Regret to Inform You... (9 page)

Albert Jones had been delighted when he successfully bargained with his boss at the brewery that by working an extra Saturday afternoon he could store up a free half-day for a later occasion. At first Albert had thought the future afternoon off could be for watching a cricket match in Canchester, but when Racer mentioned the farm party he had gained permission to use it for this Wednesday afternoon. Leaving Bifields at one o'clock, he had caught the quarter to two train from Branton and by alternating between a fast walk and a long-striding trot had got home in well under an hour.

Albert and his family lived in Wood Lane, a short distance from the pond on the way to Spinney Farm. He did not enjoy the work at the brewery, but was grateful for it; almost the sole income for the family of seven. His feelings towards the brewery had taken an upward turn when his mother told him that the brewery boss had promised that some thought would be given towards compensation for his disabled father, but still no letter had arrived. His mother earned little more than a pittance with her straw-plaiting and irregular help at Spinney Farm. She was more than willing to work all hours of day or night, but little work was available. Then there were Albert's four young siblings to support: George, Henrietta, William and Florence.

The back door was open as his father had slipped down to the reading room to do a little tidying. His family admired
him
for always doing his best in domestic and voluntary village work in spite of the pain that still emanated from his arm stump. As he entered the cottage, Albert ducked; with his height of over six feet he had long grown accustomed to the low lintels and ceilings in the cottage. He, William and George used one room upstairs, his sisters sharing with his parents. Albert was liked by all for his ever-happy nature; he thought of himself as fortunate when he heard of so many sad life stories, but he harboured various ambitions. Maybe, when his younger siblings were old enough to go to work, he might follow the older lads who had set off to Canada. They had arrived there some months earlier and letters home had spoken of good work opportunities. He had even talked this over with his close cousins, Racer and Willy Johnson, but had sworn them to secrecy. It would all be at least seven years away since George, the youngest of his brothers, was still only six.

He went upstairs, changed into older clothes, collected an axe and a large sack from the shed he had recently constructed next to the privy at the end of the garden, crossed Wood Lane and took the narrow path to the wood a quarter of a mile away. There had been a lot of tree damage during the violent storm in February and he had already piled a good store of logs into the new shed. He took a smaller track, probably caused by a deer, and was soon at the fallen tree. As his considerable strength swung the axe, his mind turned towards the evening. The only sounds apart from the axe blows were the occasional sound of a friendly robin and the petulant squawk of a blackbird annoyed at the disturbance. Having chopped all the logs he would be able to carry in the sack, he set off back home. His thoughts now turned to getting ready for meeting up with his mates in The George and then the party up at Spinney Farm. He wondered which of the girls would be there, especially Doris Groves about whom he had heard several promising things.

E
LEVEN

Evening, Wednesday, 3 April

At half past six Willy, Jack, Boney, Racer and Fred were nestled down in The George. ‘Well, we are a smart looking lot,' laughed Willy as they gathered close to the fire for a little light and warmth. ‘It should be an enjoyable evening.' As he was saying this, he noticed that Racer's normally cheerful face was wearing a troubled look. Ever quick to pick up nuances, he asked, ‘How are things with you, Racer?'

Eyes turned to their friend whose fair hair and handsome looks had little changed since they had all been at school together, although his physique was now strongly muscled and bronzed. ‘Well, I'm not sure where to start, but I've got something to tell you all. It's quite difficult really, but when I told Jack he persuaded me to tell you. He said it would remain a secret between us.'

The others nodded agreement, their interest immediate. A faint blush had come to Racer's face and he looked at Jack whose broad, friendly face signified support and encouragement. Thinking they were going to hear about Racer's plans for his season's running, their faces took on worried looks as he went on to tell them about the threat that had been made to him.

‘You mean,' Boney said slowly and deliberately, ‘that this man actually threatened you if you dared to win. Who is this wretch?'

‘
I've only heard him called Froggy, but I've seen him at several race meetings.'

‘A strange name,' chipped in Willy. ‘I'd call him something much stronger. So what does he look like?'

