New para Ive got to give back the costume but I don't care much because it would be too awkward to pack to take home and Amabel says it makes her feel sick to think its the same as the girl had on when she was murdered they won't let me see the body its in the mortchery which I think is like an ice-box to keep bodys fresh till the coroner has seen them I wouldnt mind being a coroner and seeing all the bodys but I'd rather be a detective because thats where the action is and you look for cloos and measure footprints and pick up cigarette ends not to smoke but to notiss the brand and deduce things like whether a man is left-handed or limps and all that see you on the 23rd bring another of those jam sponges I think I can sneek too tins of sardeens Tim Banks can come in with us if he brings anything desent baked beans would do but a tin of cooked ham would be better.
P.S. They have just told me we're all going home the police have got our address so will let us go how rotten I would much rather stay here.
A Godfather's Letter
I would be shocked and horrified by the flippant tone of your recent communication, my dear boy, if I did not realise that you have been through a trying and a traumatic experience which must have left you disturbed and perhaps conscience-stricken over the death of that poor young girl whom (let us not mince matters) you jilted.
However, some parts of your letter appear to require an answer, so I will state at once that I have no intention of intruding on Mrs Kempson. There is nothing I can do to help her through this very difficult and harassing time. Neither shall I attend the inquest on poor little Merle Patterson to hear you give your contribution to the evidence.
As for Amabel Kempson-Conyers, I regard her as a spoilt brat and I doubt very much whether you have the strength of character to cope with her. I send you my regards, although I doubt whether you deserve them. Come and see me at Christmas, as usual.
Chapter 10
The Hermit's Cottage
Kenneth and I decided, I remember, that our real adventures began when Aunt Kirstie told us that we need not go to the village school on Monday, as it was uncertain how long our mother would remain in hospital and so we might be sent for at any moment to return home. We endorsed this point of view.
'There wouldn't be much sense in our signing on just for a week, perhaps,' said Kenneth. 'Only muck up the teacher's register.'
'What happens if the attendance officer comes round?' I remember asking. In our London school the attendance officer was a familiar figure, a short, thick-set, po-faced young man in a blue serge suit and a burberry who looked at the registers and took down the names and addresses of absentees. Then he went to their homes to find out whether they were ill or whether they were playing the wag or whether, if girls, they were being kept away from school to help with the housework, or whether, if boys, they had no boots or were running errands for tradesmen. In our day the attendance officer was a feared and detested figure in all the poorer parts of the town.
'Attendance officer? Who's he?' Uncle Arthur enquired. 'Only body likely to enquire about you is the governess, because they're paid according to numbers on roll.'
Monday passed pleasantly. The weather was fine, we were free, we found three golf-balls on that part of The Marsh which was the University golf-course, we paddled, fished for tiddlers, picked and ate grandfather's fruit and paid a visit to the hermit's stinking cottage to look at Mr Ward's filled-in hole.
The one place we felt we must not visit was the sheepwash. We had been put on our honour not to go near it, so when Our Ern and a bigger boy suggested a visit to it, we said we were compelled to refuse.
'Aw, come on, then!' they said.
'Can't. We've promised not to.'
'Aw, come on!'
'No, not this time.'
'Dare ee!'
'No good. No dare taken.'
'Checken-'earted, then!'
'If you say that again,' said Kenneth, 'the next time we go bathing down by Long Bridges I shall drown you.'
Long Bridges was about two miles from the village. It was a back-water of the river around part of which the town council had put corrugated iron fencing and had built dressing-sheds. There were stone steps slippery with weed leading down to the water. As a treat we were allowed to go there in charge of a village girl who came in once a week to help Aunt Kirstie turn out Mr Ward's rooms and who received an extra sixpence for taking us to the bathing-place.
Unlike Lionel at his private school, we were compelled in so public a place to wear bathing costumes. These had been fabricated for us by Aunt Kirstie out of one of her voluminous red flannel petticoats.
'Ought to be blue stockinette,' said Uncle Arthur, and how heartily we agreed with him!
'Flannel will keep them warm in the water,' said Aunt Kirstie. 'I don't want them catching their deaths.'
Kenneth's threat to drown Our Ern was met by a far more formidable counter-threat.
'Ef ee don't come down the sheepwash Oi'll tell Gov'ness you ent attenden school. Your auntie and uncle'll go to preson ef you ent attenden school.'
So we forfeited our honour and went along to the sheepwash, deeming it better to feel besmirched than to risk putting
