Secrets, Lies and Seagull Cries: Wath Mill Allotments

By David Beeley

And the seagull sadly mewled its mournful cry.

In the final part of the Wath Mills allotments trilogy we meet old and new friends including Nora Noodle whose life is a cheerful struggle against poverty and adversity. She finds a first, tender and gentle love with a quiet Polish boy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Beeley
• Release date: Oct 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781916820685

Book preview

Wath Mill Allotments

Secrets, Lies

and

Seagull Cries

David Beeley

Copyright © 2023 David Beeley

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.

ISBN: 9781916820685

This book is for Jean and Wilf and their

youngest great grandchild, Nora (Noodle) Murphy

Content

Chapter One

Does the mirror lie?

Chapter Two

What do Americans call wellies?

Chapter Three

The Not So Great Escape

Chapter Four

Who should go on camp?

CHAPTER FIVE

If Seeds be the Food of Love

Chapter Six

Brushing away the cobwebs

Chapter Seven

The Sweetness of Welcoming Rain

Chapter Eight

A Quiet Departure

Chapter Nine

Some Special Chicken Wings

Chapter Ten

Guilty Pleasures

Chapter Eleven

Broken Legs and Promises

Chapter Twelve

Revolving Doors

Chapter Thirteen

First Impressions

Chapter Fourteen

A Question of Timing

Chapter Fifteen

A Time to Eat Cake, Exchange Plants and Gossip

Chapter Sixteen

Not So Much Glamorous Camping

Chapter Seventeen

Summer Stranger Danger

Chapter Eighteen

To Scarborough and Beyond

Chapter Nineteen

Ghosts and Shadows of the Past

Chapter Twenty

Upheaval and Unrest

Chapter Twenty One

Early Risers

Chapter Twenty Two

Fighting Back

Chapter Twenty Three

To Ryedale and The Chain Breaker

Chapter Twenty Four

Two Good Punches, One Black Eye

Chapter Twenty Five

All Good Things

Postscript

Chapter One

Does the mirror lie?

Nora Noodle quite liked her name. Of course, it wasn’t her real name, her birth certificate said Nora Kathryn Noddle, but her Granny in Yorkshire had called her Nora Noodle for as long as she could remember. It was said in a fond and kindly way rare for eleven-year-old Nora.

It was Christmas Eve morning in Newhill, Derbyshire and Nora stood in her sparse bedroom assessing herself and all her possessions in her charity shop bought mirror. Her room could not be considered untidy as she did not have enough clothes or possessions to clutter up a space. She tidied her bed and gazed out of the window at the view from the council flat. The squat ugly building only had three levels but nevertheless, had a view over Newhill and her school, Newhill Primary. Nora had hoped for Christmas Eve snow but there was only a murky mist and the sort of drizzle that clings to everything in a sneaky way. How disappointing, Nora thought to herself. Maybe next year It was both Saturday and the holidays so there was no rush to be pulling on school clothes and her self assessment continued.

Her mother, Susan Noddle, was a cleaner at her school and something of a magician. There was never quite enough money for quite enough food, but bottles of wine appeared as if by magic. Her father too must have also been a wizard as he had disappeared from both her birth certificate -and her life -well before she was born. Nora had ceased to ask her mother about her father as she never got an answer. To fill that void in her heart and her home she created fake identities for her father, writing stories about him in her head. So,she made up a name for him which sometimes changed. This year it was Ted, and Nora was convinced that Ted would return to their shabby council flat to save their family. Her mother would stop drinking, finally. That was always a constant in her fantasies. Ted would be handsome, have a good job and enough money to buy a shopping trolley full of the delicious food Nora could only dream of. 

On this drab morning Nora decided that this year she would be pretty. Her mother often made remarks about Nora’s large forehead and dull mousy hair, often tied into pigtails.  Her eyes were clear and blue, and Nora considered her nose to be a little too small and her mouth a tad too wide. Her mother agreed. Her skin was pallid due to a poor diet and often less than clean despite scrubbing at it every day. The thought of a hot bath with bubbles followed by a full English breakfast was a distant dream. The electric immersion heater was an expensive luxury. She longed to feel warmth on her skin, to feel comfortable. Nora had to make do with a cold flannel wash, and toast with a smear of margarine and certainly no marmalade or Marmite. She didn’t know if she loved or hated the thick black yeast extract but would have liked to make her own decision about it.

At school Nora was called Noddy, or sometimes skinny Noddy or even stinky Noddy, rarely Nora Noodle, which she quite liked. The remarkable thing about Nora was that despite her very unsatisfactory beginning to life she was a bright and intelligent optimist with a well-grounded realistic approach to difficulties. She saw the lives of other children at school in Year Six and recognised that her lot was poor by comparison, but she rarely resented her status. Nora did well in tests at school despite not owning a computer, laptop, or phone. Her flat had very few books and none were works of fiction.

