The Heart of the Dales (46 page)

‘Well, it's a mystery and no mistake,' said Connie, placing her hands on her hips. ‘I mean you can't miss it. It's bright pink.' She pointed at Mrs Savage's expensive silk blouse. ‘Not dissimilar to that colour.'

Mrs Savage pulled an extremely cross face.

‘I am sure it will turn up, Connie,' said Miss de la Mare. ‘Thank you for the – er, elevenses.'

‘I've put a few custard creams and ginger nuts on the plate with the Garibaldis, Miss de la Mare,' said Connie. ‘I know you have a particular pendant for them.' With that, she headed for the door but once more stopped and turned. ‘Oh, and if Health and Safety, particularly toilets, is on your agenda this morning,' she said, staring accusingly at Mrs Savage, ‘you might like to fill me in.'

‘How I would like to,' muttered Sidney, looking at his hands.

When Connie had departed, Mrs Savage continued. ‘As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, the NACADS Conference at Manston Hall at the weekend appears to be up to speed. Dr Gore was particularly keen that it should have a Yorkshire flavour to it. With that in mind he has secured the concert pianist, Vincent Barrington, himself a Yorkshireman, to entertain the delegates after the Friday evening reception.'

Geraldine, who was so often very quiet at our meetings, suddenly became animated. ‘Vincent Barrington!' she exclaimed. ‘Oh, that's wonderful! How clever of Dr Gore.'

‘Might we be permitted to know more about this Mr Barrington?' said Sidney, obviously rather piqued that he had not heard of him, since he considered himself quite a connoisseur of classical music.

‘Yes, indeed,' purred Mrs Savage. ‘This talented young man took third prize in last year's Leeds International Pianoforte Competition. He was, I believe born in that city, and attended the university there.'

‘I heard him earlier this year in the Bridgewater Hall, and I would dearly love to come and hear him tomorrow,' said Geraldine.

‘I'm afraid that will not be possible, Dr Mullarkey,' said Mrs Savage, with a patronising smile on the pale pink lips. ‘Seats are at a premium.'

I winked at Gerry to let her know that somehow I would find her a seat.

‘On the Saturday morning,' continued Mrs Savage, pointing a long finger at an item in the file, ‘the Minister of Education and Science, the Right Honourable Sir Bryan Holyoake, QC, MP, will give the keynote lecture, and this will be followed after the coffee-breakby a presentation on “Inspirational Leadership and Effective Management” by the eminent educational consultant Mr Alan Vaughan who, as it so happens, is another Yorkshireman.'

‘Let's hope our CEO is listening,' muttered Sidney to David. ‘He might pickup a few tips.'

‘I beg your pardon?' asked Mrs Savage.

‘I said, I look forward to listening,' Sidney replied. ‘I might pick up a few tips.'

‘Indeed,' said Mrs Savage.

‘He's very good, is Alan Vaughan,' said David. ‘I've heard him several times. Good-natured chap, feet on the ground, good speaker.'

‘So I believe,' said Mrs Savage. ‘After the buffet lunch, there will be seminars during the afternoon, the speakers for which Dr Gore has organised and will preside over. For the formal dinner on Saturday evening, Dr Gore is delighted to have secured the lawyer, author and raconteur, Mr Stephen D. Smith, as the after-dinner speaker. He is, of course, another Yorkshireman.'

‘If we might continue,' said Miss de la Mare quietly.

‘Then, on the Sunday morning,' said Mrs Savage, ‘and this is where the inspectors come in, the delegates will have the opportunity during the morning of viewing the displays, observing the children's demonstrations, joining in the students' workshops and listening, before lunch, to the Young People's Brass Band directed by Mr Gordon of the Music Service.'

Mrs Savage looked up from her file, which she then closed quietly.

‘That all sounds excellent,' observed the Chief Inspector. ‘Thank you for bringing us up to date, Mrs Savage.'

‘I cannot stress,' said Mrs Savage, ‘how very important it is
that things go smoothly. Dr Gore is particularly keen that we, as he told me this morning, put all our hands to the wheel and pull together.'

‘Always the master of the mixed metaphor, our CEO,' muttered Sidney.

‘I'm sorry, Mr Clamp,' said Mrs Savage sharply. ‘Did you say something?'

‘I merely observed, Mrs Savage,' Sidney replied, ‘that I shall endeavour to do so.'

‘The Viscount Manston,' she continued, ‘who is spearheading arrangements from his end and who has been liaising closely with me over the last few weeks, has assured me that everything at the Hall is up and running.'

