Ordinary People - Or Are They?

By Joan B. Pritchard

Between these covers, you'll meet the ladies of the Wednesday League, who may be frail and old, but they're also feisty, ready to tackle anyone, and not averse to committing the odd crime or two. You'll be charmed by their sweet characters, but aghast at what they're capable of. Then there's poor and illiterate Katie, who has achieved very

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joan B Pritchard
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781916820166

Joan B. Pritchard

I am a retired woman who has worked professionally in various executive positions. I have been very busy all my life, having to learn expertise in many different specialisations and also raising a family. It is only now, without my dear partner, that I have turned to the challenge of putting pen to paper and allowing my imagination and thoughts to wander free.

Book preview

Ordinary People –

Or Are They?

By

Joan B Pritchard

Copyright © 2023 Joan B Pritchard

ISBN: 9781916820166

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Note about the author

The author has now retired and enjoys living in a make-believe world that she’s created in her writings. She allows her mind to wander free and likes to find her characters in the most unbelievable situations, where they sometimes meet and get to know each other.  The author has worked all her life and raised a family, and now enjoys shocking her grand-children with amazing tales. She writes in the hope you’ll enjoy her books – and hopefully, keep coming back for more.

Contents

SWEET OLD LADIES WHO JUST HAVE TO KILL

SHE DIDN’T STAY ILLITERATE FOR LONG

A CARING NURSE WHO ALWAYS DOES HER BEST

PLEASE REST IN PEACE

SWEET OLD LADIES WHO JUST HAVE TO KILL

It was a pretty village, the kind often pictured on an old-fashioned box of chocolates – impossibly full and well-kept gardens, enclosing ridiculously attractive cottages – all in a neat row.  They were the kind you often see as jig-saw puzzles.  Surely no ordinary people could live there, and if they did, they’d have to be replicas of Miss Jane Marple, or at the least, replicas of everyone’s favourite grandmother. Such a perfect village could only have perfect inhabitants, five of whom were even now, preparing to meet in the small teashop on the edge of the village. Soon, each one would step out of their rose-enshrined front door, and make their way down the street, eagerly looking forward to their afternoon tea and cakes.

They were five elderly ladies, three of whom were widows, with the other two proud of having retained their spinsterhood all their lives.  The ages varied, but each one had already had her ‘three score years and ten’ as the bible recommends - not that any of them would admit to being over seventy. Still sprightly and sure of step, they’d meet every Wednesday at 4 o’clock precisely, and partake of the teashop’s goodies. In fairness, the reader should be given a description of each one, but myself as the writer, has a fear of litigation, so let’s just say blue perms and brown brogues were the chosen fashion. 

Grace arrived at Polly’s cottage, and waited for her friend to emerge. They both walked on then, knowing they’d be first to arrive, as they had the shortest distance to walk. They would be seated at their usual table, as Lizzie, Meg and Petunia arrived one by one, and separately. The Wednesday League, as they’d named themselves would then be complete. The ladies liked to refer to themselves as this, as firstly it sounded rather grand, and secondly, they didn’t care for the term ‘club’, or ‘gang’, how common was that?  Yes, such charming, well-brought-up ladies should be ‘in league’ with one another.

The young waitress was waiting until they were all seated, before she approached to take their orders. Young Mary knew her place, and if she wanted a tip, she’d have to anticipate their every wish, not that that would be difficult, as they always ordered the same things.

Afternoon ladies, and how are you today? There’s quite a chill in the air, and I’m sure you’re ready for a pot of good, strong tea.  She knew not to ask what kind of cake they wanted, as they liked to think about this;  it was a serious matter after all, and not one to be rushed.

Lizzie said, I think I’ll have the seed cake today Mary. I’ve not chosen that for a while, and I want to know if it’s as good as I remember.

Do dear, seed cake is a good choice. Myself, I’m going for a slice of Victoria sponge – it’s always tasty. Grace had been anticipating biting into the soft creaminess since after lunch – and now, the moment  had finally arrived.  She turned to Petunia, And what is your preference today, my dear? Petunia liked to keep them guessing, and said she hadn’t yet made up her mind. Petunia was the fussy one of the group, and also the one most careful of her appearance, she was younger than the others after all, and she believed she looked it. 

Well that leaves you and me Polly. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been waiting for another almond slice since the one I had last Wednesday. Is it to be you and me for the almond slice then?  Meg, the fifth League member, was smiling as she spoke, and Meg, just nodded in reply, an almond slice would go down very well.They hadn’t ventured to take off their coats yet, as the day had been cold, but the blazing fire in the hearth was throwing out so much heat, that they decided to throw caution to the wind, and removed their outer garments.  Mary returned with a large silver tea pot, a matching jug of milk and bowl of sugar lumps. Everything was done in style at this tea shop.

