begun she had been collecting the groceries from the village shop, enjoying the walk when the weather was fine. It had
been a hard winter but now the trees were in bud and fluffy pussy willows flourished in the hedgerow. Broken reflections danced on the reservoir and daffodils waved in the spring breeze.
Mary loved this place where Tom and she had walked, huddled together from the biting wind, singing in harmony and laughing when a huge brown cow had startled them with a long loud moooo. She
also loved the village shop, where Mrs Poppleton weighed up the sugar into blue bags, twelve ounces a person, and cut butter from a large round block, twelve ounces for the three of them.
Mary handed over the basket of eggs she had brought and the bill was adjusted accordingly. In summer Gladys would supply Mrs Poppleton with vegetables too but at present most of the buying was
done by Mary, glad of the opportunity to exchange gossip with the village wives who had watched her arrive from behind immaculate white net curtains and found some excuse to join her in the
shop.
‘Bad job about owd Joss Shepherd,’ said one of them now.
‘What’s up wi’ ’im this time?’ asked Mrs Poppleton. ‘Got canned up again and fallen down the Plough steps, has he?’
‘Not this time.’ The other laughed. ‘Their Annie ’ad sneaked out ladding when she was supposed to be in bed, an’ left the cellar grate off so she could sneak back
in again. Well, what wi’ the blackout and the drink, owd Joss staggering home never noticed, an’ next thing he knew he was down in’t cellar, one foot straight into’t heap of
coal only delivered yesterday. Twisted ‘is leg under ’im. Black and blue he is, what wi’ bruises an’ coal dust.’ She finished the story almost hysterical with
laughter, and then her face straightened again as she added, ‘Eeh, it’s their Annie I feel sorry for. She din’t ’alf cop it when she came ’ome. He took ‘is belt
off to ’er by all accounts – I’ll bet she doesn’t leave grate off again in a hurry. Eeh, I’d ’ave given owt to see ‘is face though when he disappeared dahn
that cellar.’
Mary almost wet her knickers laughing and had to ask Mrs Poppleton if she could use her lavatory out round the back.
After handing out a bit of news in exchange, about what was happening in Sheffield, Mary left for a visit to Tom’s mother, knowing that the kettle would be singing a welcome on the
blackleaded range and the brown teapot warming in the hearth. Mary loved the gentle woman, and enjoyed the quiet chat on a Friday morning whilst the girls were at work and Cyril was at school, and
only little Douglas was at home, playing with a small ginger kitten. Mr Downing was always busy outside on the farm, ploughing, milking or mucking out, helped by his old friend Sid who should have
retired years ago. From what Tom had told Mary his father made more out of the farm than he would admit, and the farmhouse was warm and comfortably furnished. In fact, the family didn’t seem
to want for anything.
Mrs Downing met Mary in the yard, asking immediately, ‘Any news, love?’ Her face fell when Mary shook her head. ‘Oh, well, no news is good news. I expect there’s a letter
on its way somewhere.’ She smiled at Mary. ‘Come in, love, and have a cup of tea.’ The aroma of baking bread greeted them as they entered the kitchen. ‘How about a warm oven
bottom cake with a spreading of rendered lard?’
Mary was almost tempted but declined the offer, knowing Gladys would have dinner ready on her return. ‘I really came to leave a message for Bessie and Lucy. I’ve decided to go after
a job in the works. I’ll ride over with them on Monday and see if they’ve anything to offer me.’
‘I’ll tell them to wait for you, then. At least it’s light in a morning, though it’ll not be very nice for you in winter coming round the reservoir on yer own.’
‘I’ll be all right. I think I know the
been a hard winter but now the trees were in bud and fluffy pussy willows flourished in the hedgerow. Broken reflections danced on the reservoir and daffodils waved in the spring breeze.
Mary loved this place where Tom and she had walked, huddled together from the biting wind, singing in harmony and laughing when a huge brown cow had startled them with a long loud moooo. She
also loved the village shop, where Mrs Poppleton weighed up the sugar into blue bags, twelve ounces a person, and cut butter from a large round block, twelve ounces for the three of them.
Mary handed over the basket of eggs she had brought and the bill was adjusted accordingly. In summer Gladys would supply Mrs Poppleton with vegetables too but at present most of the buying was
done by Mary, glad of the opportunity to exchange gossip with the village wives who had watched her arrive from behind immaculate white net curtains and found some excuse to join her in the
shop.
‘Bad job about owd Joss Shepherd,’ said one of them now.
‘What’s up wi’ ’im this time?’ asked Mrs Poppleton. ‘Got canned up again and fallen down the Plough steps, has he?’
‘Not this time.’ The other laughed. ‘Their Annie ’ad sneaked out ladding when she was supposed to be in bed, an’ left the cellar grate off so she could sneak back
in again. Well, what wi’ the blackout and the drink, owd Joss staggering home never noticed, an’ next thing he knew he was down in’t cellar, one foot straight into’t heap of
coal only delivered yesterday. Twisted ‘is leg under ’im. Black and blue he is, what wi’ bruises an’ coal dust.’ She finished the story almost hysterical with
laughter, and then her face straightened again as she added, ‘Eeh, it’s their Annie I feel sorry for. She din’t ’alf cop it when she came ’ome. He took ‘is belt
off to ’er by all accounts – I’ll bet she doesn’t leave grate off again in a hurry. Eeh, I’d ’ave given owt to see ‘is face though when he disappeared dahn
that cellar.’
Mary almost wet her knickers laughing and had to ask Mrs Poppleton if she could use her lavatory out round the back.
After handing out a bit of news in exchange, about what was happening in Sheffield, Mary left for a visit to Tom’s mother, knowing that the kettle would be singing a welcome on the
blackleaded range and the brown teapot warming in the hearth. Mary loved the gentle woman, and enjoyed the quiet chat on a Friday morning whilst the girls were at work and Cyril was at school, and
only little Douglas was at home, playing with a small ginger kitten. Mr Downing was always busy outside on the farm, ploughing, milking or mucking out, helped by his old friend Sid who should have
retired years ago. From what Tom had told Mary his father made more out of the farm than he would admit, and the farmhouse was warm and comfortably furnished. In fact, the family didn’t seem
to want for anything.
Mrs Downing met Mary in the yard, asking immediately, ‘Any news, love?’ Her face fell when Mary shook her head. ‘Oh, well, no news is good news. I expect there’s a letter
on its way somewhere.’ She smiled at Mary. ‘Come in, love, and have a cup of tea.’ The aroma of baking bread greeted them as they entered the kitchen. ‘How about a warm oven
bottom cake with a spreading of rendered lard?’
Mary was almost tempted but declined the offer, knowing Gladys would have dinner ready on her return. ‘I really came to leave a message for Bessie and Lucy. I’ve decided to go after
a job in the works. I’ll ride over with them on Monday and see if they’ve anything to offer me.’
‘I’ll tell them to wait for you, then. At least it’s light in a morning, though it’ll not be very nice for you in winter coming round the reservoir on yer own.’
‘I’ll be all right. I think I know the
Similar Books
