William and the Pop Singers (Just William, Book 35)

by Richmal Crompton

  “Well, I expect Mr French’ll like it best,” said Hubert.

  Mr French entered the room and threw a tight mirthless smile around.

  “Good morning, boys,” he said. “I hope you’ve profited by these long weeks of leisure. Let us see how much—if anything—you remember.” He went to the blackboard and chalked up some columns of figures. “Copy that down and work it out.”

  “Please, sir what about the holiday task?” said Hubert.

  Mr French’s brows shot together.

  “What holiday task?” he growled.

  “Mr Mostyn set us a holiday task, sir," said Hubert.

  "To find objects of local interest," said Frankie.

  Mr French uttered a sound expressive of irritation and disgust.

  “Well, well, well, well, he said. “Show them to me quickly and get it over.”

  He strode along the lanes between the desks; the scorn still heavy on his brow. He waved aside Victor’s find, Peter’s coin, Hubert’s map, Frankie’s oyster shell, Jimmy’s photograph, with snorts of exasperation and impatience. At last he came to the Outlaws and stared, startled for a moment, at the head.

  “What on earth’s that?” he said.

  “It’s a—a fossilised turnip, sir,’ said William.

  The irritation that Mr French had—more or less successfully—managed to suppress during the last few minutes suddenly burst its bounds.

  “Any more of your impertinence, my boy,” he said, “and I’ll give you something you won’t forget in a hurry. I shall confiscate this—whatever it is—and I warn you that it’s no use asking me to return it.”

  He caught up the head, strode to the desk, put the head inside, then fixed a suspicious look on William.

  “What are you grinning at, boy?” he said.

  “Nothin’, sir," said William, hastily composing his features into their expression of blank imbecility.

  He had been enjoying the reflection that, though divested of its more potent magic, the head might still have a few pleasant little practical jokes to play on Mr French in the course of the next few days.

  Then, returning with something of relief to normal life, he began to copy down the sum from the blackboard.

  Chapter 5 – William and the Protest Marchers

  At first William did not notice the girl in the blue dress who was sitting by the roadside. His thoughts were occupied by the circus that was due to arrive at Marleigh the next day. His imagination was a riot of acrobats and clowns, performing bears, prancing horses, daring riders, towering elephants, playful sea lions. But a second glance at the girl roused his interest. Her attitude—elbows on knees, head drooping between hands—was eloquent of weariness and despair. On one side of her was an open attache case, on the other a little pile of papers. As he stopped to watch her, a gust of wind blew one of the papers across the road. He retrieved it and put it with the others, then continued his silent, scowling scrutiny of her.

  “What do you want?” she said at last irritably.

  “Nothin’,” said William.

  She might be a spy, he thought, collecting information about the neighbouring aerodrome, or a nature writer collecting information about the way birds and flowers and

  things carried on, or someone giving free samples of something.

  “Are you givin’ anything away?” he said.

  “What do you mean, giving anything away?” she snapped.

  “Well, once someone came round givin’ free packets of cereal,” said William. “I’d rather have some sherbert if you’ve got any.”

  “Well, I haven’t,” said the girt.

  “What are you doin’, then?” said William bluntly.

  The girl looked at him. William was not a handsome child, but something about his rough-hewn, scowling countenance inspired confidence.

  “I’m in an awful hole,” she said.

  “What sort of a hole?” said William. “I often get in ’em, too. I bet I can help you out of it.”

  “Indeed you can’t,” said the girl. She took up one of the papers and handed it to him. “Look at that.”

  He turned his gaze on to it and his scowl grew deeper. “Gosh!” he said. “What’s it mean?”

  “It means what it says,” said the girl wearily. “You can read, I suppose.”

  The sheet of paper consisted of several columns. In the first one was printed a list of words: Nato, Unesco, Common Market, Atlantic Alliance, Racial Segregation, Atomic Energy and others that were equally unintelligible to William. The other columns were headed by the words Very Useful, Useful, Not Useful, Doubtful, Indifferent, and at the bottom of the paper was a line for signature. “Looks dotty to me,” said William.

