Village Matters

He went to stand in front of the main altar and looked around his church. Soon he’d have been in Turnham Malpas two whole years. When he’d first come here he hadn’t realised how attached to the place he would become. He loved the deep colours of the stained glass windows, the ancient tombs slumbering there through the centuries, the banners, withering away at their posts for almost as many years, and the lovely country graveyard which was as much a part of St Thomas à Becket as the church itself. Still treading the village paths were people whose ancestors had for generations rested so peacefully within the precincts of this consecrated place. There was an ongoing feel about a village church, stretching back through the years and on into the future with an amazing sense of permanence. A city church didn’t have quite the same feel about it.

He glanced at his watch. Time he was off.

‘Morning Peter. Lovely fresh day, isn’t it?’

‘Morning Jimbo. It surely is.’ The two of them did their stretching exercises together and then at a nod from Jimbo they set off down Church Lane, then right into Jacks Lane and onto the spare land. Half way round their three-mile circuit was a five-barred gate where they always stopped for a chat. It led into a huge field and from it they had a view of Sykes Wood. It was a vast ancient wood, once part of a king’s hunting forest, but belonging to Turnham House for the last three hundred years and possibly more. To one side where the trees were not quite so tall, the chimneys of the Big House could just be seen. After he’d wiped the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his running vest, Peter nodded towards them.

‘Catering contract working out OK then, Jimbo?’

‘It is. At least the money’s more reliable than it was when it was the Health Club. Fitch plc certainly pays up on the dot, thank goodness.’

‘Nice chap, is he?’

‘Like all chairmen of big companies he thinks the world revolves round him, and his word is law, but as he knows I was a City man myself I do get a bit of respect for my opinions. They certainly do a good job with their staff training up there. Cracking computer equipment, video, cinema stuff and the rest. Technology gone berserk. That Jeremy Mayer’s strutting around throwing his weight about, completely forgetting how grateful he should be that he’s managed to sell on to Fitch and still keep a roof over his head.’

‘What does Venetia do?’

Peter laughed. ‘Come on then, I’ve got school prayers at nine, must get back.’ They turned to go, Peter leading the way.

Jimbo followed on, thinking about his jobs for the day. First, on his way home, he’d stand outside his Store and appraise the window displays. Each window had to be changed alternate weeks. Thinking up new ideas for them was a pain, but it was one of his rules. It had to be done. No fly-blown displays with bleached crepe paper hanging loose for Jimbo. Oh no! That kind of thing belonged to the 1950s, not the 1990s. Just recently with the opening of the training centre at Turnham House there’d been quite a few young trainees in, spending their money, another boost to the profits, and summertime was always good, his sales curve went ever upward with the money spent by the visitors to the church and the old stocks on the green. In fact all told, this year looked good. The mail-order business was booming, due to some clever advertising thought up by Harriet, his outside catering was also booming and the Store itself, the hub of it all, was also doing better than he and Harriet could ever have imagined.

‘It’s only me! Harriet!’ The front door slammed shut. He stood, leaning on the hall table trying to get his breath. Sweat was pouring off his face and he wiped it with the sweat bands he wore on his wrists. Flick had bought them for him for Christmas. His dear little Flick. She came dancing down the stairs at that moment.

‘Hello, Daddy, I’m not going to kiss you, you’re all smelly and disgusting.’ She wrinkled her nose and headed for the kitchen. ‘Mummy! Daddy’s back. You boys hurry up, your porridge is ready.’ Flick seated herself at the table and watched her two brothers pretending to box. ‘Men do find some funny things to entertain themselves with, don’t they, Mummy?’

Harriet laughed. ‘They certainly do!’ She glanced up and saw Jimbo grinning at her from the doorway. ‘Quick Jimbo, get under the shower – I can smell the sweat from here.’

‘Thanks a million! A chap’s doing his best to keep fit and his womenfolk do nothing but complain.’

‘I’ve been thinking about an Easter raffle.’

‘So have I. Great minds!’

‘Boys come along now, that’s enough. On your chairs. Look, Flick’s already seated.’

‘Miss Goody Two Shoes! Miss Goody Two Shoes!’!’ Fergus danced around the back of Flick’s chair tormenting her. Tears began to well in her eyes and Harriet put a stop to the teasing.

She indicated his chair with a sharp finger. ‘Enough. Thanks. That’s enough! Sit down and eat.’

By the time Jimbo came downstairs the children had disappeared to clean their teeth – or so Harriet hoped – and he sat down to his bowl of muesli, his orange juice and wholemeal toast.

