About Eric Beer
Eric V Beer was educated for an engineering career and started work as a laboratory assistant, but was soon conscripted for underground coal mining. After shifts he studied painting at Nottingham School of Art . Later he taught and went on to become a college lecturer, documentary film maker and widely published non-fiction author. He has written on many subjects, both for adults and children. His short stories have been broadcast and published and his spy romance novel An Expensive Game, his second novel The Triangle and Bevin Boy novel No Medals, all written under the pen name of Jack Agnew,are all published.
Unfortunately Eric, a greatly valued member of the Circle, died in November 09 after a long illness.
Unfortunately Eric, a greatly valued member of the Circle, died in November 09 after a long illness.
Ladies Day 1896
Clutching his platform ticket, the Club Captain went to where the train was rumbling to a standstill. Amid a great banging of doors and shouting of 'Ilkley' by porters and the guard, a group of straw hatted lady cyclists, wearing long black skirts and white blouses with leg of mutton sleeves, made their way, toward the guard's van.
The guard and a porter were struggling to lift a tricycle onto the platform.
Straightening his gold tasseled skull cap, the captain stepped forward.
'Good morning ladies, Cedric Braithwaite, captain, The Leeds Schoolmaster's Cycling Club. May I welcome you as guests to our annual Invitation Ladies'Day run ?'
Both the porter and the guard turned, open mouthed to stare at the youngest and prettiest of the arrivals, who was only now emerging from the train. Everyone followed their gaze. The captain turned, too, saying,
' Ah ! There you are. Have you had a pleasant journey, Gwen ? All ready for the fray ?'
Gwendoline, as she preferred to be known, tightened her dainty nostrils, and gave a well rehearsed smile, which she knew to be devastating to any men within thirty paces, 'Oh yes, Uncle. Thank you so much for inviting me.'
Her navy blue 'rational' cycling outfit, trimmed with white braid at the cuffs and collar and specially purchased for this occasion from a cyclists' outfitter's in Thornton's Arcade had already attracted the attention of those loitering on the platform. One lady passenger, carrying a Yorkshire terrier, made a tutting sound with her tongue and said 'Bloomers ! On a Sunday, too. Is there no shame left in the world ?'
The other lady cyclists smiled icily at each other.
Leading the way, the captain said,' Do let me introduce you to the gentlemen of our club. Twelve are with us today.' Pointedly ignoring two young men, wearing rugby shirts, who smiled broadly at Gwendoline, he continued, 'Most have managed to acquire our smart new uniform. Pale blue knickerbockers, Norfolk jackets, knee socks and skull caps. As you know we propose to cycle to Kettlewell, wending our way via Bolton Abbey and Grassington. The gentlemen have already ridden here from Leeds, but I surmised that some of the gradients might make severe demands on the distaff side. So I decided it would be best for you to rendezvous here.'
'There was really no need.' replied a formidable looking lady cyclist, her lips smiling in an inverted crescent. ' My sister and I are both members of the Leeds and District Lady Cyclists Association. With our new, improved Rudge safety machines, equipped with pneumatics, we can meet almost any challenge.' The two rugby shirted men exchanged smirks and received a severe glance from their captain.
The lady continued, ' I don't know about Miss Trumbull, the tricyclist. Without pneumatics she may not keep up.'
Meanwhile, Gwendoline's ravishing eyes had appraised the assembled male cyclists. A little way back in the column was a young man of some interest; astride what appeared to be a Hepworth Road Racer. Gwendoline's quick glance established his neatly waxed black moustache and fetching tan.
However, the captain clearly had other ideas.
'Ah, Gwendoline.' he said, directing her attention toward another young man who's teeth seemed to crowd forward between his lips. 'Do let me introduce you to Bernard Jowett. He is my secretary and general factotum and will be riding 'number two' on my tandem today. He's St. Marks and St. Lukes Sixth Form Geography. A splendid fellow. Do ride alongside us. I have been wanting you to meet him for some time. You will find him a very knowledgeable companion. A most excellent fellow.'
Finding it difficult to meet Gwendoline's bewitching gaze, Bernard smiled at the ground, 'Delighted, I'm sure, Miss Braithwaite.' he told the cobbles. 'You know it's a great privilege to be allowed to ride on the captain's tandem. Only the Vice Captain and myself are distinguished in this way. Regrettably the V C is not with us today.'
