mooncakes

"Last over at Byewood"

This story was based on a "dice square" where you have a list of characters, conflicts, weather, settings and 'objects'/prompts and throw a die twice for 2 min characters and once for each other thing. It was thought up by Liskeard Library writing group, who meet every other Monday.

My dice throws brought up a roadsweeper, a relief milk maid, unsatisfactory working conditions, a heatwave, the last over at a cricket match and tide timetables. A bit difficult to bring together, I found, and had to add three other characters before I could make sense of it. I was pleased with the tide times that became a symbol of the change that was needed to resolve the conflict

LAST OVER AT BYEWOOD

“Ellie! Over here.”

“Oh, Hi Uncle Nick! Excuse me, sorry! Thanks, thanks....ouch, excuse me..ooh. Phew! Thought I'd never make it.”

“Well, I only got here twenty minutes ago from the Surgery; but you're be so late- it's only supposed to be a quick milking in the afternoons isn't it?”

“Yeah, but you know what he's like...provocative. Testing me all the time. It's so airless today and the cows were feeling the heat. Everything took twice as long and he just stood watching me struggle to hook them up. Got me into an argument; I ended up betting him that if Byewood didn't win, I'd walk out and he could get some other idiot in to do the job.”

“Oh Lord! That was very rash. You really need that job, Ells, and if he liked you there was the possibility of the full time post and the cottage wasn't there?”

She nods pensively.

“OUT!”

Jubilant applause from Bailhurst. Ellie's boss grins over at her like a shark.

“ Let's catch up properly after the match. We've hardly seen anything of you in the last few months. Anyway, it's the last over and I'm afraid you'll have to say goodbye to your temporary job and any chance of a permanent one. Look at the scoreboard!”

“Oh dear. Who's that bowling now?”

“Ron, the road sweeper, you know? Bit of a pie chucker. Didn't do very well in the batting today either I hear. They always put him on last. Hmm, whose this taking the bat? New fella.”

“Let's hope he can turn it round.”'

“It would take a miracle. But I doubt the Bat's up to much. Don't usually expect brilliance from a tail ender. And I have to say, even Jonathan Trott would struggle with this.”

“You never know... Oh! What happened then? “

“LBW. Five balls left. Clumsy looking chap isn't he?”

“He looks OK to me. Come on, come on Byewood. My future depends on this.”

“Good man! Two runs, not so bad. More luck than judgement though, sent that one straight through the Slips. If it wasn't getting so dark they'd have caught him easy.”

“I think he's getting into his stride.”

“You're deluded. Work it out. Bailhurst were all out for 163. There's four balls left...Oh dear. A yorker! Naughty Ron! Batsman's fallen over his own feet. Three balls left.”

“Yes. I see. Oh well...”

“Nice square cut. But only one run this time. Well, he's trying but there's no chance now. Anyway, what's that you're holding on to?”

“Tide timetables. I keep them for good luck. They're from the year I was in the team that won the Ladies Gig racing regatta. I Haven't won anything since. Five years ago, that was.”

“Chin up. The tide'll turn one of these days. OOOH! What a lost opportunity. Come on, Byewood, one ball left, 158 for 9. You only need a boundary! Ha ha.”

A derisive murmur of laughter from the Bailhurst visitors, who've travelled two miles for this.

Little red houses, lights just coming on, peep through the wooded outskirts of the ground.

In the sticky heat an almost imperceptable wink of lightning charges the air. Under the inverted bowl of soft grey sky, Ron shambles up to the crease and bowls clean and straight for the first time.

The bat arcs in the dim dusk, Ellie seems to see lilac arrows of light gather at the point where the ball is hit-

CRACK!

-Ahhhh! The sighs of the crowd lap the ground like waves receding from their zenith, high tide.

Straight drive, over Mid On, over Ron's head, the red ball disappears into the high, welcoming arms of the dark trees of Byewood. A storm of cheers and clapping ensues.

“What happened? I missed it! “ Hisses a woman fiddling with her handbag.

No one answers. They've just seen a real miracle. A few drops of rain start to fall.

Nick turns to Ellie,

“By the way, what did he bet you if Byewood won?”

But she is on her feet, scrambling over the stunned villagers and into the arms of the new batsman for Byewood. He stands grinning sheepishly, as if he himself cannot believe the brilliance of that last, and only, Six. Ellie turns back to her uncle.

“Oh, didn't I tell you? I get the full time job and the cottage. And Uncle Nick, this is my fiance, Andrew. He agreed to stand in yesterday when old Mr Dove had to pull out.”

“So you're the reason we haven't seen our niece for three months!”

“Uh oh! Here comes the Boss, or should I say, the enemy.” Andrew nudges her. But the farmer beams round at them all.

“ Good evening Doctor. Ellie, you won that fair and square! We'll draw you up a proper contract first thing on Monday. Welcome to Bailhurst Farm. Well done, young man. But you won't win next time.”

“We'll see about that.” Andrew shakes his hand challengingly.

Nick smiles and holds up the little faded yellow book.

“You wont be needing the Tide Times for 2006 any more then?”

The battle of the two villages is over. Byewood hadn't won this match since 1955. “Seems like the tide's turned at last.”

