(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green

by Miss Read

  'Happy Christmas!' they cried. 'And we hope you are hungry. The turkey is twice the size we ordered, and only just fitted into the oven!'

  Later that evening, Bill Cartwright ran his mother-in-law home, and saw her safely into the farmhouse.

  She looked tired, he thought, and he hoped that her spell of helping him whilst Jane had been in hospital was not the cause.

  'I'm glad you didn't agree to staying with Dotty Harmer,' he said impulsively, it would have knocked you up completely. I feel we asked too much of you with our own troubles.'

  Mrs Jenner looked surprised.

  'It was nothing, Bill. I enjoyed it, and would do the same again, but I suppose I must face the fact that I'm getting old. If only Vi Bailey -1 mean, Ellis – will be able to come, I shan't feel so guilty. I shall give her a ring in the morning. If she can't manage it, I really don't know who to suggest.'

  'Well, don't offer yourself,' said Bill. 'Some people's hearts rule their heads, and you're one of them.'

  He kissed her affectionately, and went out into the mist.

  16 Winter Discomforts

  THE bellringers at Lulling rang out the Old Year, and rang in the New, on the famous peal of St John's church.

  The night was still and frosty, and the clamour was heard across the fields and woods, in a dozen little villages within a few miles.

  The vicarage hummed and trembled with the noise, but it was a joyous sound, and Charles rejoiced. This year, he promised himself, as the hands of the clock stood at five minutes past midnight, he would work harder, be more patient, and give more attention to dear Dimity who was far too selfless.

  There were a number of people making good resolutions at much the same time, but Edward Young was not among them.

  He, poor fellow, was being driven to distraction by the pain in his right shoulder. It seemed to have spread to his neck and down the right side of his back.

  Joan, over the last week, had applied calamine lotion, witch hazel, petroleum jelly, and had even contemplated using a sinister looking ointment concocted by Dotty, but did not take this final drastic step. Nothing seemed to alleviate the torment, and Edward grew more fractious daily.

  When, at last, some nasty little spots began to appear, and he had spent the last night of the year sitting up in bed and holding his pyjama jacket away from his afflictions, Joan put her foot down.

  'I'm calling John in to have a look at you,' she said firmly.

  'Oh, don't fuss! Anyway, I suppose I'd better go to the surgery, if I must see him.'

  'Not with those spots. You may have something infectious.'

  'Thanks. Very reassuring, I must say. What's your guess? Leprosy?'

  'Don't be childish. You'll stay there in the morning, and I shall ask John to come after surgery. No arguing now. You need some expert treatment.'

  Edward grunted, but forbore to argue. He knew when he was beaten, but it was clear to his wife tht he was still reluctant to be obliged to his brother-in-law.

  The distant bells had woken Connie. She and Kit had gone to bed at their usual time, both ready for sleep, but Connie was secretly worrying about Dotty's welfare while they were away.

  Mrs Jenner had been as good as her word, and Mrs Ellis was to come on New Year's Day to see the cottage, meet Dotty, and decide if she would take on the job.

  Connie had no doubt that she would be a most competent person, particularly if Mrs Jenner and Jane recommended her, but would she want the responsibility of such an eccentric person as dear Dotty? The nearer the time came to going to Venice, the more agitated Connie became. For two pins she would throw over the whole idea, but she knew that Kit was longing to go, Dotty was adamant that she would be perfectly safe on her own, let alone with a companion, and Connie herself realised that she was desperately in need of a break.

  Looking after the house and Dotty was a full-time job, and the fact that the new addition to the cottage was still not completed was another complication. It was true that the worst was over, but now the finishing touches had to be done inside, which involved a great deal of to-ing and fro-ing through the house when the weather could be at its worst.

  Sometimes Connie had a twinge of nostalgia for the life she had left behind. Then she lived alone, in a fairly remote house, looking after a couple of ponies, ducks and hens, three cats and a dog, and quite often old friends who came to stay for a few days, and whose company she relished. But she enjoyed her solitary life. Any decision she made she could make alone, and stand or fall by the result without too much heart-burning.

