The Field Trip

It's that time of year again! For newer readers, I'm talking about our annual spring festival - The Melting. After last year's health issues, I'm pleased to say that Bear Banger and the Bunny Boys reformed to do a modest set of six or seven numbers. And I hear all went very well. Yes, you heard me correctly. Unlike my contributions for the last couple of years, I wasn't directly involved. I wrote out a rough score for Mack Periwinkle - since the band wanted to include a new number, but that was it.

 

Cecile took the children - their missing the chocolate bunny hunt was not an option - but Chris Snow-Warren and I had to go to see producer Grant Foxworth about the Sylvan River musical. After all this time, the cast has been finalised and they are busy with rehearsals, and Grant wanted us to hear their initial efforts. Reasonable, and after our suggestions and tweaks I think it could be good. The famous baritone Corbet Mulligan was not in the cast, despite his initial interest, although we were given his contact details. I think he might want us to write a song (or songs) for him. 

 

Grant gives Corbet Mulligan's contact details to Chris

So, all in all, a productive meeting. But I had some making up to do for not accompanying Cecile to the Melting. 

"We look forward to our family time at the Melting," said Cecile. "We need to do something else together."

 

Beverley was listening, as is becoming a habit.

"Don't forget there's a field trip in a few days," she said, almost an offhand remark.

I switched my attention to my daughter, seemingly engrossed in her reading.

"What field trip?" I asked.

"Good idea," said Cecile. "We can do that."

Beverley looked up. "No, I meant I can't do a family thing whilst I'm on the school field trip."

"Ah," said Cecile. "That's right. Silly mummy. Never mind - we'll have more time to plan something nice."

I looked at them both. "Is no one going to tell me about this field trip? Why don't I know about it?"

"You were away with Uncle Chris when I learned about it," said Beverley. "You know that they've been doing some work on the canal near Catsholme? Well, the school has arranged for us to see the result. We get a day to see the new mini docks at work."

"Oh, right," I said. 

I didn't mean to sound dismissive. It was merely because - years ago - I'd also been on a field trip to look at the canal, and it resurrected some memories of my school days.

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

Workers from both Mellowdene and the hill cats - now settled in their new community of Catsholme - had been working for years to build a canal, starting with the shallow watercourse known as The Ditch. And now it was open. There was as yet only one canal boat, but both villages were proud of their combined achievement. It was only natural that the school wanted their children to witness the result of such a successful collaboration. 

Whilst the work had been in progress, the children were told it might be dangerous for them to visit. Once deemed safe, a series of field trips were arranged.

I went on one of these. 

My school chum Clarence Snow-Warren was quite excited. "I hear that the boat will allow more regular deliveries of some stuff. Frasier's dad will get cocoa beans more often. You know what that means?"

I grinned, and together we said, "More chocolate!"

"That's great," I added, "I wonder where they get it from?"

"Don't care," said Clarence. 

I shifted my chair to face him.

 

"Maybe it comes from the north coast going down Acorn Valley," I pondered.

"Still don't care."

I got up and punched his arm. "This is supposed to be an educational trip. You should care, Clary."

He stood, solemnly faced me - and blew a raspberry.

 

 

We looked at each other and then burst out laughing. 

A shadow fell over us. We looked up to see our teacher, Dermot Buckley. He pursed his lips.

"I see you're both engaged in serious schoolwork, boys," he said, "but I'll have to separate you because I need you for some important tasks."

Clary wasn't sure what to expect - and I supposed I was a touch wary too. We'd expected to visit the canal as a pair, exchange notes and discuss what we saw, all in preparation for the inevitable follow-up lesson. I had hoped the separation was temporary.

It wasn't. 

 

"Master Snow-Warren will assist me, taking notes when I speak to the foreman in charge of the final construction."

 

 

Clary sneaked a look at me and curled his lip.

 

"And you, Master Butterglove, will accompany our new pupil on the trip." Mister Buckley ushered forward a small mouse who had been examining a notebook left open on a nearby desk.

 

 
"Because he was learning his family business, he was in the 'apprentice class', but his parents now think he should move across to our main classes to get a broader academic education."

