Strange Short Stories

It had been an uninteresting sort of day.

The sun was shining, it was pleasantly warm outside and I had been travelling between jobs in this company car for far too long; I needed a break.

Work was not altogether brilliant or entirely engaging but it paid the rent and the car came for free; I shouldn’t really have been complaining.

The offices I had been visiting, some forty or so miles apart, had not really needed my services; their problems could have been sorted by a curious office junior. I had checked the cabling on those computers that were reported as not working properly. All it had taken was for them to be plugged back in, more or less, to restore service back to normal. Of course I didn’t put that on the work sheet, only a few unreadable, scribbled scrawls with a word or two concerning reconnection of communications.

Heading back to the office, I had been through this town once before and with nothing further on my job-sheet, I decided that a break was most welcome. Turning off for a break through here, wasn’t really taking a shortcut but it definitely broke up an otherwise boring journey, made a pleasant and welcome change. I had visited this area on one of my earlier journeys and I had a good idea of the route.

I guessed right as a roadside sign told of the Happy Farm Tea Shop a short way up ahead. I hadn’t noticed a sign for a tea shop on my previous time passing through, but the opportunity was now presenting itself and it fitted into my thinking quite readily. I eased off the pedal and gently braked to turn off this main drag onto the farm road. ‘Road’ was too good a description for the rough, bumpy stone-laid path. Two cars could pass with ease but it would mean one would be onto the clay of the field on one side or the other.

The smell of the open fields coming through the ventilation came as a welcome surprise. I had travelled quite a few miles along the motorways and the only real smell had been that of other vehicle exhausts.

Gently did it now along this track; couldn’t afford lots of scratches on the bodywork from the stones coming up off the tyres. From the bumpy clay track up I went onto a large area of concrete hard-standing. I parked the car, sort of neatly, alongside the only other vehicle there. 

It was good job that I was still wearing my issued shoes (to go with the bland trouser suit also issued by the company) and not a pair of heels. Walking on the flat concrete was not much of a problem, but the walkway from here to the tea shop was another thing. Another layer of loose stone chippings looked nice but was not that practical for a lady to walk on; I was sure it wouldn’t tolerate a pair of heels.

Over to my right were more farm sheds with what appeared to be petting animals for children inside; the children presumably appeared at the weekends. A couple of sheep was all that I spotted among a spread of fresh straw.

I wasn’t interested in the farm animals, my thoughts were on an afternoon break of a good cup of refreshing tea and a sandwich or scone.

The one redeeming feature was a slight concrete strip running along the length of the farm animal sheds but that would require me to wander a few yards over there and then come back onto the stone to reach what I assumed was the entrance to the tea shop. I also assumed the house and other buildings I could see a little way to the rear of the tea shop, were the working farm buildings.

Oh the smell from the fields of grass that the buildings were sat here in the middle of. Waiting to be mowed for the winter silage they alternatively swayed to and fro as the gentle warm breeze caressed over their heads bringing their scent to me. Now this part of farming I could really enjoy, the pleasant scent of grass and a few wild flowers.

The entrance to the tea shop was there in front of me, a simple double door held partly open in the wall of what had once been a farm building at some time in the past; simple whitewashed walls and a wriggly tin roof.

I stepped inside and the obvious impressions of a farm suddenly changed.

A stainless steel serving counter, glass fronted cases of cakes, a coffee machine and a welcoming smile. Oh the smell of that fresh coffee, the sweetness of the cakes and freshly baked scones.

“Good afternoon dear. Take a seat and I’ll be with you shortly.”

I was directed with a slight wave by an elderly lady back round to my left where the leg of the ‘L’ shaped building I had just walked past, contained a series of light metal framed, circular, glass-topped tables and simple matching chairs. Down the right side of this room an effort had been made in providing a little more comfort by the forming of recesses having softer couch style seating and somewhat more solid tables.

I selected the second recess along and sat down on a length of ‘softish’ seating, designed quite probably, to accommodate four people; it would do for a break from travelling and to consume a hot cup of refreshing tea and a bite to eat.

The smell of the coffee still permeated the air here but I my preference would be for a hot cup of relaxing tea.

I reached for and took a plastic laminated menu from out of the central collection of condiments and tubs containing packets of sugar or sweeteners. Tea, coffee, sandwiches and scones of all sorts were well listed.

“Yes dear, what would you like?” came the slightly harsh, well not-so-soft, tones of the well built elderly lady doing her best to be polite. Despite the few stains down her pinny and the tired look in her eyes, the smile was genuine and she really needed to know what I wanted.

“Earl Grey would be nice,” I started. “With milk,” I added hurriedly.

“Cup or pot, love?” she continued to ask.

“Pot I think would be nice,” I replied.

“And to eat?” she continued.

“Oh a scone please, definitely a scone; with cream and jam, if you will.”

“Of course, dear,” she confirmed with another genuine smile.

I sat there waiting and with my inimitable sense of curiosity, let my eyes wander round the eating area. It was empty except for me and a half-dozen or so of those circular tables with their accompanying chairs, all in a common pattern of light aluminium frames. The recessed areas were somewhat different with wooden topped tables and upholstered bench seating.

