Regret to Inform You... (14 page)

His mother smiled sweetly: ‘Thank you all the same, but we must leave this afternoon. There is one thing I would ask.'

‘And what is that?' offered Eleanor in encouraging tone.

‘Well, yesterday when I happened to meet Olivia Atkins and her son, Jack, I was hearing about your new reading room. It sounded extremely interesting and I wondered whether I might be able to have a look. Would that be possible?'

‘Of course it would,' Eleanor quickly replied. ‘It may not be
open,
but I have a key. Why don't you and I go along later this morning leaving Arthur and his father a chance for a good chat?'

‘That would be lovely, dear,' replied Charlotte.

Arthur realised that he had hardly been on his own with his father since he had arrived on Saturday. ‘We can sit in here Father. I'd like to hear more about the work you are doing with the Territorials. It sounds really interesting.'

The sun was still shining, although a little more breeze had come up, when Eleanor and Charlotte left the vicarage just before eleven o'clock. The two men chatted on current affairs for a time before Arthur asked how the Territorial Force had started. His father drew himself up in his chair and explained. ‘Just a few politicians realise that whilst we still need imperial forces to maintain the Empire, there is always a possible threat from Europe. So four years ago, the Force was set up to give men a chance to join the army on a part-time basis. The men train at weekends and evenings. In Dorset it all seems to have gone very well.'

‘So what is your role in all this, Father?'

‘Well, some of the men have no idea of what they are taking on when they join us; most don't even have the ability to march properly. Arrangements have to be made to get them fitter, enable them to drill properly and know about weapons and my work is to seek out the right people to train the men and make sure the training is going well. Then there are weekend camps which I've organised in some of the wilder parts of Salisbury Plain much of which is owned by the army.'

Arthur could see his father's growing enthusiasm when he asked, ‘And you get plenty of men volunteering for this?'

‘Certainly,' came the immediate reply. ‘Of course, it's not the same as being a professional soldier, but plenty of young men want to serve their country and do something worthwhile. Our country and the Empire are facing real dangers which seem to escape the prime minister and all his cronies, but we must be ready.'

‘
Well done, Father. Incidentally I see you are wearing your old regimental tie and I noticed Major de Maine from the village with a matching one at church on Sunday. Did you ever come across him? He would be about your age, I imagine.'

‘De Maine, no, the name doesn't mean anything to me,' responded his father, ‘but as he was only a major it would hardly be surprising if I don't remember him, even if our paths did cross. But changing subjects, I wondered whether you still see anything of Eleanor's parents. Not a man I particularly want to know, although I found his wife pleasant enough.'

Arthur knew that his father could never really accept that his son had married the daughter of a butcher; that had been made clear when they met at the wedding. On the contrary, Arthur had always liked Eleanor's parents for their modesty and charm and greatly admired his father-in-law for his depth of learning which, Arthur knew, was all self-taught. It was a quality that he had passed on to his daughter.

‘Oh, yes. We often walk over to Wensfield to join them for lunch,' replied Arthur. ‘But Mr Brown has been saddened by the departure of his good friend, Peter Meadows, who has just left our school. They shared many interests, particularly in the night sky and would often walk the four miles to each other's house on clear nights when there was plenty to see.'

His father came out with a whiplash response, ‘Can't see much interest in that. Only time I wanted to know about the night sky was when we were in remote parts of India and Afghanistan and relied on the stars for night-time guidance.'

Tactfully, Arthur was just about to suggest a walk round the garden, when Eleanor and Charlotte came into the conservatory. ‘It was absolutely wonderful, Arthur. Eleanor and the other volunteers have done a marvellous job. You must all be very pleased with it. I must tell people about it in our village, but now I must finish the packing.'

After a buffet lunch of cold meats and salad, final preparations for departure were made. Sparky was as ever on
time
and cases soon loaded. Farewells were said and Charlotte Windle gave profuse thanks to their hosts, the colonel a rather briefer, ‘Thank you.' All had passed well Arthur was thinking, when his father's final comment came as unexpectedly, as unintentionally close to their stay ending in disaster.

