Our Village
By MICHAEL CAMPBELL
THE first quiet evening after my arrival from the city I approached a man who was leaning on a gate watching the sun go .down over the distant hills. I thought it would be very agreeable to speak to him of the crops, the weather, the vicar, perhaps the latest worries of the village schoolmistress, the apples and cider and H. E. Bates, and maybe even the hops, though I had seen none. He told' me, after some moments, in a sad voice, that in a near-by, tree-lined lane the Americans from the Base had taken to drop- ping, stark naked, upon the village girls from the uppermost branches.
This was said with such stern disapproval that it seemed impertinent to question it. Indeed, when I retired that night I put it from mind and thought of other things, as express trains tore through a neighbouring field and some bird-scare gun released tremendous bangs close at hand at irregular intervals.
There clearly was a Base, for as the birds' chorus died away in the morning it was followed by a low and persistent thundering overhead. I looked out and there was a magnificent aircraft with four engines, bristling with orange rockets, passing close over the cottage, and followed almost at once by another. The noise was majestic. The cottage seemed to be trembling; There are two pubs in our village, both very old and quaint. I visited the nearest of them at noon. In a large bare room with a bow-window three elderly men and one old woman sat at some distance apart in silence. After about fifteen minutes the man seated in the window made a grunting sound, indicative that there was something proceeding outside. In fact, I had noticed this. Against the wall across the road two girls and two members of the army were what I can only describe as courting. The woman present rose with difficulty, crossed the room, looked out and said: 'Ay. Those be Beckley girls.' It was a reference to the neighbouring village; I have altered its name in case whispers about rural life have already reached Mr. Butler.
No more was said, and later I left and went to the other pub, which was even more pic- turesque, with crooked windows. I bent my head and went inside and was met by a frenzied, pounding noise, and the words: 'She was only sixteen. Only sixteen. I—loved her—so-ooh. . . .' It came from an illuminated machine in the corner of a room furnished with green chairs and tables on chromium legs. At the bar stood a tall man in a sweat-shirt, with a crew-cut head, who I first thought looked ill. Then I noticed that he was swaying slightly and his eyes were closed. The publican, who appeared to be genuinely ill, handed me a bottle of beer from a Kelvinator. At that moment, through one of the quaint, leaded windows, I saw a new black Vaux- hall taxi drive up. Three men with crew-cuts
came in and went straight to the machine. .n which they inserted money, so that it moved into: 'When someone hit my Jenny she went out like a light. Poor Jenny.' I thought they even seemed sad. I said to the tall man—indeed I had to shout it at him—'It must be very exciting flying in these tremendous aircraft.' 'I'm the cook,' he replied. 'The locals are coming tonight,' remarked the publican, 'there's a dance at Beckley.' 'In that case we'll stay at the Base, like good little boys,' said one of them. 'I'd be obliged if you do,' said the publican. I did not fully understand this, but determined to be there to meet some of the locals; perhaps even go to our village dance. Walking home, I crossed a bridge on the main -road on which were seated a number of young women idly swinging their legs. Somehow I knew that they, too, were Beckley girls. After a pleasant day watching the big bombers, I returned to 'The .Black Lamb.' Two of the girls were seated at a table. They had selected 'She was only sixteen': it seemed to describe them very well. They were remarkably dressed up, and painted up, and both were chewing gum. Five Vauxhall taxis came to the door and pulled up in lines outside. A number of young men in dark suits descended; with very long hair this time, brushed up and about in waves. Their faces were rosy and healthy. Farmers' sons. In an odd way they drew up behind one of their number and he entered first. These were my local villagers, and I was very interested, particularly in the leader. He had reddish hair, piled up on top, and a recently healed cut across one cheek. He wore a light beige suit, unlike the others, of Italian design, and had an enormous green ring on one finger. With this he rapped on the counter and gave his order, which was surprising: 'A double Dram- buie.' The publican confessed that he had none, and the leader looked unpleasantly pained. So did the group of younger men who were now all around him. 'Two large brandies,' he said, and on receiving them he poured them into one glass and drank it straight down. Varied and expensive orders followed, and the boys spread about the room, inserting coins from time to time. The combined noise of their voices and the machine was astonishing. The tables were covered with glasses of beer, brandy and whisky which they consumed indiscriminately. After a time the glasses began to fall to the floor and there was a crunching sound as they moved about, punched each other lightly, or jived to the music. The leader and a rather good-looking member of the group occasionally argued and occasionally embraced in a disturbing manner. Then the two Beckley girls, who had been coolly watching, completely unattended, rose and danced together and fell into a long kiss. This surprised me, though no one else seemed to remark it. As if by some secret signal, they all departed, the Beckley girls too, and drove off in the taxis to the dance. 1 asked the publican, who was sweeping up the glass, if they were ever really troublesome. He replied: 'No, they're not dangerous. They're only a bit messy.' The dance was at a charming village hall, and 1 found a great gathering of young men outside. Many more were occupying the whole near end of the dance-floor, shouting and pushing each other about a bit. A band played at the far end, and along .each wall sat about thirty girls, looking like the entire female population of Beckley. After some time, standing among the men. I decided thatlwe_were here to dance, and went forward with my proposition. I said, .t.o7a rather pretty girl, 'Would you care to dance?' She replied. 'No.' beg your pardon?' I said. She said, 'No.' About six girls now rose, formed pairs and danced together, and after some moments two boys stepped forward and, laughing a little, also danced with each other. It seemed to me absurd. I approached a pair of girls, who nearly knocked me over as they executed a complicated move- ment, and said, 'Would one of you dance NN me?' They halted. 'What did ydu say?' asked one. 'I said, would you like to . . ."The other inter- rupted, 'Would you kindly mind your own busi- ness?' I should have known that it takes time to learn the old village ways. After five more refusals I made my way out, in a chastened mood, through the thirty or so youths • whose playful games appeared to be taking on a rougher aspect. In contrast those standing outside on the steps were silent, and at once I saw the cause of this. Across the road was parked a large American car of battered appearance. The light was on, and inside were four men with crew-cuts who seemed to be contemplating whether to come in and sample the old village dance. 'C'mon, chickens,' said a youth by my side. It was the leader again, I noted with alarm. 'Yeh. Come on and join the party,' another called out, in a decidedly ominous tone. This was his friend and admirer.
After a moment the light went off and the car moved away, to a chorus of abuse, and a shower of pebbles and other objects. I slipped away into the darkness and security. I knew that it must be a long walk. But the air was fresh and clean, and overhead there was a mag- nificent sight; a four-engined bomber thundering through the night, with a green light winking to starboard and a red light winking to port.
-To what do you attribute your enormotasucces.■:"
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