Tableland (14 page)

Crossword almost completed last night. Took it to the office today as P.H. wanted to see the contributions before sending them off first thing tomorrow morning. ‘This is a very novel idea,' he remarked, studying it closely, ‘but why have you spelt walnut with two Ls?'

With having to start my puzzle again from scratch, it was not ready this morning to hand in.

‘Very bad luck, Porter – but don't be discouraged. It was a very interesting idea and as soon as you finish it, we'll send it off,' he said but somehow the impetus has gone. Perhaps I'll get round to it again one of these days.

The climbing roses round my arbour are doing well. No buds as yet but the leaves look healthy enough. Steve recommends a rose manure by name of Grokwik. ‘Our firm handles their account,' he said, ‘and I sometimes get free samples.' Thought for a minute he was going to offer me one but nothing transpired. Julie out to tennis this evening – she seems to be getting quite keen.

Visited O'Hooligan today. The neo-Georgian houses seem to be selling quite well and phase two of ten more houses is to start soon. Hopeful of good order for roof trusses. ‘They're selling like hot cakes at the moment,' O'Hooligan shouted over the noise of his transistor radio, ‘and it's all due to this new American idea at the show house. Have you been in there?'

‘No, but I'd like to,' I said. ‘Is it open the whole of the weekend? My wife would be interested to see it.'

‘Yes, come any time. There'll be someone in the site office with a key over the weekend.'

Over the usual brew of almost black tea and while half listening to the commentary of a flat race, he told me a very good joke about a priest, the Leaning Tower of Pisa and a bulldog. Hope I can remember it word for word as it might go down rather well tomorrow evening.

What with the possible roof truss order and the gourmet dinner to look forward to, felt in an especially good mood this evening, which was not dispelled even when Trev suddenly said ‘I think you're going bald, Dad.'

Am writing this entry on Saturday due to the fact that we didn't return home from our function until the early hours.

We all assembled in good spirits in the car park at the Mucky Duck and I found I knew many of the chaps by sight – among the group being greeted by Ken Dugeon were Alan Uppe, Neville Price-Potter, Ron Spicer and Keith Goodchap.

Had been slightly worried as to the words on the invitation – Dress: Informal – and, after much deliberation, decided on my grey checked suit and “launderette pink” shirt, and was relieved to see I was not overdressed.

‘So it's to be a fish and chips supper on a coach then, is it, Ken?' Steve joked as we joined them.

‘How did you guess?' replied Ken. ‘Seriously though, I think you're going to enjoy this evening, I've organised a first-class speaker – but no more for the present; my lips are sealed.'

The coach was twenty minutes late and we could all see that Ken was getting anxious. Some vanished into the Mucky Duck. A cheer went up as it came round the corner and the buzz of conversation, which had been flagging somewhat, started up again. Steve was sent to tell the others, some of whom, by this time, had become involved in a game of darts.

Found myself sitting next to one Rodney Blade, a chartered surveyor, as we drove out of Weston. ‘You don't mind if I smoke, do you?' he asked and, not bothering to wait for a reply, lit up. ‘Where do you live?' he asked, favouring me with a dazzling smile, which vanished immediately as I said, ‘Springcroft Meadow.'

‘How about you?' I enquired politely.

‘Barton Wood. We've converted an old barn.'

‘That's a pretty village. We've been to church there,' I said chattily.

‘The organ's in the wrong place,' he remarked, drawing heavily on his cigarette – I noticed he never offered me one. He looked out of the window and there was a silence.

Felt I had to say something to keep the chat going, ‘I've come as Steve Downe's guest. Are you someone's guest or are you a fully- fledged Wheeler?'

‘For my sins,' he said, continuing to gaze out of the window.

‘Have you any idea where we're going this evening?' I persevered.

‘Somewhere ghastly I expect,' and he gave a short laugh.

I gave up after that and turned my attention to Alan and Steve, who were sitting behind swapping Irish jokes.

At about nine o'clock, we arrived at the small market town of Nantford and the coach dropped us off in a deserted street by a tiny narrow, timbered house which leaned over the pavement and had a sign over the door saying “Bistro de Tante Fannie”.