'Really? I only hope I can keep up.'
'I am sure you will. In deference to the ladies, we will not be 'scorching' today and no one would dream of overtaking the captain. That would be extremely bad form.' He gave a slight titter.
'In twos.'called the captain and sounded his whistle.'Move off.' The serpent of machines swept towards the bridge over the Wharfe and turned left along the river bank. The sun shone warm on the cyclists backs. Bernard said,
'Nice easy level bit for the ladies. Not far to B A.'
The captain gave two short whistle blasts.
'Drop back. Single f ile.'explained Bernard.
When the road widened again, Gwendoline came alongside the captain's tandem once more.
'Most interesting glaciated geology along our route.' Bernard informed her.' Note the dry-stone walls. Plenty of millstone grit here. Beyond B. A. you will see more limestone. Just think. Billions of tiny creatures'skeletons, millions of years old.'
'B A ?'asked Gwendoline.
'Oh, Bolton Abbey. Silly me.'
Gwendoline glanced at the glistening river and asked, 'Who is the young man on the Hepworth Racer ?'
'Oh, that would be Lawrence.'
Beside them, green and flecked white with grazing sheep, the hillsides seemed to smile in the morning sun.
'Beautiful.'said Gwendoline,'Is that his first name ?'
'No, he is called Douglas. Douglas Lawrence.'
As they neared Bolton Abbey, Mr Lawrence suddenly sprinted to beside the captain. 'Excuse me, sir, but I think the lady on the tricycle, Miss Ivy Trumbull, would appreciate a short rest at the Abbey. Not having pneumatic tyres she finds it rather hard going.'
The captain looked back, annoyed. He did not want the two rugby shirted members to have the slightest excuse for entering the four ale bar of the Devonshire Arms, and muttered, 'I wonder if she realised what a liability she would be ?'Mr Lawrence slackened his pace, dropping back beside Gwendoline. 'Do you know the Abbey?’
Gwendoline shook her head.
'A very special place. Wordsworth wrote about it, you know, and the beautiful phantom which haunts it.'
'Phantom?’
'White she is as lily of June, and beauteous as the silver moon. I will tell you about it when we stop.'
'You are three abreast.'snapped Bernard. 'Club rules.' 'So sorry.'said Mr Lawrence.
'And what is this beautiful phantom ?'asked Gwendoline as she and Mr Lawrence strolled among the Abbey ruins.
'Why, a white hart. Grieving, the doe comes at eventide and rests upon a tombstone here. Some say its slender neck is...'
'Ah, there you are.' interrupted Bernard. The churchwarden has intimated that he thinks the churchgoers, now assembling for the morning service... you see part of the Abbey is the Parish Church ... might not think, ah, that Miss Braithwaite's apparel is quite...'
'Quite the most beautiful to be seen.' concluded Mr Lawrence, taking Gwendoline's arm. Gwendoline gave her new escort an amused look and asked, 'What do you teach ?'
'English Literature and Poetry.'
'I suppose flattery is part of the curriculum.'
Striking a theatrical attitude, he declaimed, 'As a poet it would be craven of me not to speak as beauty's advocate. Do you not agree ?'
'Oh, I do, I do.' said Gwendoline, not quite understanding what this delightful young man meant, but welcoming what must surely be a prelude to even more gratifying compliments.
'Tosh !' said Bernard and strode away, leaving Gwendoline and Douglas giggling behind their hands.
The cyclists regrouped and moved off. Looking about for Gwendoline, the captain asked, 'is Miss Trumbull quite recovered now?'
'Yes, I understand that fellow Lawrence and your niece have dropped to the back of the column to offer her encouragement.'replied Bernard.
'Oh really ?'said the captain.
Cool tunnels of foliage arched the road. Tree roots, weathered by centuries of winters clutched wayside boulders in their claws. At Barden the ruined tower stood, indifferent to the cyclists'passing.
Pausing on the nearby stone bridge, Douglas and Gwendoline listened to the clamour as white foam dashed against the stubborn rocks. Marvelling at the mosaic of submerged boulders and pebbles they watched as, almost motionless in the crystal water, the sleek speckled trout sought shade.