Racer screwed up his eyes as he thought for a moment. ‘I would say he's about forty, medium height and slim. His face is pockmarked and he's balding.'

Together they talked this through, agreeing that Willy would put the absent Jammy Carey in the picture. Suddenly, realising the time had come for them to set out on the twenty-minute walk to Spinney Farm, Willy announced: ‘All right then, we've agreed. I'm sure we can sort things out for Racer. Look, I've got to pick up Ruby, so I'll run ahead, collect her and catch you up.'

He was as good as his word and accompanied by the excited Ruby, soon caught them up. Racer had already thanked the others for their support and now, outside of Ruby's hearing, added his appreciation to Willy. It was a mild evening, the starlit sky promising a fine night. As the group turned the pond corner, Racer said: ‘Some good news, lads. The vicar was talking to my father after last Sunday's service saying that someone, he wouldn't say who, has donated a set of cricket stumps, three bats and some other gear. You remember Mr Mansfield said we could use his lower meadow for playing, so it looks good. We'll all play, won't we?' he added, turning to the others.

‘Of course,' replied Boney. ‘It's time we had a Rusfield Cricket Club. So when do you think we can have a match?'

‘Well, how about trying to get one against Wensfield over the August Bank Holiday? I'm sure we could get a good team together. You would be our star batsman, Boney,' he suggested. ‘I remember you whacking the ball and breaking a school window!' The others laughed and talk was light-hearted as they strolled along Wood Lane, before turning into the broad track leading to the farm.

Other
villagers were in front of them as they approached the well-lit barn, with more following. There was much chatting and laughter as they went in. ‘It looks lovely,' announced a very happy Ruby. ‘Look at all the bunting and decorations: and what a lot of people here.'

The barn certainly looked splendid for this joyfully anticipated occasion with Mr and Mrs Mansfield greeting all comers; everyone agreeing that it was delightful to be joined by friends from the manor and Jackson's farms. All had made great efforts to dress well. The small band was already playing; as the new arrivals came in it was, “The Boy I Love is Up in the Gallery”. Sammy Hatfield on accordion and Bernie Thomas with fiddle had been joined by young Peter Jackson on his flute. The trio was gaily dressed for the occasion with brightly-coloured hats, each sporting a large feather. Jack Mansfield was telling his wife: ‘I don't think anything like this has taken place in here before, old though the barn may be.'

Willy suddenly felt a sharp tug on his sleeve. ‘Ruby love, what's the matter?' he asked his sister. ‘What is it?'

‘Willy, he's here. I was told he wasn't coming. I want to go home.'

‘Who, Ruby? Who do you mean?'

‘Master Lionel,' looking in the direction of the de Maine family group, at the same time trying to hide behind her brother.

‘Well, what does it matter, Ruby?' He remembered how she had asked a few days previously when Lionel de Maine would be home from Cambridge. He realised that Ruby's feeling towards Lionel must be stronger than he had thought then and she obviously could not cope with the occasion. ‘But Ruby, you can stay with us. You can't go home now and anyway we'll have a lot of fun here. I'll look after you. I promise.' He gently kissed the top of her head, but felt the grasp on his arm tighten. ‘Look, there's Doris and Grace over there. Let's go over and see how they are.' He sensed that Ruby relaxed a little as they
walked
across the crowded floor to the two girls serving cakes and sandwiches. They all exchanged pleasantries with news of family and friends; this was just one of many conversations taking place where virtually all knew everyone else.

After time for everyone to have a drink, Jack Mansfield stepped on to the stage, smiled broadly and clapped his hands. A few guests clearly did not hear the first clapping of hands, but a large number of quietening hushes brought everyone to order, Willy noticing that Lionel was into at least his third ale.

‘Good friends, my wife and I are greatly pleased to see you all. Thank you for joining in this celebration. I am particularly pleased to welcome Mrs and Major de Maine and Mrs and Mr Jackson. Our three farming estates have come together this evening so we can thank everyone for all the hard work you do.'

There were immediate and clearly sincere nods from the other two landowners, with a ‘hear, hear' from Fred Jackson.

