Tales From Feltbury Green
One Good Turn Deserves Another
Chapter One
Mr Alan Christie’s eyes roamed over the well stocked shelves of his beloved shop. However, neither the bright colourful packets, nor the jostling bottles and towering pyramids of tins and jars could lift his spirits.
Mr Christie was, in truth, feeling rather flat. There was a slightly dull and vacant look on his usually jolly face. which would have alarmed Mrs Christie considerably had she been there to witness the scene, for Alan’s happiness was a cherished thing. However, luckily for her peace of mind, she was busy feeding Brian his bottle as she dressed Marilyn and tried to redirect George’s attention away from his new model steam engine towards the urgent (in her mind, if not in George’s) task of putting on his shoes ready for the walk to school. She was therefore blissfully unaware of her husband’s black mood.
Actually, Alan was in fact just returning to reality after the euphoria of his successful and hugely popular Easter egg donation at the village party. He had basked in the glory of rescuing Feltbury Green from an Easter Day disaster with his generous gift of chocolate eggs, and had revelled indulgently in the complete and utter adoration of Gloria. It had all been rather joyful, but now he had bumped back to normality. How, he wondered, could he follow his Easter triumph?
One Good Turn Deserves Another
Chapter Two
As Mr Christie stood looking unseeingly at his groaning shelves, his mood was not lightened by an issue even more pressing than his Easter bonanza sequel. He was reeling from some news he had received yesterday at the monthly sub postmaster meeting in Feltbury Town Hall. A slight growl could be heard forming in his throat as Alan mulled over the announcement that the General Post Office had decided to install a telephone box in the village, to be situated next to the school in the heart of Feltbury Green.
He very nearly scowled as he recalled the meeting. At the moment, Christie Stores housed a telephone in one corner, specifically for the use of the village. It was extremely useful as it brought villagers into the shop when they needed to make their telephone calls. And once these callers were safely under their roof, Alan and Gloria wasted no time in interesting them in a few items of stock, which were invariably bought and taken home. It was all most satisfactory.
But now, with an alternative telephone housed in the privacy of a shiny red box, there would be one less reason for his public to visit the village shop. A slippery slope, grunted Alan to himself, a slippery slope. The next thing you knew, they would be trying to open one of those daft self-service shops in Feltbury, which would lure the gullible shoppers into town and away from Christie Stores.
And yet, Alan was essentially a very cheerful man. He never stayed down for long because his natural good temper always came bubbling up to the surface. Thus it was that through all the gloom, Alan’s mouth started to turn up at the corners. With a little bit more of his usual joie de vivre, he decided that something would turn up. It always did and he always found a way, he told himself. He chuckled, for after all, wasn’t Lucky his middle name? As he turned the shop sign to “open” and unlocked the door, Alan felt the usual spring return to his step. He was ready to face a new day after all.
One Good Turn Deserves Another
Chapter Three
It was a very busy morning in the shop and post office, and as the good ladies of Feltbury Green waited for their turns, they chatted amiably to their neighbours. Gradually the various dialogues started to join together, forming a single conversation which eventually took over the whole shop.
‘It’s Mrs Howard, of course,” stated Mrs Meadowcroft. “She’s turned the monthly litter picking party into a village spring cleaning party. And you know she won’t rest until she gets her way. We shall have to be on our mettle!”
“I hear she’s roped the Rector into painting the playground,” added a shocked Mrs Laplume. “I ask you!”
“The poor love, that’s plain ridiculous,” answered Tina Draper. "Painting is not exactly his forte, is it! No disrespect, Mrs Goodfellow,” she hastily added. “But we all know the dear Rector has his mind on higher things.”
Daphne smiled mildly. As she knew for a fact that at that very moment Jonathan was happily ensconced in his shed reading that week’s edition of “Motorcycling for All”, she forbore to comment. Some illusions were best left intact, she felt. And she was a very loyal wife.
“And as Mr Mollet pointed out,” picked up Mrs Meadowcroft, "he may have the tools of the trade, but most people’s brooms and dustpans, let alone rakes and shears, are all feeling the effects of the shortages of the past years, and the shops in Feltbury just don’t seem to have restocked.
