Bob of Small End (37 page)

“
Maybe.
You know Bob, if that boy’s any good I’ll hire him and find another
and let them work together. What do you think about paying them
piece-work? So much money for fifty sets?”

“
I don’t
think that’s best. They’d probably rush and the quality will drop.
We can’t have that because people won’t buy the toys.”

“
Yes, I
guess so. What do you think about hiring a second boy?”

“
That’s
probably a good idea. Start with this one, train him and see what
happens. He might be able to train the next one and leave you free
to do other things.”

“
Yes.
Well, I’ll finish putting the eye hooks on the hangers, then I want
to see how Jack’s doing.”

“
I’ll
finish the gardening and join you.”

Jack and John
had finished the first paint coat and were washing the brushes when
Ken and Bob arrived. Jack pulled an envelope from his pocket and
gave it to Bob as soon as his hands were clean. “It’s fer you.”

Bob opened the
envelope and said, “It’s from the electrician,” and passed it to
Ken. “£93.75, including all the stuff he installed. That’s not
bad.”

“
No. So
we could start working here tomorrow. Is that right
Jack?”

“
Aye.
Don’t cut wood or sand, ‘cos there’s mor’ paintin’
t’do.”

“
I’ll
have to cut wood, I want to make the benches.”

“
Cut it
outside. Wan’ me ter help?”

“
No,
I’ll be fine.”

“
A’rite.”

They all left
together, locking the doors behind them. “I’m off to see my aunt
tomorrow Ken” said Bob, “and won’t be back until Monday. I wonder
what the place will look like when I return.”

“
Like a
small factory, I hope. Drive carefully, Bob. Have a good
holiday.”

“
Thanks.
I hope to.”

Chapter 13 Sally

Bob packed the
suitcase he’d taken to Portugal in the evening adding his slippers
and a dressing gown. After that he looked at the map of England
that Betty always kept in their bookcase. The shortest route to
Boston from Small End skirted London on the M25 but he didn’t want
to go that way. People drove too quickly and there might be long
tail-backs. So he decided to go through Oxford. He wrote the names
of the towns he would pass through on a post card, connecting each
town by a line upon which he wrote the road number. This, he
thought, would save him from constantly stopping to look at the
map.

He was through
Southampton by nine Wednesday morning and continued until he
arrived at Newbury where he stopped for coffee and a piece of cake.
He had skipped breakfast being anxious to start the journey and was
now feeling peckish. He had more then two hundred miles to drive, a
very long trip for him, so he planned to stop every fifty miles and
have a rest. Breakfast would be the first, lunch the second and an
early tea break would be the third. He had told Aunt Sally to
expect him about five.

As he drove he
thought back to the times he used to visit her. Mostly he
remembered his uncle, for he spent most of his time with him when
he wasn’t busy in his office. His uncle was a stock broker and he
and Aunt Sally lived in a big house at Wyberton, a village a couple
of miles south of Boston. Uncle Brian often drove him to the
seaside where he sometimes rode on one of the donkeys. They always
bought two ice cream bars, one as soon as they got there in the
morning and another in the afternoon and they usually ate fish and
chips for lunch. Uncle Brian died eight years ago and he and his
mother went to the funeral. There were many people there but the
only relatives were Aunt Sally, his Mum, himself and Brian’s
sister. He didn’t enjoy that visit and he didn’t like Brian’s
sister. She was overweight, wore thick glasses and stared at him
all the time, why, he never discovered.

He remembered
the bedroom he always had. It was big and at the back of the house,
overlooking their garden and the fields. Aunt Sally only grew
flowers. A gardener came each week to care for the flower beds and
to cut the lawn. There was a tiny pond at the back of the garden
that Uncle Brian had dug. They put minnows they caught in one of
the large ditches that drained water from the fields in the pond
and wondered if there were any of their youngsters still there. His
uncle took him to see the pillboxes that stood near the sea and was
told that machine gunners would be stationed there if there was an
attack during the war. Sand had partly covered them and spilled
into the entrance but he climbed into one and looked through the
holes. It was dark and scary inside and there could have been a rat
in one of the corners so he didn’t stay long. The best times, apart
from being at the seaside, was when they went blackberry picking or
when he picnicked with both of them and his mother. Aunt Sally made
cucumber sandwiches and he had his own big bottle of lemonade. The
only bad thing about those visits was going and coming. It was a
long journey, travelling by buses and trains. He liked sitting in
the trains but travelling all day wasn’t much fun.

