Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: SLIP OF THE TONGUE (01/26/17)
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TITLE: The Ice-Breaker. | Previous Challenge Entry
By Danielle King
02/02/17 -
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“What do you think of the folk at number six?” Post Office Elizabeth asked Mrs Smith.”
“Well, to tell you the truth Lizzie, I’m not at all sure what to think.” She scooped up her pension and toddled off. I’m telling that young gossip-monger nothing.
With the aid of her stick, she carefully navigated the cobbled street towards the corner shop.
“Mornin’ Mrs Smith. Your order?” Baker Joe was already wrapping the warm cob in a sheet of brown paper.
“Yes please Joe, and two ounces of mucky fat to spread.” Joe purchased his beef dripping from the butcher up the hill, to spare the trek for his old ladies’ legs.
“Joe, I’m not one to gossip, as you know, but what do you think of the family who moved into old Sam’s cottage? I’ve heard they’re not from these parts.” Joe scooped the beef dripping onto a sheet of grease-proof paper and popped it onto the scales.
“Well, Mrs Smith, all I’ve heard is that they speak with a bit of a twang and a peculiar turn of phrase.”
Hmm. That’s a start.
Next stop, ‘The Venture,’ with its window crammed with candy and liquorice and lollipops; a veritable feast to the village kids. And though money was tight, the hardy ones could earn a few coppers pea-pulling in the fields, or fetching up coal from the cellar for the oldies.
“Morning Mrs Smith.” Sweet shop Nellie always had a kind word for everyone. “You’re looking rather sprightly today. Let me guess – Humbugs?”
“Spot on Nellie Jackson!” Nellie took the jar from the shelf and a white paper bag from under the counter. “I say, Nellie, you know I’m not a gossip like that post office Elizabeth, but I’ve heard it said that the new folk in Sam Jakes’ cottage are a bit weird.”
“Oh, that’s news to me, Mrs Smith, though I’ve only seen them once. But wait… come to think of it…”
Nellie went on to tell Mrs Smith of the conversation she’d overheard the previous Monday morning outside her shop — ‘Now, you be good young man, and don’t forget to mind your P’s and Q’s!’
“Mrs Smith, do you think the father was educating his son in lavatorial matters?”
“But Nellie, if the kid needed a jimmy-riddle, and there was a queue, surely he’d have the gumption to join it? Unless… that’s it, the twang; Nellie, I do believe they may be southerners.”
“How very astute of you, ladies!” Mrs Smith squirmed as she recognised Pastor Godfrey’s distinct baritone voice behind her. Bible study last week was about taming the tongue.
“Now ladies, I called round at the Jacobs, our new neighbours, this morning and invited them to join our church family. They were delighted and looking forward to meeting you all.” His face broke into a grin. “And ladies, I trust church supper will be laden with your scrumptious apple pie and home-baked butterfly buns?”
Sunday came and went. The Jacobs quickly settled and became regulars at the Mission Hall, though there were still those who, entrenched with uniformity, couldn’t quite sanction these newcomers with their liberated ways. And furthermore, Mrs Jacobs did not wear a hat.
Old Ben, in his 90th year, was a stalwart. A degree of memory impairment, coupled with accelerating deafness, did not deter him from turning up at every eventuality.
Tonight was the prayer meeting.
As members interspersed God’s word with spontaneous prayer and praise, Ben stood up shakily and raised his arms heavenwards…
“Poor old Joe,
Out in the snow,
Nowhere to wander,
Nowhere to go…”
Embarrassed gasps, together with stifled snorts and gurgles, gradually became infectious, until the newcomers, George and Jane Jacobs, sprang to their feet to join Ben.
“A lady came by,
And spit in his eye,
Poor…old…Joe…” They chorused.
By now, the prayer warriors were in hysterics.
George squeezed Ben’s shoulder. “Hey Ben, are we the only ones who remember those old playground rhymes?”
Jane took both hands and looked him in the eye. “Hey, Ben Johnson. Do I detect mischief in those old blue eyes?”
Walking home later, Jane asked George if he believed Ben’s faux pas was just that, a blooper.
“No way, Jane. There goes one wise old guy who knows how to break the ice!”
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