Changing Times Read online

  They walked into church together. ‘And we can remember Ecclesiastes, chapter twelve, verse one,’ Vera added.

  ‘Ecclesiastes?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth.’

  Lily was silent.

  It turned out to be a memorable Harvest Festival. Joseph was relieved and Vera sighed in contentment. The church looked its best. In front of the altar was a display of produce, including fruit, home-baked plaited bread and sheaves of barley.

  Elsie Crapper on the organ led the choir into a rousing rendition of ‘We plough the fields and scatter the good seed on the land’ and the congregation sang lustily. At the close of the service Joseph announced that God’s bounty would be distributed tomorrow to those in greatest need. Then, with a final flourish, he blessed the congregation with the sign of the cross.

  Afterwards, Vera stood outside church and watched as friends gathered. It was a happy, colourful scene. Albert Jenkins, the erudite school governor and a dear friend of Joseph and Vera, came to stand beside her. He followed her gaze.

  A few yards away, Mary McConnell, in a smart russet tweed suit, was in relaxed conversation with Lily. Tom Feather and Brian McConnell were chatting about rugby, while Freddie and Rose, some distance away, were in their private cocoon.

  Albert nodded towards the young couple and smiled. ‘Now all the youth of England are on fire.’ Albert loved his Shakespeare. ‘Henry V, Act 2,’ he added with a grin.

  ‘Very true,’ said Vera quietly, but, deep down, she knew her days of youth were behind her.

  Chapter Four

  From Ragley with Love

  It was early afternoon on Friday, 25 October and Vera was tidying her desk. She picked up her coat and handbag, left school and walked under the avenue of horse chestnut trees towards the village green. The cool breeze scattered fallen leaves at her feet and the branches above her swayed with the rhythm of the wind. In the hedgerows teardrop cobwebs shivered and the red hips of dog roses were a reminder that the dark days of winter were approaching.

  Vera tightened her knitted scarf and strode out purposefully towards the village green. It was then that she saw him. He was hunched under the weeping willow tree, wearing a distinctive long overcoat in the style of an Australian sheep farmer. She recognized him at once. Hedley Verity Bickerstaff had always dressed in a flamboyant manner. However, Vera could see that today there was a problem.

  Hedley was a soul in torment.

  She approached him cautiously. ‘Hedley, whatever is the matter?’

  He looked up, pushed his long flaxen hair from his eyes and stared back at Vera with haunted eyes.

  ‘Life,’ he said simply.

  He leaned back against the tree and stared up at the branches and the gunmetal sky. Approaching his thirtieth birthday and over six feet tall, he had a foppish appearance. Frail, with a skinny frame, he looked as if a strong wind would blow him over.

  Vera had known him for many years, ever since he had attended the Lawnswood Preparatory School for Young Gentlemen in Thirkby. After passing his accountancy examinations he had received an invitation from his brother, Alan, to join the Easington accountancy firm of Bickerstaff, Crapper and Pugh. With a talent for music and art he had often sought out the views of Vera. She had recognized his obvious creative talent and over the years they had become friends.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said decisively and took his arm. ‘Let’s go back to the vicarage and you can tell me about it.’

  He nodded, wiped away a tear and together they walked up the Morton road towards a meeting Vera would never forget.

  Anne Grainger had enjoyed a busy afternoon with her five- and six-year-olds and finished the day by paraphrasing the story of Charlotte’s Web. The children’s novel by the American author Elwyn Brooks White was one of Anne’s favourites, and the boys and girls were fascinated by the story of Wilbur the pig and his friendship with a spider named Charlotte.

  The concept of love was central to the novel and Anne asked the children what they thought it might be. The responses were memorable to the extent that Anne was suddenly reminded why teaching was, for her, the best job in the world.

  Tobias Fawnswater was the first to raise his hand. ‘I know what love is, Miss. It’s when Mummy kisses me to sleep every night.’

  Margery Flathers spoke with the innocence of a five-year-old. ‘My big sister must love me ’cause she gives me ’er old clothes and then ’as t’go out wi’ Mummy t’buy new ones.’

  Anne smiled as the discussion gathered momentum.

  Jane Grantham, a neat and tidy little girl, put up her hand. ‘My mummy always gives my daddy the biggest pork chop so I think that’s what love is.’

