Mrs.
Harber-Smythe’s voice was still ringing in my ears. Mrs. H, as she was more
commonly known, had not lived in the village very long before making her
presence felt. I remembered how she had taken over the chair of Littleoaks
Operatic Society before anyone realized what was happening.
As
secretary, I had not wanted the position myself, but I’d always felt that the
vicar might have made a good job of it. However Mrs. H had not given anyone the
chance to oppose her. When the post became vacant, she had assumed it was hers
without any consultation.
“Sorry
to have left you on your own, but the telephone call was important.”
I
jumped at the sound of Mrs. H’s voice behind me.
“That’s
alright. I have everything ready for the meeting. It was a bit short notice, but
most of the committee members are able to attend.” I laughed. “Though Alf
wasn’t happy; he was on his allotment and couldn’t understand why we were
having a meeting during the summer break.”
Mrs.
H. preferred the word break; she said it rolled off the tongue, but personally,
I believed it was because Alf never pronounced his aitches. She nearly fainted,
the first time he called her Mrs. ‘arber-Smyfe. His th’s not being too good
either.
“If
Alfred’s coming straight from his allotment,” said Mrs. H. “I’d rather
he sat near to the door.” She placed a few sheets of newspaper on the floor.
“I don’t want his muddy boots coming any further into my house than is
absolutely necessary.”
The
vicar was the first to arrive. “I can’t stay long Mrs. H; I’ve an
appointment at the vicarage at 2.30. A couple wants to discuss their wedding.”
“Very
well, vicar, but I find it most inconvenient.”
“What’s
it all about anyway? I thought we had finished until September.” The vicar
sounded weary of the whole business.
“We
have. But something came up. Wait until the others arrive. I don’t want to go
through something of this magnitude before everyone is present.”
“What’s
all this then?” Jack Hargreaves from the grocery store stormed in. “I
can’t just drop everything on a whim. I have a business to run. The lad
hasn’t enough experience to be left on his own. Purveyor of fine foods, it
says above my door and that’s what I am, but not if I’m stuck here.”
Catching sight of the vicar and me, he changed his tone. “Afternoon Jean,
vicar, what do you both make of it?”
“Sit
down and have some coffee, Jack,” said Mrs. H. “Surely your shop is closed
for lunch at this time of day.”
“Yes
it is, but the lad doesn’t go out for lunch and I like to see what he gets up
to, especially when I’m not there.” He sniffed, as he accepted a cup of
coffee. “Fresh ground, I don’t recall you buying this from my store.”
“But
Jack, how can you ever see what he’s up to when you’re not there? asked Mrs.
H.
“My
point exactly!”
I
looked on in amusement as Mrs. H. opened her mouth to say something, but changed
her mind. Instead she closed her eyes and shook her head.
Just
then Maureen breezed through the door. “Hi there everyone, what’s going on?
This better be good. Some of us don’t have time to mess about. I’m baking
for the church fete on Saturday and have left two dozen small buns in the oven.
I’ll have a thing or two to say if they’re burnt.”
She
reached over and poked around the biscuits. “Any chocolate ones in here? By
the way, Jean, did you tell Alf? He’s on his allotment.”
Before
I could answer, the door opened and Alf strode in, muddy boots and all.
“What’s so important that I’ve had to leave my onions? It’s not a
good time to leave your onions, just before a competition.” He looked across
at the vicar. I suppose you’ll be judging them again this year?”
“No,
I won’t!” he replied hotly. “After last year’s carry on I vowed never to
do it again.”
“Well
who’s going to…?”
“Please,
may I call this meeting to order,” interrupted Mrs. Harber-Smythe.
“What’ve
you called this meeting for then? Jack asked. We aren’t having another
production until the spring.”
“Yes,
I said the same thing to Jean only this morning.” interrupted Maureen. She
reached out and took another biscuit.
Seeing
that Mrs. H was fast losing her patience, I decided to intervene. “Please,
everyone; perhaps we should all listen to what Mrs. Harber-Smythe has to say?”
“Thank
you, Jean.” The chairperson smiled across the table.
“Get
on with it then Mrs. H. I need to get back to my onions, not to mention my
leeks.” He looked at the vicar. “Who’s judging the leeks this year? I have
the finest leeks in the county and…”
“Silence!”
The chairperson’s voice rang out. “Will you stop talking about your
vegetables? She dabbed her face with a lace handkerchief. “I’ve called this
meeting because it has come to my attention that a very important person will be
attending our church fete.” She sat back in her chair, allowing her news to
sink in.
No
one spoke. “Don’t you even want to know who it is? Mrs. H. looked
disappointed at their lack of enthusiasm. “It’s none other than Brian
Willows, the famous television producer. There, what do you think of that?”
“Is
that all?” asked Alf, getting to his feet. “Is that why you’ve dragged me
away from my leeks and onions? I should be on my allotment making sure
they aren’t being nobbled by my rivals. Half the village knows he’s coming,
woman.”
It
was true, almost everyone knew of his visit. I was surprised that no one had
thought to tell her. “I think you should know that…” I began.
“Thank
you, Jean,” Mrs. Harber-Smythe interrupted. Sit down Alfred I have an idea to
put forward to you all.”
Alf
sat down. “What idea?”
“Well
I thought that the operatic society should put on a display. Let this fellow see
what we can do.”
“What
do you mean by a display? asked Alf.
“Well,
it’s not yet been decided, but I thought we could sing a few songs. You know;
a solo, then a duet, or a chorus… whatever.” Alf opened his mouth as though
to say something. But Mrs. H. wasn’t finished. “First, we’ll make
ourselves known to him. Naturally, I myself will do the introductions, beginning
with Jean, our secretary and ending with the lad who paints sets.”
