A Christmas to Remember

by Katie Flynn

  ‘We didn’t see any dead piglets, and we had a good look round,’ Jonty said at once. ‘What about the horses and the cattle, Dad? And I’m afraid the day-old chicks took a battering. There’s a deal of dead ones, trod into the mud by the hazel pasture. And none of the hens brought chicks with them when they came running for the food.’

  His mother shook her head chidingly at him. ‘And you a farmer’s son!’ she said reprovingly. ‘A broody hen won’t leave her nest no matter if the world were come to an end, and one with chicks is the same. Nor they won’t come for food; you have to go to them. So out wi’ you, young Jonty, and look in ditches, haystacks, any outbuildings what are still standin’, and listen, because a happy hen make a croodlin’ noise.’ She turned to Tess and her rather dour face softened into a smile. ‘I reckon you’ve had enough for one day, my dear. Jonty’s quite capable of finding the broodies if you’d like to stay in the kitchen and have a nice cup of tea and a fresh baked scone.’

  ‘Oh, no thanks, Mrs Bell. I know very well what to do with broodies, and if Jonty and I search separately then we can be through in half the time,’ Tess said. ‘Is there anything else we ought to do whilst we’re outside? Only I think we ought to hurry, because I believe it’s starting to rain again.’

  They were halfway to the door when Jonty was suddenly struck by a recollection. ‘Ma, if we spend hours searching for the broodies we’ll never get to the cinema show,’ he wailed. ‘And it’s only here for one day, you know it is, and they’re showin’ Jungle Woman, which I missed first time round. If we’re not finished in time for the matinée performance, we may not get in for the evening show because that’s always very popular. We don’t mind missing our dinner, do we, Tess? Can’t you and Dad find the broodies? Or Adam, if he’s not busy?’

  Mrs Bell did not reply, but Mr Bell spoke up. ‘Tell you what, if you find the broodies and finish off the yard work say by five o’clock, I’ll get the car out and run you into the village in good time for the evening performance. How’ll that suit you?’

  Tess stared. Not only was petrol still both rationed and in short supply, but Mr Bell treated the car like a much-loved elderly relative and seldom took it out of its shed, save once a week to fetch supplies. But she and Jonty rushed to the back door, delighted at the prospect of a lift into the village, and were soon combing likely hiding places, finding not only broodies but mother hens with a dozen or so chicks cuddled safely beneath their wings.

  By five o’clock the yard work was finished and the cattle and horses had been checked to make sure that none had strayed. Jonty and Tess returned to the house, where they changed into clean clothing, gulped down a cup of tea and were given money for the cinema show. Then they hurried out to the car, bickered briefly over who was to have the front seat – Tess won – and were soon agreeing to meet Mr Bell outside the village hall when the picture show was over.

  On their arrival Tess and Jonty were immediately surrounded by friends, eager to discuss the dreadful results of the storm, but as soon as the doors opened and Miss Fletcher, who ran the committee in charge of the hall, began to take the money the storm was forgotten in a wild rush to get into the hall so that the youngsters might sit with their friends and not get ‘hemmed in’ by the older members of the audience.

  Tessa knew the mobile cinema was highly prized by all the villages upon which it called. The films were usually old but no less popular for that, and were on two large reels, so that when the first reel came to an end there was an interval whilst the second reel was fitted into position, during which entertainment was provided. Tess would have preferred to chat, for she and Jonty had managed to occupy seats amongst most of their old friends, but then Mr Lyons, the projectionist, who also chose the films, called for silence and his sister, a very large lady indeed, came on to the stage and stood leaning against the piano which another member of the Lyons family played. The talk faded to quiet whispers and Miss Lyons announced that she would sing an old favourite. The pianist struck up, Miss Lyons opened a cavernous mouth and one of the village boys commented to his neighbour that they’d be lucky if Miss Lyons’s weight did not cause the piano to career across the stage and crash into the audience. For some reason this remark caught the fancy of those who heard it, some of whom began to snigger. As is the way of such things the sniggerers’ neighbours began to laugh, quietly at first but then more and more loudly, until the whole hall was helpless with mirth. In vain did the pianist jump to his feet and demand silence, in vain did Mr Lyons threaten that they should never see the second reel. Had it not been for old Mr Larkin clambering on to the stage to call everyone to order as Miss Lyons fled from it in tears, it is doubtful whether the Lyons Mobile Cinema would ever have visited the village hall again. As it was, practically every member of the audience apologised, begged pardon and explained that the laughter had not been caused by Miss Lyons’s singing and was simply a sort of mass hysteria in which one person’s mirth – prompted by something completely unrelated to what was going on on the stage, naturally – had set the entire audience giggling. The adult members of the audience put their heads together and had a whip-round and old Mrs Bailey, who ran the village shop, produced from some hidden corner a box of chocolates which, judging from the picture on the lid, was probably pre-war stock, but, as Jonty pointed out, it was the gesture which counted. Miss Fletcher presented the chocolates to Miss Lyons, along with many apologies, and the audience settled back to enjoy the second reel of Jungle Woman.