‘I hope the train from Steepleton proves reliable as we need plenty of time for the change-over to Waterloo station. When we were on our way up there was a large number of women across the front of that station waving banners and shouting about that bloody suffragette movement. They all need their arses slapped.'

Arthur looked at Eleanor. Her cheeks had reddened and Arthur thought for a moment she was about to say something. He loved her and admired her all the more for remaining silent. Sparky cracked his whip, without touching the pony, and his parents were driven away.

‘I'm so sorry, darling, for that. My father always expresses his own views without thinking how others might be upset.' He was then surprised to see that Eleanor was smiling and then collapsing into laughter.

‘What is it my love?'

‘I was just thinking of your father trying to slap my arse! He wouldn't live to see another day.' Arthur knew that he certainly would not have wanted to have been in his father's shoes. He put his arms round his still laughing wife and together they went indoors. They had the rest of the afternoon and the whole of the evening to themselves.

E
IGHTEEN

Morning & Afternoon, Monday, 27 May

The children proudly began their parade from the church hall, crossing Bury Way and stepping up the slight bank on to the green. The sun shone and teenagers, parents, friends and other enthusiastic villagers clapped their approval as eight-year-old Rachel Reynolds, smiling broadly in her May Queen dress, led the way.

‘How splendid all the children look,' remarked Jammy Carey to his great friend, Willy Johnson, as the children surged on to the grass which had received the Whitsuntide parade for more years than anyone could remember.

‘Children's day, indeed,' Olivia Atkins said to Pauline and Fred Richards. They were standing under one of the great elms with its new summer foliage providing a welcome shade on this unusually warm morning in late May.

‘And I see,' added Pauline, ‘that many are keeping up with our tradition of wearing their new clothes. They all look splendid and there seem more children than ever.'

Arthur Windle, standing nearby, quietly reflected on this old custom of buying new clothes to wear for Whitsuntide, although he knew that for many Rusfield families this meant that a child was wearing clothes handed down from an older sibling. He turned to Eleanor: ‘We can all be proud of the
children
and their parents who obviously do everything they can to turn them out well dressed for this special day. But looking round it seems a little strange, and certainly sad, that Mrs Cruise isn't here this time. She always brought her little stool along and sat with her back to this very tree. I expect there will be a big number at her funeral tomorrow.'

‘Indeed,' Eleanor replied, ‘Mrs Cooper was saying that the two of them used to straw-plait together when they were both young; taking it in turns as to whose home they worked in and she was really upset at losing her dear friend. She must have been a good age.'

‘When I last called,' replied Arthur, ‘I dared to ask her just that. She told me that she wasn't quite sure, but old Fred Piper told me she was at least seventy-five. So I think we have to settle with that for tomorrow. It will certainly keep Alfred, Fred and Jack Groves busy with the bells in the morning; hopefully all three can manage to get away from work.'

Even as they were talking about one of the oldest Rusfield inhabitants, the children moved into a well-rehearsed, large group with the youngest helped by Rita Small. On their teacher's signal they sang the first of three songs. After the clapping from all sides of the green, some younger children danced around the maypole which Fred and Abraham Richards had erected earlier in the morning. As soon as that finished a few novelty races were organised by Mr David Watts, the new master at the school.

Just as the church bell sounded out its twelve peals, parents joined their children telling them how well they had sung, danced and raced. Picnic baskets were opened up and families enjoyed the beautiful day. Willy Johnson drew Jammy Carey apart. ‘That was really good. It doesn't seem long since we were all parading on to the green for Whitsuntide. Do you remember?' Jammy nodded. ‘Long time since you've been in the village, Jammy. Been busy?'

‘I can't believe it was Easter the last time I was home:
nearly
two months ago. Busy, you ask. You're right,' replied the muscular Jammy. ‘The number of houses we're putting up near Ilford is amazing; it never seems to stop. Anyway, how are you Willy, and the rest of our mates?'

