My Barsetshire Diary (The Barsetshire Diaries Book 1) Page 6

  Julia and I laughed it off but I did see a gleam in her eye. James told us of a guide mistress he's had to 'let go' as she'd had a fling with a scout master. Actually, he'd heard she'd left the city now. He extracted promises from me about donations, fundraising for the cathedral's Pisa Tower, so called because it was leaning badly, and attending some events in the near future. We agreed to back him as much as we could, said goodbye and left.

  We collected an item from the dry cleaners and then all done we drove towards home.

  It was early afternoon before we reached the village again. We pulled in by the Post Office and Julia went in to buy stamps and have a quick word with Widow Sprig. Then calling me from the car we walked down to the butcher’s.

  "Good day, Your Lordship, Your Ladyship", he greeted us. "Quite an 'arresting day' now, isn't it?”, and he smirked.

  "Oh, a couple of lamb chops please Mr Rumpo", said Lady J, "and half a pound of sausages. You know, the nice 'pork ones' that go with 'curried beans' ".

  Frank's eyes opened a little wider and he blanched. He hurriedly got the order together and thrust it into my hands as though he couldn't move us quickly enough.

  As we left the shop I asked my wife what she'd said to make Frank act like that.

  "Ha", she answered, "no need to worry any more about Frank mentioning this morning's episode".

  "How? Why?", I asked part amazed and part amused.

  "Ah David", she said, "you just have to know how to apply a little pressure to the right spot. I paid a little visit to the Widow Sprig because there's no gossip she doesn't know. She tells me that Frank had a little playtime fun over the campfire stove at last year’s jamboree with the girl guide leader while his wife was at home. Apparently it started over the bangers and beans supper. He's worried his wife might get to hear that the guide leader has settled in the village. It's the new lady, Miss Smellor!".

  Tuesday, July 27, 2010

  The Ugly Tree

  It pains me to do this, but if you are to understand me, I feel some clarification is necessary.

  No doubt most of you will think in my position I must belong to the huntin', shootin', fishin' set. Nothing could be further from the truth. I don't hunt. In fact I agree with, I think it was Oscar Wilde, it is the unspeakable in pursuit of the inedible.

  I don't shoot. Not even clay pigeons in case they end up in the red book as an endangered species and I get the blame.

  I do not fish for a simpler reason. There are two things to which I'm allergic and one is fish. Raw, cooked, shellfish, anything.

  You may soon learn of my other allergy and the reason for this confession.

  Lady Julia is usually most considerate of the fact that we follow different interests and activities. Mine do tend to be on the more studious side and hers have more to do with her animals. This morning, however, things didn't go quite my way.

  The farrier was due to visit Pilgrim. Julia particularly wanted to be there and requested I accompany her and exercise another horse for her while she was busy. I'm not a coward by any means but I haven't spent much time with horses, because if the horse doesn't get me, my allergy to them does.

  Anyway, she convinced me of her need and I agreed to go. We arrived at the stables and parked the car as another car drew up alongside us. As we got out of ours so did Henrietta Fanshaw out of hers. If anyone was ever born to work with horses and run a pony club, Henrietta was. I was almost sure whenever she spoke it was with a neigh and a shake of the head. Her eyes were slightly protuberant and her large teeth protruded at the front to cover her bottom lip. Cruelly I was tempted to offer a carrot as just now her top lip quivered and the teeth parted.

  “What ho, mi dears", she said. “Got a day orf and fancied a good ride. You orf for a canter too?" "Yes Henrietta dear”, said my wife, ”David's up today".

  We walked past a couple of fields to a caravan where Pilgrim's tack and other paraphernalia are kept. I chose a hat and boots before grabbing a saddle and setting off for the stable block.

  As we passed the first stall I asked Julia which horse I'd be riding today, and pointed to one in a nearby field I thought I could manage easily. She pointed out that it was a Fallabella and as such far too small to ride. “Oh", I responded, “I just thought it was far away".

