Bob of Small End
David Hockey
Copyright 2015 David Hockey
Also by David Hockey:
Developing a Universal Religion:
Why one is Needed and
How it might be Developed
Sam's Dream
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Contents
Chapter 1 Claire
Chapter 2 Jenny
Chapter 3 Portugal
Chapter 4 What to do?
Chapter 5 Maria
Chapter 6 Driving lessons
Chapter 7 Ken
Chapter 8 Forming the partnership
Chapter 9 Jigging up
Chapter 10 Signing papers
Chapter 11 The Milking Parlour
Chapter 12 Holiday planning
Chapter 13 Sally
Chapter 14 Craig
Chapter 15 The Conference
Chapter 16 Boxes and dreams
Chapter 17 Spring cleaning
Chapter 18 Lori
Chapter 19 Jose and Luke
Chapter 20 Sally
Chapter 21 Production
Chapter 22 The barbecue
Chapter 23 Where next?
Chapter 24 On the road
Chapter 25 Maria and money
Chapter 26 The mortgage
Chapter 27 Wholesalers
Chapter 28 The factory
Chapter 29 The production line
Chapter 30 The BBC
Chapter 31 The Opening
Chapter 32 The engagement party
Chapter 33 We-Have-It
Chapter 34 Money
Chapter 35 Maria and Sally
Chapter 36 Money and a mystery
Chapter 37 The men
Chapter 38 Goodners
Chapter 39 Up for sale
Chapter 40 Lori and Craig
Chapter 41 Mortgages
Chapter 42 Selling
Chapter 43 Sally
Chapter 44 Retired again
Chapter 45 Moving in
Chapter 46 Towards Christmas
A note from the author
Chapter 1 Claire
Bob picked up the three bulging plastic bags, locked the door of his house, crossed the short path to his small front gate and headed down the road. Turning right at the crossroads by the Crown Inn he hurried along to the Gift Shop. The whole journey had not been more than five hundred yards but he was wishing he’d worn his overcoat; the wind was freezing and strong gusts blew into his face. Jack Tyne was carrying the last display rack into the shop and he held the door open.
“’Ow do Bob. Manky weather ain’t it!”
“Hi Jack. Oh yes, it certainly is.”
“Good job it ain’t rainin’ as well.”
“I think it’ll snow next, not rain. I didn’t realise it was this cold.” He put the bags on the counter. “These are the trains I promised Rose. There’s twenty sets, so she’ll have enough to last the rest of the winter. Do you know how many are coming to Saturday’s matinee?”
“Jane said more’n a ’undred tickets been sold. Some ‘ud be locals, tho’.”
“Well, let’s hope they buy a few of these. You eating at the Crown tonight?”
“Aye.”
“Okay, see you there. ‘Bye Jack.”
“Tarra Bob.”
It didn’t feel quite as cold going with the wind but he knew he’d feel it when he walked home after supper. Good thing he didn’t have far to go. He opened the door to the pub and crossed to the bar.
“Usual please Len. How’s Mildred?”
“Her cold’s nearly gone but she’s staying in the kitchen tonight. Doesn’t want to sneeze over the customers.”
Bob looked at the menu. He didn’t want the pot pie, he had enough of that at home although Mildred’s pies tasted better than the ones he bought at the supermarket. “I’ll have the roast, Len. Lots of horseradish.”
“Sure, I know, and no brussels, right?”
“Yes. Put on more roast parsnip and spuds. And extra Yorkshire pudding, if you have enough.”
Bob’s favourite table near the fire was vacant and he sat there, swallowed a mouthful of beer and looked around. Paper chains hung between the wall lamps and short boughs of fir had been draped around the shades. He couldn’t see the mistletoe but he knew it would soon be hanging from the lamp on the ceiling next to the entrance door. He turned towards the fire. He loved this spot; it was warm and the chairs were comfortable, a good place to be on a cold winter’s night. Half-way through his beer Nancy brought him his meal and he started eating; no point in waiting for the others, they might not be here for another half-hour.
Saturday suppers at the Crown had become routine for Bob soon after Betty had died three years ago. Shortly after she died the station had been closed and he was given a pension and released. He still missed Betty. The children, Sam and Regina, missed her too, of course, but they had married and had children to look after which must have helped them. It would be another, rather lonely Christmas for him. Sure, he’d visit both the kids but he only stayed for one night. Their Christmases were always very busy because they also celebrated with their in-laws and partied with friends. He saw more of them and his grandchildren when they visited during their summer holidays, Sam’s family especially, for they often camped in the New Forest.
He’d have to buy Christmas presents for the youngsters soon. Betty used to do that and he always found it difficult to chose things the children would like. They certainly didn’t want any more of his trains, they already had several and were too old for that kind of toy anyway. He’d look around Tyne’s on Monday and if Rose didn’t have anything he’d check the shops in Big End.
“Hi Bob. Caught you dreaming have I?”
“Oh. Hi Joe. No. I was just thinking about Christmas presents, wondering what to buy the grandchildren. Where’s Jane?”
“She’s still at the Centre. She told me at lunchtime she had to help the stage crew modify a couple of the sets. One of the helpers is sick. She’ll be here soon, I expect.”
“Okay. I guess you haven’t had your supper then. The roast beef’s pretty good.”
“I’ve already eaten Bob. Finished yesterday’s Shepherd’s pie before coming. Jane’ll probably be hungry when she arrives though. Well, what have you been doing this week?”
“Mostly making trains. Rose thinks she’ll sell more than usual this Christmas, but I’ll not make any more until spring. I’ve found a nice piece of wood and I’m looking forward to carving another bird.”
Tourists liked his birds and trains. That was how Bob filled his time, making toy trains and carving wooden birds. He and Rose Tyne earned a little money each year as they were sold. Most people in Small End had one or more of his creations.
“What about you Joe, what have you been doing?”
“The spuds and brussels have all gone. There’s only broccoli in the fields now. I’ll have them picked and shipped next week then plough if it doesn’t rain. Then the greenhouses have to be cleared, fertilised and rototilled. I’ll get everything done before Christmas if the weather lets me.”
“Then put your feet up for a while.”
“Yes. Jane wants to go to the south of Portugal again. Trouble is, it’s a bit like being in England ‘cos there’s lots of Brits there and they have pubs, fish and chip shops and tourist attractions, just like we have here. I’d rather go somewhere different for a change, but we need the warmth, that’s why we go to Portugal. It’s much wa
rmer than England. You’ve not been there, have you?”
“No. The furthest I’ve been is Wales and Lincolnshire. Betty and I went to Wales for our honeymoon, remember? And I used to go to Lincolnshire with my Mum when she went to see her sister. She lives near Boston.”
“Yes, I remember. You usually brought me a stick of rock from Skegness. Ah, here’s Rose. Hi Rose. Where’s Jack? Isn’t he coming.”
“He’s at the bar buying drinks, behind that group of women. They’re from one of the tours I think, there’s a bus outside.”
“How’s the Centre looking? Got all the decorations up?” asked Bob.
