Tea And Sympathy
Entry by: runner duck
30th March 2018
Tea and Sympathy lived at 'Come In Cottage' 23 Rose Lane Barkham. Their real names were Mildred and Maureen Mitchell, but everyone called them the 'T and S twins' There wasn't a man or woman in the village who hadn't knocked on their pretty front door to share secrets or to unburden themselves. Mildred brewed the tea while Maureen listened and smiled, made all the right noises and said all the right words.
The spinsters, now in their late sixties had been inseperable all their lives though they couldn't have been more different in temperament. Mildred was a mile a minute, never happy unless she was doing or sorting or running. She still jogged three times a week averaging four miles each time and was a distinctive sight in her pink leggings and lime green lycra top. Maureen, slight and floral, would wave her off, content to watch the world go by as she sat in her rocking chair and gazed out of the cottage window, writing an occasional entry in her journal.
While Mildred made cakes in the kitchen, villagers made confessions in the living room and left feeling lighter in spirit if not in body. For in truth, for all her keeness, Mildred was no Mary Berry.
She was the eldest by three minutes. In a rush even then, desperate to get out of the womb. While Maureen, had she been able to, would have quite happily stayed within its' warmth. Got out a book and given the world a miss.
As time went by, visitors came from further and further afield to visit the wonderful women and each of them in turn was delighted to receive a letter from the pastoral pair one Easter Saturday morning.
The twins had bided their time.
Maureen had filled her journals
and each recipient had been sent an invitation to contribute to the twins retirement fund.
It read:
Pay or we tell.
One by one the cheques started to arrive through their door and one June afternoon the twins packed up their bags, sold off the cottage and jetted out to the Bahamas where they had bought a house on the beach.
Mildred gave up running
Maureen gave up journalling
The villagers
gave up tea.
The spinsters, now in their late sixties had been inseperable all their lives though they couldn't have been more different in temperament. Mildred was a mile a minute, never happy unless she was doing or sorting or running. She still jogged three times a week averaging four miles each time and was a distinctive sight in her pink leggings and lime green lycra top. Maureen, slight and floral, would wave her off, content to watch the world go by as she sat in her rocking chair and gazed out of the cottage window, writing an occasional entry in her journal.
While Mildred made cakes in the kitchen, villagers made confessions in the living room and left feeling lighter in spirit if not in body. For in truth, for all her keeness, Mildred was no Mary Berry.
She was the eldest by three minutes. In a rush even then, desperate to get out of the womb. While Maureen, had she been able to, would have quite happily stayed within its' warmth. Got out a book and given the world a miss.
As time went by, visitors came from further and further afield to visit the wonderful women and each of them in turn was delighted to receive a letter from the pastoral pair one Easter Saturday morning.
The twins had bided their time.
Maureen had filled her journals
and each recipient had been sent an invitation to contribute to the twins retirement fund.
It read:
Pay or we tell.
One by one the cheques started to arrive through their door and one June afternoon the twins packed up their bags, sold off the cottage and jetted out to the Bahamas where they had bought a house on the beach.
Mildred gave up running
Maureen gave up journalling
The villagers
gave up tea.
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