  Now she had to consider Kit and Dotty, and to wonder if she were doing the right thing. Love them dearly, as she truly did, it certainly made for a more complicated life, mused Connie.

  The bells ceased suddenly. Well, tomorrow she must face the interview with Jane Cartwright's fellow-nurse. Meanwhile all her cares must be put aside for a few hours.

  She slid down the bed, tucked the bedclothes round her neck, and settled down to sleep.

  She suddenly remembered an anecdote about Winston Churchill, who was asked, during the war, if he worried much at night.

  'No,' answered the old warrior, i think: "To hell with everybody!" and I go to sleep.'

  And very sound advice to follow, thought Connie, turning her face towards the pillow.

  Not far away, Winnie Bailey too was ready for sleep, but a thought struck her before she dropped off. There had been no word from Richard this year. There was usually a card, true an aggressively non-Christian one usually, such as an abstract painting which looked the same either way up, but this time nothing had arrived.

  Of course, she remembered, he had said something about travelling back from China about Christmas time. That must explain it. Still, it would have been nice to have had a word from him. She was fond of Richard, despite his off-hand ways. Perhaps he would bring his family down for the day soon.

  With such comfortable thoughts Winnie slipped into oblivion.

  Under the same roof, Jenny was looking forward to the New Year. Life at Thrush Green held all the happiness that she needed.

  She thought of her early years at the orphanage where, despite good management, adequate food and a great deal of kindness, life had contrived to be bleak.

  The years spent as a foster child with an elderly couple, had been better in many ways, but the work had increased as her foster parents grew more infirm. She mourned them sincerely when they died, but Winnie's offer of a flat in her house, the companionship of her employer, and the pleasant surroundings, were a source of constant joy. It was wonderful to have a real home of her own, she told herself, savouring the warmth of the bed and the luxurious scent of Winnie's Christmas present of expensive soap, from the nearby wash basin.

  If the year ahead proved to be as happy as the last, then Jenny was well content.

  Vi Ellis arrived punctually at Dotty Harmer's cottage on New Year's Day.

  She and her husband had driven down, and the plan was for her to stay overnight with her old friend Jane Cartwright, while her husband took the car on to Lechlade, where he was going to visit an old school friend, recently made a widower. He would pick up Vi on his way home.

  She was a small plump woman with dark curly hair and the brightest eyes Connie had ever seen. She seemed lively, willing, and above all, kind. Dotty appeared to take to her, and after coffee, she was shown round the house by Connie.

  'I must make it quite clear,' said Connie, when they were out of range of Dotty's hearing, 'that my aunt is pretty self-willed, and often does something rather unpredictable like popping down in the night to see if the chickens are safely locked up. I'm a light sleeper myself, so I usually manage to head her back to bed.'

  Mrs Ellis laughed.

  'Don't worry. I've dealt with lots of old people in my time, and I promise you I shall be alert.'

  'As a matter of fact, I think my aunt will probably be more tranquil about the animals as we have a neighbour, Albert Piggott, coming to look after them, and Dotty has
rather more confidence in him than she has in me.'

  Connie took her into the spare bedroom which was next door to Dotty's own, and Vi Ellis stood looking with admiration at the view across to Lulling Woods.

  'One day,' she said, 'when Ted's retired, I hope we'll be able to come and live in the country. We both miss it badly.'

  They sat down and Connie told her about the wages offered, the doctor's treatment, Betty Bell's help in the house, and other relevant matters. Vi Ellis seemed happy with all the arrangements, and it was really now just a matter of finding out how Dotty felt about this possible companion, thought Connie.

  As if reading her mind, Vi asked if she might go and walk round the garden for a few minutes and get a breath of real country air.

  While she was so disposed, Connie returned to the sitting room and went across to Dotty.

  'She'll do!' said that lady before anything was said, much to Connie and Kit's relief.

  'I'm glad you like her,' replied Connie, i do too.'

  'Then you'd better fetch her in,' said Dotty, 'before she freezes to death.'

  Joan Young had been as good as her word, and soon after Christmas John Lovell had called to see his brother-in-law.

