'Dear Mr Betjeman' is my novelette about English poets and branch railways, and a woman freed to pursue her passion. Here's chapter 1 to whet your appetite:
Such a Very Ordinary Little Woman
The Old Manse
Main Street
Hoobythorpe
Lincolnshire
Dear Mr Betjeman
Yesterday afternoon while my husband was at work I saw one of
your television programmes. I’m sorry
that I have not seen it before – perhaps it has only been shown in the evenings
previously and my husband prefers the radio when he returns from work or indeed
no noise at all. I must say I thoroughly
enjoyed your journey through Norfolk by train.
This is an area that I know well as it is not too far away from us here
in the Lincolnshire Wolds. At any time
soon though it may be more difficult for us to reach the Norfolk coast (or our
own coastline), as they want to take away our railway. We thought all those cuts had finished but
not here it seems. Half of Lincolnshire is to be closed to rail traffic. It really is a terrible shame, my husband is
going to have to drive to work. At least
we can afford a car – what about all those who work on the farms?
But it was so nice to see someone who’s got something good to
say about the railway. Please do
continue on and tell them all how wrong they are to stop the trains. I think I may purchase a volume of your
poetry next time I visit Lincoln (by train, perhaps for the last time).
Yours sincerely
Mavis Enderby (Mrs)
Mavis returned home from posting her letter to Mr Betjeman
feeling quite excited, even a little rebellious. What would Bernard say if he knew that she’d
spent the price of a stamp on a fan letter to a poet? She hoped that her secret stash of pennies
would be enough to buy one of his books.
Of course she could always borrow one from the library but it wouldn’t
be the same as owning it. She was
prepared to forego this month’s pair of stockings for it though, that would be
a few more pence in the fund. Taking her
brogues off though, she noticed that her toe was through the end of one of
them. Sitting on the stairs she rolled
them both down and pulled them off, wriggling her toes luxuriously. It was a warm spring day and her sheepskin
slippers were uninviting so she padded barefoot into the kitchen with her basket
of shopping. Pork chops for tea, bacon
and sausages for breakfast. Mavis
wondered how many entire pigs Bernard got through in a year. She also wondered how he had got through the
war with so little of his beloved meat around.
She’d asked him once and he had seemed to re-live the trauma of it on
the spot.
It was time to get the tea on already, and she’d not got
around to darning her stockings or counting her pennies out. Well, the darning could be done later. He didn’t mind her sewing, it was reading
that got him down – it distracted her from his pronouncements. Still barefoot she lit the stove and washed
her hands. The cool lino felt soothing
to her tired feet after she’d been on them most of the day, plodding about the
house and scuttling into the town. By
the time Bernard’s key was heard searching for the lock she was more than ready
for a sit down. However, she went
through to the hall to greet him and take his coat. He stared at her naked feet as though her
entire body was uncovered.
“Cooking with nothing on your feet Mavis? Where are your slippers?”
“There, behind you.”
“Why aren’t you wearing them? Is there something wrong?”
“No Bernard, nothing’s wrong.”
“Put them on then dear, really, whatever next.”
Mavis did as she was told and in doing so, looked up at the
tall grandfather clock which also towered over her in an instructive manner.
“Oh, you’re late Bernard, I hadn’t noticed the time.”
“Yes, damn train didn’t appear until 15 minutes after its
departure time. I’m convinced that
they’re doing it on purpose to put us off using it.”
Bernard washed his hands thoroughly in the kitchen sink and
settled himself at the dining table as Mavis dished out the food onto his
plate. They ate almost in complete
silence, Bernard wished for no distractions from his pork products. Halfway through the meal he took his napkin
and dabbed at his forehead.
“It is rather warm for the time of year isn’t it?” Mavis
offered. Bernard nodded sharply and
continued to eat.
He retired to the sitting room while she cleared up and
washed the dishes. She watched the
blackbirds swoop around the back lawn in the approaching dusk as she scoured
each plate thoroughly. Mavis heard
Bernard rustle his newspaper open and felt her leg muscles tighten in an
involuntary act of annoyance. He would
be seeking out an item of news to read to her when she joined him – something
he thought she should know about, not what she would want to hear. It was usually a morning treat for her to
fetch the previous day’s daily paper out from the pile in the outhouse and pick
out the items of news which interested her.