  I was told I could forget a Shetland too before I tried my luck again. “This one is yours", she said pointing to a stable bearing the legend 'Twinkle'.

  Gratified I said, “Fine”, and opened the stable door. My eyes beheld a shoulder and travelled up as far as my neck would take them to the head. He was HUGE.

  "Twinkle is a gypsy horse and as good as gold", said Julia. She saddled him up quickly for me without a reaction from him except a friendly nudge, no doubt looking for the sugar cubes I knew she often carried. She passed the reins to me, gave me a peck and said, "Have a nice hack my dear, and I'll see you a little later". Then she was gone, leaving the gentle giant and I to become acquainted. The huge broad head came forward and nudged me in the chest. I flew backwards into Henrietta who was leading her hack past.

  "Is Twinkle looking for a treat? Just give him a strawberry or a carrot and he'll be fine, there's a good chap".

  I wasn't sure which of us she meant, but spying a carrot on the ledge of the next box I grasped it. A whinny of disgust came from the stable, but too late as I had it in my open palm, or for a moment I did and then it was gone. Twinkle looked at me as if to say, 'Is that it?' I counted my fingers and hoping I'd made a new friend, drew Twinkle outside and mounted him.

  We set off. All of two steps worth. I tried “mush”, I tried “giddy up”, and I tried waggling the reins, and nothing worked until I remembered, “walk on boy”.

  We left the yard and he behaved beautifully with a nice steady walk. There is a path that leads behind the loose boxes and goes to the beach with a half-barriered railway crossing to manoeuvre. Twinkle was a true gentleman all the way to the barrier and I thought to reward him with a trot on the other side. The barrier was down so we waited for about three seconds, after which Twinkle went to the right of the barrier and onto the railway line, which he proceeded to turn left and walk down. I wasn't too worried as I couldn't hear anything, but knew we had to get off it. Twinkle didn't have the same script as me. I tugged on the rein and was ignored. He wanted a stroll.

  I could hear a faint sound in the distance now as Twinkle saw a tasty hedge and stepped off the rails to try it. He was still very close to the line, and without warning I felt the wind on my back as a diesel train went flying past. Twinkle did not even pause in his munching until the train had gone past. Then he backed up, turned round and stepped back on the rails to go back in the direction from which he had come. I have no idea if he knew what the jelly wobbling on his back was but it didn't bother him. When we reached the crossing he turned left and continued down the path towards the beach as though there had been no interruption of the initial journey.

  On the beach he obeyed every request I made, no matter how slight the pressure. If I'd suggested tap dancing he would have complied. We had an excellent workout for a couple of hours and then it was time to go back. "Food time", I said and Twinkle turned his nose towards the stable and started back. I was nervous as we approached the crossing but the barriers were up and he didn't hesitate. He was good all the way back to his stable.

  I took him in and removed the tack and saddle which I draped over the lower stable door. I gave him a good brush down and then told him I'd just get him a full hay net. I did so and brought a couple of carrots from Pilgrim’s bin. I took them in and told him, "You were a good lad when I got you under control". His hoof lowered itself on to my foot. As I pulled, he pressed. I was going nowhere until I knew who had who under control. I pulled out the carrots and the pressure eased. I edged my way through the door, leaned in and fed him his carrots.

  Just then Julia arrived and asked if I'd had a nice time. "Wonderful", I replied giving my forehead a rub. It really itched.

  "We'll
just wash up then, and go for a quick bite", said Julia. We washed, waved to various people on horseback and got into the car. I was expecting to head home but Julia turned in the direction of a nearby town and then in the direction of a superstore chain with a cafe.

  "My forehead is really itchy and my chest is little tight", I said, remembering the allergy. Luckily I kept a spray in the car for the chest which I used before getting out.

  We entered the store and collected the usual staples, bread, butter, milk etc., along with a packet of sliced beef and an onion for later. Then we got on the escalator for the cafe.

