(18/20) Changes at Fairacre (13 page)

'Either,' I said, 'would suit me.'

The Border country was gently rolling, with plenty of cattle enjoying grass far lusher than that which grows on our downs. We drove across to the Northumberland coast, and were refreshed by the salt winds blowing over the North Sea and a good lunch at Bamburgh, where the great castle dominates the little town.

By the end of our break together, my face was glowing as if I had spent days on the beach. I slept solidly both nights, ate the hotel's lovely food as if I were starving, and altogether felt a new woman as we set off for home.

James drove, and our first idea of spending a night in the Peak District on our way back was abandoned.

'Let's get on,' said James. 'I can't wait to get home.'

Sitting in the back of the car, thinking of the places we were now leaving behind, and occasionally snoozing, I realized how much good this holiday had done me. It had put things in perspective. To see those beautiful old houses, their contents, their well-kept gardens, all so enriching to the spirit, had made my own worries seem fleeting. It had also made me deeply conscious of the simple future pleasures I should enjoy at Dolly's cottage, and my good fortune in having friends as dear and generous as Dolly and Amy.

I returned to a host of minor irritations, and a pile of letters. The minor irritations included a leaking tap, a broken saucer of Tibby's, and a colossal branch ripped from the plum tree, its plentiful but unripe fruit scattered on the lawn.

The post included a fair amount of material for the waste paper basket. 'Had I thought of the best way to invest my savings?' (What savings?) 'Would I help a child?' (I already helped twenty-one, and would be glad to have those numbers increased, but under my school roof.) 'Had I considered a fun-filled fortnight on the exotic beaches of Florida?' (Well, no!)

Such missives were easily disposed of, but some heavy-looking correspondence from the office would need my attention, and several more welcome letters from friends. I put the lot aside to greet Bob Willet who hove in sight.

'My word, you look ten years younger,' he greeted me. 'Time you had that break. You was looking real white and spiteful.'

'Thanks,' I said. 'And proper thanks to you and Alice. Did you have much trouble?'

'No. Old Tib bolted the grub, as if starved, as usual. The only thing that went wrong was me droppin' the saucer. And, what's more, the mower's on the blink.'

'Oh dear! And you can't mend it?'

Usually, Mr Willet can cope indoors with anything from light bulbs to domestic plumbing, and outside, of course, he can turn his hand to anything growing, and the maintenance of my simple gardening equipment.

'I reckon it's had its time. We could get someone to see if spares here or there'd be the answer, but it's that old I doubt if anyone's seen 'em.'

'You mean, I shall have to buy a new one?'

'Looks like it to me, but you get someone else's opinion, afore you lash out on a new one.'

This was grim news, but I guessed it was probably the answer.

Bob Willet waved to the battered plum tree.

'That happened the night afore last. Had a sort of mini hurricane. Barmy, it was. Like a whirlwind. Took half the thatch off of Mr Roberts's barn, and flattened a field of barley down Springbourne way. Josh Pringle said three of his bantams was tossed up in the air like shuttle-cocks. But, mind you, you don't want to believe all Josh Pringle tells you. Still, it was pretty nasty while it lasted.'

'Did it do any damage to your garden?'

'Blew a bit of felting off my shed roof, but I got that back next day. And I heard as our Maud Pringle got hit on the head by a bit of guttering as blew off of her house, but no doubt you'll hear plenty about that when she turns up.'

'Coming in for a drink?'

'No thanks. I promised the vicar I'd have a look at his garage roof. He thinks a tile or two's come off, and he's like a new-born babe when it comes to anything like that. Still, he do give a good sermon, and I suppose we all has different talents.'

I watched him stump off down the path, and felt grateful, as I so often do, for Bob Willet's particular and practical talents.

One Saturday morning, soon after my holiday, I bumped into Miriam Baker in Caxley High Street.

I had just emerged from Marks and Spencer's with a bagful of goodies from the food counter, and was on my way back to the car.

'Hello, and what are you up to?'

'Wondering if I have the strength to seek out another cotton frock. Gerard's away with the cameraman for a television programme, looking at a possible site, and I thought it might be a good opportunity.'

'Good hunting then.'

'Oh, I've given up the idea already. My shopping threshold, if that's the term, is pretty low.'

'Then come back to Fairacre with me, and have a Marks and Spencer's lunch.'

'No, really,' she protested, but not very convincingly, and I had no difficulty in steering her towards the car park.

'We haven't seen each other for ages,' I said, stowing parcels in the boot. 'Not since our lunch with the Winters.'

We set off for home, and as we passed through Beech Green I pointed out Dolly's house.

'I heard about that,' said Miriam, 'and we were both so glad it's to be yours.'

'When I'm really settled there you and Gerard must come and see me.'

'Lovely! And when are you moving from the school house?'

'I may go towards the end of the school holidays, if the builders have finished, and it is ready for me.'

'Will you miss it? The school house, I mean?'

I pondered the questions. They had been rattling about in my own mind for some time now.

'Yes,' I told her soberly. 'I shall miss it very much. Some of my happiest years have been spent under that roof, but I should have to face leaving it sometime, and thanks to dear Dolly I have somewhere of my own now to end my days.'

'But what will happen to it?'

'It will be sold, I expect. The church owns the property, and if the school has to close, which seems horribly likely at the moment, I expect my house would be sold too.'

Miriam shuddered. 'I don't like to think of changes at Fairacre.'

'Neither do I,' I replied, swinging into my drive, 'but I'm afraid I've got to face them.'