  The tall, athletic six-year-old Janet Ollerenshaw surprised Anne when she suddenly said, ‘I think it’s to do with kissing, Miss. My mum and dad used to kiss a lot and now they just talk … so love is probably that.’

  Clint Ramsbottom, the son of Deke the singing cowboy, finished off the discussion rather well. ‘When my dad comes ’ome all mucky, Miss, my mam says ’e still looks like John Wayne … even when ’e looks like our bulldog.’

  Anne helped each child to copy their sentence in their writing books and took a few of the best ones into the staff-room to share with Lily.

  After having a cup of tea with Anne, Lily had the evening meal on her mind as she left school. Up the Morton road the same thought was occupying Violet Fawnswater.

  Less than 10 per cent of the population owned a telephone, but Violet was one of the privileged few. She had read in a magazine about a special telephone recipe service if you dialled ASK8071. It had become popular among many thousands of callers. So Violet spent the afternoon creating the perfect shrimp cocktail followed by beef bourguignon. She found peace in her culinary expertise. It gave her contentment and was also a diversion from thinking about her husband. He had continued to deny he was having an affair with his secretary at the chocolate factory, but Violet knew better.

  Preparing an evening meal was far from the mind of Vera Evans, however. She was in the vicarage kitchen adding boiling water to a pot of tea leaves. Hedley’s long coat was hanging in the hallway and now, leaning against the worktop in his cream linen jacket and bright orange cravat, he appeared more relaxed.

  ‘Two sugars, I recall,’ said Vera.

  Hedley forced a wan smile. ‘You remembered.’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Vera. ‘How could I forget?’

  They had drunk a lot of tea together on one particular afternoon two years ago. Following a church event, Hedley had watched television with Vera. It had been her favourite black-and-white film, Brief Encounter. She knew this sensitive young man would appreciate the final evocative scene, filmed in Lancashire’s Carnforth Station in 1945. In the story, the actress Celia Johnson, playing a suburban housewife, had found a fleeting love with Trevor Howard, but after a brief affair they parted and returned to their previous lives. When the film ended, Hedley had considered the difference between infatuation and true love. He was unaware that Vera had experienced the same thoughts.

  Now, two years later, Vera asked quietly, ‘So, Hedley, what do you want to do with your life?’

  There was a long silence. ‘I want to be an artist and perhaps one day open a gallery in London.’

  ‘That’s a wonderful ambition,’ said Vera, ‘but what about all the training you’ve done to be an accountant?’

  The haunted look reappeared. ‘I hate it.’

  Vera stared at this introspective young man. ‘I can understand that.’ It was clear his work was crushing his creative aspirations.

  ‘Also, it’s embarrassing being named after a Yorkshire cricketer.’

  ‘But it’s a wonderful name,’ Vera reassured him, ‘so distinctive.’

  ‘I suppose so … but I’m hopeless at cricket.’

  Arthur Bickerstaff had named his newborn son on the day Hedley Verity, the legendary Yorkshire left-arm spin bowler, had bowled out
Australia. When Arthur had died on the beaches of Dunkirk his wife, Iris, had bought a large detached house in Ragley village for £515. So Hedley had enjoyed a privileged upbringing, during which he had developed a passion for art that had become overwhelming.

  ‘You may not be a cricketer, Hedley, but your paintings are outstanding. Your recent work in oils merits an exhibition.’

  To Vera’s surprise, Hedley came close and held her hand. ‘Vera, I have to say this … You are the only person who understands me.’

  Vera did not remove her hand. His touch awakened feelings she had not experienced before. ‘I simply want to help. You have a special talent and should fulfil your ambitions. An opportunity must be taken when it arises.’ She looked up into the eyes of this troubled young man. ‘One life, Hedley. Follow your heart.’

  ‘I shall, Vera,’ he said quietly.

  Hedley knew in that moment that he longed to embrace this elegant, attractive woman. He put his hands on her shoulders. There was a pause as they looked into each other’s eyes. Then Hedley stroked her face gently. For a moment Vera froze at the intimate gesture, but his long, delicate fingers became balm to her troubled thoughts. Then came the moment. One that was destined to be seared into the mind of the Ragley School secretary.

