The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (33 page)

‘More than my heart. So-o-o-o, you’ve never said you were a Morris Dancer.’

‘I don’t tell my lover everything, got to keep some mystery. I am and have been for years. I love it. Mediaeval and pagan and all that.’

‘So you’re with the Penny Fawcett side?’

‘Certainly not. They’re mixed; we’re the Culworth Sceptre side and we’re traditional. Men only.’

A panic-stricken voice boomed out,
‘GILBERT!’
and he rushed off before Louise could clear her thoughts. If he was not in the Penny Fawcett side then who … Oh good Lord, the ones she’d seen in the distance in the car park were wearing red waistcoats and yes, there’d been two women there too, and they hadn’t black faces. When her thumping heart had calmed, she thought, Oh well, it’ll make for a better display. The two sides can dance together – even better.

Her watch said it was almost four o’clock. In that case the dancing would be about to start. She hurried out from the back of the Portaloos and headed straight for the arena. She found a space amongst the crowd and watched as the two sides came into the arena from different ends. Whether it was the burning sun, or the dazzle of the colourful clothes the dancers were wearing, or the noise of their bells jingling, or something ominous in the shouts of the crowd … Louise had a sudden dreadful premonition that things would not work out as she had hoped.

Gilbert headed straight for the other team. There was a heated discussion, made worse by the fact that they were all carrying sticks in preparation for their first dances. The
crowd shouted encouragement as they watched the confrontation. She’d never seen Gilbert so angry.

‘Excuse me, please.’ She squeezed through the crowd and lifted the rope and stepped into the arena. There was a loud cheer as she walked towards the Morris Dancers.

‘Please … there’s been a dreadful mistake, I don’t know how it happened, but—’

‘There’s no way we are dancing with a mixed side.’

‘But couldn’t you dance here and the other side over there and do the same dances?’

‘Same dances?
We’re Border tradition, love – they’re Cotswold. How could we do the same dances? In any case, we’re all male, and they’re mixed.’

‘Well, obviously I can see that, but is it important?’

A woman from the Penny Fawcett side said, ‘Look, we don’t mind, let’s take turns. Give us a chance for a rest in this heat at the very least.’

‘Well, now,’ said Louise. ‘They can’t say fairer than that can they?’

She turned to Gilbert’s team and waited for an answer. They stood there, sticks at the ready, belligerent and almost begging for trouble, the black on their English faces seeming to emphasise their anger. The men all shook their heads. The tallest one with the recorder in his hand said, ‘Sorry, we don’t recognise them.’

‘Oh, I know them all – I’ll introduce them if you like,’ Louise offered. ‘They’re lovely people.’

Gilbert sighed. ‘He means we don’t recognise them as real Morris Dancers.’

‘How can they be anything else? They’re all dressed up and ready to go.’

The crowd began to boo. Mr Fitch came marching across the arena. ‘What exactly is the holdup?’

Louise explained. Mr Fitch rapidly came to the boil. ‘I have never heard such arrogant nonsense in all my life. You’re
all
Morris Dancers, so bloody well get on with it and sort something out. The crowd is getting restless.’

‘We’re getting more than restless. We’ve been booked for months. It really is only right that we should dance.’ This was the Penny Fawcett side.

Gilbert said, ‘And so have we, Mr Fitch.’

‘
LOUISE!
How did this come about?’

‘I only booked the Penny Fawcett side. I don’t know why Gilbert thought I’d booked them … him … er, them. Look, please, just dance and we’ll sort it out later.’

One of Gilbert’s dancers stepped forward, stick in hand, and repeated: ‘I’m sorry, not with them.’

Before Louise knew where she was, she and Mr Fitch were in the midst of an angry crowd of would-be dancers. All of them, sticks raised, were shouting. The crowd began to cheer. Bells were a-jingling, voices were raised, feet stamped and Mr Fitch, swearing loudly, came within an ace of being struck by a stick.

Suddenly Gilbert raised his voice. ‘This won’t do. Most uncivilised. My side will retire and leave the field clear for the Penny Fawcett team. There’s obviously been a serious misunderstanding. I’ll see you later, Louise.’ He gathered them all together and marched his side off the field to the cheers and boos of the crowd. Louise and Mr Fitch followed in their wake, after they’d reassured themselves that the Penny Fawcett side would dance. The crowd clapped and cheered and the dancing began.

