by Miss Read
There had been Something so solidly English about farthings and shillings! And feet and inches, come to that. She hoped that she was progressive enough to face the fact that with the world shrinking so rapidly with all this air travel, and instant communication methods, a common monetary unit was bound to come some day. Bur really, thought Miss Fogerty, putting a box briskly on each low table, it seemed so alien to be dealing in tens when twelve pence to the shilling still haunted the back of one's mind.
'My granny,' said young Peter in the front row, 'learnt me a new song last night.'
'Taught, dear,' replied Miss Fogerty automatically.
'Called 'Sing a song of sixpence'. Shall I sing it?'
'Later, dear. Now, all sit up straight, and listen to me.'
'What is sixpence?' asked Peter.
High time we got on with the lesson, thought Agnes Fogerty, and directed her class to open the boxes.
Next door, Harold Shoosmith and his wife Isobel were admiring some early daffodils in their garden. From the house came the whirr of the vacuum cleaner as Betty Bell, their helper, crashed happily about her work.
'One thing about our Betty,' observed Harold, 'she tackles everything with a will. Lord alone knows how many glasses she's smashed since she's worked here.'
'Not many since I came,' replied Isobel. 'You haven't noticed but I do the glasses now.'
'Ah! That accounts for the fact that I haven't had to buy any more for eighteen months! Marrying you was the best day's work I ever did.'
'Of course it was,' agreed Isobel matter-of-factly. 'How lucky for you that I took you on.'
A window opened above them and Betty's voice hailed them.
'Telephone!' she roared.
While Harold was engaged with his caller, Betty caught at her mistress's arm.
'Is it all right if I go a couple of minutes early? Dotty—I mean Miss Harmer - wants me to give her a hand moving out her dresser. Lost some letter or other down the back as ought to be answered today.'
Of course you can go,' said Isobel. Betty Bell was in great demand, she well knew. Dotty Harmer had employed her long before Isobel, or even Harold when a bachelor, had appeared on the scene. As well as these duties, Betty also kept the village school clean. Isobel was wise enough to recognise that a certain amount of flexibility in Betty's employment was inevitable.
I must say,' went on Betty, attacking a side table with a flailing duster, 'it's a sight easier working here than at Miss Harmer's. I mean it's clean to start with. And tidy. Always was, even when Mr Shoosmith lived here alone. You don't expect a man to keep himself decent really, let alone a house, but he was always nicely washed and that, and the house always smelt fresh.'
Isobel said gravely that she was pleased to hear it.
'But down Miss Harmer's it's a fair old pig's breakfast, I can tell you. Can't never find nothing, and the dusters is old bloomers of hers like as not. Washed, of course, but you can't get the same gloss on things with 'em like this nice one.'
Isobel felt unequal to coping with this conversation, and said she would go and see to lunch.
An hour later, Betty entered Dotty's kitchen to find her other employer sitting at the cluttered table studying a form.
'Oh, how nice of you to come, Betty! As a matter of fact I managed to reach this wretched letter by inserting a long knitting needle in the crack. It fell down, and I was able to get it by lying on the floor, and wriggling it out with a poker.'
Her wrinkled old face glowed with pride.
'Well, you won't want me then,' said Betty, swatting a fly on the table. 'Filthy things, flies.'
'Oh, do wait while I just fill it in,' said Dotty, 'and perhaps you would be kind enough to post it as you go past the box.'
'Sure I will,' said Betty, lunging with a handy newspaper at another fly. 'You've got some real nasty flies in here.'
'Poor things,' said Miss Harmer, putting down her pen. So persecuted. I often wonder if they are as dangerous to health as modern pundits suggest. My grandmother used to sing a charming little song to my baby brother when flies were quite accepted.'
She began to sing in a small cracked voice, while Betty watched her with mingled exasperation and amusement.
Baby bye, there's a fly,
Let us watch it you and I,
There it crawls, up the walls,
Yet it never falls.
I believe with those six legs
You and I could walk on eggs.
There he goes, on his toes,
Tickling baby's nose.
