Lovers Make Moan

“I asked Jasper. Mr Yorke said Jasper didn’t ought to wear a sword because Egeus was an old man and an old man wouldn’t want to fight anybody, but Jasper said a sword was part of a gentleman’s dress, but he would settle for a dagger, and Mr Lynn said a good actor always let the producer have the last word, so Jasper was nasty and said all right, he would get himself a sword and Mr Lynn said, ‘Not one of mine you won’t, if Brian says not’, and Mr Yorke said, ‘It’s a moot point and I don’t stand upon points.’ What’s moot?”

“Debatable.”

Rosamund looked at her for further enlightenment, but none came, so she dismissed the matter in a practical way by saying that Peter Woolidge had taught her how to turn two somersaults, one after the other, and finish standing up.

“But he can do all sorts of things,” she went on. “He put two chairs together and turned a running somersault right over them without touching them.”

“I used to be able to do that,” said Laura, “but not nowadays, worse luck.”

“No, you are too old. Jasper Lynn isn’t old, though, so he is to have a beard in the play.”

“And a sword?”

“I expect so, because he turned nasty and said he wasn’t going to wear a beard, so I think they will give in about the sword if he wears the beard.”

“I can hardly wait to see this play of yours, although all the dramatic interest seems to take place off- stage.”

“Uncle Jon will invite you. Us and the other elves and fairies—they don’t speak, they only mostly dance—we are all going to sing a song. Shall I sing it to you? It’s all about come not near our fairy queen. I’m not sure I know it yet, and I don’t think the little black boys and Edmund ever will know it, but Uncle Jon says it will be all right on the night. Why is it called A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“One of the fairies has a bigger part than me, but she’s nine. Her name is Yolanda and her daddy is the inducer.”

“Producer,” said Laura automatically.

“Much must have told in her favour,” said Dame Beatrice, “especially her father’s eminence.”

“Cook says kissing goes by favour. She said it when the milkman gave Carrie a rose, but he picked it off one of our bushes. I saw him. And Cook said it again when she knew that Mummy and Daddy were going all round the world on a ship, and then she said rolling stones gather no moss. What does that mean?”

“Perhaps you and Edmund would like to go into the kitchen. Henri will show you how to make gingerbread men,” said Dame Beatrice.

“We would rather make stick-jaw toffee.”

“What? Do you want to spend the rest of your lives with the dentist?” demanded Laura. “A very strange view some people take of their future! Ever heard of digging your grave with your teeth?”

“That’s silly. You couldn’t dig anything with your teeth. You’d get all dirt in your mouth. Last term a boy called Roger put all dirt in my mouth and my daddy told Roger’s daddy and Roger’s daddy put Roger over his knee and smacked him a lot of times, so now Roger only puts out his tongue at me. He doesn’t put dirt in my mouth any more, but Cook says what won’t fat ’ull fill.”

“Surely she didn’t say that about Roger putting dirt in your mouth?” asked Laura.

“No. She said it when she saw Saunders eating a raw carrot. Cook said raw carrots give you worms. I found a caterpillar once in my salad. Have you ever found a caterpillar in your salad?”

“No, thank goodness. Let’s change the subject. I thought you and Edmund were going to sing your fairy song.”

“Not Edmund. Mummy says he’s got a voice like a corncrake. What’s a—”

“Don’t ask me. I’ll ask you and then tell you. What’s a corncrake? It’s a noisy bird which lives in long grass and goes ark, ark, ark.”

“ ’Ark, ’ark, ’ark, while infanvoicers sing! ’Ark, ’ark, ’ark, while infanvoicers sing loud ozanner, loud ozanner, loud ozanner to our king. Jack fell down an’ broke his crown, so he couldn’t be a king any more,” contributed Edmund, first in corncrake, unmelodious chant and finishing with a serious statement directed at Laura and obviously offered as a challenge.

“It doesn’t mean a real crown,” she informed him. “It means that when he fell down he got a nasty bump on the top of his head.”

“I prefer Edmund’s interpretation,” said Dame Beatrice. “It is far more interesting and dramatic than yours.”

“Shall I sing now?” asked Rosamund, unwilling that the limelight should pass to her brother.

“Yes, tip us your stave,” said Laura. “Is it ‘You spotted snakes with double tongue’?”

“Yes. What does double tongue mean?”

“Forked tongue. You’ve seen snakes at the zoo, haven’t you? In Red Indian parlance I believe it means saying one thing and meaning something else.”

“Oh, I know! Like when Mr Yorke said to Mr Lynn that of course Mrs Lynn must be Hermia, but he really meant Mrs Bourton ought to be Hermia. When Mr Bourton was talking to Mr Woolidge afterwards he called Mrs Lynn ‘that silly moo’ and said they’d be lucky if she didn’t dish the whole show. He said, ‘But old Lynn is doing all the subbing up, so Yorke has got to kow-tow to him.’ What’s kow-tow?”

“A polite Japanese obeisance offered from necessity rather than from self-deprecation,” said Dame Beatrice. Rosamund stared at her in silence, then put her feet together and her hands behind her back and treated the