And the rain drums down in steady applause.

The End

This is a story by my friend Julie. "THE FAMILY CAR"

                                                  THE FAMILY CAR

One day last year outside a café in Cornwall, I noticed a rare car identical to the one my father owned back in the never-had-it-so-good days. It brought back so many memories, I would have liked to speak to the driver but he or she never appeared.
When I was a child, using public transport was very restrictive when going on holiday or out for the day. Long train journeys were tedious – waiting on platforms with heavy suitcases seemed to take all day – so in 1957 my father decided to learn to drive. After a few lessons in a Morris Minor he bought a brand new Ford Anglia 100e de luxe finished in Warwick Green, registration number: UUC 512. As he was yet to pass his test, he took my uncle with him to Hubert Dees in Sidcup in order to drive it home. How proud he was to drive it out of the showroom and into our lives!

My father took the remainder of his lessons in it and I remember riding my fairy bike up and down the road, watching him while he practised his three-point turns. I don’t think he was too pleased to have an audience and waved me away on more than one occasion.

As we didn’t have a garage, my father rented one in a block located in a nearby road. He kept the Anglia in immaculate condition, even leathering it off before putting it away whenever it had been raining. In the winter, he ‘put it to bed’ with an old eiderdown tucked over the engine (under the bonnet) and a little paraffin heater underneath the car to keep it warm. All the time he owned the car he religiously took it to Hubert Dees for servicing, nowhere else would do.

For the technically minded, the Ford Anglia 100e boasted an all new unitary body with modern 3-box styling, although it had to make do with an ancient side-valve engine (1172cc). It had a 3 bar grill and a chrome V on the bonnet; three speed transmission, a top fuel consumption of 36mpg, 0-60 in 24.4 seconds and a top speed of 70mph. There were two doors on this model so the rear passengers had to climb in from behind the front seats with a release catch that tipped the whole seat forward.
My father began in earnest to master the manoeuvres and asked my uncle to go with him at every available opportunity to rehearse his hill-starts and three-point turns. I would always ask to go along for the ride; at eight years old, I found it all very exciting and jumped at the chance of a car journey, no matter how mundane. Even going to a garage to fill up with petrol was a treat. There were no self-service filling stations in those days and my father always asked the attendant for ‘Three and three shots, please.’ This meant three gallons of petrol and three shots of Redex which was supposed to make the engine run smoother.

One evening after our outing, my father stalled the engine as he attempted to drive the car into the garage. There was a deafening noise that went on and on when he tried to restart the engine. My uncle tried to rectify the problem but I ran home, crying all the way; I thought something terrible had gone wrong with the car. I later learned that the starter motor had got jammed. My father joined the Automobile Association after that and proudly displayed the yellow and chrome badge on the grill. In those days, the AA patrols used motorbikes with yellow and black livery and the patrolmen had grey uniforms and always saluted members on the road; we felt very special.

All the long hours of practice paid off when my father passed his test first time. From then on the whole family piled into UUC 512 at weekends to visit the Kent coast



and countryside. Westgate-on-Sea was our favourite seaside resort and places such as Penshurst Place, Ightham Mote and Knoll Park were among the stately homes we enjoyed. I loved being on the move and ‘drinking in the scenery,’ as my father put it, and was always reluctant to come home. We all enjoyed the freedom of the open road, and especially the novelty of the first motorway in Kent in 1960 – the first stage of the M20 which was then known as the Maidstone by-pass. I became interested in the different makes and models of cars on the road and enjoyed picking them out and discussing them with my father. Our favourites were the new Fords with their modern styling – the larger Consul, Zephyr and Zodiac and the smaller Prefect and Popular which were a variation on the Anglia. Then in 1961 came the revolutionary new Anglia 105e saloon with its back-slanted rear window which, I remember, caused quite a stir. But my father was perfectly happy with his unusual colour Anglia and never traded it in for a newer model.
Working in the West-End meant my father only used the car at weekends, so he suggested my mother learned to drive. She passed her test on the second attempt in 1966 and the use of the car revolutionised her shopping trips. Then at age seventeen it was my turn to learn. If my father had had a crystal ball, he would never have allowed me to drive his precious Anglia. Three weeks after I passed my test I had an accident and wrote it off. I had been out with a friend during the day and coming home, tried to turn right onto the A2 on a dark, wet February night. I misjudged the speed of the traffic coming from the right and a white Anglia van collided with us, ripped the driver’s door off and spun the car round, and I ended up in West Hill hospital in Dartford. Initially of course, my father was far more worried about me than the car, but when I had recovered he mourned the loss of his pride and joy. He went to see it on the scrap heap (for insurance



purposes) and came back to tell me it was still shining like a new pin. It was ten years old but only had 30,000 miles on the clock. He had subsequent, second-hand cars after this but none meant as much as his Anglia.
So, you can understand what a strange feeling it was for me to witness this Warwick Green Ford Anglia, incongruously parked outside a café in Charlestown, where my husband and I sat with our family enjoying our afternoon tea! It was almost as if my father’s car had been resurrected and come back to haunt me; I had to make sure the registration plate wasn’t UUC 512.

Copyright Julie Newman 2011