'Well,' said Betty, 'fancy letting it! Downright insanitary!'
Dotty tapped the neglected form with her pen.
'Now, how did it go on?
Round and round, on the ground,
On the ceiling he is found
Catch him? No, let him go,
Do not hurt him so.
Now you see his wings of silk
Dabbling in the baby's milk
Fie, oh fie, you foolish fly!
How will you get dry?
'Did you ever?' exclaimed Betty. 'I mean, flies in the milk!'
'Well, it only goes to show how kind-hearted the Victorians were. And really so much more sensible about disease. My brother grew into a splendid specimen of manhood, despite flies.'
Betty looked at the clock.
'Tell you what, Miss Harmer, I'll come back for that form this afternoon. It'll give you time to work it out, and anyway Willie don't collect till five o'clock.'
Besides that, she thought privately, there was her shopping to do, and heaven alone knew when that would get done if she stayed listening to old Dotty.
'Perhaps that would be best,' agreed Dotty, turning again to her task, while Betty made her escape.
4. Dimity Gets Her Way
AS the Hursts' departure for America drew nearer there was much speculation about the temporary residents who were going to stay at Tullivers.
'Well, for your sake, Winnie,' said Ella Bembridge, 'I hope they're a quiet lot. Don't want a posse of hippies, or a commune, or whatever the "in-thing" is.'
'Good heavens,' said Winnie reassuringly, 'Frank and Phil would never let the place to people like that! I have every confidence in their judgement. They both liked the young couple, I know, and Frank knew his father years ago.'
'That's not saying much,' said Ella, lighting a ragged cigarette. 'I know a lot of respectable people of my age with the most extraordinary children.'
'Jenny says Phil is putting away her best glass and china, which is only prudent, but she seems quite happy to leave everything else as it is. And if she's content, I don't think we need to worry.'
'And how is our Jenny now?'
'She's still got this wretched cough, but won't stay in bed. She's up in her room now, in her dressing gown, dusting the place. I'm getting John to look at her again today. She's still so flushed, I feel sure she's running a temperature.'
'Will she need to do anything at Tullivers?' asked Ella.
'Phil won't hear of it,' replied Winnie. 'She offered, you know, but now that these young people are coming, they can cope, and I intend to dust and tidy up before they arrive, to save Jenny's efforts.'
You'll be lucky! You know Jenny. A glutton for work!'
She was about to go when Dimity and Charles entered.
'We did knock,' said the rector, 'but I expect you had something noisy working.'
Winnie looked blank.
Like the vacuum cleaner, or the fridge, or the washing machine,' enlarged Charles.
Or the mighty wurlitzer,' added Ella.
'No need to knock anyway,' said Winnie, returning to normal. 'Do sit down. We were just discussing our new neighbours-to-be.'
'I shall call as soon as they have settled in,' said Charles. 'It will be so nice if they turn out to be regular churchgoers.'
'He plays the guitar,' said Ella.
'I trust that does not preclude him from Christian worship,' commented Charles.
'I heard t
hat they met at Oxford, but didn't finish their courses,' contributed Dimity.
'Perhaps they preferred to get out into the world and earn their livings,' was Ella's suggestion. 'Bully for them, I'd say.'
'Well, he's an estate agent now,' said Winnie. 'Or at least, he will be. He's joining a firm somewhere near Bicester, I believe, so Robert said. Frank mentioned it.'
'Dotty intends to supply them with goat's milk,' said Dimity.
'Do they like it?' asked Winnie.
'They will after Dotty's called on them,' forecast Dimity.
'Well, I'm sure they will be very welcome here,' said the rector. 'We must see that they have an enjoyable stay at Thrush Green.'
Later in the day, Doctor Lovell mounted the stairs to see Jenny. She had insisted on dressing, but lay on her bed, trying to read. Her flushed face, and hot forehead, bespoke a high temperature.
'Let's have a look at your chest,' said John Lovell, after studying the thermometer.
Jenny cautiously undid the top button of her blouse.
