Regret to Inform You... (19 page)

The sun continued to spread its warmth over the conversations about the great outing the next day.

T
WENTY-FIVE

Morning & Afternoon, Monday, 5 August

‘It feels like Moses leading the children of Israel to the Promised Land,' Eleanor laughingly remarked to Olivia Atkins as they walked along the road out of Rusfield on a gorgeous summer morning.

‘Except,' smiled Olivia, ‘that Abraham's friends are leading the way for the charabanc in Steepleton. The Promised Land must be Stamford Bridge.'

At the front, led by the quick striding Willy Johnson, were Albert Jones, James Carey and Fred Smith. They were slightly outnumbered by the young lasses who were with them: Willy's sister Ruby, Doris and Elsie Groves, Judith Edwards and Grace Reynolds who could hardly believe that her new sweetheart, Abraham, was the centre of everyone's thoughts. Boney and Doris were walking hand in hand.

The sixty who had set out from near the pond were well strung out. Sammy Hatfield and Bernie Thomas along with Robert Berry had accepted the alternative mode of transport to Steepleton as Sparky Carey, as usual, had come up trumps with a pony and trap. Old Peter Groves had turned his hand from general worker at the de Maines to driving the farm's enthusiastic Gallop, a willing seven-year-old driving pony which was thriving in the excitement. The major and his wife
had
set off with Peter, along with young Tommy Bruce who had sprained an ankle the previous day, but was determined not to miss his fellow worker's great day.

Willy had been delighted to see that Ruby and his good friend Fred were walking together. ‘But Fred,' remarked Ruby, ‘you seem to be worried about something. Is it your Gran? I know she is really poorly.'

‘It's partly that,' responded the ever pale-faced Fred, ‘but there's one or two other things as well. I don't want to spoil this special day so let's talk about you, Ruby.'

‘Well, it's been much nicer at the manor since Lionel went off. No one seems to like him, not even his parents very much.' She paused. ‘Oh, Miss Hazlett and the Reverend Gregg. I didn't see you catching up with us.' She turned to Betty Hazlett, the village nurse, and to the Methodist minister, both of whom had been around long enough for most villagers to get to know them. Betty had never been so happy; the manse occupant finding it harder to settle in, but both had found themselves caught up in the village excitement and joined the London pilgrimage.

‘I didn't know you were coming up to London with us,' continued Ruby.

The squat, orderly, middle-aged and ever-optimistic nurse smiled. ‘Well, truth to tell I just couldn't miss out on such an occasion. It's all very exciting.' Turning to Ruby she asked: ‘Do you often walk to Steepleton?'

‘Not very often, but sometimes if I need something special, like at Christmas and then…' She stopped in mid-sentence and stride. She almost bounced in the air pointing over to her left and calling out: ‘Look over there everyone. Willy, come quickly.' She excitedly called out to her brother who was just a few yards ahead.

‘What on earth is it, Ruby?' As she began to speak he followed her pointing hand and immediately saw it. ‘Well done, Ruby. You're right, it is a buzzard.' In a moment their
friends
and others were grouped round. ‘Look,' pointed out Willy. ‘Look near that short post on the other side of the field and you'll see the brown bird sitting on a tree stump. Can you see its pale necklace of feathers catching the sunlight?' Everyone looked and gradually all saw it.

‘It's beautiful,' agreed Eleanor, whose group had now arrived, first wondering what the excitement had been about. ‘Well done, Ruby. Thank you.'

Blushing from the praise being heaped on her, Ruby responded: ‘Well, I think it's a lucky sign and means the day is going to be even better.'

At that moment there were calls of “move over” and the two pony-drawn traps approached from behind. Both vehicles pulled up and conversations broke out between those in the carriages and those on foot. It must have been the movement of the two vehicles that caused the buzzard to take off, magnificently flying across the barley field towards them before veering to its left, then wheeling above the trees and disappearing beyond the nearby wood. Some thirty minutes later, everyone was relieved to see the two brown and orange charabancs waiting outside Pratchetts. There were cheers and a hastening pace became evident.

