You must not know the kids these days!
Hello, Margaret, I see youre out in the garden, thought Id pop by to say hi, Eleanor Whitmore shuffled by the gate, her hands clasped around a wicker basket.
Eleanor and Margaret lived at opposite ends of the little village of Little Hartley. Eleanors cottage, with its thatched roof, sat by the winding River Avon, while Margaret’s homestead lay on the edge of the ancient Sherwood woods.
Theyd hardly spoken before; the village was already bristling with families, and most of the neighbours grandchildren were grown. This summer, however, Eleanors son James and his wife Sarah were planning to bring their boys, Thomas and Edward, to stay for a whole month. The citys gotten tiresome for them, theyd said.
Years ago the Whitmore family had been welloff; trips abroad were a yearly affair. Now fortunes had shifted, and James remembered that his parents still lived a quiet life by the river. He decided not to send the boys over just for a weekend as he sometimes did, but for an entire month.
Mum, they dont get along very well, warned James, frowning. Edward, at thirteen, thinks hes an adult already, and Thomas refuses to follow his lead. Theyre always at each others throats!
Fine, what if we cant handle our own grandchildren? Bring them over, well sort it out, Eleanor replied brightly, but then she hesitated. Children werent what they used to be; you couldnt always get through to them. What if she failed them?
Albert Whitmore, Eleanors stern father, was a man who tolerated no disobedience. Hed have none of any shouting. So Eleanor decided to hedge her bets and pay a visit to Margaret, who, she heard, was expecting grandchildren of a similar age.
Come in, Eleanor! Margaret called from the doorway, eyes bright with curiosity. What brings you over?
Our boys will be staying with us for a month, and I hear youve got lads about the same age. I thought they could meet, perhaps become friends, and it would be easier on us all, Eleanor suggested.
Youve never met the children of today! Margaret laughed, a hint of mockexasperation in her voice. Arent you afraid to take them in for so long? My own grandchildren have driven me mad, and my husband wanted to send them back home. If youre willing, bring them along. What choice do we have? Theyre ours, after all.
That weekend James arrived with Sarah, Thomas and Edward. The boys, taller now, beamed at their grandparents, and Eleanor felt a warm rush of relief. Margaret, too, watched the lads with a mixture of suspicion and hope. Can these roughandtumble boys be polite? she wondered, while Eleanor recalled how wellbehaved her own youngsters were.
Mum, call me if anything comes up, Ill talk to them, James said as they settled in, but Eleanor waved him off. No, dear, we raised them fine enough; no need to fuss.
That night Thomas and Edward could not settle. They were put to bed in the spare room that had once been Jamess. The change of surroundings seemed to set them on edge; they whispered, tossed, and their restless chatter filled the air. Albert, hearing the clamor, grew irritated.
Why did you agree to this, Eleanor? They dont belong here, yet here they are!
Morning came, and the boys were still asleep. Noon drew near, and the house was still quiet.
Grandmother, may we sleep a bit longer? muttered Edward, his voice thick with sleep.
Thomas, still halfasleep, didnt even hear her.
How long are you going to lie there? Eleanor snapped, then noticed something on the floor. She leaned down, eyes widening. A cluster of smartphones lay scattered among the blankets.
Whats this? Playing games all night? Ill take those phones away right now! she declared, snatching them up.
Edward lunged.
Give them back! Mum says its okay!
Ill call your mother and see what she says! Eleanor retorted, holding the devices aloft. Edwards shoulders tensed, and he stalked out, slamming the door behind him with a gruff, Fine, call someone else!
Two hours later, Albert, fed up, marched in.
Whats this revolt on the first day?
The boys, still brooding, answered with a united demand.
We wont eat porridge; we want nuggets or toasted sandwiches.
Oh, is that so? If you dont like porridge, stay hungry, Albert snapped, his voice cracking. Have you even made your beds? Where did those empty crisp packets and candy wrappers come from? You havent even earned the porridge; clean up your mess!
We cant go out hungry! Thomas shouted, eyes blazing at Albert. Youre cruel!
Alberts temper crackled, but Eleanor intervened.
Lets settle this. Ill show you how to make a proper bed, and tomorrow you can have your breakfast, alright? And the biscuits will wait until after porridge. Deal?
Youre spoiling them; you need to be stricter, Albert muttered, his jaw set. Their heads are growing, but their consciences are missing!
Eventually Thomas and Edward struck a friendship with Margarets grandchildren, and the village settled into a strange rhythm. In Eleanors garden they played, while Albert, ever vigilant, gathered stray sticks and broken branches from the yard, wondering where theyd come from. Flowers lay trampled, chairs squeaked, the front door swayed on its hinges from their ruckus.
What kind of children are these? Albert ranted. They must never return!
Come on, Thomas, help me fix the bicycles with Edward, Eleanor said, trying to channel the boys energy. And you, Margaret, let your lad help with lunch; we all need to earn something for the table.
And youll work for it too? Edward asked, bewildered.
Of course! Albert boomed. Nothing in life is given free; you must earn every bite. You tore our trousers and shirts on day one, and now youre running around in my sons clothes. Nothing will come to you unless you work for it!
Eleanor warned Albert sharply.
Dont be so hard on them, dear. Remember who you once were! You cant pretend to be an angel when youre not.
The grandchildren left the Whitmore farm with smiles, complaining to their parents later.
Granddad exhausted us, took away our phones and forced us to work!
A week later James called, astonished.
Mum, Dad, youve done it! Edward learned to peel potatoes and vacuum, and Thomas now puts on his own socks and even talks nicely. Theyre making their beds and cooking a bit too!
Do we have to be their servants? Eleanor fumed. They were upset, left happily, and I dont know if theyll come back.
But a year later Thomas and Edward returned for another summer, this time refusing to go on holiday elsewhere. The village friends were waiting, and the simple pleasure of a genuinely earned bowl of Eleanors oat porridge, fresh pies, and everything she cooked filled the house with warmth.
Because those who work have something to be proud of, and they can boast of their skills and that, after all, feels utterly satisfying.