'There's one.'said Gwendoline.
'Where ?'Douglas took her hand in his. 'Point your finger at it.'
Gwendoline, her cheek quite close to Douglas's, murmured, 'Mr Jowett was explaining the geology of the valley to me.'
'But' said Douglas, 'We cycle not through geology, but poetry. Past ancient oaks, stag headed and entwined with ivy. Cottages, their stone roofs brushed with gold by moss, their leaded windows answering the sun's bright glints. Poetry born of geology, maybe, but pure poetry.'
Further on Gwendoline asked, 'What is this place ?
'Appletreewick'
'What a lovely name.'
'The locals call it Apptrick.'
'Perhaps they think Appletreewick would let everyone know just how pretty it is and they would be crowded out.'
'If the village were any prettier they would surely call it Gwendoline.' Secretly appreciating his discernment, she turned and looked roguishly at him. 'Mr Lawrence you are just a naughty flatterer. How can I take anything you say seriously ? You seem to have a quotation for everything, or you make one up.'
'Take me any way you wish, but take me.'he smiled.
They crossed Burnsall's many arched bridge where an artist sat at his easel trying to capture the magic of its dark pools and ancient stone. Stopping outside the Red Lion, the captain blew his whistle and called 'Elevenses!'
Gwendoline went to sit on a bench by the river bank. The captain, carrying a pint of ale, walked across, 'I missed you in there,
can I get you anything to drink ?'
'Mr Lawrence is getting me a shandy.'
'I think I should tell you that I did not expect you to take up with that man who is regarded as somewhat of a...' he paused as Douglas Lawrence approached with a tin tray on which stood two glasses and a saucer sized, arrowroot biscuit.
'Oh thank you.'said Gwendoline.
Mr Lawrence took a long pull at his drink and unwrapped the biscuit. 'May I tempt you ?' He paused and grinned roguishly, 'To some of this Snapping the biscuit, he handed half to Gwendoline.
The captain coughed and seemed to have trouble swallowing. Eventually he asked 'Are you having difficulty in keeping up ?'
'Oh, no, it was just that Mr Lawrence was concerned about Miss Trumbull.'
'Oh, really ?'asked the captain. 'Very considerate I'm sure.'
Gwendoline threw a piece of biscuit among the ducks, laughing at the
minor riot she started. 'What a fuss about nothing .'she said.
The captain rose and went off to speak with Miss Trumbull.
Labouring up the slope, the club approached a fork in the dusty road. His coat tied about him with string, a shepherd, stood against the moss rounded wall. In the absence of a sign post, the captain called, 'This way for Grassington ?'The old man pointed, and added 'Theer's nowt oop this road save Thorpe.'The collie, sitting close beside his master, squinted into the passing cyclist's dust. The shepherd shook his head, 'And lassies riding on wi"em, an'all.'
Surprised at the rattle of Miss Ivy Trumbull's tricycle and her shrill cry of,'What price your pneumatics now ?' the shepherd turned to see two cyclists stopped a little way off.
A young lady in the most astonishing clothes was saying,'l think it must be a puncture.'
'How unfortunate. Never mind.'her companion reassured her. 'I have a repair kit. All we need is some water to find the leak and we should have it mended in no time.'Then, addressing the old man.'l need a bowl of water to mend this young lady's tyre.'
'Watter ? Watter will mend a tyre ? That sounds like a miracle. Is this one of them rheumatic tyres I've heerd about ?'
Gwendoline and Douglas exchanged grins.
'There's plenty of watter hereabouts, that's for certain. If you come to t'cottage I got a bowl you can use.'
Pushing their cycles, they followed him. The narrow road sidled between high, dry stone walls. The soft green turf seemed to have been thrown like a shawl over the shoulders of the hills. Now the road dipped, magically, into another century. A huddle of stone buildings and one grand, manor house, untouched by time, stood there. Cart houses and cottages silent in the sun, the ancient village street deserted, only a ginger cat stopped and turned to stare at them. The shepherd tugged at an outhouse door. 'I'll get thee some watter.'
Douglas began to remove the inner tube from the tyre.
'You seem to have a quotation for everything.'said Gwendoline.'Do you have none about punctures?’ Douglas grinned.