Petunia said, Mary dear, you’ve forgotten the sugar tongs - hygiene is everything you know, we mustn’t pick up the sugar lumps with our fingers, must we? The others nodded their heads in approval. Really, the waitress should know, after all this time, that they liked everything to be just right.  As Mary went to fetch the sugar tongs, she murmured under her breath, The old buggars, nothing’s ever quite right.

Polly spoke up then, Now, who’s taking the minutes today? and was met by a disapproving look from Meg, who always acted as secretary to the League. She quickly produced her writing pad and waited patiently for someone to say something.

After they’d enjoyed their chosen cakes, and had two cups of tea each, and only after asking for the empty teapot to be refilled, did they get down to business. Lizzie said, I believe Polly and Petunia should give us a report on how the weekend went, how successful it was, and of course, any difficulties they faced.  Meg was waiting patiently, with pen poised, but the conversation was slow today, and she was becoming bored.

Polly said, "It went very well I’m pleased to report, and Mr Robbin’s funeral is next week. I think both Petunia and myself should attend the service, after all we knew him from bingo, and it would be the decent thing to do.

Don’t forget to put that in the minutes Meg, it’s important. Lizzie nodded her head emphatically.  She was such a stickler for detail. Meg removed her spectacles, and asked, Why is it important, Lizzie? to which Lizzie replied, It just is – that’s all.

The others nodded their agreement, and Mr Robbins’ funeral was duly entered into the minutes.  Polly picked up on the report again, indicating that Meg should start writing again, but Meg coughed a very false cough, and said, Yes, I’ll do that, but not before I read out last week’s minutes, to remind us of what we agreed then.  You know we have to stick to the rules. And she read aloud some very well-presented minutes, that said almost nothing. ‘A lot of hot air’ Lizzie thought, but the others showed great patience, despite the fact that Meg had already posted a copy through their letter boxes.  Last week’s minutes were read, and Meg’s unnecessary fastidiousness was noted by the others.

Following the reading, Mary turned up again, Is there anything more I can fetch for you ladies?  Maisie in the kitchen told me to be sure and mentioned her Batten-burg cake, fresh from the oven. She waited patiently whilst the ladies went through their usual pantomime of ‘Oh no Mary, I couldn’t possibly – not another bite, I’m still full to the brim.’ Then, Oh, look at her little face, we can’t disappoint her.  It was the same every week, and after their dramatic protestations, one of them would inevitably say, Well, all right dear, you’ve twisted our arm, and to balance things, we’ll have another pot of tea as well as five pieces of Maisie’s Batten-burg.

It was the same ritual every Wednesday. The old dears would say ‘no’ to seconds at first, but were easily persuaded to change their minds. Mary knew her role in the scenario, and always played it to perfection.  She wanted a tip after all.

Now, they were really full to the brim, and Polly was finally allowed to give her report. She explained how they’d met up with Mr Robbins in the park, as had been arranged earlier. He was already there when they turned up, and was sitting on a park bench, his walking stick at the ready by his side.

We’re here Mr Robbins, as promised. Are you ready for the bingo? I hope you are, because I feel lucky today. Petunia was the flirt of the League, and she fluttered her non-existent eye lashes as she spoke.  However, it always seemed to work, and Mr Robbins was on his shaky feet immediately. I’m ready ladies, and looking forward to your company – and to my own win of course. He was ninety years old, if he was a day, but still with a twinkle in his eye, and a trembling hand that was always ready to grope which ever lady was closest.  Stay young at heart was his motto.

All three of them actually played with two books each, and were able to keep an eye on both.  Mr Robbins did have a win, as did Polly – but Petunia was not lucky that day.

Polly used her most endearing voice, when she said, I think we’ve all known each other long enough now, for you to invite us back to your home for tea, Mr Robbins.  We’ve been going to bingo for about two months now, and you know you can trust us.  There – she’d thrown down the gauntlet at last, and the old chap couldn’t very well refuse her request.

Petunia linked arms with him, just to steady him of course, and for no other reason. It was her way, and as she still saw herself as a sprightly twenty-year-old, she believed it the right thing to do.  When they arrived at his bottom-floor flat, just one street away from the bingo hall, they settled him on his sofa, before checking out the kitchen.  Polly soon found a tea tray and a brightly-knitted tea cosy for the pot – an earlier gift from Petunia, who was an avid knitter.  In fact, she knitted so much, some of her neighbours called her Madame Defarge.  She took this as a compliment, as she had no idea who Madame Defarge was.

