Wednesday March 19
“If I were going to write a book, it would not be about Upper
Grumpsfield. I would not know where to start.”
“I did not know you were even planning a book, Dorothy,”
said Cleo. “Have some more coffee.”
“So you have not only thought about it, Dorothy, you’ve
started writing. Read some of it!”
“Should I?”
“Of course. Read what you’ve written and forget I’m
listening.”
Cleo was thinking that a retired piano teacher like
Dorothy who had to take charge of entertainment and loved chasing the criminal
element in the village was too pernickety to overlook details the reader might
not want to know about, but she refrained from saying so.
***
While she was talking, Dorothy had taken out a pile of printed
sheets and put them on the table. Her eagerness to read it all out loud was unmistakeable.
“Start then, Dorothy. I’m curious.”
Dorothy took a deep breath, cleared her throat and started.
“To be truthful, I am not the only one who thinks that
the turbulences in the village have more than taken their toll or claimed their
victims, this time only weeks before the Christmas celebrations were due to be
held.
It was a horrific time. The Spiritual Revue that our
late vicar had helped to organize had to be postponed out of respect for him
after he was murdered, albeit accidentally, we hope.
I was the only person in the village with enough
energy to get cultural events up and running, could tell you what would happen
in the future."
“Then I go on a bit
about village celebrities. You won’t
want to hear all that, I’m sure.”
***
No, and you can’t write a historical book about a village
and fill it with stuff about people.”
“You’ll have to edit it all for me, Cleo.”
“I’ll be glad to,” said Cleo and Dorothy continued with her
reading.
***
“At times like these, I truly miss my colleague Laura
Finch, whose untimely and dramatic murder meant that I was left to go it alone
as far as the culture of Upper Grumpsfield is concerned. Laura was lazy, bless
her soul, but she got things theoretically organized. I did the hard practical work,
of course.”
***
“Oh dear, no,“ said Cleo. “You can’t have yourself and Laura
as heroines in the book. I think you’ll have to start again. I really can’t
approve of the concept.”
Dorothy was crestfallen. That was not what she had expected
to hear.
***
“Don’t you want to hear what else I’ve written?” she said,
and Cleo realised that she had deeply offended Dorothy.
“I know you are dismayed" she said, ”but you want my honest
opinion, don’t you?”
“The book does get better.”
“OK. Read a bit more.”
***
“In the end, there was no Christmas entertainment
except for a carol sing-along in the church. Rehearsals for the show finally got
going in the New Year and now we only have a few weeks to go before Easter. We
can’t play in the summer because that’s holiday time for most of the cast,
which means that they go away somewhere, or sit in their gardens, or simply
decide to skip the drudgery of rehearsals. Most of the audience will also be on
holiday at home or elsewhere in the summer.”
***
“I never thought of that, Dorothy,” Cleo commented. “It’s
high time to get the show on the road then!”
Dorothy agreed.
“But let’s make a list and leave out the prose for a bit,
shall we?” said Cleo. There was no tactful way of stopping her friend reading more od what she was starting to class as ranting on.
***
“After the disappearance and
subsequent murder of the vicar, a young curate was sent to babysit the parish
of St Peter until a permanent replacement can be found (always assuming the church
is kept open). I greatly admire people with spirit, so I felt like cheering
when she announced from the pulpit that she did not want to hear any more
tales, true or untrue, about what had happened to the previous incumbent. If
they wanted her to stay, those guilty of making mischief should shut up and
mind their own business.”
***
“How right,” said Cleo ”I was treated like an outcast when I
first came over.”
***
“The curate shamed several garrulous people to
silence, not least because her words appeared in large letters on the front page
of all the national newspapers as a shining example of the fight against
hypocrisy and racism, and she was even interviewed for the BBC. Miss Baker said
she was the first female curate in the diocese and did not want to be the last.
She was ashamed of people making trouble for the five sons the vicar had left
behind. She herself had told them the vicarage was their home and they were
welcome there”
***
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Cleo, wondering just how long
Dorothy’s account was going to last.
***
“To the joy of a small group of Muslim families who
had settled in Upper Grumpsfield, Mary Baker invited them to share the parish
church, which was short of Church of England parishioners to fill the pews and
church coffers, though quite a few have joined lately out of curiosity, Mary Baker
being young and pretty. As is often the case, good-looking people often attract
more attention than the other kind, so her presence has given the village good
media publicity as well as improving church finances.”
***
“You are really
hitting the nail on the head, Dorothy!”
***
“Upper Grumpsfield has perked up recently. New shops are
opening, Even the Post Office has announced that it will be returning to the
village in force with banking facilities. The only person to resent the
emergence of Upper Grumpsfield as a force to be reckoned with is Mr
Cobblethwaite, the mayor of Middlethumpton, who was hoping to get the title of
Lord Mayor attached to his name if he talked to the right people and retained
the taxes and loyalty of surrounding villages, I understand.”
***
“That’s enough of a reason for Upper Grumpsfield to sail
free of Middlethumpton,” agreed Cleo. “Is that what you are aiming for?”
“I hadn’t thought of it in that light, Cleo.”