  Hedley leaned forward and kissed her gently.

  Vera found she could not resist.

  Then he collected his coat and walked away.

  For Vera, the memory of that single stolen kiss was an anthem to her soul and would live with her for ever.

  It was early evening and in Laurel Cottage Lily was looking at a photograph on the mantelpiece. It was of her parents, Arthur and Florence Briggs, on their wedding day in 1924. She missed her father, but felt differently about her mother. It had been the iron-willed Florence who had determined a life for Lily that, on occasions, felt like a millstone of memories. The enormity of the problem that she carried around with her was almost too heavy to bear.

  She had needed to find a few moments alone in the front room after glancing at the title of Freddie’s English homework. It was from Shakespeare’s Henry IV, Part 1, Act IV, scene 5: ‘“Let life be short, else shame will be too long” – discuss’.

  Unaware of Lily’s dilemma, Freddie was busy at the kitchen table, hurrying to complete as much as he could before he caught the bus into York to meet Rose McConnell. It was their second visit to the cinema and, in the sixth form, they were gradually being recognized as ‘a couple’. For Freddie it was a special experience. He felt relaxed in her presence and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her.

  At 6.15 p.m. Ruby’s mother, Agnes, had arrived home from the chocolate factory. As usual on a Friday evening she put a large brown paper bag on the kitchen table.

  ‘There y’are, Ruby luv,’ she said, ‘y’weekend treat.’

  Agnes always collected the so-called ‘waste’ products from the factory: namely, the chocolate bars that were misshapen and couldn’t be sold to the general public.

  ‘Oooh, Mam, m’favourites!’ exclaimed an ebullient Ruby. ‘KitKats an’ Aeros.’

  ‘Well, enjoy ’em,’ said Agnes. She took off her coat and looked around. ‘So where’s laughin’ boy?’

  ‘Dunno, Mam, ’e’s been out all day.’

  ‘Well, one thing’s f’certain, ’e won’t ’ave been lookin’ for a job.’ Agnes popped her head around the door to the sitting room. The children were eating doorstep sandwiches in front of the television as they watched Ready Steady Go! on ITV. Keith Fordyce was introducing Joe Brown and the Bruvvers, followed by Billy J. Kramer and the Dakotas. Racquel was singing along contentedly while nursing a sleeping Natasha on the battered sofa.

  Ruby made a pot of tea and the two women sat at the kitchen table.

  ‘Bit o’ gossip goin’ round t’fact’ry,’ said Agnes.

  ‘What’s that then?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘It’s that posh new manager, Mr Fawnswater. ’E fancies ’imself summat rotten does that one. Flash suit an’ a big quiff like Billy Fury. God’s gift t’women, so ’e reckons.’

  ‘So what’s ’e up to?’

  ‘Only gives ’is secret’ry a Dairy Box ev’ry Friday, an’ that’s not all so they say.’

  ‘Bloomin’ ’eck!’ said Ruby as she bit into a KitKat.

  ‘In t’packagin’ department they say she’s on t’pill an’ by all accounts they’re ’avin’ sexual conjugations.’

  The pill had become available to the public in 1961 and, according to Mr Grinchley in the village Pharmacy, a whole new world of carefree sex had opened up and there was no stopping it. It was widely agreed the older generation did not approve of the new sexual freedom.

  Agnes was on a roll. ‘An’ she’s only twenty, a reight tarty piece an’ allus ’as three buttons on ’er blouse undone.’

  ‘Three?’ mumbled Ruby through a mouthful of chocolate.

  ‘Yes, an’ she sez in t’staff canteen that when she opens t’box o’ chocolates ’e allus ’as an Almond Crispy Cluster and she picks a Nougat de Montelimar ’cause she sez it sounds posh.’

  Ruby shook her head. ‘Gimme a Coffee Cream any day.’

  ‘Y’spot on there, luv,’ said Agnes. ‘No accountin’ f’taste.’

  Freddie and Rose were in the back row of the Odeon Cinema in York and enjoying From Russia with Love. There had been great excitement when, earlier in the month, the latest Bond film had been released. It was proving to be another blockbuster. Based on the fifth James Bond novel written by Ian Fleming, it was Sean Connery’s second outing in the role of the MI6 agent.

