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Susie's (fat lady's) version.
Part 10

Our ladies returned safely to their room. The old lady emptied her large purse of the several pounds of small flint rocks and other geological paraphanalia she had collected during the walk. The fat lady, a chip off the old block, but always travelling lighter, emptied her pockets and small camera bag of similar rocks. She started to worry about just how she would get these through customs, but caught herself and employed her favorite (non-Beatle) movie line:
"Fiddle-dee dee. I can't think about this now. I'll go crazy if I do. I'll think about it tomorrow," she smiled, picturing herself as Scarlett O'Hara. She walked over and turned on the tv. (Any line spoken by a Beatle is her truly favorite movie line.)
The ladies sat down on the sofa to recover from their walk and to watch tv. "I know that dirtbag is sick, and tired out. Why does she insist on sitting here? She doesn't care about the tv any more than I do! Why doesn't she go into her room and take a nap?" wondered the fat lady to herself. "That scumbag is sitting there, pretending to watch tv, and just waiting for me to fall asleep so she can search for the jelly babies I hid! I KNOW! But two can play at this tv-watching game!" smirked the old lady silently.
"I'll bet she's on to me and is sitting here just to spite me!" figured the fat lady. Both ladies looked at each other and smiled sweetly. "Aren't you sleepy, Mommy?" inquired the fat lady, in her best little-girl sugary voice. "No, not at all, dear," answered the old lady, her perkiness belying her weariness. "Crap!" thought the fat lady in frustration. "She's never going to let me find those jelly babies! Well, I'm not going to sit here when England is outside. Now's my chance to play ditch-the-old-lady and take some photos that she won't have!"
"Well, Mommy, I'm going out for a little bit," the fat lady announced sweetly. "Take your jacket and be back soon. We have company coming," the old lady directed. The fat lady grabbed her trusty camera and escaped. She wandered down the long drive, and went left on the tiny road. She should have been relaxed, as ancestors had been for centuries here, walking alone along the beautiful English countryside, enjoying the fine weather and the abundant birdsong. Instead, she was totally on edge, hypervigilantly listening for the sound of killer cars speeding along this little paved cowpath with blind corners, the width of a single driveway, yet somehow deemed satisfactory for 2-way traffic, even trucks and buses! Every time a vehicle passed by, the fat lady jumped to the side, and smiled, waving at the driver, thinking "Thanks for sparing my life!"
It was a lovely day, all blue skies and puffy white clouds. The fat lady approached the Maltings: the old 2-storey brick homes that the workers for the farm ( her ancestors) once lived in. The fat lady took a photo of the first one, so picturesque. The second one was where her grandmother had lived as a child. That one had been torn down, and a new, larger home stood in it's place. The third home looked much like the first, and the fat lady thought it too was probably just like her grandmother's house had been. Unlike the other two, this house had people, a family, in front of it, and the fat lady felt shy about approaching with her camera. She needn't have.
"Are you Mrs. Cawpenter?" asked the young man/father/husband, busily loading up their car. "I'm her daughter" replied the fat lady, not quite as surprised to hear that question for a third time that day. "Mom" sure made herself famous before she came. The Queen could take lessons," she thought. The man quickly introduced himself. He was David Manville, and he seemed to be in a hurry to go somewhere. He introduced his very pregnant wife Becky and the 2 boys, and left Becky in charge of giving a tour of the house. The fat lady was beside herself with joy at the prospect of telling her mother that SHE, the feckless daughter, had been INSIDE one of the legendary MALTINGS houses, something the old lady had never managed despite 4 trips there! What astounding luck! Besides, she was most interested to see what the house her grandmother had lived in might have been like. She felt very close to her dear grandmother on this trip, and wondered if perhaps her grandmother had arranged this good fortune from beyond?
And it was wonderful! Disney might have used it as an enchanted cottage for Sleeping Beauty and the good fairies! Very low ceilings, half-timbered! Old staircase! Rooms added on! Wavy-glass windows framing lovely green views! The kitchen was the heart of the home, and the window there overlooked the legendary "horse pastures". Another window overlooked what would have been her grandmother's place. Yet another looked over the largest Maltings house. This place was the hub of it all! Even the legendary "brook" ran right through their yard!