Couldn't imagine how we were all going to fit into the place but Ken led the way in confidently up the creaking stairs and under oak beams, saying, ‘This way to the function rooms.' And, sure enough, at the back of the building a new extension had been added. We saw a large room ahead lit by candles in wine bottles, which had been placed on a long table covered with a red and white checked cloth.

Posters of France covered the walls and when a concertina from nowhere suddenly started playing “Under the Bridges of Paris”, we all started to feel in a continental mood.

Maurice Chevalier accents were much in evidence and a touch of the Sacha Distels was provided by Steve.

Ken had vanished. There was a small bar for our own use in one corner and we were in the middle of placing our orders with a barmaid, who resembled an elderly Apache dancer, when he returned, followed by a tall stooping gent wearing a monocle and clutching a large whisky.

‘This, gentlemen, is George Ferris, who we are lucky to have here this evening. George will be telling us of his years as a connoisseur of wine – but more of that later. I see the first course is arriving – bon appetite.'

I was ready to eat anything by this time and the French onion soup slipped down very easily. The jokes flew fast and furious as we ate and drank, the noise being so uproarious at one stage that the waiter had to ask us to be a little quieter as the Nantford Psychic Society were in the adjoining room having their annual dinner. ‘They usually wind up their celebration with a séance,' he said. This brought more laughter and thumps and bangs on the table.

While we were attacking our “Veal Tante Fannie”, Rodney scraped back his chair and vanished from the room, returning a few minutes later and sat, not touching his food, with an enigmatic expression on his face. We'd almost finished our meal when a white-coated waiter arrived with a plate of smoked salmon sandwiches, which he placed ceremoniously in front of Rodney. What a cool nerve the fellow has. This did not go unnoticed by Ken.

George Ferris was also having trouble with his food and helped down what little he ate with double whiskies. Now, I may not know much about connoisseurs of wine, but I have heard that drinking too much spirit ruins the palette and I could see that Ken was thinking much the same thing.

After the loyal toast and a toast to “the Big Wheel”, Ken banged on the table. ‘Silence! I think I'm speaking for all of us when I say how very much I appreciate George Ferris' presence here among us this evening. He is well known in these parts and I'm sure we are all going to enjoy a witty and informative talk on wine.'

We all gave an appreciative clap and settled back for an entertaining discourse.

Four minutes later, it was all over. I don't think any of us could honestly say that we had learnt a thing. George Ferris sat down heavily and finished his drink.

‘Now, come on – how about a few questions?' Ken looked round wildly. Steve asked something – I can't remember what – and we all looked expectantly at George, who said, ‘I haven't a clue, dear chap; and no more questions, if you please.' He arose and lurched unsteadily towards the adjoining room. Someone tried to stop him but it was too late and the door closed behind him.

‘Well now, what about one for the road?' asked Ken a shade desperately, while Keith quickly started to sing “Mademoiselle from Armentieres”, which we all joined in with great gusto.

A tankard was passed round and into it was put the money for our evening's jollification. Was getting my £5 note out when I caught Steve's eye.

‘It's alright. I've got the money for both of us here,' he said. Was about to thank him profusely when he continued, ‘You can pay me back later.'

A loud revving noise outside told us that our coach had arrived.

‘I'm not sitting anywhere near the door after that business about the cork screw last year,' Rodney announced with a dark look. This brought a laugh from the others.

‘He has to be careful about his position, he's trying for a seat on the council,' Steve muttered.

Sat next to Ken on the journey home. ‘A very good evening had by all,' I said to him.

‘Glad you were able to come aboard, so to speak.' He was looking more relaxed now.

‘Where did you get hold of old George?' Steve shouted to him.

‘A friend of mine, name of Diplock, mentioned him, said he was very interested in drink,' he replied.

