The Heart of the Dales

by Gervase Phinn

  George observed him for a moment. ‘Now, he’d be ideal as a pallbearer,’ he said. ‘Mind you, he would make a bloody good corpse as well.’

  I duly arrived at the Memorial Hall just before eleven the following morning. To be honest, I wasn’t sorry to get out of the house because Christine was not best pleased at my having agreed to give a talk on a Saturday morning. She had said some rather unflattering things about my resolve to say No.

  I was met in the foyer by a large man sporting a straw boater and wearing a bright yellow sash with a wheel displayed prominently on the front.

  ‘I’m the Sergeant-at-Arms,’ he announced, smiling widely. ‘Welcome to the District Governor’s Conference.’

  ‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘I’m one of the speakers.’

  ‘Chuck?’

  ‘No, no,’ I said, ‘I’m standing in for Chuck.’

  ‘Is he not well?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘How did that happen, then?’

  ‘He was carrying a coffin – they call them caskets in the States – and I thinkhe had a heart attack.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Fortunately they didn’t drop the coffin.’

  ‘That’s a blessing, anyway. Does the District Governor know that Chuck won’t be speaking?’

  ‘I believe so, yes.’

  ‘Everybody was expecting Chuck.’

  ‘Well, he’s not here.’

  ‘You had better come this way. Where are you from?’

  ‘Hawk srill.’

  ‘We’ve a Hawk srill in Yorkshire, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I live there.’

  ‘I thought you were from America.’

  ‘No, that was Chuck,’ I said.

  ‘Poor old Chuck. Did you know him?’

  ‘No, I never met him.’

  ‘No, neither did I, but we were all looking forward to hearing him,’ said the man disconsolately. ‘People will be very disappointed.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid it can’t be helped,’ I said.

  ‘That’s life, isn’t it,’ said the man. ‘It comes to all of us eventually – death, I mean.’

  ‘I think perhaps I should be making a move,’ I said. ‘I’m supposed to be speaking in ten minutes’ time.’

  ‘Things have been moved back,’ said the man. ‘The brigadier’s delayed. They’re all having coffee at the moment so you’ve plenty of time. I mean, we can’t start proceedings without the brigadier.’

  ‘No,’ I sighed, ‘I guess not.’ So much for the ten minutes, I thought.

  ‘First-class speaker, the brigadier, I’m told.’

  ‘Yes, so I hear. Incidentally, has George Furnival arrived yet?’ I asked.

  ‘George? No. He had a ten o’clock funeral this morning, and will be here a little late.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. I was somewhat irritated by the fact that the person who had inveigled me into doing this wretched talk would not be here himself.

  ‘Are you a friend of George’s, then?’ asked the Sergeantat-Arms.

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I’m doing him a favour and standing in for Chuck.’

  ‘So you’re an undertaker like George, then?’

  ‘No, a school inspector.’

  The man looked at me for a moment. ‘A school inspector?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  He sucked in his breath, ‘And what are you talking to us about then?’

  ‘My experiences in education.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound a barrel of laughs,’ he said.

  ‘Still, you’ve got the brigadier,’ I told him.

  ‘That’s true enough. Well, if you’d like to follow me,’ said the man, ‘I’ll take you to the District Governor and his guests.’

  I was shown into an ante-room by the Sergeant-at-Arms. There were several knots of middle-aged and elderly men, all heavily chained and bemedalled, in earnest conversation. I joined a man standing by the window, furtively smoking a cigarette.

  ‘Good morning,’ I said.

  ‘Morning,’ he replied, breathing out a cloud of smoke. ‘Nasty habit. I’m trying to give them up.’ It certainly didn’t look like it to me. ‘Are you a delegate?’

  ‘I’m one of the speakers,’ I told him.

  ‘Oh, you must be Chuck.’

  ‘No, I’m not Chuck. I’m standing in for him.’

  ‘Is he ill?’ asked the man.

  ‘Dead,’ I said.

  ‘Dear, oh dear, how did that happen?’

  ‘He was carrying a coffin and had a heart attack.’

  ‘Well,’ said the man, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette, ‘if you have to go, I suppose that’s the best way.’ He coughed loudly.

