Lady Chalford had invited Jasper to write and produce the pageant on the grounds of his grandfather’s well-remembered talent for composing Valentines. Jasper was finding the job anything but agreeable, each decision in turn seemed to give offence to somebody, while Eugenia plagued him unmercifully, insisting that he must introduce a strong Social Unionist interest.
‘My dear child, I don’t see how I can,’ he said, in despair. ‘I mean, think for yourself, what have George III and Social Unionism in common? Not one single thing.’
‘And what about the Glory of England?’ cried Eugenia, in a grandiose voice.
‘Glory of bottoms. The ordinary person simply remembers George III by the fact that he went mad and lost America. That’s all he’s ever supposed to have done for England, poor old boy.’
‘I can’t help it,’ said Eugenia, ‘If we are having a Grand Social Unionist rally and pageant, Social Unionism has got to come into it somehow.’
Jasper tore his hair.
Next day Eugenia appeared very early at the Jolly Roger having spent a sleepless night in the throes of composition. As soon as Jasper was up she handed him a document, which ran as follows:
SPEECH BY GEORGE III
Hail! and thanks for all your good wishes, we are happy to be among our loyal Aryan subjects of Chalford and district. In our speech today we thought we would tell you of a very curious prophetic dream which we had last night. We dreamt that by degrees this, our glorious country, will begin to sink into the slush and slime of a decaying democracy. America, as we are sure you must have all noticed with horror, is already tainted with the disease, and we expect we shall soon have to be kicking her out of our glorious Empire; but even this wonderfully foreseeing action on our part won’t make any difference in the long run. Nothing can save our country from a contagion which is to sweep the earth. Never mind, Britons, do not despair, for in our dream we foresaw that when you shall have been plunged into the darkest night, governed (if one can use such a word) by a pack of disastrous old ladies who ought to have been dead for years, a new day will dawn, the old ladies will be forced to retire to their unhallowed beds, and their place at Westminster will be taken by young and victorious Comrades. In those days, the streets will ring with the cry of youths who will march, each carrying his little banner, towards the fulfilment of a Glorious Britain. A new spirit, the spirit of Social Unionism will be abroad in the land, vitality will flow back into her withered veins, hateful democracy will die the death. We will now all sing the Social Unionist Hymn, ‘Land of Union Jackshirts, Mother of the Flag’.
‘What d’you think of it?’ asked Eugenia, anxiously.
‘It’s a fine speech,’ said Jasper, who had evidently got some beer up his nose and was choking into a handkerchief.
When Mr Wilkins saw it he said that it was very good but much too long for him to learn by heart.
‘Oh! you must try,’ said Eugenia. ‘It would spoil a speech like that if you read it. Learn one sentence every day – you’ve got heaps of time.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Mr Wilkins, good-naturedly.
‘I’m hoping,’ continued Eugenia, ‘that you will join the Social Unionist party. You are asked to pay ninepence a month, the Union Jack shirt costs five shillings and the little emblem sixpence. When you have signed on you will be able to use the head-quarters as much as you like. I hope to arrange for instruction in boxing and other Social Unionist sports there soon, and we shall be having a social every Tuesday evening as well. So do join up.’
‘Anything to please you, Miss Eugenia, but I’m afraid I don’t know much about it at present. Wait a minute, though, is it against foreigners and the League of Nations, because if so I’ll join with pleasure. Damned sewers.’
Mr Wilkins had spent several years tea-planting in Ceylon where ‘sewer’ is apparently a usual term of opprobrium.
‘It is,’ said Eugenia, earnestly. ‘Some of us think of sterilizing all foreigners, you know, but I’m not sure our Captain would go quite as far as that.’
‘That’s the stuff to feed the troops! Well done! just what they need. I think Hitler’s a splendid fellow too, although I’m not sure he doesn’t carry things a shade far sometimes. I mean, shoot up the chaps as much as you like, but don’t kill their wives at breakfast – eh?’
‘When shooting is in progress,’ said Eugenia, coldly, ‘the woman’s duty is to retire to her proper place, the bedroom. If she interferes in men’s business she must put up with a man’s fate.’
‘There’s something in what you say, by Jove; women are a damned sight too fond of poking their noses into things that are none of their business, these days specially. Look here, I’m joining up; what did you say I owe you?’
‘Ninepence a month, the Union Jack shirt costs five shillings, and sixpence for the little emblem. You sign here – see?’
Jasper’s embarrassment as pageant producer reached a climax when Poppy came to him and said, ‘Look here, darling, Marge wants to know whether she can’t be Queen Charlotte instead of Mrs Lace. Do say “Yes”.’
‘No, really, I don’t think she can,’ said Jasper, ‘and anyway why does she want to be, all of a sudden like this?’
‘Well, she didn’t want me to tell you, but I suppose I shall have to. The fact is, you see, she’s keen on Mr Wilkins, and so of course she quite
