July 29, 2013
Village Dream 0
The village drowsed in the sun. A stream made its way past the cottages, each one with its little bridge leading to the graveled path that ran along the fronts. On the other side of the stream the pub, the village shop and the old smithy, slumbered behind closed doors. Everything was still, seen through a haze from up on the hill where Jack had parked the van. Even the trees in the churchyard and the manse garden were motionless against a cloudless sky.
Jess and Jack looked down from the hill where Jack had parked the van.
“It’s like a painting,” said Jess, “one of them we saw in that museum when we went with school that time, but not even a dog, where is every one?”
“Holiday weekend,” said Jack, “and most folk will be at the fair today, the castle and grounds are open, they’ll all be there trying to get a look at milord at home in his smoking jacket.”
“You’re ridiculous, no one wears a smoking jacket, not even the royals these days, but I could do with a smoke myself, give us a ciggie.”
“You didn’t earn it,”
“Well, I’m fed up of doing it outside, or in your dirty van, it’s not nice. Why can’t we have a place of our own, or one of them cottages, lovely they are, go in close the door, your own little place.”
Jack looked at her, sitting on the van step, her dark hair loosened in their lovemaking, fell round her shoulders but she had re buttoned her blouse, and smoothed her skirt, now she pulled her shawl over her lap and poked through his jacket pocket looking for the cigarettes.
“If I could find a place, private like, on our own, would you do it proper, you know no clothes, let yourself go like?”
Jess considered, “I might, but I want a place like one of them cottages, and a big double bed and a proper cuppa after.”
“You’re on, get in, let’s see what’s what down there.”
He drove the van farther down the hillside track parking against a hedge.
“Give us them binoculars, Jess.” He scanned the village. “What about that one then, the blue door right at the end of the row, back a bit?”
“How can I see? You got the glasses, give ‘em here,” she took the binoculars and peered through them.
“Which one?”
“Blue door at the end of the row, there’s a big hedge along the side.”
She was silent for a longtime, adjusting the lens from time to time and tipping her head and moving the glasses from side to side.
“Blue door and them little shutters, it’s lovely.”
They watched the village for a long time, taking turns with the binoculars.
“It’s like we’re living there, Jack, look the shop is open now, I can see the sign, Shop and Post Office, and there is a dog, asleep on the pub step, it’s magic”
“Right, that’s where we’re going then, you stay here, I’ll be back for you.”
“What if someone comes, what am I supposed to be doing up her on me own? I could be attacked”.
“OK, OK, walk down, past the village and go in to the castle grounds, get a cuppa at the caff, I’ll come back to the car park for you. Don’t be talking to anyone neither. Now where’s me overalls and that big parts box?”
Jess watched as Jack changed into his overalls and an old cap. He took the box from the back of the van and stuffed various bits of rubbish in it, “Don’t want no rattling,” he laughed. He tore the labels off the box and scribbled the name of the village on one side under some older printed addresses.
Down in the village the afternoon stretched past tea time and in the shop old Aggie thought about closing up and going for her own tea.
“Pull down the blinds,” she said to her assistant Gladys, “no one else is going to come now, we might as well shut up.” She shuffled off in to the back to put the kettle on. Gladys was just turning the door sign to ‘closed’ when a van drew up and a young man got out. He came in to the shop, bringing a whiff of machine oil and sweat,
“Got a package here for the end cottage, but no one’s at home, all at the fete are they?”
“No, said Gladys,” that’s Margaret, she’s away. Aggie, when is Margaret coming back?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Deliveries, shall he leave it round the back in the shed?”
“Deliveries this late, on a holiday?”
The young man grinned at Gladys, “Backed up they are, and their truck broke down on the motorway. I’m just doing the local stuff, OK, I can put it in the shed, no dog to bite me, eh?”
“No,” said Gladys, “she doesn’t have a dog, you’ll be all right, I’ll tell her to look in the shed when she comes back.”
“Right then, the shed it is,” and he swung out of the door tipping his cap.