Slight, but good-natured jostling to sit with particular friends ensued, but it did not take long for everyone to find a seat on one or other of the charabancs. The long vehicles, with highly polished chrome round their extensive bonnets, had been well prepared for the occasion. Access into the vehicles was easy as each row of wooden seats had its own side door, although some villagers had to squeeze up to fit everyone in. ‘Makes it all the more friendly,' Nurse Hazlett remarked to Violet Rushton; they had become good friends which had helped the haberdashery owner overcome her grief at the loss of her mother.

Straw hats and bonnets were quite plentiful although flat caps were most in evidence. Sitting behind Jack Mansfield
who
was wearing a straw hat, Rita Small wondered if it had been made from straw plaited in Rusfield. ‘Mind you,' she whispered to her teaching colleague, Priscilla Picton, ‘I prefer my bonnet which at least won't blow off.' Union Jacks and some home-made banners appeared among passengers and Albert Jones had a large one which he needed help to display: “
Come on Racer; all Rusfield is running with you
”.

At the rear of the first vehicle Ruby and Fred were engrossed in conversation as were Doris and Boney. Eleanor, a few rows in front, turned to Arthur and remarked: ‘I see that romance is flourishing in this fine weather. It's lovely to see the young people together.' Arthur could not think of a suitable reply and just smiled. Not for the first time that morning, he wished he had listened to her advice more carefully about what he should wear; it was already warmer than he had expected.

Conversation and scenery vied for the travellers' interest, the former generally winning. After passing close to Colchester, Sammy Hatfield remarked that a stop would be in order. This was a view shared by a growing number, a need not felt by the younger passengers, but one which reached Jack Mansfield. He moved forward and had a whispered conversation with Fred Jackson. It was agreed they stop at Braintree where Charlie Border, the driver, knew there were some public lavatories. ‘If it had just been for us lads we could have stopped near any one of the trees or hedges,' Sammy remarked to Bernie Thomas, ‘but it's nice having some of the lasses aboard.' He noticed that his friend, too, had cast an eye in the direction of Doris and Grace.

Jack Mansfield and Abraham had thought Braintree busy with its Saturday market when they had been held up six weeks previously, but it was nothing compared to the scene that greeted them now. Not only was there a market, but accompanying fair stalls spread down the main street.

Charlie Border pulled to a halt, his colleague, Cyril Hemsley, following suit, just before the main market stall area.
He
spoke in a booming voice: ‘It's best if those who need to, get out now. You'll find the public lavatories in the main square, about a hundred yards on. Then, if you continue straight on you'll find both coaches waiting just beyond the square. We'll meet up in twenty minutes.' He leapt out and trotted to the other charabanc to make a similar announcement.

Doors of both charabancs opened and passengers spilled out. There was a general movement forward, although it was noticeable that some moved on more quickly than others. Frederick Abrahams smiled at his wife saying, ‘I would think everyone for miles around now knows why we're stopping. Not, perhaps, the most subtle announcement.' It was not long before all were plunged into the midst of a great variety of market and fair stalls.

Fred found Willy by his side. The well-set and kindly Willy touched his friend on the elbow and in a gentle voice said to Fred: ‘Forgive me for mentioning it, but Ruby said that you were worried about something. Is it something you want to talk over? With all this crowd and noise no one else will be able to hear us.'

Willy, above all his friends, was the one for whom Fred had the greatest respect. His mind flashed back to times at school, and often since, when Willy had talked things through with him, advised him and even saved him from unintended trouble spots. ‘Thank you, Willy, it might help.' They walked on quietly for a few paces. ‘You see I had quite an argument with mother last evening. I know she gets tired, but what she said was really too much. I hate arguments,' added the gentle Fred.

Willy's mind turned to the amiable and hard-working Liz Smith, wondering what she could have said that had caused an argument between normally loving mother and son; it must have been something exceptional.

