(16/20)Summer at Fairacre (19 page)

'Ern don't never take me out, nor give me enough to buy the kids food and that. He'd have the bit I earns here if he could find it.'

Here she gave a damp giggle, tugged at her neckline and bent down to display a couple of pound notes pinned inside a grubby vest with an enormous safety pin. It looked mightily uncomfortable, I thought, but at least it showed that Minnie had a certain resourceful cunning.

'Auntie told me to do it,' she went on, scratching her mop of red hair. I might have known it. Trust Mrs Pringle to be one jump ahead in any conflict, as I knew from experience.

'But, Minnie, you can't go on like this. He is your husband, after all, and he's bound to be—er—upset if you carry on with other men.'

She looked at me in amazement.

'It ain't other men, only Bert. And he don't come often. I mean, only when Ern's out.'

I gave up, and turned my attention to matters other than Minnie's marital affairs. 'The point is that I can't have this sort of thing going on in the school. What if the children had been here? Ern's language alone was—'

'He didn't say nothin' real bad. Not today, he didn't. He can say a lot worse'n that,' she added boastfully.

'Well, all I can say, Minnie, is finish your work here, and then come over to the school house before you go, and we must get something settled.'

I looked down the lane as I went home, and sure enough, Ern's van was still lurking a little farther down. To ring the police or not, I wondered?

Minnie arrived, toddler in tow, twenty minutes later, and I sat her down at the kitchen table with a restorative cup of tea. While she drank it, I washed the child's face and hands with a J-cloth which went straight into the dustbin. He was not a bad looking little boy under the grime.

' 'E's still there,' said Minnie.

'I know. I'll run you home.'

' 'E'll come after me.'

'Well, it is his home too.'

Minnie began to cry again.

'You must behave yourself, Minnie, and see it from Ern's point of view.'

We set off for Springbourne as soon as Minnie had composed herself. The van had vanished, and was not parked anywhere near Minnie's council house. The coast appeared clear.

'You'd better nip in quickly,' I said, opening the door. 'And Minnie, start looking out for another job. I think we'd better get someone else to do the school next week.'

I wondered if the tears might flow again, but she gave me a mad grin instead.

'Bert knows a lady in Caxley who'd have me,' she said. 'Cleaning out a pub.'

I watched her enter her house, turned the car round and went thankfully home. I felt as though I had been engaged in a tough wrestling match which, come to think of it, I had.

May always seems to me to be the loveliest month of the year, but a sunny June runs it very close.

Fairacre, in high summer, takes a lot of beating. The early mornings were fresh and dewy, and I sometimes took the children for a walk as soon as the register was closed at nine-thirty.

According to the timetable we should be at our arithmetic lesson, but that could be done later when the sun was too hot to be out of doors, I told myself.

The hedgerows were at their most lush, the young leaves thick and green, with sprays of cascading wild roses, pink and fragile as shells.

The lambs were getting larger daily, but were still young enough to cavort about, butting each other and their patient mothers, and chasing up and down the fields, shaking their woolly heads, and bleating loudly.

There were birds everywhere. Bemused fledglings sat in the playground, lapwings fluttered in scores over Mr Roberts' fields, and rooks and pigeons were equally numerous as they foraged for their young. The bearded barley crop in the field near the school was beginning to bleach in the heat, and the heavy ears were bending over. There were dozens of varieties of silky grasses on the verges of Fairacre's lanes, and the nature table was adorned with them.

The swallow babies were now almost as big as their parents and made short flights from the telephone wire to the television aerial on the school house. Their bubbling chatter began at four o'clock in the morning, as I knew only too well.

The many tits seemed to have vanished, and were probably in the oak and hazel wood at the northern end of Fairacre feeding their broods on the dangling maggots which fed on the young oak leaves. No doubt they would be back, clamouring for peanut kernels, within a few weeks.

The robins too were scarce in this hot weather, although the children were delighted to see one particularly tame one perched on the upturned flower pot which held open the door. His folded wings were tipped up behind him, and he looked exactly like a man with his coat tails lifted, warming his back by the fire.

These summer nights were as lovely as the day. The moon rose each night, enormous and golden, and at its height it was almost bright enough to read a book.

There were strange movements in the garden, as hedgehogs snuffled and scuffled about. A stoat yapped, and an owl gave its eerie quavering cry. The shadows of the trees lay still and black across the silvered lawn, and moonlight glimmered on the school windows and the church roof. There was a lot to be said for being sleepless on such nights of beauty too rarely seen, and I relished them accordingly.

It was at times like these that I could forget the petty problems of the daily round. It was good to have the pinpricks of Mrs Pringle and Minnie put into perspective by the unchanging values of nature.

The Caxley Chronicle,
our local paper, carried a report about a man who appeared in court on charges of indecent exposure. It sounded like Amy's 'Awful Man', and he had certainly visited quite a number of villages in the neighbourhood, although he had been arrested in Caxley itself, in one of the parks.

The Caxley magistrates were remanding him for three weeks for psychiatric reports, I read. One day, no doubt, he would end up in a hospital for the mentally disturbed, poor fellow.

I felt guilty about forgetting to prepare myself with vegetable dye as instructed by Amy. However, I could now relax presumably, and perhaps Amy would not cross-question me further.

I folded the paper and went across to the school. This morning there was a different feel about the early hours. The sun was up, but seen through a light haze, and there was an uncanny stillness about. Already it was oppressively hot, and the open windows admitted no refreshing flow of air.

'Well, that's the end of summer,' said Mr Willet flatly, when he arrived. 'Thunder before night, you mark my words. Good thing really.'

