cup of tea.
‘Maybe you’d like to come and visit one day,’ said the well-spoken lady. ‘You could meet my cats, Millie and Myrtle. They’re darlings.’
‘I’d love to,’ said Mum and the old lady got out a notepad from her handbag and gave Mum her address. It sounded very grand. She was Mrs Carter-West of Lymington House.
On the far side of the hall, I saw that Poppy Pengilly had come in with her father. They weren’t dressed up as animals and walked around like they were royalty, looking down their noses at everything and everybody. Poppy pointed to the plastic palm tree, said something to her dad that I couldn’t hear and they both laughed.
Stuck up princess
, I thought. I saw them nod hello to Mrs Carter-West then go to look at the vegetable stalls. I also noticed Liam scowling at them as they walked around. They didn’t buy anything and didn’t stay long.
After they’d gone, I saw a man talking to Dad then he got out a recording device. I waddled over (it was hard to walk properly in my rubber feet) to hear what was going on. He was from the local radio station.
Excellent
, I thought as Dad filled him in. Mum had contacted them with an invitation the week before but we hadn’t heard back, so weren’t sure that they’d come. She’d also contacted the local paper, but I didn’t know if they’d turned up, though it was hard to tell who was who because some of the adults were in costume and others busy with their kids. Caitlin was leading a small group of under-fives in a rousing chorus of ‘Old MacWestall’s Farm’. She’d finally got to do it. I giggled at how out of place she looked as a tiger, but when she sang, ‘Old MacWestall had a tiger, ee i ee i o,’ they all joined in with gusto.
Around three-thirty, Mum went up on to the stage and called for everyone’s attention. When the hall was silent, she began to explain what we wanted to do at Silverbrook Farm. She was still dressed in her scary bunny costume.
‘Do you think people will take her seriously?’ I asked Caitlin. ‘Maybe she should have changed back into her businesswoman clothes.’
Caitlin shook her head. ‘Nah. People love it. Look, everyone’s listening and the outfit lets them know that she’s a fun person and up for whatever it takes to make things work.’
‘It will take us a while to get up and running,’ Mum was saying, ‘but we hope that we’ll be a welcome addition to the community here in Compton Truit. We want to sell only local produce in the shop and café so we will be looking for suppliers of meat, bread, fruit, homemade cakes, jams, juice – whatever you think you or a neighbour could make and we could sell – we could put local artists’ paintings on the wall . . . we’re open to all ideas. And hopefully the rest of you will come and use the café and shop. We’ll also be looking for volunteers when we have the rescue centre set up. If you have any skills that you think might be helpful, please make yourself known to us and leave your details.’
‘How long do you think it will take to get set up?’ asked one man, who was with a little boy dressed as a zebra.
‘Good question,’ Mum replied. ‘That all depends on the response from the community. We hope to have the shop and café going first and, once they’re open, we can put our energy into establishing the rescue centre. But all in all, we want to create a place that will provide employment for some, a place to meet for others, somewhere for visitors to come and see the best that the village has to offer.’
When she’d finished, people cheered. I felt so proud of her even if she did look like she’d just walked off the set of a scary cartoon.
When everyone had gone, we totted up the profits. We’d made two hundred and forty-three pounds.
‘OK, so not thousands,’ said Dad, ‘but today wasn’t about raising lots of money. It was about raising interest – and I think we accomplished that. I already have a list of people who
‘Maybe you’d like to come and visit one day,’ said the well-spoken lady. ‘You could meet my cats, Millie and Myrtle. They’re darlings.’
‘I’d love to,’ said Mum and the old lady got out a notepad from her handbag and gave Mum her address. It sounded very grand. She was Mrs Carter-West of Lymington House.
On the far side of the hall, I saw that Poppy Pengilly had come in with her father. They weren’t dressed up as animals and walked around like they were royalty, looking down their noses at everything and everybody. Poppy pointed to the plastic palm tree, said something to her dad that I couldn’t hear and they both laughed.
Stuck up princess
, I thought. I saw them nod hello to Mrs Carter-West then go to look at the vegetable stalls. I also noticed Liam scowling at them as they walked around. They didn’t buy anything and didn’t stay long.
After they’d gone, I saw a man talking to Dad then he got out a recording device. I waddled over (it was hard to walk properly in my rubber feet) to hear what was going on. He was from the local radio station.
Excellent
, I thought as Dad filled him in. Mum had contacted them with an invitation the week before but we hadn’t heard back, so weren’t sure that they’d come. She’d also contacted the local paper, but I didn’t know if they’d turned up, though it was hard to tell who was who because some of the adults were in costume and others busy with their kids. Caitlin was leading a small group of under-fives in a rousing chorus of ‘Old MacWestall’s Farm’. She’d finally got to do it. I giggled at how out of place she looked as a tiger, but when she sang, ‘Old MacWestall had a tiger, ee i ee i o,’ they all joined in with gusto.
Around three-thirty, Mum went up on to the stage and called for everyone’s attention. When the hall was silent, she began to explain what we wanted to do at Silverbrook Farm. She was still dressed in her scary bunny costume.
‘Do you think people will take her seriously?’ I asked Caitlin. ‘Maybe she should have changed back into her businesswoman clothes.’
Caitlin shook her head. ‘Nah. People love it. Look, everyone’s listening and the outfit lets them know that she’s a fun person and up for whatever it takes to make things work.’
‘It will take us a while to get up and running,’ Mum was saying, ‘but we hope that we’ll be a welcome addition to the community here in Compton Truit. We want to sell only local produce in the shop and café so we will be looking for suppliers of meat, bread, fruit, homemade cakes, jams, juice – whatever you think you or a neighbour could make and we could sell – we could put local artists’ paintings on the wall . . . we’re open to all ideas. And hopefully the rest of you will come and use the café and shop. We’ll also be looking for volunteers when we have the rescue centre set up. If you have any skills that you think might be helpful, please make yourself known to us and leave your details.’
‘How long do you think it will take to get set up?’ asked one man, who was with a little boy dressed as a zebra.
‘Good question,’ Mum replied. ‘That all depends on the response from the community. We hope to have the shop and café going first and, once they’re open, we can put our energy into establishing the rescue centre. But all in all, we want to create a place that will provide employment for some, a place to meet for others, somewhere for visitors to come and see the best that the village has to offer.’
When she’d finished, people cheered. I felt so proud of her even if she did look like she’d just walked off the set of a scary cartoon.
When everyone had gone, we totted up the profits. We’d made two hundred and forty-three pounds.
‘OK, so not thousands,’ said Dad, ‘but today wasn’t about raising lots of money. It was about raising interest – and I think we accomplished that. I already have a list of people who
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