William's Happy Days

by Richmal Crompton

  William said that he understood. They got him his little tubes of paint, pencils and paper, and he seemed very sensible about it all.

  ‘You do quite understand, William, don’t you?’ said his mother for the hundredth time.

  And William replied patiently once more that he did quite understand.

  ‘And you’ll be quite quiet?’

  William promised to be quite quiet.

  ‘And you’ll keep Ginger and Henry and Douglas quite quiet?’

  William promised to keep Ginger and Henry and Douglas quite quiet.

  ‘I’m sure it will be all right,’ Mrs. Brown assured the Vicar, ‘he’s really a very good boy, though, of course, I know that he makes mistakes sometimes.’

  She was glad to feel relieved of anxiety about William’s part of the entertainment, because her own part occupied all her energies. She was in charge of the teas, and, as she said pathetically to the Vicar’s wife, getting cake out of people in that village was like drawing water in a sieve.

  She found time, however, on the evening before the bazaar to hold a little rehearsal of the Outlaws’ competition in the tent.

  They stood ranged in a solemn, silent row behind the table that contained their tubes of paint, pencils and paper. Mrs. Brown entered as a competitor. They received her courteously, explained the competition to her, supervised her effort, and put her ‘butterfly’ away to await the judge. The whole performance was perfect, and removed the last trace of Mrs. Brown’s anxiety. Her optimism, in fact, rose rather unduly considering that the day of the bazaar had not yet dawned.

  ‘I knew they’d manage it all right,’ she said to the Vicar’s wife, who was counting out cakes with her, ‘he’s really quite sensible.’

  The day of the bazaar turned out gloriously fine and almost as warm as midsummer. Workmen were busy all morning, putting up tents and marquees in the grounds. The Bishop was coming to the Hall for lunch, and the opening was to take place at two-thirty. The whole village was agog with excitement. And then news came round that increased the excitement to fever pitch. A Prominent Political Personage, motoring through the village had called at the Vicarage to ask if he might look through the church, as he was interested in Norman Architecture. The Vicar took him through the church, and told him about the bazaar that was taking place in the afternoon. The Prominent Political Person expressed interest. The news was carried to the Hall. The Prominent Political Personage was asked to come to lunch at the Hall, and to attend the bazaar afterwards. The news flew round the village. Lady Verity, the Bishop, the Prominent Political Person. It felt itself the hub of the universe.

  William had been told to keep out of the way during the morning, and so implicitly did he obey orders that nothing was seen or heard of him till he appeared, clean and tidy, at the lunch table. His mother looked at him with approval.

  ‘Now you’ll remember to be quiet in your tent, won’t you dear?’ she said.

  And William said, ‘Yes, Mother,’ so virtuously and earnestly that Mrs. Brown began to think that she must have misjudged him all his life, and that he must always have been like that.

  Every one from the village and from all the villages around thronged the grounds of the Hall. A loud cheer arose as Lady Verity, with the Bishop on one side of her and the Prominent Political Personage on the other, came on to the lawn. They looked pleased with themselves and all the world, as those do look who have just lunched well.

  The Bishop made a nice little speech, Lady Verity made a nice little speech, the Prominent Political Personage was invited to make a nice little speech, but smilingly declined.

  The bazaar was pronounced open. Lady Verity, the Bishop and the Prominent Political Personage, with the Vicar hovering in the rear, went the round of the stalls.

  The Prominent Political Personage bought several things at the Fancy Stall, and gave them back to be raffled. It was wonderful to see him bring out a five pound note, and stand waiting carelessly for the change.

  And then he said that he really must be going, because he had a political meeting to address in London that evening. But the Bishop suddenly remembered something.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ he said, ‘wasn’t some part of the entertainment to be organised by the children themselves?’

  ‘Oh-er-yes,’ said the Vicar without enthusiasm. ‘Yes. Four boys are in charge of one of the competition tents.’

  ‘We must visit that,’ said the Bishop genially. He turned to the Prominent Political Personage. ‘You must just visit that before you go.’

  They began to make their way to William’s tent. Mrs. Brown, seeing them and wishing to enjoy the proud sight of William telling a Bishop how to do a butterfly, left her tea tent, and followed in the rear. The select company entered the tent, then—stood petrified by horror and amazement.

  William had from the first decided to have a show more worthy of the name than the ‘Butterfly Competition’ as expounded by his mother.

  He and the other Outlaws had held long and earnest confabulations in the old barn on the subject, and had been from the beginning quite unanimous. Their reputation must not be compromised by such a show as the ‘Butterfly Competition.’ Ginger and William had paid a surreptitious visit to a neighbouring ‘fair’, to see which shows were the most popular, and had returned in a state of high glee.

