(12/13) The Year at Thrush Green (26 page)

The cold weather was to Connie's liking, for she could make sure that Dotty stayed in the warm as Dr Lovell had directed, and as there were masses of crab-apples awaiting attention, the two ladies set about the task away from the bitter wind that raked Thrush Green.

Flossie slept tranquilly in her basket by the stove, and even Bruce seemed content to stay inside out of the unkind breezes that disturbed his usual haunts.

Connie was rinsing the fruit at the sink, and Dotty busied herself cutting the small apples in half and hurling them into a gigantic preserving saucepan ready to be simmered into a fragrant pulp. Overnight, the jelly bags would drip, and the serious business of apple jelly would be on its way.

'That letter you brought me this morning,' Dotty said, 'was from poor Audrey.'

'Why "poor Audrey"? Is she ill?'

'No, no. She's worried about Lucy, her daughter. She's just got engaged.'

'And she doesn't approve?'

'Audrey seems doubtful. He's Irish, you see.'

'You and I know plenty of nice Irishmen,' Connie pointed out, lifting the last of the washed fruit from the sink. 'Look at the O'Briens! They're dears.'

'I know all that,' said Dotty testily. 'But the O'Briens have lived here for years! This man is only just over here, and has had no time to lose that Celtic roguish charm which Audrey finds so suspicious.'

'Does she think that Lucy has fallen for the roguish charm?'

'Definitely! She is most upset.'

'Well, there's not much she can do about it,' said Connie philosophically. 'Daughters usually do what they like, in the end, and I expect Audrey will come round, and fall for that roguish charm just as Lucy has.'

Carl Andersen was due to fly to Scotland at the end of the week, and invited Ben and Molly, Joan and Edward to dinner at the Bear before he departed.

He had collected quite a number of photographs and other memorabilia about Mrs Curdle, and showed some of it to his guests as they enjoyed their coffee.

'The Millers gave me these,' he said, handing over some ancient group photographs. 'I'm getting them copied. By the way, I had a look at that common room again. What worries you?'

'It isn't exactly a
worry,'
replied Edward untruthfully. 'It's just that having extended that annexe I resent the recent criticism about the need for more space.'

Joan broke in. 'Edward can't help it,' she said with a laugh. 'He's a born worrier, especially if his work is criticized.'

'I know how he feels,' said Carl. 'I'm the same.'

'It could easily be made bigger,' went on Edward thoughtfully. 'I roughed out a plan some time ago when this business cropped up.'

'You must show me sometime,' said Carl. 'I must say, I thought it looked perfectly adequate for the needs of the old folk at the moment, but I suppose a larger space would give them more seating accommodation, and there could be more room for plants and so on.'

'I can't see it coming off,' said Molly. 'Mr Henstock was talking about it the other day. He seemed a bit worried. I believe Mrs Thurgood had been at him.'

'Mrs Thurgood,' snorted Edward, 'is a public menace! She caught me outside the Fuchsia Bush not long ago, and harangued me about the matter. It was a good thing I could tell her categorically that we had no money for the project.'

Conversation turned to Carl's work in Scotland, and he and Edward became deeply engaged in technical details about stresses and strains, and the problems of frost, wind, rain and all the other weather hazards which would have to be considered when dealing with the costing of this enormous undertaking.

Ben and the women were more parochially inclined, and the affairs of Thrush Green and Lulling engaged their attention until the time came for them to part.

As they walked to the car Edward and Carl fell behind a little.

'Are you on the board of Rectory Cottages?' asked Carl.

'I'm a trustee, yes.'

They walked through the chilly darkness, and Carl spoke as they drew near to the car.

'If the money were available, would a bigger room be a good idea, do you think?'

The two men stopped, while Edward considered the question.

'Yes, I really believe it would. Looking to the future, I think it would be desirable. There's already talk of adding more residential accommodation some time, but that's way in the future.'

'I'll see you when I get back,' said Carl. 'I've enjoyed this evening so much.'

'A splendid dinner,' cried Joan, 'and a thousand thanks.'

'See you on your return,' called Ben.

The men shook hands. Carl kissed the women, and they drove off.

Later, as they prepared for bed, Molly said dreamily, 'Carl does kiss lovely!'

Ben looked startled, as he peeled off his socks. 'Better than me?'

Molly, hanging her petticoat neatly over a chair back, paused for a minute to look abstractedly across Thrush Green in darkness.

'Different, Ben. Just sort of
different.'

November

Ho shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruit, no flowers, no leaves, no birds —
November!

Thomas Hood

It was the custom of Thrush Green to celebrate Guy Fawkes night with a roaring bonfire and a plentiful supply of fireworks.

Carl Andersen, who knew little of such things, privately thought it amazing that such a law-abiding community — or nation, for that matter — should see fit to remember one who had been about to blow up the Houses of Parliament. However, he was wise enough to hold his tongue, and simply hand over his pence to the few children who petitioned him in Lulling High Street as they pushed their guy around in an ancient pram.

Preparations had been going ahead for two or three weeks, and a splendid pile of flammable material, such as pieces of wood, small branches, cardboard boxes and the like, stood towards one end of the green, well away from Rectory Cottages and other habitations.

To be sure, it was rather unsightly, and at one time the local council had threatened to ban the bonfire altogether. At this there was such an outcry from the residents of Thrush Green, even those who had condemned the pile as an eyesore earlier, that the council withdrew its objections, and celebrations were allowed to take place.

The arrangements, by ancient custom, were in the hands of the scoutmaster and his zealous troop. Also, by ancient custom, potatoes for baking in the hot ashes were provided by the Hodge family, and the morning before Guy Fawkes Day found Percy Hodge sorting out some great beauties ready for the festivities.

