Every month I put a FREE short story on here. Here’s the story for October.
Sixty-Five Not Out
Dilys’s world fell apart when the Cricket Club bowled her a googly.
“What do you mean retire?” she said, eyes wide. “I bin doing Cricket Teas since I was old enough to lift a kettle.” Her heart pounded. Anger swelled inside her. “There’s nowt wrong wi’ my teas. Famous they are. Famous.”
Ted stood in front of her twisting his cap in his hands. “I’m sorry Dilys, it’s the Committee see…”
“The Committee be beggared, it’s them incomers. Taking over the village they are. Well, we’ll see about that.”
Stripping off her apron she pushed Ted out of the door and followed him out into the street. Twenty minutes later she was making tea for old Bill Hathaway, the former Team Captain.
“Aunt Bessie, who did it afore me weren’t never asked to retire,” she said. “They wouldn’t dare.”
Bill nodded. “She were a formidable woman, your Aunt Bessie,” he said, his eyes shining with memory. “She wouldn’t let Hitler’s war nor Churchill’s peace disrupt her teas. Shortages and rationing were an anathema to her. Every summer, without fail she’d produce a spread the envy of the County.” He sighed.
Dilys handed him a cup of tea. “Some say as how she’ll be making Cricket Teas in Heaven,” she said, “and what do I get? Retire. Retire -when I’m in me prime.”
Bill shook his head. “Nowt I can do lass, not since that Nick took over the Captaincy. Pushed out I was, pushed out to make way for new, younger blood.” His shoulders sagged. “’Course it’s his missus wants to run things. She upset old George from the pub. Wanted him to serve macrobiotic lunches.” Bills chuckled. “George said, ‘They’s al’as had pub grub and pub grub’s what they’ll get.’ Give her a right flea in her ear. Now she wants to take over Cricket Teas.”
On the bus on the way home Dilys thought about the coming season. Warmth flowed through her as she recalled her love of the game, the traditions, the people, the crack of leather on willow. Making the teas had become her reason for living. Her family and friends laughed, but Dilys didn’t care, on warm summer evenings, surrounded by appreciative men in white flannels, she was in seventh heaven.
Her thoughts turned to the Incomers. Nick and Fiona had bought the Manor House and obviously believed that a fat wallet compensated for a hundred years of tradition. They had re-routed the Right-of-Way through the woods next to their property so that walkers, ramblers, riders and anyone who wanted to enjoy the woods was now forced to take a lengthy detour along the main road. Then there was the business of the Helipad which had upset a lot of people. Now they had the Cricket club in their sights. Dilys shivered. Macrobiotic teas next, she thought.
Dilys had worked at the Manor House for years and still cleaned a couple of mornings a week. She’d noticed the disappearance of treasurers that had been there for as long as she could remember. Fiona, the new Lady of the Manor as she liked to call herself, said she wanted to live in a home, not a museum. She’d asked Dilys to help out a couple of times when she had dinner parties, confining her to the kitchen. Fiona didn’t want her to help serve in case she lowered the tone. Very keen on ‘tone’ was Fiona.
In the spirit of friendliness and being on good terms, Dilys offered to help Fiona prepare the tea for the forthcoming opening match of the season.
“No, it’s all sorted,” Fiona said. “All done and packed away in the freezer. But I am having ‘eve of match cocktails’ for a few of Nick’s business acquaintances. Perhaps you could come and do kitchen duty. It’ll be something of dry run. I’m serving the same menu, Fried Soba Sushi in Broth, Aduki Bean Rice, Roast Pepper Couscous, Unprocessed sea vegetables and red cabbage followed by Pear Trifle with Cashew Nut Cream and Barley Cakes.”
Dilys shuddered as she thought of her usual fare: four loaves of sandwiches, sausage rolls, pork pies, pasties, chocolate muffins, tarts, fancy cakes and scones filled with cream and jam.
Fiona smiled. “Oh, and we’ll be having Dandelion tea, so refreshing and much better for you than the caffeinated kind.
The evening went better than Dilys expected. The food Fiona described as ‘a balanced symphony of seasonal fare appropriate for their lifestyle,’ appeared to go down well with the slick city types Nick had invited, although Dilys doubted the local lads would be quite so impressed. The clink of glasses and hum of conversation, interrupted by burst of laughter, was heartening and Dilys began to wonder if she’d been wrong about Nick and Fiona. Perhaps it was, as old Bill had said, ‘time to worship the rising sun instead of the setting one.’ Dilys told him she’d always preferred the setting sun as it was more spectacular. Bill had laughed. “They’re young,” he said. “They’ve time to grow stunning.”
The day of the Opening Match was Dilys’s birthday. Her niece Clara came round to help celebrate. While she was there Dilys received a phone call.
“It’s an emergency,” Ted said. “Can you do the Cricket Tea? Fiona, Nick and all their guests from last night have gone down with some sort of stomach bug. You’re our only hope, Dilys.”
Dilys sighed. “Of course Ted,” she said. “I’m on it.” She turned to Clara, grinning widely. “Just the sandwiches to do,” she said, “then we can get this lot loaded into the car.”
Clara frowned. “I wondered why you had so many cakes and all that party food. I thought you’d finally lost it.”
Dilys chuckled. “65 not out, that’s me,” she said. “You butter, I’ll fill.”
She smiled to herself. I knew Aunt Bessie’s laxative powder would come in handy one day, she thought.
If you enjoyed this story there are many more in my Short Story Collections here.
