***chapter 29***

***Tears and Goodbyes***

It would be some years later when Beth and Davey would meet again, at Loppington's Annual Harvest Festival Dance, and fall in love. Davey had by then grown into an honest, hard-working young man, thanks to Jimmy, Beth finished, dabbing her eyes at the tender memories held in her heart.

Jimmy, who'd been given special leave to travel to Yorkshire, had many anecdotes of their time working together; Rose half laughed, half cried as she told of Davey's escapades in the early days when she first knew him; while Peggy and Johnjo talked fondly of when they rode Beauty and pointed to where the mis-spelt name "Booty" could still be seen carved into the lightning tree.

Shadows began to fall on Follyfoot Farm. The lake, that in years gone by had gleamed with sunshine and teemed with ducks and swans, dimmed and dulled as darkness stole like a thief across the evening sky. Birds folded wings, flowers closed buds, and the creatures of the night, bats and beetles, mice and owls, scurried about their busy worlds. Still they talked on. There was so much about Davey to remember. So many tales to tell. And who to tell them if not those who loved him best?

Slugger was last to speak. He pulled a folded, crumpled envelope from inside his Army jacket, extracted several crumpled pages, blew off some real or imaginary dust, coughed importantly and began in his own inimitable style:-

"The gaffer Colonel Geoffrey Maddocks, ain't a bad bloke for a toff, take 'em as you find 'em, I say, 'ad some bloody guts with the enemy, 'e did, 'Is Nibs Lord Maddocks and 'is missus, Lady Maddocks, bit up 'er own a**e, that one, send their kind regards and regrets…"

Now if I were to report verbatim how Private Jones chose to translate the Maddocks' letters, we would all still be scratching our heads, filtering out the (oddly non-offensive) swear words, and straining our ears at his colourful colloquialisms a year to this day. Nor, I feel, would it be wise to record in full the long tributes and explanations Geoffrey, Arthur and Prudence had composed, for, in keeping with their vastly expensive and cloistered schooling, the words, though well meant and genuine, were as large and lofty as the handwriting itself. Suffice to say, I will instead do my utmost to explain how things came to br.

Beth, who, like Davey, had no parents, and regarded Rose and Jimmy almost as mother and father-in-law, had notified each as soon as she received the dreaded telegram. Arthur and Prudence generously told Jimmy to take the Rolls and as much time as he needed in Whistledown. Essential Government affairs prevented them from returning themselves, they explained, but in any case, they observed dismissively, nor would it be appropriate for them to attend a servant's funeral, especially one of the lower orders. Snobbish and foolish as they often were, however, and horrified though they would be that anyone should find out, I don't mind telling you that Lord and Lady Maddocks secretly wept together in each other's arms over the loss of Davey and, in truth, I think better of them for it.

Moreover, remembering that Slugger had struck up a strong friendship with both Jimmy and Davey, Arthur had thoughtfully telephoned his brother.

Colonel Maddocks and his batman had lately been posted to Normandy and, with small tears raining shamelessly down his cheeks, Geoffrey called Private Jones to his office and broke the sad news.

"I am so, so sorry, Jones. He was a good man. I'm sorry, too, that the delicate political situation makes it impossible for me to attend the funeral. In any case, the confounded transport problems still upon us makes the possibility of either of us reaching Whistledown in time remote. I only wish there was something I could do…"

He blew his nose hard and distractedly shoved aside some confidential papers sent from Charles de Gaulle, which, such being their importance, he had instructed his aide to carefully re-check before delivery, as if they were of no matter.

Slugger wiped the rough khaki cuff of his sleeve over his own eyes. They had lost many comrades in the war but Davey's death, even though they'd only known him for a very short while, cut them both to the quick. There was something timeless, almost mystical, about Follyfoot that enfolded all, a feeling of second chances, of life and hope and love, of promises and dreams. That Davey had gone from it seemed harsh indeed.

"Not your fault, colonel, sir, that the Frogs are almost as bad as Eyeties for not knowin' which bloody side they're on and now we're stuck out 'ere sortin' out the mess," he replied emotionally.

