A Roast on Sunday Read Online Free Page B

arrived. Representatives from the town council and volunteers were busy decorating the town square to give it a party atmosphere and construction workers were at work erecting a wooden stage at one end, from where a procession of local bands would provide entertainment that night.
    It was a well attended event. Even farmers who rarely left the isolation of their properties made the effort, scrubbing up and driving in. It was a good excuse to meet up with distant neighbours and friends, share stories and catch up on any gossip. It was also a chance to support local produce and artists, and Maggie’s soaps in particular were hugely popular.
    As Maggie drove down Main S treet looking for a park she spied Ray, camped out on the bench seat in the centre of town under the shade of a giant oak tree.
    Back i n the 1920’s the townsfolk had planted some two hundred Oak trees, one to honour every local man from the area that had been killed during the war. Underneath each tree a cross was erected with the name and dates of the serviceman carved into its wood. Most of the oaks had flourished; growing straight and tall and proud, although over the years the odd one had succumbed to disease, lightning strikes and in one infamous incident, a lovers tiff, a bottle of Jack Daniels and an axe.
    But a mongst the young seedling trees there had been one that was smaller and spindly and with no leaves. It was basically one big stick with a few little sticks growing out of it. After careful deliberation it had been decided to plant that one on the village green and see what it would grow into. It would prove to be a portentous decision, as the tree had grown into an Angel Oak. Huge and gnarly and crooked, the branches of the tree curved and bowed and stretched out in all directions, some sagging right down to skim the ground. It was as if the tree had known from the time it was a sapling that its purpose was to grow and provide endless entertainment to children over the years, and as it grew it twisted and contorted itself into fascinating shapes.
    Many a mother had left her children under the watchful eye of the tree while they did their shopping. The branches just itched to be climbed, and the mossy seats and leafy green undergrowth had fired up many an imagination. Over the years the tree had been used as a pirate ship and a castle. It had also served well as a witches hut, Peter Pan treehouse and a carriage, transporting many a princess to a ball or other such grand function. The trees uses were limited only to the imagination. A few years back someone had hung a few tyre swings from the lower branches, and the kids made full use of them.
    The a dults used it purely for shelter, although many of them could wistfully remember the fun they’d also had in the branches as children. The tree provided protection from the heat of the sun in summer, and in winter the thick canopy repelled the rain.
    P ermanent bench seats had been erected underneath, and now old men congregated there on weekends and any other day that also took their fancy, which were most days in summer. It was the best vantage point from where to observe the town’s happenings.
    Today, Ray had been joined by Sam, Henry and Alfred, (although everyone just called him Fred.) The men were musing over the opening of a new bakery shop when Maggie pulled up in front of them.
    “Dad,” she said, getting out of the car and addressing him over the roof, “did you take your pills this morning?”
    “Yes I did,” he said, “stop fussing.”
    “You can’t blame me. Nine out of ten times you forget.”
    “Yeah well, today I remembered.”
    “Where’s mum?”
    Ray shrugged his shoulders. “ She and the others went up bush. Probably be back sometime today. Nights are still too brisk for them to be gone for long.”
    At the mention of this the other men’ s ears perked up. Dot, Arihana, Hazel and Lois had been girlfriends since their young teens. Their friendship had withstood years