but it was under control. A major meeting would be held on Wednesday with his key staff to finalise details.
Gerald was appreciative of the loyal Londoners’ help that was vital to successfully yield the bumper crop on Primrose Estate. Like everyone else, he was also aware of what the Londoners’ were going through during this awful war. He had on several occasions travelled up to London on business and the sheer destruction and loss of life was quite distressing. Village life seemed a million miles away from the atrocities in the capital. They had had their fair share of air raids, but it was nothing compared to being in the thick of it all.
His visits to London had invoked vivid memories as he had actively served as a Captain during the First World War. He didn’t allow himself to dwell too much on this part of his life as it also conjured up painful memories of his dearly departed wife.
But, equally so, Gerald realised that the Londoners’ relished this annual event down to Kent as their temporary escape from the war. They were able to catch up with old Kentish friends and sleep a little more soundly at night, as compared to the brutal noises of war stealing a restful sleep.
Gerald sat comfortably in his antique leather chair enjoying his rare third glass of whisky. He finally gave in to the fact that he was a very troubled man. He believed that his only child would be the imminent downfall of Primrose Farm Estate. If he were honest, Gerald had known for several years that Adam would never willingly follow in his footsteps, although Gerald had tried on numerous occasions over the years to actively involve Adam in the business. He looked up from his whisky glass and sadly gazed at each of the portraits of his ancestors who stared back at him, their oil painted faces seemed to acknowledge the pain he was going through. He had failed them, failed in his responsibilities to his tenants and their families, and most of all, he had failed his son.
Due to unforeseen complications, his dear wife Mary had passed away during child birth and for many years Gerald could not bear to be in the same room as his son, blaming him entirely for her death. Since day one Adam was cared for by a succession of nannies ensuring that he wouldn’t become too attached to one person. Mr and Mrs Sutton could do nothing but watch on helplessly as the Squire would pay the nanny an extra month’s pay and immediately hire another to take her place. Adam often woke in the morning to find a new nanny had replaced the one before without being told of a reason or even a goodbye. Thinking it was for the best, Gerald packed Adam off to boarding school when he was just ten years old.
Kent was rich with excellent boarding schools, achieving outstanding academic reputations, but Gerald opted to send his son to Priory Square down the West Country in Dorset. Adam had now completed five years out of eight and over those five years he had returned to Kent only three times. The atmosphere between father and son during those visits was distant, as they were strangers to each other. It wasn’t long before Adam began making excuses not to return home during the holidays, opting to stay with friends and sometimes staying on at boarding school to avoid going back to Kent altogether.
Gerald knew that he was solely to blame for not having a relationship with his son as he had been so tied up in his own bereavement. He now wanted to make amends but had been bewildered on what to do next. There had been too much lost time. He decided that when Adam came home for the Christmas holidays in a few months’ time he would try his utmost to salvage what was left of their relationship.
Chapter Seven
As the working day ended the following day, Iris gathered up their things in Foxden Orchard. She packed away their lunchboxes, beakers, blanket and a couple of Maggie’s toys into the basket on the front of the bicycle. “We’ve got to go to the Post Office first to buy a stamp before we go home, hold on, here we go.”
The ride out of the orchard was as bumpy as the ride in as Iris snaked her way around potholes with Betty following behind. The twins quickly caught up gathering pace and sped past the ladies to rush on home.
“Pete, put the kettle on love,” shouted Betty, as the boys flew past.
“Righto Mum,” he said, waving in the air then disappearing around the corner, closely pursued by Billy.
“See you tomorrow, Bet,” said Iris, as the two women peddled out of the orchard in opposite directions.
After a couple of minutes Iris and Maggie pulled up outside the village Post Office and Store. Iris lifted Maggie out of the seat and propped the bicycle against the wall. The familiar ‘ding’ of the brass bell over the door chimed as they entered.
“Good afternoon ladies,” said Bill Dwyer, the Postmaster.
“Good afternoon, Mr Dwyer,” said Iris.
“Hello, Mr Dwyer,” said Maggie.
“What can I do for you today, Mrs Harris?”
“Just a penny stamp please.” Iris placed a penny on the counter. “I’m writing to my aunt who lives up north, she hasn’t been too well lately I’m afraid.”
“I’m mighty sorry to hear that Mrs Harris, I hope she recovers soon. Now young Maggie, what have you been up to lately?”
“I’ve been playing hide and seek in the orchard.”
“That sounds like fun,” said Mr Dwyer, as he continued to serve Iris.
Maggie wandered over to the counter top. It was at eye-level to her and she had to stand on tiptoe to see more. Maggie liked Mr Dwyer. He was much older than her father and had a kindly face; he wore small round spectacles and was always dressed in a smart suit. She was fascinated by his baldhead. It was very shiny and she often wondered if he polished it with beeswax like her mother polished the sideboard and cabinet. Just then, she spotted something.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to an envelope on the counter top, her eyes dazzled with interest.
“Maggie, that’s rude, you mustn’t do that,” said Iris. “So sorry, Mr Dwyer.”
“Not at all, Mrs Harris, not at all.” He turned the envelope around and pushed it towards Maggie.
“Maggie, please be careful,” whispered Iris, wondering what had captured her so.
Bill Dwyer walked around to the other side of the counter and slowly crouched down to Maggie’s level. One of his knees cracked as he did so.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s a koala stamp Maggie,” said Mr Dwyer
“Koala,” repeated Maggie slowly, “what’s that?”
“A koala is an animal that mostly lives in trees and carries its babies on its back. It lives in a country called Australia. That’s where this stamp came from.”
“Where’s Australia?” asked Maggie, excitedly.
“It is far far away. Thousands and thousands of miles away and it is very hot there too. This letter has travelled a long way to get here. I have a cousin who lives in Australia and from time to time he sends me letters and I write back. But this letter is from Jack, my cousin’s son who is about five years older than you are.”
“Is that near Maidstone?” asked Maggie, relating to the only far-away place that she knew.
“Goodness gracious no, Maggie,” he said smiling gently. “It’s much further than that.
