Village Affairs (9 page)

On Monday morning, Mrs Rose arrived in good time, in a little car, shabby and battered enough to win approval from Mrs Pringle, in whose eyes it appeared a very suitable form of transport for teachers. Amy's large high-powered beauty had always offended Mrs Pringle's sense of fitness. She opened the gates for Mrs Rose's vehicle with never a trace of a limp, or a word of complaint. Clearly, Mrs Rose was accepted, and that was a great relief to me.

She looked frailer than ever, and also decidedly chilly in a sleeveless cotton frock.

'I'd no idea it would be so cold,' she said, clutching her goose-fleshed arms. 'It is
June,
after all!'

'It's always colder up here on the downs,' I told her, 'and these old buildings are pretty damp. We grow quite a good crop of toadstools in the map cupboard when the weather's right.'

She was not amused. I hastily changed my tactics.

'Come over to the house,' I urged, 'and we'll find you a cardigan. It will be too big, I fear, but at least you will be warm.'

Tibby greeted us effusively, no doubt imagining that the morning session had gone by with unprecedented speed, and it was now time for a mid-day snack.

Mrs Rose paused to take in my accommodation and furnishings before coming upstairs with me.

'I used to have a nice little house like this,' she mourned.

I felt very sorry for her, and slightly guilty too. I certainly was lucky, that I knew. All the old fears of losing my home came fluttering back as we mounted the stairs. I did my best to fight them off.

I set out a selection of woollen garments, and she chose a thick Shetland wool cardigan which would have kept out an arctic wind. It should certainly mitigate the chill of Fairacre School in June.

Her eyes wandered over the bedroom as she did up the buttons.

'You have made it so pretty and snug,' she said enviously. 'I had much the same curtains when I was in the school house at Bedworth.'

'I always admired the garden when I passed that way,' I said hastily, trying to wean her from her nostalgia. 'The roses always seemed so fine in that part of the country. Clay soil, I suppose. What sort of garden do you have now in Caxley?'

I could not have done worse.

'I've no garden at all! Just a window box in my upstairs flat. I can't tell you how much I miss everything.'

The sound of infants screaming in the playground saved me from commenting.

'I think we'd better go back,' I said, leading the way downstairs, 'or we may find spilt blood.'

But all was comparatively calm, and I led Mrs Rose inside to show her the infants' room, and to introduce her to Mrs Pringle.

That lady was leaning against the doorway, upturned broom in hand, looking rather like Britannia with her trident, but a good deal less comely. She bowed her head graciously to Mrs Rose.

'We met at Mrs Denham's auction sale,' she reminded the new teacher. 'I remember it well because you bid against me for a chest of drawers.'

Mrs Rose looked nervous.

'Not that you missed much,' continued Mrs Pringle. 'Even though it was knocked down to me at four pounds. The bottom drawer jams something cruel, and them handles pulls off in your hand. We've had to glue 'em in time and time again.'

I thought, once again, on hearing this snippet of past history, that life in a small community is considerably brightened by such memories as this one of a shared occasion. Some of these joltings of memory are caused by pure happiness—others, as in this present case, owe their sharpness to a certain tartness in the situation. Obviously, Mrs Pringle's bad bargain had caused some rankling since the day of the ladies' battle for the chest of drawers.

'Miss!' shouted Ernest, appearing on the scene. 'Can I ring the bell, miss? Can I? Can I ring the bell?'

'Yes, yes,' I replied. 'And there's no need to rush in here as though a: bull were after you.'

I ushered Mrs Rose into the infants' room as the bell clanged out its message to any tardy school children still in the fields and lanes of Fairacre.

The Caxley Chronicle
carried a full report of Arthur Coggs' case that week, and eagerly devoured it was by all his neighbours in Fairacre. There is nothing so comforting as reading about others' tribulations. It reminds one of one's own good fortune.

The prosecution's most weighty piece of evidence, in more senses than one, was the entire piece of lead roofing which was carried into Court by six sweating policemen.

A plan was handed up to the Bench, and the magistrates were invited to compare the shape of the roof displayed on the paper before them, with that of the lead, now being unrolled and stamped into place beneath large feet, on the floor below.

After old Miss Dewbury's plan had been put the right way up for her by a kindly fellow-justice, the magistrates gave their attention to the matter with more than usual liveliness.

Amazing how they come to life, thought Mr Lovejoy, when a few pictures or objects to play with are handed up! Glazing eyes sparkled, sagging shoulders were braced. Could it be that addresses given by prosecution and defence sometimes bored the Bench? Not, thought Mr Lovejoy seriously, when he himself addressed them. He had a turn of phrase, he fancied, which commanded respect as well as attention to his cause, but possibly some of his learned colleagues were less fortunate in their powers. (Mr Lovejoy, it will be noted, was without humour.)

Certainly, there was a surprising likeness between the plan and the cumbersome evidence on the floor. The lead undoubtedly came from a small building with an octagonal roof like Mr Mawne's. It had been found, the magistrates were told, hidden under a pile of sacks in the Bryant brothers' outhouse. They looked suitably impressed.

Mr Lovejoy, on the other hand, looked calm and faintly disdainful. His eye fixed on the pitch-pine ceiling of the Victorian court house, he was clearly rehearsing his speech which would show that a person or persons unknown had humped the lead, from a source equally unknown, and dumped it upon the Bryants' premises with the intention of getting them into their present unfortunate position.

The case ground on for the rest of the morning, and continued after the lunch break. Witnesses were called, by the indefatigable Mr Lovejoy, who testified to the fact that the accused had been in their company, regularly each evening, whilst imbibing, in a modest fashion, as befitted their unemployed state, at local hostelries.