"Becky is very kind and brave to give a stranger a tour of her house without any warning. No chance to clean up! Why, if my husband had tried to foist that off on me, I would have hid in the bathtub to avoid it, as my mother taught me to do!" thought the fat lady.
The fat lady shot off a whole roll of film. Becky took her out to the backyard, which was very large, and from where her grandmother's backyard was easily seen. "Grandfather" as the fat lady knew him from her mother's stories, had a garden there! Excited, the fat lady tried to change to a new roll of film, but it slipped out and fell in the little pond. Quick as a flash, nine-months- pregnant Becky bent over and fished it out, while the fat lady stood there dumbly. Becky and David invited the fat lady back the next day with her mother. The fat lady seemed to walk on air as she returned back to her room to tell her mother.
She burst in through the door.
"Guess where I've been!" she trumpeted.
"Duh, let me see, Broxted, duh huh huh," quipped her mother.
The fat lady relished the moment.
"I've been at...the MALTINGS!" Pause for effect. "INSIDE the Maltings!!!"
"Oh, you have not!"
"Oh, yes I have," the fat lady grinned.
"Riight," replied the old lady, sarcastic again, and again not getting the accent right.
"Riiight!" insisted the fat lady in a correct Hugh Grant tone.
"How did YOU get into the Maltings?"
The fat lady told the story. The old lady showed her Queen Elizabeth "I am not amused" stone face. The fat lady was beside herself with glee.
The moment ended with a knock on the door. Relieved, the old lady streaked to answer it. It was Sonia and Paul (no, not Beatle Paul), a couple that the old lady had met online. Sonia had grown up in the house where the fat lady's grandmother had been born. Sonia and Paul invited the ladies into their immaculate, big car. They would take them to Great Dunmow, if the ladies wished.
"Great Dunmow!" the fat lady's eyes widened. She had been there at age 15 and 17. Wasn't that in a parallel universe? She DREAMED about the place! "Do you think I might cash a traveller's check there?" she inquired, anxious to get fiscal freedom from her mother again.
"Yes," replied Paul, becoming taller and more handsome in the ladies' eyes. "We could even take you to the market, if you want."
Paul looked more and more like a knight in shining armor to the ladies. They pushed at each other, each trying to get into the car first. The fat lady won this time.
They took off down the long drive and turned right. Soon they approached a bend in the road. Suddenly a car appeared on the right, careening around the bend, probably on 2 wheels! The fat lady screamed and pushed her mother down to the floor, where they cowered, waiting for the fatal jolt. Non-plussed, Paul calmly reminded them that people drive on the opposite side here.
"Riight" said the old lady as she disgustedly pushed the fat lady off, sat up, and straightened her sweater and acted as if nothing had happened.
"Riiight" mumbled the fat lady as she sat up and gazed nonchalantly out her window. She now saw how people manage to drive these little country lanes. They speed along like gangbusters until another opposing vehicle pops into view. Then they slam on their brakes and inch slowly past each other. If no scraping sounds are heard, then all is well, and they step on the gas again. "Even though Paul was a MUCH BETTER driver than the taxi driver, still the fat lady had a question for her mother. "If I die here, can I be buried next to Uncle Freddie Gunn in the old churchyard?" she whispered. "Yes, and me too," came the quiet reply.
"Did I say 'riight' right?" asked the old lady of Paul, thinking her daughter had been wrong about her version of it.
Paul struggled to find a politically kind answer.
"Well, do you think we should speak English English whilst we're here?" questioned the old lady further, proud that a London taxi driver had once thought she was from Devon.
"Oh no!" exclaimed Paul adamantly. The old lady was somewhat disappointed at this, but the fat lady was relieved to not have to hear her mother make a fool of herself, like the P O W incident. This exchange distracted everyone enough that they never noticed the large, black feline shape lurking in the nearby bushes.

Click Rain storm-Pt. 11 by the Fat Ladyto go to next installment.

Susie's (fat lady's) version.Part 10

Susie's (fat lady's) version.
Part 10