‘A torch? Oh, yes, I expect so,’ said the woman vaguely. ‘I have them over here. I suppose you won’t want a battery to go with it.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be very much good without a battery, would it?’ said Fenella, smiling.
‘Oh, I meant a spare battery, of course. We shouldn’t think of selling you a useless object,’ said the woman, shocked at such an idea.
‘Oh, I’ll take a spare battery, then,’ said Fenella, not that she thought she would need it for the purpose she had in mind. The purchase was made and change given. Fenella said,
‘Are you going to the Mayering?’
‘The Mayering? Oh, yes. The village expects us,’ said the sister behind the post-office counter. ‘We’re the Guardians, you see. We don’t believe in any of it, but we happen to be the only possible people, so we have to do our bit.’
‘You’re the Guardians of the Well?’
‘Oh, you’ve heard of it, have you?’ The woman looked surprised.
‘Only by chance. I shouldn’t have been staying in the village, except that my car broke down, but I think it was tampered with, like the telephone kiosk, so I had to stay.’
‘I see. What a pity Sir Bathy had to be buried today. The funeral won’t be popular, I’m afraid. The Mayering is the biggest village fête of the year, and people look forward to it and expect to enjoy themselves. This year there won’t be any garlands on the lych gate and, of course, the usual dancing in the churchyard is out of the question.’
‘Good gracious! Does the vicar allow dancing in the churchyard, then, in the ordinary course of events?’
‘Well it isn’t, strictly speaking, the churchyard, I believe, but, in any case, why not? King David danced before the Lord and before the ark of the covenant, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but his wife despised him for it, if I remember the story,’ said Fenella.
‘Ah, but Holy Writ does not say that she was right to do so. In fact, the reverse seems to have been the case, because she was punished by never being allowed to have a child, although – ‘said the elderly spinster, with a slight smile – ‘whether that was the Lord’s will or David’s remains a matter of conjecture.’
‘This title you have, the Guardians – is it a very ancient one? I am interested in folklore, and I’ve never heard of this particular custom.’
‘I don’t think anybody knows how far back the custom goes. There is a legend that one of the wells – they are not really wells, of course, but springs – gushes out holy water and that King Arthur’s father, Uther Pendragon, was healed of his war-wounds by bathing in it. The Guardians originally lived their lives in a hut made of the branches of an ash-tree, but nowadays we use it only on May-Day to keep up the old custom. You will see, when you go there, that there are several ash-trees growing on the slopes which lead down to the waters. The Guardians, by tradition, are two women who must be at least forty years of age and they must be virgins.’
‘It sounds rather like the Greek vestals,’ said Fenella. The sisters gravely agreed. ‘What happens if more than two women qualify?’ Fenella went on. The post-office sister shook her head.
‘In a village – any village – such a happening is unlikely,’ she said. ‘This place is highly moral. We have no unmarried mothers or promiscuous young men, for, of course, marriage is the goal for every girl. Mayering morning, in the small hours, is when the boys and girls pair off, but, of course, they have made their minds up long before that, and they always marry as soon as there is a baby on the way.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Fenella agreed. Something impelled her to add, ‘I’m getting married myself at the end of next week. I was on my way to Douston when my car broke down. This delay is an awful nuisance, because I’ve heaps of things to do.’
‘Of course you have,’ they said, and the shop sister added, ‘Is it to be a white wedding?’
‘Oh, yes – church and fully choral. I didn’t want all the fuss, but my cousins insisted.’
‘Of course they did,’ said the shop sister. ‘Everybody who is entitled to a white wedding should have one. It is a sign of respectability.’
‘And is the Mayering respectable?’ asked Fenella.
‘That,’ replied the shop sister, ‘is hardly for us to say. We can only speak to our own part in it.’
‘Oh, yes. What, exactly, do you do?’
‘Why, nothing. We are the remnants of a legend, most of which has been forgotten. Two females have always acted as Guardians on May-Day. We simply remain in the hut which has to be erected freshly every year and we make certain that nobody pollutes the wells, but nobody ever does.’
‘Not even the kind of hooligans who put the telephone kiosk out of order?’
‘They would be dealt with.’
‘What sort of conduct would pollute the wells if anybody was rash enough to try it? I mean, would throwing rubbish into the water be the kind of thing you mean?’
‘We don’t mean anything,’ said the post-office sister. ‘We have no idea what would pollute the water.’
‘How very odd! How are you to prevent it, then?’
‘Well, of course, we should stop children from paddling in it. That kind of thing, I suppose. It is only on May-Day they must not do it. They paddle there every other summer day.’
‘I see.’ Fenella glanced at her watch. It indicated that the time was only just after eleven o’clock, and she had been told that she would not be taken to Croyton until after lunch. Even if lunch was at twelve-thirty – and she thought that one o’clock was more likely – she still had an hour or more to dispose of before it was of any use to return to the inn. Suddenly she thought of the folk-museum.