“No, not yet. I popped in to see Jane this afternoon. Jack or I’ll have to be there to arrange the sets for Monday’s dress rehearsal, someone’s sick. Oh Joe, we’re ready for the Christmas tree. Can we get it tomorrow, in the afternoon?”
“Sure, that’ll be fine.”
Jack put his beer on the table, gave Rose her cider and sat down.
“Hello Jack” said Joe. “What’s new with you?”
“Nowt. Still lookin’ fer cottages and ain’t found any. I’ve news about Bonnie tho’. She’s rented a room. Lady from Reading’s taken t’big ‘en, maybe fer rest of December. She came here wiv her parents when a teenager and says how nice t’village was then. She’s thinkin’ t’buy a cottage. Wish I ‘ad one fer her! She’s comin’ ‘ere fer supper.”
Small End had only one Bed and Breakfast, Bonnie’s B&B. All three bedrooms were usually occupied between spring and fall but winter guests were rare. Visitors liked to explore the countryside around the village. The rolling slopes, cattle and sheep in the fields, inviting woods and bushy hedgerows made this part of England very attractive. The walkers followed the many footpaths and strolled along the Tusset River’s towpath. Children from the city loved the wildlife, the birds, rabbits, cows and horses. Older folk came because it was quiet, reminding them of the England they used to know when they were young. Small End was just fifteen miles from the coast so people could go there anytime they wanted to watch the waves or let their kids swim and play on the beach.
“How did you learn about Bonnie’s guest?” asked Rose.
“I’s at Bonnie’s when she came. Her name’s Claire. She’s bin lookin’ arter her Mum since her Dad died an’ her Mum died three months ago. That’s all I know. There she is.” Jack stood up, waved his hand and she walked over to them.
“Hi Claire. This is my wife, Rose, and that’s Bob and Joe,” he said, pointing. “‘Ere, ‘ave my seat. Wot’ d’you want t’drink?”
“Hello everyone. A gin and tonic, please, Jack.”
“Welcome to Small End, Claire,” said Rose, “though Jack told us you’ve already been here.”
“Yes, many years ago with my Mum and Dad, when I was a teenager. We spent two weeks in a hotel in Big End and I always liked coming here. The people here were so friendly and we often walked along the river. I liked it so much that I’m thinking about buying a cottage here and I’ll be staying at Bonnie’s for a while to see if this place still suits me.”
“What about your meals Claire? Bonnie only gives breakfasts.”
“Well she said that’s what she has to do in the summer because she’s too busy to do more, with people coming and going and having to clean the rooms and wash all the sheets. But she said if I tell her ahead of time when I’d like to eat in she’d make supper for me. She sometimes visits her sister for a couple of days and I’d have to eat elsewhere then, but otherwise I could eat with her. She’s a very nice person.”
“Well that’s good. Of course you can always eat here or you can go to Big End if you want a change. Do you have a car?” asked Rose.
“Yes.”
Claire told them a little about herself: that she lived in Reading and worked in a bank; about her Dad, then her husband dying and that she had moved back to her parent’s home to look after her Mum. Now that she had gone Claire thought it was time to start a new life. Small End came to mind and she was exploring the idea of moving here. “So that’s my life history. Now I’d like to eat something. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m famished.”
“Me too,” said Jack. Bob told them what was on the menu. Claire and Rose chose the fish and chips and Jack the potpie. Bob went to the bar and ordered, returning with a round of drinks for everybody.
The place became very crowded. When any of the villagers entered, Rose, who was facing the door, told Claire a little about each one and the others added other facts they thought might interest her.
“Ah, that’s enough!” Claire eventually said. “It’s interesting to hear all this but I can’t remember all the names and details. Let’s leave it until I come here to live.”
“Yes of course. We should have guessed it’d be too much at once. Sorry.” Rose turned to Joe. “About the Christmas tree Joe. How about 2 o’clock?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” Bob added. “Do you want to come Claire?”
“Come to what?”
“To collect the Christmas tree for the Community Centre. We cut one from Joe’s farm. We’ve done that each year since we began giving shows at Christmas.”
“I’d love to,” Claire replied.
“Then I’ll come for you about 1:45.”
Nancy arrived with the food and as they ate they told Claire about the shows held at Christmas, in the Spring and the Fall. “And now bus tours often include them,” said Rose.
“Are they something special? Why do people want to come to see a village show?” asked Claire.
“The local papers invariably give them excellent reviews,” said Rose. “Plus we have a pub which offers suppers and a few shops to visit. People like that kind of thing when they’re on a bus tour.”
“I see. I don’t remember them from when I was here before.”
“No, we’ve only been doing the shows for a few years.”
Jane arrived as Joe was picking up the plates to take back to the bar. “Hi Jane,” said Joe. “This is Claire. Claire, this is my wife, Jane. Claire’s staying at Bonnie’s for a while. Now, what do you want love?”
“Ah, nothing Joe. Too tired to eat or drink. Been rehearsing and several actors didn’t know all their lines, and the matinee’s next Saturday! Well it’s often that way; they always do a good job in the end.”
“How many times do you run it?” asked Claire.
“Every Thursday, Friday and Saturday evening, beginning after next Saturday’s matinee. The last one’s the Friday before Christmas. I’ll be exhausted by then. In fact I’m so tired now I’m going home. Do you want to come Joe?”
“Yes I’m ready.”
“We’re off too,” Jack added. “Want to walk with us Claire?”
“Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow Bob. At 1:45?”
“Yes I’ll be there.”
They all left the Crown after waving goodbye to Len. Everyone except Bob turned right at the door; he turned left, rounded the corner and hurried up the hill, shivering and thinking he’d not be so stupid next time. It was winter after all.
The six o’clock news woke Bob Sunday morning and after listening to that he reviewed what he should do that day. Just the usual weekend things. In the morning he’d tidy and dust the house and wash the sheets and clothes. There was nothing to do in the garden, for his cabbages and broccoli were already hanging from the rafters in the corner of his workshop, enough to last him a couple of months. And in the afternoon he’d help with the tree. Now what should he wear? A sweater and an old jacket might be best, plus his old overcoat. No point dirtying his good one. He’d look all right in that when he called for Claire. She seemed a nice woman. It would be pleasant if she came to live here, someone new, someone near his own age.
After a breakfast of toast, marmalade and two mugs of tea he collected the sheets and put them in the washing machine. He did a little dusting then hung the damp sheets on the washing line. Even though it was cold they should still dry by bedtime. He load
ed the machine with his dirty clothes and ran it again.
It was close to ten o’clock by now and time for coffee. Two mugs, no sugar and just two digestive biscuits, that’s all he usually allowed himself. He hated the idea of putting on more weight. He carried the cafeteria and milk bottle to his easy chair in the lounge, filled a mug, sipped, munched and read another chapter of the novel he’d borrowed from the library. This was one of the good times of each day, one he enjoyed very much, particularly when he used to shared them with Betty.
He warmed a can of mushroom soup for lunch. That and salted crackers were all he felt like eating. At 1:40 he put on his coat and walked to Bonnie’s. Claire was sitting in the lounge when he arrived telling Bonnie all about last night. Bonnie knew everybody Claire mentioned and was happy to add extra details.
