Mrs Jones False Teeth

Mrs Jones False teeth

The day started warm and carried on been so. It was a typical sunny
day, in the kitchen my mother had prepared a number of tasty trays of
various sandwiches and couple of sponges. She'd been up baking till
late last night and had only just completed dusting the Victoria
sponges with icing sugar.

From my bedroom window I could see on the forefront of the garage next
door and Dave
who waved his hello. Coyly I pulled the curtain back around my nightie
clad body and gave a gently wave back as I peeped out onto the
brightness of mid morning.

The day before he had asked me to go out with him to the local for a
drink, due to the
celebrations. Even now I was nervous but well pleased about it. At
twenty I was hopeful,
even though I knew he would soon be returning back to Liverpool and
University. Yes I was hopeful. I watched his strong muscular body
moving as he served Old Mr George with petrol.

I loved this place where we knew verybody, where strangers stuck out
like a sore thumb.
But today I was going to find out how you don't really know them at
all.

As I studied Dave's easy movement I noticed the witch, Mrs Jones. She
looked up at my
window and I could see and feel her condemnation. Quickly I drew the
curtain. From down stairs the bell rang as the shop door open and I
could hear the mumble voices of my father as he served the witch. Mam
had decided that we'd open just for the morning, as it was the Queens
silver jubilee and people just might have forgotten those little bits
and bobs.

I laid in bed later than usual as I'd been given the day off from the
telephone exchange and
was now excited by the fore-coming day. Slowly dressing I could just
make out Mrs Jones shrill voice and wonder just whom or what she would
be belittling today and I cringed thinking of all those years of Mrs
Jones and her Sunday school.

She always wore the same hat during the day and changed to a prettier
version on a Sunday, when she played the organ and forced fear into the
little ones of the village. I always felt sorry for Mr Jones, her piety
was about as sexy as a dead fish and yet he would tease and tell funny
joke's and alway's have a smile, the absolute opposite to his stiff
upper lipped dour wife. The oddest couple I had ever known.

Putting on my sandals, and playing with my hair pulling it into a tidy
pony tail, I went down stairs to find Mrs Jones in the kitchen. Mother
nervously toying with one of the cakes, whilst Mrs Jones looked at the
neat pile of triangular sandwiches as if they'd were foreign
bodies.

"Good afternoon, Lynn", her brisk harsh condescending voice made me
stand still with
sudden shock. She had that effect. Years of giving orders to other's,
possible small and
therefore easily terrified into submission, she could scare anything
that dared to move the wrong way, even the local bobby. I used to tease
my younger brother when she had scared him by telling him that there
was no need for a nuclear deterrent when we had her.

But today it's wasn't so much her voice but what she had on her head,
her whole attire that shocked me, I had long since got use to her
tirade. From my window I had only registered her and had not really
looked too closely. Well you don't, but now I stood stock still and
took in her hat, her dress and her shoes. The hat was a pale lilac
chiffon thing. Doing a double take I noticed my Mother's warning
glance, but Mrs Jones was too busy seemingly trying to find fault with
the pile of neat sandwiches to notice my astounded stare.

I'd never seen her in anything quite so. It was a brand new hat and
very modern. Not her
usual pull down helmet of brown wool. Or the lovely green knitted
helmet she wore on a
Sunday. No this was more like something the Queen Mum would have been
proud to wear
or what you'd see at one of the classy weddings that happened at
church. She was even wearing a lovely spring type dress and not her
normal twin set and skirt. Then I noticed her shoes. They where not the
normal sensible brogues but slim little fitting dress shoes. It was
then that I realised that my Mother was not toying with cake in fear
but she was in absolute shock herself at Mrs Jones change of
appearance.

"Is there any tea going? ", Dad's voice brought us around.

"Oh yes Mr Thomas, what a lovely idea". Mrs Jones replied, before both
I and mother
could stir ourselves. Suddenly aware that we might have been caught
out, we both jumped
for the kettle together, Mother reaching it before me.

Mrs Jones settled herself down against the hearth, another action that
we were not use to, she never had time to stay anywhere for long. She
was always far too busy, and as for tea she never stopped for tea
especially here. We all discreetly looked at each other, wondering what
was coming.

"Well, I've managed to get young Jeb to set up the tables, and Sid has
agreed to help with the fruit juices, I'm looking forward to today". As
she gentle fondled the skirt of her dress
"Hanna's got the jellies and ice cream sorted" She smiled at us, as we
stood over the kitchen
sink. Not one word of criticism towards the cakes or sandwiches.

