'Well, we didn't see much of them. I suppose they were all right,' said Kenneth. 'I didn't think much of Lionel's toys. Ours are better.'
'I expect he has others at home. His mother looked rather stuck up. Perhaps she thought we weren't good enough for Lionel. I didn't care for his sister much, either.'
'Was she the one who giggled with the uncle or whatever he is, and didn't take any notice of us? Lionel doesn't like her. He says he wishes she was a brother and would take him fishing. I wonder what her birthday party will be like?'
'Lionel told us. Dancing, and all that, and perhaps fancy dress. Do you really think he'll have to dress up? I bet they'll have jolly good things to eat, anyway,' I said enviously.
'That was a very decent tea that old woman gave us. She looked a bit strict, though. And the servant who took my cap! He picked hold of it as though I'd got nits in my hair.'
'Wonder what Lionel's doing this morning?'
'I expect,' said Kenneth, giggling, 'he's having a special bath and his hair shampooed, ready for the party tonight. Let's go down to the sheepwash and see if Mr Ward's there again. He's a lunatic, must be.'
'We'll have to make sure he doesn't spot us. He's a dangerous lunatic, I'm sure,' I said earnestly.
'Oh, well, it's not as though he knows we know he digs in the hermit's cottage,' said Kenneth. 'We'll have to keep mum about that.'
Down by the brook we found Our Sarah with Our Ern and the rest of the hangers-on. This was surprising, for in Our Sarah's cottage, we knew, Saturday was bedroom day and she was usually kept at home to help turn out the rooms, change the sheets and clean the floors. Bedroom day was an institution among poor families in my childhood, but in London it was usually celebrated on Fridays and the bigger girls were kept away from school regularly on Friday in term-time so that they could help with the chores. In Our Sarah's home, however, bedroom day was on Saturday and she carried out the whole operation on her own, while her mother shopped at the Co-op and her father spent money at the pub.
'Hoy, you young Oi say,' she called out as we approached. 'Where be you a-goen?'
'To the sheepwash,' Kenneth replied.
'You don't warnt to be a-goen there today. You stop along of us and see the band and the percession,' said Our Sarah authoritatively.
'What band?'
'This be 'Orspital Sat'day. They always has it on Saint Swithin's.'
'Are you playing hookey?' asked Kenneth, always bolder at putting direct questions than I was.
'How jer mean?'
'I thought your mother made you work on Saturdays.'
'Us be letten the bedrooms go for thes once. Me dad's en the band.'
'Oh, isn't it the Salvation Army band?'
'No, t'ent, then. 'Tes the town band. They always leads the percession on 'Orspital Sat'day. They haves people dressed up and en masks and they haves boxes what they comes up and rattles at ee, and you puts en an a'penny ef you got one. You got an a'penny, you young Oi say?'
'Yes, but I want it for the fair,' said Kenneth. 'Besides, collections are for grown-ups. They won't expect children to pay.'
So we perched ourselves on the coping of the little bridge which carried the culvert and prepared to watch the procession go by.
'Where ded you get to Wednesday?' asked Our Ern.
'Tea at the manor house.'
'Garn! You never!'
'All right, then. Ask Lionel.'
'What you have for tea?'
'Ordinary bread and butter, currant bread and butter, bloater paste, jam, chocolate biscuits, little jammy buns, plum cake and cups of tea.'
'Garn! Bet ee daren't walk under the bredge,' said Ern, changing the subject. (The culvert under the bridge was no higher than a big drain.)
'I will, if you will,' said Kenneth.
'Garn! Oi done et before. Oi done et a dozen toimes.'
'Oh, yes? You and who else?'
At this moment we heard the sound of the approaching band and I hoped this would deter Kenneth, but it did not. He slid down the bank and waded into the brook. I went to the end of the bridge where he would emerge and waited anxiously. It did not take him long, but I thought he looked very pale when he climbed out and his shorts were soaked to the top of his thighs.
'There you are, then,' he said, walking up to Ern. 'And now you can have this.' With this remark he uppercut Ern and knocked him backwards into the brook. I prepared to take Kenneth's side if Our Sarah decided to intervene, but when Ern crawled out and began to blubber, all she said was:
'Serve ee glad for tellen loies. You never walked under there in your loife. He be twoice the man what you be. Hold yer howlen. Here 'em comes.'
We did not know Sarah's father, so could not pick him out from among the other bandsmen, but we yelled and clapped and Sarah and Ern (who was wet and muddy, but had taken his sister's advice and stopped howling) fell in behind the band, which already had a following of children.
'Come on,' said Kenneth; but I hung back and even retreated on to The Marsh. Not many things frightened me, but people wearing masks always did and still do. There was not much in the way of a procession except for a set of Morris dancers whose caperings did not fit in with the tune the band was playing. There were, however, a dozen or more creatures in the most terrifying get-up I had ever seen except in pictures. They
