Tales from Feltbury Green
Pancake Pandemoneum at the Rectory
As she sat drinking the morning cup of tea which Jonathan had brought her, Daphne felt a slight sense of foreboding. Today was Shrove Tuesday, or Pancake Day as Matthew insisted on saying. It was traditionally a pleasant day in the Goodfellow calendar as the family sat down together to enjoy the pancakes which Daphne cooked with such ease and, she modestly admitted, a certain degree of flair. She had perfected the art of pancake tossing as a young girl and the twins always enjoyed watching their usually diffident mother putting on a show at the stove.
This year, however, change was in the air. Matthew had announced that he was now ready to take over the baton, and had somehow persuaded Daphne to make this year’s pancake making a twin affair. Which may have been containable, mused Daphne, had it not been for a rash invitation to Denis and Diana Meadowcroft to join in the fun. This may have altered the manageability of the event somewhat.
Daphne gave herself a shake, all that was needed was a bit of organisation and tight supervision, She placed her teacup on its saucer and steeled herself for the day ahead. She had a simple plan, she told herself, and no doubt the dear children would enjoy themselves and perhaps benefit from an such a well organised and instructional activity. What could possibly go wrong? With a cheerful resolve, Daphne got ready to face the day.
In the kitchen, Denis and Matthew grinned at each other. The twins’ mother was not unaware that Denis and Matthew, when placed in the same room, often produced ideas which seemed to spark from one to the other with no words needing to be spoken. However, she felt confident that all would be well. She would keep an eye on them both, one eye on each, as it were. The eyes of Whiskers meanwhile flitted from child to child as the long suffering cat was overtaken by a growing sense of alarm. Deftly, on velvet feet, he moved silently towards the door, detaching himself from the ever growing excitement of the room.
Daphne bustled about the kitchen and as she tied aprons around the children’s waists, she looked up to see Jonathan putting on his hat and smiling. It appeared that the vicar, upon hearing of the morning’s activities, had suddenly recalled an urgent parish meeting which needed his attendance. After patting all four children on their heads and kissing his wife, he departed on his way with slightly unnecessary speed, followed by a relieved Whiskers who slipped quickly and unobtrusively through the open door.
Daphne was left in sole charge of her eager helpers. Quickly, she placed the flour and eggs on the kitchen table.
“Remember children,” began Daphne, taking control, “we always try and keep a tidy kitchen.” Anne and Diana nodded solemnly, whilst Matthew stared back with that unnervingly distant look which usually meant he had started thinking about his next move. Denis just grinned.
And, at first, everything seemed to go well. Diana and Anne carefully sifted the flour and Denis managed to fetch the milk without spilling it. Even Matthew seemed content to follow instructions as he beat the mixture with enthusiasm. For a blessed five minutes, everything proceeded in an orderly fashion and Daphne allowed herself a small glow of satisfaction as she imagined a plateful of perfect pancakes and a relaxing afternoon after a morning well spent.
She was jolted out of her daydream by the loud clanging of the front doorbell. She turned, with an instinctive premonition that things may be about to change. She tried to pin the children with a look of authority.
“Don’t touch anything,” she said firmly. “Nothing at all. I shall be back in a moment.”
As Daphne opened the front door, a torrent of words greeted her. Standing on the doorstep, Mrs Violet Howard, Feltbury Green’s most devoted arbiter and distributor of news, was in mid sentence.
“Daphne, my dear, I won’t keep you a minute, but I simply had to speak to you about William’s latest scheme. “ Mrs Howard stepped into the hall as Daphne edged back. “It’s the litter, of course, the village verges are in a dreadful state - bottles, papers, one can’t think how they get there. William says it reflects on the village, and I quite agree. Of course, we know that you and the dear vicar will step in to help.” Mrs Howard paused for a moment to catch her breath and Daphne attempted a small retreat, glancing behind towards the kitchen.
“Oh I do hope I am not interrupting you and the sweet children, but if we could just rely on you both, William feels it would send out a message, if you know what I mean, and William believes…”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Daphne, who at that moment would have agreed to anything put before her.
“Oh thank you so much, my dear, of course we are most appreciative. Now let me just give you a few more details.”
Several minutes passed before Daphne finally shut the front door. She turned and made her way quickly, and yet strangely reluctantly, towards the kitchen.