As they walked to Joe’s farm Bob told Claire that Joe had inherited the farm from his father and was a market gardener selling most of his produce to the shops in Big End. “Howard, he’s Joe’s son, planted fifty small Christmas trees at the back of the farm when he was fifteen and added another fifty each spring for five years. Howard thought they’d give him a nice little income when they matured but that never happened; he became an accountant and now lives in Bournemouth. Neither Joe nor Howard trimmed the trees so they’re a bit misshapen. We pick the best we can find each year for the Centre.”
Joe was in the yard hitching a wagon to his tractor when they arrived. Rose and Jack were watching him. “Now, who’s turn is it to cut the tree this year?” asked Joe.
“It’s my turn,” said Bob, “but I’ll not use your chainsaw Joe. It’s too finicky. Jack had a hard time starting it last year. Do you have a Sweed saw?”
“Of course. I’ll get it.”
They sat on edges of the wagon and Joe’s tractor pulled them to the small wood formed by Howard’s Christmas trees. After searching for a while they chose a tree about twenty feet high with only one slightly misshapen side. Bob chopped a few branches from the bottom then he, with Jack pulling on the opposite end of the saw, felled it. The tree was loaded onto the wagon and Jack and Bob held it in place as Joe drove them to the Community Centre.
Jane was standing at the door when they arrived and told Joe that the wood to mount the tree was under the stage, and where they’d find the rope, nails and hammers. The men collected what they needed and began work. While they were doing this Jane and Rose took Claire into the hall where a young lady was singing accompanied by a pianist. “The show Claire,” said Jane, “has two one-act comedies (I’m in one of them); some songs by Teresa; a dance by the elementary school children; and a skit written and acted by several village teenagers. We also sell coffee, tea, soft drinks, biscuits, cup cakes and slices of apple pie—cooked by the village women. Money from all this is used to improve the village.”
“What kind of improvements?”
“We buy plants which we put in the plots in the park; we trim the edges, buy stone and place it along the Tusset path; we buy benches and shrubs, usually for the park; things like that,” said Rose.
“Much of the money we’ve made goes into a special savings account to pay for a new Community Centre,” Jane added. “This place isn’t big enough to hold all the activities people are asking for. They want rooms for clubs and classes and to play games in. And a cafeteria. So we’re going to demolish the old railway station and build a bigger centre there. The municipal authorities have approved our plans and we hope to start in the spring.”
Claire was intrigued by what she was hearing. “Is there anything I can do to help while I’m here?” she asked Jane who appeared to be one of the organisers.
“Well most things for the show have already been done or are being looked after, though we could use another usher. Would you like to be one?”
“Yes, gladly.”
It took an hour for the men to erect, trim and cover the tree with Christmas lights. Bob stood on the road when the tree was decorated and thought it still looked bare. ‘A few bright balls and stars might help,’ he thought. ‘I’ll make some tomorrow, the bird can wait.’ By 4:30 all the work was finished and Joe drove the tractor back to the farm. Jack, Rose and Jane stayed to help in the Centre but Claire said she must go back to Bonnie’s and make a phone call.
“I’ll walk there with you if you like,” said Bob.
“All right. Where do you live?”
“Up the hill at the crossroads towards the railway station. I’m in the house that’s just before it.”
“I see.”
“Would you like to go to the Crown for a drink?”
“No not now, thanks.”
“Okay. What are your plans for next week?”
“Explore the village, revisit some of the places we used to go to and talk to a couple of real estate agents in Big End to see if they know of any cottages for sale. Would you like to come when I go there? You’d know what roads to take and that’ll stop me from getting lost. I’ll explore Small End tomorrow and go to Big End on Tuesday. That’s the day you could help.”
“I’d be glad to.”
“Well I’ll see you at nine o’clock Tuesday then.”
“Okay. Oh, I’d like to do some shopping in Big End when we’re there. I usually buy a few packaged meals and my coffee from the supermarket. Our village store doesn’t carry it. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. I’ll probably do some shopping there as well.”
Bob left Claire at Bonnie’s and felt extra happy for some reason as he walked home.
Over Monday morning’s breakfast porridge Bob remembered he had a suitable cedar post that was about the right size to make balls for the Christmas tree. After washing the dishes he checked the wood in the workshop. Yes, there it was, a long cedar post he had bought several years ago when he was going to make a stand for a bird feeder. The wood was soft, with few knots and long enough to make twenty or more balls. He cut a four-inch length, mounted it on his lathe and picked up a chisel. ‘Yes, perfect,’ he thought. It shaped quickly although it was a bit rough where an occasional knot emerged but sanding would soon remedy that.
By coffee time Bob had made a dozen balls and there was still enough wood to make several more. After coffee and another chapter of his novel he returned and made another ten. He lunched on bread, cheese, pickled onions, washed down with tea. In the afternoon he cut two dozen stars from a plank then sanded them and the balls. Afterwards he drilled a hole close to one of the points on each star, threaded a six-inch length of string through the hole and tied the ends of the string together. Screw-eyes were twisted into each of the balls to hold their strings. Finding his paint he decided to paint half the balls red and the other half orange and the stars silver and gold. He hung all the decorations on a rope stretched across the shop and began painting. It took him an hour to finish their first coat. He put the wet brushes in a jar half-filled with turpentine; it wasn’t sensible to clean them for he’d be using them again tomorrow.
It was now 4:30. He washed his hands, put on his overcoat and walked down to the Gift Shop to see what Rose had done with the trains. Two sets had been placed in the window. She had chosen different colours for the engines and carriages and put a few of her plastic animals next to them. Bob was please and entered the shop. “They look very nice Rose. I didn’t think you’d use two sets.”
“I think they make perfect presents. Putting two there might inspire some to buy more than one.”
“Let’s hope so. The animals add interest too. Do you have any small people or houses to put there?”
“I’ve a few old ones in the stock room that might be the right size. I’ll look for them later. What are you doing for Christmas Bob?”
“Just the usual, visiting the kids. Oh, do you have anything that Jane and Bess might like? They’re eight and nine, and something for Roy, he’s eight.”
“How about dolls for the girls?”
“No not dolls, they’ve already got lots and I never see them playing with them. Roy might
like a construction set, do you have any?”
“Just these model airplanes. There’s balsa wood and paper in the kit and a tube of cement. And a rubber band and a propeller. They say that the plane will fly two or three hundred yards if it’s made properly.”
“I’ll take one of those for Roy. Maybe Big End will have something to suit the girls.”
There was still enough light to walk home through the developing sub-division that lay behind the row of shops gradually filling the field that lay behind his garden. The road into the site led to a T-junction. Several houses lay along each of the new roads, some occupied and several others almost finished. None were bungalows so there was nothing that might tempt Claire.
Bob fried two sausages and baked a potato in the oven for supper; that and some raw broccoli was enough for him. As usual he ate in the kitchen on the small table, listening to the six o’clock news, just as he, Betty and the kids used to do years ago.
After supper he read two more chapters then watched a murder mystery on the television followed by the news. He usually went to bed around 9:30, earlier if he felt tired, later if there was any reason to stay up.
