(16/20)Summer at Fairacre

Summer at Fairacre

Miss Read

Illusterated by J. S. Goodall

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Boston New York

First Houghton Mifflin paperback edition 2001

Copyright © 1984 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.
Summer at Fairacre.
I. Goodall, John S. II. Title.
PR
6069.
A
42
S
9 1985 823'.914 85-2432
ISBN
0-618-12704-6

Printed in the United States of America

EB 10 9 8 7 6 5

To Dotti
with love

Contents

1 The First Day of Spring 1

2 Minor Irritations 14

3 Henry Mawne Needs Company 25

4 The Coggs Are in Distress 37

5 Easter Holidays 49

6 Public Duties 61

7 More Worries for the Coggs Family 75

8 Strange Behaviour of Amy 87

9 Troubles Never Come Singly 99

10 Mrs Pringle Deserts Us 111

11 Amy's Party 123

12 Minnie Pringle Lends a Hand 135

13 Mr Willet to the Rescue 145

14 Rain and Romance 158

15 Summer's Bounty 169

16 Sunshine and Sports 182

17 Off to the Wedding 194

18 Away From It All 205

19 Mrs Pringle on the War Path 216

20 The End of Summer 228

1 The First Day of Spring

'WHAT the Hanover d'you make of this, Miss Read?'

Mr Willet took the cap from his head and shook the snow from it, spattering the schoolroom floor with dark spots.

'Twenty-first of March,' he went on. 'First day of spring, and I reckon there's a good inch of snow all over.'

'Well, it can't last,' I replied. 'It's melting already in the playground.'

A clashing of pails from the lobby told of the presence of Mrs Pringle, our school cleaner. Both she and Bob Willet, the caretaker, come soon after eight each morning to see that Fairacre School is in good trim to start the day.

'And how's Madam Sunshine today?' asked Mr Willet, nodding towards the source of noise. He was prudent enough, I noticed, to lower his voice.

As village schoolmistress, Mrs Pringle is one of the crosses I have to bear. Mrs Pringle enjoys the gloomier side of life, and is never so happy as when she is discussing distressing ailments, other people's peccadilloes, impending disasters or a really slap-up funeral, preferably with inner knowledge of how much money was left by the deceased and to whom it is going.

Square, sturdy and sixtyish, Mrs Pringle is as tough as an old boot, but she has 'a Bad Leg' which dominates our lives at Fairacre. If Mrs Pringle decides that she is over-worked, and this happens quite often, the afflicted limb is liable to rapid deterioration, and gives its owner a pronounced limp. One can always tell, from the severity of Mrs Pringle's hobbling, what sort of mood the lady is in. There is no love lost between Mr Willet and our cleaner, and I have to be very circumspect in dealing with both.

This is not always an easy task, as both parties can be over-sensitive to the reaction of the other. I have to tread as warily as Agag, and then, more often than not, I find that one of them has taken umbrage.

Usually, of course, it is Mrs Pringle, who is always on the look-out for the odd insult. One need only comment, in a perfunctory way, about the amount of grime children can collect on their hands, and Mrs Pringle begins to bridle and to point out, with unnecessary acrimony, that there is always a plentiful supply of soap put out in the lobby. Moreover, that very soap has been put there with her own two over-worked hands, and the basins have been cleaned so thoroughly - again by those same hands—that it would be possible to eat your dinner in them, should you feel so disposed.

When I first came to Fairacre as the village schoolmistress I used to try to stem this flow of umbrage-taking by making ineffectual apologies and explanations. I know better now. It is far more satisfactory to let Mrs Pringle have her head, and to allow the torrent to flow over one. She thoroughly enjoys it, and I have now become so hardened that it makes very little impression. Over the years we have shaken down together pretty well, and the occasional clash of wills does neither of us serious harm.

On this particular morning we all three had cause for dismay. A particularly cold winter was being followed by an equally unpleasant early spring. The tortoise stoves were still needed to warm the school, and the children continued to wear their winter clothing. My own tweed skirts and thick cardigans had been in use for months now, and we all longed for sunshine, flowers and lighter clothing.

'When I was a boy,' said Mr Willet, 'I reckoned to go birds' nesting this time of year, and there was primroses and violets in the hedge bottoms. And my old dad's rhubarb was sprouting real steady. Look at it these days! We don't get no spring worth spitting on, and nothing don't start stirring till May. There was some chap on the telly t'other night as said the seasons are just the same as ever was. He don't know the half.'

'I agree,' I assured him.

'And this other bloke he said as the earth's axle - or some such word - has tilted off true a bit, so the weather's changed. I reckon that's more like it.'

He pulled an old-fashioned red and white spotted handkerchief from his corduroys' pocket, and blew his nose with impressive trumpeting.

'Never got rid of me Christmas cold neither,' he informed me, stuffing the handkerchief away. 'Ah! I near forgot! Could you do with a morsel of winter savoy? Good thing to have a bit of fresh greens this weather. That frozen stuff's all very well for second best, but you can't beat the real thing.'

'I'd love some,' I said.

At that moment, the door burst open, and Joseph Coggs and four more boys rushed in bearing a furious cat.

'It's a stray, miss,' they chorused. 'It was under Mr Roberts' hedge, miss. It's
tarving,
miss.'

The cat was struggling frenziedly in Joseph's tight clasp. It was certainly cross, but did not appear emaciated to my eye.

Mr Willet scrutinised it closely.

'That's one of Mr Roberts' farm cats,' he pronounced. 'I know it very well. It's like its ma, with one white leg. You take it back, boy, or you'll be in trouble.'

Five pairs of eyes turned anxiously in my direction.

'You'd better do as Mr Willet says,' I told them. 'At playtime you can go back to the place where you found him, and if he's still there you can take down some bread and milk.'

Mollified by this compromise, the deputation and its victim departed.

Mr Willet looked at me and shook his head.

'You're too soft with 'em by half,' he told me. 'In my day, Mr Hope would have given 'em all a clip round the ear for trying on a trick like that.'

'Teachers are not allowed to strike children these days,' I said.

'More's the pity,' replied Mr Willet, making for the door.

His way was barred by the formidable bulk of Mrs Pringle who was advancing with an outstretched hand.

Upon it were balanced a few fragments of a small paint brush.

'What's all this 'ere, may I ask?' she boomed.

Mr Willet and I surveyed her wet palm and the debris.

'Don't need much eyesight to see it's been a paint brush in its time,' replied Mr Willet with withering sarcasm.