(9/13)The School at Thrush Green (12 page)

But that was the last waking thought of little Miss Fogerty before she dropped into the sleep of the utterly exhausted.

Next door, Dorothy was more wakeful. She too regretted the evening's upset. Perhaps she had been too sharp with Agnes. She had not quite realised how deeply Agnes was involved with the little animal. It was extraordinary that she had never noticed that the cat was being fed regularly. Agnes must have been putting the food out in a well-hidden place. It was pathetic really.

She began to feel deeply sorry for her friend. She had always recognised her devotion to animals. It was akin to the strong affection she had for her young children and all defenceless things, and Dorothy heartily approved of such compassion. She supposed that some psychiatrists would dismiss it as 'thwarted motherhood', but Dorothy knew it was far more than that. It was a respect for life in all its forms, and a right-minded desire to protect and cherish it.

Maybe, thought Dorothy with a guilty pang, it was simply that she herself was worried about the extra responsibility of an animal about the place, when there were so many things to consider at this time. Would she normally have been so thoughtless to dear Agnes? Would she have been willing to welcome that cat into the household if they had been staying at Thrush Green indefinitely?

She tossed restlessly in the bed. Really, the moonlight was almost too bright, and yet it would be unpleasant with the curtains drawn.

On impulse she threw off the bedclothes and went to look out of the window. Thrush Green was deserted and beautiful. The bare branches threw black lacy shadows on the dewy grass, and Nathaniel Patten's statue gleamed in the moonlight.

What a world of utter tranquillity, thought Dorothy! Yet here she was, at its very centre, aquiver with self-torment and unhappiness.

Well, she must make amends tomorrow, she told herself, clambering back into the bed. Probably they were both over-tired with all this wretched end-of-term worry, and the added tension of the final break ahead.

She would tell Agnes, first thing, that she was truly sorry to have upset her, and she would try and say no more about the cat. With any luck, it would adopt someone else well before the move to Barton.

The chief thing was to be reconciled with dear Agnes. She was not going to let a mere cat come between old friends!

At half-past three, as the moon dipped behind Lulling Woods, she fell into a troubled sleep.

Albert Piggott's first real outing was down the footpath at the side of his cottage to visit Dotty Harmer.

He had, of course, visited The Two Pheasants daily, and during the brief spell of warm weather, had shared a seat on the green with Tom Hardy and Polly one bright morning.

But this was his first proper walk, and he sniffed the air appreciatively as he made his way towards Dotty's cottage some quarter of a mile away.

It was good to be out and about again after his enforced sojourn indoors. Some young dandelion leaves caught his eye, and he pulled a few as a present for Dotty's rabbits.

Bending down caught his breath, and he had to stand still for a while in case a fit of coughing followed, but all was well.

He watched a coral-breasted chaffinch hopping up the stairs of the hawthorn hedge where it had its home. A rook floated down across the field on its black satin wings, and in the distance he could hear the metallic croak of a pheasant, now safe from man's guns.

Albert felt almost happy. He liked being alone. He liked all the country sounds and smells. They reminded him of his boyhood in these parts, when he had run across this same meadow at buttercup time, and gilded his broken boots with their pollen.

He looked forward to seeing Dotty after so long. The two strange people had much in common. Neither cared a button about appearances or other people's opinions of them. Both loved the earth and all that could be grown in it. Both had a way with animals, preferring them to their own kind, and each respected the other.

Dotty waved towards a small, freshly constructed pond, She was well wrapped up in a man's old duffel coat girded at the waist with orange binder twine. She wore a balaclava helmet, knitted in airforce-blue wool, which was obviously a relic from the days of war.

Wellington boots, much muddied, hid her skinny legs, but her hands were bare and as muddy as her boots.

Her face lit up as Albert approached.

'My dear Albert! This is a lovely surprise. Come and sit on the garden seat, and tell me how you are.'

'Not too bad, considering,' replied Albert, secretly much touched by the warmth of her welcome. 'You better now?'

'Never had anything wrong,' asserted Dotty roundly. 'But you know what families are.'

