(12/13) The Year at Thrush Green

by Miss Read

  But latterly things had changed. Nelly's success at the Fuchsia Bush, her unfailing cheerfulness, and her exemplary cleanliness had made her neighbours willing to admit that there was a lot to commend Nelly Piggott.

  Mrs Jenner had been one of the first to offer friendship, and her example had prompted others to welcome Nelly into Thrush Green society.

  On that April evening the bond between the two women grew stronger than ever. Although Mrs Jenner deprecated Nelly's passion for the flibbertigibbet Charlie, she was wise enough to recognize that love can strike in the most uncomfortable and unpredictable ways, and that really Nelly was perhaps more sinned against than sinning.

  Certainly, as Nelly poured out her tale, with her tears, sitting in Mrs Jenner's wicker armchair, her hostess was almost as moved as her sorrowful guest.

  She fell back on the common panacea in times of stress. 'I shall make us a nice pot of tea, dear,' she told Nelly.

  And she did.

  It was about this time that Edward Young came across Jane Cartwright, as they had both gone to post letters in the box by the wall of the Youngs' house.

  'Ah!' greeted Edward. 'Just the person I wanted to see.'

  Jane smiled happily. She had no inkling of what was in Edward's mind, but she had always looked upon him as a good friend.

  She put her two letters in first, and Edward thrust a fat bundle of mail in after hers.

  'It's about that room of yours. I hear it's considered inadequate.'

  Jane's heart sank. From his tone she realized that he was annoyed, and knowing his reputation for 'touchiness' she felt dismayed.

  However, she was a brave woman, and answered straightforwardly. 'It's perfectly adequate for its purpose,' she said. 'I don't know who started these rumours. I've heard them myself, so I know they may have worried you. If we have a party, of course, which doesn't happen very often, I suppose we could do with more space.'

  Edward grunted. 'So there's nothing to complain about?'

  'Indeed not. We love the building and the added conservatory.'

  Edward looked slightly mollified. 'Anyone else spoken to you about this affair?'

  'Well, the rector asked me what I thought. I told him exactly what I have told you. He seemed relieved. He said we couldn't really afford to make any enlargements.'

  'That's quite true. And I'm glad he was relieved. I am too. I did my level best to make those buildings absolutely right at the time.'

  Jane was glad to see that he seemed calmer. 'You did a first-class job there,' she told him, 'and we all appreciate it.'

  They parted company with relief on both sides.

  ***

  During April the trustees of Rectory Cottages met in the Henstocks' dining-room at Lulling.

  The meeting was at eight o'clock and Dimity had provided coffee and drinks for the assembled company. Having supplied her guests she retired to the vicarage sitting-room and watched a gardening programme on television. She found it very peaceful.

  In the dining-room next door, the even tenor of the Usual Business had also gone its peaceful way, until Charles, as chairman, had enquired if there were any other business, and Mrs Thurgood raised her voice.

  'I am greatly perturbed to hear that the communal room is too small,' she stated.

  All eyes turned towards her. Charles, who had expected this matter to be raised, found that his attention was caught by Mrs Thurgood's hat.

  Usually that lady's hats were high-crowned affairs with wisps of veiling or silk swathed around them, reminiscent of Queen Mary's toques of Charles's youth. But this evening she was wearing a round straw hat with an upturned brim and two streamers of ribbon hanging at the back. It seemed rather a youthful style for such a formidable figure, and Charles felt that it was vaguely familiar.

  'Any comments?' he asked the assembled company, still secretly puzzling about the hat.

  'I don't think,' said Harold Shoosmith, 'that the room is really too small. I had a word with Jane Cartwright and one or two of the people at Rectory Cottages, and everyone seemed quite happy with the present arrangements.'

  Mrs Thurgood bridled, and the two streamers quivered. Light dawned on Charles. Of course, the hat was exactly like those worn by Edwardian children at the seaside! A sort of summer sailor's hat! He smiled with relief.

  Mrs Thurgood shot him a disapproving glance. For two pins, Charles thought, she would tell him that it was 'no laughing matter'. But the lady's attention was directed to Harold.

  'That is not what I heard,' she said firmly. 'It was Captain Jermyn himself who mentioned it to me.'