  At the end of the film the audience got to their feet, and Jonty grabbed Tess’s hand. ‘The last bus has gone, and Dad won’t realise that the interval was about three times as long as usual,’ he reminded her. ‘I don’t much fancy a five-mile walk; what’ll we do if he’s gone home without us?’

  Tess stared at him, eyes rounding with dismay. They had had little sleep the night before, followed by an exhausting day, and the thought of having to walk five miles, possibly in the rain if the weather had not improved, was not a pleasant one. But Jonty, seeing her dismay, gave a crow of triumph. ‘Gotcha!’ he said. ‘You can’t believe my dad would let us down! He’d soon realise that the picture was taking longer than it should have done and he’d wait, even if we were an hour over our time.’

  Tess laughed as they emerged from the stuffy interior of the village hall into the roadway and saw the old bull-nose Morris, with Mr Bell at the wheel, waiting for them. ‘I didn’t really think he’d leave us in the lurch,’ she protested. ‘But you know him much better than I do.’ She punched Jonty hard in the ribs and smiled as the air woofed out of his lungs. ‘Serve you right, Jonty Bell, for trying to scare me!’

  The ride home in the car was enlivened by an exact recital of everything that had happened during the interval, even the memory of it setting both Tess and Jonty off giggling once more. Mr Bell smiled but said he just hoped Mr Lyons would not punish the entire village by taking them off his list of visits. Then, as they drove along the country lanes towards Bell Farm, he told them how he had passed the extra time. ‘Bob Tillett and Sam Hornigold were waiting for their kids to come out of the village hall too,’ he said. ‘We had a good old mardle about that there storm and what it had done to the land. We were lucky, you know. Bob lost two fields of barley as well as a couple of cows. His skiff on the Broad sank too, but he reckon he’ll bring it up when he and his farmhands have got the time. Sam, on the other hand, is still searching for two of his store cattle what got through a hole the storm had torn in his hedge and made off the Lord know where. Still, as we told each other, it was a freak storm and unlikely to occur again.’

  The rest of the drive was filled by Jonty telling his father the story of Jungle Woman, so that by the time they reached the farm Tess was quite startled to drive into the yard and see a gap where the henhouse had been, and the stable door swinging loose, for Mr Bell had decreed that the horses were safer out in the field than shut into a stable which had had a large section of its roof blown away.

  As they ate t
heir biscuits and drank their cocoa before going up to bed, Mrs Bell took Tess to one side and thanked her for all the hard work she had done that day. ‘You’re a grand little worker; I just wish the gal Maggie was more like you,’ she said. ‘But there you are, Maggie’s always been ambitious and she know the farm will go to our Jonty when Father and I pass on, so it’s up to her to make a life for herself.’ She smiled down at Tess with more kindness than she had ever shown before. ‘Goodnight, gal. I’ll let you lie in a bit tomorrer. I reckon you deserve it.’

  A week after the storm had passed over Tess awoke feeling a mixture of pleasure that she would soon be going home and sadness at leaving Bell Farm. But today was to be a holiday. Because they had managed to put right most of the storm damage, Mr Bell had announced that they would take a picnic and go down to the coast so that Jonty and Tess might have an outing before Tess left them. ‘A day away from the farm will do us all good,’ he told her firmly. ‘Adam’s coming in early and Jonty’s Uncle Keith is drivin’ over to keep an eye on things while we’re away.’ He had turned to his wife, for they had been in the kitchen, about to sit down to their evening meal. ‘Will that suit you, my woman? I’m sure you deserve a bit of a holiday same as these youngsters do.’