Nora’s real love was gardening, and she was often to be found on the school plot on Wath Mill Allotments. Plot 1 was her escape, her oasis and she found friendship there and for once other children also had dirty hands, faces and clothes. At the allotments she was equal. Her good friend Sally was a stalwart on the Newhill school plot, but together they envied those whose families had their own plot. The Polish family, the Chlebeks, were often seen on Plot 13 whilst nine-year-old Belle Shaw had the luxury of two plots. Her mother Leona and father Steve Shaw had married but decided to keep their own plots independent. The mysterious and exotic Satoshi Tinton with his Japanese mother and English father was often seen on his grandmother’s plot 16. He was a year younger than Nora and Sally and would soon be returning to Tokyo following a period of work for his father in England.

Nora had few expectations of Christmas Day, her mother tried but presents were never a priority. They had a small battered artificial tree which Nora liked to decorate as best she could. She hated the return to school in January after the holidays when all the talk was of expensive presents, parties, and rich food. Nora loved to listen to all these lavish stories of wonderful worlds of abundance but dreaded questions about her own meagre Christmas experience.

Sitting on her bed, she reached under her pillow and brought out her homemade gift for her mother. It was a blue felt glasses case which she had carefully stitched around the edge and added a flap with a button. Nora thought it a useful gift if not an overwhelming one and she carefully wrapped it up in a small piece of Christmas wrapping paper borrowed from Sally. She sighed and wished she had more to offer, her mother deserved more working two jobs as she did. Her mornings were spent as a cleaner at The White Horse pub and in the afternoons, she would go to Newhill primary school to clean the classrooms there. Nora would wait after school for her mother to finish work. The school library was still warm even if the heating had gone off as the other children left for home. and the books were a refuge full of colour and information.

On most days Nora would do her homework sitting alone at the large library tables. She had access to the books and if necessary one of the library computers. She loved the library, and her idea of heaven was a bed in a corner and a fridge full of food. In a perfect world she would have her own allotment or work in a market garden. On Thursdays she would go to the free gymnastics after school club. Her faded t-shirt and large baggy blue shorts made her stand out amongst the colourful leotards, yet it was her gymnastic ability which earned her respect. Nora was wiry and flexible with surprising strength, a perfect combination for a gymnast.

Nora shivered and decided to get back under the bed covers and listen for her mother to get up. Her thoughts drifted to her friend Sally Parker. They had met on the first day at Newhill school and were different in so many ways but had developed a strong friendship. In the way of infants, she had been given a new nickname. S.Parker had become Sally Sparkle and was widely known by this name, even by Thomas Tiler, the headteacher, and staff.  But Sally did not live up to her name.

Whilst Nora tried to get warm under the covers on that cold December morning Sally woke in a warm centrally heated five-bedroomed house on middle-class Sycamore Avenue. Her brother Jamie was home from boarding school and had the larger bedroom much to Sally’s dismay.  Her father, Gerry Parker owned a flourishing coach company and collected status symbols, like stamps of honour. His wife, Michelle, or Shelli as she preferred, was, like her husband, acutely aware of their standing in Newhill. Sally was a well-dressed fashion accessory to be seen and paraded as part of the perfect family.

Sally was quiet with pale grey eyes and naturally fair hair unlike her mother's shocking blond hair which came from a well-stocked bottle. On the surface Sally was calm but to the disappointment of her parents, something of a loner. Her anxieties led to frequent bed wetting, but she was becoming an expert at concealing this trait. She had good reason to be anxious and at home their King Charles spaniel, Max, was a comfort, always willing to offer status free cuddles. At school Nora Noodle was a constant ally who instinctively recognised the need of her friend for support.

Sally had not wanted a key part in the recent school Nativity, but her mother had engineered, with the help of a sizable donation to school funds, the part of Mary. Sally’s quiet and reserved demeanour had proved very suitable as the perfect Mary. Nora had shown herself to be a lively and capable stage manager organising props.

Sally knew that downstairs under the large natural Norway Spruce there would be presents enough for a medium sized orphanage, but Sally stayed in her room dreading the creak of the third step on the stairs.

