Valley in Bloom
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Copyright
Valley in Bloom
Grace Thompson
Map
Chapter One
The lane was icy as Nelly walked up on her way home. The dogs bounded about her and even they occasionally slipped on the treacherous surface. She stopped to catch her breath, aware that she had been hurrying, and stood for a moment, watching them as they examined every fallen leaf on that cold November day.
She had been hurrying as she planned to have a casserole ready for when George finished work that evening, knowing he would be both cold and hungry after his day working for Farmer Leighton. The parcel of meat and vegetables under her arm slipped a little and she tried to rewrap it. The newspaper covering her purchases was damp and, as she struggled with it, carrots, onions and potatoes slipped and began to roll away from her.
The dogs, sensing a game, ran off with a couple of potatoes and she leant against the wintery hedge and laughed.
‘Worse than a couple of kids you two are, Bobby an’ Spotty,’ she shouted. ‘Thank Gawd it wasn’t me meat I dropped!’ She eventually managed to store the vegetables in the large pockets of her over-sized coat and they went on up the lane.
Nelly was a plump, rather untidy figure in the flapping coat that almost reached her ankles and the wide-brimmed hat from under which hair escaped like fronds of seaweed waving in the tide.
She went through the gate and while the dogs went down to wait for her at the back door, she crossed the lawn, ducked under the spreading branches of the old apple tree and opened the door of the hen-run to let the chickens out to scratch for what they could find. There were five hens and she greeted them all by name.
The path of her cottage was made of cinders, built up from the ashes of her fire over many years and, with it being safe under foot, she hurried determinedly down it, and charged against her door. It gave easily and she staggered, half-falling, into her living room.
‘Dammit!’ she told the dogs, ‘I keep fergettin’ that George ’as fixed it.’ The door had been ill-fitting for many years and had rarely been closed even at night, as the effort was too much for her. Since George had arrived in the village as a tramp and stayed to marry her the cottage had become almost trouble-free. But she still forgot the ease with which the door now opened.
Nelly had lived in Hen Carw Parc since the beginning of the war when her snobbish daughter Evie had been evacuated here and Nelly had followed. Her daughter was unhappy at living near her amiable, good-natured and very untidy mother, whom many of the villagers still called Dirty Nelly. Evie and her head-teacher husband, Timothy, had once tried to remove her by placing her in a home for the elderly, but marriage to George – another of Evie’s embarrassments – had dismissed the threat for good.
Nelly unloaded her pockets and put her shopping on the table. As soon as her hands were free she leaned over to turn on her radio. Then she started with fright as, before her fingers touched the switch, a voice said: ‘Nelly, my dear. I hope you didn’t mind me walking in?’
‘Blimey, Mrs Bennet-’Ughes! You frit me nearly to death!’
‘Now that must be one of your London expressions,’ Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes laughed. ‘All these years here in Wales and you still talk like a Londoner! I’m sorry if I frightened you, but I did speak as you came in and look, the dogs saw me at once.’
Bobby and Spotty were large ungainly dogs and it was an amusing sight to see them both trying to sit on the lap of their visitor.
‘Get down you stupid animals,’ Nelly shouted, her raucous laughter filling the room. ‘’Ere, keep an eye on me meat will yer, while I give ’em some biscuits to shut ’em up.’
Pausing only to turn the swivel over the fire in the oven range to allow the kettle to heat, Nelly went to a small cupboard and took out some dog biscuits which she threw onto the frost-tipped grass in the garden. ‘That’ll keep ’em quiet for a minute. Nice to see yer,’ she said, puffing as if she had run a fast mile. ‘Not the most peaceful of ’ouses ter visit, is it?’ She laughed again, her missing teeth creating almost a snarl which was belied by the twinkling merriment in her dark eyes.
Nelly took off her hat and coat, wrapped an apron around her plump middle and busied herself preparing tea for her visitor. She seemed calm and at ease but, as always with unexpected visits from what she considered ‘authorities’, she was half-afraid of trouble. She glanced at Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes as the woman preferred to be called, using her husband’s Christian name as well as their hyphenated surnames. She smiled as she caught the woman’s eye before turning back to her large fire-blackened kettle and the brown china teapot which she warmed with the near-boiling water.
Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes wore her generously cut fur coat and brown leather fur-lined boots. What could be seen of her legs were covered in hand-knitted, patterned stockings in brown wool. Her handbag, large and also of good quality leather, was near her feet. Nelly wondered curiously what she could find to fill it, she managed with just her pockets most of the time. And why would she want to carry such a heavy thing? Not for the first time Nelly decided that the richer you were, the more problems you made for yourself.
Like her own daughter, Evie. There was a one for making work for herself. So vain, she was afraid to go out without adding to her makeup, polishing her shoes, brushing her coat in case a particle of dust had the audacity to land on her shoulders, and conducting long searches in the mirror for signs of imperfections. The saddest thing, in Nelly’s opinion, was that she treated her son Oliver in the same way. A ten-year-old boy wasn’t meant to be neat and clean all the time! And Evie’s home was bereft of anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. Evie carried a big handbag, too. Not as big as Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes’s though. Perhaps, to Evie’s constant regret, she wasn’t as important.
