landscape. Tom swore he had oiled the hinges before Christmas; he swore, too, it had made no sound when he’d passed through earlier in the evening. Did alien snow and cold have the power to alter such things, he wondered as maddened, muffled barking in the recesses of the vicarage reached his ears.
Bumble had heard the squeaking gate.
And Madrun heard Bumble. Tom had barely touched the handle on the front door when the porch light flashed on and there she was, standing before him, gripping a tea towel. It took just one look into her spectacled eyes for him to know that the village drums had already been beating.
The Vicarage
Thornford Regis TC9 6QX
11 JANUARY
Dear Mum
,
I’ve never written a letter by candlelight before, which I’m doing right now, but then I can’t remember the last time the electricity went out. I was going to try and make my way down to the kitchen in the dark to the fuse box, but I think the whole village is gone out. Usually, if I look out my windows winter mornings, I can see a light from one or other of the cottages up Poynton Shute towards Thorn Hill, but the village is as black as Tobey’s arse bottom, as Dad used to say. My faithful Teasmade didn’t wake me, but of course with no electricity it couldn’t very well, could it? so I am a bit behind getting ready for my day. Short note then, Mum, sorry. Though I wonder if any letters will get through if the rest of the country has as much snow as we do? Shame I don’t have a battery radio up here. I’m without news of any sort. I am glad, though, that I haven’t gone and got a computeras Mr. Christmas has suggested. You don’t need electricity to run my faithful old Olivetti! Though you do need ribbons, which I’m almost out of. You’ll have to pardon typing mistakes. Candles aren’t the best light and I don’t want to spill wax on the typing paper. Or set it afire! Anyway, it looks like its it’s going to be a very different sort of Sunday here in the village. The worst news is that we’ve had an unexpected death. Will Moir died of a heart attack last night. It’s such a shock when someone dies well before his time, and Will was very fit-looking, not someone you’d think would die in his forties. It happened at the Burns Supper he and the Thistle But Mostly Rose were having at the hotel. Mr. Christmas is their chaplain. What is very sad is that little Ariel is with us here at the vicarage and doesn’t know what’s happened and we must be SO careful how we behave. I’d only got off the phone last evening with Enid who had called Roger at Thorn Court earlier and learned the dreadful news when Mr. Christmas came through the door—with two unexpected guests. John Copeland was one, and you know about him! The other was introduced as Judith Ingley. What a good thing I always keep the extra bedrooms at the ready! Knowing what had happened, I took Mr. Copeland and Mrs. Ingley into the kitchen for a nice cup of tea, while Mr. Christmas stayed in the sitting room with the girls, who were having that sleepover I mentioned in yesterday’s letter. It hadn’t gone 11 and they were still up watching a DVD and I thought I would just let them go on until they dropped while I played sadukoo sudoku in the kitchen when Mr. Christmas returned. He helped them roast marshmallows in the fireplace and managed to get them settled into their sleeping bags. I wonder if you remember Judith Ingley as she was Judith Frost before she married? Her father’s family worked for the Stanhopes at Thorn Court, but he died young and there are no Frosts in the village now. Judith left the village when I’d barely started primary, so I have no recollection of her. There’s a storythere, I’m sure, but I didn’t like to ask as we were much taken up with what had happened to Will. Perhaps Karla knows. Or Venice or Florence Daintrey might, but then they’re always rather short with me, so there’s no point asking. I thought to look through Dad’s history of
Bumble had heard the squeaking gate.
And Madrun heard Bumble. Tom had barely touched the handle on the front door when the porch light flashed on and there she was, standing before him, gripping a tea towel. It took just one look into her spectacled eyes for him to know that the village drums had already been beating.
The Vicarage
Thornford Regis TC9 6QX
11 JANUARY
Dear Mum
,
I’ve never written a letter by candlelight before, which I’m doing right now, but then I can’t remember the last time the electricity went out. I was going to try and make my way down to the kitchen in the dark to the fuse box, but I think the whole village is gone out. Usually, if I look out my windows winter mornings, I can see a light from one or other of the cottages up Poynton Shute towards Thorn Hill, but the village is as black as Tobey’s arse bottom, as Dad used to say. My faithful Teasmade didn’t wake me, but of course with no electricity it couldn’t very well, could it? so I am a bit behind getting ready for my day. Short note then, Mum, sorry. Though I wonder if any letters will get through if the rest of the country has as much snow as we do? Shame I don’t have a battery radio up here. I’m without news of any sort. I am glad, though, that I haven’t gone and got a computeras Mr. Christmas has suggested. You don’t need electricity to run my faithful old Olivetti! Though you do need ribbons, which I’m almost out of. You’ll have to pardon typing mistakes. Candles aren’t the best light and I don’t want to spill wax on the typing paper. Or set it afire! Anyway, it looks like its it’s going to be a very different sort of Sunday here in the village. The worst news is that we’ve had an unexpected death. Will Moir died of a heart attack last night. It’s such a shock when someone dies well before his time, and Will was very fit-looking, not someone you’d think would die in his forties. It happened at the Burns Supper he and the Thistle But Mostly Rose were having at the hotel. Mr. Christmas is their chaplain. What is very sad is that little Ariel is with us here at the vicarage and doesn’t know what’s happened and we must be SO careful how we behave. I’d only got off the phone last evening with Enid who had called Roger at Thorn Court earlier and learned the dreadful news when Mr. Christmas came through the door—with two unexpected guests. John Copeland was one, and you know about him! The other was introduced as Judith Ingley. What a good thing I always keep the extra bedrooms at the ready! Knowing what had happened, I took Mr. Copeland and Mrs. Ingley into the kitchen for a nice cup of tea, while Mr. Christmas stayed in the sitting room with the girls, who were having that sleepover I mentioned in yesterday’s letter. It hadn’t gone 11 and they were still up watching a DVD and I thought I would just let them go on until they dropped while I played sadukoo sudoku in the kitchen when Mr. Christmas returned. He helped them roast marshmallows in the fireplace and managed to get them settled into their sleeping bags. I wonder if you remember Judith Ingley as she was Judith Frost before she married? Her father’s family worked for the Stanhopes at Thorn Court, but he died young and there are no Frosts in the village now. Judith left the village when I’d barely started primary, so I have no recollection of her. There’s a storythere, I’m sure, but I didn’t like to ask as we were much taken up with what had happened to Will. Perhaps Karla knows. Or Venice or Florence Daintrey might, but then they’re always rather short with me, so there’s no point asking. I thought to look through Dad’s history of
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