Pageant of Murder

things.”

“We are open to all suggestions, Councillor, so, if you would oblige with yours again, I’m sure members of this sub-committee would be honoured to consider of it,” said the chairman, with heavy irony.

“Well, in that case, I thought that, being roughly, so to speak, on the road to Windsor, we might put on an historical pageant, showing the development of the town from a Thames-side village to its new status of borough, if you see what I mean.”

“I like that idea. It’s classy. But wouldn’t it need words and music?”

“We’ve got the town band. As to words, I don’t see those would be necessary. All we’d need would be a printed programme, to be sold beforehand in shops and the market, setting out the order of the pageant and what the various floats were representing.”

“Councillor Band’s brother runs a printing press,” said the member who had proposed the church parade. “He might do the job at reduced rates, if approached official and patriotic-like.”

“And he might not!” said the member who had proposed a tea for the old folks. “If he knows it’s for the Council, it will be the reverse, if I know anything. But I like the idea of a pageant. I vote the chairman puts it to the meeting.”

“If it’s to be historical, then it’s got to be something people have heard about, or had learned ’em at school,” said the chairman thoughtfully.

“Such as?” asked young Mr Perse, innocently.

“Such as Alfred and the Cakes, and Rawley and the Puddle, and all them sort of things, and they didn’t take place around these parts, I don’t mind betting. So what can we put on to raise the public interest? That’s what this sub-committee wants to know.”

“I take your point,” said young Mr Perse. “Just half a minute.” He picked up the pencil which lay beside his official scribbling pad, frowned thoughtfully and then began to write. The others waited in respectful but slightly hostile silence. Mr Perse was a graduate of London University and it was suspected (with some justification) that he was inclined to look down on those less favoured than himself. “What about this?” he asked, putting down his pencil. “Suppose we kick off with the Ancient Britons? They lived all over the place, so, presumably, some of them lived here.”

“Too cold, these days,” objected the chairman. “You can’t ask people to ride all round the town with nothing on but a bit of fur round their middle.”

“You’ve got it wrong, Mr Chairman. I’m talking about people who lived in the Iron Age and understood all about pottery and commerce and the making and wearing of ornaments and clothes, and even a bit about money. I am not thinking of Palaeolithic or Neolithic Man.”

“Oh? Oh, well, we can discuss the details later,” said the chairman hastily. “Personally, I still think the Ancient Britons should be included out.”

“Very well. Let’s start with the Romans. They’re supposed to have crossed the Thames somewhere around here.”

“Ah, that’s better. Very pictureskew, them Romans. Helmets and shields and all that.”

“Women must be given a fair share of representation, so what about Boadicea?” suggested the woman Councillor.

“Boudicca,” said young Mr Perse, rather insufferably. “I don’t think we should include her. We were all Catuvellauni around here. Boudicca belonged to and led the tribe of the Iceni, of course.”

“I thought the early folks round here were all Saxons. I seem to have read that somewhere,” put in the Councillor who had suggested the civic dinner at The Hat With Feather.

“You forestall me, Councillor,” said young Mr Perse pleasantly. “The Saxons must come into it, of course, and we really ought to follow them with the Normans. Still, as we have no Norman castle or church in or near the borough…” he smirked as he used the new and magic word… “I don’t see why we shouldn’t jump straight to the Crusades. The First Crusade was preached and took place in Norman times and we have no evidence that our own lord of the manor did not take part.”

“Richard the Lion-Heart. Read a story about him once,” said the Councillor who had proposed open-air dancing in the park.

“Yes, yes, the Third Crusade,” said Mr Perse, brushing it aside. “I referred to the first one.”

“What happened to the second one, then?” demanded the protagonist for a competition among the owners of front gardens. Mr Perse declined to accept responsibility for describing what had happened to the abortive and disgraceful Second Crusade.

“Bearing in mind what the chairman has told us,” he said, “I think we could then jump to the reign of Edward III, and have Queen Philippa, on her knees, begging him to spare the lives of the six burghers of Calais. As this event took place in Calais, there may be objections to including it.”

“Ropes round their necks and them in their shirts?” said the Councillor who had been snubbed about the school-children’s sports. “Nearly as draughty as Councillor Topson’s Ancient Britons!” He chuckled hoarsely and broke into a wheezy coughing.

“Everybody knows about ’em, though, and as for feeling chilly, they can wear their long pants—or even their trousers—under their shirts,” said the chairman austerely. “Long as we put plenty of straw on the floor of the lorry, and top up the sides a bit, it’ll never be noticed.”

“They can’t kneel all the time,” said the woman Councillor, “nor can Queen Thingummy. You couldn’t expect it. Kneeling can be terribly tiring, especially for a woman, if the trunk has to be kept upright all the time.”

“They can cut their cloth according to the size of the crowds,” said the chairman, obscurely but comprehensibly. “They only got to use a bit of gump.”

“Then,” said Perse, “we could go on to Henry VIII, I should think. He was buried at Windsor, you know.”