Mrs Framley's Visit

Twas a very good thing I went off to see old Florence Coales t'uther afternoon because poor soul she wasn't half in a bother.

That there Mrs Framley, her of the" Oh Mrs Rhubarb you are so wonderful", she who always has to have the last word and reckons rest of us village folk is stupid peasants , well, seems she had been a visiting poor old Florence for a neighbourly little chat, all social like, and poor Florence was in a right state she was when I got there. No call for upsetting Florence, there weren't, she is a good woman she is , tain't right to be going upsetting her at her time of life.

Mrs Framley, she bought a cake from Waitrose, Fair Trade organic chocolate and walnut it were so Florence says. Fair trade my foot, if Mrs High and Mighty wanted to trade fair she might think on buying at the village shop and supporting local farmers and traders not supporting some women in Africa or wherever and having stuff sent over here. Ain't fashionable that though is it? Don't get Brownie points for off setting your carbon foot print if you is popping down the local shop do you? No good buying local when all them posh country style magazines is telling you to buy your Wellingtons from some London shop who does mail order , especially when the hardware store don't stock pink floral ones with a ribbon lace up and the magazine tells you you has to have floral this season now is it? You tell me what is the point of ribbon lace ups in pink flowers when you is mucking out the hens, the buggers think they are some fancy worm or t'uther and they'd be pecking at your toes . Daft idea.

Anyways, Mrs Framley, she says by the way of nothing , all smiles like, that she thinks Florence is very brave letting Phillip Bucket and his "Friend " Peter do the Horticultural Show setting up tables and things, what with the kiddies always being about the place and them being what they are, but its nice Florence being such a liberal minded woman and ignoring all the gossip and everything. and she ain't sure she herself would be that brave, after all we all know what the Bible says about that sort of thing she says, and then she as sweet as anything she wonders what Deacon Prescott thinks about it all him being the Baptist Deacon and a right old school howler he is ,anti everything.

Course Old Florence is ever so upset and she don't like the idea of doing something wrong like especially, if its something the Bible is set against and she ain't no idea at all what it is that Mr Bucket and his Peter are meant to have done because they've always been very kind to her, so she is all flustered and all. "Oh dear" says Mrs Framley" I didn't mean to upset you," she says " I just thought you had a right to know what people are saying " and then pats poor old Florence on the hand and off she trots in her inappropriate footwear and leaves old Florence all confused, which to be honest ain't hard to do. Just before she goes she says " you know I do hope this blows over after all what would the Deacon Prescott say if he knew".

I know where I'd like to poke her pink floral wellingtons I do.

The Horticultural Society

My goodness you gave me quite a start there! I must have dozed off in my chair or sommit. How long you been there then? It’s not like me to doze off like that, mind, I ain’t surprised Lord knows I is exhausted sure enough. We have been a having of a bit of a time what with the Village Horticultural show coming up. See, it’s like this. We has our village horticultural show, well, in truth we has two shows, the big ‘un in the start of summer and the autumn one in October. Summer one is me favourite, what with the sweet peas and the kid’s “gardens on a plate” and the butterfly collection, very popular that one with the kids. They gives a prize to the nipper who has the biggest collection of Cabbage Whites pinned on a board all pretty like. Our Alfred’s boy, William, he won 50p last year and a rosette for best in show for his display. He had 47 of them, clever little sod.

The autumn show, now that one is more to do with jams and jellies and who makes the best chutney and what not and pompom Dahlias in showy colours. Now those I must say are a particular delight of mine. Mr Bucket, him who used to be the postmaster until he falls of his bike one winter on the ice and couldn't carry his bag no more, well he has the cottage next door but one to here. He is a right strange oddity he is, came from Birmingham after the war, never grows a vegetable or no fruit neither, not a single strawberry or cabbage his whole plot, and its a big ‘en mind, is taken over with Dahlias and chrysanthemums. ‘Tis a picture at this time of year I can tell you. Even without my glasses it’s a carnival to see all ‘em flowers, all big and blousy like, bobbing their heads in row after row like over painted barmaids having a chin wag.