"Good Lord, there IS a way!" Geoffrey, deep in thought and barely registering his companion's alarming lack of political correctness, suddenly thudded his fist down on the desk, and narrowly missed spilling the contents of the inkwell over the sensitive documents. "Although, admittedly, it's highly irregular and I can only spare the whirlybird for a couple of hours…"

Thus was Slugger transported, by exclusive private helicopter, first to London, where he made a hasty telephone call to fiancée Betty, ate a quick snack with his pilot in the Maddocks' kitchen, flirted briefly and harmlessly with the doe-eyed girl hired to wash dishes, and collected the accolade to Davey, jointly written by Arthur and Prudence, to be read out at Davey's funeral. Then, to the astonishment and terror of several sheep, who had hitherto been placidly munching grass on an uneventful Wednesday afternoon, he landed slap bang in the middle of their Yorkshire field and, holding on to his hat, ran like a madman, leaping streams, dodging cow pats, and cursing sheep droppings, all the way to Whistledown church.

It was an unusually rowdy affair for a funeral.

Mindful of the goodies waiting at The Ashtree Hotel and the fleet of free cars to take them there afterwards, Davey's relatives laughed, joked and jostled, scandalizing the elderly minister and the Whistledown congregation. At one stage, even the grieving widow found herself pushed to one side, and Slugger came from nowhere to catch Beth's left elbow just as Jimmy caught her right.

"Please don't make a fuss," Beth pleaded, as, bristling with rage, Slugger drew a breath to unleash a torrent of swear words at the crowd and clenched his fist into the dangerous right hook he was famed for. "Davey and I never believed in a God. I'd much rather get the service over with quickly as possible and honour him somewhere else."

Their friend's sudden appearance wasn't totally unexpected (although they were unaware of his bizarre travelling arrangements) as Colonel Maddocks had telephoned in advance to say, weather and transport permitting, Private Jones would definitely attend the funeral.

"Beth's right." Rose frowned at Davey's irreverent family and drew closer to her own little fold of Jimmy, Peggy and Johnjo. "This isn't what Davey would have wanted."

Slugger rubbed his ear in puzzlement, accidentally tilting his cap as he did so, a habit that would still be familiar to all who knew him even years later, when a well-worn woollen hat had long since replaced the smart Army head gear.

"Fing is, I've got these 'ere tributes the colonel and the other pair specially wants me to read out. Where would I do that if not in the church?"

Yet, even before he'd finished speaking, Slugger knew the answer. They all did,

With the pages riffling in the wind that whistled through every nook and cranny of Follyfoot Farm, he finished reading the eulogies and respectfully removed his cap. Jimmy picked up the bucket filled with water from the grey lake and poured it solemnly over the roots of the lightning tree. The friends, each with their own thoughts, stood in reflective silence until, as though the very sky would weep too, the silver clouds darkened and large raindrops began to fall, splashing through the trees in melancholy song, drawing the ceremony to its natural close.

They paused to look back once at the top of Whistedown Lane, at the very point that the first magic glimpse of Follyfoot can be seen, where, even now, there are those among us, the seers and the sensitive, who claim to have heard Davey's voice echo through the wind.

"I got to thinkin' 'bout the daffodils that grow year on year in yon meadow. And I thoughts to meself if the daffodils can grow again why not our lightnin' tree? It were there for us through thick 'n' thin at Follyfoot, it WERE Follyfoot, who's to say it won't be again?"

But by the loneliness of night, by the stealth of the moon, the wind picked up the wreath and the rose, spun them and cast them, muddied and broken, far into the distance. Drenched now from the earlier rain, the lightning tree stood alone, solitary guardian of all that had been, watching and waiting for a new dawn.

The days afterwards slowed and calmed. A benevolent sun blazed from an azure sky as the future beckoned, golden with optimism and peace.

Down in the quiet meadow, nodding their heads in the gentle breeze, the daffodils grew.