  ‘Thankfully they didn’t drop the coffin that Chuck was helping to carry,’ I told him.

  ‘There’s a blessing,’ said the man. ‘Could have been nasty.’

  ‘So, you see, Chuck couldn’t make it,’ I said, ‘and I’ve been asked to speak instead.’

  ‘I was really looking forward to hearing old Chuck,’ said the man sadly. ‘He was supposed to be a brilliant speaker, by all accounts. Spoke from the heart. Still, we’ve got the brigadier and are in for a real treat. Have you heard the brigadier speak before?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Supposed to be one of the best speakers in the British Army.’

  ‘Really?’ I was heartily sick and tired of hearing about the wonderful speaking skills of the brigadier so decided to move on. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ I said, ‘I must get some coffee.’

  Reaching for a coffee cup, I accidentally knocked the arm of the man next to me in the queue. ‘I’m sorry –’ I started.

  The man turned slowly and smiled a wide rather unnerving smile.

  ‘Hello, Gervase,’ he said pleasantly.

  ‘Dr Gore!’ I spluttered.

  ‘And what are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve been asked to speak,’ I told him.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m standing in for Chuck.’

  ‘Can’t he make it?’

  I was tempted to relate the whole sorry saga again, but resisted and settled for, ‘He’s indisposed.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Dr Gore, ‘we were all looking forward to hearing him. Quite a speaker, I am told. Still, we’ve got the brigadier to look forward to. The brigadier comes highly recommended. So you’ve been asked to speak to conference, have you?’

  ‘George Furnival asked me to stand in for Chuck,’ I said.

  ‘And how do you know George?’ he asked.

  ‘We act together in the Fettle sham Literary Players,’ I told him.

  ‘Well, well, well. I didn’t know you were an actor and a raconteur as well as a school inspector.’

  ‘I dabble,’ I said.

  ‘Good, good! I hear from Mrs Savage that arrangements are progressing very well for my NACADS Conference.’

  ‘Yes, everything’s in hand,’ I told him. Butterflies were beginning to flutter uncontrollably in my stomach.

  ‘I said it would be a little job, not too onerous,’ said the CEO, smiling his thin-lipped smile. ‘Anyhow, I very much look forward to hearing what you have to say about education.’ My heart now sank down into my shoes. ‘Nothing too controversial, I hope.’

  ‘No, no,’ I said quickly, ‘nothing controversial.’

  ‘You had better come and say hello to the District Governor,’ Dr Gore instructed me, taking my arm. I accompanied the CEO dutifully and was introduced to a craggy-faced man with thick wavy silver hair.

  ‘I’m Harry Cockburn,’ he said, ‘District Governor, for my sins. And you must be the young man George was telling me about who has so kindly stepped into the breach.’

  Before I could answer a loud, harsh voice I knew only too well came from behind me.

  ‘’E gets everyweer, this chap.’

  I turned to find a large man with a fat red face, purple pitted nose and mop of unnatura
lly shiny, jet black hair. It was Councillor George Peterson, the most self-opinionated and wearisome member of the Education Committee, and husband of the head teacher of High copse Primary School.

  ‘You know our speaker then, Mr Deputy Mayor?’ asked the District Governor.

  ‘I do indeed,’ said Councillor Peterson, sticking out his chin. ‘Gev my wife a right goin’ over when ’e hinspected ’er school. Looked at every thin’ from t’books in t’library to t’locks on t’lavatory doors.’

  ‘Good morning, Councillor Peterson,’ I said.

  ‘Mr Deputy Mayor,’ he corrected me. ‘I’ve been elevated since we last met. Oh yes,’ he continued in that strident tone of voice, ‘I know Mester Phinn very well. We’ve crossed swords – paradoxically, of course – in t’past, ’ave we not, Mester Phinn?’

  I gave a weak smile. Why had I let myself get into this, I asked myself? Could things get worse? First, to have to deputise for Chuck, the outstanding orator everyone was so looking forward to hearing, then to have to speak after the brilliant brigadier, and then to discover that my boss and Councillor Peterson would be in the audience. At that moment, I completely identified with Raymond’s plaintive cry that it was ‘all too too much’.