‘Good,' said Miss de la Mare.

‘The delegates will be bussed in each day for the conference from their hotels, which are all in the proximity. Mr Phinn and I, who need to be on call at all times, will be staying at Manston Hall for the duration of the conference.'

‘How very cosy,' mumbled Sidney.

Mrs Savage gave him one of her famous withering looks.

‘I was merely commenting that everything in the garden appears rosy, Mrs Savage,' he said.

‘I am sure,' she continued, ‘that I do not need to impress upon everyone that this is a very prestigious conference and the CEO wants it to be the very best. I was only saying to Dr Gore this morning –'

‘Yes, Thank you, Mrs Savage,' said the Chief Inspector quickly. ‘That was a splendid presentation. Does anyone have any questions for Mrs Savage?' She paused.

‘No? Well, then, I think this is a good time to breakand have our elevenses, and then we can discuss the school closures.'

When I arrived home that evening, I found Christine standing by the kitchen table nursing a sleepy baby, and sitting opposite her was Andy, clutching a large mug of tea.

‘Hey up, Mester Phinn,' he said, smiling widely.

‘Hello, Andy,' I said as I entered. I kissed Christine and
tickled Richard under the chin. ‘And how's my little Tricky Dicky been today?' I asked. The baby continued to suck his thumb earnestly.

‘Teething and nappy rash,' replied Christine, ‘and he's certainly let me know all about it. He's been tetchy all day. The moment you walk through the door, he starts to settle down, the little tinker.'

‘I were tell in' Missis Phinn that goats' milk's t'answer,' said Andy. ‘Milk from my nanny goats works wonders on t'skin. Missis Poskitt swears by it an' she's got a skin as soft as a babby's bottom an' she's gerrin on for eighty. I read it were reight good for clearing up eczema, rashes, impetigo an' other skin complaints. Worked wonders on Bianca's spots. I put this advert in t'doctors' surgery sayin' there were goats' milk for sale an' delivered to t'door an' I'm doin' quite a bit of business now.'

‘Quite the entrepreneur,' I said, recalling that Bianca was the girl who rather fancied him.

‘You must put me on your list of customers, Andy,' said Christine.

‘Nowt up wi' your skin, Missis Phinn,' he replied, reddening a little.

I had an idea that this young man had a bit of a crush on my wife, and his frequent visits were less to do with the garden and guttering than with seeing Christine.

‘Anyway,' said Christine, ‘since Richard looks as though he might at last go to sleep, I'll take him up.'

I slipped off my jacket, poured myself some tea and then joined Andy at the table. The boy's large pink face looked scrubbed and the coarse bristly brown hair had been slicked back, accentuating the enormous ears. He was dressed in a clean white shirt, leather jacket and denim jeans. The green tie that he was wearing, on which a variety of game birds were disporting themselves, looked incongruous on such an outfit.

‘You look very smart, Andy,' I told him.

‘Young Farmers meetin' toneet, Mester Phinn,' he told me. ‘I'm doin' a bit of a talklike, so thowt I'd gerra bit dressed up.'

‘Doing a talk,' I said. ‘What about?'

‘Well, not poetry,' he said, laughing. ‘“Preparation for Sheep Breedin'”, an' I tell thee this, I'm reight frit.'

‘Go on,' I said, ‘there's nothing to be frightened about. From what your Uncle Harry tells me, there's few who know more about sheep than you do. And, as you well know, your Uncle Harry is not one to throw out compliments lightly.'

‘Aye, 'appen I do know summat abaat sheep,' said the boy, ‘but it's different tellin' folka baat it, standin' theer wi' all these eyes like chapel 'at pegs starin' at thee.'

‘You'll be fine,' I reassured him. ‘So is preparing sheep for breeding a long business then?' I should never have asked.

The boy jerked upright in the chair, like a marionette that has had its strings pulled. ‘Oh aye, Mester Phinn, it's a reight carry-on. You see, choosing yer ram is reight important. 'E's got to come from good breeding stock for a start an' be in tip-top physical condition afoor yer let 'im loose on t'yows. It's no use at all 'avin' a ram what's well 'ung an' wi' an active sex drive if 'e can't walkto 'is food an' watter an' can't eat or drinkwhen 'e gets theer. You 'ave to start well in advance wi' t'routine 'ealth treatment like foot inspection an' cleanin', dippin', drenchin' an' clippin'. Yer ram's got to be in prime condition to serve a yow so you 'ave to examine 'im good an' proper at 'is feet and joints, lookfor swellin's, checkteeth an' gums for damage, backo' mouth an' cheeks for any lumps. Then you 'ave to check'is penis.'

