a passion for hymns and knew all the words.
“No point in waiting for him,” said Gavin Adstone. “I can’t think he’ll have much to contribute, anyway. Away with the fairies most of the time.”
“Hardly,” said Derek dryly, and added that the vicar was a good and useful man, and he was sure he would not mind if they started without him.
Good old Derek, thought Hazel, as she opened the minutes book ready to read her notes on the last meeting. “That’s put smartass Gavin in his place,” she muttered under her breath.
The vicar turned up, and after the minutes had been read they got swiftly down to the main item. “The soap box grand prix,” said Derek. “First of all, we need to fix a date. Any suggestions as to the best time?”
Various dates were considered, several of them clashing with other village events. The church fete, the WI outing, a couple of weddings arranged needing the church and a free run through the village for the happy couple and their guests. Eventually a date was agreed, and Derek shuffled his papers.
“Lois has found out quite a bit about how the races an’ that are organised these days,” he said, “and I must say I hadn’t reckoned on something so complicated.” He saw Gavin draw a breath to speak, and so continued quickly. “Not that we would want to put on such a formal event,” he added. “Most of us were thinking of a few likely lads having a go at making some larky soap boxes and putting on a race or two to entertain the crowds.”
“What crowds!?” burst out Gavin. “Think big, man, think big! If we do the thing properly, we could get hundreds of spectators, and with the right extra attractions organised by me, we could make a packet.”
Derek raised his eyebrows, and passed Lois’s papers to Tony Dibson, who was sitting at the end of the row of chairs. “Have a look at these, everybody,” Derek said. “Then we shall know what we’re talking about. And while we’re doing that, perhaps Father Rodney will tell us about his plans for a flower festival in the church on the same day.”
By the time Hazel had given her preliminary report on what other groups in the village might contribute, including an art and crafts marquee on the playing fields, the papers had reached John Thornbull, the last to read them, and he handed them back to Derek.
“Thank you, Hazel,” Derek said. “Sounds very promising. Now, you’ve all had a chance to look through those details, so back to the soap box grand prix.”
Recognising that his festival was once more receding into the distance, Gavin jumped in with an offer to take the soap box project outside into a wider world, resulting in a bigger potential crowd on the day. “I could take the details on how to make the soap boxes to the local tech college. They have an engineering department, and might be pleased to make it their big practical learning project for the summer term. As far as safety goes, we just have to liaise with our friendly cops and make sure we comply with the necessary regulations.”
Talks like a politician, thought Tony Dibson. He whispered into Floss’s young and pretty ear that he bet her a shillin’ that Adstone would be MP for Tresham before long. Derek frowned at him, and politely thanked Gavin for his suggestion. Then he asked Floss what she thought would appeal to the young folk in the village.
“It’s got to be fun,” she said straightaway. “We got to get them putting their own ideas into designing the soap boxes, and have as few rules as we can. I don’t see why we have to involve anybody outside the village. For Farnden, by Farnden. That’s what I reckon, anyway.”
There was a small round of applause, with Gavin noticeably failing to join in.
“For Farnden, by Farnden!” echoed Tony Dibson. “That’s it, gel. You got it!”
TWELVE
S O HOW DID IT GO?” LOIS SAID. SHE SOMEHOW MANAGED TO concentrate on her favourite quiz show and listen to Derek at the same time. At least,
“No point in waiting for him,” said Gavin Adstone. “I can’t think he’ll have much to contribute, anyway. Away with the fairies most of the time.”
“Hardly,” said Derek dryly, and added that the vicar was a good and useful man, and he was sure he would not mind if they started without him.
Good old Derek, thought Hazel, as she opened the minutes book ready to read her notes on the last meeting. “That’s put smartass Gavin in his place,” she muttered under her breath.
The vicar turned up, and after the minutes had been read they got swiftly down to the main item. “The soap box grand prix,” said Derek. “First of all, we need to fix a date. Any suggestions as to the best time?”
Various dates were considered, several of them clashing with other village events. The church fete, the WI outing, a couple of weddings arranged needing the church and a free run through the village for the happy couple and their guests. Eventually a date was agreed, and Derek shuffled his papers.
“Lois has found out quite a bit about how the races an’ that are organised these days,” he said, “and I must say I hadn’t reckoned on something so complicated.” He saw Gavin draw a breath to speak, and so continued quickly. “Not that we would want to put on such a formal event,” he added. “Most of us were thinking of a few likely lads having a go at making some larky soap boxes and putting on a race or two to entertain the crowds.”
“What crowds!?” burst out Gavin. “Think big, man, think big! If we do the thing properly, we could get hundreds of spectators, and with the right extra attractions organised by me, we could make a packet.”
Derek raised his eyebrows, and passed Lois’s papers to Tony Dibson, who was sitting at the end of the row of chairs. “Have a look at these, everybody,” Derek said. “Then we shall know what we’re talking about. And while we’re doing that, perhaps Father Rodney will tell us about his plans for a flower festival in the church on the same day.”
By the time Hazel had given her preliminary report on what other groups in the village might contribute, including an art and crafts marquee on the playing fields, the papers had reached John Thornbull, the last to read them, and he handed them back to Derek.
“Thank you, Hazel,” Derek said. “Sounds very promising. Now, you’ve all had a chance to look through those details, so back to the soap box grand prix.”
Recognising that his festival was once more receding into the distance, Gavin jumped in with an offer to take the soap box project outside into a wider world, resulting in a bigger potential crowd on the day. “I could take the details on how to make the soap boxes to the local tech college. They have an engineering department, and might be pleased to make it their big practical learning project for the summer term. As far as safety goes, we just have to liaise with our friendly cops and make sure we comply with the necessary regulations.”
Talks like a politician, thought Tony Dibson. He whispered into Floss’s young and pretty ear that he bet her a shillin’ that Adstone would be MP for Tresham before long. Derek frowned at him, and politely thanked Gavin for his suggestion. Then he asked Floss what she thought would appeal to the young folk in the village.
“It’s got to be fun,” she said straightaway. “We got to get them putting their own ideas into designing the soap boxes, and have as few rules as we can. I don’t see why we have to involve anybody outside the village. For Farnden, by Farnden. That’s what I reckon, anyway.”
There was a small round of applause, with Gavin noticeably failing to join in.
“For Farnden, by Farnden!” echoed Tony Dibson. “That’s it, gel. You got it!”
TWELVE
S O HOW DID IT GO?” LOIS SAID. SHE SOMEHOW MANAGED TO concentrate on her favourite quiz show and listen to Derek at the same time. At least,
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