'There was a faith healer of Deal,
Who said, 'Although pain isn't real,
If I sit on a pin
And it punctures my skin,
I dislike what I fancy I feel.'
At that moment Gwendoline did not even think about how her smile looked. She laughed aloud, laughter as warm and natural as the sunshine of that lovely day.
The shepherd placed a bowl of water beside the upended cycle. His dog nosed forward, lapping at it.
'Get off ! Daft animal, it's not for thee.'Then watching, keen eyed, as the bubbles rose from the submerged inner tube, the old man breathed 'Well, I niver. Rubroid.' He read the embossed legend on the the puncture outfit's tin, 'For the Repair of Pneumatic Tyres.' he winked at Gwendoline and chuckled.
'I knowed that tha knows. It's me as is rheumatic not the tyres.'
She smiled.
'You’re a lovely lass.' the shepherd went on, and then to Douglas, 'A lovely day and a lovely lass. What more could you want ?'
Douglas smiled. 'Luncheon, I think.'
'Tha would best be goin' on up to 't'Fountaine', in Linton, just up theer.' He was right. There could have been nothing better. Ham, pickles and crusty bread and then apple pie and cream.
Resting on the close cropped grass of the village green, fringed with timeworn buildings and a tiny stream rippling under a packhorse bridge, they threw the remains of Douglas's arrowroot biscuit to an armada of greedy ducks.
'Whatever will Uncle say ? What will the others think ?' asked Gwendoline and then teased. 'I expect you would rather have kept up with the rest. Just think. I could have been beside the captain's tandem with Bernard. I still have so much to learn about glaciated valleys. All you teach me is pretty words. 'She tilted her head and pouted irresistibly. 'I expect you think it a pity I got a puncture. I expect the others pity you for having to stay behind with me.'
'No, they must surely envy me.'
'Have you a quotation for that ?'
'Of course. It is always better to be envied than pitied.' and with sudden boldness, Douglas kissed her.
The postcard which dropped through Mr Lawrence's letter box with Monday's tea time post bore a heading incorporating a winged bicycle wheel. It's message was terse.
Mr Lawrence,.
My brother informs me that when his daughter returned after the Ladies' Day run and your regrettable lapse in club etiquette, her machine was missing it's pump. suspect you may have some notion of it's whereabouts. Mr Edgar Braithwaite, Gwendolines's father, would prefer that you return the Eversure pump or it's purchase price (two shillings and ninepence) via me and not attempt to return it directly to Miss Braithwaite
and oblige.
Cedric Braithwaite. (Captain.)
Douglas placed the card on the mantelshelf, next to Gwendoline's pump. He pursed his lips, then smiled and slowly shook his head.
The guard and a porter were struggling to lift a tricycle onto the platform.
Straightening his gold tasseled skull cap, the captain stepped forward.
'Good morning ladies, Cedric Braithwaite, captain, The Leeds Schoolmaster's Cycling Club. May I welcome you as guests to our annual Invitation Ladies'Day run ?'
Both the porter and the guard turned, open mouthed to stare at the youngest and prettiest of the arrivals, who was only now emerging from the train. Everyone followed their gaze. The captain turned, too, saying,
' Ah ! There you are. Have you had a pleasant journey, Gwen ? All ready for the fray ?'
Gwendoline, as she preferred to be known, tightened her dainty nostrils, and gave a well rehearsed smile, which she knew to be devastating to any men within thirty paces, 'Oh yes, Uncle. Thank you so much for inviting me.'
Her navy blue 'rational' cycling outfit, trimmed with white braid at the cuffs and collar and specially purchased for this occasion from a cyclists' outfitter's in Thornton's Arcade had already attracted the attention of those loitering on the platform. One lady passenger, carrying a Yorkshire terrier, made a tutting sound with her tongue and said 'Bloomers ! On a Sunday, too. Is there no shame left in the world ?'
The other lady cyclists smiled icily at each other.
Leading the way, the captain said,' Do let me introduce you to the gentlemen of our club. Twelve are with us today.' Pointedly ignoring two young men, wearing rugby shirts, who smiled broadly at Gwendoline, he continued, 'Most have managed to acquire our smart new uniform. Pale blue knickerbockers, Norfolk jackets, knee socks and skull caps. As you know we propose to cycle to Kettlewell, wending our way via Bolton Abbey and Grassington. The gentlemen have already ridden here from Leeds, but I surmised that some of the gradients might make severe demands on the distaff side. So I decided it would be best for you to rendezvous here.'
