Without A Song

Chapter Fourteen: Service

A strange thing about the English but how many times will you see a public house at the end of the church walk? The Plough, The Crown, The Red Lion and many others can all be found at the end of many a lychway from the church to its bounds. They're there to celebrate a new birth, to wet the baby's head, for the christenings, the weddings and the funerals. They're also there for the post-service communions of pagans, disciples and all those who fall between the two extremes. In all matters they bring their faithful together offering capacity for social support and liquid refreshment. In villages such as Old Dereham they're a substantial part of the social fabric that holds us all together. When I married Sue close to Harcourt Manor I was downing champagne with my best man in The Plough Hotel, barely one hundred and fifty yards from the altar rail next door. It was a heck of a dash between the saloon bar and God's own. Here in Old Dereham there was a similar distance between Saint Bartholomew's and The Hare and Hounds except that waiting for me this time was Tom Collings. Charlie and George scrounged some drinks from their father whilst the other adults settled into the Snug Bar. Rupert was nabbed by the local community policeman, then I watched him work the room better than any politician could. Jerry Gardner, the local Member of Parliament, had better watch out. Tom and I were catching up over a couple of pints of Gamekeeper's Pride.

He spoke with an accent that lay between Suffolk and Norfolk. American with a local twist. That meant he had been brought up on the USAF base at Little Steadham, on the Suffolk side of the border. The USAF had long gone home but Tom Collings stayed.

"What's the point of going to the States? When I's lived all my life 'ere? There's another quiz tonight. You up for it?"

"Depends upon my minders," I said nodding to where Charlie and George were playing the one-arm bandit. George chose that moment to turn around and saw me looking at her. A puzzled look crossing her face. "They have taken it upon themselves to look after me while I'm back in the village."

"You could do a lot worse, mind you." he said. "The injury nurse has been asking after you."

"Rayna?" I enquired.

"That's her. She always had a soft spot for you."

"How is she, and Emily?"

"As I said, she's been asking."

Rayna was a rural physiologist. Based at Dernewell she held surgeries in four different villages each week, including Old Dereham. Similar in height and figure to Maddy, Rayna was also someone I could talk to as a friend, someone without an agenda whenever we met, no matter how long I'd been out of the country. Rayna was also married, had a nine year old daughter called Emily who loved me whenever she saw me and always asked me to tea, possible, practical or otherwise.

"Rayna is fine, everybody loves her for making their pain go away. Emily takes after her mum. I saw them last Wednesday in Harmondswich market. They also knew you were coming back to the village. Strange that, you only being here two days and yet everyone knows you're here. I'm not surprised though, been here most of my life and still not figured it out."

I could have told him. I glanced across the bar room to see Leanne looking back at me. That lady had the eyes and ears of the village at her beck and call. The eight of us stayed in the pub until gone two o'clock in the afternoon when David and Sandra made excuses to walk up to their house to check all was well. Once again Leanne offered them bed and board saying dinner would be served after five o'clock, they were very welcome to join us. Meanwhile Tom and I conspired to meet in the pub for the quiz that evening. Sometime after two in the afternoon we all walked back to Huntly Mill, cars speeding past us as they eyed the black strip beyond the go faster sign with its black stripe, all of them tooting their horns in wild abandonment. Once I might've smiled at their antics, now I saw less of the funny side. Funny thing about living in Saudi I thought, maybe I am becoming less tolerant of a fast car society?