  'Let's have a look at this rash,' said the doctor, helping Edward off with his shirt.

  He surveyed the spots in silence, whilst the patient awaited the worst.

  'Well,' he said at last. 'You know what you've got, I expect?'

  'Far from it! That's why you're here!'

  'Shingles. I don't think it will be too bad a dose, but it's a beast of a complaint.'

  'I'll endorse that,' said Edward. 'I wonder where I got it?'

  'Lots of chickenpox about. It's connected, you know. Have you been in contact with anyone particularly?'

  Edward thought, as he did up his shirt buttons.

  'Young George Curdle's got it, of course, and I've visited him now and again. Playing snakes and ladders and draughts and other thrilling games.'

  'Sounds as though that's it.'

  'Am I infectious?'

  'No, no! It's one of those things that we think lies dormant, and can flare up if the patient has been under strain or run down. Or, of course, in contact with chickenpox.'

  'Well, to tell the truth, John, I am having a devil of a time with a contract in Cirencester. Have had for weeks now. Might be that partly.'

  'Quite likely.'

  He smiled at his patient.

  'We all worry too much,' he went on. 'I've had a few guilty twinges about ticking you off about those steps. No business of mine really.'

  'Oh, forget it, John,' said Edward. 'Can you give me something to stop this plaguey itching?'

  'Yes. I'll write you a prescription for a lotion and some tablets. And off work for a week at least. Lots of drink – not spirits, old boy – nice healthy stuff like water and orange juice!'

  Thanks a lot!'

  'An evening's card-playing might help. Take your mind off your troubles. Come to us on Thursday. It's my evening off surgery.'

  Within five minutes he had gone, leaving Edward to try and decipher the hieroglyphics of his prescriptions.

  'Why do doctors have such terrible handwriting?' he asked the cat, who had wandered in.

  But, rather naturally, there was no reply.

  The chickenpox epidemic still raged in Lulling and Thrush Green, and when term began almost a quarter of Miss Watson's pupils were absentees. It certainly made for more manageable classes, and Miss Watson and the young probationer took the opportunity to do a little extra coaching of slow readers.

  Little Miss Fogerty always aimed at sending her top infants to the junior school with the ability to read. But, of course, there were some who were slow, and some practically incapable of reading at all, and always would be.

  'There seem to be more these days,' she remarked to Dorothy when the matter was under discussion. 'I can't make it out. It can't be only television. Perhaps I am losing my touch.'

  'Rubbish!' said her friend, i think perhaps we are all trying to do too many things in school time, and the reading gets a little neglected. I intend to have a real blitz this term. After all, the older the child the harder it finds learning to read. We must just put our backs into it for a bit.'

  It was while she was doing just this one chilly January morning, that Miss Fuller walked in, somewhat timidly, clutching a large envelope.

  'Do hope I'm not interrupting,' she said, surveying the half-dozen children clustered round Miss Watson's desk, forefingers clamped to a line in their readers.

  'Not at all,' said Dorothy graciously. 'Go to your desks, children, and carry on quietly.'

  'I thought that you might find a use for these Christmas cards,' said Miss Fuller, proffering the envelope.

  'Now, that is most kind of you,' said Dorothy, turning over the angels, reindeer, wise men, cats and dogs, all in happy medley. 'With these dreadful cuts in expenditure, it's a very welcome present, believe me. We can make all sorts of good things.'

  Miss Fuller flushed with pleasure.

  'I must admit, it's lovely to be back in the classroom again, if only for a few minutes. What were you doing with that little group when I came in?'

  Miss Watson explained about the backward readers.

  'I was rather hoping to get some remedial work when I'd settled,' responded Miss Fuller. 'Just part-time, you know.'

  Miss Watson thought quickly, and replied with her usual frankness.

  'As things are, I can't see the office expending any more money on extra staff, but we could certainly do with a hand at the moment with this reading effort.'

  'Oh, I had no thought of payment,' said Miss Fuller, not quite truthfully. 'But if you really think I could help them I should be more than happy to come for an hour or so during the week.'

