“Well done, Floss,” Derek said.
“There’s more,” she said proudly. “Once they’d started thinking, they got fired up, and said they could recruit other friends and there’d be twenty or so. So I’ve divided up the kids into the various projects they’ve come up with, and there’s five teams, four or five in each, and I’ve said the most profitable team gets a day out at Alton Towers. My dad says he’ll sponsor that.”
“Brilliant, Floss! Thank him very kindly from us,” Derek said. “So what are the other projects, and how much space do they want in the playing field?”
“Well, as well as the bucking bronco, there’s the tug-of-war, always popular with Young Farmers, and then ‘pelt the vicar’ with a wet sponge.” Here she looked tentatively at Father Rodney, who gulped bravely and said it was fine by him.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Derek said. “Don’t want him getting pneumonia.”
“Oh, I’ve done it before, in my last parish,” the vicar said. “You have a big board in front of you, with a funny figure painted on it, and a hole for you to put your face through, then you shut your eyes and pray. Ritual mortification of the flesh, I suppose you’d call it!”
Gavin laughed in spite of himself. It was a simple idea, but he looked at the vicar and saw the potential.
“Right, thanks, Vicar,” Derek said. “So what else, Floss?”
“Those were mostly the lads’ ideas. The girls suggested ‘dance ’til you drop,’ a sort of marathon, where each person is timed, and, a bit like the bronco, if you go on more than twenty minutes, you get a pound back. They’d need a reasonable space, and one of the girls said her dad could get hold of a wooden dance floor they could put down. They’d have more than one dancer at a time o’ course. Probably quite a few. Could be quite an entertainment to watch, as well as raising money.”
“Bags me first go,” said Hazel. “I love it, Floss!”
“There was one I had some doubts about,” continued Floss, “but I said I’d ask the committee. They suggested a ‘bonny baby show.’ Certificates for all, and each one having a studio type photo taken. Entry money reasonably high, and a parade of bonny babies at the end of the afternoon. They said it would be best if they didn’t do it themselves, but it would be one for responsible adults to organise.” She did not report their comments about responsible adults, most of which were decidedly uncomplimentary.
“Sounds good,” Hazel said. “Why the doubts, Floss?”
“I know why,” said Tony Dibson, smiling. “We used to have one of those bonniest baby competitions at the church fete, but it nearly caused a punch-up one year. This beefy mother from Fletching claimed the judge picked a Farnden baby that was not nearly as bonny as hers. Then the winning mother started arguing, and it took Mrs. T-J to sort them out. Which she did, o’ course, with no trouble at all!”
“Ah, yes, Tony,” Derek said. “But this one wouldn’t be competitive, would it, Floss? They’d all get certificates and a photo. Could be a real attraction, an’ there’s plenty of girls with babies in the villages combined. I reckon we should go for that one. For all of ’em, Floss. You’ve done really well.”
“Not me,” said Floss modestly. “It was the kids. They’re not a bad lot, whatever people say.”
Gavin cleared his throat, and Hazel was sure he blushed. “Um, I’d like to enter Cecilia straightaway for the ‘bonny babies.’ She could be an example to the others,” he added proudly.
“Good lad,” Tony said.
“Shouldn’t we have a vote on all the projects?” Hazel said, remembering her duty as secretary.
“So we should,” Derek said. “Right, then. Any objections to any of the ideas? Or shall we take a block vote?” There was a general nodding of heads, and the vote was unanimously in favour.
“What’s next, then, Hazel?” Derek said.
“The soap box race itself,” Hazel said. “John has been collecting up entries already, and Gavin has kindly offered to help. So over to you, John.”
“We’ve got eighteen entries so far, so it looks like we’re going to be a real success,” John said. “Me and Gavin have been getting together over some of the arrangements to be made. My jobs are lining the track with straw bales for safety, and fixing up a starting ramp. This’ll give them a good start, enough to get them down to the finish.”
“Which is where?” Derek said, adding that nobody needed three guesses.
“Right first time,” Gavin said. “The pub is the obvious choice. Should be good for business, and a great place to celebrate a good run, or drown sorrows on a bad one. Okay, everyone?”
Then he and John took turns to list other important matters, like public toilets, mobile phone communication between start and finish, dividing entries into classes, like Sports Clubs, Local Hunt, Youth Club, rerouting through traffic, and so on.
“Don’t forget the Women’s Institute,” Hazel said with a straight face.
“You’re joking!” Gavin said.
“Oh, no I’m not,” Hazel said sharply. “A resolution’s been passed, and they are entering. I reckon they’ll show you lads a thing or two!”
“I hope so,” said Tony Dibson, sotto voce.
“Press and TV publicity,” Father Rodney said. “That’s important. I could volunteer for that, if it would help?”
“Thank you, Vicar,” Derek said, and added that a vicar in the village stocks was sure to be good for a picture of two. “Not sure about too much publicity, though,” he added. “We don’t want the police coming in with all kinds of regulations and safety measures that’ll take half our profits. Keep it low-key, Vicar. Just a small village event. Everybody agree?”
There was general approval, although Gavin Adstone appeared to be about to say something, then didn’t.
“And they’ll take you seriously, you being a man o’ the cloth,” Tony said. “Worth a picture or two in the local paper.” The vicar agreed glumly, but told himself that being humbled in the stocks was all part of his calling.
After more useful discussion about the length of the course, maybe a commentator with loudspeaker system, first-aid team, and so on, Derek said it was time to fix a date for the next meeting and adjourn to the pub.
“Oh, hang on a minute,” Hazel said, stacking her papers. “Shouldn’t we decide on a celebrity opener and presenter for the winners’ prizes? People get really booked up.”
There was a pause, and then Floss said, “Can I suggest something?”
“Good gel,” Tony said, looking at his watch.
“Why don’t we have a soap box queen for the day? Maybe one of the older girls from the school? Like a May queen…”
“Excellent!” said Father Rodney. “A good old tradition revived! I shall speak to our headmistress. If the committee would like me to,” he added hastily. He knew only too well how a bossy vicar could end up thoroughly disliked.
And so they all strolled down to the pub, with Derek delighted at the way things were going and Gavin Adstone somewhat discomforted, aware that his part in the whole thing seemed to be going in a completely different direction from the one he had intended.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I SUPPOSE WE MUST GIVE THE NEW GARDENER A CUP OF TEA,” Mrs. T-J said to Paula. “He’s starting this morning, and it is expected. None of the old red spotted handkerchief with bread and cheese, and a flask of whatever it was they drank. Those days are gone, sadly.” She was quiet for a few moments, and then said sharply, “You’ll find a box of those cheap tea bags in the cupboard. Please use those. Now, I have to go out this morning. Meeting at the town hall. You will probably be gone by the time I get back, so please lock up very carefully. You cannot be too cautious with new staff.”
I suppose that goes for me, too, Paula thought. If she knew the new gardener was my estranged husband, it would look like a conspiracy. We’d both be out on our ears.
Paula had thought long and hard about what she would do when faced with Jack Sr. She had no idea where he was living, or what he intended. He had looked quite presentable, though thin and pale, and it might be that he had
