The Battle of the Flowers

The cheerful looking judge choked on the generous bite of chocolate cake she had just put into her mouth, her hand held to her throat, her smile now gone. She fell to her knees. The vicar looked down at her in disgust (obviously had a little too much at the home brew tasting, he thought) as choking and spluttering she fell hard to the ground and went still, a blue ribbon still clutched in her rigid hand. His expression turned to one of horror as he bent down and put fingers to her neck. He searched frantically for a pulse and found nothing.

2 weeks earlier

           Lily was mixing cake batter. With the bowl under her left arm and the wooden spoon in her right she beat at it with determination. A thin, angular woman, Lily was one of those women that was able to seemingly talk nonstop.

            "I really must win this year Harold," she said vehemently, "it's simply a matter of principle. Last year that woman beat me at cake, jam and needlecraft"

Harold was watching the snooker, he could have been sleeping for all the response he gave Lily but she was used to a one-way conversation after almost 60 years of marriage.

            "It's simply not on," she continued, "to have that young flibbertigibbet move into my village and start taking the ribbons that should have been mine, there's simply no way that she should have won last year, my cross stitch was so much more detailed, I know you thought so too Harold" She didn't pause for an answer before continuing, "I simply can't stand these young 'blow-ins' from the city. Thinking they can bring their modern ideas into our little village, pushing us out of our rightful places. Thirty years I've been entering cakes, jams and needlecraft, thirty years! Two of those years with all three blue ribbons, then along comes that little Rose cheating me out of my three ribbons in three years, unbelievable

Rose was in her kitchen at the same time as Lily was in hers. She was humming along to the radio while she grated orange zest and whipped cream to stiff peaks for her cakes.

       Despite Lily's assertion that Rose was a young blow in, at 69 years old, she was only 5 years off Lily's 74. She had been in the village of Barton on the Heath for 10 years now. She loved her tiny, immaculate two-bedroom house, so easy to clean with its modern lines. It had a minuscule little garden with a beautiful mishmash of wildflowers that bought her so much pleasure       

The village fête was 2 weeks away, Rose had finished her needlework entry, a creative embroidery of wildflowers in an unusual arrangement that she thought worked very well. She had an idea for a pretty flower arrangement made with wildflowers too. She had spotted tall purple foxgloves in the hedgerows on one of her lovely rambling walks last week. They would make an attractive addition to the arrangement made with her garden flowers. Her 'jams and jellies' entry was cooling on the draining board, a tart jam made from her favourite, gooseberries. She had just finished the required six jars and thought she might get a start on her practice cakes while the jam cooled, then she could affix the pretty hand drawn labels to the jars. She would give most of it away after the fête of course. There was only so much jam one person could eat! Her daughter would appreciate it, and her 6-year-old granddaughter, Rosie always loved Grammy's creations.

       Rose was the picture of how you imagined a Grandma should look. At scarcely over 5 feet she was plump and smiley. She smelt like violets and lavender and always had a sweetie or two in her pocket for little visitors.

       One of the more witty villagers had dubbed the competitiveness between the two women the 'battle of the flowers.

The day before the fête.

       Lily packed her jars of raspberry jam safely in the boot of Harold's car. laid her needlework entry flat, next to the jams. She was proud of the depiction of lilies and tulips picked out in cross stitch in a neatly uniform pattern atop the canvas. Her cake was still inside the house. Harold would deliver her items and Harold's veg entries to the fête at 6.30, well before the deadline at 8. Most people bought their items up to the hall the night before so as not to miss the deadline. But Lily was a suspicious kind of woman and felt no need to leave her items unsupervised overnight, you never know what might happen to them!       

Rose had already taken her entries for the fête up to the village hall. She had chosen to make a light chocolate cake with a snowy white coconut icing moulded into peaks and waves with an igloo, snowballs and sweet little penguins playing in the snow. Her flower arrangement was spectacular, the tall purple flowers and large soft leaves of the foxgloves from the hedgerow, interspersed with the riot of colours from her garden made for a striking combination. She was relaxing in front of antiques roadshow now with a lovely cup of tea and a digestive, she sighed in satisfaction, then giggled to herself as she thought of Lily's face in the morning when hopefully Rose would win four blue ribbons.

 She was intending to walk the 10 minutes to the fête at around 8.30 in the morning, the judging started at 10.30 but she'd like a little look around before then. She knew how crazy the parking could get. She had seen the men erecting the market tents to protect the entries from the warm sun (and more often than not a April shower!) and strings of colourful bunting looped between the trees.