  'It's a splendid offer,' said Dorothy, and her response was wholly truthful. 'I'll talk it over with the others, and call on you, if I may.'

  The ladies parted with expressions of gratitude. Miss Fuller looked quite bright-eyed as she waved at the door, and Dorothy returned to her desk with much to consider.

  She must inform the office of Miss Fuller's suggestion, she felt, and then have a word at playtime with her two colleagues.

  Not that they would have any objection, she felt sure, to such an experienced teacher as Miss Fuller giving them a brief respite from the efforts of backward readers.

  Who would, thought Dorothy, beckoning to the group with a sinking heart?

  'There's just one thing,' ventured Agnes that evening. 'Much as I respect Muriel Fuller, I do feel that she can be a trifle – er – perhaps just a little –'

  'Bossy?' said Dorothy. 'I've thought of that. She's not going to tell me how to run my school, just because she's been a headmistress. In any case, there were less than twenty on roll at one time at Nidden.'

  'How well you sum up things!'

  'She could have the staff room for her reading sessions. Five children for half an hour, I thought. If she's willing to give us two hours a week, say, it should fit in very well.'

  'Which days does she want to come?'

  'I'll have to discuss it with her, but if it fits in with her own plans, I suggest Tuesdays and Thursdays, after morning play. She can have her coffee with us, and then carry on when we've gone back to our classrooms.'

  'It sounds splendid.'

  'Well, time alone will tell,' said Dorothy. 'But it was most kind of her to bring her Christmas cards. I think we'll ask the children in assembly tomorrow morning to bring theirs too. What a lot we can do with such bounty! It's really rather depressing to have to eke out the painting paper and gummed squares in such a Scrooge-like fashion. Now, we can turn our attention to scrap books and wall pictures, and perhaps a screen. I've always wanted to make a screen!'

  Agnes smiled indulgently at such enthusiasm. Really, Dorothy was quite a child at heart. Perhaps all teachers of young children were, she thought, with a flash of insight?

  By mid-January th
e weather had deteriorated into bitterly cold conditions, with an icy north-easter and an overcast sky presaging snow to come.

  The last few shrivelled leaves were ripped from the bare branches and skittered about the frozen roads and icy puddles. The birds flocked round the back doors and bird tables, hungry for any largesse that was going.

  The hips and haws, the berries of the pyracanthas and cotoneaster were now being attacked ruthlessly, and the half-coconut hanging outside in the playground seemed to have a little posse of tits on it all through the day.

  Winter ills now descended upon young and old alike, as well as the wretched chickenpox. Isobel and Harold Shoosmith took to their beds with influenza, managing to stagger in turns to heat soup or milk for each other while the plague lasted.

  Jenny had a raging sore throat which John Lovell shook his head over, and spoke darkly about having her tonsils out before long. And Dimity and Charles Henstock found themselves suffering from chilblains, which neither had endured since childhood. They were now stuffing themselves with calcium lactate tablets, and rubbing their afflicted fingers and toes with ointment.

  'No good taking calcium lactate now,' their kind friends assured them. 'You should have been taking a course all through the summer.'

  'How people do enjoy others' misfortunes,' mused Charles to Dimity, when the third person that day had told them of the uselessness of expecting calcium lactate to work a miracle cure, it doesn't give one much hope, does it?'

  'Never mind,' said Dimity, it makes them feel comfortably superior, and it really makes no difference to us. To be honest, I'm quite sure I'm better since we started the tablets.'

  'Perhaps it's faith healing,' said Charles.

  'And what's wrong with that?' cried Dimity triumphantly. 'You know it is right to have faith. And in any case, I don't mind what sort of healing it is as long as the chilblains go.'

  Ada and Bertha Lovelock were in bed with bronchitis, and Violet did her best to provide rather thin soup, and a succession of depressing 'cold shapes' which were a Lovelock dessert speciality, for the invalids. Luckily, the Lulling doctor, surveying his patients' emaciated frames, suggested that suitable meals might be sent in from The Fuchsia Bush next door.