The mouse looked at me. "Hi. My idea, actually. My dad agrees I can learn the rest of the business later. I'm called Darcy."

 

Mister Buckley looked a little taken aback. He obviously didn't expect the newcomer to be so forthright. "Yes," he said. "Most interesting. Well, Master Fielding, this is Jackson Butterglove. You should stay with him for the duration of the field trip. He will look after you." He fixed me with a stare. "That's right, isn't it, Master Butterglove?"

 

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now, Master Snow-Warren, if you will come with me..."

Darcy Fielding moved to my side as we watched my teacher walk off with my school chum. Before they went out of sight, Clary looked over his shoulder and pulled a face at me.

"Wow," said the young mouse. "Is he always like that?"

 

I smiled. "Yeah. But he's a good teacher."

"So I would hope."

o 0 O 0 o

Darcy proved an interesting companion. He confirmed my suspicion that he was part of the Fielding family that ran the village newspaper. It soon became clear he was ideally suited for that business, exhibiting an enquiring mind. It also became clear that he was not prepared to take things at face value.

We had reached the area where the canal officially terminated - although Darcy pointed out that the Ditch actually continued with run-off water disappearing underground.

"Do you see?" he said. "There will be areas along the length of the canal where they can regulate the water level if it gets too low. They'll tap into the lakes up in the mountains. But they still need to ensure it won't flood in really bad weather. There'll be a pumping station somewhere to control the run-off."

 

I stared at him. "How do you know all this?"

"Research. I'm going to be a good newspaper man one day."

"When did you get a chance to research all this?"

"Ah, I'm not a swot, if that's what you're thinking. I went with my dad when he was talking to the construction managers. Work experience, he called it."

 

"I think that you might find that useful when we have our follow-up lesson. You're bound to do well."

    
He looked towards the other children spread out in a column along the canal bank, then returned his attention to me.

 

 

"If they expect to learn much purely by looking at the pretty canal boat, they might be disappointed." He checked no-one was watching us. "Come on."

"Where?"

"To learn more about this canal."

 

He started to move off. I briefly debated what to do, then remembered Mister Buckley's words... stay with him for the duration of the field trip ... He will look after you...

I hurried after him.

 

o 0 O 0 o

 There was indeed a pumping station. A small building with stone blocks at each corner, wooden planks connecting them. A sturdy door, propped open. Darcy beckoned me to look at a sign on the door. It said Van Dyke.

I nodded. "Ebb's dad runs the Waterworks. It looks as though you're right."

Darcy nodded. "Can't see a pipe from the canal though. They must have buried it. Probably be visible inside the station. I'll check."

"Do you think we should?"

"Well I am. You can wait if you want."

Again, Mister Buckley's words... stay with him...

I followed.

 

 

Darcy was right again. A pipe emerged from the ground and led to a mechanism of dials, levers, cylinders, valves and who knows what. The curious mouse went to examine a large dial.

 

"What does it do?" I asked.

Darcy laughed. "How should I know? Hydraulic stuff. I'm not a plumber. But I think it proves they've considered village safety. We can write about that."

It was then we heard voices, outside.

 

"We shouldn't be here," I whispered.

"They're probably just passing," Darcy whispered in response. 

"This shouldn't be open with those children about," said a gruff voice. 

The door slammed shut, a lock clicked, and footsteps faded.

Darcy regarded me. "You remember when you asked if I thought we should come in here?"

"Yes."

"I've revised my opinion."

 

o 0 O 0 o

I understand we were locked in there for less than an hour but it seemed longer to me. Darcy didn't panic, and surprisingly neither did I - probably due to my companion's apparent lack of concern. He told me about his previous class and asked me about his new class, wanting information about his new classmates and the teachers. And we didn't just sit and talk. Darcy thought it might be useful to draw the machinery whilst we chatted.

 

"A good reporter should always carry a notepad and pencil in his pocket," he said.

 

When we were discovered, we expected to be berated for "running off", but it didn't work out that way. It seemed Mister Buckley felt guilty for losing us.

"Are you sure you're both unhurt?" he repeated.

