(10/13) Friends at Thrush Green

by Read, Miss

  Lulling Woods were hazy blue and fragrant with carpets of bluebells, and the last of the wood anemones and primroses starred the leaf mould. Along the road to Nidden the ancient pond teemed with tadpoles. Young birds sat bemused on the grass verges, or hopped behind their busy parents clamouring for food, all fluttering wings and gaping beaks, oblivious of the dangers around them from traffic, callous boys, or the hovering shapes of sparrow hawks which cast their sinister shadows in the May sunlight.

  The cuckoo's cry, at first so welcome at the beginning of the month, now annoyed its listeners with its monotonous persistence. The rooks chattered and squabbled in the tall trees overshadowing Percy Hodge's farm, and he was already making plans for a rook shoot with a few of his cronies. Percy was partial to rook pie.

  Prudent housewives were spring-cleaning and hanging out quilts and blankets to air on their clothes-lines. Those who ran to winter curtains, as well as summer ones, were folding the former and storing them away, and admiring the crisp freshness of the summer alternatives at their windows.

  Paint brushes were at work, inside and out, and wallpaper patterns, bed covers, curtain materials and floor coverings were being earnestly studied in many a home. It was not surprising that amid this hopeful bustle another topic arose to engage Thrush Green's attention.

  It seemed that the small communal room at the old people's homes, Rectory Cottages, would have to be enlarged. Edward Young, the architect, had had the foresight to see that this might happen, and luckily had put the room at one end of the buildings where it could be extended if need be.

  There had been some doubt as to whether the old people would use this communal sitting-room to any great extent. Jane and Bill Cartwright, the wardens, had been of the opinion that the residents might well prefer to stay in their own comfortable quarters most of the time. But, as it happened, the general sitting-room was a popular feature of the complex, and it was decided to enlarge it by adding a good-sized conservatory-type of building at one end. This would give not only more room, but added light, facilities for growing plants, and a pleasant sunny spot when the Cotswold winds made it too blustery and chilly to sit outside.

  The trustees had met, and had gone through the usual preliminaries of discussion, argument and anxious perusal of their finances. With everyone's consent, Edward Young had been given the task of designing the extension and he was now busy preparing plans for approval.

  It was a job he relished. It was generally felt that his original plans had worked well, and that Rectory Cottages were an enormous improvement on the former small rectory which had been such an eyesore on the green.

  He had been given plenty of gratuitous advice by the inhabitants of Thrush Green whilst his original buildings had been in the making. For an impatient man he had been remarkably forbearing, although he grew quite heated with his brother-in-law Doctor John Lovell when the latter pointed out that certain outdoor steps were a hazard to old people, particularly in slippery weather. As it happened, it was poor Jane Cartwright who was the first to come a cropper, and she had been unable to attend to her duties as warden until the broken leg had mended. John Lovell, to give him his due, nobly refrained from saying: 'I told you so!'

  It was quite apparent that funds would have to be raised for this new venture, and already plans were afoot for the usual Mammoth Jumble Sale, a Mammoth Summer Fête, a Mammoth Bazaar nearer Christmas and innumerable sponsored activities such as walks, swimming contests, and even an hour's silence to be kept at Thrush Green school, all in this good cause.

  Ella Bembridge had been entrusted with the job of buying and making the necessary curtains and soft furnishings, and was busy co-opting various like-minded ladies to form a working party when the time came.

  As the birds flew back and forth in the trees and hedgerows, building their nests and making plans for the future, so did the residents of Lulling and Thrush Green plan their own affairs, in this May world bright with hope and new life.

  On the last Wednesday of the month, Isobel Shoosmith finished her domestic preparations for Dorothy's and Agnes's visit. Despite their protestations, she had persuaded the two ladies to stay at her house for a week, and the spare-room stood ready for them, complete with a vase of lilies of the valley, and a selection of reading matter on the bedside table.

  She and Harold went to check the room during the afternoon. The two friends were due at four o'clock, and Isobel still had the cucumber sandwiches to prepare.

  'It all looks splendid,' said Harold heartily, surveying the twin beds, smooth and glossy in their matching bedspreads.

