(5/13) Return to Thrush Green (6 page)

When Nelly had looked after him, he thought, she had always kept an eye on such things. She'd washed his shirts, brushed the mud off his trouser legs, darned his socks, sewn on all them dratted buttons that burst off a chap's clothes, and took his shoes down to Lulling to be mended when the time came.

No doubt about it, Nelly had had her uses, hussy though she turned out to be.

'I bet that oil man's found out his mistake by now,' said Albert to a spider dangling from a poster exhorting parishioners of Thrush Green to remember their less fortunate fellows in darkest Africa.

He hitched the sack more firmly round his shoulders, and made a bolt across the road. Which should it be? Home, or the Two Pheasants? The latter, of course, won.

'Lord, Albert, you're fair sopped!' cried the landlord. 'Been digging up the graves or something?'

Albert ignored the facetious remark, and the titters of the regulars.

'Half pint of the usual,' he grunted, 'and I wouldn't mind a look at the fire, if it ain't asking too much of you gentlemen.'

The little knot of customers, steaming comfortably by the blaze, moved a short distance away, allowing Albert to enter the circle.

'Terrible weather,' said one, trying to make amends for any offence given.

Albert maintained a glum silence.

'Bashing down the daffodils,' said another. 'Pity really.'

Albert took a swig at his beer. He might have been an aging carthorse taking a drink at the village pond for all the noise he made. The customers avoided each other's eyes.

'You getting your own dinner, Albert, or d'you want a hot pie here?' asked the landlord.

'How much?'

'Same as usual. And as good as your Nelly ever made, I'm telling you.'

Albert cast him a sharp look.

'There's no call to bring my wife into it. But I'll have a pie all the same, daylight robbery though it is, you chargin' that amount!'

'Daisy,'
shouted the landlord through an inner door. 'Hot pie for Albert, toot-der-sweet.'

Uneasy silence fell upon all as Albert waited, mug in hand. A sudden gust of wind shook the door, and a little trickle of rainwater began to seep below it and run down the step into the bar.

'Blimey!' said one of the men, 'we're goin' to be flooded out.'

'Can't go on much longer,' said his companion, retrieving the doormat before it became soaked. 'Rain this heavy never lasts long.'

'It's been on for two days,' remarked Albert, accepting his hot pie, 'don't see no sign of it letting up either.'

The landlord bustled forward with a mop and bucket.

'Here, stand away and I'll clear up.'

He began to attack the rivulet.

'Let's hope it stops before the month's out,' he puffed, wielding the mop energetically. 'Be a pity if Curdle's Fair gets this sort of weather.'

'Always gets a change afore the beginning of May,' announced one aged regular in the corner.

'You mark my words now.' He raised a trembling forefinger. 'I never knowed old Mrs Curdle have a wet day at Thrush Green. We'll get a fine day for the fair, that I knows. You just mark my words!'

'S'pose he's forgot the old lady died years ago,' whispered one customer to his neighbour.

'No, I ain't forgot!' rapped out the old man. 'And I ain't forgot as young Ben runs it now, and pretty near as good as his grandma.'

The landlord shouldered his mop and picked up the bucket.

'Shan't see you in here next week for hot pies then, Albert. I s'pose your young Molly will be cooking your dinner for you while the fair's here?'

Albert thrust the last of his pie into his mouth, and turned towards the door.

'Ever heard of mindin' your own business?' he asked sourly. 'First me wife, and now me daughter. You talks too much, that's your trouble.'

He opened the door, and a spatter of rain blew into the room. The newly dammed river gushed joyfully over the step again, and Albert departed.

'That miserable old devil was
grinning!'
said the landlord, and went into action once more, sighing heavily.

5. The Coming of Curdle's Fair

THE rain was still lashing down on the last day of April, as Ben Curdle and his wife Molly,
née
Piggott, approached Thrush Green with the fair.

They were a cheerful young couple, happy in their marriage, and proud of their little boy George, who was now four years of age.

The child sat between them as they towed their caravan at a sedate pace through the streaming countryside. Molly's spirits were high for she was returning home, and although Albert Piggott was never a particularly welcoming father, yet she looked forward to seeing him and the cottage where she had been born.

