‘Funny thing,’ said Mr Wilkins to Jasper, ‘a chap who lives at Rackenbridge – forget his name – caused all the trouble. He sprang out of the crowd waving a yellow flag at the horses, extraordinary stupid thing to do, you know; why, they might easily have bolted.’
Mrs Lace was taken into Chalford House. Her golden gown was split in several places and her wig quite ruined but her person was unscathed. She indulged in a comforting exhibition of hysteria until Major Lace gave her a good shaking, after which she restored her face, borrowed a cotton-wool wig from kind Miss Trant, and resumed her place at the side of Mr Wilkins.
Meanwhile the pageant was proceeding as though nothing out of the way had happened. Mr Wilkins, perfectly unmoved by his shaking, remembered his speeches better than ever before and went through his royal part as to the manner born.
The Social Unionists gave him a rousing welcome as he mounted the platform.
‘G.E.O.R.G.E! We want George!’ they cried.
Lady Marjorie stood beside him, her horse-hair locks quivering, her heart thumping, her cheeks flushed. She also wanted George.
It was all an enormous success. The episodes went off without a single hitch and nobody seemed to notice the fact that Jasper had ignored historical truth to a degree unprecedented even in pageantry. The most popular scenes of all were just those with the smallest foundation in fact.
Social Unionists and the public alike shouted themselves to a frenzy when, a messenger arriving to tell George III that Louis of France had been razored up by Marxist non-Aryans, the English monarch observed sadly, ‘Alas! my poor brother!’
The episodes were to have been brought to an end by a tableau representing Napoleon on board the Bellerophon, but at the last moment Eugenia had vetoed this, as it had suddenly occurred to her that, even though Napoleon was a dirty foreigner, he was nevertheless somebody’s Leader. They ended therefore, rather pointlessly, with the Death of Nelson, which was not altogether a success from Jasper’s point of view, as both Hardy and Lady Hamilton made an unseemly rush to kiss the expiring admiral. The public, however, appeared to enjoy it.
After this the Rackenbridge brass band struck up the tune of ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers’, to which the Social Unionists, standing at attention, sang their hymn.
‘Onward, Union Jackshirts
Fight for England’s fame.
Fight and die for England,
Saving her from shame.
When foreigners make grimaces,
Stamp them in the mud,
Jump upon their faces,
Cover them with blood.
Onward, Union Jackshirts
Fight for England’s fame,
Fight and die for England,
Saving her from shame.
‘Onward, Union Jackshirts
England shall win through.
England shall rise greater,
Thanks to Jackshirts true.
Junket fronts shall quiver,
We shall give them more
Reasons to shiver
Than they had before.
Onward, etc.
‘Fight with shell and bullet,
Fight with castor oil,
Fight with pen and paper,
Fight, Oh Jackshirts loyal.
Fight the loathly Pacifist,
Fight the junket breast,
Make them feel the Jackshirt’s fist,
Make them howl for rest.
Onward, Union Jackshirts
Foreigners you’ll whack.
Fight and die for England
And the Union Jack.’
After this another unrehearsed incident took place. There was a moment’s pause while George III prepared to descend from the platform for his inspection of the Olde Englyshe Fayre. The Comrades, who had completely entered into the spirit of the thing, were crowding round him cheering themselves hoarse, when suddenly and most unexpectedly they were attacked from the rear by quantities of horrible-looking men dressed as the sansculottes of Revolutionary France and wearing yellow caps on their heads. ‘We want peace! we want peace!’ they cried, scattering white feathers in every direction.
‘We will fight
Red, White and Blue
’Cos we are yellow
Through and through
We’ll have a crack
At Captain Jack
Because we think
His heart is black.
‘Kill Social Unionism!’ and they fell upon the defenceless Comrades with life preservers, knuckledusters, potatoes stuffed with razor blades, bicycle bells filled with shot, and other primitive, but effective, weapons. The Social Unionists, who were not only unarmed, but also sadly hampered by their full-bottomed coats, ill-fitting breeches and the wigs, which in many cases fell right over their eyes, impeding their vision, were at first utterly overcome by the enemy. Many were laid out, others, less fortunate, were carried away to a distant part of the estate where atrocities too horrible to name were perpetrated upon their persons. Mrs Lace was dragged to the lake and there was soundly ducked more than once by masked, but vaguely familiar assailants.
Eugenia, meanwhile, had gone into the house to fetch a sunshade for her grandmother. On hearing the din of battle she rushed out again, to be confronted by an appalling scene of carnage. The Social Unionists, in small, scattered groups, were defending themselves bravely enough, but to no avail. They were completely disorganized, and it was clear that the Pacifists must win the day, unless something quite unforeseen should happen to turn the tide of war against them.
It happened. Like a whirlwind, Eugenia Malmains dashed into the fray, seizing a Union Jack from off the platform she held it high above her head and with loud cries she rallied the Comrades to her. The Pacifists fell back for a second in amazement, never had they seen so large, so beautiful, or so fierce a woman. That second was their undoing. They returned ferociously enough to the charge, but from now onwards