  ‘I was just saying to Dr Gore, Mr Deputy Mayor,’ commented the District Governor, ‘that it is very kind of Mr Phinn to stand in for one of our speakers who unfortunately is unable to be with us.’

  ‘’Appen it is,’ said Councillor Peterson, ‘but I wasn’t aware that hofficers of the Hauthority were allowed to moonlight.’

  ‘I’m hardly moonlighting, councillor,’ I told him, irritated by his comment. ‘I’m giving up a Saturday morning to help a colleague.’

  ‘Aye, well, I would ’ave thought you ’ad enough on yer plate what wi’ all these school closures wi’out speak in’ at conferences. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again –’

  ‘Please, Mr Deputy Mayor,’ interrupted Dr Gore, ‘let us not discuss Education Authority business. That is best left for the Council Chamber.’

  ‘’Appen so,’ said Councillor Peterson, ‘but it’s huppermost in my mind at t’moment. I’m gerrin’ a lot of flak, as you well know, Dr Gore. Bullets comin’ at me from every direction, same as what I got when I tried, wi’out success, I may add, to close t’school in the village where Mester Phinn lives.’

  ‘I think it is so very important to preserve these little village schools,’ observed the District Governor. ‘To my mind, they are so much a part of the fabric of rural existence and so important in the life of the small community.’

  ‘Aye, well, I can see you’ve never ’ad to manage a budget with a bloody gret deficit, Dr Cockburn,’ said Councillor Peterson, clearly stung by the remark. ‘I could say a few things about ’ospitals and doctors and t’waste in t’National ’Ealth Service, if I’d a mind.’

  ‘If indeed,’ murmured the District Governor.

  ‘Beg pardon?’ asked Councillor Peterson.

  ‘I said, ‘Shall I lead?’ I think we are about to start.’

  The Sergeant-at-Arms shouted from the door. ‘Mr Deputy Mayor, District Governor, fellow Rotarians, honoured guests, gentlemen, if you please. Could you take your seats? The brigadier’s car has been sighted and is pulling into the car park.’

  I was conducted to the wings of the stage by the Sergeant-at-Arms and told to wait while the brigadier, who would be speaking before me, was freshening up.

  ‘They like to look smart and well presented, these military types,’ he said.

  I was getting more and more irritated as the time ticked on. Eventually a woman in a dark blue suit joined me.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said.

  ‘Good morning,’ I replied.

  ‘Are you one of the speakers?’ she asked.

  ‘I am,’ I said, ‘I was supposed to be on half an hour ago but we’ve all been waiting for this bloody brigadier. He’s arrived at last, but now we’re waiting for him to powder his nose, or something.’

  The woman gave a lop-sided smile. ‘I’m the bloody brigadier,’ she said, holding out a hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  18

  ‘It’s the Black Widow on the phone for you,’ said Julie, grimacing, and passing over the receiver as if it harboured some dire infection. It was a quarter to three on Wednesday afternoon and I was about to leave the office.

  ‘Who?’ I asked.

  ‘Brenda the Impaler. Who do you think?’

  ‘Mrs Savage?’

  ‘Right! And, as usual, she sounds as sharp as a bottle full of sulphuric acid. Shall I say you’ve already left?’

  ‘No, no,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I had better speak to her because it’s probably about the meeting later this afternoon.’

  I took the receiver from Julie who waited, a hand on her hip, smiling and listening.

  ‘Mr Phinn?’ came the brusque and imperious voice.

  ‘It is,’ I said.

  ‘Brenda Savage here. There is a slight problem with regard to our intended visit to Manston Hall this afternoon to discuss the arrangements for the NACADS Conference. If you recall, we agreed to meet there for four o’clock. I’m afraid my car is… it’s… well, it won’t start… so I shall have to travel with you.’

  ‘Travel with me?’ I repeated.

  Julie pulled a face.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mrs Savage. ‘There is really no alternative.’

  ‘The problem about travelling with me, Mrs Savage,’ I told her, ‘is that I have a couple of calls to make on my way to Manston Hall.’

  ‘A couple of calls?’ she repeated.

  ‘I agreed to collect some things for Sister Brendan at St Bartholomew’s.’

  ‘Collect some things?’ She sounded like an echo.