The ladies kept the conversation light and chatty, something at which they were very good, then the topics changed and became more personal.  Polly asked, How long ago did your wife pass, Mr Robbins? You must miss her terribly.

His old rheumy eyes suddenly blurred with unshed tears, and he just nodded his head. He told them, his wife had died fifteen years before and since then, he’d lived alone – all alone.

We weren’t blessed with children, you see, so I have no-one. All I have left of my Marjorie is her jewellery collection. I think I’ve mentioned that before.

The ladies agreed he had, but as Petunia pointed out in her most endearing tone, Yes, but we’ve never seen them, have we? How do we know you’re not pulling our legs?  Worth thousands of pounds you say, but how can we be sure of that?

I’m sure we’d be able to tell dear. Don’t forget, I used to work in a jewellery shop, a very high class one , so I know a good gem, when I see one.  Polly sounded very confident.

And that was how they found themselves going through a large biscuit tin, full of jewellery that had once belonged to the late Marjorie. Polly just happened to have brought along her jewellers’ magnifying glass, and she was quick to use it.  She looked very professional, as she scrutinised the gems.

Your late wife had extremely good taste Mr Robbins, these gems are remarkable and very valuable, I hope you have them well insured.  Polly was still fingering the jewellery.

Oh, I don’t believe in all that rubbish, it’s just another way of making you spend your money. I can take good care of them myself, they were Marjorie’s after all, and I owe her that much. He began to close the tin, but stopped when Petunia asked why he kept something so valuable, in a biscuit tin. He replied, Where would you look for my valuables, certainly not in a shortbread tin? It’s the safest place I know. And he closed the tin firmly, before beginning to rise from his chair, tin under his arm.

He stumbled and dropped the tin ,before reaching out his hand, as if asking for help. Of course, no help was forthcoming – the opposite in fact. Petunia had quickly whipped off her silk scarf and swung it around the old man’s neck, then she pulled its ends tighter and tighter, until his eyes were bulging and his shaking fingers had stopped trying to pull at the scarf. As he fell to the floor, Polly relieved him of the biscuit tin and said, Let me take that for you Mr Robbins, you won’t need it where you’re going. She laughed and added, Will it be Heaven or will it be Hell – that damned elusive Pimpernel?

Petunia pulled her scarf from his neck and stared at Polly, Oh, you and your quotes, you have one for every occasion.  Help me get him up, but first make sure he’s dead.

On her knees beside the body, Polly checked his pulse and pulled up his eyelids, Dead as a doornail!  She packed her jeweller’s microscope into her handbag, and stood up. Now, let’s tidy these tea things away and get his body back onto his chair, it has to look as if he just passed away quietly, after the excitement of his bingo win. It was just too much for the poor old chap.  She checked his neck for marks, but was relieved to find very few there; anyway, they were well hidden amongst the wrinkly, old neck, and the soft silkiness of the scarf had helped with that.

Petunia smiled and began tidying the room, making sure there was no evidence of they’re having been there. When the women were happy everything was back in its place, they put the biscuit tin into a carrier bag they’d brought with them, and then, stood looking down at the old man.

"He looks asleep, doesn’t he - I can almost see the words ‘Died of natural Causes on the Death Certificate? Petunia swung her scarf back around her neck, then both women left the flat. It was dark by then and a shower of rain had recently started to fall. Luckily, the street was empty of people, so no-one saw the two elderly women, as they walked towards the bus stop. Two poor old ladies, caught in a heavy shower, and probably desperate to get home – anyone who did see them would probably assume they’d been to the bingo hall.

Next morning, Meg was busy making notes of what had happened, having already had the two lady’s report.  Polly and Petunia had done exactly what had been agreed by the League, and they’d done it well.  The Wednesday League silently applauded them, silently so as not to attract attention in the teashop.

Lizzie asked, Now, whose turn is it next, and what do they have to do? Is it to be a two-man job again, a solo performance, or do we all muck in together?

All the ladies looked at each other, but no-one spoke, until Grace, the quiet, elegant one said, We’ll decide that on Friday evening. Whose cottage is it next, and what dishes have we to bring?  It could be argued that Grace was the leader of the group, as she’d been the one who had suggested forming the League in the first place.  She was one of the widows, and had started the group activities one Friday night about 3 years before, when they’d all gathered t her place for supper.  It was the first time they’d had such a supper. Before then, they were just lonely, old ladies who sometimes stopped for a chat in the high street. It had started off as simply as that, on one evening when all four had been invited to supper in Grace’s own cottage. It was that evening when Grace decided to make a confession.

