothy. 'We don't seem to hear as much local news as we did when Mrs Cooke cleaned the school.'

She sounded slightly wistful.

'But how much better Betty Bell does her work,' said Agnes robustly. 'And she is so honest and cheerful always. I really wouldn't wish to go back to Mrs Cooke's slatternly ways, would you?'

And Dorothy agreed, with some reluctance.

The advent of the removal van had been noted by many other eyes at Thrush Green. Albert Piggott, who never missed much, commented upon the various items of furniture which he had watched on their way from van to house, when he supped his mid-morning beer.

'Got a nice bit of carpet, and that'll be in a fine old muck with them paths still treadin' in,' he announced with some relish. 'Needs a bit of drugget over it, I reckon, but folks are too careless to bother with such things these days.'

'I daresay they know their own business best,' said the landlord.

'It's the jenners' girl as has got the job,' continued Albert. 'Name of Jane. Used to be a nurse down Lulling hospital years ago. Mrs Jenner told my Nelly about it at bingo last week.'

'She should be all right then,' said Mr Jones, swabbing down his little sink. 'What's the husband like?'

'Been a policeman,' replied Albert gloomily.

'None the worse for that, surely?'

'Ah, but he was a
Yorkshire
policeman. Not homegrown, as you might say.'

'I've met some jolly nice Yorkshire folk,' said Mr Jones sturdily. 'They tell you themselves they're the salt of the earth.'

'Well, I haven't met one at all. Still, now we'll have our chance, won't we? You'll have to keep to closing hours pretty sharpish, with him living on the doorstep.'

Pleased to have the last word, Albert put down his glass, and departed to his leisurely duties.

Ella Bembridge's front garden was an ideal viewing spot. Winnie Bailey had called with some magazines, and found her friend leaning on the gate, cigarette drooping from her mouth, and eyes fixed upon the activities at the new house.

'Who's moving in, d'you know?' she asked Winnie, as she opened the gate.

'Why, I thought you knew! Jane Jenner that was, and her husband. But there, it's all before your time.'

She stood waiting for Ella to take the magazines and lead the way into the house, but it was obvious that the lady was much too engrossed in watching the removal men negotiating the doorway with a Welsh dresser to attend to Winnie and her offerings.

Resignedly, Winnie sat down on the garden bench, and surveyed a sturdy clump of sedums. They were already changing colour from pale green to pink. Soon, thought Winnie with a pang of regret, they would be a brilliant coral, and autumn would have arrived.

'Ella!' she called. 'Don't you think you might embarrass the newcomers by staring so?'

Ella turned, her face a study of amazement.

'Why on earth? I wouldn't care a fig if people watched me. Come to think of it, they often do. I don't mind.'

Nevertheless, she left the gate, and took her place beside Winnie.

'You know this Jane woman then?'

'Since a child. I'm surprised you hadn't heard she'd been appointed as warden. Mrs Jenner's as pleased as Punch.'

'What's the husband like?'

'A good down-to-earth fellow, I believe. They'll be a first-class pair for the job. I know Charles Henstock was delighted when they were the successful couple.'

'Good! We can do with some fresh blood at Thrush Green. It'll be nice to have more neighbours. I still miss Dim about the house.'

Winnie handed over the magazines at last. She rose to go.

'Don't hurry away, Winnie. You can see things better from here.'

'I'll call when they have settled in,' Winnie told her. 'They've enough to cope with at the moment.'

Ella followed her to the gate.

Winnie looked back before turning into her own home. Ella had rearranged her bulk upon the gate top, and was watching proceedings as avidly as before.

Charles Henstock was indeed delighted with the appointment. He had not met Jane's husband before the interview, but was impressed, first of all, by his magnificent physique, and then by his quiet confidence.

He was the sort of man, Charles surmised, who would keep his head in any situation. Police training may have had something to do with it, but Charles guessed correctly that here was a particularly well-balanced person, intelligent and kindly, who would be as competent in dealing with a burst water main or an old person's heart attack, as he had been with a riot or a car accident.

The choice of those to live in the homes was being much more difficult, and the meeting of the selection committee had been quite stormy.

The list had been whittled down fairly easily at first. People, like Percy Hodge, who already had a home and were relatively young and able-bodied, were firmly rejected. Some hopefuls from far away, and with no connection with, or relatives living in, Thrush Green, were also crossed from the list, but the rest were dauntingly numerous.