Behind his post office counter, Alan’s ears pricked up. As he had known in his bones, a new opportunity was rising up before his eyes. How fortunate that today was Wednesday! Early closing would give him the ideal opportunity of making contact with a few suppliers and in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, he’d be able to add a whole new section to his shop.
The rest of the morning passed in a happy whirlwind as Alan got through the queues in record time, buoyed up by the prospect of another scheme which was about to come to fruition.
One Good Turn Deserves Another
Chapter Four
Nearly two weeks later, Alan and Gloria Christie stood outside in the delicate spring sunshine surveying the brushes, dustpans, mops and buckets which stood resolutely unsold in front of the shop.
“I know you’ll think of something,” sympathised Gloria to her husband. “You always do!” she added, squeezing his arm affectionately. Alan looked into the trusting eyes of his wife and sincerely hoped she was right.
He had, he now admitted, been a little over optimistic with his numbers - again. The supplier had insisted it was all or nothing, so he had impulsively bought the whole job lot of brushes, mops and buckets. Standing in front of the display of brushes, he realised that his enthusiasm may have got in the way of his business sense, usually so keen and sharp.
Money was still quite tight in the Vale of Feltbury and no one fancied shelling out for brushes and equipment that would be primarily used for the pet projects of Mr and Mrs Howard. They decided that they could easily make do with their old besom brooms and rakes for their own gardens without the need to splash out on new tools.
“Perhaps Mr and Mrs Howard will have a further little push for their work party,” suggested Gloria hopefully. "Mrs Howard usually triumphs, so things are bound to get going soon. You know that up till now, none of spring cleaning jobs she has allocated have been completed. Apart form the playground, of course,” she said.
“The playground? You don’t mean the Rector has actually painted it after all?” asked Alan incredulously. Gloria giggled.
“George and his band of friends are furious,” she replied cryptically. “They have boycotted the playground until it is repainted."
“That seems a bit harsh,” responded Alan. “I know the dear Rector is hardly the most practical of men, but surely the quality of the paintwork won’t affect how the swings swing?”
“Oh the Rector didn’t paint the swings and seesaw,” explained Gloria. “Anne Goodfellow found the tins of red and white paint in the under stairs cupboard at the Rectory. She and Deborah Meadowcroft decided to use the paint to brighten up the playground themselves.”
“Very commendable,” stated Alan flatly, losing interest somewhat as he stared at his brooms. Gloria chuckled, she couldn’t help it, even if George was annoyed.
“They mixed up the red and white to make pink paint and painted the swings, seesaw and roundabout with it!” she exclaimed. “Very enterprising, really!”
“Ah,” said Alan, wondering morosely if this was a little dig at his own failing business sense.
Gloria, who was not slow, realised her mistake and linked her arm through that of her husband.
“Cheer up!” she rallied. “You’ll fix it!” And with that she disappeared inside to get Marilyn and Brian ready for the afternoon walk to school.
One Good Turn Deserves Another
Chapter Five
Just as Alan was turning to go back through the door, he spied Mr Edward Young walking towards the shop. The film director, who had moved into The Grange last summer, was a rare sight on the green. Desperately keen to fit into local life, Mr Young had unfortunately never been around quite long enough to set down roots in any of his previous homes. He really wanted Felbury Green to be different, especially as his wife Anna loved the place so much. The villagers, who had taken to Anna immediately, viewed the film director with a curious combination of awe and suspicion, even though poor Edward was actually a very friendly chap who only wanted to join in village life and be accepted.
“Mr Young, what a treat to see you,” exclaimed Mr Christie. “Are you staying put for a while?”
“Alas not,” replied Edward. He looked around. “I was very keen to join in this work party thing, you know, lend a hand and muck in. But filming on The Oriental Casket has been brought forward, so I’m off again in the morning.”
Alan’s sharp mind viewed Mr Young speculatively.
“I suppose it is frustrating for you that people may think you aren’t interested in the village,” he began, a little unfairly we think as no one in Feltbury Green had ever mentioned this.
“Oh!” said Edward, his face falling. “Do they really think that?”
“I can’t say they do, and I can’t say they don’t,” replied Alan, not willing to tell an outright untruth. He then seized the moment.
