(4/13) Battles at Thrush Green (5 page)

'You're too late, Dim my girl,' she said, slapping Dimity's thin thigh painfully. 'I saw her going down to catch the nine-thirty coach, case in hand.'

'But she said Friday!' cried Dimity, appalled. 'And today's Thursday!'

'I expect she got wind of all the fuss,' said Ella, 'and decided to get away while the going was good.'

She struggled to her feet and retrieved the basket.

'Can't say I blame her,' she puffed, her grizzled head now wreathed in blue smoke. 'Dotty knows her way around for all her scatter-brained ways.'

She began to lead the way to the kitchen.

'You mark my words,' said Ella, 'she'll arrive back at Thrush Green safe and sound. They say the devil looks after his own, don't they?'

Later, beans in hand, and Ella's dire words ringing in her head, Dimity returned to the rectory to break the news to Charles.

She refrained from quoting Ella exactly. At times, she felt, her old friend expressed herself rather too forcefully. The rector's comment was typical.

'We can only hope that Connie will be given strength to prevail. It will need great courage to oppose Dotty.'

'It will need more to drive with her!' retorted his wife with spirit.

4 Driving Trouble

T
HE
matter of St Andrew's churchyard continued to perplex the rector and the parochial church council.

At an emergency meeting it was decided to put up one or two notices in public spots asking for volunteers to help to tidy the graveyard. The rector also drafted a paragraph for inclusion in the parish magazine.

Reaction was varied, and mainly negative.

'What's old Piggott get paid for then?' queried one belligerently.

'He's past it,' said another, more kindly disposed.

'Then he should pack it in, and let someone else get the money,' retorted the first speaker.

'I reckons the council ought to keep it tidy. What do we pay rates for?' demanded another, reading the notice which Harold Shoosmith had pinned up in the bar of "The Two Pheasants."

'Don't talk daft!' begged a stout-drinker. 'It's got nothing to do with the council!'

'Well, I've been a Wesleyan all my life. I don't see why I should clean up for the C. of Es.'

'You'll be put in there, won't you?' demanded another. 'Whatever you be, you'll end up there. Why your old ma and pa are up agin the wall already! Don't matter what church or chapel we goes to, that's the common burial ground. I reckons we all ought to lend a hand.'

But not many agreed with the last speaker, and as he was a shepherd, bent and weatherbeaten, and now in his eighty-fifth year, he was not in a position to engage personally in the project.

The rector, experienced in the ways of men, was not surprised at the lack of response, although he was disappointed.

'It seems sad,' he said to Harold Shoosmith, 'that none of the younger men has offered. In fact, the only people willing to do anything are you, and Percy Hodge, the farmer, and myself.'

'I really thought we might get some volunteers from the new housing estate at Nod,' replied Harold. 'Plenty of able-bodied chaps up there.'

'They have their new gardens to see to,' said Charles charitably. 'And most of them do over-time, you know, to make ends meet. They are rather hard-pressed. It's quite understandable.'

'You're a good deal more forgiving than I am,' said Harold. 'Young Doctor Lovell told me he could offer an evening a week, and if he can, then why can't others?'

'Better one willing fighter than ten men press-ganged into the battle,' replied the rector philosophically.

'I suppose you're right. We muster at the church gate next Wednesday then?'

'At six, my dear fellow. What a blessing the evenings are still light! Piggott will be there to help.'

And to make sure we know our place, thought Harold, watching his friend's receding figure.

'Coffee up!' shouted Betty Bell, as he re-entered his house. 'Want it here or on your own?' Sometimes, when Betty gave him just such a comradely salute, he found himself thinking of the obsequious native boys who had waited upon him for so many years, with deference and respect. Or had they perhaps, simply acted a part? In any case, it was no good harking back. Times had changed.

'I'll have it with you,' said Harold, entering the kitchen. Two cups steamed on a tray, and a plate held some dark sticky gingerbread.

'Have a bit,' said Betty, pushing the plate towards him. 'It's a present for you.'

'Very kind,' said Harold, looking at it doubtfully.

Betty broke into a peal of laughter.

'You're thinking Miss Harmer sent it! Well, she didn't. I made it myself.'

'Then I should love a piece, Betty,' said Harold, smiling.

'You don't think I'd let you eat anything
she'd
made, do you? No disrespect, mark you – Miss Harmer's a real lady, I always say, – but that kitchen of hers is a right old muddle, and you'd as likely get bird seed or Karswood powder in your cake as not.'

'It's delicious,' nodded Harold.

'Seen her car yet?'

'No. She drove it back herself, after all, I suppose?'

'Between you and me, that's what she wants Thrush Green to think, but actually that niece of hers drove most of the way. They came back that night, and her Connie got Reg Bull's taxi from Lulling to take her back, as soon as she'd had a bite.'

'But why the secrecy? And why didn't the young lady stay the night?'

'Miss Harmer's proud, see. Didn't like to let on that she'd never driven herself home, after all she'd said. And that Connie's like her auntie. She's got all manner of animals to look after, so she had to get back.'

'I see.'

'Besides,' went on Betty, beginning to stack the china swiftly, 'would you want to stay the night with Miss Harmer?'

Harold assumed that this was a rhetorical question, and forbore to answer.

'You'd never know what was in your bed,' said Betty. 'I've known the time the cat had kittens there, under the eiderdown, and Miss Harmer wouldn't hear of them being moved for days. Some people don't like that sort of thing, you know. We haven't all got Miss Harmer's funny ways.'

Harold nodded agreement.

'But what about the car? No one has seen her in it yet.'

'She's been out in it all right. Got some petrol from Reg Bull's, 'cos my nephew served her, but she's only took it round the lanes, testing it a bit, I reckon.'