There was that other car in the parking area against which I had placed my company vehicle but no other customers. Perhaps it belonged, as I reckoned, to one of the staff who was not part of the family running the farm but only this tea shop. Maybe it belonged to the youngster behind the counter. I was feeling nosey to find out but thought the better of it; my business ‘head’ had to be switched off, I needed to relax.

“There you are love,” the elderly lady spoke gently as she placed a tray with the pot of tea, cup and saucer, little jug of milk and bowl of sugar accompanied by the fresh scone, cream, a small pot of jam, a couple of wrapped portions of butter and a shiny knife, gently on the table in front of me. The aroma of the tea was wonderful as the pot released the scent of the infusing bag inside of it; I was sure it was a bag; I had not seen loose tea used in a long while.

“Just pay at the counter before you leave, dear,” she added in an unhurried way.

“Thank you,” I replied with a smile.

Turning on her heels, she headed back towards the counter area.

Removing the contents of the tray onto the table (I have never enjoyed eating off a tray) I poured myself a cup of hot Earl Grey from a lovely old fashioned tea pot. That gave me a homely feeling which added to the relaxation I was seeking.

A good splash of milk, no sugar, and a quick stir I was soon slurping from the edge of the cup. Not very ladylike I know, but I was thirsty and the pleasure of a ‘nice’ cup of tea was too much to resist for any length of time.

The scone was soon cut into two, the jam applied first; I had no real idea of the confusing rules about which came first, the jam or the cream but found it easier to spread the jam first. A good dollop of cream to follow quickly spread on top and I was soon attacking the finished item.

“Shear heaven,” I thought to myself as the sumptuous combination of warm fruit scone, jam and cold cream lifted my senses to the level I had anticipated.

Tea and scone disappeared in sync with each other while I now took my time with pleasure of each. I was still sat there contemplating nothing at all as both halves of the scone were finished and I refilled my cup with more from the pot.

No one had come into this little tea shop to enjoy similar pleasures but I was not all concerned; eating on my own had almost become a pre-requisite of my job but also of living on my own.

Tea finished, sitting back fully relaxed, a few moments of nothing at all completed my visit here this afternoon.

“Ah well,” I mused to myself, “better pay the bill and make a move to finish my journey home.”

I tidied up the crockery onto the tray, leaving it to be collected by others, possibly the elderly lady and got to my feet.

I headed for the till at the counter.

“Table number 23 dear?” I was asked by the young lady behind the counter.

“I guess so,” I replied not having bothered to notice the number while I had been sat there which I assumed would be found on some little recessed brass disk.

“Tea and a scone dear?” a young lady asked.

“That’s correct,” I replied once more.

“Take a seat and someone will be with you shortly,” I was directed.

“Can you make that Earl Grey?” I asked. “I’m in real need of a hot, ‘nice’ cup of tea and a light bite.”

“Of course my love, take a seat and someone will be with you very shortly.”

I turned and walked into the seated area towards one of the formed recesses having what looked like softer couch style seating and somewhat more solid tables than the lightweight ones that were well occupied.

“Clearly,” I thought, “this is a popular spot. I’ve chosen well.”

The first recess was empty so I just wandered into it and sat on the soft seating.

The majority of the circular tables were well filled with chattering, eating and drinking people all seemingly happy with themselves.

This had to be one of those déjà vu moments because something about the place, or the ambience perhaps, provided me with a distinct sense of familiarity.

Had I been here before, I didn’t know? I was sure this was the first time I had visited. I had spotted the sign out on the main road on my short cut away from the motorways.

I had come along the farm track to park among the plethora of other cars and walked along the loose stone path to this quaint tea shop, for the very first time today. And yet there was something oddly familiar about the place.

A tray with a pot of Earl Grey, cup and saucer, milk and sugar, a hot fruit scone that smelled very inviting, small tubs of jam and cream, two wrapped portions of butter and some cutlery was soon brought to the table.

That odd sensation of having been here before soon vanished as I got into pouring myself a nice cup of tea and tackled the scone.

“What a popular place this is,” I thought to myself as I let my mind wander among the many voices in chatter, “and so friendly.”

I still felt this way as I finished the last piece of scone, trying hard to prevent the cream from dropping down my chin. Sitting back, the still warm tea was pleasure itself.

“I must do this more often,” went through my mind, “the busy life of work, work, work has to be tempered.”

I was reaching some sort of change point in my life and it had not required any great effort, just a nice cup of tea and a scone in a ‘civilised’ manner.

Having put the ‘pots’ and the knife back on the tray, I got to my feet and carried over to the counter. I didn’t normally do so in any other setting but it felt right today somehow. Placing it down gently I enquired of the young girl behind the till, what the cost of my pleasure had been.

“Earl Grey and a scone with cream and jam?” she enquired rhetorically.

“I nodded with a simple, “Yes.”

“That will be eight pounds and fifty ‘p’ please love,” she stated quite simply.

I took out my purse from a side pocket in my fleece top (I must be one of the few ladies not to carry a handbag to work) and reached for my card.