‘My office, if you please.’

Louise, with broken heart, followed in Mr Fitch’s footsteps all the way from the arena to the Big House.

When they got inside his office, he burst out laughing;
peal after peal of hysterical laughter. Louise, who’d been expecting a dressing down, was stunned. All her planning, all her notes, everything in ruins and all he could do was laugh. Between his bursts of mirth he gasped, ‘Never shall I forget this!! Never!! Oh God!!’ He sat down in his chair, holding his side. ‘I don’t know when I’ve laughed so much! Oh Louise, I really thought we would have a fight. What on earth are they talking about – won’t dance with each other? And I was so looking forward to it. I thought it a really interesting, colourful, heart-of-the-village touch. Brilliant idea of yours. Oh yes. Go and look outside – see if it’s all right now. I’ll pour us a drink.’

Louise went to look at the arena from the front door. The crowd had settled down and the dancers were dancing, and the music was playing, and it looked all English and mediaeval with the stalls and the crowds, and the flags; oh my word, the setting was absolutely right. Her heart repaired itself and she began to smile. How could they have made love all those times, and never mentioned Morris Dancing? Such a blasted stupid mistake. She’d have to apologise.

‘Well, Louise, all right is it now?’

‘Oh yes, come and look.’ He did and he was pleased, so very pleased. ‘How absolutely fitting, Morris Dancing at a village Show. I wonder how many years that’s been going on?’

‘Hundreds – right from the dawn of time, some say.’

‘You can’t get more English than that, can you? And tell that Gilbert to get himself better organised. Oh, of course, you don’t know him, do you?’ He winked and handed her a gin and tonic. ‘You deserve that, my dear.’ He smiled and they stood together in the doorway listening to the music and watching the ribbons flying, the sticks crashing, the feet
prancing, and above their heads the hot-air balloon swaying steadily up into the bright blue sky, its red and yellow and orange stripes echoing the colours of the Morris Dancers on the grass below.

A group of young men who’d spent too much time in Bryn’s beer-tent came in looking for trouble. Pat cast an anxious eye in their direction and decided to treat them politely and hope it would calm them down and they wouldn’t cause trouble.

‘Hello, my darling! Three teas, two lemonades, and what shall we have to eat, boys? Almond slice, cream cakes, butterfly buns, sandwiches? What will it be?’

They argued and then decided on sandwiches and an almond slice for each of them. When Pat told them how much they owed they were flabbergasted. ‘Ten pounds? You’ve added up wrong, love. It’s never ten pounds.’

‘It is. One pound each for the sandwiches, fifty pence each for the drinks, and fifty pence each for the cake.’

‘Cor, that Charter-Plackett fella must be making a packet. You overcharging and putting something in your own pocket?’

Pat began to grow cold. ‘No, I’m certainly not. That’s the charge, it’s here on the blackboard. You can see for yourself.’ Two of the men had already begun to carry the trays to a table, and two of the others followed. ‘Just a minute. I want paying first,’ she said firmly.

‘All in good time, my darling. ’Ere you two, lend us some money – I ain’t got enough.’ He poked his finger amongst a collection of coins in the palm of his hand. “Ere you are, seven pounds and seventy-two pence, and that’s all I’ve got. Come on, you two, give us some more.’

‘Shut yer face, it’ll do.’ Pat was about to acquiesce and let
them have it to save more trouble, but the one left standing at the till shouted, ‘Come on, let’s be having yer, cough up.’

The smallest of the five men shouted a reply. ‘Shut yer face, Fatty, and sit down.’

‘Don’t you call me Fatty, you little sod.’

‘Little sod, is it? Right?’ He stood up, pushed back his chair with a crash and lunged towards the man at the till. Pat hastily got her mobile out and dialled for Jimbo. Michelle, who’d been watching the argument from her perch on Barry’s knee, said, ‘Barry!’