Anyways see we has a committee for our Horticultural Society and Mr Bucket and his ”Friend” Peter them has always done the setting up of tables and arranging exhibits and stuff like that, very good with pickles is Peter and his Victoria sandwich is the lightest you’n ever tasted. Then there’s me of course, and old Florence Coales, now she has always been in charge of the committee like her Mum before her and her gran before that. Then there’s a couple of other old biddies who comes to make up numbers like. Well bugger me if this year Mrs ever so “Hoighty Toighty” Framley, hasn’t pushed in and I reckon she has an mind to run the whole thing and her not been here more than five minutes neither. Very full of herself she is, gets this Country Magazine for townees on subscription from the Post office every month and drives some posh silver car built like a tank, the car not her, she be thin as a reed and ‘bout as dried up as last years old apples that one. Anyways she aint ‘alf caused some feathers to fly. She doesn’t want this and she don’t want that and she reckons we is all as thick as dumplings, though she don’t say as such. She be ever so snide and polite that one and smiles to yer face “oh Mrs Rhubarb this and Mrs Rhubarb that” all nice like but I knows what she says behind me back stupid cow.

Lord look at the hour, I has to go and see old Florence ‘about the show. Mind, if you see that Mrs Framley don’t you utter a word to her ‘bout what I say’s and don’t let on you’s been a nattering with me you hear ?

More chatter

Well here I am again. Thought you’d seen the last of me I bet. No such luck me duck it will take more than a cold spell to carry me off. Lord though, it’s been rather a dire dithersome day or two since I sat down here last.See, since that young chit from London come to see me, her who wouldn’t touch me biscuits cos of her wheat allergies, I haven’t been able to find me glasses anywhere.

Now mind, I am not saying she stoled them. But you have to be watchful with these London folks they’d steal your flannel knickers if they thought some idiot would buy ‘um off ‘em. Last Spring Thomas Bunter, him who fell under the combine when he were no more than a nipper and lost a foot, never believe it to see him play football you wouldn’t, T’is amazing what they can do these here days with them prospothetiwotsits things at the hospital, it really is. Well any roads, he had this London bloke come around the farm snooping and he says he’s after olden times farm stuff, hay forks and the like and he tells Thomas he’ll pay gurt good money for ‘em. So Thomas flogs him some old churns, a couple of hay forks and an old broken plough that he told him was used for cutting turnips and the stupid bugger paid him eight hundred quid for the lot. Gurt idiot!

Anyway, me glasses as I said has gone missing, which is a real bugger I can tell you, and it’s been damp with all the rain and that. Right windy it’s been here it has, s’pect Mother Nature been living on cabbage soup like I has, wonderful good stuff for to ward off winter chills, but darn’t ‘alf make you windy it does.

Well what with the wind and rain my poor hands ain’t been so good, you look at ‘em, me dearie dear, naught but knobbly things my knuckles, like some twisted old tree I am. So no way I could do no nothing of any sorts at all so I just had to be sat here by the fire, chewing me teeth and thinking on things. Don’t do a body no good to be stuck in doors a thinking when she ought to be out in the air a doing stuff.

Missed the last of the Elderberries I did and that are a bad thing. Nothing like a good glass of Elderberry cordial with a tot of brandy or gin to keep a chest clear, good job our Fanny got us some goose fat from the market over Marlborough way last winter, dollop a bit of that stuff on yer chest and wrap yernself in flannel and germs won’t come near you all winter. Mind, by April it don’t ‘alf pong a bit.

Now you go and put the kettle on for me, and make a cup of tea for me there’s a dear and see if you can’t ‘ave a poke about and see if you 'men find me specs anywhere. Go on up with you, Old woman could die of thirst waiting for you to shift your behind you lazy gurt trollop.