Darcy rewarded our teacher with a big smile. "We're quite well, sir. This pumping station was most educational. And Master Butterglove looked after me, just as you asked."

o 0 O 0 o

The memories shifted, and I thought of Brendan's fictional story where he sneaked into Van Dyke's Waterworks. I wondered if Cecile had mentioned my experience to him, nudging his imagination. Possibly, but there were more pressing concerns. My daughter.

"Beverley?"

"Hmm?"

"When you go on your field trip to the mini docks, you won't go off without your teachers, will you?"

 

 

"Course not, daddy."

Cecile fixed me with a knowing look, a hint of a smile on her perfect lips. Not a word was spoken.

 

o 0 O 0 o 

The Farm Shop

I was experimenting with atypical chord progressions on the piano when I heard the living room door open. I glanced to look and my nephew Figwort was peeking at me.

"Hi Figgy," I said, "What's the script?"

"Hello Uncle Jack," he said, a slight frown clearing as he realised my meaning. "Things are good. Aunt Cessie said it would be okay to come through. Is it okay?"

"'Course it is. Family's always welcome. Come on in."

 

He beamed and almost ran to my side, eyes drawn to my paws on the piano keyboard. "What'ya doing?"

 

"Not much. Just twiddling. Sometimes an idea for a tune pops up. Is your mum with your auntie in the kitchen?" 

He looked up. "No. She's at a meeting with the other teachers at the council offices. Dad's working so my mum asked Aunt Cessie to look after us. Aster is playing with Beverley and Biddie."

Rowan had spent quite a while as a house husband once Angelica joined the school's teaching staff, but once it was clear Aster and Figwort had settled in the village (and Figgy's bonding with his extended family helped) my brother-in-law started to seek employment. That was part of the reason we hadn't seen quite as much of him these past few months. The problem was, he couldn't decide what job he fancied. He refused point-blank to return to his career from over ten years ago. An architect, in case you're wondering. He'd helped design the houses on Cherry Blossom Avenue. No. Instead he was doing odd jobs here and there.

"What's your dad doing this week, Figgy?"

"Oh, he's helping out the Buttercups at Blackberry Orchards."

"Really?"

"Mm. There's a lot of work in the lactolia fields, so the Buttercups are all working there. Dad offered to help by doing the farm shop for Miss Dotty."

"Again? Has Dotty Buttercup forgiven him?"

 

Figwort giggled. "Mum said that the Buttercups said there was nothing to forgive. They thought it was funny."

"Very generous." I smiled, enjoying my nephew's happy face. He had changed markedly since our chat some nine or ten months ago... was it really that long? ...and Mellowdene had weaved its magic.

"Are you going to twiddle some more?" he asked, nodding towards the piano.

"I don't have to, if there's something else you'd like to do."

"No, that's okay, Uncle. I don't mind listening."

I nodded and resumed playing. As I began, I noticed that the rhythm of my playing had become jauntier. Maybe thoughts of Burdock Rowan Ivory and the farm shop were an influence...

o 0 O 0 o

On their ride to the drop-off area Rowan asked Penleigh Buttercup about the placement of the farm shop.

"Wouldn't you do better business nearer the village? You seem a bit out-of-the-way here."

Penleigh shook his head. "You're forgetting we already supply the village store like the Timbertops do. Since people living in the northwest of the county can get their fruit and veg directly from us at Blackberry Orchards, we've chosen the best place for those living furthest from those two locations. Common sense, really."

"So it is. I didn't think."

"And our customers know when we're going to be there. It's good of you to fill in, Rowan. It needs all of us to plant another lactolia field and to set up the new collection chutes for harvesting. Once I've dropped you off, I'll have to get back."

 

"So long as you don't forget to pick me up again later!" Rowan smiled.

"And there was I, thinking you were a seasoned traveller." Penleigh responded, enjoying the banter.

"Not carrying a veg stand, old chap."

o 0 O 0 o

True to Penleigh's comment, Rowan wasn't short of customers. The position near to the main route leading northeast ensured that passing trade supplemented the regular shoppers.

When not engaging with the customers he watched other Mellowdenians walking or riding past.

