changed.'
Bob looked happier.
'You can't do better than to talk to Alice. She remembers clear-starching and goffering irons and all that sort of laundry lark. She sometimes did a bit for old Miss Parr. She had white cambric knickers with hand-made crochet round the legs. They took a bit of laundering, I gather.'
I said I should love to hear Alice's reminiscences, and meant it.
'I could put you wise to old poaching methods,' said Bob meditatively. 'Josh Pringle, over at Springbourne, he was the real top-notcher at poaching. He'd be a help too, but I think he's in quod at the moment. He's as bad as our ...'
Here he broke off, having recalled that young Joe was the son of the malefactor he had been about to mention.
'As I was saying,' he amended with a cough, 'Josh is as bad as the rest of them, but he'd remember a lot about poaching times, and dodging the police.'
I began to wonder if I had better abandon my plans for enlightening future generations. Danger seemed to loom everywhere.
'Then there was that chap that worked for Mr Roberts' old dad,' went on Bob, now warming to the subject. 'Can't recall his name, but Alice'd know.'
'What about him?'
'He hung himself in the big barn.'
This did not seem to me to be a very fruitful subject for my project. Dramatic, no doubt, but too abrupt an ending.
"What about the clothes you wore as a child? Or the games you played?' I said, trying to steer the conversation in the right direction.
'Ah! You'd have to ask my Alice about that,' said Bob rising.
I said I would.
When they had departed, Bob with a message to Alice to ask if I might call to have a word with her about my literary hopes and Joe with the remains of the WI cake, I decided to ring John Jenkins.
I told him about my conversation with Bob Willet and my plan to visit Alice. Would it be convenient to borrow the tape recorder after I had seen her?
'Have it now,' urged John. 'I never use the thing, and if you've got it handy you may get on with the job.'
It sounded as though he doubted my ability to go ahead with the project.
'I'll bring it over straight away,' he said briskly, 'and show you how it works.'
He was with me in twenty minutes. I was relieved to see that the equipment was reassuringly simple, just a small oblong box which, I hoped, even I could manage.
'I think this plan of yours is ideal,' he said when he saw that I had mastered the intricacies of switching on and off. 'It's the sort of thing you can do in your own time, and there must be masses of material.'
'If it's suitable,' I commented, and told him about Bob Willet's memories of Mrs Pringle's youthful escapades and Josh Pringle's brushes with the law. He was much amused.
'Yes, I can see that a certain amount of editing will be necessary.'
He was silent for a moment and then added: 'You could tackle another local subject, I suppose. I mean some historical event like the Civil War. There were a couple of splendid battles around Caxley, and one of the Beech Green families played a distinguished part.'
This I knew from the church pamphlet I was altering, but I expressed my doubts about my ability to do justice to such a theme.
'I never know,' I mused, 'which side I should have supported.'
'As Sellar and Yeatman said in 1066 and All That , the Royalists were Wrong but Wromantic, and the Cromwellians were Right but Repulsive.'
'Exactly. On the whole I think I'd have been a Royalist. Their hats were prettier.'
'So it's no-go with a historical dissertation?'
'Definitely not. I'll try my more modest efforts.'
I looked at the clock.
'Heavens! It's half past seven. You must be hungry.'
I mentally reviewed the state of my larder. A well-run pantry should surely have a joint of cold gammon ready for such emergencies. Mine did not.
'I could give you scrambled eggs,' I ventured.
'My favourite dish,'John said gallantly. "You do the eggs and I'll do the toast.'
And so we ended the evening at the kitchen table, and were very merry.
The next time
Bob looked happier.
'You can't do better than to talk to Alice. She remembers clear-starching and goffering irons and all that sort of laundry lark. She sometimes did a bit for old Miss Parr. She had white cambric knickers with hand-made crochet round the legs. They took a bit of laundering, I gather.'
I said I should love to hear Alice's reminiscences, and meant it.
'I could put you wise to old poaching methods,' said Bob meditatively. 'Josh Pringle, over at Springbourne, he was the real top-notcher at poaching. He'd be a help too, but I think he's in quod at the moment. He's as bad as our ...'
Here he broke off, having recalled that young Joe was the son of the malefactor he had been about to mention.
'As I was saying,' he amended with a cough, 'Josh is as bad as the rest of them, but he'd remember a lot about poaching times, and dodging the police.'
I began to wonder if I had better abandon my plans for enlightening future generations. Danger seemed to loom everywhere.
'Then there was that chap that worked for Mr Roberts' old dad,' went on Bob, now warming to the subject. 'Can't recall his name, but Alice'd know.'
'What about him?'
'He hung himself in the big barn.'
This did not seem to me to be a very fruitful subject for my project. Dramatic, no doubt, but too abrupt an ending.
"What about the clothes you wore as a child? Or the games you played?' I said, trying to steer the conversation in the right direction.
'Ah! You'd have to ask my Alice about that,' said Bob rising.
I said I would.
When they had departed, Bob with a message to Alice to ask if I might call to have a word with her about my literary hopes and Joe with the remains of the WI cake, I decided to ring John Jenkins.
I told him about my conversation with Bob Willet and my plan to visit Alice. Would it be convenient to borrow the tape recorder after I had seen her?
'Have it now,' urged John. 'I never use the thing, and if you've got it handy you may get on with the job.'
It sounded as though he doubted my ability to go ahead with the project.
'I'll bring it over straight away,' he said briskly, 'and show you how it works.'
He was with me in twenty minutes. I was relieved to see that the equipment was reassuringly simple, just a small oblong box which, I hoped, even I could manage.
'I think this plan of yours is ideal,' he said when he saw that I had mastered the intricacies of switching on and off. 'It's the sort of thing you can do in your own time, and there must be masses of material.'
'If it's suitable,' I commented, and told him about Bob Willet's memories of Mrs Pringle's youthful escapades and Josh Pringle's brushes with the law. He was much amused.
'Yes, I can see that a certain amount of editing will be necessary.'
He was silent for a moment and then added: 'You could tackle another local subject, I suppose. I mean some historical event like the Civil War. There were a couple of splendid battles around Caxley, and one of the Beech Green families played a distinguished part.'
This I knew from the church pamphlet I was altering, but I expressed my doubts about my ability to do justice to such a theme.
'I never know,' I mused, 'which side I should have supported.'
'As Sellar and Yeatman said in 1066 and All That , the Royalists were Wrong but Wromantic, and the Cromwellians were Right but Repulsive.'
'Exactly. On the whole I think I'd have been a Royalist. Their hats were prettier.'
'So it's no-go with a historical dissertation?'
'Definitely not. I'll try my more modest efforts.'
I looked at the clock.
'Heavens! It's half past seven. You must be hungry.'
I mentally reviewed the state of my larder. A well-run pantry should surely have a joint of cold gammon ready for such emergencies. Mine did not.
'I could give you scrambled eggs,' I ventured.
'My favourite dish,'John said gallantly. "You do the eggs and I'll do the toast.'
And so we ended the evening at the kitchen table, and were very merry.
The next time
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