  ‘Yes, Sister Brendan is organising a charity auction next weekin aid of disadvantaged children and is collecting contributions. Fettlesham Social Club has donated a television, Fine Wines of Fettlesham a couple of cases of wine, and there’s a hamper from Roper’s Salesroom. I have agreed to collect them on my way to Manston Hall, so I can drop them off when I visit St Bartholomew’s on Friday. So you see, I have to set off quite a bit earlier – in fact, I am just leaving now – and my car will be pretty full.’ Julie raised a thumb and grinned at me. ‘Unfortunately, therefore, I cannot take you with me.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that collecting and delivering goods was part of the inspector’s duties,’ she observed.

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ I told her. What I should have said was it is really none of your business, but I bit my lip. ‘All the pick-up points are en route to Manston Hall so I am not going out of my way and it is for a very good cause.’ I often wondered why people felt it necessary to explain themselves to her. She seemed to have this bizarre effect.

  ‘Nevertheless, it does seem to me –’ Mrs Savage began.

  ‘So you see,’ I said, cutting her off mid-sentence, ‘I have things to do and the car will be full. I suggest you get a taxi.’

  ‘That is out of the question!’ she retorted sharply. ‘The County Treasurer would not be best pleased to receive a claim for a taxi fare right out to Manston Hall, particularly when another member of the Education Department will be going there. No, no, I shall have to travel with you. When will you be ready?’

  I looked heavenwards and sighed. ‘As I said, I’m just about to set off.’

  ‘Well, if you could collect me from outside the main entrance to County Hall in ten minutes, I –’

  ‘Mrs Savage,’ I said, interrupting her again, ‘you may recall the conversation we had the other weekon the top corridor of County Hall, when you were at great pains to point out to me that the inspectors’ office is but a short distance and it is not that onerous for us to walkover. I am sure, therefore, that it would not be too much of a hardship for you to ‘walkover’ and meet me here. It’s such a lovely sunny day, too. Apart from anything else, I would not want to venture near County Hall in case I am clamped.’

  There was a sile
nce at the end of the line. I could visualise her, drumming her long, red-nailed fingers testily on the desktop, her face tightening with displeasure. Julie continued to make faces at me. ‘Very well, Mr Phinn,’ she said at last. ‘I shall be with you directly.’

  ‘I’ll meet you in the car parkoutside this office.’ I put down the phone. ‘She’s coming over,’ I told Julie.

  ‘Well done!’ she said sarcastically. ‘You had every reason not to take that woman with you to Manston Hall, yet here you are about set off with venomous Brenda. I just hope you live to tell the tale.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Why can’t she make her own way there?’ Julie asked.

  ‘Her car won’t start.’

  ‘What, that swanky red sports convertible?’

  ‘It appears so,’ I said.

  ‘She could get a bus.’

  ‘Now, can you imagine Mrs Savage on a bus?’

  ‘Tell her to get on her bike, then,’ said Julie.

  ‘I can just see it,’ I laughed. ‘Mrs Savage on a bicycle!’

  ‘Well, I hope for your sake she gets her car fixed soon, otherwise you’ll be chauffeuring her all round the place, and people will start talking.’

  ‘That I shall not be doing!’ I spluttered.

  ‘Well, you are today,’ said Julie, teetering towards the door on her ridiculously high heels. ‘The trouble with you is that you’re too easily persuaded. Dr Gore gives you all those “little jobs”, Sister Brendan has you collecting things for her raffle, and now the Bride of Dracula has you chauffeuring her around. You ought to put your foot down.’ Before I could respond, Julie was through the door. ‘See you tomorrow,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘if you survive this afternoon, that is.’

  *

  Mrs Savage kept me waiting a good ten minutes, and I was about to go when she eventually appeared, strolling down the white gravel path leading from County Hall to where I was parked. For all the world, she looked like a model from a fashion magazine dressed to kill. She was wearing a grey herringbone tweed jacket with black velvet collar and cuffs, a blue pencil skirt and navy suede shoes Around her shoulders was draped a pale brown woollen overcoat, while tucked under one arm was an expensive-looking ruched velvet handbag and she was carrying a slim leather document case. She had obviously made a considerable effort, and would appear very much at home amongst the aristocrats at Manston Hall. In fact, she looked every inch a duchess.