Wednesday, 6 May 2020

(Vegetables) Chapter Twenty Seven: Scones, And The Best Weather For Baking Shortbread



The three friends drove in convoy down narrow country lanes. Morwen led the way, accompanied by the chickens, while Rosa and Felindre followed, closely.

Felindre was driving, and wasn’t entirely following the rules of the road when it came to minimum stopping distances. But they’d already gotten split up once before, requiring a lot of mobile phone negotiations and map-reading72.

After an hour and a bit of motorway, A road, B road and single track lane, having met lorries, motorcycles, tractors, hedge cutters, horses, and on one occasion a flock of sheep, they finally turned off the road and down a tree and hedge-lined lane and pulled up in front of a large, ramshackle farm house.

(They’d been trailed by a couple of pigeons for the first half hour of town driving, but as soon as they cars hit the motorway there was no chance the pigeons could keep up.)

Morwen parked the car and got out.

“Welcome to my ancestral abode,” she said to Rosa and Felindre, who were both getting out of Felindre’s car, and stretching.

Rosa looked around at the old trees ringing a mature lawn, dotted with wildflowers, and at the stone walled house.

“Oooh,” she said, “it’s so pretty!”

Felindre looked a bit dubious, in the way that only a city-dweller can when faced with a rural idyll.

“Come on,” said Morwen. “We’ll let the chickens out in the orchard, and then I can show you around.”

Hoisting the chicken carrier and chickens out of the car, she led the way through an arch in the wall separating the front lawn and drive from the rest of the house grounds.

“That way’s the walled garden,” she said, nodding her head in the general direction. “Dad has his veg growing there, it’s very sheltered. The orchard’s this way.”

“Is it just your parents living here?” asked Felindre. “And are you sure they won’t mind us descending on them for the weekend?”

“Well, it depends if any of my brothers or sisters are at home at the moment,” replied Morwen. “And no, my parents won’t mind. The more the merrier, as far as they’re concerned.”

“How many brothers and sisters have you got?” asked Rosa.

“Six,” said Morwen. “Family Christmases can get a bit manic.”

“Do you hear engines?” asked Felindre.

They rounded a corner, and went through another arch in another wall, and they were in the orchard. But instead of the peaceful scene they were anticipating, where chickens contentedly scratched and pecked amoungst the trees, they were greeted by the sight of a large white marquee, a handful of food vans and a large selection of classic cars and the occasional steam engine. People in 1950s outfits were casually walking around, eating, drinking, talking and admiring the various machines.

“Oh,” said Morwen. “Um, maybe I should have called first.”




The kitchen was cosy and warm, with a large Aga on one wall, an Egyptian sarcophagus73 standing upright in a corner and low rafters. Morwen had found her mother, Ruth, and temporarily released the chickens into an empty stable, where they happily flew up and perched on a rafter.

Now, the three friends all sat around the large and well-scrubbed kitchen table, drinking tea, while Ruth made scones.

“It’s lovely to see you,” said Ruth, as she rubbed the butter into the flour. “Rosa, you’re looking as lovely as always. How’s your Mum and Dad? Do give them my very best. And to meet your new friend, Felindre, right? Lovely name. And it’s really great that you want to stay for the weekend. But you’ll have to take us as you find us, I’m afraid. What with the event on this weekend and all.”

“It’s ok Mum,” said Morwen. “We don’t have to stay.”

Her mother looked shocked.

“Morwen! You take that back. You, and your friends, are always welcome to stay as long as you like! This is your home! Always!”

She gave the scone dough a particularly emphatic squeeze, and thumped it out onto the floured chopping board.

“Sorry,” mumbled Morwen.

Rosa caught Felindre’s eye and tried not to giggle.

“Will all three of you be ok in the one room though?” asked Ruth. “I’ve had one B&B cancellation, but the rest of the rooms are full. There’s a double bed, and we can pull in a single inflatable mattress. You don’t mind sharing a bed, do you?”

She looked at Rosa and Felindre with a worried expression on her face.

Felindre replied, with a perfectly straight face: “We’ll be fine, thank you.”

Rosa took a gulp of tea to stop herself from giggling again and nearly choked. Felindre patted her on the back.

Ruth looked relieved once Rosa had stopped coughing.

“I’ll sort you out with your room soon then. But first, let’s get these scones in the oven. Scones are great, but they always taste so much better when they’re fresh out of the oven, don’t you think? And you must try some of my strawberry jam. It came first in the preserves class in the village fete last week – I’m very proud of it!”