  Mrs Bell had smiled. ‘That will do us all good,’ she declared. ‘I’ll pack a basket with good things and we’ll spend the whole day on the beach.’ She had looked at Tess. ‘How do that appeal to you, my dear? I remember checking you could swim when you first came, because being so near the Broad we couldn’t have taken you else.’

  ‘Oh, I can swim all right,’ Tess had said excitedly. ‘But I don’t have a swimming costume . . .’

  Mrs Bell had looked smug. ‘I’ve two or three of Maggie’s old ones upstairs; one of ’em’s bound to fit you,’ she had assured Tess. ‘I’ll look them out and you can try them for size. Let’s hope the weather stay fair.’

  That had been several days earlier, for a whole day away from the farm had taken some planning, and now at last the day itself had arrived. Tess got out of bed and went over to the window to pull back the curtains. It was another brilliant day, but there was a sultriness in the air even at this early hour and Tess thought uneasily that that sort of heaviness presaged thunder. How unfortunate it would be if their one and only day out was ruined by bad weather! But she washed hastily, dressed in her coolest cotton frock and clattered down the stairs, narrowly beating Jonty. The kitchen was very hot, despite Mrs Bell’s having flung all the windows wide, but it was clear that the farmer’s wife intended the day to be a good one for there were two baskets set out on the table already well supplied with quantities of Mrs Bell’s delicious cooking, as well as two mammoth flasks of tea and a paper bag fairly bursting with ripe plums.

  Breakfast was a jolly meal, with old Adam and Uncle Keith promising that everything would be done as though the Bells were actually present. Keith was Mrs Bell’s elder brother, a grey-haired middle-aged man who ran the local auction and lived with his wife Mabel in a neat little house in a nearby town. He had farmed before the war, but had sold up during the Depression, and was always willing to help out when his sister needed assistance.

  Everyone ate as fast as they could in order that the family might get away, and the minute they had finished Mr Bell began to hustle them out to the car, not allowing Tess to start on the washing up when she tried to do so. ‘When I say a holiday, I mean a whole day,’ he assured her. ‘So hop into the car, young woman, and no argufying.’ Tess was happy to do so, and as the car left the farm behind Mrs Bell announced that they should have a tune. Tess had never heard her hostess sing before and was astonished by the power and sweetness of her voice, but soon the men and Tess herself were joining in as loudly as they could. By the time they reached the shore they had run through a repertoire of most of the popular songs of the day, ending up with ‘Five Minutes More’ by Frank Sinatra. They were still singing it, or perhaps belting it out would be more truthful, when Mr Bell drew the car to a halt alongside the beach of his choice. This particular part of the shore had never been mined because it was deemed impossible for an invasion force to come ashore here, but it was, as usual, deserted, so the group settled themselves in the shade of a dune, only a few feet from the little waves, and Mr Bell produced a couple of big stripy umbrellas. He then revealed that he was wearing his swimming costume under his clothes, which astonished Tess. He had told her he had learned to swim as a boy, but she could not imagine him doing so and was quite relieved when Mrs Bell said, primly, that she herself must be content with a paddle, for the only costume she had ever owned had been outgrown years since.

  Tess was amused when Mr Bell began to manoeuvre the umbrellas into an odd sort of changing room, for since he was already wearing his costume there seemed little need for such modesty, but as she and Jonty ran down to the sea to test the water Jonty told her that his father was very shy. ‘And wait till you see his costume; Ma knitted it for him the first time they took Maggie and me to the seaside. Before the war, it was,’ he explained. ‘Do you know what wool does when it gets wet?’

  ‘Dunno; my costume isn’t made of wool,’ Tess said, as they splashed into the shallows. ‘Tell me!’

  Jonty chuckled. ‘It gets long and droopy. Dad wears a belt so his trunks won’t fall off, but they look pretty horrible, I can tell you. I suggested he might buy a proper pair but he says it’d be a waste of money ’cos we only go to the seaside a couple of times a year and no one sees him when he goes for a dip in the Broad.’