  There was a visible relaxation of tension. Captain Jermyn, a crusty old veteran of two world wars, was known to be an inveterate troublemaker.

  Charles rallied to Harold's support, making a mental note to consult Dimity about the hat when the meeting ended.

  'I too have spoken to several people, and all seemed to find the room adequate.'

  John Lovell also added his mite, saying mildly that he knew his brother-in-law, Edward Young, who had designed the building and the annexe, had taken infinite trouble over the dimensions of the sitting-room. He himself had always thought it pleasantly spacious. 'What's more,' he added, 'it would be horribly expensive to enlarge.'

  'We've raised money before,' snapped Mrs Thurgood. 'Jumble sales, fetes, coffee mornings, whist drives—I've helped with all of them myself. And I've had another idea recently. Janet, my daughter, would be quite willing to have an exhibition of her abstract paintings, and I'm sure people would flock to see it.'

  From the expressions of dismay which were apparent on the committee members' faces, this hopeful vision of queues jostling to see Miss Thurgood's incomprehensible daubs seemed unlikely.

  'But where could it be held?' asked someone, playing for time.

  'I thought the town hall,' said Mrs Thurgood. 'Of course, the rental of the place would have to come from our funds, but the profits should easily cover that. I propose a fund-raising effort.'

  Charles took charge. 'I think we should put Mrs Thurgood's proposal to the vote. Can I have a seconder?'

  There was a stony silence, whilst looks were exchanged.

  'Well,' said Charles, 'it looks as though we must let the matter rest.'

  'You may,' said Mrs Thurgood forcefully, 'but I shall not!'

  And five minutes later the meeting ended.

  In bed that night, Charles asked Dimity if she had noticed Mrs Thurgood's hat.

  'It reminded me of the sort of thing my father wore as a boy at Walton-on-Naze, according to family photographs.'

  'It's a Breton straw,' Dimity told him.

  'A Breton straw?' echoed Charles mystified.

  'Sailors wear them in Brittany,' yawned Dimity. 'I had one just after the war. They seemed to be in fashion after D—Day.'

  'But surely there wouldn't be any sailors in Brittany wearing hats like that on D—Day,' replied Charles. 'I mean the beaches were swarming with troops, and any Breton sailors would be in uniform. Don't you think that style really goes back to earlier times?'

  But Charles received no answer. Dimity had fallen asleep, and Charles shelved these sartorial problems and followed suit.

  Edward Young, who was also one of the trustees, had been unable to attend the meeting, which was just as well, for he would have become extremely heated in the light of Mrs Thurgood's assertion that the sitting-room he had so carefully designed was too small. John Lovell, as Edward's doctor, felt particularly relieved that his irascible brother-in-law was absent. Such an atmosphere might well have brought on Edward's shingles again.

  Nevertheless, Edward, who still found the rumour rankling, asked several local friends for their opinion. All did their best to reassure him. Most of those asked were genuinely of the opinion that the room was quite all right as it was.

  One or two, including Molly Curdle who knew Edward's quick temper, kept any doubts about the adequacy of the room to themselves. Anyway, all agreed that it would cost a great deal of mone
y.

  Edward calmed down, and general relief was felt in the Youngs' household.

  Edward was gazing from his drawing-room window one fine April morning, and feeling pleasantly relaxed as he surveyed Thrush Green and Rectory Cottages looking particularly fine in the spring sunshine. He admired the tubs of velvety polyanthus and wallflowers which stood each side of the Two Pheasants' doorway. Nearer at hand he saw that the lilac bushes near his own gate would soon be in fragrant bloom. There was no doubt about it. Spring took a lot of beating at Thrush Green!

  As he gloried in the view before him, he noticed a small car pulling up near his gateway. A large fair-haired man got out, consulted his wrist-watch, and then went rather hesitantly across the road to stroll on the dewy grass of Thrush Green.

  Edward watched him with curiosity. One did not often see strangers on Thrush Green.

  Near by, Winnie Bailey and Jenny, busy changing sheets in the front bedroom, also noticed the stranger.

  'Now who can that be?' wondered Winnie aloud, stuffing a pillow into a fresh pillowslip.

