(18/20) Changes at Fairacre (28 page)

'You been to see them new houses lately?' asked Mrs Pringle. 'Getting on a treat they are with them kitchens.'

'I don't get down that way very often now,' I confessed. 'I miss strolling around Fairacre in the evenings. Somehow I just get in the car and head for here these days.'

'Well, the boards are down, of course, and from what I hear they've both been bought.'

'Must be two retired friends,' I said, repeating my earlier prognostication. 'Or maybe an old couple and a married son or daughter.'

'At that price?' queried Mrs Pringle. 'With that sort of money they could buy Buckingham Palace. No, it's my belief they've been brought by some rich firm for retirement homes, to put their pensioners in.'

'But they couldn't house more than four or six pensioners,' I protested. 'I still plump for two families. Want to make a bet?'

Mrs Pringle bridled, as I knew she would.

'I am not a betting woman, as well you know, and it's a good thing the children aren't here to listen to such a scandalous idea. I should have thought that Arthur Coggs with his betting and swilling would be enough trouble for Fairacre, without the headmistress of the school uttering such wickedness.'

By this time she was red in the face with wrath, and I hastened to apologize. Her feelings were not assuaged by my trying to make amends, and we drove to Fairacre in heavy silence.

She struggled from the car at her gate, and turned to give me a parting message.

'What you said,' she told me, 'is an abomination in the sight of the Lord. Betting indeed!'

With a final snort she turned towards her gate, as always the victor in any of our battles.

20 Good News

MRS Pringle's guesses about the future residents in the new houses were echoed by one or two other people in Fairacre. Mr Lamb favoured my own view that probably two fairly well-off friends had decided to be neighbours.

'If you were retired,' he said, 'you'd like to have someone handy to help you out when you had an accident, wouldn't you? Someone told me that they reckoned they might have been bought by Caxley folk who came from these parts originally. You know, made their pile and now returning to their roots. It happens sometimes.'

Mrs Pringle stuck to her pensioners idea. Bob Willet favoured two families, unknown to each other, who had just happened to buy at the same time.

The children's interest was desultory. Only old people had been seen looking at the premises. Who cared about new folk? It was their own families in Fairacre that really mattered.

The vicar seemed rather guarded in his conjectures, I thought, simply expressing the hope that they would be church-goers.

In any case, there were other and more pressing things to think about. The summer term is always busy. We have the school sports day, weekly trips to Caxley's swimming bath for the older children, the annual outing to the seaside, and the village fête in July.

This particular summer we also had the trip to the falconry arranged by Henry Mawne, and we were lucky to awake to a glorious June morning. Only my class of ten children were making the trip, while Mrs Richards held the fort at school.

We decided to go in three cars. Henry drove his with three excited children as passengers, Mrs Mawne accompanied us in her beautiful Rover, with four more, three in the back, and Ernest in the front passenger seat, full of importance because his aunt lived somewhere near the birds of prey centre, and he assured everyone that he knew the way.

I had Joseph Coggs beside me, with Patrick and John Todd, the two most unreliable boys in my school, in the back. My eagle eye gleamed at them from the mirror, and I had threatened to deposit them on the road
anywhere
if I saw the slightest sign of bad behaviour.

It was a wonderful drive and my three were remarkably appreciative. One would have thought that, country-dwellers as they were, the rolling Cotswold scene would not have affected them. But they noticed the difference in architecture, the honey-coloured stone of the village houses compared with their own native brick and flint with thatch or tile atop.

We had taken picnic lunches with us, and stopped at a quiet spot by the river Windrush, known to Henry from his fishing days. In addition, I had brought enough apples for everyone, and Mrs Mawne had been even more generous with some chocolate apiece, so that it was a very happy and well-fed company that watched the bright water and the willow branches trailing in it.

By half past two we were waiting in the grassy centre for the display to begin. We saw owls, hawks and merlins in all their glory of flight and intermittent obedience to the falconer, and the children were awe-struck.

