Penny Black Stories

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It is the use of the 'WE' that always throws me. Our Society Secretary always says 'WE' when he really means himself. That way he can pass the problem on to somebody else.

"Oh?" I enquired, keeping a neutral expression in my voice. If I appeared too sympathetic I knew I would get drawn into whatever problem was currently exercising Pete Withers mind.

"The Library are carrying out some renovations, and our meeting room won't be available for a couple of months," he said. "I've booked the church hall for our next meeting, but there's a wedding reception on at the meeting after that. We have nowhere to meet ... unless ..."

I waited for the punch line. Surely he wasn't going to suggest meeting in the bank. The bank would never agree to that!

"Unless ..." he continued, "You can let us meet at your house. It's the only place that's really central being just off the high street. It will only be for the one meeting, then we can go back to using the church hall until the library's available."

"Well .. err ..." I was desperately trying to think of a good reason why not, and then thought how selfish I was being. The Society needed somewhere to meet and I had a large dining room that would accommodate the eight or ten members that usually attended.

"Well, okay," I said with some reluctance.

"Good," said Pete. "Thanks a lot Penny. You're a lifesaver. I'll get a note round to everybody."

I hadn't realised the consequences.

It became known as Penny's Meeting and went down in the annals of the Society as something of an event.

To start with we had a record attendance. Sixteen members turned up and my dining room was becoming a modern Black Hole of Calcutta!

Clive was showing some Spanish Civil War material and because my table was much smaller than the one at the library, he had to show it in four sections. He insisted on giving a graphic account of the conflict, with a demonstration of how to bayonet a man in battle. Unfortunately his arm caught one of my ornaments - a rather nice little Spode figure - it didn't survive the assault!

As I was sweeping up the pieces, Pete Withers managed to knock the bookcase over. I still don't know how he managed it. The bookcase has stood undisturbed in that corner for the last two years and is as solid as the Eddystone Lighthouse. In the scramble to pick up the scattered books Clive and George bumped heads. Clive lost his balance and hit his head hard against the mantle-piece, sustaining concussion.

He was rushed off to hospital.

I didn't think anything else could go wrong until Andy said he'd wash up the dirty coffee cups for me. A crash in the kitchen proved the old saying - If you want anything doing, do it yourself!

	"Don't worry Penny," he called from the kitchen. "I'll clear it up."

The meeting broke up eventually after news was received from the hospital that Clive was being kept in over-night for observation. There was no fracture, just concussion.

"Dangerous hobby this stamp collecting," remarked George on returning from the hospital.

I thought that would be the end of things until I called into the newsagent's next morning for my paper.

"Quite a party you had last night I hear Miss Black," said the newsagent. Word had got round fast, and it was soon embellished to become a full-blown orgy with drinking and merrymaking until the early hours of the morning. It hadn't escaped notice either that my visitors were all men and I was a young single lady living alone. Although there was no suggestion of any impropriety, I felt that more than one person regarded me as a woman of doubtful virtue.

A few days later Clive called round to collect his Spanish War material that he'd left at my house when rushed to hospital.

"Yes, feeling fine," he replied in answer to my query. "So sorry about the hiatus. I do hope no damage was done."

When he had gone I surveyed the dining room. With the remnants of the Spanish Civil War gone it looked peaceful again. The battle had moved on elsewhere. All quiet on the home front again!