'There was really no need.' replied a formidable looking lady cyclist, her lips smiling in an inverted crescent. ' My sister and I are both members of the Leeds and District Lady Cyclists Association. With our new, improved Rudge safety machines, equipped with pneumatics, we can meet almost any challenge.' The two rugby shirted men exchanged smirks and received a severe glance from their captain.
The lady continued, ' I don't know about Miss Trumbull, the tricyclist. Without pneumatics she may not keep up.'
Meanwhile, Gwendoline's ravishing eyes had appraised the assembled male cyclists. A little way back in the column was a young man of some interest; astride what appeared to be a Hepworth Road Racer. Gwendoline's quick glance established his neatly waxed black moustache and fetching tan.
However, the captain clearly had other ideas.
'Ah, Gwendoline.' he said, directing her attention toward another young man who's teeth seemed to crowd forward between his lips. 'Do let me introduce you to Bernard Jowett. He is my secretary and general factotum and will be riding 'number two' on my tandem today. He's St. Marks and St. Lukes Sixth Form Geography. A splendid fellow. Do ride alongside us. I have been wanting you to meet him for some time. You will find him a very knowledgeable companion. A most excellent fellow.'
Finding it difficult to meet Gwendoline's bewitching gaze, Bernard smiled at the ground, 'Delighted, I'm sure, Miss Braithwaite.' he told the cobbles. 'You know it's a great privilege to be allowed to ride on the captain's tandem. Only the Vice Captain and myself are distinguished in this way. Regrettably the V C is not with us today.'
'Really? I only hope I can keep up.'
'I am sure you will. In deference to the ladies, we will not be 'scorching' today and no one would dream of overtaking the captain. That would be extremely bad form.' He gave a slight titter.
'In twos.'called the captain and sounded his whistle.'Move off.' The serpent of machines swept towards the bridge over the Wharfe and turned left along the river bank. The sun shone warm on the cyclists backs. Bernard said,
'Nice easy level bit for the ladies. Not far to B A.'
The captain gave two short whistle blasts.
'Drop back. Single f ile.'explained Bernard.
When the road widened again, Gwendoline came alongside the captain's tandem once more.
'Most interesting glaciated geology along our route.' Bernard informed her.' Note the dry-stone walls. Plenty of millstone grit here. Beyond B. A. you will see more limestone. Just think. Billions of tiny creatures'skeletons, millions of years old.'
'B A ?'asked Gwendoline.
'Oh, Bolton Abbey. Silly me.'
Gwendoline glanced at the glistening river and asked, 'Who is the young man on the Hepworth Racer ?'
'Oh, that would be Lawrence.'
Beside them, green and flecked white with grazing sheep, the hillsides seemed to smile in the morning sun.
'Beautiful.'said Gwendoline,'Is that his first name ?'
'No, he is called Douglas. Douglas Lawrence.'
As they neared Bolton Abbey, Mr Lawrence suddenly sprinted to beside the captain. 'Excuse me, sir, but I think the lady on the tricycle, Miss Ivy Trumbull, would appreciate a short rest at the Abbey. Not having pneumatic tyres she finds it rather hard going.'
The captain looked back, annoyed. He did not want the two rugby shirted members to have the slightest excuse for entering the four ale bar of the Devonshire Arms, and muttered, 'I wonder if she realised what a liability she would be ?'Mr Lawrence slackened his pace, dropping back beside Gwendoline. 'Do you know the Abbey?’
Gwendoline shook her head.
'A very special place. Wordsworth wrote about it, you know, and the beautiful phantom which haunts it.'
'Phantom?’
'White she is as lily of June, and beauteous as the silver moon. I will tell you about it when we stop.'
'You are three abreast.'snapped Bernard. 'Club rules.' 'So sorry.'said Mr Lawrence.
'And what is this beautiful phantom ?'asked Gwendoline as she and Mr Lawrence strolled among the Abbey ruins.
'Why, a white hart. Grieving, the doe comes at eventide and rests upon a tombstone here. Some say its slender neck is...'