'It sounds as though she is being very sensible,' said Harold, rising. 'She's bound to feel that she needs a little practice after such a long time without a car.'

'It isn't
practice
she wants,' said Betty downrightly. 'It's a chauffeur.'

She deposited the china in the washing-up bowl, and Harold escaped.

It so happened that Harold was vouchsafed the vision of Dotty Harmer at the wheel, the very next afternoon. He was standing outside his front gate, contemplating some dwarf marigolds. Should he pull them up in readiness for planting the wallflowers, or should he enjoy their colour for another week or two?

Since his return to England, some few years earlier, he found that such problems occurred regularly. Was it his imagination, or did the Spring in his boyhood start earlier, and finish, in a tidy fashion, in good time to put in the summer bedding plants? Now, it seemed, it remained cold in June, and everything was proportionately later. These dwarf marigolds, for instance, had only come into flower a few weeks ago, he told himself, and yet, if he wanted to get the beds dug over and the wallflowers established, then they really should be removed now.

He had just decided to grant them a reprieve for a week or two, facing the fact that by that time continuous rain, no doubt, would frustrate any gardening whatsoever, when he became conscious of a cacophony of horn-blowing coming from the steep hill which led from Thrush Green to Lulling.

Harold strode over to the green, and stood by the statue of his hero, Nathaniel Patten, the better to see the cause of the fuss. The main road, leading northward to the midlands, appeared to be free from traffic. Whatever the obstruction was, which was causing such irritation to so many drivers, was out of sight.

Harold continued to wait. The children from the village school, just let out to play, crowded against the railings behind him like so many inquisitive monkeys.

Albert Piggott appeared on his doorstep. Joan Young, girt in her gardening apron, came across the chestnut avenue, trowel in hand, to join Harold, and at least a dozen twitching curtains told of more sightseers.

'Do you think there's been an accident?' asked Joan. 'Perhaps we should run over.'

Even as she spoke, a small car, jerking spasmodically, came into view. It was impossible to see, at that distance, who held the wheel, but Harold guessed, correctly, who it might be.

'Dotty!' cried Harold and Joan in unison, setting off across the grass at a brisk pace.

The car had come to another stop, by the time they arrived, just outside Ella Bembridge's house. Behind it stretched a long queue, the end of it out of sight in the main street of Lulling. Immediately behind Dotty's small vehicle was a Land-Rover towing a horse-box.

'Get the bloody thing off the road!' shouted the driver. His face was scarlet with wrath, as he leant out of the side window. 'Dam' women drivers! No business to have a licence!'

Further protestations came from those behind, and the additional music of car horns rent the air.

Dotty, peering agitatedly at the car pedals, was pink herself, and very cross indeed.

'Here,' said Harold, wrenching open the door, 'hop out, Miss Harmer, and I'll park her in the side road.'

'Why should I get out?' demanded Dotty. 'And what right have you to order me out of my own carriage, may I ask?'

'Pull the old besom out,' begged the Land-Rover driver. He began to open his door, and Harold feared that battle would be joined.

'Please,'
he pleaded. 'You see, there is such a long queue, and this road is far too narrow here to overtake safely. I'm afraid that the police will be along to see what's happening.'

'
You
may be afraid of the police,' said Dotty sharply, 'but I am
not.
Now kindly take your hand from the door.'

'But –' began Harold, but could not continue, as, by some miracle of combustion the engine had started again into spasmodic life and Dotty moved slowly, in a succession of convulsive jerks, into the side road leading to the church. There was a mild explosion, a puff of smoke, the car stopped, and Dotty put forth her deplorably-stockinged legs and got out.

'Stick to your bike, lady!' shouted the Land-Rover man rudely, as he quickened his pace along the main road. A few imprecations, some shaken fists and vulgar gestures were directed towards Dotty, as other cars passed, but most of the drivers contented themselves with resigned glances as they glimpsed the scarecrow figure of the one who was responsible for their delay.

The three waited until the last of the queue vanished northwards, before speaking.

'Would you allow me to have a look at the car?' asked Harold.

'Of course, of course,' said Dotty airily, as if washing her hands of the whole affair.

At this moment, Ella appeared and crossed the road.

'What on earth have you been up to, Dotty? Never heard such a racket since just before D-day when we had all those tanks rumbling through.'

'I simply drove quietly from West Street up the hill here. Just because I do not care to
scorch
along, this queue formed behind me. I had some difficulty in changing gear at the bottom, I must admit, but there was no need for the vulgar demonstration of impatience which you have just witnessed. No manners anywhere these days! A pity some of these men weren't taught by my father. He wouldn't have spared the strap, I can tell you!'

Harold climbed out of the car and came towards them.

'It's quite a simple problem,' he said. 'The petrol's run out.'

'The
petrol?
' echoed Dotty. 'But we only filled it when we brought the car from Connie's, not ten days ago!'

'Nevertheless, it's empty now.'

'But how can you tell?' demanded Dotty. 'You didn't put in your dip stick.'

'There's a little gauge on the dashboard,' explained Harold patiently. 'Perhaps you would allow me to show you?'

'Don't trouble,' said Dotty, setting off towards the car. 'I'll just push her round, if you'll give me a hand, and coast down the hill to Reg Bull's for some fuel.'

'But it's not allowed!' cried Joan.

'You'll stop halfway along the High Street, Dot.'

Dotty looked coldly at her old friend.

'I suppose there are still plenty of people capable
of pushing
me along to Reg Bull's,' she said witheringly. 'It's little enough to ask.'

Harold took command. Years of administration in far-flung corners of the world stood him in good stead.

'I have a spare gallon of petrol in my garage, and I shall put it into your tank, Miss Harmer. That should get you home safely, and then you can fill up next time you are out.'