  “It is,” said the girl. “Of course it is . . . but I want the job and I’ll never get it now.”

  “But what is it?” said William.

  “Can’t you see?” said the girl. “It’s one of those research things. People have to put ticks against all these things to show whether they like them or not.”

  “Why?” said William.

  “So that we can know what people think.”

  “What does it matter what people think?” said William.

  “I just don’t know,” said the girl after a moment’s consideration.

  “Why are you doin’ it, then?” said William.

  “Well, I want to get a job on a research team. You call at people’s houses and they put ticks and sign their names.” She sighed. “Or else they don’t.”

  “Well, if you want to do it, what’s wrong with it? Why aren’t you enjoyin’ it?”

  “Everything’s wrong with it,” said the girl. “It’s just one of those days when nothing goes right. You see, I’m on approval for this day and if I don't get any results I won’t get the job and if I do I will.”

  “Well, why aren’t you gettin’ ’em?” said William.

  “I told you,” said the girl. “Because it’s one of those days when nothing goes right. People won’t listen to me. They just say they’re busy and shut the door in my face. They won’t even look at the papers.”

  “It’s washin’ day, of course,” said William thoughtfully. “Everyone’s a bit like that on washin’ day. They wake up in funny tempers. Even my mother does.”

  “Oh well, it can’t be helped,” said the girl. “Anyway, I’ve walked and walked till I’m worn out. I can’t go another step. Oh dear! I’m so miserable.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and she dropped her head on her arms.

  William’s reputation for toughness was beyond question, but there was a hidden streak of chivalry in him that occasionally—very occasionally—found its way to the surface. It found it now. He laid a grubby hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t you worry,” he said. “I’ll find people to sign ’em for you.”

  She raised brimming eyes.

  “Oh, you couldn’t,” she said. “You couldn’t"

  “I could,” said William, his decision hardening in face of her mistrust. “’Course I could. A little thing like that’s nothin’ to me. It won’t take any time at all. I’ll go ’n’ find people now.”

  The girl opened her mouth to protest but already William was walking briskly down the road. Once round the bend that hid him from the girl’s sight, he slackened his pace. Not for the first time in his young life he realised that he had undertaken a task that might well prove to be beyond his powers. He held a mental review of the inhabitants of the village—Miss Milton, Mrs Monks, General Moult, Mrs Bott, Mrs Barlow, Miss Thompson . . . His drooping figure straightened itself. He quickened his step. Miss Thompson . . . She was vague and absent-minded and incredibly good-natured. She could never bring herself to turn anyone away from her door. It was almost a physical impossibility for her to say “no”. She would sign the paper without question and her signature would encourage others to sign.

  With rising hopes he made his way to Miss Thompson’s cottage and stood at the gate looking over her garden. It was a pleasan
t little garden with a lily pond in the centre, rose-beds along the sides, and a herbaceous border at the end. Today it wore an unusually festive air, set out for tea with little tables and chairs, cups and saucers, plates, biscuits and cakes. Evidently Miss Thompson was giving a party. He must get the thing settled before the guests arrived. There was no time to lose.

  He approached the front door. It stood open. He gave a series of resounding blows on it with the knocker. Miss Thompson emerged from the kitchen. She looked unlike her usual placid self. Her hair was dishevelled, her face flushed. Even her neat starched apron seemed to hang awry.

  “I don’t know what you’ve come about, William,” she said, “but I can’t attend to you now.”

  “I only came to ask you to write your name on a piece of paper,” said William. “You needn’t bother with the ticks. I'll put ’em in later.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear,” said Miss Thompson.

  “I’m talkin’ about racin’ congregations an’ atomic alliances an’ a word that’s a bit like unicorn but not quite an’ a lot more things I’ve forgotten the names of. I’ll get this paper from this girl an’ I’ll do the ticks for you an'—"

  “Will you please go away, William," said Miss Thompson. “I’ve got enough on my mind without you bothering me like this.”

