Chapter Eight – In the Country

Wednesday 8^th November

'It almost seems a shame to pack all this up again!' 

Terry Walker stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at the improvised grocery store that he, Father Cornelius and two elderly churchwomen had carefully set out in the village hall a couple of hours earlier. 

'We knew it would take people a little while to get used to us coming here,' the priest replied cheerfully.  'I know it's a bind, but I would rather be here when we aren't needed than not here when we are.'

'That's a bit Irish, Father.' 

'I can't help that, Terry,' laughed the priest.  'It goes with the ancestry.'

They lifted the first of the plastic crates up from the floor and Terry started loading the breakfast cereal packs into it.  One of the ladies came to help. 

'That's alright, love,' said Terry.  'I'll take care of these.  There's a special order they go in.' 

The other woman was chivvied away from his tinned stuff. 

'Perhaps a cuppa before we go would be nice, Janet?' Father Cornelius suggested, as a way to keep one of them out of mischief. 

Both women retreated to the kitchen. 

'I don't like to be ungrateful to the ladies,' Terry explained.  'The trouble is, if things get mixed up here, I'll only have to sort them all out when we get back, then me and Lyn will be late home.  I don't like her to have too long a day.' 

'She says the same about you, Terry.  I've had to promise not to let you overdo it.'  Father Cornelius, whose strength belied his wiry frame, confiscated the crate with the tins in.  'Which is why I'm carrying this one out to the van!'

As he turned towards the rear door of the hall, someone came in through the front door.  It was a young man, probably no older than thirty, dressed in work-soiled clothes and with his right arm in a sling and in plaster.

'Can I help you, son?'  Father Cornelius stood the crate down on the nearest table.

'I hope.'  The young man's glance fell on the food still lined up, waiting to be packed away.

'Is it food you need?'

'For me and for my wife and baby.'

It was clear to Terry from the young man's accent that he wasn't English.  He was from somewhere in Europe; Poland, maybe.  Lyn had seen some Polish people when she had been volunteering.  He knew there could be all kinds of complications with getting benefits for them but had never tried to understand the rules.  It was tough on people like this nipper, but you couldn't just have anyone coming into the country and getting money, could you?

'Have you got a voucher, mate?' asked Terry.

'Voucher?  What is voucher?' 

'I don't think we need to worry about vouchers today, Terry,' said Father Cornelius gently.  'It's not as if we're short of anything.  Is it just the three of you, son, or are there other children?'

'Only baby.'

'I'm not sure we have any baby food...'  Father Cornelius started checking along the tables.

'We haven't,' said Terry.  'That's my fault - I forgot to put it in.'

'Is okay,' the young man explained.  'Wife is feeding baby.'

'Then we must feed your wife, mustn't we?'  Father Cornelius selected a couple of sturdy carrier bags from a box.  'What do you need, sir?'

Terry watched with a touch of annoyance as Father Cornelius disrupted the chronological ordering of his tinned veg to show their guest what was available.  Several tins of peeled potatoes, garden peas and chopped mixed veg went into the bags, despite the young man's protestations that he didn't want to be greedy.  Then Father Cornelius moved him on to the tinned meats.

Just then, one of the helpers from the kitchen reappeared with the teas.

'Just the very thing, Margaret,' said the priest gratefully.  'Would you care for something, son?  Tea?  Coffee?'

'A coffee, please.  I have had long walk.'

Margaret looked the lad up and down and returned to the kitchen, without asking how he liked it.

'Where have you walked from? asked Terry. 

When the man turned to answer, Father Cornelius slipped an extra tin of corned beef into one of the bags.

'Bishop Waltham,' said the man.   

'Bishop's Waltham!  That's right out in the sticks.'  Terry looked at the young man's plastered arm.  'No wonder he doesn't want too much in those bags, Father.'

The priest looked at the shopping he had been gathering up.  'We'll have to give him a lift back, Terry.  He can't possibly carry the half of this with only one good arm.'

'True enough.'  Terry agreed.  He addressed their guest.  'How did you find out about us being here?'

'Was in free paper.'

'Was it?'  Father Cornelius seemed surprised.

The young man pulled a piece of newspaper out of his pocket.  On it was a letter from someone, complaining about the foodbank opening up in her village and speculating that it would attract undesirables.  Conveniently for their guest, it mentioned the opening times.

'I was almost too late.'  The young man said.  'Was further than I thought.'

'What happened to your arm, mate?' Terry asked, pointing at the bandage.

'Is broken.'

'How is broken?'

'I fell off tractor.'

'You're a farm worker, then?' said Father Cornelius.

'I am.'  He noticed the priest putting some tinned rice pudding in the bag.  'No more, please.  I cannot carry.'

