(10/13) Friends at Thrush Green (18 page)

'She tripped,' began Betty.

'Such a nuisance when drink gets the better of anyone,' continued Dotty. 'The best thing is to have a drink constantly at hand.'

'But that's just what—' protested Betty, but was cut short again.

'An
innocuous
one, of course. A really strong herb tea, cold preferably. I used to make up a bottle for our old cook when I was a girl; she couldn't resist the cooking sherry, I remember. We soon weaned her on to my nettle beer, and later to a light apple juice.'

'I expect Mr Lester knows how to deal with things,' said Betty.

'I wonder if he does. I might get Connie to run me up there with a bottle or two of my own medicinal brew, and explain how to use it. He must be a very worried man.'

Betty privately thought he would be far more worried if Dotty appeared, jangling bottles and advising on the methods of tackling alcoholism. At any time Dotty was alarming; in the role of witch doctor she would frighten the life out of anyone.

And yet, thought Betty, one could not help admiring the direct and outspoken way that Dotty encountered trouble. It was a change from the muted remarks being passed around when the Lesters were mentioned. Here was Dotty, talking frankly of drunkenness, and offering practical help with honest sympathy.

'We had quite a bit of drink trouble in our family,' she went on with the utmost cheerfulness. 'One of my uncles was so bad when in his cups—violent and most abusive—that he couldn't keep a job. In the end, my grandfather was obliged to ship him to Australia.'

'But would anyone want him there?' asked Betty, feeling that it was hardly fair to the Australians to have to put up with such a reprobate.

'Oh, he went out to a
job
there,' said Dotty airily. 'Rounding up sheep, I think. Or kangaroos perhaps.'

'And how did he get on?'

'I've no idea. When one went to Australia in those days, one hardly ever came back.'

'My cousin,' said Betty, trying to guide the conversation away from alcohol, 'had a holiday there last year. He took a month off. Said it was lovely, when he got back. His photos took us all evening to get through.'

'That's what I mean,' said Dotty. 'In my uncle's time, when people were sent off
to
Australia you could be quite sure that you wouldn't see them again. Now it seems they hop up and down over the Equator like so many yo-yos. Very disconcerting.'

'Well, isn't that a good thing?' asked Betty.

'My grandfather wouldn't have thought so,' said Dotty firmly.

The new extension to Rectory Cottages was officially opened one wet and windy day at the end of October.

The local member of Parliament had been invited to declare it open, but at the last minute was unable to come as he had been obliged to attend to government business overseas.

Charles Henstock feared that yet again he would have to deputize for a guest of honour at short notice. It was Dimity who suggested that he should ring Anthony Bull to see if he could come.

'When? Wednesday? Fine, I should thoroughly enjoy a trip to see you all,' said Anthony.

He promised to arrive in time for lunch, and everyone, particularly the rector, looked forward to seeing him again.

As many friends as possible had been crammed into the premises. As well as the new room, all the residents had thrown open their own accommodation, and there was a general air of festivity. Flowers were everywhere, windows shone, furniture gleamed and on the table in the forefront of the extension stood a magnificent iced cake, and some bottles of champagne.

The only disappointment was the fact that Prouts had failed to deliver the large curtains in time. Agitated messages had been sent throughout the week prior to the party, and Prouts had surpassed themselves with excuses ranging from shortage of staff to a change in the dye of the lining material.

Ella and Muriel were in rare unity over the affair. Their own smaller side curtains hung proudly in place, and their strictures on the firm of Prout were severe.

Edward Young who, as architect, was among those present, would have liked to have said how much more satisfactory it would have been if his suggestion of
blinds
at the windows had been adopted. However he was magnanimous enough, and mellowed by the champagne, to keep these thoughts to himself.

Anthony Bull, of course, was welcomed rapturously, and seemed genuinely delighted to be among his former parishioners.

Through the windows overlooking the green, the bonfire could be seen awaiting November the fifth. It was a noble pile already, and everyone knew that the schoolchildren would be hard at work making the guy that would rest on the top.