'Ah, there you are.' interrupted Bernard. The churchwarden has intimated that he thinks the churchgoers, now assembling for the morning service... you see part of the Abbey is the Parish Church ... might not think, ah, that Miss Braithwaite's apparel is quite...'
'Quite the most beautiful to be seen.' concluded Mr Lawrence, taking Gwendoline's arm. Gwendoline gave her new escort an amused look and asked, 'What do you teach ?'
'English Literature and Poetry.'
'I suppose flattery is part of the curriculum.'
Striking a theatrical attitude, he declaimed, 'As a poet it would be craven of me not to speak as beauty's advocate. Do you not agree ?'
'Oh, I do, I do.' said Gwendoline, not quite understanding what this delightful young man meant, but welcoming what must surely be a prelude to even more gratifying compliments.
'Tosh !' said Bernard and strode away, leaving Gwendoline and Douglas giggling behind their hands.
The cyclists regrouped and moved off. Looking about for Gwendoline, the captain asked, 'is Miss Trumbull quite recovered now?'
'Yes, I understand that fellow Lawrence and your niece have dropped to the back of the column to offer her encouragement.'replied Bernard.
'Oh really ?'said the captain.
Cool tunnels of foliage arched the road. Tree roots, weathered by centuries of winters clutched wayside boulders in their claws. At Barden the ruined tower stood, indifferent to the cyclists'passing.
Pausing on the nearby stone bridge, Douglas and Gwendoline listened to the clamour as white foam dashed against the stubborn rocks. Marvelling at the mosaic of submerged boulders and pebbles they watched as, almost motionless in the crystal water, the sleek speckled trout sought shade.
'There's one.'said Gwendoline.
'Where ?'Douglas took her hand in his. 'Point your finger at it.'
Gwendoline, her cheek quite close to Douglas's, murmured, 'Mr Jowett was explaining the geology of the valley to me.'
'But' said Douglas, 'We cycle not through geology, but poetry. Past ancient oaks, stag headed and entwined with ivy. Cottages, their stone roofs brushed with gold by moss, their leaded windows answering the sun's bright glints. Poetry born of geology, maybe, but pure poetry.'
Further on Gwendoline asked, 'What is this place ?
'Appletreewick'
'What a lovely name.'
'The locals call it Apptrick.'
'Perhaps they think Appletreewick would let everyone know just how pretty it is and they would be crowded out.'
'If the village were any prettier they would surely call it Gwendoline.' Secretly appreciating his discernment, she turned and looked roguishly at him. 'Mr Lawrence you are just a naughty flatterer. How can I take anything you say seriously ? You seem to have a quotation for everything, or you make one up.'
'Take me any way you wish, but take me.'he smiled.
They crossed Burnsall's many arched bridge where an artist sat at his easel trying to capture the magic of its dark pools and ancient stone. Stopping outside the Red Lion, the captain blew his whistle and called 'Elevenses!'
Gwendoline went to sit on a bench by the river bank. The captain, carrying a pint of ale, walked across, 'I missed you in there,
can I get you anything to drink ?'
'Mr Lawrence is getting me a shandy.'
'I think I should tell you that I did not expect you to take up with that man who is regarded as somewhat of a...' he paused as Douglas Lawrence approached with a tin tray on which stood two glasses and a saucer sized, arrowroot biscuit.
'Oh thank you.'said Gwendoline.
Mr Lawrence took a long pull at his drink and unwrapped the biscuit. 'May I tempt you ?' He paused and grinned roguishly, 'To some of this Snapping the biscuit, he handed half to Gwendoline.
The captain coughed and seemed to have trouble swallowing. Eventually he asked 'Are you having difficulty in keeping up ?'
'Oh, no, it was just that Mr Lawrence was concerned about Miss Trumbull.'
'Oh, really ?'asked the captain. 'Very considerate I'm sure.'
Gwendoline threw a piece of biscuit among the ducks, laughing at the
minor riot she started. 'What a fuss about nothing .'she said.
The captain rose and went off to speak with Miss Trumbull.
Labouring up the slope, the club approached a fork in the dusty road. His coat tied about him with string, a shepherd, stood against the moss rounded wall. In the absence of a sign post, the captain called, 'This way for Grassington ?'The old man pointed, and added 'Theer's nowt oop this road save Thorpe.'The collie, sitting close beside his master, squinted into the passing cyclist's dust. The shepherd shook his head, 'And lassies riding on wi"em, an'all.'
