Village Centenary Read Free Page A

substantial difference to his crops over the years.

    Like most people in Fairacre, my pupils enjoyed feeding the birds during the winter, and our school bird-table was always well supplied with bread, peanuts and fat.
    As well as these more usual offerings, Mrs Pringle supplied mealworms which the robins adored. She had first undertaken this chore when our famous albino robin appeared on the scene. After his death, in the grievous state of mourning which followed, the supply of mealworms ceased, but to our delight a second albino, probably a grandchild of the first, was seen, and the mealworms were hastily added to the menu.
    Not that we saw a great deal of the second white robin. It was obviously less bold than its predecessor, and more cautious in its approach to the food we put out. As Henry Mawne had warned us, the robins and other birds of normal colouring would tend to harass the albino. It certainly seemed timid, but was all the more adored by the children on that account. The first robin had frequently come to the jar of mealworms during the day. The second one only came occasionally, and there were days when it did not appear at all.
    One afternoon the children were busy making what they term 'bird pudden', which consists of melted dripping mixed with porridge oats, chopped peanuts and some currants. We had melted the fat in an old saucepan on the tortoise stove, and I kept a weather eye on the door in case Mrs Pringle should walk in unexpectedly and catch us violating her beloved stove.
    There was a comfortable smell of cooking in the classroom as Patrick stirred the ingredients with my wooden jam-making spoon. The saucepan by now was on the floor. Nevertheless, when the door opened, I nearly jumped out of my skin with guilt.
    Luckily it was only the vicar.
    'I seem to have startled you,' said the Reverend Gerald Partridge. 'I suppose I should have knocked.'
    'Not at all. I just thought you were Mrs Pringle.'
    'Mrs Pringle?'
echoed the vicar. A look of the utmost perplexity distorted his chubby face. 'Now why on earth should you think that?'
    'I'll tell you later,' I said hastily. 'Can I help you?'
    The vicar put the plastic bag he had been carrying on my desk.
    'A friend of mine who is in the publishing business has most kindly given me some children's books. I think he said he was
remaindering
them - a term I had not heard before, I must confess. Anyway, I thought they might go on the library shelf here.'
    'Oh, splendid! We can always do with more books.'
    He began to haul them out of the bag which bore the interesting slogan:
Come to Clarissa's For Countless Cosmetics.
It seemed an odd receptacle for a vicar to have acquired.
    'I have looked them through,' he said earnestly, 'and they seem quite suitable. Really, these days, one can find the most unnecessarily explicit descriptions of deeds of violence, or of biological matters too advanced for our young children here.'
    'I am sure your friend wouldn't give you anything like that,' I said reassuringly, 'but I will read them first if you like.'
    'It might be as well,' said the vicar. He suddenly became aware of Patrick's activities.
    'Whatever is the boy making?'
    I explained, the children joining in with considerable gusto.
    'Well, I heartily approve,' he said, when he could make himself heard. 'We must do all we can to keep the birds healthy and strong during this bitter weather.'
    He began to walk to the door and I accompanied him. He spoke in a low voice.
    'Are you sure that mixture is all right? It looks most indigestible to me.'
    'The birds lap it up,' 1 told him. 'They've been doing so for months now so don't worry.'
    He smiled and departed. 1 had barely returned to the stove preparatory to clearing away any mess before Mrs Pringle caught us, when the vicar reappeared again.
    'I forgot to give you a message from my wife. Could you come to the vicarage for a drink on Friday at six-thirty? A few people are coming to discuss the arrangements for the Caxley