“Lovely, he was,” sighed Gladys
Jess and Jack waited until the shadowy evening drew over the village and then crept down the hillside behind the cottage. Shielded by the hedge Jack picked the lock on the side door
“No bolt, thank goodness,” he breathed and eased it open. He and Jess stepped into a tiled back lobby with a stone sink, and then through into the front room. Two chairs and a dark Welsh dresser stood by the fireplace, a gate leg table folded down stood against the back wall and a clock ticked on the other wall, next to a twisting staircase. “It’s lovely!” breathed Jess.
Upstairs two bedrooms rested under the beams; one filled with boxes and trunks, the other with a brass bed, covered with a patchwork quilt, and a small table holding a candlestick.
“Oh Jack, Jack ,” but Jack was already tearing off his clothes and pulling her down, “all of them, off,” he said tugging at her skirt and wrenching her blouse off her shoulders, “come on, girl .. . don’t mess about …”
“Did I earn it, then?” asked Jess reaching for the cigarettes, “and where’s my cuppa?”
“You earned it, but I didn’t see a stove, she must have an electric kettle somewhere though.”
Jack went down stairs and Jess sat up, she lit the candle and looked around the room. The walls were painted a smudgy yellow color and the curtains, old faded and torn along the seams were the same color with a rose pattern woven into the fabric. Dark beams ran over her head. There was a small iron fireplace and on the mantelpiece a collection of ornaments.
Jack came back, “I found a kettle and the tea, no milk though, but here, look what she had, we can have a drop of this instead,” and he held up a bottle of Glen Livet, “give you new strength,.” He grinned wickedly and got back into bed with her.
Jess woke, “Jack, what’s that, listen.”
“It’s birds Jess, the dawn chorus, we got to get going, don’t want old Margaret coming back early and catching us, here get your clothes on and smooth the bed, I’ll put away down stairs.”
He stopped by the door and looked back at her, she looked beautiful, hair tumbled, her face soft, the quilt only just covering her, “We could do it again, Jess, like this, I can always find us a place.”
“I know you can, Jack.”
She put the room to rights and gathered up her things; passing the mantelpiece she quickly picked up a china pig and put it in her pocket.
Months later two police chiefs met to discuss issues in their respective counties. They dealt with travelers, rubbish dumping, urban gangs trashing local pubs and moved on to the latest thing, a rash of break ins in outlying villages, where nothing was taken except an ornament, and no damage done, only a rumpled bed.
“Something and nothing,” said one of them, “these old biddies can’t remember how they left the place or what they had, dreaming they are half the time. Shall we have another round? Shout up the girl will you.”
“Talk about dreaming, look at her.” said his partner, “Waitress!”
Jess leaning against the bar fingering the little wooden owl in her pocket, jumped.
“What can I get you?”
The village drowsed in the sun. A stream made its way past the cottages, each one with its little bridge leading to the graveled path that ran along the fronts. On the other side of the stream the pub, the village shop and the old smithy, slumbered behind closed doors. Everything was still, seen through a haze from up on the hill where Jack had parked the van. Even the trees in the churchyard and the manse garden were motionless against a cloudless sky.
Jess and Jack looked down from the hill where Jack had parked the van.
“It’s like a painting,” said Jess, “one of them we saw in that museum when we went with school that time, but not even a dog, where is every one?”
“Holiday weekend,” said Jack, “and most folk will be at the fair today, the castle and grounds are open, they’ll all be there trying to get a look at milord at home in his smoking jacket.”
“You’re ridiculous, no one wears a smoking jacket, not even the royals these days, but I could do with a smoke myself, give us a ciggie.”
“You didn’t earn it,”
“Well, I’m fed up of doing it outside, or in your dirty van, it’s not nice. Why can’t we have a place of our own, or one of them cottages, lovely they are, go in close the door, your own little place.”
Jack looked at her, sitting on the van step, her dark hair loosened in their lovemaking, fell round her shoulders but she had re buttoned her blouse, and smoothed her skirt, now she pulled her shawl over her lap and poked through his jacket pocket looking for the cigarettes.