She was well aware that she would have to set to and do a great deal of scrubbing and general cleaning before the little house was fit for them all to live in for their few days' stay, but she was young and energetic and had never feared hard work.

She was looking forward too, to seeing the Youngs again. She had worked in their beautiful house for several years, before going to the Drovers' Arms where Ben Curdle had come a-courting. Joan Young had been a great influence and a good friend to the motherless young girl, and had taken pleasure in training such a bright and willing pupil in the ways of housewifery.

Molly had also acted as nursemaid to Paul Young when he was a baby, and had treasured the postcards and letters which the boy, now at school, sent from time to time. The happiest of her memories of Thrush Green were centred on that house, and working for the Youngs had been the highlight of her life. They had provided a haven from the dismal cottage across the green, and from the continuous complaining of her sour old father.

Ben Curdle's spirits were not quite so high. For one thing, he disliked his father-in-law, and resented the fact that his wife would have to work so hard in getting the neglected house together. But he was a sensible young fellow, and kept his feelings to himself. It was good to see Molly so happy, and he was wise enough to make sure that she remained so.

But he had another cause for worry. The fair was bringing in far less than when his redoubtable old grandmother had run it. Now that petrol and diesel oil had supplanted the shaggy-hoofed horses of her day, the cost of moving the fair from one place to the next was considerable. Takings too were down.

It was not only the counter-attraction of television in almost every home. That was one factor, of course, and who could blame people for staying comfortably under their own roofs, especially when the weather was as foul as it was today? No, it went deeper than that, Ben realised.

The fact was that most people wanted more sophisticated entertainment. The children still flocked to the fair, accompanied by adults. But the number of people who came without children was dwindling fast. In his grandmother's time, everyone virtually attended the great Mrs Curdle's Fair. It was something to which farmers, shop-keepers, school teachers, as well as their pupils, looked forward from one Mayday to the next. Those grown-ups came no more, unless it was to bring their children or grandchildren for an hour's frolic.

And then, his fair was so small, and likely to get smaller as the machinery wore out, for replacements were becoming prohibitively expensive. Ben himself was a good mechanic, and conscientious about keeping everything in apple-pie order, but as parts became worn and more and more difficult and costly to replace, he saw clearly that some of the attractions would have to be withdrawn. As it was, the famous switchback, which had delighted so many generations at Thrush Green, would not be erected on this Mayday. It was altogether too shaky, and Ben was not the sort of man to take chances.

The thing was, what should he do? He was used to travelling the country and sometimes wondered if he could ever settle down in one place, even if he should be fortunate enough to find a congenial job.

And then, he was devoted to the fair and had never known any other way of living. His grandmother he had adored. She had brought him up from early childhood, for his father had been killed and his mother had married again. The old lady's upright and staunch principles had been instilled into this much-loved grandchild, and Ben had repaid her care with loyalty and respect. Not a day passed but he remembered some word of advice or some cheerful tag of his grandmother's, and to give up the fair, which she had built up so laboriously, smacked of treachery to the young man.

But there it was. Something would have to be done, and soon. He turned his mind to an offer which had been made to him some weeks earlier, by the owner of a much larger concern.

This man had three large fairs touring the country. Over the years he had bought up many a small business, such as Ben's, and combined them into a highly-efficient organisation. He was astute, and could foresee possibilities which a slower man would not. He was not liked, for there was a strain of ruthlessness in him without which he could not have succeeded, but there was grudging respect for his ability, and it was agreed that he treated fairly those whom he employed, as long as they worked well.

Ben felt pretty sure that he would be offered a job if he decided to sell. But would he like working for a master after being his own for so long? And what about his fellow workers? He had little respect for some who had sold up and gone to work for Dick Hasler, and he had heard of some underhand transactions which disgusted him. No, if he had to make the break, it would be a clean one, and he would have a complete change. Surely, there must be something he could do to earn a living? His old grandmother always said he had the most useful pair of hands in the business. What honest living could he earn with them? Perhaps a job in a garage somewhere? He brooded silently, as windscreen wipers flashed to and fro hardly keeping pace with the torrent.