  Going up, I saw an advert for Ella's Fountain Cafe, Special Bacon Sandwich, and I knew my meal was chosen. We stood at the counter while Julia chose a Danish pastry and I ordered the coffees while she sat down at a table.

  The young man at the counter was looking at me strangely and asked, "Is there a Star Trek Convention in Town?”

  "Not that I'm aware of", I replied puzzled. "Oh", he said, "sit down and I'll bring your sandwich when it's ready".

  I sat and it arrived. I immediately thought of the Trade Descriptions Act. The picture had shown two slices of bread parted by pieces of back bacon all curled and crispy. The reality looked like it might have at one time been bread before someone had painted dark brown stripes across it. I guessed it had been in a sandwich toaster. But there was no discernible gap between the slices for any filling. I would have called him back but thought I'd better check first. Wafer thin slices of smoky, streaky bacon through which I would see daylight if held up. It lay there limp and unloved between these polystyrene slices. I ate it anyway, as I did not feel quite right.

  As we were finishing our coffees two young men came to a table next to us.

  "My God", said one of them, "you didn't miss any branches of the ugly tree did you, Pops", pointedly looking at me.

  "Don't be such a bitch, Sean", said the other, "you should apologise".

  "And remember that the pot shouldn't call the kettle", said Julia as we got up to leave.

  We returned home and I went to the bathroom. There in the mirror was not my usual twin but my evil twin. My forehead was by now covered in large blisters, some bleeding from my earlier rubbing. I now could see where the Star Trek remark had come from and laughed.

  I asked Julia for the antiseptic if there was any left after the cat had vaccinated me, and she called to Grizelda to bring it.

  Grizelda returned with some. She took one look at me and chuckled.

  "I thought you were going riding, My Lord, not sticking your head in a hive".

  Julia kindly applied the antiseptic to my head and told Grizelda, "It seems he'll do anything to get out of going to the stables".

  Wednesday, July 28, 2010

  The Concert

  Today was uneventful in the main as neither of us had any particular plans before the evening. However, the evening intruded upon the day for long enough to make decisions. We have been long aware that two events were to clash tonight and there were big, nay, momentous decisions as to who would attend what.

  Allow me to explain.

  Firstly, we were invited to attend the Annual Variety Show at the local town hall. This show raises money for the Mayoral Fund, a discretionary charitable fund disbursed at the end of the mayor’s term in office. This is usually an event not to be missed, full of comical little pastiches and interludes, some intentional and some not so. For instance, we know that Limping Bert Bowler would be entertaining the audience with his 'miraculous' mind-reading act. He would be blindfolded on stage and his assistant would wander the rows where we sat asking for objects for Bert to guess. This had been done every year for what felt like the last millennium, and by now all but the youngest knew the code words the assistant used to alert Bert. For instance, the assistant might take my watch and would say, "Now, O Great Merlin, I have in my hand a PRECIOUS item, can you tell me what it is?"

  To which Bert would reply, "Ah yes, I see in my mind’s eye a…" and as he said ‘WATCH’ so would most of the audience in unison.

  Always we would be treated to a display of Morris dancing by Henrietta's Pony Club. Without doubt at least one of the children would forget a move and bring the rest down, and it was sure that at least one child would go home with a black eye. All in all it is usually a fun evening.

  The other choice for the evening was a concert in Barchester at the Opera House. Again this was to raise funds for local charities and this year it was the cathedral tower.

  Lady Julia refused my offer to elbow wrestle for the choice of who went where, and indicated I had apparently drawn the short straw and was Dorchester bound.

  This, of course, meant either organising a taxi or a hire car with driver. I settled for the latter, knowing an excellent Barchester firm. I also realised that had I chosen a taxi it would have been the very dour funeral director Mr Hatchett who drove me in his second job as taxi driver, and I was none too sure of the vehicle I would get. I had no wish to arrive at the Opera House in a hearse. Nor would Mr Hatchett be too happy to drive that distance and wait, or drive it twice and take a chance on missing the local show. And so it was settled. My wife had a very smug look on her face all day.