‘It's a bit difficult to explain really,' Fred said, his cheeks colouring up a little. ‘As you know, except for me, mother and
gran
have always been on their own. I think I have an Auntie Mary, my mum's sister, but I've never met her and I don't even know where she lives. I know mum and gran moved from London before I was born, but no one ever mentions anything about my dad. Well, some time ago I did ask mother and she just smiled and let it pass. I've pressed her more, even asked gran, but she just went quiet. The most I ever got was: “Well, that can wait until you're a bit older.” As I've got older I've really wanted to know. You see, I've always remembered a story that Miss Picton told us at school.'

Willy thought he would gently interrupt. ‘She was a great storyteller, but which story do you mean, Fred?'

‘Well, it was one she told us about a family that lived in a wood and how they woke up one morning to find a baby on their doorstep. It was supposed to have been left by a fairy and it all ended happily, but I think I may have been left on my mother's doorstep when she lived in London and she thinks it better that I don't know, because that would mean she isn't really my mother. But I love her very much, and gran too; I just want to know the truth, Willy.'

After a few minutes Willy, as deep thinking as he was tactful and kind, spoke: ‘Fred, I don't know, but I do understand why you want to know about your father. It's hard for me to say anything, but I can only suggest you tell your mother how much you love her, that you don't want to quarrel, but you hope she will tell you about your father – one day. Do you remember Copper?'

‘I do, he was about the best full back the school team ever had. Poor old Copper!'

‘That's right,' agreed Willy. ‘He had a mother and father who were always knocking him about, arguing with each other. I remember how Copper and his little sister, Louise, often came to school in tears and sometimes came round to our house late in the evening because their parents were in The Queens Head. They were awful to Copper, no wonder he
went
off to London as soon as he left school. What I do know is that Copper and Louise had no one to love them, except each other.'

He found Fred gently nodding. ‘I suppose if you look at it like that I'm lucky, at least compared to poor Copper. Thanks Willy. I knew you would help.'

By now they had moved beyond the main crowds and could see the two charabancs waiting. Some were already clambering aboard and in five minutes all were ready to move on. Passengers were drawn more away from conversations as they came to the built-up areas showing signs to Romford, Ilford and Leyton; on through part of the city of London where the road went past magnificent buildings, then squalid streets of desperately poor homes. The juxtaposition of wealth and poverty caused Eleanor to turn to Arthur, gently raise her eyebrows and sigh. Arthur knew her thoughts and could only agree about such an unequal society. Into the old King's Road with its elegant shops, an open area of grass and trees which had survived the general rush to build, and then a first sight of Stamford Bridge. ‘Is this impressive stadium where Abraham is really going to race?' Grace wondered.

T
WENTY-SIX

Monday, 5 August

As Abraham and Jack entered the turning off Kings Road and saw the high wall carrying a large sign announcing “Stamford Bridge Stadium”, the young athlete felt his anxiety twisting into a tight knot in his stomach. Jack's presence was a tremendous support, his natural optimism and sense of humour proving a timely antidote to Abraham's anxiety.

It had been a great help staying in Ealing with his running friend, James Bagshott, who had told Abraham that his own running days were past. ‘Abraham, you've got huge potential and you're so young. You must do everything you can to succeed on the track.'

James lived in a large house in Blondin Avenue where his parents, Judith and Grenville Bagshott, were delighted to host the two Rusfield men. The whole family which included Patricia, James' sister, had decided that they would go to watch the athletics. Jack was delighted to know that eighteen-year-old Patricia would be there; she was certainly a very pretty auburn-haired young lady.

The journey from Rusfield had taken nearly three hours, as trains on a Sunday were not plentiful, but it had been fun. Then a short walk took them to the row of substantial late-Victorian semi-detached houses. Having settled into a high-
ceilinged
upstairs bedroom, Abraham and Jack joined the family for a most pleasant evening meal. Talk, not surprisingly, was much about the forthcoming race, but when she noticed Abraham's rather tense look, Judith Bagshott lightly kicked her husband's ankle and diverted the conversation.

‘I don't expect you know why this is called Blondin Avenue do you?' she asked.

Both Rusfield lads shook their heads although a smile came on to Jack's face. ‘Well, no I don't, but I do remember once reading a book about great feats and there was a man called Blondin. Didn't he walk across Niagara Falls?'