His sister, Mrs Jenner from next door, had called in on her way down to the town and came upon her brother in his shed, counting potatoes as they lay in long rows on the bench.

'They look good, Perce,' she commented approvingly. 'What might they be?'

'Willjar,' said Percy.

'How do you spell it?'

'W-I-L-J-A,' said Percy, after some thought.

'I think,' said his sister, 'that you pronounce it "Veelya".'

Mrs Jenner had come across a number of foreigners during her wartime nursing, and had a smattering of various European tongues.

Percy poured brotherly scorn on such fiddle-faddle. 'If W-I-L-J-A don't spell Willjar,' he maintained, 'I'm a Dutchman.'

'Well, whatever you call 'em,' said Mrs Jenner in a conciliatory tone, 'they look as though they'll eat a treat, Perce.'

And with that she went on her way.

November had come in with grey skies and a depressing stillness. Trees dripped, and a light mist gathered overnight in the little valley by Lulling Woods and was slow to clear.

The clocks had been put back at the end of October, and now the darkness descended at about five o'clock, adding to the general murkiness of people's spirits.

The old folk at Rectory Cottages became querulous as they were obliged to spend more time indoors than they wanted. The roads were slippery with dead leaves and general dampness. Despite good lighting in the rooms, everywhere seemed gloomy, and reading was difficult.

Jane Cartwright did her best to cheer her charges, arranging a birthday party for one old lady in the communal room, and persuading a local pianist to entertain the residents one evening. But attendance was poor on both occasions, and Jane just hoped that the dreary weather would lift, and the spirits of the little community would follow suit.

The prospect of Bonfire Night gave some cheer. There was usually a party of the old folk from the Cottages standing by the blaze, and enjoying the excitement of the fireworks.

'I hope to goodness it doesn't rain,' said Jane to her mother. 'That would be the last straw. The poor dears are so low that I'm praying for a dry starry night to cheer them up. Has Uncle Percy looked out the potatoes?'

Mrs Jenner assured her that all was well in hand, and said that, in her opinion, they would have a fine night for the celebrations.

It was usual for the more active of Jane's charges to help in providing some of the sausage rolls or sandwiches which supplemented the potatoes to enjoy round the bonfire. This had been a considerable help in raising the spirits of her little flock during the doldrums at Rectory Cottages, and Jane encouraged all their efforts.

The schoolchildren were in charge of the guy for the great night, and the question of its identity was hotly discussed. Alan Lester could remember a guy of his childhood representing Adolf Hitler which had swung from a nearby tree before hurtling to his funeral pyre amidst patriotic cheers from the war-weary onlookers.

Various names had been put forward. They included an unpopular local councillor, a school inspector who had been on a recent visit and Alan Lester himself. It seemed best, he decided as he listened to their suggestions, that a strictly impersonal guy would be a more diplomatic choice, and his decision was respected.

Two afternoons were spent happily stuffing a sack with some of Percy Hodge's straw for the torso and head, and four long stockings for arms and legs. It was the clothing of their puppet which caused the greatest anxiety.

All agreed that the pointed hat so recently worn by one of the girls, who had been to a Hallowe'en party as a witch, was perfectly in order for Guy Fawkes' headgear. Alan Lester had looked out an illustration showing costume of the time, and considerable ingenuity was used to make Thrush Green's guy look as much like the original as possible.

The snag was the extraordinary difficulty in thrusting the straw-filled arms and legs through sleeves and trouser legs, and buttoning garments round the bulging torso. After a great deal of frustration, it was decided that he should wear a cloak which would disguise any blemishes.

The dressing-up box was ransacked and a grubby and moth-eaten cape found which had clothed Red Riding Hood in a school play some twenty years earlier.

It was agreed that it was time that this unhygienic garment was consigned to the flames, and the school guy was finally dressed to everyone's satisfaction.

It slumped on a chair at the front of the class, and far more attention was given to it, during its two-day wait for incineration, than any lesson that Alan Lester could produce.

The gloomy weather continued unabated, but to everyone's relief November the fifth was no worse than the preceding days. In fact, for a brief period in the afternoon a watery sun was visible, and raised the spirits of young and old.

The festivities began at six-thirty, which meant that most of the people would have had a meal after work, and could enjoy the celebrations and the extra pleasures of the snacks and Percy Hodge's potatoes should they still have any pangs of hunger.

The children, of course, were always ready to eat. The Rectory Cottages contingent reckoned that the refreshments provided would be quite adequate for their elderly digestions, and thankfully reckoned to do without their usual supper on Bonfire Night.

The bonfire roared away. Bright sparks flew up towards the damp trees. Children capered round the crackling blaze, waving sparklers, and the guy was lowered, amidst cheers, to his fiery end.

The firework organizers included such stalwarts as Harold Shoosmith, Edward Young, Percy Hodge and Alan Lester, all capable of handling the pyrotechnics with safety, and rockets, Catherine wheels and squibs blazed into the darkness until the fire began to die down, St Andrew's clock struck nine and it was deemed fit to close the proceedings.

The old people straggled away first, becoming tired of standing on the damp grass. Parents rounded up their offspring. The scoutmaster rallied his troop for the final effort of damping down the remains of the bonfire and clearing up the litter around it.

There were many black hands and scorched faces that night, and clothes worn then would reek of wood smoke for days to come, but everyone went home that night with raised spirits.

'Better than ever,' said Alan to Harold as they helped to clear up.

'Thank God it didn't rain,' commented Edward, rubbing his hot face with a black hand. 'And your potatoes were better than ever, Percy.'

'Ah! Willjars, they were,' said Percy much gratified. 'We'll have them next year. I'll see to that!'