Her teacher, the young Daisy Morgan, had resented the interference of Shelli Parker in pushing Sally into a key Nativity role using money as leverage. However,she recognised that Sally was practically perfect in the quiet serene role. Sitting by a manger with a blue shawl she certainly looked the part and had few lines to say. The role of Joseph on the other hand was a real gamble on Daisy’s part, Sam Chlebek was a concern for both family and school as he was reluctant to speak openly in public. His older sister Rosangel was his usual conduit for speech. At the cricket cup final in the summer, he had shocked everyone by shouting for a team mate to run whilst batting and since Rosangel had moved to secondary school in September, he had had to rely on himself to impart his thoughts to others. Daisy had decided that it was sink or swim and had given Sam Chlebek the role of Joseph. Nora had stood at the side of the stage and waited for Sam to deliver his first line in the crowded school hall. The simple enquiry as to whether there was a room in a downtown Bethlehem inn was delayed as Sam looked out at the parents and teachers. His family knew well his reluctance to speak whilst his special needs tutor Mrs. Charlie Poole almost began to bite her nails waiting for the delivery of the famous line. Daisy Morgan dreaded the silence and wondered if her gamble had failed. Her first experience of being director of a school nativity looked like being a disaster. She clutched her script tight, and the seconds' delay seemed endless. Nora whispered to herself, 'Come on Sam, please, you can do it’, She would have liked to be in Sally Sparkles’ place as the wife of the Galilean carpenter Joseph, as she may have been able to help Sam, but he was alone.

After what seemed a lifetime Sam lifted his head and delivered his line of enquiry about accommodation at the inn. The innkeeper, George Mapplebeck, resplendent in a dressing gown and tea towel on his head, was so relieved he nearly said yes and invited them into a room. Afterwards no one could decide who had started the small round of relief-based applause at Sam’s triumphal first speech in a play. It was of course Nora who had naturally clapped as well as the Chlebek's and those who knew of Sam’s difficulties had instinctively followed. Daisy Morgan had not clapped; she had felt herself about to faint with relief. Perhaps her days as a Nativity director were not about to end with this, her first attempt. Sherrie and Andy Chlebek held hands and smiled at each other. Charlie Poole looked across at them and smiled, giving a thumbs up. Another positive step in the right direction. Sam’s sister Rosangel had been silently willing her brother on with a pounding heart. George Mapplebeck, innkeeper extraordinaire had assumed that the applause was for him and gave an impromptu bow to his adoring public. The headteacher, Thomas Tiler, smiled to himself and glanced at his wife, Beth, sitting alongside. A Nativity was the one performance where mistakes were accepted in the warm glow of parental love and Christmas goodwill and euphoric spirit.

Daisy Morgan lay alone in bed and looked back at the Nativity and how well it had been received. She had felt like kissing Sam afterwards but decided that one career threatening incident was enough, and that a hug would have to suffice. Nora Noodle had started to clear the props away and had a vague feeling that she would have liked to have been the one to give a red-faced Sam a congratulatory hug. Instead, she went over to Sally and said, ‘Well done, you were great’, and reinforced it with a warm smile.

It had been a mixed year for Daisy. She was proving to be an enthusiastic and well organised teacher and the triumph of the Nativity was well received. The role of teacher was much to her liking. Her summer wedding should have been perfect, the icing on the cake. Everyone said that they were a perfect match for each other, Matthew was a well-to-do stockbroker from a highly respected Derbyshire family. They had met at a party given by mutual friends and Daisy felt that he could be the one for her. Matthew’s seeming reluctance to indulge in premarital sex was interpreted by Daisy as a sweet romantic position of respecter of his fiancé's need for a truly white wedding. Daisy on the other hand had been willing to celebrate their partnership with steamy nights together. She was a ‘modern girl’, as her mother had often put it, and Matthew was a desirable partner. She realised how lucky she was to be marrying such a man. It had seemed so old-fashioned of him to respect her until they were married. It all added to his charm and Daisy could not wait for her wedding day. The magical day had come and gone, and Matthew had left her bemused and hurt as she slowly realised that her prize husband would not be joining her in bed. Every night since Daisy had looked at herself in the mirror in her gorgeous nightdress and tried to find any fault which would put her newly acquired husband off. Her reflection showed a very attractive girl who would tempt a saint but not it seemed Saint Matthew. She had cried on that first night and each night since when the footsteps on the stairs had turned away from their bedroom into a smaller bedroom. Daisy had tried to talk to him but at first there were only weak excuses and later mere shrugs. Matthew had won his wife who would look good on his arm at prestigious social gatherings. Intimate physical contact did not seem to be on his agenda.