  At lunchtime we drove out to Flutterby's, another cafe to which we had a strong attachment because of the kindness of the owner and staff. Also probably the total lack of inhibition they displayed despite our titles was refreshing. Actually the biggest reason may be that Hattie always made sure I got a few extra chips on my plate as she always said I looked too thin. Obviously not a very good optician where she lives.

  Today we both ordered braised steak with potatoes, mushrooms and veg of the day. Of course this was just right for my diet. And by the time Lady Julia had given me her potatoes in exchange for my broccoli, it was just right for my appetite too.

  The afternoon passed pleasantly at home and we relaxed until it was time to get ready, for me anyway. Julia had no need to rush as her show was so close. I saw the smug little smirk.

  I donned a new white wing-collared shirt and my dress trousers. I carefully added my gold cravat and the cravat pin my daughter Ysabel had given me last birthday. It had a lovely ruby at its head. Finally my dress jacket and I was ready.

  My driver arrived at 6.00 pm on the dot in a sleek black limousine.

  The journey to Barchester was pleasant as there was still some early evening warmth and no sign of the showers that had plagued the day. My driver, Francis by name, seemed a nice chap and was talkative but in an unobtrusive way.

  We arrived safely and Francis opened the car door for me saying he would be there to collect me at 11.00 pm as arranged. I thanked him and got out to walk up the steps of the Opera House. I was in an excellent mood despite this being the event I had 'won'. The Opera House looked grand tonight with small lights accenting the Palladian pillars from above. I walked inside where a delightful young lady deposited my overcoat in the cloakroom and then on receipt of my invitation, accepted my donation envelope and led me away with, "This way My Lord, I'll direct you to your box".

  I followed her quite happily knowing that I had the box to myself and could snooze if things got too bad. I was seated and settled as the curtain rose.

  The scene before me reminded me of a Middle Eastern harem with various young ladies seemingly chatting happily amongst themselves. The music that started was unfamiliar and I heard the sweetest voice rise in song to the strains of a lone violin. Onstage in voluminous harem pants came none other than Eileen Dover. She danced around the stage shimmering in the stage lights. She sang of her love for a Sultan who never noticed her. It was entrancing.

  The piece ended to tumultuous applause from the audience and the next piece of entertainment began. I have no idea what it was and it made no impact at all. For all I know it was a five-piece chimpanzee unicycle group, or the Upper Volta Balalaika Duelling Band. I had lost interest. I could not shake off the voice of Ms Dover.

  At the halfway point the house lights went up a
nd I repaired to the bar. My hellos and nods of recognition were automatic. At the bar I ordered a brandy and took a sip. At that moment I heard a voice say, "Good evening, Uncle Daud".

  I turned, excited, but did not see the source of the voice from the past. Instead I saw Miss Dover and offered my congratulations on her wonderful performance. She was dressed in an evening gown and looked quite different than on stage.

  "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Uncle Daud", she replied.

  The years rolled back and it was eleven years ago in Beritana where a young twelve year old princess was wishing me goodnight.

  "Suki", I said, "is it really you? You have grown so much I didn't recognise you".

  With a tinkling laugh she replied to me, "It is indeed I, Uncle Daud, or should it be David now we are in Britain?"

  "As your Highness pleases", I responded with a chuckle.

  I had been in Beritana eleven years ago offering some advice to the Sultan to avoid a diplomatic incident. We had become good friends and so had Suki and I, hence the ‘uncle’ term of endearment.

  Suki was the Sultan’s eldest daughter with his first wife who had been English. She had unfortunately died and the Sultan had remarried and now also had a son. Suki and her father were very close but she was no longer his heir.

  Suki told me that her father’s new wife feared that her son would not be as close to his father as long as she was there. Fearing reprisals, Suki had decided to come to Britain to settle and find her feet. She did not need the money as her father had provided well for her, but she still wanted to do something, and used her voice to accomplish this.