‘Why I have called,’ her visitor said when they were both seated comfortably with cups of tea beside them, ‘is to ask for your advice.’
‘Me? Blimey you must be ’ard up!’ Nelly laughed.
‘It’s about money for the Community Hall.’
‘You come to the wrong ’ouse. I ain’t got none of that!’ Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes smiled and waited. ‘Yes, I know we needs more money to finish the building,’ Nelly went on, ‘want a donation, do yer?’
‘I want your opinion on something we haven’t tried before. Do you think the villagers would be willing to enter the Best Kept Village competition next year?’
‘Can I see to my George’s dinner while we talk?’ Nelly stood up and began chopping meat and vegetables, which she placed in a casserole and put in the oven at the side of the now roaring fire. She frowned as she thought before replying to the question, chewing on a carrot which she had absent-mindedly popped into her mouth.
‘Seems to me that you’ll ’ave to talk to them on the main road. It’s only fer the likes of them, especial
ly them with plenty of money to spare for flowers, to decide yes or no. Fer meself, yes, I’d love ter see the place all colourful and lookin’ good. Mind you, you can’t ignore half the population – you’ll ’ave to ’ave another Bring-an’-Buy sale, especially now Prue Beynon’s back to bully them into working. All them knitters and sewers would ’ate to be left out. But to fill the gardens and windersills with flowers,’ she sighed, imagining the spectacle, ‘lovely that would be. Yes, I bet there’ll be plenty willin’ to ’elp with that.’
‘We’ve just had a Bring-and-Buy, but I’m sure you’re right and the ladies of the sewing bee will soon have enough work finished to arrange another one.’ She took out her notebook and made a few entries, while Nelly stirred the fire to encourage the heat to increase and start the casserole cooking.
‘I’m a bit out of the way up ’ere,’ Nelly went on, ‘but I’ll do something. My George is real good at growin’ things and,’ her eyes lit up and she brandished the poker like a foil as she added, ‘we could make our garden into one of them where you pays to come in!’
‘Nelly Luke – I mean Masters! You never cease to amaze me. An ‘At Home’ with Nelly and George!’ She laughed good naturedly as she scribbled into her book, while Nelly poured them another cup of tea.
When it was time for Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes to walk down to the main road where her car was parked, it was with regret that she said goodbye. She always found pleasure in talking to the woman some still referred to as Dirty Nelly. The casserole simmering in the oven heated by the coal and wood fire was sending out delicious smells. The room was warm, cluttered and over-full, its furniture large, old and comfortable, and it was without haste that she collected her discarded boots and her fur coat and her handbag, which the dogs were using as a pillow, and promised they would meet soon.
‘I’ll walk down with yer,’ Nelly said.
Taking much less time to dress, she slipped on the coat which she had thrown onto the couch and pulled on socks and wellingtons. Reaching for the dogs’ leads, she paused to give the fire a stir to lift a few lumps of coal, and gave the underside of the fire a fierce poke to loosen the ash and send it showering, spark-filled, to the ash-pan below. Then, giving one slow appreciative sniff, she announced herself ready.
Although it was only half-past three, it was already quite dark. The day had been dull with low clouds covering the surrounding hills, wrapping the village in an icy grip. The roads were wet but Nelly knew that the lower temperature of the evening would harden the moisture into ice again and make a slippery and dangerous surface. Below them, as they walked down towards the main road of Hen Carw Parc, lights showed along the street and reflected through the water sprayed up by the occasional passing vehicle. They turned left and soon saw the brighter light of Amy’s shop throwing a wet gleam across the surface of the road.
Nelly smiled as she thought of Amy Prichard serving in the shop, her makeup as immaculate at this time of day as it was in the morning, her fair hair attractively styled. Pretty as a film-star, was Amy, Nelly thought. While she was serving her customers efficiently and with a smile her mind was probably wondering which of her two boyfriends she would marry. Amy had two children but no husband and now there were two men anxious to make her their wife.
There were no lights on in the flat above the shop, and Nelly guessed that the Powells who lived there were still out at work; Ralph at his office in town and Mavis working beside Amy in the post-office-cum-general stores. The Powell’s daughter, Sheila, still lived with her grandmother up in the council houses. Sheila who, although still very young, had caused so much trouble.
Outside the shop a tractor was parked. ‘That Billie Brown, ’e don’t give up,’ Nelly said, and when her companion looked puzzled she went on, ‘’e wants to marry Amy but she’s stuck on that Victor Honeyman, him whose wife died after my Evie crashed into the ambulance she was in.’
‘That was very sad. And so upsetting for your daughter, even though she was hardly to blame for the woman’s death.’
‘Shouldn’t never ’ave been drivin’. Some things is best left to men and where my daughter Evie’s concerned, that includes drivin’. Now Amy, I reckon she’d drive well enough, but not my Evie.’
‘Will they marry do you think? Amy and Victor Honeyman? Now he’s a widower there’s nothing to stop them, is there?’