  'Can't see properly,' said Jenny, approaching the window.

  'I do hope it's not one of those travellers' said Winnie. 'I believe they send out a sort of scout to find out the lie of the land. Thrush Green is just the sort of place for dozens of broken-down vehicles to park, isn't it?'

  Jenny was reassuring. 'He looks too respectable to me. Might be one of those reps just stretching his legs before he goes down to Lulling to sell something to the shops there.'

  'I do hope you're right. Connie was telling me a fearful tale about a friend of hers in Dorset who was absolutely surrounded by caravans and buses and tents for weeks. She couldn't get her car out of the garage.'

  'She should have rung the police.'

  'She did, but there's some stupid business about letting people stay for a certain length of time before action can be taken. At least, that's what Connie told me. Her friend was virtually a prisoner in her own home.'

  The two women peered out of the window. The stranger was approaching the Two Pheasants, and Mr Jones emerged and engaged the man in conversation. There was a good deal of nodding and smiling, and Mr Jones pointed towards the Youngs' house.

  'Well,' said Winnie after a few minutes, 'he seems to be going to see Edward and Joan.'

  'Then he must be respectable,' said Jenny. 'Nothing to worry about.'

  The two returned to their bed-making.

  Edward Young opened the door.

  'I'm looking for Mr and Mrs Curdle,' said the stranger. 'Have I come to the wrong house?'

  'Actually, their house is over there,' replied Edward, pointing to the old stables, across the garden.

  'I'm sorry to have troubled you,' said the stranger, retreating, but Edward called him back.

  'There's no one there at the moment. Molly has gone across to see her father who lives over there near the pub, and Ben's at work in Lulling. Why don't you come in and wait for Molly? She'll only be a few minutes.'

  'That's sure kind of you,' said the man, following Edward into the hall.

  Edward was curious about his visitor. Obviously he was an American, but why did he want to see the Curdles? At least he sounded as though he had a genuine reason for being in Thrush Green. For one awful moment he had wondered, as Winnie and Jenny had, if the fellow were spying out the land for an invasion of unwanted self-styled travellers. The trouble with such people, Edward had thought, was that they seemed to be settlers, rather than travellers, and Thrush Green could do without them.

  He saw now that his guest was well-scrubbed and his blonde hair recently washed. He was dressed in very good clothes of an informal type, a silk shirt and a cardigan which looked suspiciously like cashmere, and Edward looked at his shining shoes with envy.

  At that moment, Joan came in and Edward turned to the stranger who had leapt politely to his feet.

  'Oh, I didn't realize you had someone here,' said Joan.

  'My wife, Joan, and I am Edward Young,' said Edward.

  'And I am Carl Andersen,' said the stranger, 'with an E.'

  'How do you do?' said Joan. 'With an E? Like Hans Andersen? Is he a relative, by any chance?'

  'No such luck, ma'am, but my folk came from his country, Denmark, way back.'

  'From "Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen"?' laughed Joan, quoting from the musical.

  'Nearer Odense, I'm told, where Hans Andersen was born. I was brought up on his stories.'

  'Me too,' said Joan, 'and now I'll get some coffee.'

  'I've been admiring the houses here,' said Carl Andersen. 'Those new ones have fitted in real well.'

  Edward smiled. 'I designed them,' he said with some pride.

  'Is that so? I'm in the building line myself. I take it you are an architect?'

  'That's right. And you?'

  'More in the way of construction. Large stuff like bridges and dams.'

  Edward looked at him with greater interest. 'You're not Benn, Andersen and Webbly, by any chance?'

  'That's right. At least, it was my pa that was the first Andersen. I just fell into his shoes, as it were.'

  'A most prestigious firm,' said Edward reverently. 'They've done outstanding work all over the world. I've followed all they undertake with the greatest interest.'

  'Well, I'm sure proud to be with them,' replied Carl. 'I've just been up to Scotland to discuss a big project up there. All pretty exciting.'

  Joan appeared with the coffee, and the conversation became more general, until Edward, full of curiosity, asked directly what brought their visitor to Thrush Green.