  Mrs Bell had decreed that they should eat their picnic as soon as she had set it out, and would not allow bathing until an hour after the food was eaten. Tess assured her that she had never heard of anyone drowning from cramp, but her hostess was firm, so as soon as Mrs Bell’s preparations were complete Tess and Jonty charged back up the beach and flopped on to the sand to devour their lunch. The heat was such that they quite pitied Mrs Bell, the only one who would not be able to bathe, but once the remains of the picnic were tidied away she accompanied them down to the shore and wandered along it, tucking her skirt into her bloomers so that she could go in up to her knees. Jonty and Tess were both strong swimmers, but Tess was astonished at Mr Bell’s prowess. She could manage a creditable side stroke but her attempts at a crawl were pretty poor, so when they began to compete, swimming between the breakwaters, Mr Bell was usually the victor, though Jonty was never more than a couple of feet behind him. After frolicking in the waves for well over an hour, they returned to their encampment among the dunes and lay down, meaning to have a little rest, but to Tess’s astonishment she fell instantly asleep. When she awoke it was to find that the farmer’s wife had moved the umbrellas as the sun moved round. ‘Otherwise you’d find yourself with a nasty case of sunburn,’ she told her young guest. ‘Now, I brought a couple of bottles of my homemade lemonade and some of them scones you and Jonty are so fond of. Want them now? If so you can’t bathe again for another hour.’

  By the time the last of the picnic food was eaten and packed away it was four o’clock, and the heat did not seem to have lessened. In fact, when they piled into the car, hot, salty and well content with their day out, it actually seemed to be hotter than ever. The very air burned, and as they drove through the countryside Tess drew Jonty’s attention to a heavy black bank of cloud approaching them quite rapidly, and turning the blue of the sea to as forbidding a grey as that of the clouds themselves. Mr Bell heard the uneasy murmurs in the back of the car and glanced in his mirror. He had put the hood down before they set out so that they might enjoy the breeze of their going, but now he slowed the car and drew in to the side of the road. ‘That look like rain,’ he said prosaically. ‘Best get the hood up.’ The words were hardly out of his mouth before the wind, which had been non-existent, suddenly began to toss the tree under which they had parked. Jonty, Mr Bell and Tess all got out of the car, and though it had not seemed necessary at first it soon became clear that the combined strength of the whole party might be needed to
get the hood into position. Indeed, they had just fastened the last stay when the gale arrived, ripping part of the canvas and causing Mr Bell to shout to Jonty to hold it on.

  Too late. Mr Bell had engaged first gear and begun to pull out into the road again when, with a shriek and a howl, the gale seized the hood and ripped it from its moorings. Like some gigantic bat it flapped away, first taking the line of least resistance along the road but then seeming to decide that it preferred the open fields. It leapt the hedge and was momentarily lost to view behind a stand of trees. Mr Bell jammed on the brake and drew on to the verge once more whilst his wife wailed that they would never see the hood again and might as well go home before the wind did more damage. But Mr Bell ignored her. ‘Come on, you two,’ he shouted. ‘I can’t afford to lose that there hood. Jonty, you and Tess go to the right of them trees and I’ll go to the left. First one to spot it give a holler.’

  Tess obeyed, though she thought they had little hope of recovering the hood, but fortunately she had not allowed for the effect of the trees and she and Jonty cheered simultaneously as they entered the little wood and saw a gigantic, bat-like creature lying at the foot of a pine tree, looking so pathetic, as though its bid for freedom had been cruelly curtailed, that Tess found herself murmuring words of comfort as she and Jonty, having shouted the news of the capture to Mr Bell, began to pick up the great dusty object. Then they returned to the car, taking their places on the back seat and laying the hood across their laps. Mr Bell was last back, and as he came he had a hand pressed to his forehead and was looking pale and shaken. ‘Ran into a low branch,’ he mumbled. ‘Gave my head one hell of a whack.’ He wrenched the door open and almost collapsed into the driver’s seat, then turned to his wife. ‘You’ve always wanted to have a go at driving,’ he said in a slurred voice. ‘Now’s your chance. I’m seein’ double . . .’