  'I think they would enjoy Ellis Peters' latest, and Dick Francis's, wouldn't you?' asked Isobel anxiously.

  'Be mad if they didn't,' Harold assured her. 'And what about a magazine or two?'

  Isobel nodded agreement, tweaked a lily of the valley into place, and decided it really all looked extremely peaceful.

  They made their way downstairs, and Isobel set off to the kitchen. There was a cheerful hooting from the front of the house, and there was the well-polished Metro on the drive, with hands fluttering from its windows.

  'They're here! They're here!' cried Isobel, and hurried out to greet them in the greatest excitement.

  3. News of Old Friends

  NATURALLY, the arrival of the two ladies had been noticed by most of the Thrush Green residents long before the last of Isobel's cucumber sandwiches had been eaten.

  The first to see the car draw up was Muriel Fuller, who lived at Rectory Cottages and immediately had taken up a strategic position on one of the seats on Thrush Green. It had an excellent view of the Shoosmiths' house, and as Muriel wore dark glasses and held a newspaper, the casual passerby would assume that she was simply enjoying the sunshine.

  For most of her working life Muriel had been head-teacher at the little school at Nidden, a mile or two north along the road from Thrush Green. When the school had closed, she was fortunate enough to be allotted one of the seven homes under the care of Bill and Jane Cartwright.

  She had continued to give part-time teaching help with Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty, and so looked forward more keenly than most to seeing her friends again. She also intended to tell them how disappointed she was by the new headmaster's attitude: he had not required her part-time services, and Miss Fuller was indignant.

  A close second in the race to see the visitors was Ella Bembridge. She was clipping a few early shoots from the front hedge and had forgotten about the Shoosmiths' visitors, her mind still busy on the Lovelock sisters' odd ways, as she snipped away.

  Mr Jones at the public house saw them through the window of the bar, as they drew up at Harold's. Across the green Winnie Bailey, widow of Doctor Donald Bailey who had attended to Thrush Green's illnesses for many years, noticed the Metro standing in Harold's drive as she washed her hands before tea. By five o'clock, eighty per cent of the local residents were happy in the knowledge that the two respected ladies had arrived safely.

  But it was Ella who stumped across the green as soon as the six o'clock news had finished. Genuinely anxious to see her old friends and having no qualms about the possibility of being de trop, she put her head into the open front door, and gave a cheerful shout.

  'Anyone home? Welcome back!'

  Albert Piggott, who expected to be one of the first to see anything of note occurring at Thrush Green, was rather annoyed to miss the arrival of the retired schoolteachers. He had spent an hour or two weeding Dotty Harmer's garden and, as usual, had been held up by Dotty's scatter-brained suggestions.

  'What about a bird-box in that walnut tree?' was one of her proposals. 'I'm quite sure I saw a green woodpecker there the other evening.'

  As the walnut tree was about forty feet in height, and Albert suffered from vertigo, he quashed this suggestion.

  'Come and see my rhubarb,' urged Dotty. 'A splendid second crop coming. Do help yourself.'

  With such things had Albert been delayed, but he arrived back at the cottage a few minutes
before Nelly and had exerted himself enough to put on the kettle.

  'Them teachers come?' enquired Nelly, flinging a cloth over the kitchen table and whizzing plates upon it.

  'Dunno. Never saw 'em. I was workin'.'

  'Makes a nice change,' commented Nelly, briskly setting cutlery round the table as if she were dealing cards.

  'No need to be sarky,' growled Albert. 'I was down Dotty's. Got better things to do than to poke my nose into other folks' affairs.'

  This lofty attitude was greeted by a snort from his wife.

  'Well, I bet you're the only person on Thrush Green who don't know if they've arrived. I saw a few curtains twitching as I come along just now.'

  She set about poaching a piece of smoked haddock with her usual dexterity, and after it was consumed went to the sink to wash up, while Albert sank exhausted into his chair with the newspaper.

  'I knew a woman,' said Nelly conversationally, 'who never washed a frying-pan after using it for fish. Couldn't face the job.'