  'It's something my mother asked me to do. She's an old lady now, and an invalid, but she was born and raised at Woodstock near here, and old Mrs Curdle was her godmother.'

  'Well,' cried Joan, 'this is absolutely amazing! Ben is her grandson, you know. She brought him up, but I've never heard about her godchild.'

  'I expect you know that Mrs Curdle's fair used to go on to Woodstock after it had performed here. Old Mrs Curdle and my mother's mother were old friends, and Mrs Curdle took a great interest in her god-daughter. My mother has never forgotten her. She wanted me to look up her relatives in these parts.'

  'Well, Ben is her grandson, as we said. Whether he remembers your mother from so long ago, I just don't know.'

  'But how did your mother go to America?' Edward wanted to know. Joan, not for the first time, deplored her husband's uninhibited questioning, but said nothing.

  'My pa was stationed at RAF Upper Heyford near Woodstock, during the war, and he met my ma at a dance.'

  'But this is really romantic,' cried Joan. 'So he took her back with him when the war ended?'

  'Not quite. This is where Mrs Curdle comes into it. My ma wrote regularly to my pa when he returned to the States, but she got no mail from him for months, and began to think he'd dropped her. Maybe even had a wife over there all the time. You know how it is.'

  'So what happened?'

  'She was beginning to wonder if she'd think about getting tied up with a guy from Eynsham who was pretty persistent. She told her godmother all about it, and Mrs Curdle told her to be patient because she said my pa would surely be writing soon. She told my ma she had something called 'second sight', and all would turn out fine and dandy. And it did. My pa came over, whipped her up and took her back home.'

  'But why hadn't the letters got through?'

  'As soon as my pa got back he took up his old job with Benn and Webbly, as it was then. He was working full steam for them, and had rooms in Chicago near the firm. The daughter of the house was sweet on him, and kept any mail from Woodstock out of sight. Burned it, no doubt.

  And for weeks my pa left his mail on the hall table to be sent off, and that young good-for-nothing burned them too, I guess. Anyway, they each thought the other had stopped feeling the way they did, until my pa came to his senses, guessed what was happening and sent a cable.'

  'Amazing!' said Joan. 'So dear old Mrs Curdle was right.'

 
; The visitor looked at his wrist-watch and stood up. 'I've taken up too much of your time,' he said. 'Thank you for the coffee. I'll go and see if Molly Curdle's in now.'

  They said goodbye to him at the kitchen door, and watched him approach Molly who was pegging clothes on a line near by.

  'Well, I must say,' said Edward, 'I enjoyed all that. Not many of our visitors are so entertaining. I hope he comes again.'

  Later that morning the Youngs saw Carl Andersen driving towards Lulling, and a few minutes later Molly Curdle came into the kitchen where Joan was making a cake.

  'Isn't it exciting?' said Molly, sitting down at the table.

  'And isn't he handsome? Could be a film star. I've always liked fair men.'

  'I'm surprised you picked Ben then,' commented Joan, sprinkling sugar into the mixture in the bowl. 'He's a real dark beauty.'

  'Oh well,' said Molly indulgently, 'that's different. Ben was always special.'

  'Where is Mr Andersen staying?'

  'At the Bear in Woodstock. His mother used to work there when she was a girl. She was there when she met his dad. He wants to meet Ben, and he's gone down to the garage to fix a time for a chat. I hope he'll come to supper tonight.'

  'I'm sure he'd enjoy that.'

  Molly looked doubtful. 'I don't know about that. It wouldn't be half as grand as dinner at the Bear, but he seems keen to come.'

  'Of course he does! And Ben will be able to tell him more about Mrs Curdle than anyone else I know.'

  'Dad must remember some things,' said Molly thoughtfully. 'He always said a lot on Fair Day.'

  'Complimentary?' asked Joan with a smile.

  Molly laughed. 'It was usually a good old moan about the noise and the mess to be cleared up next day! I don't think I'll send this nice Mr Andersen to see my dad!'

  The reason for nice Mr Andersen's presence at Thrush Green was soon known and widely discussed.

  Mr Jones at the Two Pheasants regretted that the handsome stranger should think the Bear at Woodstock could offer better accommodation than his own.