Fête Day

       The fête was the highlight of the year in Barton on the Heath. Everything else was shut down for the day so that most everyone from the village could be there. From the oldest resident Bob, at 98 years old, being pushed around in his wheelchair, to the youngest, his great, great grandchild, baby Robbie, being pushed in his pram.

The gentle sunshine with a light breeze made it the ideal day for the fête. There were bales of hay dotted randomly around the field, and people sat in groups, licking melting ice-creams from the van, and sipping hot coffee from paper cups. Children ran around chasing each other squealing and whooping, climbing trees and playing 'floor is lava' on the hay bales.

The cakes and flowers were displayed on long trestle tables lining the walls in the village hall. The coolness of the air conditioning keeping both relatively safe from melting or wilting. The needlecraft and handmade clothes also shared a tent, at one end the clothes hung on hangers, at the other needlecraft was propped on makeshift easels or tacked to the tent wall.

           There was a large tent with piles of rhubarb stalks alongside mountains of delicious looking berries, plump strawberries, dark red cherries, glossy blackcurrants, tart gooseberries and enticing raspberries on display. Rows of perfectly uniform carrots and parsnips lined one table, chicory, mushrooms and spring greens on another. Baskets of shiny potatoes and fresh green cabbages were on the floor, each in their decorative beds of straw.       

Games like hoopla, catch the rat, throw the welly, a mini golf course, and a big inflatable bouncy castle were a draw for the kiddies. There was also the ever-popular home brew tent, darts and skittles for the adults. Star attraction for the school kids was a dunk tank with their head teacher sat in the hot seat looking extremely nervous. Children were lining up with their coins for a chance to throw wet sponges at the target and watch him get dunked!

       There was tea and coffee being served from big urns in the hall kitchen. Some of the more senior residents were sat at small tables enjoying a cup of tea and a natter with their friends.

       Rose was thoroughly enjoying herself in the warm sunshine. Strains of cheerful music floated across the field. She went inside to get herself a cup of tea and sat at one of the tables chatting to Joan from the post office about the scandalous increase in the cost of a second class stamp, when she saw Lily storming towards her at quite a pace.

       "You do realise that these tables are set aside for the elderly people to sit at?" she spat at Rose.

       "And if one of those people comes along then I shall be more than happy to vacate the seat," replied Rose sweetly, "although why they wouldn't sit at one of the other seven free seats I don't know." Lily stood speechless for a moment as Rose held her gaze steadily, then stormed off in the direction she had come from. Joan chuckled,

       "She's a right one," she said shaking her head, "always has been.” Rose stood up,

       "Well, best get on, judging is about to start, want a hand up?"

       "No thanks love, I'll stay here and rest my old bones a bit longer" Joan said, sipping her tea.

       There was a gaggle of people crowded around the three judges as they moved from table to table, placing blue, red and yellow ribbons on their favourites with a little handwritten comment.

       There were three judges, a cheerful looking couple, the Lord and Lady Barton, The villagers were all glad to see Lady Barton back to herself after her heart attack last year. They were very fond of her, as she was a friendly and kind soul. The third judge was the vicar. The Reverend felt himself a cut above the villagers of Barton on the Heath. He turned up his nose at most people. He was tall and imposing, rarely smiled and always wore shoes polished to a mirror like finish.

There was also a green ribbon for 'people's choice'. No one really worried about it too much, it was mostly just an excuse for everyone to taste and enjoy the entries, making for a great camaraderie and some good-natured ribbing and joking.       

The judges came to the needlework section and Lily and Rose were craning their necks to see the what was going on up front. Lady Barton cooed over the depictions of flowers, kittens playing, cottages, landscapes and even an Elvis Presley portrait all worked in thread. She whispered to her husband while pointing back and forth. There was obviously some dissent as the vicar whispered furiously pointing aggressively and shaking his head. They finally came to an agreement and Lady Barton put the yellow ribbon for 3rd on Elvis, the red for 2nd on Rose's wildflowers and the 1st blue ribbon on Lily's perfectly presented tulip and lily creation.

       Rose's face fell as Lily looked over at her triumphantly. She put on a smile as friends patted her on the back in congratulations. "Second place, well done you!"