  As the title song, composed by Lionel Bart and sung by Matt Munro, echoed around the theatre, Freddie decided to make his move. With great care he moved closer to Rose and slowly put his arm around her shoulders. She responded by leaning her head against his chest.

  Freddie felt content and together they watched Daniela Bianchi, the former Miss Universe runner-up, fall for James Bond’s charms, while Robert Shaw was wonderfully menacing as the villain. It was only later in the film that Freddie decided he could wait no longer and he kissed her gently. To his surprise, Rose responded eagerly. By the time Lotte Lenya as the Russian agent Rosa Klebb attacked our hero with a poison-tipped knife in her shoe, they were in a world of their own and Anglo-Russian relations were far from their minds.

  In the vicarage, Vera pondered her meeting with the young artist. It was one she would always remember. As a spinster she had dedicated her life to her brother, the church and Ragley School. There had been no relationships, no amorous feelings … and no passionate kisses. Today had been different and she reflected on the experience. She had allowed a young man to kiss her and for a few brief moments had understood the meaning of real devotion.

  As she stood beneath the giant elms in the churchyard a barn owl, like a ghost of the night, swooped by, searching for its midnight prey. She shivered. The evening breeze was cool as a blade. Above her were a myriad stars and a gibbous moon cast a pallid light on the vicarage walls.

  ‘That’s the problem with time,’ Vera murmured to herself. ‘It’s not our friend.’

  Finally she went inside and, when she slept, it was a night of disturbed dreams.

  On Saturday morning Lily gave Freddie a lift into Ragley village to do a few hours’ work in the Hardware Emporium. Timothy Pratt needed help, as his empire was expanding and the demand for his new range of dome-headed screws was increasing. The strong and willing Freddie was the ideal part-time Saturday assistant.

  Lily had grown to love the drive from Kirkby Steepleton. A gauze of mist drifted slowly across the distant land towards the hazy purple rim of the Hambleton hills, where a golden thread of light appeared. The last field of barley had been harvested and in the hedgerows wrens were chirping out their shrill warnings. As they drove up Ragley High Street the first rays of an autumnal sun lit up the borders of chrysanthemums, bronze, amber and scarlet, outside the village hall.

  Lily pulled up outside Nora’s Coffee Shop. ‘I’ve
got some shopping to do, so I’ll catch up with you later.’

  ‘Fine, thanks for the lift,’ said Freddie and got out of the car. Before he closed the passenger door he leaned back in. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘Maybe next year when I’ve finished my driving lessons and passed my test I’ll be able to borrow your car.’

  ‘Or you could save up to buy one of your own,’ retorted Lily with a smile. Just like Tom did on the day he proposed to me, she thought.

  ‘By the way, Tom said he would pick you up later to take you to your rugby game. Maybe you can have lunch with him.’

  Freddie waved and walked confidently into the Hardware Emporium. Lily noticed that he was looking particularly pleased with himself.

  In Nora’s Coffee Shop two sixteen-year-olds, Lizzie Buttershaw and Veronica Collins, were enjoying a frothy coffee and discussing an issue that had begun to dominate the music scene; namely, who was more popular – Cliff Richard or the Beatles?

  Lizzie had spent sixpence on her Boyfriend magazine and was reading an article about her heart-throb. Cliff Richard was celebrating his fifth year in show business. The magazine reported that after leaving school he had worked as a filing clerk for Atlas Lamps. Then, after joining a skiffle group, in 1958 he made a record, ‘Move It’, and it sold half a million copies.

  ‘’E’s got an American sports car that does a ’undred an’ seventy miles an ’our,’ said Lizzie.

  The Beatles’ ‘She Loves You’ was playing on the jukebox and Veronica was singing along. ‘Yes, but jus’ listen t’that, Lizzie. They’re fantastic. Ah mus’ say, ah thought ‘Summer ’Oliday’ were great wi’ Cliff an’ t’Shadows, but now ah’m in love.’

  ‘In love? Who with?’

  ‘Paul McCartney, o’ course. Who else?’

  Lily had called into the General Stores & Newsagent. The shop was silent for a change and there were no other customers as she approached the counter.

  ‘Good morning, Lily,’ said a smiling Prudence. It was always ‘Mrs Feather’ when there were children or parents around.