  Reluctantly William brought his mind from his own problems to Miss Thompson’s.

  “I know. I mean, I can see you’re havin’ a party—”

  “I’m not having a party,” said Miss Thompson in a tone of desperation.

  “Well, it looks like a party,” said William. “Anyway, you’ve got people comin’ to tea with you, haven’t you?”

  Miss Thompson shrugged helplessly.

  “I’ve no idea,” she said. “And now will you please go!”

  She turned to make her way back to the kitchen. William hesitated for a few seconds on the doorstep, then followed her into the kitchen. Preparations for the mysterious party were evidently in train. On the table was a mixing bowl containing some half-whisked eggs and round it stood little piles of currants, sultanas and crystallised cherries.

  “Listen,” said William, perching on the edge of the table and absent-mindedly putting a couple of crystallised cherries into his mouth. “It won’t take me a minute to fetch this paper from this girl an’ then all you’ve got to do is to put your name on it an’ you needn’t even think about the ticks ’cause—”

  Miss Thompson had sunk weakly into the nearest chair.

  “I'll tell you what’s happened, William,” she said, “then perhaps you’ll understand why I can’t possibly attend to anything else just now.”

  “All right,” said William, putting a couple of sultanas into his mouth and settling down comfortably on the table edge.

  “It all begins with a society called the Society for the Preservation of Animal Life,” said Miss Thompson.

  “I sometimes get sick of animals havin’ everythin’ done for ’em,” said William. “They’ve nothin’ to do all day long but jus’ sit about an’ enjoy themselves. Look at cats.”

  “This one’s against butchers if you know what I mean,” said Miss Thompson. “I mean, they don’t think we ought to eat them.”

  “Eat butchers?” said William.

  “No, dear. Animals. They don’t think we ought to eat beef or mutton or anything like that. They think that cows and sheep and all other animals should be allowed to lead long happy lives with freedom from want and fear and that they should be allowed to attain the peace and dignity of old age and die of simple natural diseases like human beings.”

  “Dogs are all right,” said William, “an’ so are some insects. An’ I’ve met guinea-pigs an’ goldfish that were quite decent. I shouldn’t mind any of them dyin’ of natural diseases if they want to. I once had a caterpillar that died when I had mumps an’ I bet it caught ’em off me.”

  “Personally I like meat, William,” continued Miss Thompson, “and I can’t bear nuts or raw cabbage, so there wouldn’t be any point in my being a vegetarian. Anyway, when this man came to the door—”

  “What man?” said William.

  “He was a fat little man with a bald head called Mr Meggison and he went on talking and talking about this Society and asking me to join it and I’d got a rice pudding in the oven that had been there too long already and I wanted to take it out so I joined the society and gave him half a crown just to get back to the rice pudding and I thought that would be the end of it.”

  “And wasn’t it?” said William, giving a crystallised cherry a rudimentary face with pieces of dismembered currant, then consigning it to his mouth. “Wasn’t it?”

  “No, dear,” said Miss Thompson. “He rang me up the next day and said that he hadn’t had time to make any more calls in the neighbourhood, but would I form a branch here—enrol members and collect subscriptions and send them up to Headquarters each year.”

  “Well, I bet it was easy enough formin’ a Society in this place,” said William. “There’s dozens of them already for doin’ things an’ not doin’ things an’ stoppin’ things an’ startin’ things. Ginger’s mother belongs to seven. One more wouldn’t make any diff’rence. I bet you found it easy enough to get people to join it.”

  “But, William I couldn’t,” said Miss Thompson earnestly. “I tried. I got as far as people’s garden gates and I learnt by heart what I’d planned to say to them and I couldn’t go in and say it. I just haven’t the courage for that sort of thing. Then I thought I’d wait till people came to collect subscriptions from me for their societies. But somehow I couldn’t do it even then. The words stuck in my throat.”

