After three eventful years during which Coronavirus rampaged through the Human world and the whole of Grecondale was packed up and transported from North Yorkshire to County Durham, a tight-lipped détente exists between the Human Bean and her disgruntled little charges.

The Human Bean claimed that everything was “much better” but apart from a little less dust in their homes, the Grecons could see no discernible benefits whatsoever.

A summer fair had been promised, which, it was generally agreed would be excellent, but it had yet to materialise. To be fair to the Human Bean, however, the weather had not been conducive.

Meanwhile, what passes for Normal Life in Grecondale continues…

Sally Slack-Cabbage, living up to the family name, was enjoying a leisurely afternoon with her feet up. Cedric and Isla had taken themselves off for a romantic weekend in the Scottish Lowlands – yes, how times have changed – so why not?

A nice cuppa and a squiz at the lovely party frocks in a back-issue of Grecondale Life [curiously found screwed up in a wastepaper basket in Madam’s boudoir] and it would soon be time to clock off. She’d arranged to meet up with Vivien, the maid from Y Bwthyn Bach with whom she’d become firm friends since they’d shared the same space within the folds of some crisp white tissue paper for eighteen months.

Vivien remained the talk of Grecondale as the sizeable faction of gossips clamoured to find out more about the enigmatic maid’s background which was strongly rumoured to be rather racy. Of course Sally knew the truth of the matter from the horse’s mouth, and there was nothing “racy” about it. Poor Vivien had lost her betrothed to the war; her heart had been broken and all her dreams lay in tatters.

Lackadaisical as Sally might be, caring for lost souls was an entirely different matter and if she had anything to do with it, she would get a smile back on the poor lass’s face if it was the last thing she ever did.

Late afternoon found Sally and Vivien having a natter and a chocolate in the Wool ‘n’ Wire tearoom. Sally couldn’t help but notice the wistful look on Viven’s face as her gaze was repeatedly drawn towards the smart young couple cosying up over a cuppa in the corner.

“Don’t be sad, Viv. I’ve got an idea that might be a bit of a laugh if you’re game”. Vivien looked interested, “Go on” she said tentatively, and Sally leaned in to outline her plan in hushed tones.

“Well you know how they’re all stretching their wooly necks trying to find out more about you?” Vivien nodded – she was well aware that tongues were wagging though she had no idea what was being said. “How about we really give them something to gossip about!”. Vivien nodded slowly as she began to see where this was headed. It would certainly feel good to get one up on some of those snooty women.

“So here it is. You worked in the stately home of the Earl of Typhoo no less,” declared Sally, a box of teabags on the shelf behind Vivien providing inspiration. “Turned the head of his eldest son I believe,” she continued. “Secret wedding plans. Thwarted by the family at the last minute. Banished. That should do it!” she ended triumphantly.

“Right,” said Vivien looking unimpressed. But then conceding, “Well it could be fun I suppose. But how do we go about spreading the story?”

“Oh, that’s the easy bit,” said Sally with a knowing smile. “One word in Madam’s ear. Swear her to secrecy. Bob’s your uncle it’ll be all over Gredondale in no time!” she laughed. She was sure she saw the corners of Vivien’s rosebud mouth twitch…

Just a few days later, under the pretext of doing a spot of shopping, Sally was able to check up on how well her plan was working. First stop was the grocery store.

It looked promising. Customers were huddled and there were whispered exchanges: something definitely had the Gossiping Grannies’ tongues wagging in there.

Next stop was the fishmonger’s. As she browsed the well-stocked counter, she was certain she heard the name “Typhoo” uttered by someone in the nearby gaggle of ladies. Yes, hats off to Isla, the story was going through the village like a dose of salts.

Peering through the window of the bakery, she even caught Isla in action. There she was chatting away scurrilously as Jenny and another customer listened with rapt attention – they certainly weren’t discussing current buns!

And no further confirmation was required after a customer entering the bakery suddenly turned on her heels and asked in the most condescending of tones, “And how is your poor little friend doing my dear? It can’t be easy for her living…”

Sally feigned sudden deafness and scurried off to see if she could find Vivien, chortling to herself as she went.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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