Lydcote, 1941, by Margery Tolland
An original novel extract set in the twentieth century.
By the spring of 1941 the village of Lydcote had decided that it was being watched.
The evidence was gathered mainly by Mrs Hollins at the post office, who had a window onto the green and a great deal of time. The stranger had arrived in March and taken a room at the mill. He said his name was Stroud. He went out before dawn in all weathers with field glasses round his neck and a canvas satchel, and he came back after dark, and in between he was seen on the church tower, in Hob’s Wood, and lying flat on his stomach in the long grass by the railway viaduct, writing in a little black book.
‘Lying flat,’ said Mrs Hollins, ‘by the viaduct. You tell me what an honest man wants with a viaduct.’
Nobody could. The vicar said he seemed a pleasant enough fellow. This was felt to prove nothing, since the vicar thought the same of everybody.
The matter was laid before Major Pell, who commanded the Lydcote platoon of the Home Guard and had been waiting nearly a year for something to command it against. The Major listened with his eyes closed. Then he opened them and said, ‘Dawn tomorrow. The tower. Bring the pitchforks.’ The platoon had, at that time, four rifles between eleven men, and the Major felt the pitchforks gave a better impression.
They went up the tower stairs at half past five in single file, with the Major in front and Mrs Hollins, who had not been invited, at the back. At the top the Major flung open the little door onto the roof and shouted ‘Hands up!’ in a voice he had been saving since 1918.
Mr Stroud, who was sitting on an upturned bucket with his field glasses, raised his hands at once. In one of them was the black book. The Major snatched it.
There was a short silence while he turned the pages. Mrs Hollins pushed to the front.
The book was full of birds. They were drawn in pencil, very finely, with dates and times and little notes in a neat hand: barn owl, Hob’s Wood, ten past four, two young; kestrel, viaduct, nesting on the third pier; swifts returned, ninth of May. There were pages and pages of them. On the last page, however, there was something else: a drawing of a large man asleep on a bench in the bus shelter, his cap over his eyes and his rifle across his knees. Underneath, in the same neat hand, it said: Lydcote defences, three in the morning.
The Major looked at it for a long while. Then he tore the page out, very carefully, folded it and put it in his breast pocket.
‘Kestrel on the viaduct,’ he said at last, in a different voice. ‘How far off could you see that from?’
‘Half a mile,’ said Mr Stroud. ‘On a clear morning.’
‘Half a mile.’ The Major turned to his platoon, who were finding the view very interesting. ‘You heard. Half a mile. There’s not a man here can see the pub from the church.’ He handed back the book. ‘Mr Stroud, the Lydcote platoon is in need of an observer. You will report to the bus shelter on Thursday at eleven.’
‘Which end of the bench would you like me?’ said Mr Stroud.
The platoon went down the tower stairs a great deal more quickly than it had come up. Mrs Hollins went last. She was heard to say, on the way down, that she had never trusted him, and that the drawing had not even been a good likeness.
“In this extract the people of Lydcote are presented as foolish, and the stranger as the only sensible person in the village.”
To what extent do you agree with this view?
You should write about:
You must refer to the language used in the text to support your answer.