'I shall need more than that, Jenny,' observed the doctor. You needn't be shy with me.'
Jenny undid two more buttons with some reluctance, and John studied the exposed flesh.
'Ever had chicken-pox?'
'I can't remember,' said Jenny. 'We had all sorts up at the orphanage.'
'Well, you've got it now,' said John. 'So no stirring from this bed until I tell you. Keep on with the tablets, and I'll see you have a cooling lotion to dab on the spots.'
'But what about Mrs Bailey?' cried poor Jenny. 'Won't she catch it?'
'If she had any sense,' replied the doctor, 'she caught it years ago, and is immune. Now, into bed with you.'
Jenny's illness made a pleasurable source of discussion at The Two Pheasants that night.
'No joke getting them childish ailments when you're grown up,' said the landlord, twirling a glass cloth inside a tumbler. 'My old uncle caught the measles when he was nigh on seventy, and we all reckoned it carried him off.'
'Affects the eyes, measles does,' agreed Albert Piggott knowledgeably. 'Got to keep the light low, and lay off the reading. I met a chap in hospital when they whipped out my appendix—'
Meaning glances, and a few groans, were exchanged among the regular patrons. Were they going to go through that lot again from old Albert?
'And he'd had measles a few months before and had to have his spectacles changed after that. Proper weak, his eyes was. Watered horrible.'
'Mumps is worse,' contributed Willie Marchant. 'Can upset all your natural functions. Rob you of your manhood, they say.'
'Well, we don't want to hear about it in here,' said the landlord briskly. 'There's two ladies over there, so watch what you're saying.'
Willie Marchant did not appear abashed, and continued.
'But chicken-pox is nasty too. Mixed up with shingles, and that's a real killer, I'm told.'
'Only if it meets round your ribs,' Albert assured him. 'You can have spots all over, but if they meets round your middle you're a goner.'
At this moment, Percy Hodge entered, and was informed of jenny's illness.
'Poor old girl,' commented Percy, looking genuinely upset. 'I got it when I was about twenty. Got proper fed up with people telling me not to scratch. As though you could stop! Well, she's got my sympathy, that's a fact.'
'One thing,' said one of the regulars, 'she's in the right place. Got the doctor on the premises, as you might say, and you couldn't have anyone better than Mrs Bailey to look after you.'
And with that, all agreed.
The next morning Winnie was surprised to open the front door to Percy Hodge. He was holding a basket with a dozen of the largest, brownest eggs that she had ever encountered.
'Thought Jenny might be able to manage an egg,' said Percy.
'Won't you come in?'
'Well, that's nice of you. How is she?' he asked, following Winnie down the hall and into the kitchen.
'She seems a little easier now that the rash has come out,' replied Winnie, unpacking the basket and placing the superb eggs carefully in a blue and white basin. 'Percy, I've never seen such beauties as these! I shall take them upstairs to show her later on. I'm sure she will be so grateful. What a kind thought of yours.'
Percy suddenly looked shy.
'Well, I've known Jenny since we was at Sunday School together. She's a good girl. I was sorry to hear she was poorly. Give her my regards, won't you?'
He accepted the empty basket, and retraced his steps to the front door.
'Of course, I will,' promised Winnie, and watched Percy cross the green towards the lane leading to his farm.
What a very kind gesture, thought Winnie, toiling upstairs with the eggs, and Percy's message, for the invalid.
She suddenly remembered that Percy was a recent widower. Could it be...?
But no, she chided herself, of course not. She must not put two and two together and make five.
'Just look what someone's sent you,' she said to the invalid, holding our the blue and white bowl.
'Good heavens!' cried Jenny. 'We'd best have an omelette for lunch!'
It was a sparkling April morning when the Hursts drove off from Tullivers to Heathrow.
Harold Shoosmith had offered to drive them there, and Jeremy and Winnie Bailey accompanied them in the car to see them off.
Much to everyone's relief, Jeremy was cheerful and excited. Winnie Bailey was quite prepared to cope with some tears at parting, but was pleasantly surprised when the final kisses were exchanged without too much emotion all round.