“If I could find a place, private like, on our own, would you do it proper, you know no clothes, let yourself go like?”
Jess considered, “I might, but I want a place like one of them cottages, and a big double bed and a proper cuppa after.”
“You’re on, get in, let’s see what’s what down there.”
He drove the van farther down the hillside track parking against a hedge.
“Give us them binoculars, Jess.” He scanned the village. “What about that one then, the blue door right at the end of the row, back a bit?”
“How can I see? You got the glasses, give ‘em here,” she took the binoculars and peered through them.
“Which one?”
“Blue door at the end of the row, there’s a big hedge along the side.”
She was silent for a longtime, adjusting the lens from time to time and tipping her head and moving the glasses from side to side.
“Blue door and them little shutters, it’s lovely.”
They watched the village for a long time, taking turns with the binoculars.
“It’s like we’re living there, Jack, look the shop is open now, I can see the sign, Shop and Post Office, and there is a dog, asleep on the pub step, it’s magic”
“Right, that’s where we’re going then, you stay here, I’ll be back for you.”
“What if someone comes, what am I supposed to be doing up her on me own? I could be attacked”.
“OK, OK, walk down, past the village and go in to the castle grounds, get a cuppa at the caff, I’ll come back to the car park for you. Don’t be talking to anyone neither. Now where’s me overalls and that big parts box?”
Jess watched as Jack changed into his overalls and an old cap. He took the box from the back of the van and stuffed various bits of rubbish in it, “Don’t want no rattling,” he laughed. He tore the labels off the box and scribbled the name of the village on one side under some older printed addresses.
Down in the village the afternoon stretched past tea time and in the shop old Aggie thought about closing up and going for her own tea.
“Pull down the blinds,” she said to her assistant Gladys, “no one else is going to come now, we might as well shut up.” She shuffled off in to the back to put the kettle on. Gladys was just turning the door sign to ‘closed’ when a van drew up and a young man got out. He came in to the shop, bringing a whiff of machine oil and sweat,
“Got a package here for the end cottage, but no one’s at home, all at the fete are they?”
“No, said Gladys,” that’s Margaret, she’s away. Aggie, when is Margaret coming back?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Deliveries, shall he leave it round the back in the shed?”
“Deliveries this late, on a holiday?”
The young man grinned at Gladys, “Backed up they are, and their truck broke down on the motorway. I’m just doing the local stuff, OK, I can put it in the shed, no dog to bite me, eh?”
“No,” said Gladys, “she doesn’t have a dog, you’ll be all right, I’ll tell her to look in the shed when she comes back.”
“Right then, the shed it is,” and he swung out of the door tipping his cap.
“Lovely, he was,” sighed Gladys
Jess and Jack waited until the shadowy evening drew over the village and then crept down the hillside behind the cottage. Shielded by the hedge Jack picked the lock on the side door
“No bolt, thank goodness,” he breathed and eased it open. He and Jess stepped into a tiled back lobby with a stone sink, and then through into the front room. Two chairs and a dark Welsh dresser stood by the fireplace, a gate leg table folded down stood against the back wall and a clock ticked on the other wall, next to a twisting staircase. “It’s lovely!” breathed Jess.
Upstairs two bedrooms rested under the beams; one filled with boxes and trunks, the other with a brass bed, covered with a patchwork quilt, and a small table holding a candlestick.
“Oh Jack, Jack ,” but Jack was already tearing off his clothes and pulling her down, “all of them, off,” he said tugging at her skirt and wrenching her blouse off her shoulders, “come on, girl .. . don’t mess about …”
“Did I earn it, then?” asked Jess reaching for the cigarettes, “and where’s my cuppa?”
“You earned it, but I didn’t see a stove, she must have an electric kettle somewhere though.”
Jack went down stairs and Jess sat up, she lit the candle and looked around the room. The walls were painted a smudgy yellow color and the curtains, old faded and torn along the seams were the same color with a rose pattern woven into the fabric. Dark beams ran over her head. There was a small iron fireplace and on the mantelpiece a collection of ornaments.