That Monday had been a very normal day for Bob, one he rather liked. A routine, where most of the things he did were activities he enjoyed. Portugal didn’t interest him, he was happy enough at home and didn’t need a holiday. But, occasionally, as he was falling asleep, he wondered if he should be doing something more. He couldn’t think what it could be. Just before falling asleep he turned his thoughts to Claire. ‘I haven’t been shopping with a woman for years. I wonder what that will be like?'
On the drive to Big End Bob and Claire discussed their plans for the day. Their first stop was to have a coffee. Parking was no trouble this early on a Tuesday morning.
After coffee they walked to the closest of the town’s real-estate agents where Claire told the agent what she was looking for. As Bob had guessed, she was looking for an older cottage, one with a bit of character. She wanted a garden, a garage and two bedrooms and it had to be in Small End. The agent said he didn’t have anything in the village; he only had three-bedroom houses that were being constructed in the new subdivision. Claire asked him to call her if something turned up and gave him Bonnie’s telephone number.
Since it was now eleven thirty they decided to have an early lunch and see the other agent afterwards.
“Where do you eat when in Big End Bob?”
“At the Fox Inn.” It was on the main street not far from where they were so they walked there. A drink each, a curry for Bob and a chicken salad for Claire, then they drove to the other agency. This agent too, knew of no cottages in Big End and was given Bonnie’s number.
“Okay, now we can shop Bob. You have some groceries to buy?”
“Yes but I’ve also got to buy Christmas presents for my two granddaughters. They’re eight and nine. I don’t want to give them dolls, they’re growing out of them I think. Do you have any ideas what they might like?”
“How about a kitchen set? I had one when I was about their age and loved it. One with a small oven that works, some small utensils, packages of food, recipes and instructions. You might be able to find one that’s big enough for them to share and one present would do for both. What do you think?”
“That sounds ideal. Let’s try the shopping centre, there’s a good size toy shop there. They also have a supermarket where I can buy my groceries and you could probably buy the things you need too.”
The toy shop had exactly what they were looking for. He bought the large kitchen set and an extra set of food packages, choosing one that had different recipes.
“I’m sure they’ll both love this,” Bob said. “It might even turn them into gourmet cooks!”
Then they went to Tesco’s, the local supermarket. Bob bought two ready-made curries, two roast beefs and two chicken pies. He often bought the same things each week but tried different makes whenever he saw them glad to have a little variety. He also bought a bottle of whisky and one of rum, mostly for his friends to drink at Christmas. This year he bought a bottle of gin in case Claire visited. He’d buy the tonic in the village grocery. Claire bought fruit, chocolate, a bottle of sherry and a flower arrangement to give Bonnie.
They chatted about the day as they drove home and arranged to meet on Thursday afternoon when Bob would show her the new subdivision and the railway station where he used to be the Station Master. Claire agreed to help him fasten the balls and stars on the tree and they’d do that after their walk.
He hummed happily as he gave the ornaments a second coat of paint Wednesday morning. He started carving a bird after lunch, thinking as he moved his knife, that Christmas this year looked like it’d be a happy one. ‘Maybe that’s because I’ve made the tree decorations. I should do more things like that. It might be fun to work with the stage crew. I’ll ask Jane.’
The ornaments were dry by supper time but he left them hanging on the rope, tidied the workshop bench and swept the floor. Now everything was ready for tomorrow. ‘I wonder if Claire would like a gin and tonic tomorrow? I’d better buy the tonic tomorrow morning. And I must fill the ice trays with water, they’re bound to be empty.’
Thursday morning differed greatly from Bob’s normal Thursdays. He dusted everything in the living room, kitchen and bathroom and vacuumed the carpets. Then he moved upstairs and cleaned the bedrooms, not that Claire was likely to visit them. Then he walked to the village grocery shop to buy the tonic water and collect his weekly loaf of bread, a block of cheddar, more tea bags and a few slices of ham. He had a late coffee break and tried to read his book but kept thinking about the afternoon, popping up as thoughts occurred to him, first to put water in the ice trays, then to check the glasses to see if they were clean and again to put his shaving things in the bathroom drawer. It was as though he was preparing for an inspection.
He had his usual meal for lunch; bread, cheese and pickled onions, realising at the end that he shouldn’t have eaten the onions, his breath would smell. So he cleaned his teeth then carefully washed the cups and rechecked the glasses. If Claire wanted a gin and tonic the glasses were now nice and shiny. He looked at an ice tray, the water had frozen. Everything was fine. If she had a drink he would have a whisky, not something he normally did in the afternoon but it was nearly Christmas and today might be a bit special.
He put on his best overcoat and arrived at Bonnie’s promptly at 2:00. Claire was ready, dressed in a long, beige overcoat, for the wind was chilly and damp. They turned right, walking along the road going out of the village towards Big End as they left Bonnie’s instead of turning left, which would have taken them to the Crown and the village centre. A newly paved road ran at right angles up the slight slope behind Bonnie’s place. There were two houses on the left and three on the right and the road continued for fifty yards before coming to the T-junction. Four more houses had been built along the right-hand branch that ended in a circle near to the railway station’s parking lot.
They opened the door to the model home that stood by the subdivision’s entrance and walked in. The agent was glad to see them for not many people visited during the week although the weekends were usually busy. He showed them around the house and told Claire about some of the optional extras. He pointed to the site plan and explained that the lot sizes differed and that this affected their price. Then he gave her some house designs. She thanked him then they said goodbye.
“I don’t want one of those houses,” Claire said, as they walked up the slope to the T junction. “I should have told him I wanted a bungalow when we walked in. Too bad they’re are not building any. What do you think about all these houses being built in your backyard Bob?”
“I don’t like it. I’d prefer Small End to stay as it was.”
“But Britain’s population is growing and people have to live somewhere.”
“Yes I know, but I wish they’d live somewhere else, not here.”
“Well I can understand that.??
?
They turned right at the T-junction and walked along the road to the far side of the circle where Bob pointed eastwards. “There’s the railway station Claire. My Dad, and then I, used to be its station master.”
He led her up the steep incline which bordered the back of the station’s parking lot. Walking across the parking lot Bob told her a little of his history; that he was hired as a labourer by the railway when he left school at 15 and had to do all the cleaning and baggage moving in this station; that he was promoted to labourer and ticket clerk after three years. Four years later, when his Dad retired, he was made stationmaster, when he hired another lad to do the hard work. But he soon had to do both jobs as the company was reducing costs and fewer trains stopped at their station. He lived with his Mum and Dad in the house and pointed to it on the south side of the parking lot. Then he married Betty and they rented a small flat in the village. After his parents had died he inherited their house and they moved into it. “Betty died three years ago and I live there by myself now.”
The station was in a bad shape but Bob expected that; no maintenance had been done since the company had closed it.