Woke late this morning. Julie claimed that I snored all night. Was intending to get down to some serious gardening this afternoon but it was altogether too hot. Trev went to the swimming baths and Julie settled herself by the wattle fence in the sun lounger and covered herself with sun tan oil. ‘Must work up a tan before our holiday,' she said, as, in fact, she says each year optimistically. It always annoys her that I can achieve a splendid tan with no effort at all, whereas, despite hours in the sun, Julie's pale complexion alters not at all.

I said nothing and dozed for half an hour in the deckchair to the sounds of other people's lawn mowers and the Butts entertaining Diane's boyfriend in the garden. Their conversation was quite interesting and it was with reluctance that I roused myself to go and settle my money matters with Steve. Must admit that I was eager to see how his barbecue was getting on too.

‘Oh thanks,' Steve said as I handed him my fiver. ‘How did you enjoy the evening?'

‘Very much,' I replied. ‘By the way, I noticed two or three of the chaps were wearing badges with F.W. on last night – what are they in aid of?'

‘Those are Free Wheeler badges, given to past presidents of the Round Wheel. They get one of those and an inscribed tankard when they have completed their year of office. In due course, Ken will receive his – rather an honour really.'

‘Yes, indeed,' I said. ‘How does one get to be a member of the Round Wheel?' (I came right out with it – decided not to beat about the bush any longer.)

‘Well, of course, you have to be proposed and seconded by members and it is a rule never to have more than two of the same trade or profession in the Wheel at any one time.'

This was fairly promising. I didn't remember anyone else I'd met being in the timber trade, although I could be mistaken.

‘We have to see “how the face fits”, as it were, so prospective members usually come to two or three of our functions and, all things being equal, they are formally asked if they would like to join. The A.G.M. is in December, when new names are considered; I suppose I could put a word in for you.'

I felt quite overcome with gratitude, and when Steve suggested that I help with the annual Wheelers' It's A Knockout at the end of August, I said, ‘Anything I can do to help, feel free to ask.' And I meant it most sincerely.

Another hot, sunny day. Julie was all for dozing in the garden again after lunch but I managed to persuade her to come and see the show house which O'Hooligan had mentioned, in which our hardwood handrails and window boards have been incorporated.

‘It had better be something special,' she muttered, putting away her sun tan oil.

It was very hot in the car, even with the windows open, and I switched on the car radio to distract Julie, who was still muttering. It was one of those continuous “pop” programmes and a disc jockey with a fake American accent was doing his chat at breakneck speed. Julie and I looked at each other as he suddenly said something like, ‘And now folks here is that up and coming new group The Dregs with their great number “Cow Eats Thistle”.'

‘It sounded as if he said The Dregs,' I said, ‘but it couldn't be.'

‘I thought he said that too, but he was going so fast I couldn't be sure,' Julie said.

‘We must have been imagining things.' We listened to the record but, not knowing The Dregs' “sound”, it meant nothing to us, being indistinguishable from all the rest, and we forgot the incident as we arrived at Fitzherbert Crescent.

The place was deserted apart from a young chap sunbathing in a deckchair outside the site office.

‘We'd like to see the show house,' I said loudly and he blinked up at us then vanished inside to get the key.

‘When you get inside, you'll find a switch on the right of the front door. Press it down.' And with that he returned to his sunbathing.

‘It will look better, of course, when there are a few trees here and a bit of grass,' I told Julie as it all looked a bit raw to her eyes but she admitted that the houses themselves were elegant, with their fibre glass columns reaching up to the tiny wrought iron railings of the balconies. Even the garages had a generous show of pillars. I considered the whole estate to be in very good taste and Julie agreed.

Although there was one row of terraced Georgian-style villas, most of the houses were detached by a small space and the show house was one of these, with two small bay trees in tubs outside the porticoed porch. As I put the key into the panelled door, in which a half-moon fanlight was incorporated, I said, ‘Perhaps our next move will be to one of these.'

Julie loyally said, ‘Oh, I'm very happy in Springcroft Meadow.'

The smell of new paint greeted us. The hall was light and airy with pale green walls and a dark green fitted carpet. In a small fibrous plaster niche by the stairs was a white urn filled with a splendidly colourful array of plastic roses.