I
looked around the group; their mouths were wide open in amazement.
Seeming
to have their attention, Mrs. H continued. “There, you see, I knew you would
be speechless with excitement. You’d have missed this opportunity if it
hadn’t been for me. Now we must also address the problem as to where the
fellow will stay. Obviously he can’t stay at the hotel; it’s nothing more
than an ale house. Therefore I feel it my duty to offer him accommodation here
at Manor House.”
The
vicar looked across at me. “What’ve you to say about all this?”
“I
was speechless. “Well…” I stammered, “Will Mr. Willows have time to meet
the group in the manner suggested?”
“Exactly,”
said the vicar with a look of triumph on his face. “And no doubt, his
accommodation is already arranged.”
“Nonsense!”
exclaimed Mrs. H. “Producers are always looking out for new talent and I think
he’d be delighted to spend the night here at Manor House. It’s more in
keeping with what he’s accustomed to. Where else would he stay?”
“I
think I…” I began. But Mrs. H. held up her hand.
“I know what you’re going to say, Jean and it’s a kind gesture. But
staying at your poky little cottage is out of the question. That tiny spare room
of yours just won’t do at all. Besides, what would you talk about? The man is
an intellectual; he needs to talk with people on his level. Well that’s
settled; leave it to me. I’ll see to everything. You can go about your
business assured in the knowledge that I will be at the helm.”
She
looked at me. “Perhaps you could stay behind, Jean? I need to instruct you on
a few matters. You can also type out some letters for the whole company
informing them of our decision. Perhaps you could deliver them on the way
home.”
“What’ll
you be doing?” I asked.
“I’ll
be making arrangements for Mr. Willows to stay here. I need to speak to my
cleaning lady straight away. Then I must make a hair appointment; decide on the
menu for that evening, and organize a shopping trip for a superb new outfit. I
have a thousand things to do. It’s not easy being chairperson, but don’t you
worry about a thing, I’ll manage.”
“Look,
before you go any further, I think you should know…” I began. However, Mrs.
H was already on the telephone to her hairdresser, “I need an appointment
early on Saturday morning, I don’t care who you have to cancel, this is really
important.”
“Can
you manage, Jean?” asked Maureen. “I really don’t mind helping you to
deliver the letters. You realize you’ll be left with all the organizing;
she’ll be far too busy getting herself ready for Mr. Willows’ visit.”
We
both laughed. “I’ll be fine,” I replied. “I’ll type and print the
letters and deliver them on the way home. Don’t forget about your buns.”
“Oh
my goodness!” she exclaimed disappearing out of the door.
On
the day of the fete, Mrs. Harber-Smythe was too excited for words. She lined up
the members of the operatic society on the platform in the marquee.
“I
want you all to stand in this order when I bring in the V.I.P. Also please be
respectful. This is important to the whole society.
I
heard Alf snigger as he whispered to Jack. “Important to her, she means.”
“Jean,
as my second in command,” continued Mrs. H. “I will introduce you first.
Then you can follow us down the row as Mr. Willows meets the rest of the
company. We’ll give the recital after lunch. Finally, at the end of the day,
perhaps you, Jean, would be kind enough to escort Mr. Willows to Manor House in
time for cocktails. Now, does anyone have any questions?”
“Yes;
I have.” said Alf. “Who’s going to introduce you?”
“No
one, Alfred. I’ll approach the producer outside the marquee, explain who I am
and ask him to follow me inside to meet you all.”
“But
that’s stupid. What if he says he doesn’t want to follow you into the tent
to meet us all?”
“Of
course he’ll follow me, Alfred. And it’s a marquee if you please, not a
tent.”
“But
what if he doesn’t?” Alf persisted. “And while you’re arguing with him
out there, we’ll all be standing in here like a load of idiots when I should
be with my onions.”
“Alfred,
will you please forget about your wretched onions. Just take my word for it;
he’ll follow me in here.” She turned and left the marquee before Alf could
argue further.
Jean
laughed, “You were a little unkind. You know he’ll come in here.”
“Yes, but I just wanted to wind her up. The woman gets on my
nerves; recital, indeed.”
Shortly
afterwards, Mrs. Harber-Smythe rushed back; she was in a flap. “He’s here,
Jean, but your mother’s collared him and you know how she likes to talk. I’d
better rescue the poor man. Quickly, places everyone; remember what I told you.
Jean, tell the lad on the end to stop sniffing and blow his nose and Alfred,
please don’t mention your onions to the V.I.P.
Mrs.
H. ran outside; her voice drifted through the canvas. “It’s such an honour
to meet you, Mr. Willows; my group is waiting inside. I realize you’re used to
a more sophisticated setting, but they try their best. Ah, here is our
secretary…”
“Hello,
Jean.” The VIP’s eyes twinkled as he looked around the company. “It’s
good to see you all again. How are your onions Alf? Worthy of a prize this
year?”
“I
hope so, Brian. The judging starts shortly; you don’t mind if I…”
“Not
at all, you get off over there. I’ll follow in a few minutes.” Mr. Willows
turned back to me. “It’s so good to be here again.”
Mrs.
Harber-Smythe looked very foolish indeed.
“I’m
sorry,” I said. “But I did try to tell you. This is my uncle, my mother’s
brother. He stays with us every year and opens our little fete. You see, Mrs. H,
that little poky cottage of ours, is his home; he was born there.
The End