“We’ll build the new Community Centre in this spot, hopefully next year Claire. Most of the work will be done by volunteers. Joe’s tractor will push the building down and volunteers will collect and clean as many of the bricks that can be reused. We’ll hire people to build the outside walls, hopefully using many of the old bricks to save costs. I’ll probably help build the inside walls and maybe learn how to gyprock them. We’ll have an architect and he will oversee everything. We’ll have to hire professionals to do the electricity, plumbing and heating of course. That, the walls and the roof will be our biggest expense.”
“If I came to live here I could help too.”
“Yes I’m sure you could. Talk to Jane about that. She’s on the organising committee.”
“I will, if I do come.”
“Come and see my house Claire, we’ll go through that gap in the hedge over there. That’s how Dad and I went to and fro. It goes into our back garden.”
They pushed through the slightly overgrown gap and Bob took Claire to his workshop. He unlocked the door and showed her the inside. “I spend most of my time here.”
“You’ve got quite a lot of equipment Bob.”
“I suppose so. Half of it I got from my Dad. He liked making things with wood as well. Those balls and stars are for the Christmas tree. Come and see the house now.” They skirted the vegetable garden and entered the kitchen door.
“It’s a small house, two rooms and a bathroom downstairs and three bedrooms. Just big enough for Betty and me to raise two children. Come and see the lounge. See, here it is, it’s nice enough but very small.”
“It’s a warm and comfortable room Bob.”
“Thanks. Would you like to see upstairs?”
“No I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Would you like a drink?”
“No it’s a bit too early for that. And we have some work to do—the Christmas decorations.”
“Yes that’s right. We’ll go and collect the ornaments then.”
A group of children were singing and dancing on the stage when they entered the hall. They found Jane in the wings and Bob told her that he had some coloured balls and stars to put on the tree. “Could I borrow a stepladder?”
“It’s under the stage Bob, but it’s not long enough to reach the top of the tree. Be careful.”
He was careful and used a stick to hang the ornaments that Claire handed to him when he wanted to put some near the top of the tree.
“All it needs now are some floodlights Bob,” said Jane, when she came out to see what he’d done. “When I looked at the tree last night I could see it needed something more than Christmas lights to make it stand out. The balls and stars do just that. Thanks. There are three floods that Joe used to use in our yard under the stage. Can you install them?”
“All right.”
He found the floodlights and some lengths of outdoor cable. He and Claire positioned the lights, fastened them to wooden pegs driven into the ground and connected the wiring, wrapping the connections where the cable plugs and sockets joined in plastic bags to protect them from the rain.
“I’ll check the light’s position tonight Jane. When it gets dark.”
“I’m going back to Bonnie’s now Bob,” said Claire.
“I’ll come with you. Are you eating at the Crown on Saturday?”
“You bet, about six o’clock?”
“Yes. Okay, see you then.”
After his potpie supper he returned to the Centre and changed the positions of the two floods that were closest to the road. His ornaments glistened under the lights, making Joe’s fir look like a real Christmas tree. Once Bob had returned home he poured himself a whisky and sat in his arm chair. It had been a fine day.
Bob often went to the library in Big End on Fridays. Patrons were allowed to keep books for three weeks but he liked to go each week, even if he didn’t have any books to return, because he liked to read some of the magazines, particularly his favourite, The Wood Crafters’ Journal. He usually caught the 9:45 bus, had a coffee, and then went to the library when it opened at 10. He’d return any books he had finished, look over the shelves or ask if any of the ones he had ordered had arrived, find a nice chair and read until about 11:45. Then he’d have his lunch and a beer at the Fox, chat with the landlord or the acquaintances he had developed over the years, do his shopping and catch the 2:30 bus home.
He was waiting for the bus at the bus stop next to the Crown when Claire drove by. She stopped, asked him where he was going and when he said “Big End” she told him to get in. “I’m going to see if the agents have found anything. Then I’m going to drive to Warmly, go along the coastal road to Twinner, have lunch there, then drive along the back-roads to Bonnie’s. But first I must get some petrol at the garage. Would you like to come? You could tell me about the places we pass.”
“Oh yes, I like to go with you,” Bob said, and climbed in the car. Claire drove to the garage and he introduced her to Tim Sawyer, the owner, who was filling the tank. Then they followed the road past the Crown, Tyne’s Gift Shop and Bonnie’s B&B to Big End, discussing her route as they went.
“The coast road’s a lovely drive Claire. There are lots of good places to see the sea. You must remember how nice it is.”
“Yes I do. We often stopped at Smugglers’ Cove and had a picnic lunch. I’d go for a swim with Toby, our dog, if the water was warm enough.”
As they entered Big End Bob told Claire that he had a book to return to the library.
“I’ll drop you there,” she replied. “I’ll see the agents then do a bit of shopping. I’ll probably be finished about 11:30 and pick you up at the library. Is that okay?”
“Oh yes, that’s fine.”
This was turning out to be another nice day Bob thought, as he walked into the library. It must have been four years since he had been along the coast road. He remembered the bus trip to Twinner he and Betty had taken one afternoon; it was the last outing they had had together.
At 11:30 he was standing outside the library door. By 11:40 he was a bit anxious and quite worried by noon, thinking something has happened to Claire. Then she drove up.
“Sorry I’m late. The second agent had a cottage to show me. It was just what I wanted, with a garage and a big garden. But it was fifteen miles from Small End, so I told him that I’d have to think about it. I’d much rather live in the village but might change my mind if nothing else turns up. I told him I’m not in any hurry to buy but asked him to let me know if anyone else shows an interest in buying the place.”
“That sounds sensible. I think that’s what I would do. Now, would you like to have lunch here or eat later, after we’ve been along the coast?”
“Oh later. Most restaurants keep serving until 2, don’t they?”
“I expect so,” he replied, not really knowing very
much about restaurants.
“All right, let’s eat later.”
He directed her to the road that went to Warmly. Once there, they turned left and drove along the coast road, going slowly and enjoying the views and each other’s company. He told her about the last time he had travelled this way. Claire told him more about the holidays she had taken with her parents.
“So long ago it seems. I still miss them. I expect you still miss Betty.”
“Yes I do,” and they were silent for a while.
They parked the car at the top of the track leading down to Smuggler’s Cove. The trail to the sandy beach was quite steep in places but they managed it without slipping. They had the beach all to themselves and walked to the far end and back, picking up stones and skimming them across the top of the water. The sun shone and there was no wind. It was a lovely day. He almost held out his hand to help Claire climb the steep parts of the path but couldn’t sum up courage enough. She managed very well and he didn’t mind not holding her hand; it was wonderful to be with her anyway.
Claire drove the last few miles to Twinner and they found a small restaurant that backed onto the sea. They were the only ones present and were given a table that overlooked the sea where they could watch the waves breaking over the rocks. Both started with a soup, a tasty cream of mushroom that had been made by the chef who turned out to be the owner. It was followed by a salad, for Claire, and a sandwich for Bob. Both had coffee and Bob paid for the lunch.
It was a short and quiet drive home, as Claire drove through the tiny village of Easing, across the Tusset bridge and into Small End.
“I’ll be an usher at the matinee,” Claire told Bob, as he opened the door. “What are you doing for the show?”
“Nothing but I’ll buy a ticket and you can show me to my seat,” and they laughed. “See you tomorrow.”