A few general rules had been drawn up. One was that the residents should still be active, and that they should face the fact that minor illnesses such as coughs and colds, temporary stomach upsets and the like, could be coped with competently, with the warden's help, in their own homes, but anything needing sustained nursing must inevitably be dealt with by hospital treatment.

Another rule was that no animals could be allowed, and it was this which Charles did his best to alter. He made no secret of the fact that it was Tom Hardy who was in his mind.

He had broached the subject of a move when he had seen Tom one day, and was surprised to encounter far less opposition to the idea than he had imagined.

'Look at it this way, sir,' the old man said. 'My neighbour's a good sort, and does what she can for me, but I don't like to be beholden, and that's flat. And these meals on wheels I can't eat half the time, and I've had four home helps since you helped me do that form, and not one can I get on with, and that's the truth.'

You wouldn't miss your garden too badly? And the river?'

'I'm getting past it. It grieves me to see the weeds growing, and the trees needing pruning. And I don't know as the river damp don't make my joints stiffer than they should be. No, taking it all ways, I could up sticks and settle at Thrush Green. I know plenty of folk there, and I'd have Poll.'

The dog looked up and wagged her tail on hearing her name. The rector, the gentlest of men, wondered how best to broach this painful subject.

'At the moment,' he ventured, 'there is a feeling that pets could not be admitted, but I'm hoping to alter that.'

A flush crept up the old man's neck and across his wrinkled face.

'No pets, eh? Well then, that settles it. I ain't agoing anywhere without my Poll.'

And Charles knew, all too well, that there would be no budging him from that decision.

'But if we do it for one,' said Justin Venables, who was chairman of the committee, 'we must do it for all. And suppose someone has an Alsatian, and next door there is a Siamese cat? What then?'

Justin, who was a retired lawyer from Lulling, was a perfect chairman, patient, clear-headed, and cognisant of all the legal difficulties which cropped up. Since his retirement he had, of course, been rather busier than when he was in a full-time profession, but that was only to be expected, and secretly he was rather gratified.

Apart from one day a week in his old
office to
deal with any aging clients he still served, Justin seemed to spend his time on just such committees as this present one.

He felt considerable sympathy for his old friend Charles Henstock, and knew that no one was more deserving of a place than Tom Hardy, but the 'no pets' rule did seem to be a sensible one.

'Worse still,' put in Mrs Thurgood, who was also on the committee, 'would be a cat of
any
sort next door to budgerigars. I really think we must be firm about this.'

Charles began to feel that he was fighting a losing battle, but persisted nevertheless.

'Let's tackle this another way. Select the residents for our seven homes, see if any have pets, and then decide the next step. I agree that "no pets" is a sensible rule in the long term, but perhaps with these first tenants we might stretch things a bit.'

'I think Mr Henstock has a point there,' said Mrs Thurgood graciously. 'How far have we got?'

'The three doubles are already settled,' said Justin, turning over his papers. 'Mr and Mrs Cross, Mr and Mrs Angell and Captain and Mrs Jermyn. So we are now allotting the four singles, and I think it was generally agreed that old Mrs Bates from the end almshouse at Lulling should be offered one, as that is due to be gutted in readiness for a new laundry room and a store room there. We have her application here. It came in early.'

'So that leaves three?' said Mrs Thurgood.

Justin acknowledged this feat of arithmetic with a kindly nod.

'Let us go on with our selection then, shall we?' he suggested. 'Let's take the case of Miss Fuller, the retired headmistress from Nidden.'

The committee applied themselves to the application forms, among them Miss Fuller's, one from Johnny Enderby, an old gardener, and finally to that of Tom Hardy.

After an hour's hard work the homes were allotted. Now to discover if the lucky ones had pets, and if any arrangements had been made for them.

'Perhaps I could draft a letter,' suggested Justin.

'Why not telephone?' said Charles, who was growing increasingly anxious.

'But there was a note about all this somewhere on the application form,' pronounced Mrs Thurgood, turning over her papers with such energy that half of them fell on the floor.

John Lovell, bending to pick them up, hit his head against hers and the air was full of apologies.

When things were settled again, it was found that there certainly was an insignificant spot on the form asking for information about any pets already kept.

The Jermyns had put in: 'One Cat.'

Miss Fuller owned 'Two Love Birds.'

Tom Hardy had one dog.