'Soon be there,' cried Molly. 'Look out for the river, Georgie! Once we're over that we're nearly home.'

Ben watched their excitement with a smile. So far he had said very little about the fair's diminishing profits, but Molly must have some inkling, and the time would soon come when they would be obliged to have a straight talk about the future.

The steep hill to Thrush Green was just ahead. Ben sighed, and changed gear. Slowly they came abreast of St Andrew's church, and drew to a halt outside Albert Piggott's cottage. From the joy which lit Molly's face, you might think it was Buckingham Palace, thought Ben wryly.

'Here we are,' she cried, 'home again!'

Ella Bembridge saw the Curdles arrive from her bedroom window. She had gone upstairs to rummage through drawers and cupboards to find some contributions to the Lovelocks' Bring and Buy stall, and Dimity was with her.

'They'll have to look slippy if they want the fair to be ready by the morning,' commented Ella. 'Don't envy them that job in this weather.'

'What about this cushion cover?' enquired Dimity, holding up a square of hessian embroidered in thick wool.

'It's a peg bag,' said Ella. 'Rather fine, isn't it? Bold, you know. Plenty of pure bright colour.'

She looked at the enormous flowers of scarlet and gold with affection.

'Too good for a Bring and Buy. Put it back, Dim. It'll do for a Christmas present.'

'What are they, dear?' Dimity was studying the blossoms, with some distaste. 'Zinnia? Red hot pokers? I can't quite recognise them.'

Ella gave her booming laugh.

'They're no known species. I just made 'em up as I went along. You know, three threads up, four down, and all that. Effective, isn't it?'

'Very,' said Dimity, folding the object carefully and returning it to the drawer.

'Here, they can have this magnolia talcum powder. I'll never use that. Can't think who thought I'd relish magnolia scent. Do I
look
like magnolia?'

'Well, no, Ella. Not really.'

'And this useless handkerchief sachet, and this idiotic comb case. Here they come.'

Ella was now ferreting in the drawer like some eager fox terrier in a rabbit hole. Objects flew from her towards the bed, and Dimity did her best to sort them out.

'But Winnie said they wanted things you'd made,' she pointed out, fielding a crocheted bobble cap rather neatly.

'They can have these as well,' replied Ella, head well down. A long string of plastic beads, pretending to be jet, swung through the air, Dimity added it to the motley collection.

'Right,' said Ella, slamming the drawer back. 'Now let's look in the cupboard.'

One turn of the handle burst open the door. Out from the depths sprang a snarl of cane and raffia, and a few objects made from similar material. Ella bent to retrieve them.

'Two waste paper baskets, and three bread roll holders! What about that?'

'Lovely,' said Dimity faintly.

Ella looked at her handiwork approvingly.

'I was thinking of decorating them with raffia flowers,' she mused. 'But what d'you think?'

'They are just right as they are,' replied Dimity firmly. 'No need to gild the lily, you know.'

'Yes, you're right. Somewhere at the back there are some teapot stands. Push over the chair, Dim, and I'll have a look.'

She clambered up with surprising agility for one of her bulk, and began to scrabble at the back of a high shelf. Dimity drifted to the window and looked out at rain-washed Thrush Green.

Ben Curdle was carrying a large suitcase into Albert Piggott's cottage, and young George was capering beside him, glorying in the puddles.

'Got 'em!' came Ella's triumphant call. 'Catch!'

Dimity caught about half a dozen wooden teapot stands, edged with cane and beadwork, wrapped in a polythene bag, and added them to the pile.

'There!' said Ella, stepping down heavily. 'That's a pretty good haul, isn't it? Do them a good turn, and me too, come to think of it. If I ever take a lodger I shall have to clear out all the shelves and drawers in this room. Made a start anyway.'

'So you're still thinking about it?' said Dimity, following her old friend downstairs.

'Oh, I honestly don't know,' replied Ella, settling in a chair and fishing in her pocket for the battered tobacco tin which contained her cigarette factory. She began to roll one of her deplorable cigarettes. She looked pensive.