  She studied her own wet frying-pan critically.

  'What she do with it then?' enquired Albert, rousing himself.

  'Chucked it out.'

  'You'd better not start that sort of lark, my girl,' warned Albert, asserting himself as a householder.

  'I might yet,' replied Nelly.

  Albert returned to his paper, and Nelly to her thoughts.

  She was perturbed about an incident in the shop that morning, involving Bertha Lovelock. That ancient lady had come in on her own to purchase a small currant loaf, a commodity for which The Fuchsia Bush was justly renowned.

  Nelly had turned to the tray to fetch the loaf, and thought she saw, from the corner of her eye, a scone being transferred from the basket on the counter to Miss Lovelock's coat pocket.

  She said nothing. She could have been mistaken, and she had no idea how many scones should have been in the basket. Some had already been sold by the assistants, and it was impossible to check. In any case, Miss Bertha Lovelock was an old customer and not to be upset.

  She swathed the currant loaf in snowy tissue paper, took the money, wished the old lady a civil good morning and watched her depart. She returned to the kitchen and her pastry-making. Should she question the girls to see if such a thing had happened before? Should she tell Mrs Peters of the incident? Had there really been an incident?

  Flouring the pastry board and wielding her rolling pin, Nelly began to grow calmer. Let the old dear have the benefit of the doubt this time. It might never happen again, and least said soonest mended. No point in alarming Mrs Peters and the girls over one scone. Nevertheless, Nelly determined to keep a sharp eye on the Lovelock sisters, and Miss Bertha in particular.

  Meanwhile at the Shoosmiths', Ella Bembridge had wished the visitors goodbye, invited them to call at any time, and stumped homeward.

  'Would you mind very much if we stretched our legs after our drive?' enquired Dorothy. 'That is, after we've helped you wash up these tea things.'

  Isobel refused to countenance their presence in the kitchen, and gave her blessing to the proposed walk.

  The two ladies naturally looked first at their old school: the playground was empty, the doors and windows shut, but all looked neat and clean, and geraniums had been planted in new window boxes.

  'It looks very well cared for,' said Agnes. 'I wish we could go in. I wonder if the fish tank is still kept in my room.'

  'Most probably,' said Dorothy, moving along to study the outside of the empty school house.

  'I must say,' she continued, 'that it is very sad to see the state of our garden. Those roses should have been pruned, and I can't see any mower getting over the lawn if it is left much longer.'

  Agnes could hardly bear to look at her old home. Here she had been so happy; here she had spent years of companionship with Dorothy, and had met so many pupils, parents and friends.

  'Let's stroll along the road towards Nidden,' she suggested. 'The evening's so lovely.'

  'I must say,' said Dorothy a little later, 'that the air here is better than at Barton. I know we have the sea now, but there is something so pure and exhilarating about the Cotswolds, and of course the trees and flowers are more abundant.'

  She stopped by a magnificent elder bush, its creamy flower-heads forming a mass of luminous fragrance. Nearby, a spray of early dog roses cascaded from the hedgetop towards the roadside ditch, and buttercups brightened the grass verge.

  Agnes shared her delight, and remembered countless walks with her infants' class along this leafy lane. Somehow, in every season it had supplied them all with treasures. In spring, the first small violets appeared under the hedgerows, and in summer the children would return with sprays of honeysuckle or mauve pincushions of wild scabious in their hands. In the autumn, there were hazel-nuts, blackberries, hips and haws and all manner of bright berries to adorn the nature table, and even in the depths of winter some treasures could be gleaned; a glossy rook's feather, a bleached snail's shell, or a sprig of frost-rimed yew or holly.

  The children's joy in these discoveries was echoed by little Miss Fogerty, reflecting as it did her own childhood memories of the Cotswold village not many miles from Thrush Green.

  'Good to be back,' said Dorothy.

  'Good to be back,' replied Agnes.

  The days passed all too quickly for the visitors. There were so many friends to see, so much news to exchange.