He tipped her off onto the grass and quietly stood up. The fighting began with the big man punching the smaller one in the face. He reeled around for a moment trying to regain his balance, and then fell helter-skelter onto the trestle table laden with the clean cups and saucers. The table collapsed under the shock of his weight and there was a tremendous crash as the cups and the saucers and the man fell to the ground.

The heat had been almost unbearable before the fight, but now Pat felt as though the marquee was on fire. The customers began shouting, and some started to hustle their children and old grannies out before things got any worse. Pat shouted, ‘This won’t do, please stop it!’

This was when Barry decided to take charge. He strode forward and took hold of the T-shirt of the big man by the till. ‘Out, you. Out!’ He marched him towards the exit and then came back for the man laid unconscious on the ground. He pointed to the other three men. ‘You lot, get him to the first-aid tent, pronto.’ None of them made a move.

‘Did you hear me? First-aid tent.
NOW!’

As the three of them approached Barry threateningly, Pat came out tiptoeing her way between the broken crockery. Determined she wasn’t going to let Barry rescue her, she
shouted, ‘Look here, just get out and we’ll say no more about it. Go on –
HOP IT!’

One of the men roared with laughter. ‘’Ark at ’er! Come ’ere, love, and give us a kiss. I like a woman with spirit.’ He grabbed her by the arms and tried to kiss her. Pat brought her knee up hard into his groin and he loosened his grip and swore. His hand came back to strike her. Barry saw her cringe and begin to back away, and Michelle screamed, ‘Mum!’ Barry leaped forward and deflected the blow with his arm. From nowhere, it seemed, Jimbo arrived with the two men who’d been taking the money at the gate. Between them, they each took hold of one of the men and marched them out. The one who was unconscious on the ground began to come round, moaning and wincing as he gingerly touched his mouth, feeling the place where his lip had been split.

Michelle flung her arms round her mother and cried, ‘Oh Mum, oh Mum.’

Pat rubbed her back and stroked her hair. ‘That’s all right, love, I’m OK. Don’t worry.’ She looked at Barry and mouthed, ‘Thanks.’

Jimbo returned. ‘Pat, you all right? Sorry about this.’ He looked down at the man sitting on the floor. ‘You can get up and go. The first-aid tent is just past the stalls. And don’t come back, right? Here, Pat, have a nip of this.’ He took a silver flask from his back pocket. ‘Brandy, do you good, sit down here. Trace, Moira, Denise, look after things, will you? Anne, you be on the till. Chop! Chop! Business as usual. I’ll get someone else to clear this lot up. Don’t touch it, you’ll only cut your hands. Thanks, Barry, glad you were on the spot.’

‘That’s OK. They’d had too much to drink, that’s all.’

‘Mmmm. One of life’s hazards, I suppose. Look after
Pat. I’ll get someone with a shovel and some cardboard boxes.’ He stabbed a finger at the broken crockery. ‘That’s a large slice of the profit gone, dammit.’

Pat tried to apologise. ‘I’m sorry, Jimbo, I just didn’t handle it right.’

Barry protested. ‘She did, she did it absolutely right.’

‘I’m sure she did. Worth her weight in gold. Time you recognised that.’ He gave a brief nod in Barry’s direction and strode out.

Pat blushed, Barry grinned and Michelle looked at them both. ‘You two speaking again then?’

Pat said, ‘Might be.’

‘Yes, we are,’ Barry told her. ‘Aren’t we?’

Pat thought for a moment and said, ‘We could be.’

‘The holiday’s on again then?’ Michelle asked excitedly.

Barry raised his eyebrows at Pat. She gave a nod and all three of them hugged each other. When Dean came in with a shovel and a cardboard box, a pair of gardener’s gloves on his hands, he grinned at them all and said, ‘Better get your fishing rods out, Barry. Looks as if I shall be needing some lessons before we go on holiday.’

They all four laughed, Pat the loudest of all. She screwed the top back on Jimbo’s flask, stood up quickly but the brandy had affected her head and she almost keeled over. Barry caught her and planted a kiss on her cheek and said, ‘With Jimbo’s recommendation I’ve no alternative but to ask you to marry me.’

Michelle jumped up and down. ‘Say yes, say yes.’

‘All right then. Yes, I will.’

‘I’m going to have a dad!’ She danced out of the marquee to tell the world.