(2/20) Village Diary Read Online Free PDF Page A

need for a story. Books supply the panacea to this fever for those who read; but for the people who find reading distasteful, or are too sleepy after a day's work in the open air to bother with books, then this living drama which unfolds, day by day, constitutes one long enthralling serial, with sub-plots, digressions, flash-backs and many delicious aspects of the same incident as seen through various watchers' eyes.
    The countryman, too, has more rime than his town cousin, to indulge in his observations and speculations. To the lone man ploughing steadily up and down a many-acred field, the sporadic activity of the dwellers in the cottage on the hill-side acquires an enormous importance to him. He will see smoke coming from the wooden shed's chimney, and surmise that it is washing day. He will watch the old woman cutting lettuce from her garden and speculate on such things as cold meat for midday dinner—it all fits in. Later, as the garments billow on the line he will recognize the checked shirt that young Bill was wearing, American fashion, at the pub on Saturday night and wonder if his missus's first has arrived yet. And it may well be that it is he who first sees the brave white fluttering of new nappies and night-gowns which semaphore the tidings that a new soul has arrived to join in the fun and feuds of Fairacre.
    Of course it is irritating at times to find that all one's personal affairs are an open book to the village, but, personally, I have two ways of mitigating the nuisance. The first is to face the fact that one has no real private life in a village and so it is absolutely necessary to comport oneself as if in the public gaze the whole time. The second is to let people know a certain amount of one's business so that their minds have a nice little quid, as it were, to chew on. There is then a sporting chance that any really private business may be overlooked. On no account, in a village, can one begin a sentence with: 'Don't let it go any further, but—' One has to face this consuming interest squarely. It doesn't worry me now, though it did in my early days here as headmistress; but I have reminded myself many times, that either—none must know, or all.

    The vicar called in and said what delightful news it was about John Parr. A man needed companionship, particularly as he grew older, and would I be able to go to tea at the Vicarage one day next week (he had a note somewhere from his wife, but it seemed to have vanished—at times he half believed in poltergeists) to meet that charming fellow who lived above Parr? I said that I should look forward to it immensely.
    I drove alone, for the first rime today, to Caxley to do a little shopping. As I approached the bus stop, I overtook Mrs Pringle stumping along, black shiny shopping bag on arm, and offered her a lift.
    'Most likely flying in the face of Providence,' she remarked morosely, as she settled her bulk beside me. Til never forget going out with my old aunt the first time she took her car out alone. Phew! That was a nightmare, I can tell you! She started learning late in life, like you, and never had no consecration, if you follow me.'
    I said I didn't, edging round a disdainful cat that was washing its legs in the road.
    'Well, couldn't never do two things together like. Come she put one pedal down, she hadn't got consecration enough to put the other.'
    'Is she all right now?' I asked—foolishly enough.
    'Oh no!' said Mrs Pringle, with the greatest satisfaction, 'she lost the use of her right arm as a result of the accident. Not that the doctors didn't try, mark you. Speak as you find, I says, and it was months afore they really give her up. Pulleys, massage, deep-ray, X-ray, sun-ray—'
    'Hooray,' I said absently, but lucidly Mrs Pringle was well launched.
    'Why, she was in that hospital for nigh on three months, and the doctors said theirselves that they'd never come across a woman what bore pain so brave before. Of course, she was only driving very