  Winnie Bailey, Ella Bembridge, Dotty Harmer and other Thrush Green friends invited the two ladies to their homes. Charles and Dimity Henstock gave a celebratory lunch party at Lulling Vicarage, and the Shoosmiths took them out to the neighbouring villages which their visitors had known so well.

  Everything went smoothly until the day before the ladies were due to return, when Agnes started a feverish cold.

  'I'm sure I shall be quite well tomorrow,' she assured her anxious hostess.

  'In any case, you are to stay in bed,' said Isobel, 'and if you are still groggy in the morning you are staying here until you have recovered.'

  Agnes became much agitated. 'Oh, I couldn't possibly. There are several things we must get back to do, and I don't want to impose on you any longer, Isobel dear.'

  'The longer you can stay the better I shall like it,' Isobel assured her. 'Now lie down, and try to have a nap.'

  Downstairs Dorothy was reading the paper, and looked up anxiously when Isobel reappeared.

  'What do you think? Should we get Doctor Lovell to have a look at her?'

  'Let's see how she is in the morning before we do that. Is it absolutely necessary for you to return tomorrow? We'd love to have you another day or so.'

  'Absolutely necessary,' said Dorothy, with a return of her headmistressy manner. 'I have an old college friend coming to stay on Saturday, and must get things ready. She has been looking after her aged mother for years, and this is a rare break for her. I can't possibly put her off.'

  'I can see that.'

  'And then there's Teddy,' added Dorothy. 'I usually call in to see him after tea on Fridays.'

  Teddy had been mentioned once or twice during the ladies' stay, but apart from the fact that he was a neighbour at Barton, Isobel knew little about him.

  'Surely he would understand?' she said.

  'Oh, he would understand,' replied Dorothy with vigour. 'There never was a more understanding man, but I should hate to disappoint him.'

  'Well,' said Isobel briskly, 'I don't think we need to make any plans until we see how Agnes is in the morning. Would you like to come down to the greenhouse with me? I'm just going to do some watering.'

  As it happened, the greenhouse was a very pleasant place to be, for although the sun still shone, as it had on most days of the ladies' visit to Thrush Green, the wind had veered to the north, and was already stripping some of the young leaves and blossom from the trees.

  Agnes slept fitfully that night. Her throat was on fire, the glands behind her ears swollen, and she was feverishly hot. It was quite apparent, when mo
rning came, that she was in no fit state to travel, even downstairs.

  John Lovell called before he opened his surgery. Dorothy and Isobel awaited his verdict as they stood at the foot of the patient's bed.

  The doctor was reassuring as he replaced his thermometer in its case. 'Keep her here,' he said, 'with plenty of liquids to drink. I don't think it is anything more than a heavy cold, but there's mumps about, and the wind can slice you in two this morning.'

  He knew Agnes Fogerty well, and realized how physically frail she was with no spare flesh anywhere. But her spirit, of course, was indomitable, and had often kept her at school when she should have been in bed. This time, the doctor was going to see that she was properly looked after, and he was relieved that she was in the Shoosmiths' care.

  'I'll pop in at the same time tomorrow,' he said, as he scribbled a prescription. 'This should take her temperature down, and the more she can sleep the better.'

  He patted the invalid's bony shoulder, accompanied the two ladies downstairs, and departed across the green to his surgery.

  'What is to be done?' cried Dorothy. She appeared to be extremely upset, quite unlike her usual competent self, and Isobel took charge.

  'If you can get in touch with your friend and your neighbour, I suggest that you both stay on here. You are more than welcome, as I'm sure you know.'

  'Dear Isobel, you are so kind,' said Dorothy, pacing the room distractedly, 'but I really must get back.'

  'Then in that case,' said Isobel, 'you know we shall look after Agnes, and I will bring her back to Barton when she is fit to travel.'

  'What nuisances we are!' cried Dorothy. 'I wouldn't have had this happen for the world!'

  'Now stop worrying,' said Isobel. 'You drive back as arranged, and we'll enjoy Agnes's company. We can keep in touch by telephone.'

  'I will go and tell Agnes about our plans,' agreed Dorothy.

  'And I will obey doctor's orders,' answered Isobel, 'and go and make a jug of lemonade.'