Summer's Out at Hope Hall Read online

  “In this delightful tale of Kath Sutton and the motley bunch of characters revolving around the community hall she runs, Pam Rhodes has given us a story of warmth, humour, and hope about lives shared and burdens carried. Summer’s Out at Hope Hall is one of those novels that helps you hear laughter in the darkness, reminding you that the sun really will rise tomorrow.”

  Sheridan Voysey, BBC Radio 2 presenter and author of Reflect with Sheridan

  “Written in Pam’s characteristic gentle and humorous manner, Summer’s Out at Hope Hall appears to be just a light-hearted book, but it powerfully demonstrates the strength of community and the importance of faith.”

  Debbie Duncan, author of Brave: Showing Courage in All Seasons of Life

  By the same author

  With Hymns and Hearts and Voices

  Fisher of Men

  Casting the Net

  If You Follow Me

  Saints and Sailors

  In this series

  Springtime at Hope Hall

  Text copyright © 2021 Pam Rhodes

  This edition copyright © 2021 Lion Hudson IP Limited

  The right of Pam Rhodes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by

  Lion Hudson Limited

  Wilkinson House, Jordan Hill Business Park

  Banbury Road, Oxford OX2 8DR, England

  www.lionhudson.com

  ISBN 978 1 78264 287 9

  e-ISBN 978 1 78264 288 6

  First edition 2021

  Cover illustration: Joanna Kerr

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Contents

  Editor’s note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Who’s Who at Hope Hall

  Editor’s note

  The Hope Hall series was commissioned before Covid-19 reared its ugly head, and fortunately Kath Sutton’s community and its environs have been fortunate enough to escape any trace of the virus. You won’t find any masks, vaccines or hand sanitizer between these pages, but you will enjoy the warmth, humour and human touch so many of us have missed since the pandemic began.

  Chapter 1

  The house martins were back!

  There was no mistaking those glossy blue-black wings, forked tail and the flash of white rump when the bird swooped over Kath’s head as she stood on the pavement edge waiting for a chance to cross the road to Hope Hall. With aerobatic precision, the bird headed straight for the tip of the gable of the hall’s roof and disappeared from sight.

  Once the road was clear, Kath broke into a run, a broad grin spreading across her face as she reached the front door of the hall and looked up. The telltale signs of muddy drips down the stonework drew her eye up to the dark brown ball of mud and grass that the martins were carefully crafting into a home for their new family. There didn’t seem to be any sign of chicks yet, but just the thought of those small, noisy, elegant lodgers returning to the hall for yet another year was enough to lift her spirits. Summer was here at last!

  April had brought a mixed bag of weather, from flurries of snow and chill winds to glorious blue skies that promised warmth in the bright sunshine, but mostly didn’t deliver. Now, as May arrived, with scarlet red tulips in flower beds, bluebells carpeting local woods, and lilac and cherry blossom hanging in swathes of pink and purple along pavements and garden paths, it was tempting to throw off coats and cardigans and turn her face to the sun. At that thought, Kath smiled to herself again as she remembered how her mum warned her every spring about the old saying “Cast ne’er a clout till May be out”. Kath was never sure if that meant the month of May or the May blossom that now graced every hedgerow, but did it really matter? The house martins were back!

  “Morning, Kath!” called Liz, wiping her hands on her white apron as she crossed the foyer towards the kitchen door. “Maggie’s not here yet, in case you wanted her. She’s going to take a look round that new wholesalers first thing today, to see what sort of deals are on offer. Want a coffee?”

  “Thanks, Liz, but I know you’re busy and I’ve got Muriel Baker coming in at eleven. I’ll take her up to the balcony for coffee and biscuits then.”

  Liz frowned. “Muriel Baker – I know that name…”

  “She’s the unit leader for the Sea Cadets.”

  “Oh yes, of course! My nephew Callum went to Sea Cadets for quite a while when he was a teenager. He loved it. Gosh, that was ages ago. Is Muriel still running it?”

  “‘Formidable’ and ‘unstoppable’ are words I’ve heard to describe her.”

  Liz giggled. “Oh, I’ve heard her described in a few more colourful words than that. I remember Callum saying that whenever she talked to them about the sailing manoeuvres that won sea battles in Nelson’s time, the lads were convinced that she was old enough to have been there!”

  “I hope I don’t bump into her,” called Kevin, the work experience kitchen assistant who was sorting out the display cabinet at the other end of the serving hatch. “I only went to Sea Cadets for a fortnight when I was about thirteen, but she was terrifying. I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself jumping to attention and saluting even now.”

  “Why is she coming, anyway?” asked Liz. “We’re a long way from the sea here.”

  “Apparently, after all these years, they’ve discovered asbestos in their hut roof. They’ve got to find somewhere else to base themselves for about three months. We can let them have a room in the old school building to store their kit, and their meetings are held on Wednesday nights when our main hall happens to be free.”