‘Coffee or tea this morning?’

‘Tea, please. I thought about a huge Easter egg for the first prize.’

‘So did I. We get on remarkably well together in business, don’t we Jimbo?’

‘Yes, we do. And we don’t get bored with each other. It would be so easy to be bored to death seeing each other at work
and
at home. Feeling OK?’

‘Of course. I’ve never felt better than this time. Linda has another appointment at the dentist’s tomorrow. Will you manage?’

‘Yes, I expect so. Hope this is the last one for a while.’

‘It is, the poor girl can’t help an abscess, can she?’

‘No, I suppose not. More tea, darling, please. I’m going up to the Big House this morning, just to keep an eye on things. Will you be around?’

‘As ever.’

Jimbo stood up from the table. ‘I’m off then. Don’t overdo it will you, Harriet? I couldn’t bear it if things went wrong.’ Harriet stopped clearing the table and took time to look at him intently. ‘You’re all I’ve got, you know,’ he said.

‘See you then.’ He went to the foot of the stairs and called up. ‘Daddy’s going now. Bye you lot.’

Flick shouted downstairs, her voice impeded by her toothbrush. ‘Bye Daddy, have a nice day.’ Jimbo winced at the Americanism. ‘Bye now. See you later, Harriet.’

‘OK.’

The weather was good for the time of year. Jimmy Glover’s geese were out and about as usual. They were grazing close to the edge of the green. He wondered if it was true that they were as good as a dog for protecting their owners. They looked remarkably relaxed this morning. But as he came closer and paused to watch them, the geese began to stretch their necks and honk menacingly. Two of them left the grass and came onto the road, their beaks, on a level with Jimbo’s knees, opened threateningly. He shouted and skipped a few steps to avoid them, waving his arms; they lost interest and left him to press on. Blessed geese, if he had his way . . . Then he caught sight of his Store and his heart swelled with pride. He’d turned it round and no mistake. He remembered the depressing aspect of it when he and Harriet had first come to Turnham Malpas to view it. They’d looked at each other and mouthed ‘No’, but old Mrs Thornton had noticed, and they’d felt obliged to show some interest.

Quarter past eight. He was late. It was half an hour before Linda would come to open up the post office section, so after he’d laid the newspapers out on their shelf ready for sale, he decided to begin collecting Easter eggs and all the paraphernalia he needed for dressing the window. Scissors, measuring tape, sellotape, drawing pins, stapler, ribbons, yellow and white crepe paper, silver paper. First, though, he’d dismantle the current display. But his plan was thwarted, his first customer entered. The little brass bell jingled furiously.

‘Morning Willie. Come to collect your paper?’

‘Yes.’ Willie went to help himself. Took it to the till and handed Jimbo the exact money.

‘Keep thinking we shall be hearing wedding bells for you, Willie, but you don’t seem to have set a date, or have you?’

‘Sylvia and I are taking our time about it. We’re not in a great bursting hurry like we would be if we were younger.’

‘Well, there’s one thing being the verger, you won’t have any problems making the arrangements. Will Sylvia keep working at the rectory?’

‘Oh yes, she enjoys that job, much better than at the hospital. Mrs Rector couldn’t manage without her, not yet. I’ll be off, rector’s got all sorts of plans for Easter so we’re having a conference today.’ Willie went briskly out, leaving Jimbo confident that Willie knew exactly when he was getting married but he wasn’t saying.

‘Daddy, it’s only us. We’ve come for something for playtime.’ Jimbo reversed out of the window and went to supervise their choices. They were never allowed simply to help themselves, they always had to pay for whatever they chose. His mother-in-law laughed at his insistence on the matter, but he knew he was right. ‘That’s twenty-three pence for you Fergus, twenty-two for you Flick, and thirty, thirty? for you Finlay. That’s a bit excessive isn’t it?’

‘Well, Daddy, we should really be getting them for free you know, it is our shop.’

‘I’m not debating that question this morning Finlay, we’ve had it all out before. Out! Out!’

As they went out his mother-in-law, Sadie, came in. ‘Bye darlings, be good.’

‘Bye Grandma!’

‘Good morning Jimbo. That word “Grandma” makes me wince, I start fumbling for my pince-nez.’

‘You’re early.’

‘Do I detect a hint of sarcasm there?’

‘No, no, not at all, but you are!’

‘Well, I’ve lots to do today. Being in charge of the mail order doesn’t give me much time to spare. Did that woman come with the jars of marmalade yesterday? She promised she’d have them made by Thursday last week.’

‘Yes, she did.’