the stoves to rights this evening,' she told me as she departed. 'See you midday.'
She always returned in the early afternoon to wash up the school dinner things. Usually our paths did not cross then, for I was teaching and she was alone in the lobby.
On this particular day I heard her at her labours. At the same time, the bell of St Patrick's church next door began to toll. The children looked up from their work and there was some whispering.
I went out to the lobby to see if Mrs Pringle could
enlighten me. Obviously, someone of local importance had died. Mrs Pringle was standing in the steamy lobby, her hands red and puffy from her task. To my amazement she was trembling and there were tears in her eyes.
'It's Miss Parr,' she said, before I could make any enquiry, 'went sudden about five this morning.'
'It has upset you,' I replied, as much in wonderment as in sympathy. This was the first time I had seen Mrs Pringle in a weak condition. I was much moved.
'She was good to me. I was in service with her before I married.'
'I did know that.'
'Gave me this and that quite frequent, but that weren't all.'
'What else?'
'She took my word against others when I was in trouble once. I never forgot that. I might have lost my job, but she stood by me.'
Two tears rolled down her cheeks, and I found myself patting her substantial shoulder.
'Well, this won't do,' she said, sniffing loudly, 'can't bring back the dead, can you? Best get on with my job.'
She sounded much more like her tough old self, and I left her smoothing the tea towels over the still-warm boiler to dry.
But I noticed that her puffy hands still trembled.
Later that evening I pondered over this surprising episode. I remembered Alice Willet's account of the row over the chauffeur and his fierce denial of any interest in the lovelorn Maud, and his consequent departure to foreign parts.
It looked as though Mrs Pringle still had feelings of guilt over her part in the proceedings. Did she regret her
faults as poignantly as she mourned the loss of the dashing Henry in his bottle-green uniform? And had Fred Pringle, the next best thing, ever given her any comfort in the years between?
So much must remain conjecture, but one thing was certain. Mrs Pringle, my arch enemy, had some human feelings after all. Those few sad minutes in the steamy lobby had been a revelation to me, and I felt a new regard for her.
CHAPTER 6
Joseph Coggs and Mrs Pringle
Every community has its problem families. At Springbourne, our neighbouring village, the black sheep was Fred Pringle's brother Josh and his unfortunate relations.
In Fairacre we had the Coggs family. As in the case of Josh Pringle, all blame for the situation lay squarely on the shoulders of Arthur Coggs, the father. By nature he was lazy and of low intelligence. Added to that was his addiction to drink which made him boastful and belligerent when in his cups. It also made him a petty thief for he could not do without his beer, and was very seldom treated; Arthur Coggs, it was soon discovered, never stood his round.
He had various jobs, none of which lasted very long. He occasionally found casual work as a labourer on a building site, or as a roadman for the Caxley council. But absence, arriving late, and taking time off to visit the nearest pub soon ended his employment.
Mr Roberts, the Fairacre farmer, had done his best to give him work. He pitied Arthur's poor down-trodden wife, and the fast-growing family, but Arthur's feckless ways soon exhausted his employer's patience, and apart
from a little spasmodic field work at the appropriate time, Mr Roberts could do no more.
The village folk looked upon the Coggses with mingled pity and exasperation.
'If that gel of Arthur's had taken the rolling pin to him early on,' said Mr Willet roundly, 'she'd have done the right thing.'
'But he could easily have killed her,' I cried. 'She's a poor wispy little thing and must be terrified of him.'
'Bullies is always
She always returned in the early afternoon to wash up the school dinner things. Usually our paths did not cross then, for I was teaching and she was alone in the lobby.
On this particular day I heard her at her labours. At the same time, the bell of St Patrick's church next door began to toll. The children looked up from their work and there was some whispering.
I went out to the lobby to see if Mrs Pringle could
enlighten me. Obviously, someone of local importance had died. Mrs Pringle was standing in the steamy lobby, her hands red and puffy from her task. To my amazement she was trembling and there were tears in her eyes.
'It's Miss Parr,' she said, before I could make any enquiry, 'went sudden about five this morning.'
'It has upset you,' I replied, as much in wonderment as in sympathy. This was the first time I had seen Mrs Pringle in a weak condition. I was much moved.
'She was good to me. I was in service with her before I married.'
'I did know that.'
'Gave me this and that quite frequent, but that weren't all.'
'What else?'
'She took my word against others when I was in trouble once. I never forgot that. I might have lost my job, but she stood by me.'
Two tears rolled down her cheeks, and I found myself patting her substantial shoulder.
'Well, this won't do,' she said, sniffing loudly, 'can't bring back the dead, can you? Best get on with my job.'
She sounded much more like her tough old self, and I left her smoothing the tea towels over the still-warm boiler to dry.
But I noticed that her puffy hands still trembled.
Later that evening I pondered over this surprising episode. I remembered Alice Willet's account of the row over the chauffeur and his fierce denial of any interest in the lovelorn Maud, and his consequent departure to foreign parts.
It looked as though Mrs Pringle still had feelings of guilt over her part in the proceedings. Did she regret her
faults as poignantly as she mourned the loss of the dashing Henry in his bottle-green uniform? And had Fred Pringle, the next best thing, ever given her any comfort in the years between?
So much must remain conjecture, but one thing was certain. Mrs Pringle, my arch enemy, had some human feelings after all. Those few sad minutes in the steamy lobby had been a revelation to me, and I felt a new regard for her.
CHAPTER 6
Joseph Coggs and Mrs Pringle
Every community has its problem families. At Springbourne, our neighbouring village, the black sheep was Fred Pringle's brother Josh and his unfortunate relations.
In Fairacre we had the Coggs family. As in the case of Josh Pringle, all blame for the situation lay squarely on the shoulders of Arthur Coggs, the father. By nature he was lazy and of low intelligence. Added to that was his addiction to drink which made him boastful and belligerent when in his cups. It also made him a petty thief for he could not do without his beer, and was very seldom treated; Arthur Coggs, it was soon discovered, never stood his round.
He had various jobs, none of which lasted very long. He occasionally found casual work as a labourer on a building site, or as a roadman for the Caxley council. But absence, arriving late, and taking time off to visit the nearest pub soon ended his employment.
Mr Roberts, the Fairacre farmer, had done his best to give him work. He pitied Arthur's poor down-trodden wife, and the fast-growing family, but Arthur's feckless ways soon exhausted his employer's patience, and apart
from a little spasmodic field work at the appropriate time, Mr Roberts could do no more.
The village folk looked upon the Coggses with mingled pity and exasperation.
'If that gel of Arthur's had taken the rolling pin to him early on,' said Mr Willet roundly, 'she'd have done the right thing.'
'But he could easily have killed her,' I cried. 'She's a poor wispy little thing and must be terrified of him.'
'Bullies is always
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