It is October 1960. The Americans have placed an embargo on all exports to Cuba, except for medicines and food. Presidential Candidate John F. Kennedy has suggested establishing a Peace Corp. The Queen has launched the United Kingdom’s first nuclear submarine H.M.S. Dreadnought. With the release of Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, “social realism” comes to the British Cinema. More popularly it is an example of what is known as “kitchen sink drama” and features bicycles and sex, the former quite popular in Britain, the latter less so. Roy Orbison is number one with Only the Lonely.
More importantly at the Rural Bolthole, beloved country residence of the Wylies, it is the first Parish Council meeting after a long summer break. Councillors are gathering in the Church Hall chatting, and helping themselves to tea and shortbread, home made of course. Muriel Wylie, who likes to maintain an aura of disinterestedness in the meetings, has arrived early and is reading, noticeably, by the fire.
“Oh, Muriel there you are, I called for you, but Jasper said you were coming to the meeting directly from town.”
“Yes Lottie, I had such a busy day, what with trying to get enough wrought magazine racks on the shelves at all branches of ‘Chez Nous’, advising the Royal College on the possibility of becoming a new university and giving one of my lecture-ettes on “The Face of Autumn” at John Smith’s, the Book Shop”.
“I didn’t realise you had published something.”
“Nothing really just a small pamphlet-ette for the ladies on how to look good when being hit by conkers and falling roof tiles. They were having a promotion of books with an autumnal theme, you know walks, mushrooms, Keats etc.. They just wanted me to add some ‘je ne sais quois’ which is easy with some imagination, a good foundation and a squirt of Ma Griffe”
“What are you reading Muriel?”
“Oh, just the latest thing the manager of the bookshop gave me, The L Shaped Room by Lynne Reid Banks.”
“Is it about architecture?”
“No, it’s about an unmarried mother and some very poor wallpaper in Fulham.”
“Muriel, really! This is the Church Hall.”
“Where the wallpaper is equally awful, it looks like green porridge. Honestly, Lottie one must keep up with the times. And how else do you think the Home for Fallen Women of which I am Chair and you are treasurer is kept so busy? It isn’t the stork that brings those women to us you know.”
“I am well aware of that Muriel, but just because one is aware of something does not mean one has to say it does one?”
“Good evening Ladies. You look comfortable by the fire.”
“Good evening Reverend.”
“Ah! Mrs Wylie, a novel from the school of social realism I see.”
“Yes.”
“The church might profit from a little social realism I think.”
“It might, but it probably won’t.”
“Indeed Mrs Wylie, I see you’ve lost none of the fire you brought to the great soup debate.”
“Ah you’ve heard about that.”
“Yes, my predecessor filled me in when I went to visit him in the Asylum. Now if you will excuse me, I should go and welcome the chair.”
“Well Muriel, he looks like a breath of fresh air and a pretty good looking breath of fresh air too.”
“It won’t last Lottie. They will wear him down. They always do, look at the banjo playing assistant minister we had one summer, they sent him to the Congo.”
“Is that Edinburgh?”
“Perhaps you are thinking of Gorgi?”
“No, he’s Russian.”
“Well good evening ladies and gentlemen and it is my great pleasure to welcome our Chair, Lady Penland-Firth, who is no stranger to you. She has just returned from a trip to Germany revisiting that country where she was known for her classically trained voice in the 1920s. A sort of Scottish Jenny Lind I believe. One might almost describe her as Scotland’s Nightingale”
“Scotland’s Nightingale, ach I heard she used tae come doon frae the ceiling on a fireman’s pole.”
“I beg your pardon Young Auld Jock? I didn’t quite catch that. It would be helpful if everyone could speak clearly.”
“Apologies Meannister. I said her ladyship still looks like a delicate burd who’d fly doon frae the tree-tops and sit on yer shoulder an’ sing like an angel.”
“Indeed, she does. Now can I suggest a moment of short silent prayer and then we will begin. Tea and coffee are available at the side, please help yourself. If I were married I am sure my wife would do the honours.”
“Oh, please let me serve the teas, it will make life so much easier and Mrs Wylie never lets me get a word in anyway.”
“Very well. Mrs Macaulay, isn’t it? That will be helpful. I must say you look like a lady who irons a mean tea towel.”
“Three folds!”
“Amen. Now over to you Lady Pentland-Firth.”
“Thank you, Archbishop.”
“Minister actually. This is the Church of Scotland.”
“Well if you say so, but a man with a chiselled jaw and perfect bone structure like yours would suit a mitre.”
“I appreciate the compliment.”
“To business Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to the parish Council Meeting. It is a great pleasure to be home again after my sojourn in Berlin, scene of my youthful triumphs on stage.”
“Ach I heard she wis on the stage but the last oot o’toon.”
Now the minutes. Any matters arising?
“Ach weil…..”