We both agreed that the grilled plaice stuffed with shrimp sauce, with salad from the garden, was just what we had needed, and coffee cups in hand we sat on the garden seat to enjoy the summer sunshine.

'And now tell me your news,' I said. 'Still regretting leaving Sir Barnabas?'

'Not really, but I've other plans afoot.'

'Tell me.'

'Well, I don't know if I'm an oddity, but I find that being married is all very nice, but not quite enough for me.'

'You get bored on your own?'

'No. I just miss the job. I suppose I've always been geared to work, and marrying late it's harder to give up the routine. All the youngsters who take the plunge at nineteen or twenty seem delighted to settle down to homemaking and babies and such -'

'I thought they had to go on working to pay for the mortgage,' I broke in. 'Bob Willet calls them "tinkers".'

'I didn't find that so when I was at the office. We were always looking out for new girls to replace those who had left. Which brings me to my plan.'

'And what's that?'

'I'm starting an agency, mainly for supplying office staff. As a matter of fact, the only one in Caxley is about to be sold. The proprietor is retiring, and to be truthful it never operated very efficiently, as Barney and I discovered on many occasions when we were desperate for staff. I should thoroughly enjoy it and, though I don't want to boast, I really can sum up people's ability pretty quickly, and also what the employer wants. For instance, nothing would annoy a man like Barney more than one of those motherly types for ever bringing in cups of tea when he was telephoning. On the other hand, you get bosses who just love that sort of attention.'

'You'll be marvellous at it,' I told her. 'What does Gerard think?'

'He's all for it. He has to be away such a lot, and I think he soon realized I was getting fed up with kicking my heels. He's pretty astute.'

'So when do you start?'

'With luck, in the autumn. It means married women with children at school will have more chance to take on part-time jobs. There's been an enormous increase in part-time work as firms have come to see that this is the sensible way of organizing offices. Matching bosses to applicants will be just what I like, and honestly Caxley is in real need of a service like that.'

'Well, the best of luck,' I said. 'I'm sure it will be a wild success, and your name will be blessed by all the Caxley folk.'

'We'll see,' she said, looking at her watch.

'You don't have to hurry back, do you? Is Gerard due back soon?'

'Not till the evening. He's doing a series of documentaries about inland waterways, and is giving the Kennet and Avon canal a thorough scrutiny further west.'

'It sounds pleasant enough.'

'So I imagined, but Gerard says there are an awful lot of snags, like fishermen, and people tramping along the tow path, not to mention mosquitoes and the occasional hostile swan.'

'But surely all those creatures have a right to the canal?'

'Not according to Gerard and his cameraman,' said Miriam.

10 Flower Show and Fête

THE month of July every year in Fairacre is dominated by the village Flower Show. It is held in the village hall, and the funds raised go to two good causes - the Fairacre Horticultural Society and to repairing whichever portion of the church is in most urgent need of attention.

At one time there was also a village fête, held in the vicarage garden, but latterly the two functions have combined and a few stalls outside the village hall, and sports events in the field around it, now take the place of the earlier fête whilst the gardeners hold sway inside the hall itself.

Naturally, this sensible combination took years to accomplish. It had been the vicar's idea, and of course some people thought it was because he did not like to see his lawns spiked with high heels nor his borders damaged by wooden balls bowled erratically in 'Bowling For The Pig'. Those more kindly disposed thought that it was far better to use the village field for the fête side of the occasion.

'Stands to reason,' said Bob Willet, 'folks feel freer on their own patch, and who wants
two
summer dos? There ain't the money about for it, for one thing, with cornets the price they is.'

Personally, I thought it was a much more practical arrangement.

I have spent several fête afternoons sheltering with dozens of others in the vicarage summer-house or barn, with the rain lashing across the stalls, watching the crêpe paper dripping coloured rivulets on to the sodden grass, while tea trays were being rushed into the house for protection.

Under the present scheme we could at least bundle into the hall, even if it did mean enduring the disgruntled comments of the gardening community jealous for the welfare of their produce and lush displays set out on black velvet.

The entrants for the many classes for fruit, flowers and vegetables, had obviously worked for months beforehand to produce their bounty. But the rest of us were busy, too.

As always, there was a cake stall, and a produce stall, and to these I had promised to contribute. Why is it, I wondered, surveying my lop-sided Victoria sponge sandwich, that the cakes one dashes off for home consumption rise splendidly, stay risen, and supply most satisfactory eating? And why, when one hopes to achieve something memorable for public display, does the wretched thing burn, or sink in the middle, or refuse to rise at all?

My first attempt went into my own cake tin, and I turned to a tried and true recipe for almond cake for my contribution to the cake stall. Two pots of gooseberry jelly were to go to the produce stall, with half a dozen Tom Thumb lettuces. More I could not do.

A notice had been put in
The Caxley Chronicle
, and various posters decorated the village and its environs. All that remained to ensure success was a fine afternoon.

It has always been a source of wonder to me that so many English occasions are planned as outdoor events, with not even a tent in sight for shelter from the rain which is liable to appear at any time. It says much for the hope and confidence of organizers. I only know that if I plan some public display at Fairacre school, and the playground is the main venue, I am glad to be able to make a rush for the ancient building with my flock and the visitors when the heavens open. The fact that we shall have to face the wrath of Mrs Pringle is of secondary importance compared with a heavy summer storm.

The combined fête and show was to take place on a Saturday, and the weather forecast was delightfully vague. A band of rain affecting the north west
might
reach our area by midday, followed by brighter fresher weather with increasing winds. The forecaster prudently promised unsettled weather, with a likelihood of showers, but possibly some fine spells. As you were, in fact.