Open Writing

Saturday morning in the Square is always the busiest time of the week. People hurrying or greeting one another - sometimes a word or gesture of affection, even a kiss. Everyone knows everyone else, as one would in a village, and many of the proprietors use that word in the names over their shops - the Village Coffee Shop, the Village Baker.

This is a misnomer, for over a hundred years ago the village was absorbed into the outer suburb of the large city. But it still looks like a village square. The architecture is late Victorian and has never been updated. Jane Austen would not have felt at home here, but Arnold Bennett would.

The paintwork is immaculate. Window boxes and hanging baskets galore display their colourful charms. It is pedestrianised and there is not a supermarket within a couple of miles.

Oakleys, Purveyors of Quality Foods, is the largest shop in the Square. They once supplied groceries and wines to the gentry. However, the Lord of the Manor is no more, for the last one spent his fortune on Gaiety girls and his only son was killed on the Somme. The Manor house is now a Teachers' Training College. But Oakleys still survives and less than a year ago was mentioned in the Times, praising the high quality of their home-made pates.

To enter Oakleys is a pleasure for the olfactory system. Stand in the doorway, close your eyes and breathe deeply and you are assailed by the delicious fragrance of freshly ground coffee beans, accompanied by the piquant aroma of dozens of herbs and spices.

This shop's interior is a sight not often seen nowadays. Shining teak floors, shelves, drawers and cupboards. The assistants stand behind white marble-topped counters. Among the delights on display are gargantuan cheeses, enormous game pies, and York and Parma hams. Oakleys has an excellent wine cellar - a veritable Aladdin's cave where anything the customer desires can be found.

And to see Mr. Oakley, immaculate in his white jacket and bow tie, operating the bacon slicer is to watch an art brought to the peak of perfection.

Ben Cartwright is the local greengrocer, and outside his shop stand boxes of rich, ripe, purple aubergines, polished Braeburns, enormous juicy sweet-scented Jaffas and golden plums. There are containers of flowers - carnations, chrysanthemums and exotic stargazer lilies, their colours and scent guaranteed to entrap the passersby.

Across the road Andy MacGregor, the baker, is well aware that the fragrance of his newly baked bread and cakes wafting on the breeze will draw people in like a magnet. He's been up since four this morning working his magic. Only witness the small faces, noses pressed against the window, as three little girls urgently gesticulate their favourites to their mother as she chooses a selection of the pastry cook's artistry. Ellie MacGregor laughs and, delighted with their enthusiasm, pops three gingerbread men into the carrier bag.

Next door but one red-faced and resplendent, Fred Pollock, the fishmonger presides over his well stocked gleaming slabs, looking, in his snowy-white apron for all the world like a Harley Street Surgeon, as with a flourish he fillets an enormous codfish. Lobsters, crabs, winkles and whelks; every one of Fred's shellfish are crustacean marvels, down to the smallest shrimp.

Mrs Graham owns the drapery. Tall and statuesque, she is widowed and since Edward's death has become slimmer and more elegant. Her late husband was, if not exactly mean, a very prudent man and Eloise, for the first time in her life, is living it up. She has a passion for Latin American dancing and has been invited by her dancing teacher in the city to join his team.

So this week the window display has been themed in red, black and gold, and very dramatic it looks. Fred has been in several times to tell her so, for he admires Eloise - and the rest of the Square await with baited breath further developments.

Outside the butcher's shop stands a larger-than-life-size painted figure wearing a blue-and-white striped apron and straw boater. This majestic form is often subjected to the indignity of small boys slapping the ample belly, and passing dogs have been known to raise a leg in salute to it. Which if observed can summon an almighty bellow from Joe the butcher, "Get out of it!"

Joe's succulent selection of home-made sausages has spread his fame into the next county. and people travel for miles for his venison steaks. He is the handsomest man in the Square - and knows it!

At the top of the Square is the Village Coffee Shop. This is where people come when they have completed their shopping to relax over a latte or espresso and to gossip with friends. Identical twin sisters own the Coffee Shop. Blonde, buxom and beautiful, they have a light hand in the preparation of scones and sandwiches.

However, Meghan and Sian's claim to fame are their truly magnificent coloratura soprano voices. They are the pride and joy of the city's Amateur Operatic Society, and next week their proud parents will be in charge of the Coffee Shop while Meghan and Sian perform at the Welsh National Eisteddfod.

Saturday afternoons are quieter, a leisurely winding down before the five o'clock closures. This is the time the shopkeepers' wives usually slip out to Monique's Ladies Hairdressers and Beauty Salon.

Monique is married to Joe. They met in Paris five years ago when he went over to play rugby. Joe thinks Monique adds more than a touch of Gallic charm and savoire-faire to the Square, and there's no doubt the women have changed since she arrived.

Ellie McGregor was a timid, mousey little thing before Monique took her in hand. Now she is totally transformed. She sparkles and glows, and it's not just due to the clever use of cosmetics either. She has an inner confidence that wasn't there before.

When Monique first arrived the wives were highly suspicious of this attractive Frenchwoman, but somehow she has managed to beguile them all. By the time Monique says 'adieu' to her last client it is almost dark and she runs up the stairs to their flat over the salon, where Joe is preparing their evening meal.

After the Rose and Crown closes, the Square looks very different from the bustling thoroughfare of the day. Empty and quiet the street lamps cast mysterious shadows and the unlit shop entrances are dark voids beside the shuttered windows. A few lights stream out from the flats above the shops.

A flurry of wind sends a paper bag dancing down the pavement, and beside a litter bin a scavenging urban fox devours the remains of a pork pie. Hearing footsteps he lopes into the shadows.

It is the policeman completing his second security circuit of the Square. As he passes the butcher's he pauses, raises his head and wrinkles his nose at a curious feral smell. Then, noticing nothing amiss, he shrugs his shoulders and briskly walks on as Reynard slips silently away.

The church clock strikes the quarter and the moon comes from behind the clouds revealing bats that swoop and dive around the steeple hunting for insects. A hooting urban owl in one of the chestnut trees in the churchyard frightens the mice.

An amorous encounter between two cats escalates into a caterwalling duet, waking Andy McGregor from his dreams. He slips out of bed and goes over to close the window and sees two late lovers, arms entwined, taking a short cut through the square. He smiles looking over at the sleeping form of Ellie and in the moonlight sees her eyes are wide open, gazing gently at him.

"What's up love? Did those noisy moggies wake you?"

"No, but I've got something to tell you - I'm pregnant!"

Andy looks dumbfounded as he sits down on the bed. "What! After eight years. I don't believe it."

Surprised, she sits up looking anxious: "Aren't you pleased?"

'What the hell's the matter with me' he thinks. 'I'm shaking; I always say the wrong thing. I've got everything I ever wanted. How did I get to be so lucky? I've a pretty young wife, and we've waited so long for this and all I do is bloody bark at her. I'm an idiot.'

"Of course I'm pleased, but Ellie I'm forty two. Isn't that a bit old to be a dad?"

She laughs. "No, it's a lovely age to be a dad and you'll be a wonderful father. Come on back to bed and celebrate."

He's stopped shaking and it feels safe now to enfold her in his arms. "Alright, but it's a bit late. Don't forget I've got to be up at four."

"No you've not. It's Sunday, Andy. Remember!"

"That's right! It's Sunday. Oh Ellie! Ellie! I love you and the baby. Thank God for Sundays and a long lie in."

Outside in the square the Church clock strikes midnight heralding, the beginning of a new day.