Ann Purser - Threats At Three

Tony dried his hands, took his jacket off a hook in the hall, and came into the room to say goodbye. “And so I did,” he said, bending to kiss the top of her head. He winced, finding it increasingly difficult to bend down to be on a level with her, face-to-face. “So I did,” he repeated, “but now things seem to be moving. I met Derek in the street, and he said there’d been a good few entries for the soap box race, and Floss has got them going at the Youth Club with all kinds of extra plans for raising money. Should be an interesting meeting tonight.”

“How about that new chap, Gavin Whatsit?”

“Haven’t heard any more from him,” Tony said. “Maybe he’s one of those blow hot and cold types. Didn’t get his own way at first, so lost interest. I don’t know, Irene, but I’ll tell you more when I get back. Must go, love, else I’ll be late.”

As it happened, Tony caught up with Gavin Adstone halfway along the High Street. “Evenin’ squire,” Tony said. “Lovely evening. How’s the family?” In spite of his doubts about Gavin’s use to the committee, he was beginning to like the chap and there was room for a sleeper, so long as he woke up before the event.

“All well, thanks,” Gavin replied with a smile. “Bit of an emergency this morning, when Kate had to take Cecilia to the doc. But it was nothing much, thank goodness. This parent lark is quite a worry, isn’t it! Do you have children, Tony?”

“No, sadly,” Tony said, and changed the subject. It had been Irene’s greatest wish to have a family, and none had come along.

“Here we are then. Look, there’s Chairman Derek, looking out for us. Let’s hope we can make some sensible decisions tonight,” Gavin said, and stood back to allow Tony to go in first. It was polite things like that, thought Tony, that made you think maybe Gavin’s heart was in the right place.

Hazel was the last to arrive, and she stood for a moment, looking across the playing field, with its fenced-off swings and slides for the younger children. There were enough teenagers to make a football game tonight, and a group of giggling girls watched them from the sidelines. It was warm, the trees moved gently in the evening breeze, and a benevolent sun still lingered. She looked up at the village hall and thought of all it had seen in its long life. It was part of the village scene, and as she went through the door to join the others she felt a renewed determination to keep it going. How awful to see it razed to the ground and a ghastly new brick-built monstrosity in its place!

“Right,” said Derek. “We’re all here, so let’s make a start. Any apologies, Hazel?”

“Not if we’re all here,” muttered Gavin under his breath.

“No? Then let’s have the minutes of the last meeting.”

Hazel read them smoothly, aware that she had done a good job. Not too verbose, just the facts.

“Matters arising,” said Derek, looking around.

“I think the rest will come under that heading,” Hazel said. “Shall we have a progress report from each member?”

“Good idea,” said Derek. “We know about the Youth Club keen to enter a soap box, and getting help with its design an’ that. Now the others. Would you like to start, Floss?”

“Yep, thanks, Derek. Well, I braved the group of kids who lurk behind the village hall, and asked them if they had any ideas for the soap box day. Much to my surprise two or three were really keen, and after a bit of persuasion, the others began to join in. One of them had seen a bucking bronco at the church fete in Waltonby. People pay to have a ride, and if they can stay on the horse longer than three minutes they get a pound back. It’s not a real horse, of course, but it bucks mechanically and it’s difficult to stay put. Apparently it’s very popular with the pony girls in the village, as well as almost everybody else! They made a mint over at Waltonby. One of the kids knows where to hire the horse.”

“Well done, Floss,” Derek said.

“There’s more,” she said proudly. “Once they’d started thinking, they got fired up, and said they could recruit other friends and there’d be twenty or so. So I’ve divided up the kids into the various projects they’ve come up with, and there’s five teams, four or five in each, and I’ve said the most profitable team gets a day out at Alton Towers. My dad says he’ll sponsor that.”

“Brilliant, Floss! Thank him very kindly from us,” Derek said. “So what are the other projects, and how much space do they want in the playing field?”

“Well, as well as the bucking bronco, there’s the tug-of-war, always popular with Young Farmers, and then ‘pelt the vicar’ with a wet sponge.” Here she looked tentatively at Father Rodney, who gulped bravely and said it was fine by him.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Derek said. “Don’t want him getting pneumonia.”

“Oh, I’ve done it before, in my last parish,” the vicar said. “You have a big board in front of you, with a funny figure painted on it, and a hole for you to put your face through, then you shut your eyes and pray. Ritual mortification of the flesh, I suppose you’d call it!”

Gavin laughed in spite of himself. It was a simple idea, but he looked at the vicar and saw the potential.

“Right, thanks, Vicar,” Derek said. “So what else, Floss?”

“Those were mostly the lads’ ideas. The girls suggested ‘dance ’til you drop,’ a sort of marathon, where each person is timed, and, a bit like the bronco, if you go on more than twenty minutes, you get a pound back. They’d need a reasonable space, and one of the girls said her dad could get hold of a wooden dance floor they could put down. They’d have more than one dancer at a time o’ course. Probably quite a few. Could be quite an entertainment to watch, as well as raising money.”

“Bags me first go,” said Hazel. “I love it, Floss!”

“There was one I had some doubts about,” continued Floss, “but I said I’d ask the committee. They suggested a ‘bonny baby show.’ Certificates for all, and each one having a studio type photo taken. Entry money reasonably high, and a parade of bonny babies at the end of the afternoon. They said it would be best if they didn’t do it themselves, but it would be one for responsible adults to organise.” She did not report their comments about responsible adults, most of which were decidedly uncomplimentary.

“Sounds good,” Hazel said. “Why the doubts, Floss?”

“I know why,” said Tony Dibson, smiling. “We used to have one of those bonniest baby competitions at the church fete, but it nearly caused a punch-up one year. This beefy mother from Fletching claimed the judge picked a Farnden baby that was not nearly as bonny as hers. Then the winning mother started arguing, and it took Mrs. T-J to sort them out. Which she did, o’ course, with no trouble at all!”

“Ah, yes, Tony,” Derek said. “But this one wouldn’t be competitive, would it, Floss? They’d all get certificates and a photo. Could be a real attraction, an’ there’s plenty of girls with babies in the villages combined. I reckon we should go for that one. For all of ’em, Floss. You’ve done really well.”

“Not me,” said Floss modestly. “It was the kids. They’re not a bad lot, whatever people say.”

Gavin cleared his throat, and Hazel was sure he blushed. “Um, I’d like to enter Cecilia straightaway for the ‘bonny babies.’ She could be an example to the others,” he added proudly.

“Good lad,” Tony said.

“Shouldn’t we have a vote on all the projects?” Hazel said, remembering her duty as secretary.

“So we should,” Derek said. “Right, then. Any objections to any of the ideas? Or shall we take a block vote?” There was a general nodding of heads, and the vote was unanimously in favour.