One at a time they were encouraged to don the leather gauntlet, and to feed the bird which landed there. Some were rather timid about it, but I was touched by Joseph Coggs's reaction to this new experience. He was entirely without fear, his face rapt, as the great owl swept silently to his outstretched arm to take the bait. Of all my countrybred flock it was Joe who had the strongest link with wildlife. When the other boys were drawing vehicles, it was Joe who was drawing birds and trees, and now this affinity was more than ever apparent. Joe's dark eyes gazed in wonder at the yellow eyes of his new friend. They seemed in complete accord, and I knew that today's experience would mean far more to Joe than to any of the other children.

They were still excited on the way home. Patrick and John in the back boasted about their bravery at the centre. But Joe sat silent, his eyes shining at the memory of all that he had seen.

It was sometime after this that Horace Umbleditch rang to tell me the good news that their offer had been accepted, and the school house would be theirs.

'And when do you expect to be in?' I asked.

'Sometime next term, I think. We'll spend the summer holidays here, decorating and doing the garden -'

He broke off suddenly.

'You won't mind us altering your garden?' he continued.

'Good heavens, no! It's not my garden now, you know, and in any case it's been altered every time a new head teacher took over. I think I inherited Mr Hope's spotted laurels when I came, but they were soon uprooted.'

'Eve will see this term out and has given in her notice. She's remarkably fit, but we both think it's a good idea for what she calls "a geriatric mum" to take things gently.'

'Very wise,' I agreed, and we went on to discuss the problems to be overcome to make my old home into their new one, until a strange smell began to emanate from the kitchen and I found that a pan of milk had spread itself over not only the stove, but a few square yards of kitchen floor as well.

The vicar enthused about the news when he called in soon afterwards.

'Mr and Mrs Umbleditch called on me, you know, when they were negotiating for the buying of the house. A charming pair. A great asset to the village, and I gather that Mr Umbleditch has a fine tenor voice. He will be much welcomed by Mr Annett. They are both regular churchgoers too. All
very
satisfactory.'

I said that I thought they would settle very happily in Fairacre. 'After all,' I went on, 'they have wanted to live here for a very long time.'

'Fairacre is the perfect place to live,' asserted the vicar. 'I have been fortunate to be appointed to this living. I do so hope that all our newcomers will enjoy the village as keenly as we have.'

This was said with some emphasis, and I wondered if he had prior knowledge of other people coming to share our environment.

The children were out at play, and we were alone in my classroom.

'Have you had any news about the two empty houses?' I asked.

He began to look slightly embarrassed. 'Well yes, my dear Miss Read, I have, and I don't know whether it is quite in order to tell you.'

'Then please don't,' I replied. 'There's nothing worse than being told a secret, and having to keep mum when people inquire. Forget about it.'

'No, no. I really can't do that, and I don't suppose for a minute that there is really anything
secret
in the news. It's just that I haven't brought the letter with me.'

This began to get curiouser and curiouser, and I started to feel all the well-known prickles of fear, envisaging a letter to Mr Partridge, as chairman of the school governors, from our old friend Mr Salisbury about the dwindling numbers at Fairacre School.

'Have you heard of the Malory-Hope Foundation?' asked the vicar.

'Never.'

'You have heard of Sir Derek Malory-Hope, I'm sure. He was a well-known -'

But well known for what remained a mystery, for at that moment Mrs Richards appeared with a howling child who was dripping blood from a grazed knee.

I hurried to get the first-aid box.

'Heavens!' exclaimed the vicar, gazing at the great wall-clock. 'Is it really so late? I am due at a meeting in Oxford at four o'clock. I will call tomorrow with the letter.'

We bandaged the knee, provided a boiled sweet as medicine, and comparative peace reigned again.

I forgot about the vicar's visit until after school when I asked Mrs Richards if she had ever heard of someone called Malory-Hope.

'Isn't he that rich man who gave a lot of money to the Soldiers, Sailors and Air Force Association? Wayne's dad had something to do with it when they were raising money for that hall in Caxley.'

'Oh, I've never heard of him, I'm afraid.'