“The trouble is,” he confided, “the villagers are all a bit distracted at the moment, so it’s difficult to tell what they really think. They’re distressed by Mrs Howard’s work party, ashamed by the fact that all their old brooms and buckets aren’t up to the job. They just wouldn’t hold up. Now, look at all these lovely new brushes - they would love to buy them, but the funds just aren’t there, you see. It pains them,” he added for good measure.
Mr Young, who was no fool, looked at the brushes and buckets on display outside the shop. He held up his hand.
“Say no more, Mr Christie! Say no more!” And with that, he rushed into the shop, took out his cheque book and scribbled quickly and flamboyantly. With a final flourish, he handed Alan a very healthy cheque with a broad smile on his face.
“Hopefully my neighbours can now be put out of their misery,” said Mr Young. “Distribute the brushes as you see fit. Oh, and perhaps mention that I wanted to do my bit.” He looked out of the door towards the green. “I do love it here, you know.”
Alan was torn between guilt at the slight exaggeration of his tale and euphoria at the fact that the cleaning stock had finally been sold. However, one thing he did know for certain was that Edward Young was really a very decent chap and he’d make sure everyone else knew it too.
Standing in front of the shop counter, the two new friends shook hands warmly and both men had a spring in their step for the rest of the day.
One Good Turn Deserves Another
Chapter Six
Feltbury Green stood smugly in the glow of the evening light. Not a leaf or a twig was out of place, and not a spot of litter spoiled the beauty of the soft grass on the village green.
Mr Young’s bounty had certainly woven its magic and the villagers had stepped up eagerly to join in the work party (once they realised it would mean that they could keep all the lovely new equipment donated by that nice man up at The Grange). What’s more, they had all thoroughly enjoyed themselves. It is certainly reassuring to know that the village spirit was alive and well in Feltbury Green after all.
In Christie Stores, Mr William Howard was standing at the counter.
“Well, Christie,” he said, “a grand job indeed! I think my reputation is that I’m a fair and just man who knows where praise is due! You have my gratitude for making my wife’s work party such a success. Once again, I am in your debt.”
“Ah Mr Howard, I’m glad you’ve mentioned that!” Interjected Alan before Mr Howard could indulge in one of his little speeches, which were, in fact, often not so little. “Perhaps we could talk about a small idea I have, for the good of the village, of course.” And with that, he ushered Mr Howard through the door which was usually strictly only for Christie use, and into the neat little sitting room which Gloria kept so spick and span.
One Good Turn Deserves Another
Chapter Seven
“Oh Alan,” exclaimed Gloria as she opened up the bedroom curtains exactly one month later. “It’s beautiful!”
“It is, Glo, it is a beautiful, wondrous thing!”
“How did you manage it, Alan?” asked Gloria. “You are so clever!”
Alan put his arm around his admiring wife and looked out on the beautiful telephone box standing so shiny and new outside the shop.
“Well Glo, I know they say it’s not what you know but who you know. But I like to think that when I put together what I know with the people I know and sort of jiggle it around a bit, things sort of slot into place.”
Gloria started to giggle. Alan really was a card, and he was right, he always did sort it out.
“You know what, Glo? It’s turned out all just tickety-boo!”
And with that, they both rushed outside gleefully to inspect the new addition to the shop.
Pancake Pandemoneum at the Rectory
Chapter One
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.
Pancake Pandemoneum at the Rectory
Chapter Two
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 rector, 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.
Pancake Pandemoneum at the Rectory
Chapter Three
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.”
Pancake Pandemoneum at the Rectory
Chapter Four
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.
Pancake Pandemoneum at the Rectory
Chapter Five
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.
Pancake Pandemoneum at the Rectory
Chapter Six
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
Chapter One
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.
A Quiet
Romantic
Moment for
Adam & Ava
Chapter Two
The cobbled bridge over Feltbury River came into view, arching modestly 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 thoughtfully, “do you realise we haven’t stood on this bridge together for ages 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.
A Quiet and Romantic Moment for Adam & Ava
Chapter Three
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.
A Quiet and Romantic Moment for Adam & Ava
Chapter Four
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.