No? Good! I would like to thank everyone for their efforts at the Flower and Produce Show which raised a total of £27 and 15 shillings after costs which will go towards The School Christmas Concert. More of that in due course.
Item 1: Street Lighting – proposal for extension. We have quite enough, we don’t want to look like Blackpool now do we? Denied.
Item 2: Litter – a written submission from Mrs Hardcastle, complaining that the relief postman left his rubber whatnots…”
“Bands?”
“Thank you, Young Auld Jock. Yes left his rubber bands all over her crazy paving. If the secretary could write to Mrs Hardcastle and tell her that the problem was seasonal. In any case this should not happen again as the person in question has a full time round in Lewis where they have no rubber goods.”
Item 3: the question of a bubble gum machine requiring a penny in the slot outside the Post Office. Mrs Wylie, I believe you have something to say on this.”
“Thank you, Madame Chairman, I believe this is indicative of creeping Americanisation.”
“Agreed, request denied. If the secretary would write to the Post Mistress, referencing The Blackboard Jungle, depravity of Rock ‘n’Roll, British Values etc., etc..
Item 4: request by the Pentland-Firth Estate to allow verge side parking for the annual open day next year. Passed unanimously.
Now AOCB, with the emphasis on competent. I should myself like to raise the issue of Hallowe’en. Mrs Wylie, I believe you have been organising this while I have been in Berlin.”
“Indeed, Madame Chairman, as you know this festival has been important to the village for centuries and this year I believe we might surpass ourselves. Guising will be organised by the headmistress, following an afternoon of Spooky Storytelling in the School with prizes. The village traders have been asked to decorate their windows and cottagers their front doors or porches. Again, there will be a prize for the best in each category judged by Her Ladyship, our chair. This year we have chosen the theme of Witches and Witch belief.”
“Sounds splendid Mrs Wylie and what about the adults?”
“They are not forgotten, Madam Chairman. My husband, Chair of The Hysterical, sorry Historical, Society, assisted by the capable Mrs Dangerfield, will be providing a twilight guided tour of the graveyard. They will be pointing out interesting things before returning to The Pentland Firth Arms for refreshments if your ladyship is happy to underwrite the event as usual?”
“Certainly, I move a Parish Grant be awarded to myself to cover the costs. Agreed.”
“Aye weil, if that isnae corruption, I’m a Dutchman.”
“I was planning on serving a casserole of deadman’s fingers, spiced crumble and custard and a hot toddy punch.”
“Aye but yon cost?”
“Free to cottagers.”
“Free you say? Aye weil, agreed- het ondersteut tenslotte alleen de locale economie, me auld Dutch!”
“Thank – you Young Auld Jock. I knew you would understand. Sorry Mrs Wylie you were saying?”
“Thank you, Chair and Young Auld Jock. As this is likely to be oversubscribed, the tour will be limited to 25 and must be booked in advance. If there is sufficient interest, there will be a second tour at 8pm. Jasper will meet everyone at the Druid’s Stone and lead them to the Church where Mrs Dangerfield will be waiting with the lanterns.”
“What if it should rain? Your Holiness might the church be open?”
“Yes, Lady Pentland-Firth it can be opened to shelter from the rain. After all shelter is a church’s function, but I am afraid the topic of Hallowe’en cannot be raised inside as we do not support pagan superstition.”
“I knew the silver lining had to have a cloud.”
“Sorry Mrs Macaulay, I couldn’t hear you, that urn seems turned up too high. Anymore steam and we shall be off down the river.”
“Apologies Reverend. I just said the church cannot abandon its principals in the search for popularity.”
“Thank you. Who knew, Mrs Macaulay, that you were such a theologian?”
“Oh, with one’s husband a leading figure in concrete, one has many hours for private contemplation of the scriptures your Ladyship.”
“Well unless there is anything else, I suggest we conclude the meeting. Next month we will focus on Christmas and New Year celebrations and there will be an in depth discussion on the question of litter following not only the rubber bands issue but the discovery of an empty box of Black Magic on the steps of the War Memorial. Shall we adjourn to the Pentland Firth Arms for a refreshment, Vicar?”
“Oh, I shall come, but I am a bit of a Rechabite.”
“I thought as much, don’t touch the stuff myself anymore. Muriel are you coming? You never usually say no to anything but blows. Now I don’t think I have not met Mrs Dangerfield yet. What does she look like?”
“Oh, she looks like Muriel, just like Muriel.”
“How did the meeting go Darling?”
“Well it was quick, she certainly gets through the agenda and Hallowe’en is organised. They are thrilled with all you are doing. However, Jasper, Patience Pentland-Firth and Lottie Macaulay were all over the new minister like a rash. Mind you he is good looking, almost other worldly.”
“Really, Muriel?”
“Not to worry Jasper. He wouldn’t look like you in corduroy and a cardigan…. not in the least, like you.”
“Gin and Dubonnet?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
à bientôt
Muriel Wylie
October 1960
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