Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (18 page)

Ralph! Where was Ralph?

‘Ralph! That was Barry on the phone.’ Dear God! Help me. ‘Ralph! Oh, there you are!’

Ralph looked gravely at her. ‘It’s D-Day, is it? I never thought for one minute he’d go ahead with it. I really didn’t. As the weeks slipped by I was sure he’d changed his mind. Damn him! Damn him!’

Muriel nodded. ‘First light tomorrow morning they’re moving in. Oh, Ralph! Am I brave enough?’

‘Shall you have one last try?’

Ralph shook his head.

‘No, you’re right, it would only make him more determined.’

Ralph stared into space for a moment then said, ‘Sit down again, here’s your list of people to ring. I have to go into Culworth, on business. I shan’t be in for lunch.’

Muriel looked up at him and anxiously enquired if he really needed to go.

‘I do, yes, I do. Don’t worry I shall be back, hopefully by the middle of the afternoon. Things to do, you know.’ His lips tightly pressed together and his eyes intensely preoccupied, Ralph stared into the distance.

‘I shall need you tomorrow for moral support.’

‘And you shall have it, all you need.’ He bent to kiss her, squeezed her shoulders, picked up his car keys and disappeared through the back door calling, ‘Bye, my dear. Good luck with your phoning.’

She wished he hadn’t gone, she wished he’d stayed and braced her for what was to come. It was an odd thing for Ralph to do. He’d said nothing yesterday about having to go into Culworth. Still, she was clever enough to organise things without anyone’s help, it would be tomorrow when she needed … The telephone began to ring and when she answered it was Caroline, consumed with enthusiasm. ‘You’ve heard from Barry? Good. So, we have lift-off. I’m about to start on my list of calls. I’ll ring you back when I’ve completed them and tell you what support we can expect. Muriel? Are you there?’

‘I am. We’ve got to be brave, haven’t we?’

‘Oh, I know. I know. Right, here we go. Come round with your list, instead of phoning. We’ll have coffee and compare notes and plan our strategy.’

Muriel was encouraged by the enthusiasm of her supporters. They all promised to get neighbours and friends to come too if they could, and by the time she’d gone through her list Muriel was beginning to feel more confident. If it came to it, with a
crowd
lying down in front of the diggers she wouldn’t be quite so obvious, would she? The newspapers! Of course! She’d ring and get them to come. A big splash in the local paper would do nothing but good. If she kept the thought of that little wren with his bright brown twinkling eyes in her mind she’d be all right.

Muriel didn’t sleep that night, of course. Mad, scary scenes of confrontation and police and being arrested raced through her mind. Of course she might be arrested, that would be a distinct possibility, causing a breach of the peace. What would her dear mother have said? Frankly she would have been appalled. ‘No real lady would do such a thing,’ she would have said. Well, Mother wasn’t here so Muriel could do as she wanted, within limits.

Ralph rose first before it was light and went downstairs to make breakfast for her.

‘No, Ralph! Let me do it.’

‘It’s the least I can do. Put warm sturdy clothes on and bring a brave heart with you. Come down when you’re ready.’

‘I don’t think I can eat anything.’

He stood over her while she ate a bowl of cereal and drank a cup of tea.

‘Here’s your banana.’

Muriel shook her head. ‘No, Ralph, I really can’t manage that at this time in the morning. Thank you all the same.’

‘Put it in the pocket of your Barbour then, for later when there’s a lull.’

‘Very well. The most terrible thought has struck me. Will Mr Fitch be there, do you think?’

‘He goes abroad such a lot, he most probably won’t be.’

‘I can’t bear the thought of him seeing me behaving ridiculously.’

‘Is that how you see it?’

‘Yes.’

Ralph took hold of her hand and put it to his cheek. ‘You have too much innate dignity, Muriel, ever to be accused of behaving ridiculously. Now, where are your placards?’

‘At the Rectory.’

‘Then off you –’ He was interrupted by a knock at the door. ‘That’s probably Caroline, I’ll go.’

Caroline propped the placards against the hedge and she and Muriel stood in front of the gate. They’d only been there a moment or two when their supporters began arriving in twos and threes. There was Sheila and Ron, Tom and Evie, Anne Parkin, Mrs Jones, two of the weekenders in what they considered to be appropriate country wear, Liz Neal, and trailing on behind were the two Misses Senior, their woolly hats suited to the chill morning air. A chorus of ‘Good morning’ ensued, and there was an inspection of the placards with praise for their apt wording, a rubbing of hands to ward off the chill and above all an air of anticipation and excitement.

After a lull came more supporters, eager for the fray, Linda Crimble with her little Lewis on a trike, Georgie Fields, Jimmy Glover and Willie and quite a few of Mrs Jones’ neighbours from down Shepherds Hill. Arthur Prior, Ralph’s cousin, came as promised escorted by his bevy of granddaughters. What they hadn’t expected was the arrival of some members of the local Environmental Studies group from Culworth.

