22. What Was That All About?

A WIDOW WOMAN Part 22

   “Who’s a lucky woman?” thought Jane to herself when she heard the two men standing by her door and clearly arguing about who should be there and, consequently, who should not. “What’s made me so popular all of a sudden?” she mused, “I mean, look at the time, and there’s two of them!”.

Before she could open the door, it flew open. Betty flew in, staring at the two men who paused in what was either some sort of deep philosophical debate or an argument.

“What are these men doing here?” she asked her mother, “and why are they shouting at each other?”

Jane shrugged her shoulders, and smiled. “They haven’t knocked yet,” she said. “I wonder which of them is first?”

“I am!” snapped the Reverend Jonah Pyke and the retired PC Gyles Gibbs in unison.

“They’ve got a new song,” Betty pointed out when strains of Stewball came drifting from the shed at the bottom of the garden, “aren’t they good?”

“It’s not my sort of thing,” grunted the Reverend Pyke, almost sneering.

“Well, it is mine,” nodded Gyles, “I like the rawness of it. The innocence. The need to be heard.”

“Anyway, gentlemen, what have I done to deserve so many visitors on an evening like this?” asked Jane.

“I thought I’d call in on my way past,” said Gyles, “do you mind it I use your toilet? I’ve been listening to your lad playing down at the pub.”

“I came to see you, specially,” put in Jonah.

The retired police officer disappeared in the direction of the downstairs toilet muttering about it being a late hour for a man of the cloth to be calling on a woman who wasn’t actually dying The toilet was just outside the back door, a few footsteps away. “I thought I’d update you on that school kitchen affair,” he added as he went, “wait until I get back.”``

“I thought I’d bring you some heavenly light on Earth,” murmured Jonah.

“What can you mean by that?” asked Jane.

“He’s being smarmy, mum,” suggested Betty, “like he always is when he’s not in his pulpit.”

“It’s just that, as a man of the faith it’s my job to encourage my flock to tread the right path,” protested Jonah.

“You mean, you think I’m going astray?” asked Jane.

“I was thinking of that devil’s music you let your Roger play with his friends,” ventured Jonah, “it’s well known to encourage all manner of sinful dancing and ill behaviour! And licentiousness! It brings on bouts of licentiousness amongst the young until they will be condemned by the Almighty to an eternity in hell!”

“What nonsense is this?” barked Gyles Gibbs, returning through the back door from the toilet. “There has always been music, sir, if I’m not mistaken, and the more primitive it is the better as I see it! What are your hymns if they’re not music?”

“They’ve got a message,” snapped the reverend. “They let us think of the Lord and His ways. They guide us to the right and not the wrong!”

The sounds of music had stopped, and Roger returned from the shed, saying goodbye to his friends as they cheerily passed the door.

“It was good in the pub, mum,” he said with a grin, “they let us play the number three times!”

“Devil’s music!” hissed Jonah. “I’ve seen them on the television, that American, what’s his name, rocking round the clock and getting the kids to cavort like beasts!”

“That’s enough of that, Jonah,” said Jane, “just because you don’t like what the singers are singing doesn’t mean that you’re right and they’re wrong or even that it’s an issue of right and wrong. And I’d be grateful if you didn’t spoil things for Roger who, by all accounts, has quite a talent.”

“He has that,” agreed Gyles, “and I can see him going a long way if he sticks at it.” He turned to the vicar, “and you, sir, need to read that bible you’re always on about and find out where it says that exuberant youth can’t express itself in joy!”

“Well I…” stammered Jonah, not used to having his own attitude criticised and ill equipped with an answer.

“I’m off to bed, mum,” grinned Roger, “it’s getting late!” he made a show of looking at his wrist watch, which was rarely particularly accurate.

“Going to be dreaming of pretty Amy, little brother?” teased Betty.

“Who’s this Amy?” asked Jane, smiling at her son.

“Amy Forthright,” put in Betty, “everyone knows that Roger fancies her! Mind you, I might if I was a boy! She’s pretty!”

“That’s disgraceful!” flared the vicar, seeing himself being edged into a corner where the lights from his Heaven rarely shone.

“The thing is,” said Betty, looking him full in the face, “what was it inspired you to call on my widowed mother at this time of the evening, Reverend? Everyone knows that you fancy her. You’re seen round here too often for your intentions to be purely innocent!”

“Betty!” exclaimed Jane.

“Well, it’s true, mum. I’ve heard what people say. Things when they don’t know I can hear them. And he comes round here mouthing off about Roger and a few Lonnie Donegan songs!”

“Oops! I’ve started something!” laughed Roger, and he skedaddled up the stairs to his room.

“I only came to fill you in on the Cornwallis affair,” put in Gyles, not wanting to get embroiled in any domestic argument with anyone, “the man was finally sacked when a few things came to light. Putting pressure on single ladies, and I believe they weren’t all single, either, to do his will, and that will wasn’t always pure. A man might be educated, but that doesn’t stop a bad and greedy man from being bad and greedy. Eh, reverend?”

“This is getting interesting, but I’m off to bed as well,” giggled Betty, “if you end up having a punch up, will the winner chuck the loser out, and join him on the street?”

“I’ve given my news anyway,” grunted Mr Gibbs, “so I’ll bid you all a warm goodnight, and, Jane you tell that Roger to keep on practising. He could make something of himself what with the way everyone’s on about skiffle music these days.”

“I will,” smiled Jane, “now off you trot, the pair of you. I’m off to bed as soon as I’ve had a cuppa, and I haven’t enough milk to brew extra cups so you’ll have to get your own at your own homes.”

When she was left in peace, with the teenagers up stairs, she sat down and sighed.

“Now what was that all about?” she asked herself.

© Peter Rogerson 11.07.21

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