In no time at all, chattering all the while, she’d rolled and cut out a dozen or more scones, and put them on a baking tray. Rosa listened and watched, fascinated, while Felindre drank tea and complimented Morwen’s mother on the quality of her biscuits. Morwen herself looked relaxed and occasionally embarrassed.

“Morwen, darling,” said Ruth, as she straightened up from putting the scones in the Aga’s oven. “Be a dear and go find your father. Tell him there’s tea and scones on the way. I think he’s hiding from the event in the veg patch, or possibly his shed, or his workshop. Or maybe he’s out checking the cows. Or there’s the tree down in the corner or the long field that he’s been talking about chopping up for ages now, maybe he’s off doing that. And keep an eye open for Amun-Ram, he’s been escaping again. Anyway, you’ll find him, I’m sure.”

“Yes Mum,” said Morwen obediently.

As she left the kitchen, she could hear Ruth saying to Rosa and Felindre: “so, what do you girls do? Morwen's told me bits and pieces about you – all good of course! But it’s always nice to get to know people first hand, don’t you think? More tea? Do have another biscuit – I’ve got another whole tin of homemade shortbread to get through. Though I have to confess that I’m a bit disappointed with it, to be honest. It only came third in the village fete last week. I don’t know why, maybe it was the humidity when I made it. I distinctly remember it was raining at the time. Rain plays havoc with delicate biscuits, I always find. And a good shortbread is delicate!”




Morwen’s father, Daffyd, was not to be found in his vegetable garden, or the shed. Nor was he in the workshop, or out checking the cows. Morwen even hiked down to the long field, current home to a small flock of Jacob’s sheep and the family zebra, Spot. She had to pick her way carefully between the mud puddles.

“Dammit,” she said to herself as she slipped on a particularly muddy bit of path. “Should have got my wellies out of the car.”

In the long field she saw the fallen tree, the sheep, Spot and a couple of rabbits74, but didn’t see her father. She ignored the tree, the sheep and the rabbits, but gave Spot a friendly scratch behind the ears. Spot looked disappointed that Morwen hadn’t brought any carrots.

She finally tracked her father down in the barn, where he was supervising while a young man in blue jeans was up a rickety ladder, stringing fairy lights from the rafters. When he saw her, his face lit up in a huge grin.

“Morwen, how are you? So good to see you,” he said, giving her a big hug.

Morwen looked around the barn. The rough concrete floor had been covered over, at least in part, by a wooden dance floor. It was still being pieced together by a pair of young men, who looked like they were struggling with a particularly tricky giant jigsaw. The usual hay bales were still there, but there was a lot less of them, and they had been moved back against the walls, with a few single bales lying flat on the ground like benches. A band was setting up music stands and speakers in one corner. A large banner with “Duke Wellington’s Big Band Noise” hung on the wall.

He father caught her look.

“It’s for the event,” he explained. “They’re having a dance tonight. It was supposed to be out-doors in the orchard, but there’s a worry it’ll rain.”

“Ah,” said Morwen. “Do you think it will?”

“No,” Daffyd replied in his lilting Welsh accent. “But why believe me when you can believe the Met Office?”

Morwen smiled. “I believe you Dad. Anyway, Mum sent me to find you. There’s scones.”

“Wow, she’s really putting out the welcome mat. Fresh ones?”

Morwen nodded.

Suddenly there was a crash, a flash, and a shout, and all the electric lights in the barn went out. Morwen wheeled around to see the ladder lying on the ground, and the young man who’d been putting up the fairy lights hanging from one of the rafters. As the people who had been putting the dance floor together rushed towards their dangling colleague, his hands slipped on the rafters, and he fell. Thankfully for him (if not for the others) he landed on his friends come to rescue him, and they all went down in an ungainly heap.

“That’ll be the fusebox again,” said Daffyd. “I really do need to get someone in to sort that out.”

Morwen rushed over to help the fallen. Thankfully no one was seriously hurt, just a few bumps and bruises, and a lot of groans. The tangle of people slowly pulled itself apart.

“Jesus, mate,” said one of the unfortunate landees. “Next time, wait until someone’s able to hold the bloody ladder, right?”

The young man who’d held on to the rafter was looking mournfully at his hands, which were scraped raw. He swore.

“Shit. My hands. I’m supposed to be playing tonight.”

“Come back to the house with me,” said Morwen. “I know someone who might be able to help.”
___


72 And a few frayed tempers.
73 Occupied by an Egyptian mummy
74 Normal coloured ones

No comments:

Post a Comment