Surprised at the rattle of Miss Ivy Trumbull's tricycle and her shrill cry of,'What price your pneumatics now ?' the shepherd turned to see two cyclists stopped a little way off.
A young lady in the most astonishing clothes was saying,'l think it must be a puncture.'
'How unfortunate. Never mind.'her companion reassured her. 'I have a repair kit. All we need is some water to find the leak and we should have it mended in no time.'Then, addressing the old man.'l need a bowl of water to mend this young lady's tyre.'
'Watter ? Watter will mend a tyre ? That sounds like a miracle. Is this one of them rheumatic tyres I've heerd about ?'
Gwendoline and Douglas exchanged grins.
'There's plenty of watter hereabouts, that's for certain. If you come to t'cottage I got a bowl you can use.'
Pushing their cycles, they followed him. The narrow road sidled between high, dry stone walls. The soft green turf seemed to have been thrown like a shawl over the shoulders of the hills. Now the road dipped, magically, into another century. A huddle of stone buildings and one grand, manor house, untouched by time, stood there. Cart houses and cottages silent in the sun, the ancient village street deserted, only a ginger cat stopped and turned to stare at them. The shepherd tugged at an outhouse door. 'I'll get thee some watter.'
Douglas began to remove the inner tube from the tyre.
'You seem to have a quotation for everything.'said Gwendoline.'Do you have none about punctures?’ Douglas grinned.
'There was a faith healer of Deal,
Who said, 'Although pain isn't real,
If I sit on a pin
And it punctures my skin,
I dislike what I fancy I feel.'
At that moment Gwendoline did not even think about how her smile looked. She laughed aloud, laughter as warm and natural as the sunshine of that lovely day.
The shepherd placed a bowl of water beside the upended cycle. His dog nosed forward, lapping at it.
'Get off ! Daft animal, it's not for thee.'Then watching, keen eyed, as the bubbles rose from the submerged inner tube, the old man breathed 'Well, I niver. Rubroid.' He read the embossed legend on the the puncture outfit's tin, 'For the Repair of Pneumatic Tyres.' he winked at Gwendoline and chuckled.
'I knowed that tha knows. It's me as is rheumatic not the tyres.'
She smiled.
'You’re a lovely lass.' the shepherd went on, and then to Douglas, 'A lovely day and a lovely lass. What more could you want ?'
Douglas smiled. 'Luncheon, I think.'
'Tha would best be goin' on up to 't'Fountaine', in Linton, just up theer.' He was right. There could have been nothing better. Ham, pickles and crusty bread and then apple pie and cream.
Resting on the close cropped grass of the village green, fringed with timeworn buildings and a tiny stream rippling under a packhorse bridge, they threw the remains of Douglas's arrowroot biscuit to an armada of greedy ducks.
'Whatever will Uncle say ? What will the others think ?' asked Gwendoline and then teased. 'I expect you would rather have kept up with the rest. Just think. I could have been beside the captain's tandem with Bernard. I still have so much to learn about glaciated valleys. All you teach me is pretty words. 'She tilted her head and pouted irresistibly. 'I expect you think it a pity I got a puncture. I expect the others pity you for having to stay behind with me.'
'No, they must surely envy me.'
'Have you a quotation for that ?'
'Of course. It is always better to be envied than pitied.' and with sudden boldness, Douglas kissed her.
The postcard which dropped through Mr Lawrence's letter box with Monday's tea time post bore a heading incorporating a winged bicycle wheel. It's message was terse.
Mr Lawrence,.
My brother informs me that when his daughter returned after the Ladies' Day run and your regrettable lapse in club etiquette, her machine was missing it's pump. suspect you may have some notion of it's whereabouts. Mr Edgar Braithwaite, Gwendolines's father, would prefer that you return the Eversure pump or it's purchase price (two shillings and ninepence) via me and not attempt to return it directly to Miss Braithwaite
and oblige.
Cedric Braithwaite. (Captain.)
Douglas placed the card on the mantelshelf, next to Gwendoline's pump. He pursed his lips, then smiled and slowly shook his head.