Winter in Thrush Green Read Online Free PDF Page B

Miss Watson had feared, the word had flown round Thrush Green with exceptional rapidity. It was too much to hope that the visit of Doctor Lovell, and later, the sight of a policeman walking up the path to the school-house, should pass unnoticed, on a fine Monday morning, in Thrush Green. Neighbours shaking mats, pegging out the week's washing or
simply gossiping over the hedges, saw the signs and spread the tales.

    'Probably got a touch of this 'ere flu that's going round,' said one, as Doctor Lovell strode briskly towards the school-house door. 'It's gastrical this year,' she added, airing her medical knowledge.
    'Hasn't looked well for weeks,' said another. 'Very tiring life, that teaching. Everlasting bawling at the kids–must knock you up in the end.'
    'Poor Miss Watson, wonder what ails her? At a funny age, of course, for a spinster,' commented a third matron, taking a swipe at her screaming ninth and youngest, and feeling unaccountably superior at the same time.
    Within ten minutes of Doctor Lovell's appearance Thrush Green had burdened Miss Watson with every ill from ear-ache to epilepsy, and felt for her an all-embracing sympathy.
    Within half an hour the policeman arrived. He was hot and breathless, having pushed his bicycle up the steep hill from Lulling. He vanished inside the house and the temperature rose again on Thrush Green.
    'If it weren't that Doctor Lovell's so very particular I'd say she'd been assaulted,' said one neighbour earnestly to another, damning in one breath the morals of the rest of the medical profession and Miss Watson's modest charms.
    'Could be attempted suicide,' said another, her eye brightening. 'Teaching's enough to turn your head at times. You can't wonder with children round you all day.'
    'That's true,' agreed her crony, nodding her head sagely. 'Poor Miss Watson's probably come over violent and Doctor's sent for the police. Unless, of course, she's done something real bad and just confessed it to the doctor—'
    The tongues wagged gaily. By the time the children came out to play at ten-thirty Thrush Green had Miss Watson convicted of every crime from forgetting to renew her television licence-this was the most charitable suggestion–to slitting young Doctor Lovell's throat with the bread-knife whilst in the grip of a violent brainstorm brought on by twelve years' non-stop teaching. This was the opinion of those who allowed their thoughts to be coloured by the recent reading of their Sunday newspapers. There was certainly enough to keep Thrush Green pleasurably amused for many happy days, and by the time Doctor Lovell had departed, and the policeman had stowed away his pocket-book with poor Miss Watson's statement in it and a detailed description of the missing purse, wallet–and, alas–the jewel case and a small gilt alarm clock, there were enough rumours flying round the green to last a year.

    As Ella Bembridge said afterwards: 'It never rains but it pours,' for before the children returned to school at ten forty-five prompt, another momentous happening shook Thrush Green.
    A large Daimler car glided to the gate of the corner house. Out stepped a tall military figure who stood looking about him, just long enough for the watchful eyes of his future neighbours to notice his sunburnt face and white moustache, before taking out a door-key, hurrying up the path and letting himself into his new home.
    For a brief moment Miss Watson's blaze of glory was extinguished in the dazzling light of this new event.
    At last, the corner house was occupied.

4. Plans for a Party
    S OME days after this excitement, Ella and Dimity sat at the dining-room table writing invitations. It would be more truthful to say that Dimity was doing the writing, while Ella conned a list and occasionally thumped a stamp on the addressed envelopes.

    'About time we did this,' commented Ella, watching Dimity's careful pen inscribing sherry in the left-hand corner. 'How long since we gave a blowout,