  “I once got a piece of chewin’ gum stuck in mine,” said William. “I forgot I’d got it in my mouth an’ tried to swallow it.” He took hold of the egg whisk and began to manipulate it with a mixture of absent-mindedness and abandon. “What happened next?”

  Miss Thompson gently removed the egg whisk from William’s hand and mopped up a few blobs of egg from the table.

  “Well, he kept telephoning me to ask if I’d formed the branch yet, and—and I couldn’t go on saying ‘no’, William, I just couldn’t. So in the end I did a dreadful thing. I simply don’t know how to tell you what I did.”

  “I’ve done some pretty bad things myself,” said William. “Once I got up in the middle of the night and ate a whole raspberry jelly that my mother’d made for the next day.”

  “It was wrong of you, dear,” said Miss Thompson, “but mine was much worse.”

  “What did you eat?” said William.

  “Nothing, dear. I mean, it was about this branch. I pretended that I’d formed this branch. I pretended that I’d got members for it and I invented their names and addresses and I sent up two and six a year from each of them just as if they’d been real people. I did it just to stop him worrying me.”

  “That was jolly clever of you,” said William impressed. “I bet I couldn’t have thought of anythin’ better than that myself.”

  “No, dear, it was wrong. It was very wrong. It was living a life of deceit and I’ve been living it for three years and now judgement has fallen on me.”

  “How?” said William.

  “He’s coming over today to meet the branch and address it and there isn’t any branch for him to meet or address.”

  William looked out of the window. “But you’ve got chairs an’ tables an’ food set out for them.”

  “That’s the dreadful part, William. Mr Meggison’s sent them down. They send tables and chairs down from Headquarters to the places where they’re holding garden meetings, and he sent the food, too, because there was a lot left over from a place where they had a garden meeting yesterday. Its odd"—a far-away look came into her eyes—“but somehow they seem quite real to me, all these people I’ve invented—Mr Coleman, Mr Flower, Mr Beauchamp, Miss Poppins, Mrs Belmont and the rest. As soon as I knew about the branch meeting, I started making this cake because I thought that Mrs
Belmont would like it. I’ve always imagined her a wonderful cook . . . but, of course, there isn’t any Mrs Belmont so it’s no use making a cake for her, and——Oh dear! I shall be publicly disgraced and humiliated. It’s false pretences and there’s no getting away from it. My knowledge of the law is limited, but I’m sure it’s a legal offence and I shall probably get put in prison for it.”

  “I’ll try an’ get you out if you are,” said William. “I’ve thought of some jolly good ways of gettin’ people out of prison.”

  “That’s very kind of you, dear, but I should probably be recaptured even if you did . . . You’d better go now, I think. I’ve forgotten what you came about...”

  “About you writin’ your name on a piece of paper about unicorns an’ atomic congregations . . . You will, won’t you?”

  “Certainly, dear, if it would give you any pleasure,” said Miss Thompson. She gazed dreamily into the distance. “Somehow I feel that I really know them—Mr Coleman, Miss Poppins, Mr Beauchamp and the rest. I have no very definite picture of them in my mind but I’m sure I should recognise them if I saw them . . .”

  “I’ll go ’n’ get the papers,” said William.

  He ran down the lane to the spot where he had left the girl in the blue dress.

  She was still there. But she was not alone. A young man sat by her. They were talking earnestly together.

  “I’ve found one person to write her name on it,” announced William breathlessly.

  “Go away,” said the young man.

  “An’ I bet I can get more once I’ve got this one,” said William.

  “Go away,” said the young man again.

  The papers were still in the open attache case. William took a handful, thrust them into his pocket and set off once more for Miss Thompson’s cottage. But at the end of the lane he stopped. A ragged little procession was coming down the road. At the head walked a young man with a luxuriant black beard and a red shirt. He carried a notice, fixed on to a wooden post: “Hands off Hannah”, and led by a leather lead a plump young pig who ambled dejectedly along uttering short morose grunts at intervals. Behind him straggled a collection of youths and maidens, longhaired, tight-jeaned, wearing brightly coloured scarves and sweaters.