“It’s ok love, pay when you leave. A pot of Earl Grey and a scone with cream and jam, is that correct?”

“Certainly is,” I replied enthusiastically, not wishing to delay any longer.

“Grab a seat my love and someone will be with you shortly,” she directed.

I turned to find the place almost empty except for a couple of elderly ladies at the far end spending as much time talking as nibbling at their dainty sandwiches.

Those neat alcoves looked tempting; at least they had cushioned seating unlike the individual tables with their wooden seating.

I could sit in an alcove, enjoy some ‘me-time’ with a little relaxation while taking my time with a nice pot of warming tea and a delicious scone.

I sat and almost sprawled, releasing a big yawn with a relaxation engendered by not being sat behind the wheel on another eighty-mile-plus journey along yet another tedious and forever busy stretch of motorway.

Within a few moments a tray arrived with my pot of refreshing Earl Gray, a fairly plain cup and saucer with a matching plate upon which a warm scone awaited my attention. A small white pot jug of milk had also been included although I did not recall having requested it. A little jar of strawberry jam and a small plastic tub of clotted cream, with the appropriate items of cutlery and a serviette, completed my wishes.

“Is everything ok dear?” I was asked.

“Most definitely,” I replied neither wishing to put off the desires of my taste buds any longer than necessary nor starting a discussion about the milk.

The young lady walked away as I got to work on emptying the contents of the tray onto the table top. Cutting the scone in two and applying jam to the first half took enough time for the tea to brew in the pot.

What a lovely waft from the Earl Gray as it assailed my senses adding to the simple pleasure of sipping from the edge of tea cup. Today I was not too interested in adding milk, preferring the neat taste of this delightful blend of tea, so the little jug was left undisturbed on the table.

The scone did not last too long and I made sure to empty the little tub of cream onto the heavy layer of jam on the second half of the delicious warm fruit scone. Pouring a further and final cup of tea I almost sprawled again as I sat back fully relaxed enjoying a moment of peace that did not arrive too often.

“Time to make a move,” I thought. I had a home to go to and a further thirty minutes or so should see me really sprawling out; I could not afford to do that or I might never get home.

Being a tidy sort of person, essential for the work role I had got myself involved with, I put all the pots and bits and pieces back on the tray to save a job for the elderly waitress.

I headed for the till at the counter.

“Table number 23 dear?” I was asked by the young lady behind the counter.

“I guess so,” I replied not having bothered to notice the number while I had been sat there which I assumed would be found on some little recessed brass disk.

“Earl Grey and a scone with cream and jam?” she enquired rhetorically.

I nodded with a simple, “Yes.”

Her fingers tapped quickly over the electronic till.

“That will be Ten Pounds and fifty ‘p’ please love,” she stated quite simply.

Something struck a chord with me. I was sure that the last time I was here it had cost a little less but there again was I confusing matters; perhaps I had been to somewhere similar; this was my first visit to this establishment, surely. I let the odd thought wander off and produced my card to swipe over the reader.

“Thank you my love, that will do nicely,” the young lady confirmed as I then turned and headed for the exit.

Along the loose stone to the car park, where only a couple of cars besides my own were neatly parked, I got myself in behind the wheel. Now the relaxation had to come to a conclusion while I smartened up my thinking to drive the last leg to reach home. It was a lovely late afternoon, the autumn sun still providing its welcome warmth and casting its mellow light over the bales in the open fields round this farmhouse tea shop.

That odd déjà vu feeling came over me again. I recognised this place, the fields, the farmhouse buildings, and the tea shop; it all seemed to fit into place so neatly. My thinking was running away with me.

“Come on get your head sorted and let’s get moving,” I spoke out loud to myself.

“Now you’re talking to yourself?” instantly filled my thoughts. I pulled myself together, dismissing all strange thoughts from my mind, turned the key in the ignition and started up the motor. I reversed clear of the other two cars and turned to head down the track back to the main road. I was pleased that the old track had been replaced by a smooth concrete version, making driving much easier than the rough clay track I remembered.

“Why am I thinking about a track I‘ve never driven along before; get a grip and quickly?”

The tea and scone had been most welcome but these odd thoughts were almost disturbing; I had to stop them. Leaving the track and turning back onto the main road changed my focus straight away.

Concentrating on driving did the trick and I was now back into business mode and working on where I was going. But I knew that I needed a break as soon as I could achieve one; this driving was becoming tedious especially where long journeys were concerned.

I had put in plenty of miles so far today and a break was well overdue.

“A nice cup of tea and a scone perhaps,” ran through my thoughts.

“What a good idea,” I confirmed to myself.

I was sure that somewhere along this stretch of road there was a tea shop, a farmhouse sort of tea shop which would do nicely. All I had to do was keep my eyes open for a road-side sign.

And there it was a short way ahead of me, the Happy Farm Tea Shop.

I slowed down and turned where the sign pointed onto what was clearly a farm track of hardened bumpy clay and some loose stone chippings.

There at the end was a farm house style building which had to be the tea shop.

I was thirsty and an Earl Gray would satisfy me nicely; a cream scone too sounded a good idea.

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