'I do that,' agreed Albert. 'Everlastin' worryin'.'

Dotty waved towards a small, freshly constructed pond, around which half a dozen Muscovy ducks were sliding happily.

'You haven't seen that, have you, Albert? Kit dug it out and lined it. So clever. The only thing is, I want your advice about shady plants.'

Albert considered the problem. The ducks were slithering about on the muddy edge of Kit's creation, and it was obvious that nothing much would grow there while the birds disturbed the surroundings.

'If I was you,' he said, 'I'd put some sort of stone edging round it.'

'But it would look
horrible
!' cried Dotty. 'Like those paddling pools you see in municipal parks!'

Albert could not recall ever seeing a paddling pool nor, for that matter, a municipal park though he supposed she meant something like the playground at Lulling.

'I never meant concrete,' he explained. 'Some nice flat bits of Cotswold stone. Percy Hodge has got no end of odd slabs lying about where his old pigsties was. Settle in nicely round that pond they would.'

'But the plants? I thought of shrubs. Some sort of willow perhaps.'

'You'd be best off standing a few tubs around with some nice bushy fuchsias or lilies. That way you could shift 'em about where you wanted 'em, and them ducks couldn't flatten the plants. Keep the edges dry too. Ducks slop enough water about to drown growing stuff.'

Dotty was silent, envisaging the picture sketched by her companion. It could be the answer. It was practical too.

'Albert,' she said, putting her skinny claw upon his sleeve, 'you are quite right! What a comfort you are!'

Albert smirked. He was seldom praised, and had certainly never been told that he was a comfort to anyone.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. He was as pink with pleasure and embarrassment as a young suitor.

'Well, I don't know - ' he began deprecatingly.

'Well, I do!' replied Dotty. 'Now when can we get hold of Percy to discuss buying the stone?'

Albert straightened his shoulders. He looked as determined as a military commander.

'You leave it to me, miss! You leave it to me!'

9. School House For Sale

THE fact that the school house would be for sale sometime after the departure of the ladies, was soon common knowledge in Thrush Green. Naturally, it was an absorbing item of news. It seemed that the school authorities might be able to sell the property earlier, as private approaches seemed welcome, but it was understood that the present tenants would not be turned out betimes.

Mr Jones of The Two Pheasants reckoned it would be pulled down and an office block erected on the site. He was already envisaging bar lunches of some sophistication for the staff, who would no doubt patronise the nearest establishment.

Percy Hodge said it was a perfectly good solid house, and his great-uncle Sidney had been one of the bricklayers on the job when it was constructed. It would be a crying shame, in Percy's opinion, to pull it down.

Albert Piggott, pint in hand, agreed with him. 'If it was good enough for Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty, let alone all them earlier schoolteachers, then it should be good enough for anyone.'

Muriel Fuller, who was spending one of her half-days of remedial teaching at the school, lamented the fact that the house was not to be maintained as part of the school premises.

'I've always felt,' she said earnestly as the teachers sat in their minute staffroom that playtime, 'that a head teacher needs to be Part of The Community.'

'Why?' said Dorothy Watson, who found that a little of Muriel Fuller went a long way.

Miss Fuller, who was still savouring her last phrase and trusting that it would be impressing her listeners, was somewhat taken aback by Miss Watson's query.

'Well,' she began, 'after all, a head teacher in evidence should be a Good Thing. An Example, I mean, a pattern of Decent Behaviour.'

'What about Ernest Burton?' enquired Dorothy, naming a local recently-dead headmaster who had been requested to leave the profession because of some unacceptable and peculiar habits.

'There are exceptions to every rule,' pronounced Muriel, glad to be let off further justification of her earlier statement.

But Dorothy Watson, as determined as a bull-terrier when she had her teeth into something, was not to be deflected.

'I really can't see why a head teacher worth his salt can't set enough example during school hours, without needing to live on the premises. After all, who is going to see him anyway, on a winter's night? And anyone who wants to get in touch with him need only lift the phone, and get him wherever he lives.'