That night, after indulging themselves with Grace’s quiche and salad, they were relaxed around her cosy living room, with a welcoming fire burning in the hearth.

In a quiet voice, Grace began, I’m not just a widow, you know, I’m actually a widow twice over. I was married twice you see, and I loved both my husbands.  The first one, Harry, died quite unexpectedly when he was just sixty-five, and had just been awarded his state pension.  He died in his sleep, quietly and with no fuss, and I found him next morning. I was shocked and saddened, and I just sat there, seeing only a dark and miserable life ahead of me.

Polly reached out, and took her hand, Oh my poor dear, I’m so sorry, and she re-filled her friend’s sherry glass – with Grace’s own sherry.  The other women just sat there, waiting for her to go on. In fact, they wondered what could possibly be coming, after all two of them had suffered the same fate, when their own husbands had died.  They said nothing though – it wasn’t the time nor the place.

Grace sipped her sherry and went on, I was always a practical person, and my mind quickly turned to how I was going to live.  I had my own pension of course, but I couldn’t live on just that, now could I?

The other two widows in the room exchanged glances, which said, ‘Well, we have to – what’s so different about you?’  Of course, the ladies didn’t yet , so they waited patiently for their hostess to continue.

I knew I couldn’t live on just my pension, so my mind went into over-drive, and I knew I had to make plans, and very quickly.  Harry and I hadn’t been blessed with children, so there’d only ever been the two of us. That had never been a problem, but then I realised it was actually a blessing, which would help the plan already forming in my mind.  No-one but myself knew Harry had died. He hadn’t been ill, so he wasn’t seeing a doctor: he was a solitary man, who liked his own company, so he had no friends. I was all he needed, you see. I realised then, there was no-one who’d miss him, and that his disappearance wouldn’t raise any eyebrows in the village. No-one was likely to notice.

What on earth did you do? Polly couldn’t restrain herself, and found she was sitting on the edge of her seat, Come on Grace, tell us everything.

I’m just about to do that my dear, but you must promise that I can rely on your discretion, and all give me your promises, that you won’t breathe a word of what I’m going to tell you to anyone. Grace’s eyes moved around the room, from one wrinkled face to another.  Everyone nodded their heads, and gave their promises, with not even one crossing her fingers behind her back.

Yes, yes – go on. Polly had the patience of a five-year-old.

It’s very simple really, I buried him in the back garden!  Gasps filled the room and Grace was very pleased at the effect her admission was having on everyone.

"It was quite a struggle, but I worked only at night and always in the dark.  I dug a grave next to my rhubarb patch, and dragged the body there on an old eiderdown. I used it like a sledge, and eventually tipped him into the deep hole I’d dug earlier, eiderdown and all.

I worked hard that night, filling in the grave, and first thing in the morning, I bought and planted two tree saplings I’d ordered from the garden centre.  It all worked beautifully to plan. The trees liked their new position, and I made sure I fed them well, and so they both began to grow, almost at once."

Meg looked puzzled and had to ask, But what was the point of putting yourself through all that? You could have just called an undertaker, and he would have done everything for you. Am I missing something? Sometimes, Meg could be quite simple.

You’re missing the point my dear. Had I called an undertaker, I could no longer hide the fact that Harry had died. She paused and looked around the room, waiting for someone to explain her reasons to Meg, but no-one did, so she went on, How could I have gone on claiming his pension, if people knew he was dead? I knew I couldn’t live just on my pension, so this way, I could go on receiving his pension. I was hurting no-one, and no-one was any the wiser. Harry had worked all his life for that pension, and he never got to enjoy a penny of it. I owed it to him, you understand  She looked triumphantly around the room, and saw nothing but shock and horror on her friends’ faces. She smiled inwardly, because she was just about to double those looks of shock, and surprise them all over again.

Lizzie was the first to suspect something else was coming, But you said you’d been widowed twice. Harry was your first husband, so who was your second?

That was Malcolm. Luckily, he was a man with a similar nature to Harry. I think before we married, he’d been a bit of a recluse, and when he finally retired, he took to hanging about the town library, and that’s where I met him. He was shy and didn’t say much, but we got on well together, and so, he came to live with me – after a marriage ceremony, of course. He didn’t like company, and point blank refused to mix with the villagers.  I had him all to myself, and when he stopped appearing outside the cottage, something he did very infrequently, no-one in the village noticed.  She paused dramatically for effect.

