was that in a sense – as to sort out in a social way sheep from goats and pick out various likely people to ‘do’ things in the village, above all to assist in the flower festival which Christabel was organising in the church. He could see her now, tall, thin and somehow menacing in her expensive flowered silk dress, peering about her like a bird about to swoop. He tried to melt into the background as Christabel bore down on Emma.
‘Let me see now,’ her voice rang out authoritatively, ‘you were at Somerville, weren’t you?’
‘No,’ said Emma. She hardly liked to say that she had taken her degree at the London School of Economics but did add that she was an anthropologist.
‘Oh.’ Christabel brushed aside anthropology and all its possible implications. ‘Can you arrange flowers?’ she asked.
‘I suppose so….’
‘Surely all ladies can arrange flowers,’ said Adam Prince, sidling up to the little group.
‘I’m thinking of the flower festival, of course,’ said Christabel.
She had ‘good bones’, Emma thought, and had obviously once been beautiful – the worm in the bud, though that wasn’t the kind of thought one could put into words at a sherry party. No doubt the mention of flowers had suggested the bud and the worm in it….
‘So often in a cottage,’ Adam Prince went on, ‘one sees a simple bunch of wild flowers stuck into a jam jar.’
‘Oh, Mr Prince, we shall want rather more than that,’ said Christabel in a jovial tone. ‘Dr Shrubsole’s mother-in-law is going to help – she seems very keen. A nice little person – we must try to bring her into things now that she’s come to live among us.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Tom, feeling that this was directed at him. He did not reveal that he was hoping to enlist Mrs Raven as a helper in some of his local history researches. A meek woman of retirement age could be of inestimable value, and he was glad to see that she was now deep in conversation with Miss Lee and Miss Grundy. They might even be discussing one of the ‘projects’ on which Mrs Raven might work.
‘I’ll always remember that Sunday morning,’ Magdalen Raven was saying. ‘Mr Chamberlain was to speak on the wireless – as we called it in those days – and my husband – of course he was alive then – kept saying that appeasement would never work. He always said Hitler wasn’t to be trusted and of course he was quite right.’
‘And the evacuees,’ Miss Grundy broke in eagerly, ‘do you remember the evacuees, and that mother who just sat up in bed smoking!’
‘People smoked a lot in those days,’ said Magdalen, almost with regret. ‘Such funny cigarettes we had – do you remember Tenners, in a blue packet?’ Smoking was, of course, another pleasure forbidden by her son-in-law. There were no ash-trays in the house.
‘They used to say Hitler couldn’t stand a long war,’ said Miss Lee, ‘but it seemed to go on such a long time, with that school in the manor and none of the family here in the village.’
‘The family?’ Magdalen asked.
‘Yes, the girls and Miss Vereker, their governess, still trying to keep the mausoleum in order.
‘The mausoleum?’ And the governess keeping it in order?
‘Yes, by the church, you must have seen it, where some of the family are buried.’
‘Oh, I must go there some time,’ said Magdalen in a social way. Miss Lee seemed to be overcome by her memories and she tried to guide the conversation on to the days after the war when things weren’t much better even though the fighting was over. ‘Do you remember the meat ration going down to eightpence and that ewe mutton or whatever it was called?’
‘Miss Vereker had a way with ewe mutton,’ said Miss Lee, still on her memories. ‘She was an imaginative cook.
‘I see you’ve been initiating Mrs Raven into our little group,’ said Tom, coming up to them.
‘Yes, we’ve been talking about the past,’ said Miss Lee, ‘something we all
‘Let me see now,’ her voice rang out authoritatively, ‘you were at Somerville, weren’t you?’
‘No,’ said Emma. She hardly liked to say that she had taken her degree at the London School of Economics but did add that she was an anthropologist.
‘Oh.’ Christabel brushed aside anthropology and all its possible implications. ‘Can you arrange flowers?’ she asked.
‘I suppose so….’
‘Surely all ladies can arrange flowers,’ said Adam Prince, sidling up to the little group.
‘I’m thinking of the flower festival, of course,’ said Christabel.
She had ‘good bones’, Emma thought, and had obviously once been beautiful – the worm in the bud, though that wasn’t the kind of thought one could put into words at a sherry party. No doubt the mention of flowers had suggested the bud and the worm in it….
‘So often in a cottage,’ Adam Prince went on, ‘one sees a simple bunch of wild flowers stuck into a jam jar.’
‘Oh, Mr Prince, we shall want rather more than that,’ said Christabel in a jovial tone. ‘Dr Shrubsole’s mother-in-law is going to help – she seems very keen. A nice little person – we must try to bring her into things now that she’s come to live among us.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Tom, feeling that this was directed at him. He did not reveal that he was hoping to enlist Mrs Raven as a helper in some of his local history researches. A meek woman of retirement age could be of inestimable value, and he was glad to see that she was now deep in conversation with Miss Lee and Miss Grundy. They might even be discussing one of the ‘projects’ on which Mrs Raven might work.
‘I’ll always remember that Sunday morning,’ Magdalen Raven was saying. ‘Mr Chamberlain was to speak on the wireless – as we called it in those days – and my husband – of course he was alive then – kept saying that appeasement would never work. He always said Hitler wasn’t to be trusted and of course he was quite right.’
‘And the evacuees,’ Miss Grundy broke in eagerly, ‘do you remember the evacuees, and that mother who just sat up in bed smoking!’
‘People smoked a lot in those days,’ said Magdalen, almost with regret. ‘Such funny cigarettes we had – do you remember Tenners, in a blue packet?’ Smoking was, of course, another pleasure forbidden by her son-in-law. There were no ash-trays in the house.
‘They used to say Hitler couldn’t stand a long war,’ said Miss Lee, ‘but it seemed to go on such a long time, with that school in the manor and none of the family here in the village.’
‘The family?’ Magdalen asked.
‘Yes, the girls and Miss Vereker, their governess, still trying to keep the mausoleum in order.
‘The mausoleum?’ And the governess keeping it in order?
‘Yes, by the church, you must have seen it, where some of the family are buried.’
‘Oh, I must go there some time,’ said Magdalen in a social way. Miss Lee seemed to be overcome by her memories and she tried to guide the conversation on to the days after the war when things weren’t much better even though the fighting was over. ‘Do you remember the meat ration going down to eightpence and that ewe mutton or whatever it was called?’
‘Miss Vereker had a way with ewe mutton,’ said Miss Lee, still on her memories. ‘She was an imaginative cook.
‘I see you’ve been initiating Mrs Raven into our little group,’ said Tom, coming up to them.
‘Yes, we’ve been talking about the past,’ said Miss Lee, ‘something we all
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