Village Centenary (25 page)

The card I cherished most was a photograph of a baby seal sent to me by the kind people at the Tresco hotel. The seal had been born on the beach nearby, and no other Christmas card could touch it for its delightful appeal. It took pride of place among the others.

It also galvanised me into doing something which Amy had urged me to do long ago. The first letter of the holidays was to that same hotel, booking a room for a fortnight in August. How Amy would approve!

The frost continued. The ground was iron hard and every
morning found the grass and trees covered with hoar frost. Ice was everywhere, and the roads treacherous.

Miss Clare sent a message to say that she had decided against coming to the school service at St. Patrick's the next Sunday, because of the weather, but would look forward to seeing me on Christmas Eve for tea at her house. We should miss her at the service, but I was relieved to know that she was not venturing out in this bitter weather. I hoped that by the following Wednesday the thaw would have set in.

Attendance at morning service on Sunday must have delighted Gerald Partridge's heart. Parents, pupils, managers and other friends of Fairacre School turned up in full force, and there were very few empty pews.

The singing was hearty, and I had found time to coach the children in the two hymns chosen particularly for this occasion, so that they added to the joyful noise considerably. The vicar's sermon was a model of sincerity, brevity and gratitude, and Mr Annett had chosen some stirring music for the service. The final voluntary was Mozart's
Turkish March,
and I wondered, yet again, how anyone, Turks or otherwise, could march in step to that dancing rhythm.

But it was a joyous and uplifting ending to our centenary celebrations.

By Wednesday, the murky cold weather had lifted slightly. It was still bitterly cold, but the roads had thawed, and for two or three hours at midday a feeble sun dispersed the clouds.

I drove over to Beech Green and walked up the short path to Dolly Clare's cottage with the most unusual feelings. Pleasure at being there was now mingled with something like awe. That this, one day, might be mine! I could still not fully realise my good fortune, and felt very humble in the face of Dolly's superb generosity. Of one thing I could be certain. The cottage would be cherished as dearly as before, and if ever her gentle ghost reappeared it would be given honour and a warm welcome.

We were at St. Patrick's the next morning, admiring the Christmas roses, the holly, the ivy and the mistletoe. Mr Partridge's suggestion that the children might help had not been followed up, and certainly the flower-arranging ladies had made a superb job of their labour of love without juvenile aid.

We walked back through the thin winter sunshine to find that the chicken I had left roasting was done to a turn, and the small pudding was bubbling cheerfully on the stove.

After our modest Christmas dinner we indulged in a glass of port and both slipped off into slumber, awaking just in time to listen to the Queen's message.

We spent the rest of Christmas Day and Boxing Day very quietly and lazily, going for short walks round the familiar lanes of Fairacre when the sun came through in the early afternoon. But it was always good to return to the fireside and to pick up our knitting, or attempt to solve the crossword puzzle, or sometimes simply to doze. To tell the truth, I was dog-tired at the end of term, and this one had been particularly arduous. Not that I would have missed any of our jollifications for a minute, but I began to realise just how exhausted I was when I could relax at home. Dolly Clare was the perfect companion for this pace of life, serene, undemanding and unfailingly happy.

I managed to persuade her to stay until the Saturday morning, but no longer. She was anxious not to put her good neighbour to any unnecessary trouble.

'She is looking after the cat,' she said, 'and getting in my milk and bread. And no doubt she will light a fire, and generally cosset the house, so I must get back to look after myself.'

We drove over in the morning, and sure enough a fire blazed in the grate. We settled down to enjoy a cup of coffee before 1 returned.

'I've lived here for six reigns now,' said Miss Clare, looking about her. 'I thought when I was telling our friends about my time as a pupil teacher at Fairacre, that I must have closed the door of this cottage some thousands of times and set off on my bicycle along the lane to that dear old school. I've seen the trees and fields breaking into leaf, shading the road later, turning into the gold of autumn and then bitter nakedness, for more years than I care to remember. But always this cottage has been the beginning and end of every journey. The thought that you will do the same after me gives me infinite pleasure. I don't know when I've felt quite so happy.'

'I can echo that,' I told her.

No snow came to our downland country during the remaining days of December, but the skies were ominously grey and the iron cold made one feel that this respite might be short-lived. On New Year's Eve I was invited to the Mawnes for the evening. I walked through the village in the frosty air to the sound of the bells ringing a practice peal at St. Patrick's.

Well, the Old Year had been good to me, I thought. I had seen Fairacre School celebrating a hundred years of useful work, and my personal life had been enriched by friends old and new. And Dolly Clare's incredible kindness had put the final seal upon a memorable year. I had a great deal to be thankful for.

So what would the New Year bring, I wondered, opening the gate of the Mawnes's house? Lights gleamed in the windows. A lantern by the door lit up the welcoming holly wreath dangling its scarlet ribbons against the white paint.

'Come in, come in!' called Henry, opening the door, 'and a Happy New Year to you, and all Fairacre!'