Three coaches were parked along the road when Bob arrived at the Community Centre on Saturday afternoon. Bus companies in Bournemouth and Southampton had been running day trips for many years, following the coastal roads and visiting one or two villages for lunch and time to shop or explore. Supper plus a concert or play was included with some of these. Tours were popular and Small End’s Christmas, Spring and Fall performances had been added after several favourable reviews in the local papers a few years ago.
Claire was busy when Bob walked into the theatre so he waited until she was free and able to show him to his seat. He enjoyed the two short plays more than the rest of the program. Jane turned into an outstanding, eccentric housewife in the second play, a comedy. The teenagers’ skit was funny in a very different way. They dressed as witches, ghosts, pirates, goblins and a Father Christmas and gambolled about the stage, fighting each other over treasures, singing and playing guitars. The elementary school children were the quietest performers of the night; they sang several carols and the audience was invited to accompany them on the last two.
“Did you like the show Claire?” asked Bob, as they walked towards the village crossroads with the last of the audience.
“Yes. It is amazing what a small village like Small End can do. Jane was wonderful, wasn’t she?”
“Yes she was. She likes to act and often does in these shows. I don’t know how she finds the time since she’s very active in the organising committee and in helping to run things. Do you act?”
“No. Never tried to. Do you?”
“No. I just carve wood. You can see the trains I made in Rose’s window.”
“That’s Tyne’s Gift Shop?”
“Yes. You’ll pass it on your way to Bonnie’s.”
“I’ll take a look. ‘Bye Bob, I’ll see you at the Crown tonight?”
“Yes. ‘Bye Claire,” and Bob turned right at the Crown as Claire continued towards Bonnie’s B&B.
As usual Bob was the first to arrive at the pub that evening. He added a sixth chair to the table then sat down, facing the door. Claire arrived at six and he stood up, waved her over then bought her a gin and tonic. Joe, Jack and Rose arrived next and Jane five minutes later.
“I thought the matinee went well. How about you Claire. Did you enjoy it?” asked Jane.
“Yes. Very much. I though that you were very good Jane. Excellent, in fact.”
“Thank you. I enjoy acting.”
“You could be a professional if you wanted,” Bob added.
“I was telling Bob how remarkable it is for a small village like Small End to do such things,” said Claire.
“We have lot’s of volunteers.”
“You probably do more than six of them Jane,” said Rose.
“Yes she does,” said Joe. “She’s out many afternoons and three or four evenings each week when they’re preparing for a show.”
“But that’s what I enjoy doing,” said Jane. “Let’s order; this will likely be the last meal I’ll eat out before Christmas!”
They ordered, drank, ate and Bob and Claire told the others what they had been doing on Friday. Joe noticed Bob’s frequent looks at Claire and told Jane as they walked home afterwards that something was going on, or at least starting.
“Don’t be daft,” she said. “Claire is just being nice to him.”
“Oh. I don’t know about that,” said Joe. “Bob seems overly interested in her. You wait and see.”
Even though it looked as if it might rain later that Sunday morning, Bob had his sheets and clothes hanging on the line before his coffee break. Sitting down with his cafeteria and biscuits he returned to his earlier thoughts about the day. Should he ask Claire if she would like to go for a walk with him this afternoon? He felt strange asking himself these kinds of things, something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager. Should he or shouldn’t he? ‘Well I will ask her. The worst thing that could happen would be that she would refuse. No,’ he realised, ‘that wasn’t the worst thing. She might think I’m a bit of a pest. I don’t want that.’ He kept debating the subject but couldn’t decide what to do. He tried to stop thinking about the afternoon and just enjoy drinking his coffee but couldn’t.
During his lunch of soup and crackers he finally decided to leave things to chance. He’d walk past Bonnie’s place and if he saw Claire or Bonnie he would stop and talk, then see what happened. So he put on his rain jacket and his warm tweed cap and set off.
He was disappointed as soon as Bonnie’s came into view. Claire’s car was not there so that answered the question; they wouldn’t be walking together that afternoon.
Bonnie was tidying the perennial beds beside the path that led to her front door and Bob asked her if Claire would be back soon.
“Hello Bob. No, she won’t. She had a phone call last night and told me at breakfast that she would be going to Reading for a couple of days.”
“Oh okay,” said Bob and turned away. She probably had many friends in Reading having lived there all her life. She might be taking some Christmas presents to them. Or even going to a party. Well he’d take the walk he was going to suggest, follow the river path then return along the woods and fields’ footpaths.
He stopped at the village graveyard on his way home to check his parent’s grave. He never put flowers there; his Dad wouldn’t have minded but his mother always said, “give me flowers when I’m living, not when I’m dead. I don’t want them then.” There was nothing to do at the grave so he just stood there remembering again how nice it used to be when he was living with them. Betty didn’t have a grave; she had discussed her death with him and the children and told them that she wanted to be cremated and her ashes shaken into the Tusset. Her wishes were followed, with Bob sliding out to the dip in the big branch that hung over the river where he and Joe often sat when fishing when they were children. Bob let the ashes drop into the flowing waters as everyone watched. He later buried the urn at the back of the garden, beside Betty’s rhubarb patch.
Monday morning he checked his collection of wooden branches and took one that would make a suitable stand for his next bird. By fastening it to the split-log
base at an angle of about thirty degrees one of it’s branches would be almost horizontal. That would be an ideal place to mount the bird.
He cut a small birch log lengthways to make the base, sanded the saw cut, drilled a hole near one end of the log and pushed the branch into the hole. Placing it on the bench he reconsidered his design. ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘that looks perfect.’
Now what kind of bird should he carve? A robin, they were always popular, especially at Christmas or in the Spring. He chose a log of the right shade of brown from his collection and cut off a four inch length. He studied it for several minutes, making sketches to decide which way its head should turn, eventually deciding that it should point slightly to the right and a little upwards as though it was listening to another bird’s call. ‘That should look nice and if it turns out okay I’ll give it to Claire for Christmas.’
Bob began carving the robin after lunch. Mid-afternoon he had a tea break then he returned and worked until five. ‘That’s enough for today,’ he decided. ‘I don’t want to make a mistake.’ He put the carving and his knives on the bench, swept the floor and locked the workshop door. ‘Now what shall I have for supper?’ he asked himself, as he skirted his vegetable patch.
He completed the rough and the fine carving Tuesday morning finally finishing the bird an hour after lunch. He’d make and fit the legs tomorrow. Legs were always difficult, they had to look realistic and be bent at the correct angles to suit the bird and the branch the bird would stand on. He had an early tea and wondered what he should do with the rest of the afternoon. Perhaps Claire has returned from Reading. ‘I could go around to Bonnie’s and check. But no, I can’t keep bothering Bonnie like that. I’ll walk to the Community Centre and see if Jane’s heard anything.’
“No,” Jane said. “I’ve not heard anything. I’ll ask Bonnie when I see her tomorrow afternoon. Maybe she’ll know. Bob, now you’re here, do you have time to reposition the stage spotlights? Our two main helpers, Jim and Ken Smith, have colds and I told them to stay away until they’re better. We need more light stage-right, near the back. That’s where the teenagers have their jazz band. I couldn’t see them very well at the matinee.”