At four o'clock Miss Dewbury was nudged into wakefulness, the accused men were told that the charge against them
had been proved, and the prosecutor handed up long lists of previous convictions for the Bench to study.

The Chairman, Colonel Austin, after a brief word with his colleagues, then committed them in custody to the Crown Court for sentence, just as Mr Willet had prophesied, and they left the Court escorted by two policemen.

Mr Lovejoy shuffled his papers together, bowed politely, and hurried after his clients.

'That is the business of the Court,' announced the clerk, 'and the business of the day is over.'

'And only just in time,' observed old Miss Dewbury as she departed. 'I put a beef casserole in the oven at lunch time, and it must be nearly dry by now.'

'Never like sending chaps to prison,' grunted Colonel Austin to his male colleague, as they reached for their hats. 'But what can you do with four like that? How many times have we seen 'em, John?'

'Too many,' replied his friend, 'and we'll see them again the minute they're out!'

In Fairacre, reaction to the Court's decision was mixed. Most agreed that Arthur Coggs was only getting his just deserts, and speculated upon how long the Judge would give all four when the time came. But more were concerned about the effect of Arthur's absence on his wife and family.

'She'll be a dam' sight better off without him around,' said Mr Willet. 'What good's he to her, poor soul? She'll get the social security money to herself now, instead of watching Arthur swilling it down his throat at The Beetle. Besides, she won't get knocked about. Make a nice change for her, I'd say, to have a peaceful house for a time.'

To my surprise, Mrs Pringle took another view.

'She'll miss him, I'll be bound, bad lot though he is. A woman needs a man's company about the house.'

'I can't say I've missed it,' I observed. 'And I could well do without Arthur Coggs' company, at any time.'

'Yes, well,' admitted Mrs Pringle, 'there's some as lead an
unnatural
life, so their opinions don't altogether matter.'

'Thank you,' I said. My sarcasm was ignored, as Mrs Pringle followed her train of thought.

'I knows he keeps her short of money. I knows he raises his hand to her—'

'And his boot,' put in Mr Willet.

'And I knows his language is plain 'orrible when he's in liquor, but then she's used to it, and used to having him around the place. She'll be terrible lonely with him gone.'

Several other people echoed Mrs Pringle's comments, but the general feeling was that Mrs Coggs must be relieved she was safe from physical assault, at least for a year or more. A number of inhabitants went even further in their concern, among them Gerald Partridge the Vicar, who spoke about the family to me.

'I am right in thinking that the Coggs children get free dinners?'

I reassured him on this point.

'And their clothing? Shoes and so on. Are they adequately provided for? I should be only too happy to give something, you know, if it could be done without causing distress to poor Mrs Coggs. She has enough to bear as it is.'

I said that I tried to keep an eye on that side of things, and had been lucky enough to get Mrs Moffat and other generous parents to hand down garments that were little worn
directly to Mrs Coggs, instead of sending them, in the usual way, to our local jumble sales.

'She won't be too badly off,' I promised him. I could not bear to see his gentle face puckered with anxiety. 'And now Arthur is out of the way, I believe she will take on more work.'

'Yes, indeed. Mrs Mawne is having her there for a morning. I gather that Minnie Pringle insisted on dusting some very precious glass cases housing some of Mr Mawne's rarer birds, and two were broken, most unfortunately. Mr Mawne was a little put out about it, and fired the girl on the spot.'

Later I was to hear from Minnie's own lips, the exact words used by her irate employer—short, brutal, words of Anglo-Saxon origin—which, I felt, had been put to their proper use under the circumstances.

'Well, I'm glad to know Mrs Coggs has got the job,' I said. 'It will give her an added interest as well as more money. But don't worry too much about her. The social security office will see she is looked after, and really she's so much better off without that ghastly husband.'

The Vicar looked shocked.

'Strong words, Miss Read, strong words! He is one of my flock, remember, even if he has strayed, and I can only hope that his present afflictions will make him change his ways.'

'That'll be the day,' I said.

But I said it when the Vicar had departed.

ONE summer afternoon, soon after the Vicar's visit, I had a surprise call from Amy and Vanessa.

The children had just run home, glad to be out in the sunshine, and I was just about to make tea.

Vanessa, a niece of James, Amy's husband, was always attractive, but now, in pregnancy, had that added lustre of skin and hair which so often goes with the condition. I said, truthfully, how radiant she looked.

'But
enormous
!' protested Vanessa, holding out her arms sideways, the better to display her bulging form. 'I'd no idea one could stretch to this size. All those women's magazines chat away about letting out skirts a few inches, as time goes by! My dear,
look
at me! This is a shirt which was too big for Tarquin, who stands six feet four as you know, and even this is getting tight. I'm thinking of hiring a bell tent.'

'A dirndl skirt's the answer,' said Amy, 'with a huge smock over it. Or a kaftan, perhaps.' She gazed at Vanessa with a thoughtful smile. 'There's no denying that one really does need
a waist
for most clothes.'

'Well, I hope to have one again in a few weeks' time,' replied Vanessa, settling her bulk on the sofa.

'Put your feet up,' I urged.

'Too much effort, darling. I really don't recommend this baby business. Don't attempt it.'

'I should get the sack if I did,' I told her.

'Which reminds me,' said Amy, 'what news of Fairacre School closing?'

I felt Amy could have been a little more tactful, but forbore to comment upon it.

'Not much, but something's in the wind. George Annett has been asked to send in lists of equipment he would need if another class were added to his school—or possibly two classes.'

'It does sound ominous.'

'It does indeed. But there's mighty little one can do until I hear something more definite. It seems silly to try for another post when I'm so settled here, and in any case, all this may come to nothing.'

Amy fixed a steady gaze upon me.