Helen Simonson - Major Pettigrew's Last Stand

“I quite understand,” said the Major. “Most people round here have a quite ridiculous dislike of any kind of change and can make themselves a nuisance.”

“Well, exactly,” said the man.

“When I shoot with Dagenham on the eleventh, I’ll have to ask him for a private peek at the plans,” said the Major. “I’m quite interested in architecture-in an amateur capacity, of course.”

“I can’t promise they’ll have all the architectural plans by then,” said the man. “I’m just the engineer. We have to do all the top fields, and then there’s the traffic studies for the commercial area, which takes time.”

“Yes, of course the commercial will take some months, I imagine.” The Major felt quite faint. Behind him, he could feel Alice’s eye at the telescope watching. “What should I tell people if they ask?”

“If they’re persistent, I tell ’em it’s drains,” said the man. “Everyone’s in favor of drains.”

“Thanks very much,” said the Major, turning away. “I’ll tell Lord Dagenham you’re on top of things.”

“And tell ’em not to try pulling out my stakes,” said the man. He cocked his head at the buzz of a small plane approaching and jabbed his thumb skyward. “Aerial photos of every completed site. Usually beats the local vandals.”

Back behind his own gate, the Major felt a small spasm of grief. He had been feeling better in recent days and it was a surprise to find that his sorrow over his brother had not gone away but had been merely hiding somewhere waiting to ambush him on just such an occasion. He felt his eyes water and he pressed the fingernails of his free hand into his palm to stop it. He was keenly aware of Alice, crouched behind the hedge.

“My informant is back,” said Alice into a cell phone. The Major was sure she would have preferred a two-way radio. “I’ll debrief right away.”

“I’m afraid you may be right,” said the Major, being careful not to look down at her. He gazed instead at the sunlit rear façades of the houses camped out like so many sleeping cows along the edge of the field. “It’s houses for sure-and some commercial component.”

“Good God, it’s a whole new town,” said Alice into the phone. “Not a moment to lose, of course. We must take action right away.”

“If anyone asks you, please tell them I said it was drains,” said the Major, preparing to retire to the house for a second cup of tea. He felt quite ill.

“You can’t just walk away from this,” said Alice. She stood up, phone still pressed to the ear. He wondered who was on the end of the phone and pictured a group of faded hippies, with ripped jeans and balding heads. “You must join us, Major.”

“I’m as upset as you are,” said the Major. “But we don’t have all the facts. We should contact the council and find out where we stand regarding planning permission and so on.”

“Okay, the Major will head up communications,” said Alice into the phone.

“No, really…” began the Major.

“Jim wants to know if you could whip up a few posters,” Alice said.

“That would be rather too arty for me,” said the Major, wondering who Jim was. “Not one for the Magic Markers.”

“The Major is reluctant to join us, officially,” said Alice into her phone. “With his connections, maybe he can be our unofficial man on the inside?” There was some excited chatter from the other end of the phone. Alice looked the Major up and down. “No, no, he’s completely reliable.”

She turned away and the Major could barely hear what she was saying behind the broad curtain of her curly hair. He leaned toward her. “I’m prepared to vouch for him,” he heard her say.

The Major found it slightly preposterous but touching that Alice Pierce should be vouching for him. He could not be sure that he would be able to do the same for her if called upon. He perched on the side arm of the bench that sheltered under the dividing hedge and let his head flop onto his chest with a sigh. Alice shut her cell phone and he could feel her looking at him.

“I know you love this village more than anyone,” she said. “And I know how much Rose Lodge means to you and your family.” She spoke with an unusual gentleness. He swiveled to look at her and was touched to see it was entirely genuine.

“Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been quite a while in your house, too.”

“I’ve been able to be very happy here,” she said. “But it’s only been twenty years, which hardly counts in this village.”

“It makes me feel old and foolish-I assumed progress couldn’t touch our little corner of the world,” he said.

“It’s not about progress,” she said. “It’s about greed.”

“I refuse to believe Lord Dagenham would give up his lands like this,” said the Major. “He’s always supported the countryside. He’s a shooting man, for heaven’s sake.” Alice shook her head as if at his naïveté.

“We’re all in favor of preserving the countryside until we see how much money we can make by adding on, adding up, or building down the back of the garden. Everyone’s green except for their one little project, which they assure us won’t make much difference-and suddenly whole villages are sprouting attic windows and two-car garages and mum-in-law extensions.” She rubbed her hands through her hair, shaking out the curly mass and smoothing it backward. “We’re all as guilty as Dagenham-he’s just on a bigger scale.”

“There is his obligation to stewardship,” said the Major. “I’m sure he will realize and change his mind.”

“When that fails, we fight,” she said. “It’s never over until you’ve charged the bulldozers and been thrown in jail.”

“I admire your enthusiasm,” said the Major. He stood up and threw the dregs of his tea over a dead dahlia. “But I cannot, in good conscience, assist you with any civic unrest.”

“Civic unrest? This is war, Major,” said Alice, chuckling at him. “Man the barricades and break out the Molotov cocktails!”

“You do what you must,” said the Major. “I shall write a stern letter to the planning officer.”

That afternoon, the Major walked down to the postbox with his letter and stood for some time, envelope in hand. Perhaps he had been too blunt in his request. He had excised the words “we demand” from several places and replaced them with “we request” but still he felt he was putting the planning officer on the spot. At the same time, he had feared Alice would not look kindly on his being overly polite, so he had added a phrase or two about the need for transparency and the council’s responsibility for the stewardship of the land. He had toyed with “sacred land” but to avoid confusion with fields owned by the church had made it “ancient” at the last minute. He had also debated copying the letter directly to Lord Dagenham but decided that this might be put off, perhaps until a date after the duck shoot, without any serious moral compromise. The insertion of a crisp folded letter into a fresh envelope always gave him pleasure, and as he looked at the envelope now, he decided his words were adequately composed and the letter suitably concise and grave. He popped the envelope into the box with satisfaction and looked forward to the entire matter being resolved in an amicable manner between reasonable men. The letter posted, he was free to look at the village shop and decide, as if hit by a sudden idea, to go in and inquire after Mrs. Ali and her nephew.

Inside the shop, Mrs. Ali was seated at the counter pushing small squares of silk into the raffia baskets that she usually filled with sandalwood candles and packets of tuberose and eucalyptus bath salts. Wrapped in cellophane and a silk bow, they were popular gifts. The Major had bought two the year before to give to Marjorie and Jemima for Christmas.