Not very long before we're back,' promised Phil, producing a small parcel for her son. 'Don't open it until you get back to Aunt Winnie's, darling.'
Jeremy waved vigorously to his departing parents and was quite willing to return to Harold's car, clutching the present.
It had been arranged beforehand that there would be no waiting about at the airport to see the aeroplane leave the ground.
'God knows how long it will be before we finally get away,' Frank had said to Winnie. You know how it is these days: "Regret to say there is a mechanical fault". That's a two-hour job while they solder on the wing. Then the tannoy goes again: "Regret there is an electrical fault", and off you go for your forty-third cup of coffee while they unravel the wires for another hour. No, Winnie dear, you and Harold make tracks back to Thrush Green with the boy, and then we shall be able to ring you to ask if you would mind fetching us back until the next day.'
Luckily, Frank's prognostications were proved wrong, and their flight actually departed on the right day, and only a quarter of an hour behind schedule.
'What do you think it can be?' asked Jeremy shaking the parcel vigorously, when they were on their return journey. It doesn't rattle.'
'Try smelling it,' suggested Harold. 'Might be bath cubes.'
'Bath cubes?' said Jeremy with disgust. 'Why bath cubes?'
'Right shaped box. Long and thin.'
'It might be sweets,' said Winnie. 'Some rather gorgeous nougat comes in boxes that shape.'
Jeremy's small fingers pressed round the edge of the wrapping paper.
'Anyway, I'm not to open it until we get home,' he said at last, 'so put your foot down, Uncle Harold. I'm busting to see what's inside.'
He sat in the front passenger seat, parcel held against his stomach and babbled happily to Harold about car engines, motor boats, his kitten, what Miss Fogerty said about tadpoles and a host of other interesting topics upon which Harold commented briefly as he drove.
In the back, Winnie Bailey, much relieved at the good spirits of her charge, dozed gently, and did not wake until the car stopped at Thrush Green.
'Now I can open it, can't I?' begged Jeremy.
'Of course,' said Winnie and Harold together.
The child ripped away the paper, and disclosed a long red box. Inside, lying upon a cream velvet bed lay a beautiful wrist watch.
Jeremy's eyes opened wide with amazement.
&nb
sp; 'Look!' he whispered. 'And it's mine! Shall I put it on?'
'Why not?' replied Harold.
He helped the child to slide the expanding bracelet over his wrist. The three sat in silence while the child savoured his good fortune.
At length, he gave a great sigh of supreme satisfaction.
'I can't believe it's really mine,' he said, to Winnie. 'I'm so glad I've had chicken pox.'
'Chicken pox?' said Winnie, bemused.
'I can go straight up to Jenny and show her,' said the boy, getting out of the car, and making for the Baileys' gate without a backward glance.
'I must thank you on behalf of us both,' said Winnie to Harold with a smile.
***
Over at the rectory Charles and Dimity were poring over a letter from their old friend Edgar. There was nothing that he and Hilda would enjoy more than two weeks at Thrush Green in the near future.
He had already made tentative arrangements with obliging neighbouring clergymen who would undertake his duties while he was away, so that Charles and Dimity would be quite free. He suggested the first two weeks in May, with Easter behind them and Whitsun well ahead.
Charles thought of Ella's remark about farmers taking their break between haytime and harvest. How well it would fit in, these two weeks between the great church festivals!
'I must get in touch with Anthony Bull at Lulling, and see if dear old Jocelyn feels up to coming out of retirement at Nidden,' he told Dimity, naming the Lulling vicar, and a saintly eighty-year-old who occasionally held the fort for local clergymen in times of emergency.
'Of course they'll help,' said Dimity, 'and they know full well that you will be happy to do the same for them at any time.'
'I'll go and see them both today,' replied Charles, 'and we'll ring Edgar about tea time.'
'Make it after six, dear,' said Dimity. 'Yorkshire is a long way off, and the phone call will be so much cheaper.'