She liked to turn to the arts pages and look at the reviews to see what
she might be missing or to give her ideas for books that she could borrow or
request from the library. Library book
reading took place with her afternoon tea – she couldn’t read when Bernard was
around, he found her tastes unsuitable, so the book was stored secretly in the
kitchen where it escaped his scathing eye.
Too often her books required renewal as three weeks was not enough.
The next 20 or so hours passed as Mavis expected. Bernard read out a rather long report from
the local evening paper about the railway closure proposals. The only other noise that was allowed to
intrude was the ticking of the grandfather clock outside the door. Mavis and Bernard retired to bed together and
rose at the same time – Bernard to bathe and Mavis to prepare his bacon and
sausage. On his departure to work, she
was expected to place a kiss on his left cheek before watching him brisk down
the lane towards the station. She then
went upstairs to dress before starting the housework. It wasn’t until 5.48pm that anything
changed. At first, Mavis was rather
annoyed at the insistent knocking at the front door. She was trying to squeeze in a television
programme while preparing Bernard’s tea and was quite enjoying it. Half listening for his key in the door and
hoping that his train home would be a bit late again she jumped up and switched
the television off smartly. She stomped
through to the hall, checking that her slippers were on her feet just in case
it turned out to be Bernard with a story of a lost or stolen key. However, she opened the door to a policeman’s
uniform, whom she instantly knew carried news of a more serious mishap. Rather unsure of how to address a policeman –
she’d never had anything to do with one before – she waited for him to speak
first.
“Mrs Enderby?” His
tone was quite gentle, she wasn’t in trouble.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“P C Church. Can I
come in?”
Mavis opened the door and led the policeman through to the
kitchen.
“I’m just preparing my husband’s tea. You’ll have to excuse me checking on the
cooker now and again.”
Pulling one of the chairs out from under the table, P C
Church urged her to sit down a moment.
He did the same and sat facing her.
He removed his hat and cleared his throat.
“Mrs Enderby. Your
husband, Bernard, won’t be coming home this evening I’m afraid.”
“Oh. I’ll turn the
cooker off then. Just a minute.” She leaned over and turned all the jets of
gas off in a series of clicks. “Where is
he?”
“He’s in hospital. In
Lincoln. I’m afraid he’s in rather a bad
way. He was on the railway station and
was...having words with a member of the railway staff. It seems he lost his temper over his train
being cancelled. I’m sorry to tell you
Mrs Enderby that your husband, Bernard, collapsed. They got him to the hospital in good time,
but I suggest you make your way there straight away.”
Mavis nodded “Is the
6.30 train to Lincoln still running do you know?”
“Yes, though what time it’ll leave is anyone’s guess, as your
poor husband found out. But I should go
to the station in half an hour – you’ll get there eventually. Don’t forget that the old last train back is
cancelled for good now though.”
She nodded again and stood up decisively – just time for a
little tea then to fortify herself. She
wished she’d known it was just going to be her eating tonight, she’d have
cooked something different. Something
she wanted. PC Church took his cue to
leave, ensuring that his hat was firmly set back on his head.
“I’ll be around the train station for the last train if I can
– in case you decide not to stay. A walk
home in the dark alone can be a worry for a lady such as yourself.”
“That’s kind of you.” She let the PC out and stood by the
door a moment, nibbling on a hang nail.
Back in the kitchen something hissed.
The meat went straight in the bin and Mavis ate a few vegetables before
washing up the pots. Then reaching to
the top shelf of a cupboard by the sink she pulled down a make-up bag. Mavis had made this herself from a pair of
old curtains and she handled it delicately and proudly. There wasn’t much in it, Bernard didn’t
approve of make up on housewives, just a small tube of colour, compact and a
very worn lipstick. Mavis applied a
little of each. Behind the cupboard door
a small key dangled. Lifting this off
with her thumb and forefinger she allowed a small smile. This was the key to the bureau where the
emergency pound note was kept. This was
exactly the sort of event that the pristine note was for, it would pay her
train fare and purchase sundry items in the hospital. Also, it would easily allow addition to her
secret fund without Bernard noticing.
Placing the note in her pocket and collecting a bag with Bernard’s
dressing gown and slippers, Mavis slipped out of the house and strolled to the
train station.
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