The jams and jellies came soon after. There was a box of miniature plastic spoons alongside a plate of plain water crackers to spread the jams on if the judges wished. It took quite a while to get through them all, Lady Barton scooping each taste gently into her mouth and closing her eyes reverently to fully experience the taste. Lord Barton preferring to pile each on a cracker and shovel it in. The vicar barely tasted each one, placing a minuscule amount on his tongue as if he were afraid of being poisoned. The Barton's took a second taste as they made up their mind, the vicar waiting impatiently in the background tutting and sighing as Lady Barton took a third taste of her favourite two. Then at last the ribbons came out, Yellow for a sumptuous strawberry jam, second for Rose's tart rhubarb and blue for the ruby red raspberry that Lily had made. It was all Lily could do not to pump her fist in the air,

       "YES" she thought to herself, "victory!" Now all she needed was to win the cake category. She was desperate for the trifecta! Beyond desperate. She turned and smirked at Rose who was turning away sadly towards the flower and cake tent.

The next thing to be judged would be the flowers, before the grand finale of the cakes. People crowded around the flower stall while the judges contemplated each arrangement, talking in whispers to each other. Lily stood back from the crowd, nearer the cakes, not really caring who won the ribbon for the flowers. Until she noticed Rose waiting on tenterhooks near the front. She's only gone and entered four categories, thought Lily, when the rules CLEARLY state each person was only allowed to enter three times! She was about to storm over and confront the cheating fool when she stopped herself, no, she thought, she'd wait, and then if Rose DID beat her to first place in cakes then she'd expose her. It would be much more humiliating to be stripped of your ribbon than disqualified beforehand. Maybe that would get her to stop entering at the fête once and for all? She could only hope, Lily smiled tightly to herself. Serve her right!

Lady Barton had just taken the blue ribbon out when suddenly there was a great commotion outside, a non-stop high pitched squealing noise was followed by laughing and shouting,

       "Stop that pig!" and

       "Catch him quick!" Everyone abandoned the flower table to go outside and join in the chase or to simply watch the fun.

       Everyone that is apart from one woman, she stayed behind. She turned around in the now quiet hall and headed towards the cakes. The array was truly immense. There were towering three-storey creations alongside juicy looking banana breads. There were cakes decorated with cream, chocolate curls and fresh fruits, a perfect looking Victoria sponge dusted with icing sugar, it's jam and cream oozing slightly from one side. There were fruit cakes and ginger cakes, cakes in pink and one in a rather disturbing shades of green and black. But all these were only ever going to be fighting for third place for in the centre of the table were the two magnificent chocolate cakes.

       The woman ignored all the other cakes and headed for the centre of the table. She stuck her finger in one of them and tasted the icing. She grimaced; it was perfect. The woman laughed, oh well she had the opportunity to fix it now. But how? She looked around for pepper or salt or anything to make the cake taste nasty, but there was nothing. Then it came to her, flowers! Weren't some of them bitter? She searched her memory, but she couldn't remember clearly what her mother had taught her about which ones didn't taste good. She'd better hurry though, or everyone would be back, and the opportunity would be lost. She remembered vaguely her mother mentioning something about foxgloves, but for the life of her couldn't remember exactly what it was. She grabbed one of the tall purple flowers, pulled off the petals and leaves and put it on one of the paper plates that were provided for the cake testing, Using a white plastic spoon she ground what she could into a pulp. She carefully scraped away the topping from the piece of cake that had already been cut for the judges to sample and spread the pulp from the foxglove on. Replacing the topping was a bit harder but by using some topping from discarded pieces that were sitting around and using the uncut cake as a reference she managed to make a passable copy of the original.

       There was a commotion outside, pig chase over, everyone was trying to get back in through the single door at the same time. The woman deftly scooped up the paper plate and spoon with the mangled foxglove and folded it all together to hide it from prying eyes. She didn't want to put it in the bin next to the table and didn't have time to take it to the kitchen bin as people were now streaming in, laughing and chatting, so she held the parcel behind her back and tried to look nonchalant. The judges were soon back and having already made their decision on the flowers it didn't take long to place the ribbons. Despite the missing flower, Rose had got first place! Lily sniffed in disgust.

       "She only won because I didn't enter," she muttered to herself, "how anybody could win with that mess is beyond me." Rose smiled at the congratulations and pats on the back, she was determined not to look in Lily's direction.

       The judges were starting on the cakes. There was much laughter and joking between the villagers,

       "I wouldn't touch that one if I were you, called out one, "you never know what old Sid put in it, his eyesight's not the best!" The crowd roared with laughter and the vicar rolled his eyes. At last they came to the chocolate cakes. Lady Barton took a generous forkful and placed it into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

       Rose gasped, it had suddenly come to her what her mother had told her about foxgloves, they were highly toxic, particularly dangerous to people with heart problems. She watched horrified as Lady Barton collapsed to the floor and with tears in her eyes Rose turned and fled.