‘Don't forget to press the switch,' Julie reminded me. ‘I expect it's air conditioning or something.' I pressed it and we nearly jumped out of our skins as a loud voice boomed over the house.

‘Welcome folks – welcome to the graciousness of yesteryear. Step with me into the elegant past of our forbears for a few precious moments. You are now standing in the well-proportioned hall. Note the cloakroom on the left with its Aubergine wallpaper and matching wash hand basin.' We quickly obeyed orders and went to inspect the cloakroom while the voice paused briefly.

He then resumed, saying persuasively, ‘Come with me into the drawing room – the first door on the right of the front door.'

He then obligingly waited while we entered the drawing room, continuing with, ‘Now here we have a truly charming room where you will be pleased to entertain your guests, sitting round the Adam fireplace on a chilly winter's eve,' (this was not entirely appropriate with the sun blazing down outside – still, I got his point), ‘as you toast each other in mulled wine.' He suddenly became practical, ‘All rooms have at least two power points.'

Was just going to tell Julie that I liked the green and white striped curtains when she said, ‘Sshh, don't interrupt him.'

‘- go through the arch now and you will see that you are in the dining room with all the delicious food that these words conjure up – the Christmas dinner and the whole family sitting there with happy faces.' This recording must have been made in the depths of winter.

‘You will notice the convenient hatch through to the kitchen – a great time-saver on Mary-Jane's day off – ha ha. The French windows give on to the spacious patio, the ideal spot for sipping your mint julep, and beyond that you will have ample scope to create your dream garden with magnolia trees and trellis weighed down with clematis and honeysuckle.'

We stared out on to a piece of parched earth.

We were then hurried into the kitchen.

‘Inspect the fitments for yourself, you will be amazed at the quality.' The voice became confidential. ‘Can't you just smell that wonderful aroma of home-baked bread and Momma's apple pie floating round this kitchen while you sit having coffee with your friends? The dustbins have their own special covered hideaway outside the back door. Now back into the hall, folks, so we may climb the stairs to further delights.'

I just had time to point out to Julie, with pride, the stair rails made from our own wood, when our guide started up again from a small loudspeaker at the top of the stairs.

‘The second door on the right brings us to the master bedroom with its echoes of a bygone age. Yes, one can imagine Scarlet O'Hara in such a room, getting ready for a ball.'

‘She'd have a job,' I remarked to Julie. The room was completely taken over by an enormous four-poster bed and we had a job to squeeze past it to look out of the window.

‘Pause to admire the fitted wardrobes with their louvered doors,' he went on. ‘You will see from the window that there is a small balcony outside with a wrought iron railing. On no account should you make any attempt to get out on to this balcony as it is for decorative purposes only. Nevertheless, the perfect place for your geraniums and trailing ivy. And now to the bathroom at the head of the stairs.

‘What could be more truly tasteful than these avocado tiles?' He paused to give us time to take in the pale green tiles covering the bathroom. ‘The shower and the bidet – those two essentials of modern living – are included at no extra cost!' While this sank in, we admired the plumbing.

I suddenly heard someone trying to get in downstairs so I went to inspect.

Julie continued and saw the other two bedrooms while I explained the procedure to the young couple with a baby, after I'd let them in.

‘I should wait here in the hall – we won't be a minute,' I said and rejoined Julie just in time to hear, ‘I hope you have enjoyed our little tour together as much as I have. These graceful residences manage to combine olde worlde charm with up to date liveability. For more details, ask for our full colour brochure at the site office – and don't forget, mortgage arrangements can be made through the Ever Trust Building Society. Thank you and I hope it is only au revoir.'

‘Hear, hear,' said Julie.

‘Well, that's a funny sort of selling gimmick,' I remarked as we went downstairs to the strains of “Greensleeves”. ‘I suppose it might work on some people.'

‘He had a lovely voice,' Julie went on. ‘He could have sold me anything.'

As ‘Welcome folks – welcome to the graciousness of yesteryear' started all over again for the young couple, I had to restrain Julie from joining them for another session.