Jack came back, “I found a kettle and the tea, no milk though, but here, look what she had, we can have a drop of this instead,” and he held up a bottle of Glen Livet, “give you new strength,.” He grinned wickedly and got back into bed with her.
Jess woke, “Jack, what’s that, listen.”
“It’s birds Jess, the dawn chorus, we got to get going, don’t want old Margaret coming back early and catching us, here get your clothes on and smooth the bed, I’ll put away down stairs.”
He stopped by the door and looked back at her, she looked beautiful, hair tumbled, her face soft, the quilt only just covering her, “We could do it again, Jess, like this, I can always find us a place.”
“I know you can, Jack.”
She put the room to rights and gathered up her things; passing the mantelpiece she quickly picked up a china pig and put it in her pocket.
Months later two police chiefs met to discuss issues in their respective counties. They dealt with travelers, rubbish dumping, urban gangs trashing local pubs and moved on to the latest thing, a rash of break ins in outlying villages, where nothing was taken except an ornament, and no damage done, only a rumpled bed.
“Something and nothing,” said one of them, “these old biddies can’t remember how they left the place or what they had, dreaming they are half the time. Shall we have another round? Shout up the girl will you.”
“Talk about dreaming, look at her.” said his partner, “Waitress!”
Jess leaning against the bar fingering the little wooden owl in her pocket, jumped.
“What can I get you?”
The village drowsed in the sun. A stream made its way past the cottages, each one with its little bridge leading to the graveled path that ran along the fronts. On the other side of the stream the pub, the village shop and the old smithy, slumbered behind closed doors. Everything was still, seen through a haze from up on the hill where Jack had parked the van. Even the trees in the churchyard and the manse garden were motionless against a cloudless sky.
Jess and Jack looked down from the hill where Jack had parked the van.
“It’s like a painting,” said Jess, “one of them we saw in that museum when we went with school that time, but not even a dog, where is every one?”
“Holiday weekend,” said Jack, “and most folk will be at the fair today, the castle and grounds are open, they’ll all be there trying to get a look at milord at home in his smoking jacket.”
“You’re ridiculous, no one wears a smoking jacket, not even the royals these days, but I could do with a smoke myself, give us a ciggie.”
“You didn’t earn it,”
“Well, I’m fed up of doing it outside, or in your dirty van, it’s not nice. Why can’t we have a place of our own, or one of them cottages, lovely they are, go in close the door, your own little place.”
Jack looked at her, sitting on the van step, her dark hair loosened in their lovemaking, fell round her shoulders but she had re buttoned her blouse, and smoothed her skirt, now she pulled her shawl over her lap and poked through his jacket pocket looking for the cigarettes.
“If I could find a place, private like, on our own, would you do it proper, you know no clothes, let yourself go like?”
Jess considered, “I might, but I want a place like one of them cottages, and a big double bed and a proper cuppa after.”
“You’re on, get in, let’s see what’s what down there.”
He drove the van farther down the hillside track parking against a hedge.
“Give us them binoculars, Jess.” He scanned the village. “What about that one then, the blue door right at the end of the row, back a bit?”
“How can I see? You got the glasses, give ‘em here,” she took the binoculars and peered through them.
“Which one?”
“Blue door at the end of the row, there’s a big hedge along the side.”
She was silent for a longtime, adjusting the lens from time to time and tipping her head and moving the glasses from side to side.
“Blue door and them little shutters, it’s lovely.”
They watched the village for a long time, taking turns with the binoculars.
“It’s like we’re living there, Jack, look the shop is open now, I can see the sign, Shop and Post Office, and there is a dog, asleep on the pub step, it’s magic”
“Right, that’s where we’re going then, you stay here, I’ll be back for you.”
“What if someone comes, what am I supposed to be doing up her on me own? I could be attacked”.
“OK, OK, walk down, past the village and go in to the castle grounds, get a cuppa at the caff, I’ll come back to the car park for you. Don’t be talking to anyone neither. Now where’s me overalls and that big parts box?”