Silence greeted her. Then she took in the scene which lay before her. Her once clean and tidy kitchen lay wreathed in a layer of flour and eggs and milk. Sticky batter coated the tablecloth, competing for space with the puddles of milk. A pancake hung over the edge of the cooker like a limp flag signalling surrender and another sat neatly on top of Diana’s head as she stood very still, hoping not to be noticed. Matthew, meanwhile, was surveying the scene with forensic interest, and as Denis put down the whisk with which he had been fighting an imaginary dragon, Anne switched her gaze from her brother, and looked expectantly at her mother instead.
Daphne did not speak. She simply pointed at the door. She looked at the devastation around her, sighed and rolled up her sleeves. It was going to be a very long day.
It was much later when finally Daphne sat down with a cup of tea, a newly returned and quite frankly smug Whiskers by her side. She closed her eyes and ruminated about parish meetings, litter picking and domesticity. Life was certainly never dull in Feltbury Green and perhaps, really, that was the way she liked it. She stretched out her legs, reached down to stroke Whiskers and looked forward to the return of her absent husband and now forgiven children. Perhaps, she thought, she might surprise them with a plate of fresh pancakes. And yes, indulge in a few pancake flips as well, just to show the twins that she was still in control. It was, she decided, smiling to herself, going to be a good day after all.
The Vanishing Twins
Daphne always thought that Feltbury Green wood, with its stream running companionably by its side, looked particularly charming in the late afternoon sunlight. However, honest as she undoubtedly was, she had to admit that she did prefer it when she was not in charge of two small children plus a cat with a leaning towards martyrdom.
Daphne looked at her watch and quickened her pace. “We mustn’t dawdle,” she said with mild firmness. “Your father will be expecting us and I have made scones for tea.”
Matthew didn’t reply. His round thoughtful face had a look of mingled contemplation and innocence which made his mother feel slightly uneasy. Anne walked quietly by Daphne’s side, but glanced interestedly at her brother. Behind them, keeping his own counsel, walked Whiskers nursing a forlorn hope that he would not be noticed.
Matthew caught Anne’s eye. “Let’s hide,” he whispered.
“We are walking home, said Daphne, promptly and calmly.
Matthew nodded agreeably, then whilst Daphne was stepping carefully over a muddy patch of earth, he slipped neatly behind a hawthorn bush. Anne hesitated long enough to show that she should have known better, then followed him into his hiding place. A small, grubby hand reached out for the cat and suddenly Whiskers found himself beneath a low hanging bramble, where he sat in offended silence.
Daphne turned and found the path mysteriously empty.
“Matthew,” she called. “Anne?”
There was no reply, only the quiet chuckle of the stream and the sound of a mocking blackbird overhead. Daphne walked a little way back, peering behind the trees. “This is really quite unnecessary,” she began. “We shall be late for tea.”
Matthew’s head appeared from behind a large tree. “You didn’t say we couldn’t” he explained cheerfully. Anne emerged from her hawthorn hideaway, flushed and triumphant. And behind her, Whiskers appeared, pausing only long enough to glance at the trio with a look of pure disdain.
Daphne smiled weakly. “Well,” she said, “you’ve had your fun. Now let’s go home.”
The ever smiling face of her husband greeted Daphne at the door of the Rectory. He patted the children on their heads affectionately and squeezed Daphne’s hand in a knowing way. Suddenly, the Twins antics were forgotten and forgiven. In the drawing room, all was calm. The tea was poured and the scones were enjoyed.
In the kitchen, Whiskers sat in his basket. The milk in his saucer was untouched. Life in the Rectory really could be very trying at times, he mused. But if he waited long enough he knew that kind hearted Daphne would cook that fish he had spied in the larder. Despite his ordeal in the wood, Whiskers decided it would probably be a good day after all, and he started to purr softly to himself in blissful anticipation of the joys to come.
The Twins Take their Antics to New Heights
Daphne decided that decorating dear St Cuthbert’s Church with daffodils was exactly the sort of useful, improving activity which would keep the twins pleasantly and safely occupied for the whole morning. The air was fresh, the sun shining, and she herself was in an agreeable frame of mind.
Matthew, however, had formed his own views on the task ahead.
“We ought to pick ‘em all!” he cried enthusiastically, grabbing a large clump of daffodils with both hands and with such exuberance that Daphne felt some alarm.
“Matthew, dear,” she began reasonably. “Do remember that we will need to leave some daffodils for friends to enjoy outside the church as well as inside!”
Whiskers sat nearby, watching with round eyes, as though anticipating a forthcoming disaster.
