I suppose I should have seen it coming right then, when she downed that horrible tea I served on her first visit. Her upper lip was as stiff as the brew I had concocted. Formidable.
Since then we have exchanged many friendly words on the street, strawberry baskets and raspberry jam, and Lea left a number of drawings at her doorstep and wrote a ‘Get Well’ card when she fell ill last Spring.
It was always a nice surprise to run into Mrs. Bumble on the street, or as she was turning the corner on her way back from the mailbox, or when we all were lining up to buy some organic produce from Weller’s at the Wednesday market.
It, therefore, came as somewhat of a surprise, when her little beady eyes went cold on me the other day, as I was joking about the leaky ceilings of the supposedly elite Grammar School I had just visited. “Why don’t you go home to your country? Why don’t you go back to Germany?”
Touché.
Seeing how Britain treats its less fortunate citizens, I sometimes wish I could.
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