He knew by the seriousness of Willy's face that something was not quite right and listened in amazement as Willy told him about their friend Racer's problem with being instructed to lose his next race.

‘That's awful,' he replied. ‘Poor old Racer. Do the others know?' Willy went on to say how they had heard from Racer about the threat when they met before the farm party.

‘Yes, I'm sorry I couldn't manage it. Anyway, I'm sure we can sort things out. When is his next race?'

‘It's towards the end of June, Saturday the twenty-second. It's a really big race, the most important one he's been in so far. It can't be a great distance from where you're working, at the Crystal Palace. He's excited about it and says there are some really good runners. There's no way he will do anything other than try to win, whatever anyone says or does. But what can we do?'

As one or two families packed the few remains of their picnics, Willy and Jammy continued talking. After prolonged exchanges they agreed the best way to overcome the threat to Racer.

‘So when are you off back to Ilford?' Willy asked.

‘Early, I need to catch the seven-fifteen from Steepleton. In fact, I really ought to go for the six-forty. What you've told me Willy, is a worry, but I'm sure what we've planned will put it right. You'll tell the others what we've agreed, won't you? I probably won't be able to get home before the race, but if anything unexpected crops up I can always write you a note.'

‘Yes, I'll explain everything to the others,' promised his ever-reliable friend.

‘Anything else been happening? How's your family, Willy?'

‘Well, I'm worried, and I know mum is too, about Ruby.'

‘
Ruby? But what's wrong? Is she unwell or something? She's always such a sweet girl.'

‘Well,' replied a sombre-faced Willy, ‘I know she finds things quite difficult at times, but she's really being quite odd about some things recently.'

‘What kind of things?' asked Jammy, sympathetic as always.

‘Well, she always used to like working up at the manor, but for the past couple of months she seems to have become frightened of things. Last week she asked me if I could help her find work somewhere else. I think some of the other girls may be bullying and offloading some of their work on her. I will just have to keep a close eye on things and maybe speak with Florrie and Elsie. But don't worry, I'll sort things out.'

They parted, both pondering over the problems discussed but, as ever, delighted to have met and spent time together.

N
INETEEN

Morning & Afternoon, Tuesday, 28 May

‘Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight,' counted Fred Richards, smiling encouragement but becoming increasingly worried by the puffing from the heavily-bearded Jack Groves. ‘We're nearly there.' At seventy-five they stopped, with even the rugged Fred Richards dropping his head for a moment and catching his breath. Of the six bells just three had been rung to mark the departure of Rose Cruise, in unison with no attempted change ringing. Fred, as the most experienced of the three, had rung the treble; Alfred Reynolds, number three bell; and Jack Groves, the tenor. The trio each let go of their woollen sally and allowed the ropes to hang free.

‘I don't know who thought of it, but it's a great idea ringing the funeral bell once for every year of the person's life and Mrs Cruise was a dear lady. I know I shouldn't say it, but hopefully not too many people will live far beyond her age.' The younger two men smiled at Jack's words.

In the stone-walled ringing chamber, the men took their jackets from the nearby coat hooks and from the cold and cheerless chamber in the tower these close friends carefully descended the stone steps, each worn in the centre by centuries of bell-ringers. The three exited from the tower by the narrow, stud-encrusted wooden door and went round to the porch
through
which they joined the congregation for the funeral of one of Rusfield's oldest inhabitants. Because of her age, Rose Cruise was one who had given permanency to the community and it would seem strange passing her cottage without seeing her sitting in the doorway. There, on her high-backed chair, holding under her left armpit a bundle of dampened straw from which she would pull out the individual lengths, moistening them with her tongue to keep them pliable and then plaiting them into the required size. She had borne the unpleasant and often painful scarring at the right side of her mouth, the trademark of most straw-plaiters. She was always dressed in black, the common colour for most of Rusfield's older ladies. Protecting her dress she had a dark blue cover over her lap against which the straws showed up well. Only the oldest inhabitants could recall her husband who had died in a farming accident nearly half a century earlier.