'You don't have to carry, mate.  We drive.'  Terry mimed holding a steering wheel.

They continued helping the man, who was called Mikolaj, to choose his groceries, before learning more of his story over their drinks.  The accident, he explained, had been simple ill-luck.  He had caught a loose shoe-lace as he was getting out of the cab and fallen from the massive vehicle he had been driving.  That had been a month ago.  His injury should heal in another couple but, in the meanwhile, his family had no money.  He had been told he couldn't claim Universal Credit.  He hadn't been allowed to claim Housing Benefit because he wasn't working.  He wasn't getting sick pay because he was supposedly self-employed and there was no news on a claim for Tax Credits.  His wife's claim for Child Benefit, made five months earlier when the baby was born, seemed to be lost. 

'You ought to come in and see Martin,' Terry advised him.  'He's good at sorting this type of thing out.'

'Come here again?'

'No, mate.  Into town.'  Terry fetched one of the Solent Welfare Rights Project's leaflets, which had the opening times on.  'Call number.  They make appointment.' 

They left Mikolaj sitting with his bags while they packed away the remaining stock and loaded up the Catholic Church's minibus.  With most of the seats folded down, it made quite an effective van.  When they returned to the church hall, Mikolaj had acquired an extra bag.  The ears of a large toy rabbit were protruding from the top.

'We're having a jumble sale on Saturday,' Janet explained.  'We thought he might like some things for the baby.'

'How very kind, ladies!  Bless you both,' said the priest.

Father Cornelius drove.  It was marginally cheaper to insure him than Terry, with his history of heart complaints and breathing difficulties.  None of the younger, fitter volunteers were free regularly enough to be designated driver.  The road to Mikolaj's home was supposedly an 'A' road, although it ducked and dived through the countryside and around some unexpectedly sharp bends, catching the priest by surprise a couple of times.

'Hold on to your hats, gentlemen!  It's a little while since I've come this way.'

Terry wasn't sure he ever had.  It was pretty; proper countryside with fields and hedges, cows and ponies, all touched with gold and bronze in the late sunshine of autumn.  He thought how much Lyn would have enjoyed the journey, though perhaps not with Father Cornelius driving.  If he could remember how to get here, he would bring her out for a look at the weekend, if it was nice.  They might even have a pub lunch.

Mikolaj lived in a house on a small estate outside the town.  Terry thought it looked like an ex-Council property and expected the landlord to be one of the Housing Associations, but Mikolaj said he paid his rent to someone called Dean, so it seemed privately owned.  Terry and the priest look a grocery bag each.  Mikolaj carried the bag of baby clothes and toys.

'Now we have food, you have dinner with us?' he offered, opening the door.

Father Cornelius hesitated, so Terry made an executive decision.

'Thanks mate, but my missus is waiting for me to take her home.'

Mikolaj insisted they meet his dainty wife and wriggly baby son before they left, and seemed disappointed that they couldn't stay for tea.

'You come again?' he asked.

'I'll fetch you for your appointment,' promised the priest.  'You mustn't walk so far next time.'

Terry got back in the front passenger seat.

'They seem a nice little family,' he said. 

'Charming young people,' Father Cornelius agreed.  'I can't understand how they've got nothing coming in at all.  That's never right.'

'Is it something to do with Brexit?' asked Terry. 

He hoped it wasn't.  He had voted in favour of leaving the EU, because Stu had told him the NHS needed the money.  Lyn and Paula had given him hell about it at the time.  Darren, who had also voted Leave, had been in the dog house too.  However, nothing had really happened since and maybe nothing would.  The politicians didn't seem to know what they were doing, especially that Boris twit.  He was always in the news these days, putting his foot in his mouth about something or another.  Martin's wife had been complaining about him the previous lunchtime, saying that she hoped he would keep his trap shut if she ever took their girls on holiday to meet their Pakistani relatives.  Martin and Parveen had two daughters now; Malala and little Tasleen, the baby.  Martin was talking about cutting his hours when Parveen went back to work.  Hilary was talking about going half-time if they sold their house.  Terry wondered if that would mean there was a paid job for Catherine, the new volunteer lady.  Lyn had taken quite a liking to her.

As for Brexit, it was turning out to be a lot more complicated than he had expected. 

'It won't be that,' Father Cornelius replied.  'Martin says the law hasn't changed despite the vote, although if attitudes have, the way the law is being applied might have shifted.  I'm sure your man will get to the bottom of it soon enough.'

They were running against the traffic coming out of town, so made good progress back to base, where they found plenty of hands willing to help them unload and put away.

'A good afternoon's work, Terry,' said the priest.

'As long as they haven't muddled my baked beans up again, Father.'

He had to check before he left.  They were fine.