He chatted with Boswell and Carolinda Cornflower, who had walked from their cabin to stock up on oranges. Rowan tried not to stare at Carolinda because she dressed identically to his sister. A while ago, they had visited the Butterglove households and apparently she'd been impressed by Cecile's lifestyle, including her manner of dress. Of course, she had no need to do this - she was perfectly lovely in her own way - but as Boswell said, "It makes her happy and she feels more confident."

 

He caught sight of Willie and Wally Waters who had been doing some maintenance on the Cornflowers' cabins, and they waved as they passed by.

 

Harley and Penny Farthing came along to the farm shop accompanied by all of their children. They only attended school part time, Penny fulfilling the remainder of their educational needs at home.

 

Rowan didn't understand some of the more esoteric canine traditions that a few dog families maintained, and undoubtedly he is not alone in his ignorance.

Buster Slydale wasn't in school either. He whizzed past three or four times riding his father's old cycle and Rowan idly wondered if Slick knew his pride and joy had been borrowed. Or indeed, whether there was a reason for Buster's scholastic absence.

 

All in all, the farm shop experience was proving enjoyable. Rowan was seeing a few less familiar faces, and this brought back memories of his years on the road. He wouldn't mind doing this farm shop lark again, with one difference. He'd bring some snacks with him. Whilst he could buy some fruit or veg, he wanted something sweeter to eat.

In one of those weird coincidences, he saw something that would fulfil his desire. In the distance he saw Dolly Dale wheeling along on her candy floss cycle. 

 

Rowan looked at the farm shop stand. He'd sold most of the stock. Penleigh would be back in under an hour. He was wearing a shoulder bag that held the takings. Could he risk leaving the stand whilst he ran after Dolly to buy a candy floss? Of course he could. 

 

Off he went.

It took longer than he had thought to catch up with Dolly Dale. She didn't become aware of him for a few minutes, but Rowan was persistent. He wasn't going to give up on this tasty treat. Upon seeing the determined rabbit, she stopped and prepared to serve him.

"There you are, Rowan," she said. "You can have a large floss for your trouble."

 

 

He'd eaten the sugary treat whilst chatting to her, and their enjoyable conversation took some time. Eventually he thought he had better bring the chat to a halt, deciding that he would bring another candy floss back with him to the farm shop stand.

 

When he returned, he wished that he hadn't left his post. There were a few boxes containing the remaining provisions, but as for the stand itself, there was no sign. Somebody had taken it.

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

Penleigh Buttercup was an easy-going chap. He thought there'd be a simple explanation - it was just that he didn't know what it might be just yet. Still, he had the sense to know some help might be a good idea. And he had rolled past the ideal help a few minutes earlier. Two members of the Mellowdene Sheriff's Department. 

 

Woodstock Fisher and his partner Billy Webster were returning from a routine job when Rowan and Penleigh caught up with them to report the incident.

 

Penleigh was correct in identifying these constables as the ideal help. Billy Webster's particular skill was aerial surveillance. If anyone could spot a misplaced fruit and veg stand, it was Billy.

Cloak removed, Billy shook his wings. "I'll go and scan the area," he said, then he ran along on his short little legs before rising into the air.

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

Billy was successful. He had located the missing item within fifteen minutes. Penleigh congratulated him on his efficiency. 

 

It was resting atop the roof of Rowan's own house.

"I've no idea how it got up there," said Billy. "A ladder, ropes and pulleys, maybe. Have you any thoughts who might be responsible?"  

 

"Not really," said Rowan. That may have been true at the time, but he confided his suspicions later to Cecile.

o 0 O 0 o

I became conscious of Figwort quietly singing whilst I played the piano. Doing quite well too, considering I was improvising. 

 

Glancing at him, I wondered if he knew of some of the antics his father had performed in his childhood.

In particular, the time when he managed to position Slick Slydale's bike on the roof of his family home.*

Although there was no proof, maybe Buster Slydale thought it was time for payback on his father's behalf. And yet, he surely couldn't  have managed it alone. Unlike a bike, a veg stand has no wheels to aid movement. A mystery.

Although I have a theory...

*See A Work of Artifice (Part 3)

 

o 0 O 0 o