He had lunch
in a pub half-way between Oxford and Northampton and ordered a
half-pint only, not wanting to be even slightly incapacitated, and
chose one of the beers made in that area. He ate his Plowman’s
lunch in the garden at the back of the pub, enjoying the sunshine
and peace for the pub was almost empty. After eating he examined
the map to see if he could find the road that Aunt Sally lived on
but all it showed was the main street going through Wyberton. He
remembered what the house looked like but did not know exactly
where her road was. He’d ask someone if he couldn’t find it.

He stopped for
a pot of tea in a café in a village just before Peterborough.
Driving through Peterborough wasn’t difficult although he had
expected it to be busier than Bournemouth. The worst part was the
construction detours but the signs were easy to spot and most of
the traffic was following the same route.

He remembered
Wyberton once he had arrived and quickly found his aunt’s road. The
house was just as he remembered although the gardens needed
tidying. Some of the bushes had grown too large and should have
been trimmed or removed. He parked the van in the road, walked to
the front door and knocked. Then he remembered that there was a
door bell and he searched for the button. It was partly hidden by a
cluster of ivy leaves. He pressed it and heard it ring. He waited,
then pushed it again. After another thirty seconds or so the door
opened. It was Aunt Sally but she sat in a wheel chair and a tube
curled from a metal bottle to her nose.

“
Hello
Bob. Come in, come in. It’s so good to see you! Sorry I took so
long to answer the door.”

“
Hello
Aunt Sally,” and he bent to kiss her on her cheek. “I didn’t know
you were in a wheelchair, nor that you used oxygen. I’m sorry for
knocking then ringing twice. If I had known I’d have
waited.”

“
I
didn’t hear the knock, I was probably napping. It takes me a while
to move about now I’m in this chair. I should have walked. That’s
what I usually do because it’s much quicker but I felt lazy. Come
in. I’ll tell you all about my troubles later. Where’s your
bag?”

“
Oh,
it’s in the van Aunt Sally. I’ll go and fetch it.”

“
Van?
What van? Did someone drive you here?”

“
No. I
drove myself. I’ll tell you about the van and all I’ve been doing
when we sit down.”

“
You can
drive Bob? I never knew that.”

“
I’ve
just learned. Let me fetch my bag and lock the van and I’ll tell
you.”

“
Put the
van in the driveway Bob and I’ll put the kettle on for tea. I’ve
given you your old room, the one at the back. Put your bag there.
You remember where the bathroom is?”

“
At the
end of the corridor.”

“
Yes,
that’s right.”

During tea
they began talking about the old days, when he, his mother and
father visited during and after the war, rather than what Bob had
been doing the past few months. All Bob remembered about the war
was loud bangs, usually at night, when bombs dropped in Southampton
or on the docks. Normally they only heard the explosions when the
wind was blowing in their direction. He told her that he remembered
Uncle Brian taking him to see the pillboxes and how scary it was
inside, and how they went to Skegness and ate ice creams and had
tea and cakes in one of the villages on the way home.

“
Would
you like to do those things again Bob?”

“
Why,
yes, I would.”

“
Then
lets do that tomorrow. I don’t get out very often and it would be
nice to visit some of those places again.”

“
Well
there’s lots of room in the van. Your chair can easily fit in the
back.”

“
Oh we
don’t have to use the van, we can use my car. I sold Brian’s Rover
after he died but kept my Vauxhall. It’s in the garage. It’s a good
car but I haven’t used it for two or three years.”