Jess watched as Jack changed into his overalls and an old cap. He took the box from the back of the van and stuffed various bits of rubbish in it, “Don’t want no rattling,” he laughed. He tore the labels off the box and scribbled the name of the village on one side under some older printed addresses.
Down in the village the afternoon stretched past tea time and in the shop old Aggie thought about closing up and going for her own tea.
“Pull down the blinds,” she said to her assistant Gladys, “no one else is going to come now, we might as well shut up.” She shuffled off in to the back to put the kettle on. Gladys was just turning the door sign to ‘closed’ when a van drew up and a young man got out. He came in to the shop, bringing a whiff of machine oil and sweat,
“Got a package here for the end cottage, but no one’s at home, all at the fete are they?”
“No, said Gladys,” that’s Margaret, she’s away. Aggie, when is Margaret coming back?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Deliveries, shall he leave it round the back in the shed?”
“Deliveries this late, on a holiday?”
The young man grinned at Gladys, “Backed up they are, and their truck broke down on the motorway. I’m just doing the local stuff, OK, I can put it in the shed, no dog to bite me, eh?”
“No,” said Gladys, “she doesn’t have a dog, you’ll be all right, I’ll tell her to look in the shed when she comes back.”
“Right then, the shed it is,” and he swung out of the door tipping his cap.
“Lovely, he was,” sighed Gladys
Jess and Jack waited until the shadowy evening drew over the village and then crept down the hillside behind the cottage. Shielded by the hedge Jack picked the lock on the side door
“No bolt, thank goodness,” he breathed and eased it open. He and Jess stepped into a tiled back lobby with a stone sink, and then through into the front room. Two chairs and a dark Welsh dresser stood by the fireplace, a gate leg table folded down stood against the back wall and a clock ticked on the other wall, next to a twisting staircase. “It’s lovely!” breathed Jess.
Upstairs two bedrooms rested under the beams; one filled with boxes and trunks, the other with a brass bed, covered with a patchwork quilt, and a small table holding a candlestick.
“Oh Jack, Jack ,” but Jack was already tearing off his clothes and pulling her down, “all of them, off,” he said tugging at her skirt and wrenching her blouse off her shoulders, “come on, girl .. . don’t mess about …”
“Did I earn it, then?” asked Jess reaching for the cigarettes, “and where’s my cuppa?”
“You earned it, but I didn’t see a stove, she must have an electric kettle somewhere though.”
Jack went down stairs and Jess sat up, she lit the candle and looked around the room. The walls were painted a smudgy yellow color and the curtains, old faded and torn along the seams were the same color with a rose pattern woven into the fabric. Dark beams ran over her head. There was a small iron fireplace and on the mantelpiece a collection of ornaments.
Jack came back, “I found a kettle and the tea, no milk though, but here, look what she had, we can have a drop of this instead,” and he held up a bottle of Glen Livet, “give you new strength,.” He grinned wickedly and got back into bed with her.
Jess woke, “Jack, what’s that, listen.”
“It’s birds Jess, the dawn chorus, we got to get going, don’t want old Margaret coming back early and catching us, here get your clothes on and smooth the bed, I’ll put away down stairs.”
He stopped by the door and looked back at her, she looked beautiful, hair tumbled, her face soft, the quilt only just covering her, “We could do it again, Jess, like this, I can always find us a place.”
“I know you can, Jack.”
She put the room to rights and gathered up her things; passing the mantelpiece she quickly picked up a china pig and put it in her pocket.
Months later two police chiefs met to discuss issues in their respective counties. They dealt with travelers, rubbish dumping, urban gangs trashing local pubs and moved on to the latest thing, a rash of break ins in outlying villages, where nothing was taken except an ornament, and no damage done, only a rumpled bed.
“Something and nothing,” said one of them, “these old biddies can’t remember how they left the place or what they had, dreaming they are half the time. Shall we have another round? Shout up the girl will you.”
“Talk about dreaming, look at her.” said his partner, “Waitress!”
Jess leaning against the bar fingering the little wooden owl in her pocket, jumped.
“What can I get you?”
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