Anthony looked at it with pleasure. 'And does Percy Hodge still supply potatoes to bake in the ashes?' he asked Jane Cartwright.

'Indeed he does! My uncle Percy gets as much fun out of Guy Fawkes' night as the children do.'

'Delicious cake,' mumbled Anthony, through a mouthful. He spotted Doreen Lilly across the room. She had been invited to lend a hand, not only with preparing for the party, but to help with the waiting.

'I must go and speak to Doreen,' he said, wiping his fingers on a snow-white handkerchief. 'Does she work here regularly?'

Jane explained the position, and added how well she had fitted in. 'And she's so good with the old people,' she added.

'She certainly looks a lot happier than when I saw her last,' commented Anthony.

'It's good for her to be back in Thrush Green,' said Jane. 'She's a country girl at heart, and I hope she decides to stay here.'

'She couldn't do better,' agreed Anthony.

It was dark when the party ended. The wind was almost at gale force, and as Anthony Bull and his friend Charles drove through Lulling to the vicarage, the rain lashed across the windscreen, giving the wipers a hard task to keep pace with it.

Leaves from the lime trees whipped across the High Street. Lights from The Fuchsia Bush gleamed across the dark wet pavements, and the street lamps were reflected in murky puddles which were ruffled by the wind.

'You're going to have a rough ride back to town, I'm afraid,' said Charles. 'Are you sure you won't change your mind, and stay the night?'

'I wish I could, but I've two meetings tomorrow morning. Don't worry, Charles. I've been much refreshed by my visit. It's so good to see old friends.'

He went on to comment on the improvement he had seen in Doreen Lilly.

'She certainly seems to have found her feet,' agreed Charles. 'Who knows? She may marry again. I think that is what her mother would like above all things.'

'Maybe,' agreed Anthony, turning into the vicarage drive, but he sounded doubtful. 'She may not relish matrimony after all that has happened to her,' he went on.

'Well, we must live in hope,' said the rector, trying to open the door against the howling gale. 'One thing, she looks remarkably bonny. Let's hope fortune continues to smile upon her.'

13. Percy Hodge's Busy Day

FOR the past several years Percy Hodge, now middle-aged, had lived alone, but he did not enjoy his solitary state. Now that Emily Cooke had finally deserted him for another, his loneliness was even more acute.

He woke, on this particular November morning, to the usual sad contemplation of his single life. It was still dark, for the luminous bedside clock showed ten to six, and the bedroom was chilly.

'Been a frost, I don't doubt,' said Percy aloud, swinging his legs out of bed. He made his way across the landing to the bathroom to perform his brief ablutions. Ten minutes later he went downstairs to the kitchen which was warm and welcoming. The Aga stove made this the most comfortable room in the house, and Percy spent most of his time there.

His dog Gyp leapt from his basket near the stove to greet his master. It was this animal that had collided with Dorothy Watson's car some time ago, causing that lady considerable anguish. Luckily, the dog's injuries had been slight and he bore no scars.

Percy had kept a dog, and sometimes two or three, throughout his life. Normally they had slept in one of the barns or outhouses on the farm, but Gyp had been more privileged since Percy allowed him to sleep indoors. The truth was that Percy enjoyed his company since the death of Gertie, his first wife, and then the disappearance of his second, whom he had later divorced. He chatted to Gyp as he would have done to a human companion and the dog, a particularly affectionate animal, responded in the most satisfactory manner.

This morning he gambolled about his master's legs as the Aga was filled with a scuttle of solid fuel, and only desisted when Percy put down a dish full of dog biscuit and meat scraps.

Percy set about getting his own breakfast: he lifted down a large, heavy frying-pan from a hook on the wall, and placed it on the hob. He put in four large rashers and two sausages, for Percy believed in a substantial meal at the beginning of the day. He cut two thick slices of bread ready to put in when the bacon and sausages were done, and set the basket of eggs handy for the last addition to his meal.