  “They do most of their training outdoors, if I remember rightly,” said Liz. “And don’t some Sea Cadets have a band too?”

  “They’ve not asked about that. It would be nice if they did. I hope we can come to an arrangement to help them out. It will be interesting to have them based at Hope Hall for a while.”

  “And they all look very smart in their uniforms,” sighed Liz. “I’m a sucker for a brass band. The moment they strike up ‘Hearts of Oak’, it’s all I can do to stop myself marching along with them. That’s what happens when you have generations of military men in your family.”

  “See you later then!” laughed Kath as she opened the glasspanelled door at the end of the foyer and walked through the main hall towards a side door at the far end. That door opened on to the small corridor that linked the main building at a right angle to the old school which had stood immediately adjacent to Hope Hall for decades. Once inside the school, the first room on the left was Kath’s office. In spite of the modern technology and office furniture, the room still bore a trace of the look – and, Kath often thought, the smell – created by a succession of headteachers who had been its previous occupants down the years. On the other side of the corridor were cloakrooms and a flight of stairs leading up to three classrooms on the floor above. Straight ahead were double doors leading into the assembly hall, and those doors suddenly burst open to reveal thirty under-five-year-olds squealing with excitement as they sat in ball ponds, dug up sand pits, fitte
d together jigsaws and scribbled with crayons, all at the top of their voices.

  It was Management Assistant Shirley Wells who came storming through those double doors and into Kath’s office.

  “Had a parking problem with a particularly inconsiderate mum delivering her little darling off in their 4x4 this morning. She couldn’t think of a single reason why she shouldn’t park right in front of the main gate and leave her car here while she nipped out to get her nails done in town.”

  Kath smothered a smile, knowing that no parent, 4x4 owner or not, would ever win an argument with Shirley. She was a force to be reckoned with, a big-hearted woman with the voice of a foghorn and a strict sense of how people should behave, especially in a community facility like Hope Hall.

  “Where is she now?”

  Shirley shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. I made it clear that she had to move her precious car, and eventually she did, but not before she came back inside to give the playgroup staff a piece of her mind.”

  “How did they react?”

  “They rang me straight away, and after we’d had another word or two, the woman left, taking her daughter with her.”

  “Oh dear,” frowned Kath. “Is she likely to come and bash my ear too? Should I have a word with her?”

  “Nope,” smiled Shirley. “The playgroup staff said she’s always been a pain in the neck, making demands that disrupt the experience for everyone else. Apparently, she told them she intends to remove her daughter from our playgroup and enlist her at Tiny Tots on the High Street instead. Tiny Tots has got no parking spaces at all, so that should go well!”

  Now, that was why the recent decision to create the new role of Management Assistant for Shirley had been such a good idea, thought Kath. Shirley had been taken on at Hope Hall at the start of the year to help caretaker Ray after his wife Sara was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Shirley attacked the role like a whirling dervish, busying away with her mop, duster, paintbrush and sewing machine until Hope Hall was gleaming from top to bottom. But it had soon become clear that her efficiency at hall maintenance was just a small part of her talents. That loud authoritative voice of hers had a way of cutting through confusion and chaos so that calm and order could quickly be restored – and that was in stark contrast to a much softer, compassionate side of Shirley that was revealed in her care for Ray and Sara, which went beyond anything that was expected of her. Her worth was truly recognized when she masterminded several imaginative and entertaining ideas to involve all age groups in the Easter Monday Fayre, which was the first event to mark this centenary year of Hope Hall. And so, when Ray announced that he was keen to resume his caretaking duties, which he felt was an important step towards dealing with bereavement after the loss of his beloved wife, the management team recognized that Shirley was too good an asset to lose – and her new part-time role was created.

  Shirley’s distinctive voice jolted Kath out of her thoughts.

  “I want to organize a school reunion in the main hall on the first Saturday in June. I’ve checked the diary. It’s free, and we’ll pay the usual fee. All right with you?”

  “Of course,” said Kath, opening the bookings file on her computer. “Which school is this?”

  “We all went to Walsworth Road Comprehensive, which was demolished a few years back now. A group of us realized that our year left in 1992, which is nearly thirty years ago, and we’ve never had a reunion in all that time. So, we thought we’d organize a get-together!”

  “Great idea. How many do you think might come?”

  “We plan to open the invitation up to any pupils who went to the school during the eighties and nineties, so it could be quite a lot. Some people are still living locally, but I reckon the majority have moved away now, so it will depend how successful we are at spreading the word. I hope we’ll get at least a hundred. I’ll organize a buffet and a disco of all the music we danced to then. It should be a good night.”

  “I remember going to our reunion a while back,” mused Kath, “when we hadn’t seen each other for more than twenty years. I hardly recognized anyone. We all had a copy of the guest list, so we knew who was there, but it was so difficult to put names we could remember to faces that were so much older. The boys were the worst. So many grey-haired and bald-headed old fellas with paunches and prescription glasses, I didn’t recognize any of them!”