‘Can’t say. I think the sudden death of Victor’s wife, leavin’ ’im so conveniently free, well, it’s made it more difficult for Amy than if they’d separated, legal and above board.’
‘And Billie Brown the farmer hasn’t given up then?’
‘No, ’e ain’t given up. But can you see Amy as a farmer’s wife? No, neither can I, more’s the pity,’ she added as her companion shook her head.
* * *
Amy re-filled the shelf with bars of chocolate as she talked to Billie Brown. Never one to be idle, she allowed customers to stay and talk occasionally, but always used the time dusting or re-arranging the displays. Billie was used to it but today he was slightly put out.
Since the death of Victor’s wife Billie had guessed, with the extra sensitivity he had developed where Amy was concerned, that she was far from content to step into the dead woman’s shoes. While Victor’s wife Imogine had been alive she had seemed an insuperable barrier, but now she was dead the barrier had become more dense, and Billie was glad of it.
‘I’m going up on the hills to look at the sheep tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I wondered if your Margaret would like to come. Young Oliver as well, I know how they like to be together.’
‘Thank you, Billie. I’ll ask her when she comes in from school. Will you need food to take?’ She didn’t look at him, concentrating unnecessarily on the sliding bars of milk chocolate as she put them in orderly piles.
‘My sister will see to that. Mary loves to feed people.’ He stood back from the counter while Amy served a customer with a packet of tea. He was ill at ease, knowing she wanted him gone but unwilling to leave. When he stepped forward again, his Wellington boot caught against a biscuit tin and he lurched against the counter, their faces hardly six inches apart. She smiled then, and his heart lightened.
‘Clumsy I am,’ he smiled.
‘Big, that’s your trouble Billie Brown, you’re too big for my little shop and that’s a fact.’
‘I can’t deny that,’ he laughed, his tawny-brown eyes shining as he looked admiringly at her. He was large. His presence filled the shop so people hesitated to push their way in while he was near the door; head not far from the ceiling, size thirteen wellingtons taking up so much of the floor. He rarely wore anything other than the brown dungarees and cowboy shirt he was presently dressed in. It was only in the coldest of winter weather that he added a coat, although she saw that he carried one draped around the back of the tractor seat.
Amy moved away and went back to stacking the chocolate bars. She knew she shouldn’t tease him. It only took a warm smile to bolster his hopes that they would one day be together. And warm smiles were Amy’s speciality. Kind-hearted and friendly, she gave them without thinking. She shook her blonde head and glanced at her reflection in the small mirror behind the display cabinet. Blue eyes smiled back at her in the pretty face. The earrings which she always wore, dangled and sparkled in the artificial light from the bulb above her, partnering the necklace around her throat. She fluffed out her hair and handed him a bar of Cadbury’s milk chocolate with another generous smile.
‘Take this, love, keep you going ’til you get home to one of Mary-Dairy’s fine dinners.’ She watched him go, returning his blown kisses, and felt a melancholy guilt, knowing that she ought to discourage him, treat him less than kindly for his own good.
Billie Brown was a gentle, caring man. He loved her and she knew that as his wife she would want for very little, but there was a lack of that special spark, that inexplicable magic that made someone special. Only Victor Honeyman had that.
She and Victor had gradually drifted into an affair and
she knew he loved her, but with a wife and a grown-up family it seemed impossible that there would ever be a happy ending to their story. Now, with his wife dead, having suffered a heart-attack after a slight road accident, her ghost was more real than her living presence. She was standing beside them whenever they met, forbidding them to be content. Amy had tried to relax, to be happy and pretend that they were now free to love each other openly, but she sometimes doubted if she and Victor ever would be able to convince themselves that their love was right.
When Nelly came into the small shop, her face red with the coldness of the late afternoon, Amy gave her a dazzling smile, genuinely pleased to see her, glad of the distraction from her thoughts in which a lonely future beckoned.
‘Nelly, love. What can I do for you?’
‘I just had a visitor,’ Nelly reported. ‘Mrs Hyphen-Hyphen no less! She came to ask my advice would you believe.’
‘Yes, I would believe. You’ve a great deal of common sense, Nelly Luke – er – Masters.’
Nelly explained about the idea for Hen Carw Parc to enter the Best Kept Village Competition and, as she had guessed, Amy was delighted with the idea.
‘With Victor and Billie competing to make my garden the best kept garden, I’m sure to be popular!’ she laughed. ‘There isn’t a chance of survival for any weed that dares to pop out a leaf. And as for flowers, good heavens, sometimes there isn’t a thing for my young Freddy to do when he comes home on leave.’
‘The shop, too, Amy. You could ’ang out them winder boxes and things. Pop a few flower pots among the sacks of vegetables outside.’
‘I can just see Constable Harris’ face if he comes along and sees the sacks and crates he’s always asking me to move decorated with flowers!’
‘But wouldn’t it be lovely, Amy.’
For a while the two women discussed the idea and Amy agreed to place a notice in her shop window asking people to consider the idea before the meeting which Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes planned to set up.
Valley in Bloom Page 1