He found the stepladder and climbed it nearly falling off as he did so because one of its legs was standing on a dark book that he hadn’t noticed earlier. He moved several lights until Jane was satisfied. Then he helped her move some of the sets. He was glad he had come.
“How about tomorrow? Do you need any help then? I could come in the afternoon if you like.”
“Yes please, and every afternoon this week if you can.”
“Okay, I’d be glad to.”
He walked home feeling extra happy. It was nice to help at the Centre, he should have volunteered to do that long ago. And, being there, he’d know as soon as Claire returned and wouldn’t have to keep asking people about her.
Wednesday largely followed Tuesday’s pattern. He made several legs for the robin in the morning then selected two. He drilled holes in the bird, cut and adjusted the legs until it’s claws grasped the branch in a realistic fashion then glued everything into place. He decided to slightly colour the robin’s breast. Normally he just darkened his bird’s eyes but robins needed a bit of red. That done, he had lunch.
He walked to the Centre immediately after washing his dishes. Only Jane was there and she asked him check each row and pick up any rubbish. Half way through Bob asked her if she had heard from Claire.
“No I haven’t. If she’s not here would you mind being an usher? There are four buses coming each night and we’ll be very busy.”
“Of course I’ll be glad to help,” though he hoped that Claire would be back by then.
Claire hadn’t returned by the time Bob arrived at the Centre Thursday afternoon. He began worrying. Why isn’t she here? She told Bonnie that she would only be away for a couple of nights. What’s going on? Is she ill? She might have a cold but that wouldn’t stop her from returning would it?
He had an early supper and returned to the Centre. Claire still hadn’t arrived so he was very busy until the performance began. ‘Well,’ he told himself, ‘since she said she would be an usher she must return sometime tomorrow.’ He tried to stop thinking about her but it was hard.
Bonnie walked into the Centre on Friday afternoon with a message to Jane from Claire. Bob was nearby and overheard her say that Claire had called to tell her that she couldn’t return until late Saturday evening. He drew nearer and listened to the rest.
“She said she was very sorry that she couldn’t be there early enough on Saturday to help and that she would explain what had happened when she came. She wanted to know if you’re going to the Crown after the performance and, if so, what time would everyone be there. She’ll phone me Saturday afternoon to find out what was happening.”
Bob was relieved; Claire was all right. But he couldn’t help wondering what had happened. It wouldn’t be just because she wanted to party with her friends. Was it a problem with her furniture? She’d stored enough to set up a two-bedroom bungalow with a company in Reading. Had there been a fire or a break-in? Or could it have been a problem with her mother’s will? Claire might have been talking to the lawyers. That could be it.
“Tell Claire that we’ll be at the Crown around 9:30, Bonnie, and that we’ll probably stay for an hour. We hope she can join us. Did she sound all right?”
“She seemed to be all right. Happy in fact.”
Bob was glad to hear that. ‘It’d be good news, not bad, then. I wonder what it’ll be.’
Bob ushered and helped on the drinks’ table Friday and Saturday evenings. Unfortunately, during the intermission on Saturday evening, someone spilled a cup of tea all over the table and onto his trousers. The tablecloth was soon covered over but he had to go home to change. He helped tidy the hall after the show had finished then went to the Crown with Jane and Rose. Jack and Joe were already there, about to start a third pint. Bob bought drinks for them and he had just sat down when Rose told him that she had sold five trains on Friday and seven that afternoon.
“Twelve! That’s excellent,” said Bob. He quickly calculated how much money this would bring. He got ten pounds and fifty pence for each one because Rose priced them at fifteen pounds and took thirty percent. Twelve times ten fifty was one hundred and twenty six pounds, that, and the ninety four fifty owed for previous sales this month made two hundred and twenty pounds, fifty pence. Not bad! Bob didn’t need the money, his pension covered all his normal expenses. He put what he made into a savings account and planned to give the money to his grandchildren one day.
It was almost ten o’clock when Claire arrived. She strode confidently in, smiling and holding the hand of a smartly dressed man, and walked to their table.
“Hello everybody. I’d like to introduce my husband, Charles.”
Claire named everybody, everybody smiled and the men stood up and shook his hand, then Claire sent him to the bar to buy a bottle of champagne. As soon as he had left she sat down then told them what had happened. Charles was the manager of the bank where she used to work. After he had overcome a nasty divorce they had become lovers. “That was about eight years ago. We didn’t marry because I was looking after my mother. After she died I wanted to marry Charles but he refused. He said he was afraid that if they married it might end in another divorce and he couldn't face that. So, last month, I told him that our romance was finished. That’s when I decided to leave Reading and live somewhere else. But last Saturday evening Charles phoned me and proposed. So that’s what we did, four days ago, in a registry office.”
Charles returned with an opened bottle and some flutes on a tray. “Please, drink to our happiness,” he said, as he filled and handed out glasses.
Everyone lifted their glass, smiled and drank, including Bob, although he was stunned. ‘Why didn’t I foresee something like this happening? I should never have begun thinking that Claire would be interested in me. I’ve behaved like an idiot. It was a s
tupid idea I had. Did I make a fool of myself? No, I don’t think so.’ He’d only made a fool of himself to himself.
He stood up and said he would like to buy another bottle to celebrate this grand happening, offered his seat to Charles and went to the bar, glad to get away for a moment to let his thoughts readjust. Joe watched him as he went and told himself that it might be a good idea to visit Bob tomorrow; he might need a bit of cheering.
As Bob got ready to go to bed that night he felt empty; Claire had somehow added spice to his life. She had given him more to think about than making toys or carving wood. It would be hard to return to doing just that in future. But what else was there? He’d have to make the best of it. ‘Things, I suppose, could have been worse. I might have tried to kiss her when we were on the beach. I’m so glad I didn’t. It’s a good job that Christmas will soon be here; seeing the family again will help to knock sense into my head.’
Bob was sitting on his stool in the workshop Sunday afternoon, staring at a block of wood, intermittently thinking of Claire and wondering how the wood could be shaped into another bird when Joe arrived.
“Hello Joe. It’s not often you visit. Is everything okay?”
“Sure, I came to give you your Christmas present. You can open it now if you like. It’s a book as you can tell. But you’ll have to open it if you want to know what it’s about because I’m not going to tell you. I also want to talk to you about something.”
“Well I’ll not open it until the twenty fifth. Thank you. I’ll give you and Jane yours later this week. What did you want to talk about?”
“Well I don’t know how to put this but Jane and I both think that you should have a holiday. You haven’t had one since Betty died. All you have done is make occasional visits to your children and we worry. Everybody should take a holiday once in a while. So we’d like you to come to Portugal with us in February. We could go together. The holiday costs just over two thousand pounds for a couple. It’ll probably cost twelve or thirteen hundred for someone travelling alone and maybe a bit more for things like drinks and extra meals. What do you think? Would you come? Of course, once we were there we wouldn’t always be together. There would be many other people in the group and you’ll find them all very friendly. Please think about this and come.”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say Joe. Thanks for asking me. I’ll think about it but I’ve never thought about taking a holiday. A holiday in Portugal? What happens in that kind of a holiday?