“But you are going on bit. I don’t think everyone will want
to read all that.”
“But listen to this, Cleo!”
***
“We villagers have had annoying confrontations with Mr
Cobblethwaite in the past. In his opinion, nothing should happen without his
knowledge and approval, which automatically also means that nothing should
happen that he himself has not thought of first. Outlying villages are
officially under the jurisdiction of what he considers to be his town hall. It
should stay that way, he insists. He is appalled by the intention of Upper
Grumpsfield to become independent.
Our Independence Committee has now applied
in writing to break away from Middlethumpton and its greedy mayor and we even
hope to get back the name ‘Grumpsfield’ like in the old days. We will become a proper
town again, with a town centre and our own mayor. We will retain all the rates
and taxes of the villages who want to be part of our town. Where other cities are
gobbling up villages for those reasons, Upper Grumpsfield is doing exactly the
opposite.”
***
“Wow! That’s a lot of
mischief-making, Dorothy.”
“Do you think so, Cleo? Shall I cross it all out?”
“No, not all of it. People need to know a bit about what
goes on. You could write a brochure instead of a book.”
“That’s a brilliant idea, Cleo, but I also want to write a
blow-by-blow account of our next crime cases.”
I hope Gary approves,” said Cleo. “I’m not even sure that I would
approve. Our blow-by-blow reports are not normally publicized.”
“But I want Gary to know how much it all means to us.”
“Gary already knows. He has come to appreciate our work. The
cops know that they can’t do what a private sleuth can.”
“He loves you, Cleo. He didn’t always like our work.”
“He might love us both, Dorothy, but that husband of mine is
a harsh critic.”
“To finish my preamble I wrote a bity more personally.
***
“Hard-liner ’Christians’ who insisted that there was
only one God and that was theirs were invited by Mary Baker to a debate in the
church-hall. No one could prove that there was any God at all, it transpired,
let alone one who had been more or less built into St Peter’s.”
***
“My view exactly, Dorothy. It’s a case of suspended reality
and that is not compatible with rationality.”
“I’ll have to think about that, Cleo.”
***
“So we will all just get on with it,” Mary Baker said
in conclusion. She ordained that “our Muslim friends will use the Church from
Tuesday to Thursday and on their feast days from February the first.”
***
“Sure. One day, the Muslims will build their own mosque and
move out,” commented Cleo.
“That’s exactly what Mary Baker said.”
***
“The new curate has advised
everyone to go along with the cooperative idea because the survival of this
parish church is under threat. If it closes, we’ll all be out.”
***
“Wow. Are you sure she said all that?”
“I was there, Cleo.”
Cleo mused that there really was a feeling of renewal in the village.
***
"According
to a large majority of residents, Mary Baker should be the new Mayor of
Grumpsfield once it had been given town status. She had enough clout and her
rhetoric was far superior to Mr Cobblethwaite’s."
***
"Don't put Mr Cobblethwaite into your book, Dorothy."
"I won't."
After all, that mayor had spent his time propping up
whatever bar had been opened at an event or imbibing copious amounts of plonk
in some clandestine corner or other. His rhetoric had been slurred and jumbled.
Needless to say, Dorothy could not write that in a book.
***
“There’s another topic open for debate,” said Cleo. "Quite apart from Cobblethwaite enjoying decades of mayordom because he's corrupt and has the right people backing him
“I can’t think of one,” said Dorothy.
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea for a curate to become
Mayor,” said Cleo.
“Why not? In the USA a film or TV reality star can become
President, but of course, it helps if you are male.”
***
Dorothy was quite charmed by the idea of Muslims enhancing
the culture of the village, especially as one or two of her Muslim friends
played interesting musical instruments and had gone through similar experiences
to those of the slaves whose fate would be told in the revue.
***
“So what do you think, Cleo? Should I continue with the
writing?”
“Shorten the preamble,” said Cleo, hoping to soften the blow
of criticizing Dorothy’s tiresome prose."Or cut it out altogether.
“I suppose you’re right, though it has taken me a long time to write it. I can’t conjure up crime or drama
just to have something to write about.”
***
“So why don’t you write a crime story instead?” Cleo suggested.
“I know one person I’d like to see the back of, and that is
Mr Daniel Defoe-Drummond,” said Dorothy. “His rehearsals for the Revue are dreadful.”
“You’d better leave your pistol at home then, Dorothy, in
case you get mad enough to use it.”
“I’m never mad, Cleo. Only annoyed,” said Dorothy, misunderstanding
the American turn of phrase.
***
Cleo did not know whether to be amused or sceptical. What
was meant to be a short meeting had just turned into an hour-long reading
session. Cleo thought her idea of issuing a short brochure rather than a book was
a better one. Traders could advertise, there could be an advisory column and
Gary would approve if mention of crime were kept to a minimum. They could even
drop more hints about police representation in the village. After all, there
was none and crime figures were rising. Cleo made up her mind to see to it that
the text was kept short and readable. The main difficulty would be getting Dorothy to drop her verbosity. And that, Cleo thought, would be extremely difficult.
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