You didn’t!  Please tell me you didn’t! You didn’t do it again. Lizzie was almost hysterical, and Polly had to ‘shush’ her. Let the woman finish Lizzie!

The Weeping Willow is where I used to grow my carrots – and I hope you’ll agree, it’s a very beautiful tree. Malcolm is obviously good for it, and I thought in the sad circumstances, a Weeping Willow was a good choice.

Lizzie couldn’t let it drop however, and asked, You didn’t help Malcolm on his way, I hope, that would be hard to forgive.  Grace reassured her that Malcolm had died of natural causes, just slipping away in the night, so like dear Harry.

And that confession led the way to the creation of the Wednesday League, where it was decided that each member had to prove herself to the others, by committing a crime. It had to be a crime that benefitted them all however, and not just one person. It should especially  increase their finances, and make their home comforts better than ever before.

At the outset, the League all  agreed to be careful, ambitious, but greedy,  their criminal acts should well-planned and ingenious, not involve trivial things, such as pilfering from the supermarket in the nearby town: taking donations out of the church plate, rather than putting them in: running out of money at a shop’s cash register, and promising to come back with the money, but never doing it – after all, old people could be very forgetful: going to church jumble sales and stealing the best things that were donated.  The list was endless, and they all agreed to abide by the rules.

Grace’s voluntary confession on that night hadn’t only shock her friends, it also impressed them.  Three pensions for one person!  Now they knew why she always seemed to be the one with the money. She often offered to pay in the teashop, and no wonder, she obviously had a surplus of money. After learning of her deeds, the ladies allowed Grace to pick up the bill next time in the tea shop.

Meg was chosen to ‘get rid of’ Mr Robbins’ late wife’s jewellery. She most resembled an old, white-haired lady, who often forgot what she was about to say. She looked frail and rather dithery, so she was ideal for the part. Who would ever suspect someone like her of doing wrong?  She was despatched to the nearby town, with a bag full of the valuables. She travelled by bus, although she could easily have afforded a taxi, and Joe the bus driver actually helped her climb up the steps onto the bus.

Let me take that heavy bag for you, and I’ll put it on the seat beside you. And he took the bag of jewels from the frail, old lady, and plonked it down on the seat beside her.

You’re always so helpful Joe, a real gentleman. Meg said quietly.

No more than you’re a lady, Ma’am, was his innocent response. Joe liked to help the village’s old dears, they were all so innocent!

They belonged to both my mother and my aunt, and I’ve kept them at the back of the wardrobe for so many years now, that I’d almost forgotten about them. The jeweller nodded his in understanding, and explained he’d like her to leave them with him for a couple of days, so he could give a proper evaluation. There’s some lovely pieces here, and although I don’t usually buy items in this number, I’ll make an exception for you, and offer you a fair price. Can you come back in two days? Of course, I’ll give you a receipt.

What, you left them with him, just like that? Lizzie was pouring tea into five cups. It was Wednesday afternoon and they were all looking forward to choosing their favourite cakes.  A bit of a risk – what if he pilfers some of them?

I don’t think he’ll do that dear, but even if he does help himself to one or two pieces, it’s no more than we did to Mr Robbins, don’t you agree? And after all, we’re still going to benefit.  Everyone agreed this was reasonable in the circumstances.

Now ladies, and what have you chosen today? Maisie in the back has made the most tasty cherry cake in the world. Do I have any takers for that? Mary the waitress, liked to serve the old ladies, as they were usually so charming, and she’d learned to take their trivial complaints with a pinch pf salt.  Actually, she’d muttered the word ‘bloody hell’ on more than one occasion, but always under her breath. Three of them eagerly ordered the cherry cake, but the others said the cherries would stick in their false teeth, so they’d pass on Maisie’s kind offer.

The teashop was quite busy that day, but no-one knew why. It was a crisp Autumn day, and people obviously felt like a walk, but the crisp air was actually rather cold, so the teashop was a welcoming place to get warm.  There was always a nice fire burning in the hearth there, not in Summer of course, but it was now the month of October. 

With so many people around, Meg couldn’t read out the previous week’s minutes, as everyone would be able to hear, so she said, We’ll just have to have one of our supper evenings, I suppose.

"Well, that’s no hardship, is it? Whose turn is it this time? We’ll have to bring our signature dishes as usual, so the hostess won’t be put to too