At last, Daphne decided that they had picked quite enough daffodils to brighten up the church, especially as she was, in truth, becoming just a little concerned that there would be no flowers left in the churchyard after Matthew had finished his flower harvesting.
“That will do,” she said firmly. “Quite enough! You may go and play whilst I arrange them. Stay where I can see you,” she added as an afterthought.
Promising not to wander from the Church, Matthew and Anne ran off and left their mother contentedly arranging her flowers. Sometimes it was nice to have a little bit of peace, Daphne decided. She worked quietly, filling the church vases with the bright spring blooms and placing them around the soft grey stone church. She stepped back, pleased, and remarked to herself that everything, for once, was going uncommonly well.
Then she went outside.
Nothing!
Suddenly the silence was broken by a shrill shout from above.
“We’re up here!”
Daphne looked up, High in the bell tower, peering through the parapet, were two small faces flushed with triumph. Beside them stood Whiskers looking decidedly put out.
“How did you get up there?” Daphne demanded.
“Stairs,” Matthew replied helpfully. “Lots of them!”
“Please come down immediately,” said Daphne with a calmness that belied her true feelings. “At once.”
“We’re just looking,” Anne called.
Daphne unclasped her hands, it would never do to look worried. “If you do not come down this instant,” she said in a strained voice, ”there will be no lunch.”
There was a pause. Whiskers continued to stare. Matthew’s head disappeared. Footsteps followed. Anne reappeared, then vanished. Finally, Whiskers was removed from the parapet and carried out of the Church, glaring reproachfully at everyone.
“Now,” said Daphne, “we shall go home.”
Later, as they all ate their lunch in peaceful silence, Daphne reflected that church decoration was a noble occupation, but probably one that is best undertaken without twins, towers, or cats.
A Quiet Romantic Moment for Adam & Ava
Adam considered the inspection of the livestock to have gone remarkably well, which was his way of saying that nothing had escaped, collapsed, or behaved in a manner requiring immediate intervention. Ava agreed, although she privately thought that even if one sheep had chosen that afternoon to be awkward, the walk alone would have been worth the effort of sorting out a wilful sheep. The fells of Feltbury Farm were looking their best, brushed with late sunshine and a light breeze which carried the wholesome scent of cut grass and fresh water.
They turned homeward at an unhurried pace, Ava matching Adam’s stride with the ease of long habit. Four children had taught them the art of walking quickly, but also the pleasure of slowing down when no one was demanding their attention. Conversation drifted from lambs to the weather, and from the weather to nothing in particular, which was Ava’s favourite subject of all.
The cobbled bridge over Feltbury River came into view, arching gracefully across the water as if pleased with its own usefulness. Ava paused, placing one hand on the stone parapet, and looked down at the river, which sparkled as though enjoying a private joke.
“Adam,” she said wistfully, “do you realise that it's ages since we stood on this bridge together without having to rush off somewhere?”
Adam smiled. “I expect that’s because we’re usually being summoned by someone,” he replied. “Or something.”
“Precisely,” stated Ava, and before he could add a practical remark, she turned and put her arms around him.
It was done quite simply, without ceremony, yet it surprised him enough to make him laugh softly. He returned the embrace, holding her as naturally as if the bridge had been built for that purpose alone. From there they could see the sweep of the fells behind them, the fields falling away toward the farm ahead, and the river threading it all together with quiet determination.
“We’ve done rather well, haven’t we?” Ava said, “Not perfectly, of course. But well enough.”
Adam considered this. He thought of muddy boots by the door, voices calling from room to room, small worries and large ones, and the general sense of life being very full indeed. “Yes,” he said at last. “I think we have.”
They stood together quietly whilst the river gurgled happily below them and a bird called from somewhere upstream. Ava felt that pleasant, slightly absurd happiness which arrives unexpectedly and makes one grateful for very ordinary things: bridges, sunshine, and a husband who knows when not to speak.
Eventually she stepped back, smoothing her hair with unnecessary care. “We should be getting back,” she said. “If we don’t, someone will come looking for us.”
Adam nodded, offering his arm with mock formality. “Lead the way, Mrs Meadowcroft.”
Together they crossed the bridge and continued towards the farm, the buildings solid and welcoming in the distance. Nothing had changed, and yet everything felt quietly confirmed; the river was behind them now, but their special moment would not be forgotten.
Hand in hand, smiling to each other, they strolled back to the noisy farmhouse, ready now to face the ever changing joys of their family life.