Tomorrow was Christmas Day and Daisy had bought an expensive set of extremely sexy black lingerie which left no doubt as to the meaning and promise offered by the wearer, Daisy hoped that opening the beautifully wrapped box would lead to a rekindling of desire by her husband. Perhaps he was shy and reluctant and just needed help. Over many sleepless nights she had thought of many explanations as to why she was married but had never slept in the same bed as her husband. Everyone said that they were the perfect couple. It could only be her fault or his fault or nobody's fault. Her mind would twist and turn but the self-doubt debate always ended in her crying herself to sleep. She could not tell her parents, especially her father, as he would certainly not understand any more than she could understand this mystery. Matthew was polite and thoughtful towards her yet somehow cold. She feared that there was no one she could turn to, the lingerie on Christmas morning was the last throw of the dice. If that failed, she decided that she would go home even though it would seem somehow humiliating.

Across Newhill, Daisy’s headteacher, Thomas Tiler, lay in bed whilst his wife Beth was downstairs taking a batch of delicious smelling mince pies from the oven.  He decided that this had been a perfect year and yet it had started with him alone in a bed sit and estranged from Beth. There had been shadows hanging over him which had threatened his job and an upcoming inspection. His fears and secrets had taken precedence over his marriage. All his efforts had gone into his beloved first school, yet he faced losing his wife and job and he had entered a dark period of shadowy fears. The only bright spot was his school cricket team, who showed him what determination against the odds could do. He lay with his hands behind his head and remembered how the common sense and understanding of an Ofsted inspector and his chair of governors had given him support and reassurance. The wonderful reconciliation with his beautiful wife had been a welcome relief and all his worries had been taken from his shoulders. The cricket cup final had been a thing that legends were made from. He smiled as he ran through the line up and recalled vividly each run and wicket taken. Some of the Newhill heroes were still at school whilst the older children had moved on to secondary school. The captain, Little Billy Shakespeare and driving force Rosangel Chlebek and Grace Bisby were no longer his but, in a sense, always would be. Sam and Mikolaj Chlebek, and the half Japanese boy Satoshi Tinton were still at Newhill and formed the nucleus of the next team for the coming spring.

Thomas had been pleased to appoint a new deputy head, Phil Lambert, an American, and they were quickly forging a strong partnership as they led the school forward following the successful inspection. Phil was enthusiastic and had suggested a residential trip to the coast in the early summer. Thomas had said that he would seriously consider the proposal although it seemed sound on an educational and social level. He would meet Phil at the end of the holidays to discuss details. Perhaps the keen and reliable Daisy Morgan could be persuaded to leave her new husband for a few days. The experience would be good for her C.V.

Beth entered the bedroom bringing with her a warm waft of mince pies.

‘You look like the cat who got the cream,’ Beth said, hanging up her dressing gown. ‘What were you thinking about whilst I was slaving in a hot kitchen?’

Thomas grinned knowing full well that she delighted in food preparation. The kitchen was her domain and she adored preparing a special Christmas dinner.

‘I was just thinking about Little Billy Shakespeare and Rosangel and then my mind wandered to Phil Lambert. Did you by any chance bring me a mince pie to test.?’

‘No, I did not, and I know exactly how many I baked, so hands off. Anyway you’ve brushed your teeth.’

‘I was thinking what a good year this has turned out to be, not least of all, us being together again of course.’

‘So, in all this walk down Memory Lane your first thoughts were to children who are no longer at your school and your handsome African American deputy head.’

Thomas recognised a verbal ambush when he heard one and began to formulate a defence, but Beth interrupted and shushed him into silence.

Beth slipped out of her nightdress with a grace and elegance he could only admire. She joined him in bed and snuggled alongside him.

‘Perhaps I can persuade you that thoughts of children and men are not the first priority. Consider this your first Christmas present.’

Thomas decided that this year had certainly proved his best ever and was about to get even better. He was glad that he had not mentioned that he had also been thinking of the pretty young teacher, Daisy Morgan.

No mince pie to test but an ambush avoided.

‘

Chapter Two

What do Americans call wellies?

Philip Tyrell Lambert left his rented semi-detached bungalow in Brailsford and walked to his parked eight-year-old Ford Focus wondering where would be open on Boxing Day in England. As an American he was not certain so decided to drive the short distance to Newhill Primary school and spend a couple of hours tidying his classroom and perhaps replacing the Christmas related displays. He considered himself blessed to have been appointed as Deputy Head by Thomas Tiler and the governors. They in turn had been impressed by Phil’s application and even more so when he visited for interview.

Philip Lambert was a most unusual applicant. An American ex Fulbright exchange teacher he had spent a year teaching in a large primary school in Nottingham whilst an English teacher had travelled to California to exchange with him. His headteacher in Sacramento or to be more precise Dry Creek Elementary School in Rio Linda had been keen to support the exchange and it had proved a successful swap.

Phil was an Anglophile and loved everything about England. For him, a thirty-year-old Black American