“I’ve brought the brochure we got from the travel agent. Here, you take it. Look it over and I’ll come around tomorrow afternoon to find out what you think about it. If you’d like to come with us I’ll drive you to Big End and we go to the travel agency. I’ve got to go to town tomorrow anyway, I have to talk to the supermarket produce manager about next year.”
Joe left shortly after that and Bob picked up the brochure. It described several holidays and the one that Joe and Jane were taking was circled. He stopped work, locked the shop and went in for an early supper, thinking all the while about what Joe had said.
He first thoughts were about how he felt about taking a holiday. Did he want to take one? That was the most important question. He’d never thought about taking one. His life used to be fine just as it was but his thoughts were a bit mixed-up now. Claire made him think about things he’d not considered for a long time. Then he thought about the cost. Twelve or thirteen hundred pounds was a lot of money. However he could actually earn three or more times that in a year if he made and sold more toys although he’d have to ask other retailers to sell his productions. That was something else to think about. ‘The big question is, do I want to take a holiday now and then? Maybe I should. It would be nice to go with Joe and Jane. And to go to Europe! Well that would be very interesting.’
It was two o’clock Monday afternoon when Joe arrived. Bob was dressed in a jacket and was waiting for him in his front room.
“Yes, I’ve decided Joe. I’d like to go with you.”
“Oh that’s great. In that case get your cheque book, you’ll have to give them a deposit.”
They discussed the holiday as Joe drove to Big End. The agent had told Joe and Jane a bit more about the group than what was in the brochure. She had taken the trip herself the previous year and could describe the hotel, the restaurants and the included trips.
“I’ll drop you at the agency and go to the supermarket. I’ll be there for about half-an-hour so wait at the agency until I come back,” said Joe.
Bob was lucky to get a place on the tour for he was told that several people had said they were interested but hadn’t decided yet if they would go. “There are three places left. Do you want to book now?”
“Yes I do.”
“Then I need a deposit of three hundred pounds. Do you have a passport?”
“No I don’t.”
“Then you’d better get one quickly. Have your photos taken and printed this afternoon. Get the application form from the Post Office, fill it in and post it as soon as you can, today, if you can.”
Bob wrote the cheque then hurried down the street to the photographer’s shop. He paid extra to have them the next day and the assistant told Bob they’d be ready at nine o’clock. He then went to the Post Office, got the form and completed most of it whilst waiting for Joe in the travel agency. However he had to include his birth certificate and that was at home. There was so much to think about all of a sudden.
On the way back to the village Joe asked him about his clothes. “Do you have a bathing costume and sunglasses?” Bob pencilled a shopping list as they talked. When the kids asked what he wanted for a Christmas present he’d have lots of suggestions for them!
“Oh,” Joe said as he dropped Bob at his gate, “You’re invited to the volunteer’s party at the Community Centre on Wednesday afternoon. It’s at 4 p.m. and lasts about two hours. They’re having the party on the Wednesday because everyone’s busy on the twenty-fourth. Will you come?”
“Eh, yes, I’ll be there.”
“And Jane asked if you’d like to help the stage crew next year. They really need more helpers.”
“I’ll be happy to do that.”
As usual Bob stayed a night with both his children over Christmas. Sam’s daughters, Jane and Bess, loved the kitchen set. They made three cakes and some jam tarts as soon as they had time on Christmas morning. Bob ate one of the cakes and two of the jam tarts and the girls ate the rest.
“You didn’t save any for your Mum or Dad!” said Bob.
“Well we didn’t know if they’d taste okay, Grandpa. There were good, weren’t they?”
“Yes, very good.”
“Then we’ll make some more for them.”
They cooked five more cakes and two dozen jam tarts and ate them for tea. Lilly said they were all very good and that they could help her next time she made cakes.
Regina’s son, Roy, wasn’t interested in his aeroplane until his Dad began constructing it then he helped glue the paper on the wings. However the plane wasn’t finished before Bob returned home so he didn’t know how well it worked.
Whilst visiting his children he looked at his grandchildren’s’ toys. The only wooden toys they had were ones he had made. He was told that they played with them but he wondered how often. The train sets were toys designed for children aged five or six and they must be boring for eight and nine year olds. There was only so much you could do with an engine and three carriages, even if you had two of them.
Regina and Sam were very surprised when he told them he was going to Portugal in February.
“I thought you didn’t need holidays,” said Sam. “What changed your mind?”
“Oh, Joe asked me to join him and Jane on their trip and I said I would. It’ll make a nice change.” He didn’t say anything about Claire, or how she had changed his outlook on life. There wasn’t much to say about her, anyway.
“Well I think it’s a good idea,” said Sam. “You should take a holiday each
year like we do. There’s lots and lots of different places to visit.”
He thought about Sam’s suggestion on the bus going home. It would be nice to look forward to an annual holiday, and look back on it, afterwards, though how could he pay for them? It was not sensible to spend his savings on vacations. The grandchildren might need them or he might need them when he was old and needed looking after. He’d have to make more money and sell more toys. He could ask a shop in Big End to sell them for him. Rose sold all she could already. What would she think if he were to do that? Would she mind? He’d have to ask her. That’d be the easiest way to make more money. Of course, he’d probably get tired of making train sets. Maybe he should make something else, something that would appeal to eight- or nine-year olds. He’d have to think about that.
Since he had nearly an hour to wait in Big End before the next bus to Small End left he looked in two toy shops, hoping they might suggest things he could make. All the toys of the kind he could build were made of plastic. He thought about making them in wood but quickly forgot that idea; it would take too long and they wouldn’t be as nice as the plastic ones. Also he’d have to charge more for his and no one would buy them. So he’d have to make trains.
Jane and Joe invited him to have dinner with them between Christmas and the New Year and, in return, he invited them, Rose and Jack for an afternoon of drinks and snacks. It wasn’t until January first, when he was about to make a New Year’s resolution ‘to make more trains,’ that he remembered he should first ask Rose if she would mind him selling them in Big End.
Saturday night at the pub he asked her, first telling her why he wanted to do this.
“It is a very good idea Bob. I don’t mind at all. All the trains we sell are bought by our villagers or by tourists that come to the village. I’m sure they’ll still buy from us even if you also sold in Big End. I think I know someone who might sell them for you. I’ll phone her on Monday and ask, though I think she’s on holiday right now.”
“Oh, thanks, Rose.”
“I’ll tell you what she says as soon as I hear.”
“What else do you think I could make Rose? I’ll soon get tired making trains and carriages.”
“What about your birds Bob? You can sell them too.”
“But they take too long to make. I can make two train sets in the time it takes to carve a bird.”
“Well young children are often interested in farm or zoo animals. Could you make some of these?”
“I could probably make them but I suspect each one would take a long time and I’d have to charge too much. I don’t think they’d sell if they were expensive. I’ll look at some of my old wood working magazines, there’s bound to be something there.”