Meanwhile, the kettle had been moved to the hottest part of the stove and was singing cheerfully. The large enamel teapot, which he and Gertie had bought in the early days of their happy marriage, was warming nearby.

Percy did not bother with such niceties as a tablecloth, but set out his knife and fork on the bare wooden table, and stood the milk bottle nearby. By now the bacon was sizzling, and Gyp had finished his breakfast, clattering the dish about the floor as he licked the last crumbs.

'Now out you go, old man,' said Percy fondly, opening the back door into the yard, and the dog ran out.

Percy adjusted the old wooden calendar which stood on the mantelpiece above the appetizing smells wreathing from the stove. As he turned the small knob showing the date, November the fourth, he remembered that the scoutmaster had promised to pick up the sack of potatoes ready for the morrow's celebration of Guy Fawkes' night. Percy had already sorted out some large beauties, and they awaited collection in the back scullery.

He was just shifting the rashers in the frying pan when Gyp's furious barking disturbed him. Dropping the fork, he hurried to the back door. It was beginning to get light and, with a countryman's eye, he automatically noticed the heavy frost on the nearby cabbages and the ice on a shallow puddle.

Gyp was growling and sniffing at the crack of the door of Percy's shed which stood close to the back door. Here were kept such useful things as the paraffin can, garden tools, a hand mower, two bins of chicken food and a pile of useful sacks.

On opening the door and bidding Gyp to 'Sit!', it was on this pile that Percy discovered a startled man. He was fully dressed, if dressed you could call it, in a long dirty overcoat tied at the waist with binder twine, with a tattered scarf round his neck, and a pair of broken boots inadequately covering bare feet. Blue rheumy eyes gazed at Percy from a stubble-decorated face.

'What you doin' here?' growled Percy. He was not unduly alarmed, or even surprised at this encounter. Over the years he must have come across a dozen or more travellers who had used his buildings for a free night's accommodation. He had been lucky, he knew, that not one of them had done damage, though he suspected that a few turnips and stored apples and carrots had been carried away in the usual capacious pockets. Some of his farmer friends had suffered arson at the hands of these gentlemen of the road, and Percy was thankful it had never happened to him.

Gyp kept up a menacing growl as the two men surveyed each other.

'I never done no 'arm,' pleaded the tramp, rising to his feet. 'Just 'ad a kip overnight.'

He sniffed noisily, and wiped his rheumy eyes with dirty knuckles. It was a child's gesture which Percy found strangely moving. He moved aside to let the tramp out.

From the kitchen, the neglected rashers and sausages sent out delicious smells.

'Cor!' said the tramp. 'I'm that 'ungry I could h'eat a h'ox.'

Percy looked at him. He was a most unsavoury fellow to have at the breakfast table, but there was no reason why he should not have some victuals in the shed.

'I could set the dog on you,' Percy told him sternly. 'You bin trespassing! For all I know you've filled your pockets with my stuff.'

'Ain't got no pockets,' protested the tramp, pulling some filthy rags from the side of the dilapidated overcoat. 'See 'ere, mister.'

Gyp growled afresh, longing to rush at the interloper. A distinct smell of burning now began to waft towards the group, and Percy started towards the house.

'You can wait at the door,' he told his visitor. 'I'll give you a bite, and then you're on your way.'

He hurried in and was just in time to rescue the rashers and turn the sausages. He scooped them to one side, and put in the bread.

Gyp remained in the scullery facing his foe at the back door, but ready to hurry to his master's side if needed. He welcomed this diversion at the beginning of the day, and the unusual smells emanating from their visitor were most exciting, almost fox-like.

Percy made the tea, looked out an enamel plate and mug which had been used for just such emergencies before, and set out some of his own breakfast portion for the tramp. Plate in one hand and steaming mug in the other, he pushed past Gyp and handed them to the waiting figure.

'Cor! Mister!' cried the man.

'Eat it in the shed,' ordered Percy, 'and don't forget to bring the plate back. And the mug.'