'Why? We can't have too much sunshine, surely?'

'Seen them water-butts? Empty as egg shells. I see yours is splitting already. I give mine a splash of water now and again when old Ted Bates isn't on the prowl. Them slats shrink, see, in the heat.'

'Do you mean to say, I shall lose all the rainwater, as soon as it starts to pour?'

'Quite likely, I should say,' replied Mr Willet cheerfully. 'But on the other hand you might be lucky, and the cracks close up when the wet gets to 'em. They say the devil looks after his own.'

'Thanks,' I said tartly.

Mr Willet chuckled.

'Only my joke, Miss Read. You're a bit fazed with this cleaner business, I don't doubt. But thank heavens that Minnie Pringle finishes today. She's enough to set your teeth on edge, and no better than she should be with them two fellows she leads on. You was right to sack her.'

I was too taken aback to comment on this, and while I was thinking, yet again, of how little I knew of bush telegraph, he made for the door.

'You might try Bella George,' he said, pausing with a gnarled finger on the latch. 'Her old man's changed shifts this week, and she's a rare hand with a floor cloth. That is, if that dratted Pringle kid has left us any.'

He gave me a wink and vanished.

Bella George! Why not try her?

Dear Mr Willet, I thought lovingly. Ever the teacher's friend!

14 Rain and Romance

AS always, Mr Willet was right about the weather.

By mid-morning the sky was overcast and the sultry heat was oppressive. There was a curious coppery colour on a bank of clouds to the west, and no bird sang. No breath of air stirred the leaves of flowers or trees. It was as if the earth waited for what might befall.

The first distant rumblings of thunder came as the children played after school dinner. Then it came nearer, and vicious lightning cracked the skies. I called the children in, just as the first spots of rain began to fall.

Within ten minutes there was a deluge. Raindrops spun like silver coins in the playground, and the chalky dust at the edge of the field was first pock-marked and then turned to silt within seconds.

Water gushed from the gutters and cascaded from the roofs. Little rivers pelted along the sides of the lane, and the church was hidden behind a curtain of silver drops.

The noise was tremendous and awe-inspiring. Thunder crashed and lightning flashed, and I could hear some wailing from the infants next door. My own class was scared, but silent, under the onslaught. I pitied anyone caught in the storm. One would be drenched to the skin in a matter of minutes.

It was very dark in the schoolroom and I switched on the electric light. There was an almighty crackle and all the lights went out, amidst groans of dismay from the children.

'Heads down,' I said, 'and have a nap.' Some hopes, I thought, in this pandemonium, but it was impossible to work anyway. They rested their heads on their desks, and I could only hope that next door's wailing was not catching.

As suddenly as it began the rain ceased. The thunder rumbled more distantly, the lightning became less vicious. I let the children stay as they were, and wondered if they had appreciated, as keenly as I had, the patter of the raindrops on summer leaves, and the steady plop-plop from a nearby gutter. The scent of wet earth was refreshing. It made one realise how desperately thirsty the plants and small animals must have been in the long drought.

Listening to the music of 'leaves drinking rain', as W. H. Davies put it, I remembered reading that the Chinese, in ancient times, planted large-leaved trees like the banana for the express purpose of hearing the pattering of rain upon them. The Chinese have always been wise enough to recognise that the minutiae of natural things can enrich life. We could learn a lot from them.

The rain continued steadily, and by the time school was over it was plain that Miss Briggs and I would have to do some ferrying home. Most of the children were clad in shorts and tee shirts, or thin cotton frocks, the light clothing they had worn for the last brilliant weeks.

A few mothers arrived, umbrellas up and children's mackintoshes over their arms. Their offspring were soon on their way.

Mr Roberts' Land Rover squelched to a halt by the gate, and he shouted an invitation to any children going near the Post Office. Haifa dozen excitedly swarmed into his shelter.

Miss Briggs took two children squashed together beside her, and I was left with the Coggs' family.

Minnie Pringle arrived as they climbed into my car. She was pushing the battered pram. Its inmate looked dry enough, but Minnie was running with water, and her red hair was in wet wisps on her forehead. Her grin though, was as fanatical as ever.

This was, with any luck, the last stint of work she would do at the school, and although I felt relief at the thought, my heart smote me.

'Minnie,' I shouted from the car, 'why don't you put your wet things in my kitchen and make yourself a cup of tea before you start?'

'Oh, lovely! Ta ever so!' enthused Minnie, turning the pram and making for the school house.

It was only when I was halfway to the Coggs' house that I began to wonder how much havoc Minnie could cause in making tea in my kitchen.

Mrs Coggs' back door opened directly into the kitchen, and I hustled the three children inside. At their mother's pressing invitation I went in too.

I have visited the house on several occasions, and always left it with relief, and yet a feeling of hopelessness. It must be the slummiest place in Fairacre, and the smell of unwashed clothes and dirty dishes can be appalling.

I cannot pretend that it was a vision of order and delight on the present occasion, but there was certainly an improvement. For one thing, there was no overpowering stench. There were only a couple of used saucepans on the draining board, and they had been filled with water and were soaking.

Most of the shabby chairs had newspapers or drying clothes spread on them, but the table was clear and even had a cloth on it. Mrs Coggs herself seemed considerably cleaner and happier. No doubt the last few weeks of sunshine had added a tan to her usually pale face, and improved her appearance, but to my mind she looked stronger altogether. Arthur's absence in prison had certainly improved his wife's health, and I suspected that kind Alice Willet's and Bella George's assistance had helped the family enormously.

At the thought of Bella George, I recalled Mr Willet's advice. Now that I was so close, I would call at once, I decided.