a real tonic Bet,” said Iris, smiling tightly. “You should be Prime Minister.”
“I’ve just about heard it all now,” said Mr Gibbs shaking his head, “Goodness help us all. Okay, ladies and gentlemen back to work I believe.”
“Are you alright Bet?” asked Mrs Sharp, noticing that Betty looked a little uncomfortable.
Slightly bewildered, she answered, “These trousers are tight but yesterday they were absolutely fine.” She ran her fingers around the waistband. When she looked up she noticed the women were staring at her questionably. “Goodness no.” Betty flushed, fully understanding the other women’s looks. “Nothing like that, it’s just these trousers, it’s as if the elastic has shrunk.”
At the word elastic, Maggie looked up towards Pete and Billy who both gave a swift simultaneous shake of their heads in warning. In that instant all that could be heard was the sudden burst of laughter from Maggie who instantly knew where the catapult elastic had come from. The women looked at Maggie wondering what was so funny? Maggie continued to get the giggles throughout the rest of the day whenever she thought about it.
Chapter Four
Clover’s Yard adjoined the Manor and that was where William was working. The tractor he had used to deliver the apple boxes had developed an oil leak and he was underneath it assessing where the leak was coming from.
“What is the damage William, can it be fixed quickly?” asked the Squire as he addressed William’s old and worn work boots from under the tractor. “We need this back out in the orchard today to bring back the harvest ready for Parkes & Son’s pick-up in the morning.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem Squire,” came William’s muffled voice, “I can make it a temporary job today and then take it directly to the workshop tomorrow afternoon after Parkes’s truck has left to do a proper repair. It should take around half a day at least.”
Smiling at William’s satisfactory answer caused the Squire’s pencil thin grey moustache to overstretch making a near perfect straight line. He was in his early sixties, tall and skinny as a rake and attired as per a country gentleman with his trade mark flat brown and beige chequered cap.
He had never been shy of getting his hands dirty and had on numerous occasions rolled up his shirt sleeves to help with the maintenance of farm machinery and often drove the tractors around the orchards to collect or distribute apple boxes. Gerald Marsh liked to keep his feet metaphorically placed on the ground in touch with the day-to-day operation of his estate. He effortlessly carried a natural air of authority and breeding of English aristocracy where his attitude of mucking in and helping the workers was a quality that had maintained the respect of his employees and the villagers.
Primrose Farm Estate consisted of six hundred acres divided into a number of orchards harvesting seasonal fruits, vegetables and hops, currently for the war effort. Gerald was a fifth generation Squire and took great pride in the estate that he ran like clockwork.
“Splendid ’ol fellow, that’s good news. Now, I’ll be in town for the rest of the day at that agricultural meeting I told you about. Let’s hope that the blasted idiots on the committee can all agree on our suggestions for better and faster distribution before all our toils are wasted.” He nodded slightly to William as he walked back to the Manor.
Over the generations the Manor had been fully restored to its former glory. The thatched roof was particularly worrying in times of war and more so in this part of Kent, known as ‘Hell’s Corner’ due to being en route to London for the German bombers who, on occasions, off loaded their bombs on their return to base. The thatch miraculously survived the First World War so Gerald optimistically saw no reason why it shouldn’t survive this war also.
Like many others William admired the immaculate lawns and grounds of the Manor and held Mr Sutton, the head gardener, in high regard. William had the privilege of walking within the grounds whenever he saw the Squire whilst the rest of the workers and villagers only got to see a peek at the glorious grounds twice a year: once at the Summer Fete when the gardens were at their absolute best, and at Christmas time when all the children and Primrose Estate staff were invited for a special party.
A small, mature lake semi-circled the back of the property where the lawns gently sloped down the bank toward the jetty and a solitary rowing boat. Green algae outlined the boat with water lilies growing just above the waterline. It had been a number of years since the Squire had used the boat for fishing. Nowadays, he much preferred to do a spot of fly-fishing from the water’s edge as his balance was not as good as it used to be.
In the centre of the lake was a small island just big enough to withstand a family of weeping willows that graciously overhung the side. The tips of the branches danced softly in the water providing protection from the sun for the ducks and swans that nested there.
William brushed himself down and walked across the courtyard that housed the stable block. He picked up eight carrots from the metal bucket and briefly stopped at each stable door where he fed and patted every pedigree horse as he made his way to the tool shed next to the barn. As he gathered all the items he needed to temporarily fix the oil leak his thoughts turned back to the Squire. William knew he had been through tough times starting with the sudden loss of his beloved wife then the turbulent aftermath with his son Adam.
William shook his head. He thought how fortunate he was to have his beloved Iris and Maggie, the apple of his eye. He started the tractor engine and began the slow drive back to Foxden Orchard.
Chapter Five
Iris had taken an armful of rhubarb to Betty’s cottage so they could bake the pie together and so Maggie had gone with William to the workshop.
Her father was an excellent storyteller and he often told her of his antics as a boy and the endless mischief he got into with his best friend Bert.
“Daddy, tell me about Bert and Miss Bridges,” Maggie pleaded.
“What about them?” he taunted.
“You know, the frogs.”
“But you know about the frogs, Maggie.”
“Please tell me and do more noises,” she said, as she jumped up and down expectantly.
“Alright, come over here then pumpkin.”
Maggie ran to her father with outstretched arms and he sat her up on the workbench then continued to plane some wood.
“Well,” he began, “Bert and I were late for school, as usual, but this time we were very late as we’d been down to the village pond first. It had been raining and we were soaked by the time we entered the school gate. Playtime was over and all our friends were already inside the classroom.
“We knew the routine, as we’d been late so many times, your grandma Harris used to tell me off for being late but I just couldn’t help it. We were only seven and we lost track of time. Bert and I knew that we had to see Miss Bridges, so she could mark us off as late in the school register, before we could join our friends in class.
“We walked down the corridor and when we arrived outside Miss Bridges’ door we knocked but there was no reply, which was quite unusual. I poked Bert in the ribs and he carefully turned the brass handle and opened the door slightly. We both peered in to make sure Miss Bridges was not inside.” He gave Maggie a sideways glance and smiled when he saw she was sitting there with legs swinging under the workbench, totally