  “Did they recognize you?”

  “Some did, so I can’t have changed all that much, thank goodness. But the big change I recognized after that reunion was that schools in my day had a very different attitude to discipline compared with schools today. Mike, the man who came up with the idea for the event, got in touch with the secretary of our old school to book everything, and she said that on the night, all the guests could come in through the main entrance of the school, past the headmaster’s office and straight into the hall. Mike immediately said that they wouldn’t want to do that, because they’d never been allowed to go in through that entrance, past the headmaster’s office. The secretary laughed, and said that for the last twenty odd years pupils had been allowed to come in that way. So, later that night, when Mike was telling his son about the conversation, his son asked him what would have happened if they’d disobeyed orders and gone through that main entrance when they were at school. Mike said that he didn’t know, because they’d never dared to try it!”

  Shirley nodded in agreement. “You’re right; it can be a bit of a free-for-all where discipline’s concerned in schools these days. Who’d want to be a teacher?”

  “You, I reckon,” smiled Kath. “You’re great with the kids who come in here – and the grown-up kids too! You certainly don’t let any of our cheekier pensioners take liberties, but then you’re so full of great ideas to keep them happily occupied, they love you for it.”

  “Me, a teacher? Never!” huffed Shirley, getting to her feet, but not before Kath saw a flush of pleasure bring colour to her cheeks. ‘I’m going to see if Ray needs a hand up in that middle classroom. The lights have been playing up.”

  And she was gone.

  Sometime later, on her way to greet Muriel Baker, who was due at eleven, Kath walked through the foyer where the weekday café was comfortably busy, with groups of people sipping coffee and tucking into a variety of cakes around tables covered in bright flowery tablecloths. Thinking it would be good to spot Muriel as soon as her car arrived, Kath made for the main entrance door, but then had to stand back to allow someone else to come inside. The young woman was probably in her late teens or early twenties, with long pale blonde hair, and an expression that made it clear she was uncertain where to go.

  “Can I help?” smiled Kath.

  “I come for English class,” was the girl’s careful reply as she fumbled in her pocket for a piece of folded paper, which she held out towards Kath. “Hope Hall. This Hope Hall?”

  “It certainly is,” nodded Kath, realizing that the girl’s English was very limited. “Let me show you.”

  Gratefully, the girl followed Kath back out of the entrance door, then fell into step beside her as they turned right across the playground towards the main door of the school.

  “Where are you from?” asked Kath as they walked.

  “Czech Republic, near Prague.”

  “And is this your first visit to this country?”

  “Yes, but I learn English at school, and watch TV. American movies.”

  Kath smiled. “Well, that will certainly help!”

  “I am Mili Novakova.”

  “And I’m Kath. Pleased to meet you, Mili!”

  Opening the school door for them both, Kath led the way up the stairs and pointed to the first classroom along the corridor, where there were already several students waiting for their English as a Foreign Language lesson to begin. Mili was plainly nervous as she stepped inside, so Kath kept watch until she saw a couple of the group smiling a welcome as they beckoned the newcomer to join them.

  Back in the playground, Kath was just in time t
o see an estate car turning into the parking area at exactly eleven o’clock. There was no mistaking Muriel. She was short and round, with an air of solid authority that came from her no-nonsense haircut, dark-rimmed glasses, and the Sea Cadet uniform that seemed to be her constant form of dress. Her smile was formal as she offered a firm handshake.

  “How nice to meet you, Miss Sutton.”

  “Everyone calls me Kath. Welcome to Hope Hall!”

  Turning to look across the playground, Muriel surveyed her surroundings with interest, paying particular attention to one area after another.

  “This would all be available to us?”

  “Absolutely – and the main hall inside is also free on Wednesday evenings at present. I gather that some of your activities are held indoors?”

  “Our cadets are each studying for particular modules to achieve skill goals and qualifications. Some of that is practical and often physical, and would be best suited to this outdoor area – but inclement weather conditions, or quieter study, would make the main hall a better environment at times during our meetings. Can I take a look at the facilities inside?”

  “Of course,” agreed Kath, matching Muriel’s businesslike tone.

  Ten minutes later, after a comprehensive inspection of all the areas on offer, including the storage room on the outside of the school building which could be made available for the exclusive use of the cadets, Kath waited to hear Muriel’s verdict on whether Hope Hall might prove suitable.

  “We are required to maintain a high level of parade skills, which means we need to practise marching and drill techniques on a regular basis. This can sometimes prove quite noisy as orders are shouted out and responded to. How are your neighbours? Can you see any problems from them as far as that is concerned?”

  “Well,” replied Kath, “as you can see, we have no near neighbours. There’s waste ground on one side of us, and a road junction on the other, so apart from St Mark’s Church across the way, who are likely to be making as much noise as us on some occasions, we have no worries on that score.”