I looked at my Mother, who raised her shoulder's unable herself to
understand what was going on.

Half an hour later she left us, the three of us in astounded silence.
Passing the post man
whom she smiled to and then stopped to talked to him, causing him to
stumble over his bike. We looked at each other.

Dad closed the shop just before eleven thirty and went to help to put
the tables up which
mother along with one to two of the women from the village layed out
with table clothes,
whilst I helped Dave putting up the last of the balloons, the flags had
been up the day before by Dave's father. The local farmer having
provided bales of hay to sit on as their where not enough chairs for
everyone. So at half twelve we crowded around the village green in
front of the chapel's, where the main part of the street party was to
be held, and fed the kids with sandwiches, cake, jelly and ice cream
washed down with either tea or fruit punch.

However even at the street party Mrs Jones acted so
uncharacteristically, that everyone
wasn't sure how to react, but when she joined the girls in a skipping
game, everyone
stopped dead in amazement. There was no sign of Mr Jones. So we just
carried on and tried to behave as normal as possible, even though we
were all worried about the change in Mrs Jones.

Sid had even been able to put some alcoholic additives to the adult
punch bowl and Mrs
Jones started to drink it as if there was no tomorrow without no
condescension to it's
peculiar taste. This was possible what contributed to the skipping game
but none of us could be sure.

This was not our Mrs Jones. She didn't even supervise the washing of
the dishes with her
normal military style command. By half four everyone didn't want to
leave as she was
telling some of the most raucous jokes I had ever heard. One of the
younger mother's had to cover the ears of her son and drag him out of
hearing distance so he that he wouldn't hear.

It was at this point that Mr Jones arrived by the vestry door and
suddenly without any
compulsion from anyone she flung herself across the room and into his
surprised arms,
grabbed his head in both hands so as to give him huge kiss. We all
looked at each other but
no one dared to say a thing. Mouths that had dropped open in disbelief
closed just as quick.
No one knew quite what to say or do, we were half expecting her to
scold one of us but she didn't. We had never seen her behave in such a
way. The effect on the kids was one to make them behaved wonderful, the
shock of her behaviour stilling even them.

I didn't see Mrs Jones again until much later that night, when Dave was
walking me home, there she was singing on top of her voice. Sid holding
her up by one arm and Mr Jones on the other. Suddenly by the small
hedge that ran part way around the garage forefront. They had let her
go just for a minuet and she disappeared head first over it, her legs
sticking up in the air. Her skirt falling towards her upper body
revealing bright pink mid length bloomers, one shoe slightly twisted,
which Mr Jones took off and pushed into his jacket pocket. When they'd
finally managed to pull her back so she landed unceremoniously on her
bum on the
pavement. A huge grin spread across her face, her hat falling backwards
along with a wig, the baldness of her head shining in the street light
before she suddenly collapsed snoring. I watched Dave, Sid and Mr Jones
lift the now fast asleep frame of Mrs Jones off towards her home.

The next morning as I waited for the bus to take me to work, Mr Jones
appeared with a white serviette in his hand.

"Morning Lynn" he said briskly before diving into the small
bush.

"Morning Mr Jones", I asked tentatively as I watched him, routing
around under the bush
and into the bush.

"Have you lost something", I asked him, as he wasn't exactly smiling
but had two very rosy red cheeks.

Um yes, well I haven't". Suddenly he lifted up and pair a brilliant
white false teeth, " Margie's". It was the first time I'd ever heard
him refer to her by her first name. He placed
the gleaming white row of teeth neatly into the middle of the serviette
and wrapped them.

" Are you off to work Lynn?", he asked me as if it was an everyday
occurrence for him to
search in low hedges for false teeth at seven in the morning.

"Yes, how is Mrs Jones?". Even as the words were said I felt a slight
unease at asking.

"She's still asleep. Last time this happen", he looked thoughtful up at
the morning sky, "
was during the VE day celebrations at the end of the war. She's not
herself at the moment as you may have noticed".

" Yes, I think we all noticed, is there anything we can do". Totally
unaware of what I was saying and not knowing how to react.

But all Mr Jones did was reassuringly squeeze my arm, " It's ok, she'll
be back to normal in
a couple of days" with which he smile and walked away back home.

Nothing was ever said about the day that Mrs Jones Chapel lost her
teeth, no one dare to, as she the witch returned to her hostile self
with in days, but we all knew.