substitute,' he conceded, 'but it would be as well to get Willet to screw a hook into the side of one of the cupboards for a key. I can provide you with one quite as massive as this, I can assure you, and I really should feel happier if you had one on the premises.'
I thanked him, and asked what it was he wanted to tell me.
'Simply a rumour about the school closing. I wanted you to know that I have had no official message about such a possibility. I pray that I may
never
have one, but should it be so, please rest assured that I should let you know at once.'
'Thank you. I know you would.'
'You have heard nothing?'
'Only rumours. They fly around so often, I don't let them bother me unduly.'
'Quite, quite. Well, I must be off. Mrs Partridge asked me to pick up something at the Post Office, but for the life of me I can't remember what it is. I wonder if I should go back and ask?'
'No doubt Mr Lamb will know and have it waiting for you,' I suggested.
Mr Partridge smiled with relief.
'I'm sure you're right. I will call there first. No point in worrying my wife unnecessarily.'
He waved to the children, and made for the door.
'I won't forget to look out a suitable key,' he promised. 'My mother would have approved of having one handy at all times. First aid, you know.'
The door closed behind him.
'First question,' I said. 'If a man had twelve chickensâ'.
Although I had told the Vicar that I was not unduly bothered by the rumours, it was not strictly true. Somehow, this time, as the merry-go-round twirled, the ostrich had a menacing expression as it appeared among the galloping horses. Perhaps, I told myself, everything seemed worse because I had heard the news from several sources in a very short space of time.
After school, I pottered about in the kitchen preparing a salad, which Amy, my old college friend, was going to share that evening. She had promised to deliver a pile of garments for a future jumble sale, and as James, her husband, was away from home, we were free to enjoy each other's company.
Apart from a deplorable desire to reform my slack ways, Amy is the perfect friend. True, she also attempts to marry me off, now and again, to some poor unsuspecting male, but this uphill job has proved in vain, so far, and I think she knows, in her heart, that she will never be successful.
It was while I was washing lettuce, that Mr Willet arrived with some broad bean plants.
'I saw you'd got some terrible gaps in your row, miss. Bit late perhaps to put 'em in, but we'll risk it, shall us?'
I agreed whole-heartedly.
He departed along the garden path, and I returned to the sink.
'No rose in all the world
' warbled Mr Willet,
'Until you came.'
Mr Willet has a large repertoire of songs which were popular at the beginning of the century. They take me back, in a flash, to the musical evenings beloved of my parents. Mercifully, I can only remember snippets of these sentimental ballads, most of which had a lot of 'ah-ah-ah'-ing between verses, although a line or two, here and there, still stick in my memory.
'Dearest, the night is over
(or was it 'lonely'?)
'Waneth the trembling moon'
and another about living in a land of roses but dreaming of a land of snow. Or maybe the other way round? It was the sort of question to put to Mr Willet, I decided, when Amy arrived, and Mr Willet and the ballads, were temporarily forgotten.
***
'Lovely to be here,' sighed Amy, after we had eaten our meal.
She leant back in the arm chair and sipped her coffee.
'You really do make excellent coffee,' she said approvingly. 'Despite the haphazard way you measure the beans.'
'Thank you,' I said humbly. I rarely get praise from Amy, so that it is all the more flattering when I do.
She surveyed one elegant hand with a frown.
'My nails grow at such a rate. I always remember a horrifying tale I read when I was about ten. A body was exhumed, and the poor woman's coffin was full of her own hair and immensely long finger
I thanked him, and asked what it was he wanted to tell me.
'Simply a rumour about the school closing. I wanted you to know that I have had no official message about such a possibility. I pray that I may
never
have one, but should it be so, please rest assured that I should let you know at once.'
'Thank you. I know you would.'
'You have heard nothing?'
'Only rumours. They fly around so often, I don't let them bother me unduly.'
'Quite, quite. Well, I must be off. Mrs Partridge asked me to pick up something at the Post Office, but for the life of me I can't remember what it is. I wonder if I should go back and ask?'
'No doubt Mr Lamb will know and have it waiting for you,' I suggested.
Mr Partridge smiled with relief.
'I'm sure you're right. I will call there first. No point in worrying my wife unnecessarily.'
He waved to the children, and made for the door.
'I won't forget to look out a suitable key,' he promised. 'My mother would have approved of having one handy at all times. First aid, you know.'
The door closed behind him.
'First question,' I said. 'If a man had twelve chickensâ'.
Although I had told the Vicar that I was not unduly bothered by the rumours, it was not strictly true. Somehow, this time, as the merry-go-round twirled, the ostrich had a menacing expression as it appeared among the galloping horses. Perhaps, I told myself, everything seemed worse because I had heard the news from several sources in a very short space of time.
After school, I pottered about in the kitchen preparing a salad, which Amy, my old college friend, was going to share that evening. She had promised to deliver a pile of garments for a future jumble sale, and as James, her husband, was away from home, we were free to enjoy each other's company.
Apart from a deplorable desire to reform my slack ways, Amy is the perfect friend. True, she also attempts to marry me off, now and again, to some poor unsuspecting male, but this uphill job has proved in vain, so far, and I think she knows, in her heart, that she will never be successful.
It was while I was washing lettuce, that Mr Willet arrived with some broad bean plants.
'I saw you'd got some terrible gaps in your row, miss. Bit late perhaps to put 'em in, but we'll risk it, shall us?'
I agreed whole-heartedly.
He departed along the garden path, and I returned to the sink.
'No rose in all the world
' warbled Mr Willet,
'Until you came.'
Mr Willet has a large repertoire of songs which were popular at the beginning of the century. They take me back, in a flash, to the musical evenings beloved of my parents. Mercifully, I can only remember snippets of these sentimental ballads, most of which had a lot of 'ah-ah-ah'-ing between verses, although a line or two, here and there, still stick in my memory.
'Dearest, the night is over
(or was it 'lonely'?)
'Waneth the trembling moon'
and another about living in a land of roses but dreaming of a land of snow. Or maybe the other way round? It was the sort of question to put to Mr Willet, I decided, when Amy arrived, and Mr Willet and the ballads, were temporarily forgotten.
***
'Lovely to be here,' sighed Amy, after we had eaten our meal.
She leant back in the arm chair and sipped her coffee.
'You really do make excellent coffee,' she said approvingly. 'Despite the haphazard way you measure the beans.'
'Thank you,' I said humbly. I rarely get praise from Amy, so that it is all the more flattering when I do.
She surveyed one elegant hand with a frown.
'My nails grow at such a rate. I always remember a horrifying tale I read when I was about ten. A body was exhumed, and the poor woman's coffin was full of her own hair and immensely long finger
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