‘We want it to be a really good evening with everybody enjoying themselves. We're very fortunate to have lots of entertainment planned and opportunities for joining in some singing and dancing. Do go over to the bar at any time: but let's now get on with the fun. Our compère this evening is,' turning to his farming friend in the front row, ‘Mr Jackson. Over to you.' All joined in hearty applause as the tubby, ebullient farmer stepped on to the stage; he was to surprise the audience with his new role.

‘My dear friends,' started the smiling Fred Jackson, dressed in a heavily-striped suit with a yellow waistcoat attempting to keep his paunch in place, ‘we are very fortunate that Miss Small is kindly playing for us, just as we thank our extremely well-dressed trio of musicians, Sammy Hatfield, Bernie Thomas and my own son Peter on his flute. Let me thank the four strong men who somehow managed to bring the piano down from Mrs Mansfield's drawing room. She assures me that it's not her best one – or at least, isn't now! We are going
to
start with some songs for everyone; you know the songs; our musicians will play them and so let's sing.'

Rita Small, now sitting at the piano smiled, nodded at Sammy Hatfield the leader of the trio, and struck up the introduction. By the fourth note, all knew the tune and were ready as Fred Jackson, with raised arm, brought in everyone to “Daisy, Daisy”. The singing was hearty and many started to sway in time to the song. Some of the verses were not so well known, but the chorus was joyfully repeated several times. “Any Old Iron”, “Boiled Beef and Carrots” and “Daddy Wouldn't Buy Me a Bow-wow” all followed in like vein. Fred Jackson's conducting became increasingly frenzied as he both led and caught the spirit of the gathering. All joined in the applause, repeated when the conductor gave his thanks to the four musicians. They all beamed, the trio doffing their colourful hats.

‘I would particularly thank the leading singers whose excellent voices just led us so well. We will be hearing two of them later on. But let's turn to the first of three solo acts: individual performances of brilliance. First, let me introduce someone you all know who has kindly carried his musical saw all the way from Sandy Lane to play for us. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Robert Berry.'

It was an exaggeration to say that all knew this lightly-bearded and balding man who was only occasionally seen outside his garden which he tended with loving care. His crop of vegetables was always something to behold, but Jack Atkins who lived nearby had often thought that he looked a sad man, an appearance promoted by his downward-curving, straggly moustache. One idiosyncrasy that most villagers knew of Robert Berry was that he always had a Union Jack, now rather faded, flying in his garden. Village gossip was that he had once been in the army, but being over forty when he moved to the village no one was sure. He was not a man who talked about himself, indeed about much at all.

He
came on to the platform, on which a stool had been placed, carrying the longest saw that even local woodcutter, Dan Reynolds, had ever seen. He gave a rueful smile, sat down and tightly gripped the saw between his knees with the serrated edge facing the now curious audience. In his right hand he held a long bow and with his extended left hand the saw handle, curving the blade into an s-bend. In an unexpectedly confident voice he announced that he was going to play part of Handel's
Largo
; the result was as unexpected as it was magical. By altering the bend in the saw he expertly changed the pitch and, to Rita Small's knowledgeable ear, he added vibrato by causing the hand holding the saw end to tremble. A great burst of applause rang out as he played the final note and in answer to robust shouts of ‘more', he shuffled his position a little and, without announcing the title, played “Abide With Me”. This time there was a standing ovation and Robert Berry smiled, left the stage, probably not to be seen again outside his garden for a long time.

‘The next item,' announced by compère Fred Jackson, ‘will astound all by its brilliance.' Young Tommy Bruce came on to some ribald cheers from his contemporaries and from a bucket he took three balls and started juggling. Very cleverly he kept the balls aloft whilst reaching into the bucket for a fourth. This was successful, but trying to gather a fifth all seemed to go awry and ended with a scattering of coloured balls. However, the audience was in a mood that whether success or failure came about, a round of applause followed. This encouraged Tommy to give a much more successful demonstration using a bowler hat, a walking stick and three lightweight hammers.