‘Would you like another mug of tea?' I asked the boy, keen to change the conversation.

‘No, ta, Mester Phinn. As I was sayin', you 'ave to check'is penis.' Andy was now well into his stride and was enhancing his description with various arm and hand movements. ‘This is best done by gerrin yer ram in a sittin' position so 'e's upright an' then yer can give t'area a good goin' ovver, mekkin' sure it's free o' sores an' scars. What you do is carefully force out t'ram's penis manually. This is done by graspin' 'old of –'

At this point, Christine returned to find me open-mouthed and lost for words. ‘And what are you two talking about?' she asked.

‘Just saying what lovely weather we're 'avin' for this time o' year, Missis Phinn,' said Andy, winking at me.

‘And how's your Uncle Harry?' asked Christine. ‘He wasn't too happy last time we saw him.'

‘Oh, abaat t'Royal Oak, tha means.' Andy shook his head. ‘'E were abaat as miserable as a love-struckrigg, but 'e's been as 'appy as a pig in shit lately. Sorry, missis, I dint mean –'

‘It's all right, Andy,' said Christine, smiling, ‘I've heard worse.'

‘And what's put your Uncle Harry in such a good frame of mind?' I asked.

‘'Ant thy 'eard? That new landlord at t'Royal Oakis up an' leavin'.'

‘I didn't know that,' said Christine. ‘My, my!'

‘Aye,' said Andy. ‘Tha knaas Mester 'Ezekiah Longton, who used to be 'ead gard'ner up at Manston 'All? Nice enough owld fella but dunt say much. 'E were a reg'lar in t'Royal Oak an 'e were not 'appy abaat all t'change, like rest o' reg'lars. 'E were given 'is marchin' orders wi' mi Uncle 'Arry when 'e was banned. Well, 'e's up an' bought it.'

‘Bought the Royal Oak?' I exclaimed.

‘Aye, lock, stock an' barrel. There were a big piece abaat it in t'
Fettlesham Gazette
– “Regular buys t'village pub that barred him”. Mester Longton's become quite a celebrity.'

‘What made him thinkof buying it?' asked Christine.

‘Place were goin' dahn t'nick. Trade waint as good as t'new landlord were expectin' an' 'is missis never settled. Southerners, tha sees. Any rooad, landlord thowt it'd be filled to burstin' wi' folks out from town, “off-comed-uns”, ramblers an' cyclists and such, but it never 'appened. Fact is, 'is trade dropped reight off. Then t'plannin' people telled 'im that 'e needed permission to mek all t'changes 'cos pub were a listed building and of gret 'istorical hinterest, so 'e 'ad to put t'roof backas it were an' change t'winders an' all. 'E must 'ave been pig sick. Any road, 'e 'ad this offer to gu in wi' a couple o' pals who was openin' a bar in Majorca. That an' t'fact that Mester Longton med him a fair good offer, one 'e couldn't refuse.'

‘Sounds like the Mafia,' I said, laughing.

‘Mester Longton 'ad a bit put by, like,' continued the boy, ‘an' 'is wife weren't short on a bob or two, an' left 'im a tidy sum when she died.'

‘So Hezekiah Longton's bought the Royal Oak,' I said. ‘Well, well, well.'

‘An' from what 'e says, 'e's gunna put things backas they were inside. All owld tables an' chairs, the lot, an' it'll be a traditional country inn ageean, wi' nowt fancy. 'E reckons, from what mi Uncle 'Arry says, that 'e's gunna get owld Missis Poskitt to cook some good owld Yorkshire food.'

‘Tripe and onions, black pudding, pigs' trotters?' I suggested.

‘Nay, good owld Yorkshire hot-pot, that sort of thing.'

‘I thinkyou'll find it's Lancashire hot-pot, Andy,' said Christine.

‘I waint trust a Lancastrian as far as I could spit. Steal pennies from t'eyelids of dead men, they would. I reckon they pinched t'idea of t'hotpot from a good Yorkshirewoman.'

‘And how's young Terry getting on at school?' I asked Andy. ‘You remember I wanted you to keep an eye on him.'

‘'E's doin' champion,' said the boy. ‘Few days after yer were in school, I saw them three bullies follow 'im into t'boys' toilets. I knew what they were up to, so I followed 'em in, and I 'ad a quiet word wi' 'em.'

‘Had a quiet word?' I repeated. I was worried that Andy might have had rather more than a quiet word.