'That's not quite what -' began Muriel, but was saved by the whistle. Little Miss Robinson, on playground duty, had just blown a long blast, and the three ladies hastened back to their duties.

Young Miss Robinson's reaction to the news had been one of wistful longing. If only she had enough money, she mourned, she would buy the school house and live happily ever after. Happily, that is, if she could persuade Timothy to marry her. But her present boyfriend seemed remarkably shy about the future, and she had a horrid feeling that the new typist in his office had something to do with it.

So desirous of a home was Miss Robinson, at present in rather dingy digs, that she even sounded out her father one weekend, but got short shrift.

'I might scrape together a thousand,' he told her, 'but you'd want fifty times that, my girl. You save up your pennies while you're in lodgings, and maybe in a year or two you'll be able to think about owning a house.'

Harold and Isobel only hoped that quiet people, who would be unobtrusive neighbours, would take the next-door property when the time came. They were going to miss the two ladies, and Isobel, in particular, felt very sad at Agnes's departure. She determined to keep in touch with her when she moved to Barton.

The news presented Winnie Bailey with a personal problem. She felt that Richard should be told about the coming sale, but did not want him to upset her two old friends by arriving unannounced - a common habit of his - nor did she know if he would consider the house a possibility at all for his needs.

She decided to call at the school house and discuss matters with the ladies before doing anything about informing Richard. To be honest, she felt some qualms about her nephew living at such close quarters. His married life seemed to be remarkably variable and unstable, and Winnie wondered how the sober inhabitants of Thrush Green would view such a bohemian household.

However, she quelled such doubts, for Richard had expressed a desire to find a home nearby, and she had promised to let him know if anything cropped up.

Well, now it had, and she must keep her word. She crossed the green one early evening, timing her visit to fall comfortably between the ladies' teatime and the six o'clock news bulletin from the BBC.

Dorothy answered her knock, and she was soon ensconced in the sitting-room. A fire burned in the grate, and a fine bowl of paper-white narcissi scented the air.

'How snug you are in here!' cried Winnie.

'We like our creature comforts,' said Dorothy. 'We only hope we can find somewhere as agreeable in Barton.'

This gave Winnie her opening, and she explained about Richard's desire to find a home locally.

'It would be lovely to think of Richard living here,' said little Miss Fogerty. 'I remember him so well as a baby - always very forward. And if he now has two children of his own it would be so convenient for them to walk across the playground to school.'

'Only one is Richard's actually,' explained Winnie. 'His wife was married before, and the little boy is hers.'

'Well, by all means let him know about the house,' said Dorothy, 'and if he likes to come and see it we should be very pleased to let him look over it. Out of school hours, naturally.'

'I will impress that on him,' promised Winnie, 'and I shall tell him that he must telephone first to make an appointment. I'm afraid he is terribly absent-minded, and I don't want him to turn up unexpectedly.'

After a few more minutes' conversation, Winnie took her leave, and retraced her steps, planning to ring Richard later that evening, and to make quite sure that the ladies would be consulted about any visit he might make in the future.

She might have saved her breath, for Richard, true to form, was observed by a sharp-eyed infant in Miss Fogerty's class some ten days later.

'Miss,' said the child, 'there's a man walking about in the playground.'

'Probably someone to see Miss Watson, dear,' replied Agnes, who was delving into the cupboard which held, among dozens of other things, some small garments known as 'the emergency knickers'. A tearful little girl, standing close by, was obviously about to receive a pair.

'It ain't a parent,' said the boy. 'I knows all them.'

'Isn't,' corrected Agnes automatically, 'and "I know", not "knows".'

She emerged, shaking out a pair of blue gingham knickers.

'There, dear, just run along and change. Put the others into this polythene bag.'

'And it ain't a policeman, and it ain't the gas man, and it ain't the water man 'cos it ain't got no uniform on.'

'Isn't,'
repeated Agnes, shutting the cupboard door, and making her way to the window.

'Perhaps it's a loony,' said the boy brightening.