'It was in
The Caxley
,' said my colleague, looking rather shocked, 'with photos. He opened the hall, cut ribbons, and pulled curtains back over plaques - all that stuff. You must have seen it.'

'Sorry, I missed it.'

'He lived somewhere around here. Died some months ago, and there was a big memorial service. That was in
The Caxley
too.'

I had no recollection of that item of news either, but I did not admit it to Mrs Richards. Obviously she read her
Caxley Chronicle
with far more attention than I did. I should just have to wait for the vicar's letter to explain these mysteries.

Bob Willet was scraping up the coke which had dribbled away from the pile in the playground. I put my question to him while it was still fresh in my mind.

'Bob, have you ever heard of someone called Sir Derek Malory-Hope?'

'The chap what died last year? All over the
Caxley
, it was. He was a good bloke, rolling in money. Give a lot of it away though.'

'I must confess I'd never heard of him.'

'What put him in your mind?'

I said that the vicar had mentioned him when I had asked about the empty houses.

'Did he now' said Bob, leaning on his spade. He looked thoughtful. 'Did he now?' he repeated, before returning to his labours.

When I arrived home,
The Caxley Chronicle
was lying on the mat with one or two uninteresting-looking envelopes. I made myself a mug of tea, and took it and the paper into the sitting-room, and made myself comfortable on the sofa. Tibby, unusually affectionate, leapt on to my lap, and we settled down together happily.

There was a rather nice photograph on the front page of an old mill, situated on the River Cax, some miles downstream from our market town. According to the caption, it had been mentioned in the Domesday Book and funds were now being raised for its restoration.

Among the donors I saw that 'The Malory-Hope Foundation' had contributed a substantial sum.

I have noticed before that when a new name, or simply a new word, crops up, it appears again quite soon. Here it was again: a body, unknown to me yesterday, now cropping up in my life twice in one day.

I turned to this week's deaths. Not that I am particularly morbid, but it is as well to check who has fallen off the bough recently, to save one from asking brightly about a husband who has gone before. There was no one I knew personally, but one of the entries was embellished with a verse:

To Heaven you've gone
Dear Dad who we love
To Mother who is waiting
All glorious above

I set about correcting it.

The first line could stand.

The second line should have 'whom' instead of 'who'.

The third line was frankly disgraceful. Why not have: 'Where Mother is waiting', or if one wanted 'Dear Mum' to match the earlier 'Dear Dad' thus: 'Where dear Mum awaits you'?

As for the last line it was simply lifted wholesale from
Hymns Ancient and Modern
Number 167, and was the second part of the opening line of: 'O worship the King'.

I have often thought of offering my services, 'free, gratis and for nothing', to
The Caxley Chronicle
in order to overhaul their list of these funeral rhymes, which they presumably keep in their offices and from which bereaved families may make their selection. I have never got down to actually approaching the editor; it would need a good deal of tact.

While I was still wondering how one could achieve one's aim, the telephone rang, and I leapt to answer it, catapulting poor Tibby to the floor.

It was Amy.

'Am I interrupting anything?'

'Only the reading of
The Caxley
.'

'Good! I was just wondering -'

'Before I forget,' I broke in. 'Do you know anything about the Malory-Hope Foundation?'

'Of course I do. Derek Malory-Hope started it. He died last year, and James and I went to his memorial service. You must have seen his obituary in
The Caxley
, surely?'

'I seem to have missed it.'

'I had lunch with his widow some time ago. Come to think of it, I called on you on the way back. Remember? Anyway what's the connection?'

'I just saw that the Foundation has given a hefty sum towards repairing an ancient mill near Caxley.'

'That's right. James mentioned it. Not that he has much to do with that side of their work. He's mixed up with the other part, the Hope Trust. You know, the orphan bit.'

'What orphan bit?'

'You must remember,' said Amy impatiently. 'Those houses in Scotland.'

I cast my mind back to our holiday together, and saw again Floors Castle, Mellerstain and Sir Walter Scott's pile. Not an orphan in sight as far as I could recall.