Their leader called out cheerfully, ‘Morning, all! Never fear now we’re here!’ Under their arms they carried placards at whose inflammatory slogans Muriel quaked.

‘I didn’t know anyone else knew.’

Muriel said firmly, ‘I want it absolutely understood that this is our village and our protest, and it will be conducted with dignity and restraint.’

‘Dignity and restraint! These greedy landlords don’t know the meaning of the words. They’ll ride roughshod over you and anyone else who gets in the way, four-legged or two.’ He nodded his head towards Rector’s Meadow. ‘Got this lined up for housing, and it’s not on.’ He took off his glove and exposed a hand the size of a gorilla’s. ‘Gareth Edwards.’

Muriel’s hand disappeared inside his and was gripped painfully. ‘Muriel Templeton.’

‘Well, Mrs Templeton …

Tom hissed, ‘It’s Lady Templeton, actually.’

Gareth bowed mockingly. ‘Beg pardon, milady.’

‘That’s quite all right, you weren’t to know.’ As she spoke the rumble of heavy machinery was heard in the distance. ‘Housing? We didn’t know that.’

Gareth winked at her. ‘We have a mole in the planning department. Not much goes on we don’t know about.’

The word ‘housing’ flew round the lips of the protestors and served to heighten their determination.

Muriel asked, ‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive. Old Fitch has them under his thumb.’ Gareth pretended to count out banknotes with his fingers.

‘I don’t believe it! Mr Fitch!’

The rumble of the equipment grew louder and Caroline hastily shared out the placards and they made a double line of defiance across Pipe and Nook Lane.

The digger tested her resolution for it ground to a halt only six feet from her. Muriel went round the side and gestured to him through the open window to take off his earphones. He did, but the noise of the engine made it almost impossible to shout loud enough for him to hear, so she pointed to what looked to her like an ignition key though she wasn’t sure, for the cab appeared to be full of gadgets and levers.

‘We’re here because we don’t want to have this hedge taken down. We’re sorry to be interfering with your work but we feel so strongly about it that we are compelled to stand here and do what we are doing. Please, could I ask you to agree not to dig out a hedge which has been growing for something like three centuries that we know of?’ She smiled up at him, this strong healthy young man, a product of an age she had little in common with, and didn’t expect to get any sympathy from him at all.

‘Now, little lady, we’re going to be paid a lot of money to do this job, and I’ve got men to pay, and they’ve their children to feed, and a roof to keep over their heads. Do you really think I’m going to refuse to do it?’

From a shelf below his windscreen he picked up a mobile phone, pulled a piece of paper from his top pocket and began to dial the number written on it.

He said, ‘Thank heavens for mobile phones.’ He listened for a moment.

Caroline asked, ‘Who are you ringing?’

‘Mr Fitch. Hello, sir. Good morning to you. Blair here, we’ve arrived but half the village has turned out to stop us getting into the field.’

From where she stood on the road she could hear Mr Fitch going berserk. The digger driver held the phone away from his ear. It went dead and he switched it off. ‘He’s coming.’

Nonchalantly he climbed down from the digger and stood leaning against one of the enormous wheels lighting a cigarette. The protestors went into a tight circle muttering about their situation and should they this and should they that.

Muriel looked at Caroline with raised eyebrows. ‘This is the last thing I wanted. He will think I’ve gone off my head.’

To encourage her Caroline gripped her elbow. ‘No, it’s him who’s gone off his head. We’ve got to stand firm. How can they run us over? We just must not break ranks.’

Gareth was smirking. ‘Good. Good.’

‘Good?’ Muriel said, ‘Good?’

‘Of course. There’s been no abuse from that Blair, so that’s a victory.’

‘I don’t see how.’

‘Oh, right, well, I expect you know more about these things than I do.’ Quietly to Caroline she said, ‘I do wish Mr Fitch had been away. I shall feel such a fool.’

‘It’s all for a very worthwhile cause. Why should you worry what you look like?’ Caroline quite fancied having an opportunity to stand up to Mr Fitch. They’d all taken so much from him in the past.

Mr Fitch roared up the lane in his Land Rover, dust flying from his wheels. He’d leaped out almost before he’d braked, and charged up past the machines to confront them all. He stopped short when he saw Caroline and – surely not! – Muriel at the front of the group.

‘Muriel! Go home at once. This isn’t a suitable place for you to be at all. Go along, go home.’ He waved a hand at her expecting her to capitulate immediately, but Muriel didn’t. In fact the way he treated her, as though she was a child and ought to be in school, stiffened her spine.

‘Had you not decided on this cruel and heartless action I would not need to be here at all. The fact that I am here is entirely your fault, Mr Fitch.’

‘My fault?’

‘Of course. I cannot stand by and allow you to ruin my countryside – no, our countryside, it belongs to us all.’

Caroline stepped in, fearing for Muriel. ‘Mr Fitch! We beg you not to go forward with this plan. Someone has told us that you are intending
building
on Rector’s Meadow. Surely that cannot be true?’