“
The
battery’s probably no good then. If you have booster cables I can
start it with the van’s battery.”

“
I’ve a
better idea. Give me the phone,” and she pointed to the shelf under
the table where his tea was. He passed it over and Sally dialled a
number.

“
Hello.
Is that David?”

“
Yes,
and you must be Sally. I haven’t heard from you for a long time but
I can always remember your voice.”

“
Yes
it’s me. How are you and are you busy?”

“
You
know me Sally, I’m always busy, but not just at this moment. Can I
do something for you?”

“
Yes
please David. My nephew, Bob, is staying with me for a couple of
days and I want him to take me out in the Vauxhall but I haven’t
used it for a long time. Can you have one of your men come and
check it? Bob thinks the battery might be dead although we haven’t
tried it yet. And the oil or something might need
changing.”

“
Dick is
free at the moment. I’ll send him over. Say ‘Hello’ to Bob for me,
although I don’t expect he’ll remember me. We met at Brian’s
funeral.”

“
Yes I
will. Thanks David.”

She replaced
the phone in its cradle then explained that David owned one of the
garages in Boston and that he serviced their cars and was one of
Brian’s friends. “They would occasionally play golf together and I
would talk to his wife at the club dinners. Dick won’t be long. Do
you want any more crumpets?”

“
No
thanks. I’ve eaten four and I feel very full. Do you still make
cucumber sandwiches?”

“
Not
this time of the year but I do in the summer. Funny you remembering
them. They’re one of my favourites. Now I didn’t know what to give
you for supper. I usually don’t eat much. I try to cut down on my
food these days because I don’t want to get fat. I don’t get any
exercise ‘cos I spend most of the day sitting down. I’d like
another cup of tea though. Could you make a new pot?”

“
Of
course.” He carried the empty teapot to the kitchen, filled the
kettle and put it on the stove then returned to his
chair.

“
Why do
you need oxygen Aunt Sally?”

“
I have
emphysema. Brian and I smoked but I stopped after he died. He
didn’t get it, he died from a heart attack. I find it hard to
breath now and oxygen helps. It’s too difficult to climb the stairs
so I sleep in Brian’s study. It’s a nicer room than the dining room
and has a better view. I’ve enlarged the downstairs toilet and put
in a bath. A lady helps me bathe twice a week.”

“
Do you
cook all your meals auntie?”

“
No. I
mostly live on frozen pre-made dinners. I should call them lunches
really for I eat them at noon.”

“
I eat
the same things too but eat them in the evening. Do you use a
microwave?”

“
Yes.”

“
I’m
thinking of buying one. They’re supposed to be much quicker than
the oven.”

“
Quicker
and much easier. As long as the meal is on the right kind of plate
or in a suitable dish there’s nothing to go wrong. Don’t use plates
with a metal design on them. The instructions that come with the
microwave will tell you what to use. Ah that’s the kettle. Remember
where the tea bags are?”

“
No.”

“
In the
cupboard on the left side of the sink on the second
shelf.”

He went to the
kitchen and returned with a fresh pot and put it on the table.
“I’ll let it sit for a while.”

There was a
knock at the door. Bob opened it and Sally called, “Is that you
Dick?”

“
Yes
Mrs. Jackson. Can I have the keys to the garage and the
car?”

“
Yes.
Bob will bring them to you. Here Bob. It’s these two.”

Bob removed
them from her key ring and told her he’d wanted to see what Dick
did so he’d go with him to the garage. “Pour your tea while it’s
fresh Aunt Sally. And don’t clear, I’ll do it when I come
back.”

Dick opened
the garage door, climbed in the car and tried to start it. “Yes,
the battery’s dead. I’ve got a charged one in the truck. Just a
minute.” He fetched it and two cables then opened the bonnet and
used the cables to connect the batteries. He turned the key and
with a groan then a roar the car started. He let it run for a
minute, stopped the car, removed the spare battery and tried to
start the car again. It started but only just. “It’s not good
enough,” he said. “Mrs. Jackson will have to buy another.”