  THE SELECT COMPANY ENTERED THE TENT, AND STOOD PETRIFIED BY TERROR AND AMAZEMENT.

  WILLIAM HAD DECIDED TO HAVE A SHOW WORTHY OF THE NAME.

  ‘We can manage all the best ones quite easily,’ they had reported to the others.

  And they had managed them.

  At one end of the tent stood Ginger, completely naked except for a small pair of bathing drawers. But the entire contents of the tubes of paint had been used upon his skin, every inch of which was covered with indecipherable designs. Round his neck he wore a label, ‘Tattood man.’

  Next to him stood Henry, wearing several pillows and a hat and knitted suit of his mother’s. The hat came right down over his eyes, and the knitted suit was stretched to its utmost limits.

  He was labelled ‘Fat Woman.’

  Next to him stood Douglas, in an attitude of defiance, wearing the home-made boxing gloves, and with his stockings and shirt sleeves padded with handkerchiefs to represent muscles, labelled, ‘Strong Man.’

  Next to him stood William, balanced precariously upon a pair of stilts, swathed in a sheet, and labelled, ‘Giant.’

  William gazed complacently at his first visitors. This was a jolly sight better than what they’d expected to see. They jolly well wouldn’t mind paying for this. Then he caught sight of his mother’s face in the background. The petrified expressions on the faces of the others might possibly represent an extremity of delighted surprise, but there was no mistaking the horror on his mother’s face. He started forward to explain to her. All he’d definitely promised was to be quiet, and to keep the others quiet, and he was doing that, wasn’t he? And this was a jolly sight more worth paying to see than that butterfly thing, wasn’t it? He started forward to explain this to her, but forgot that he was on stilts. Before he’d had time to utter a word of explanation, he overbalanced, and fell forward, clutching for support as he fell. Lady Verity and the Prominent Political Personage were in his direct line of descent. Unprepared for the sudden embrace of his outstretched arms, they lost their balance and William, the sheet, Lady Verity and the Prominent Political Personage rolled together in a glorious confusion on the floor of the tent. But a still more amazing thing happened. The white hair and moustache of the Prominent Political Personage detached itself, revealing a head and face with a likeness to the Prominent Political Personage certainly, but no more. And at the same time two miniatures—the gems of Sir George’s collection—rolled out of the gentleman’s overcoat.

  Without waiting to claim them, he leapt to his feet, and fled with marvellous speed and agility through the gaping crowd. There fell from him as he went several five pound notes, of the kind that he had alre
ady changed at the fancy stall.

  Various details filtered through to William. The man had been identified as well known to the police. He had several times before used his likeness to the Prominent Political Personage (with the aid of wig and moustache) as a means of introduction into a country house. Scotland Yard said that he could steal a silver tea-pot under the eye of his hostess in the middle of afternoon tea without anyone’s knowing that he had done it. False bank notes were merely a side line with him.

  William was describing the affair to a large crowd of boys, who were hanging reverently on his words.

  The affair had created a great stir among the juvenile population of the village, and William’s prestige was higher than it had been for years. It was the tenth time that he had described the affair. Each time to a different audience.

  His description had varied considerably each time. The first time it had been fairly accurate, the second time a little less accurate, the third time a little less accurate still. And so on. This was the tenth time.

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you jus’ what happened,’ said William in his most eloquent manner. ‘Well, they ’spected at Scotland Yard that this man was goin’ to do this an’ they din’ know what to do to catch him, so they asked me an’ I suggested that I’d dress up as a giant an’ pretend to have a show an’ then, when he came in to see it, I’d fall on him so’s his wig and things would roll off an’ then they’d be able to catch him. Well, they were jolly grateful to me for s’gestin’ this an’—’

  William had believed all his other nine versions of the affair.

  But he believed this one most firmly of all.

  CHAPTER 5

  WILLIAM AND THE COW

  The stable population of the village in which William lived was a small one, and every one knew every one else, but there was another population, shifting and artistic, in which William took an absorbing interest. The village and the countryside around it had the reputation of being picturesque, and so it attracted artists. These artists generally took cottages for a month or so in the summer, ignored, and were ignored by, the local population, then drifted back to town for the winter.

  William usually found this shifting population more human and understanding than the ordinary all-the-year-round population. He approved of artists. Sometimes he even wondered whether to abandon one of his many future careers (such as pirate or robber chief) in favour of that of an artist. They didn’t do any work. They just lounged about in the fields or woods all day in front of an easel, and their meals, which he had often shared, were unconventional picnic affairs that were much more enjoyable than the more conventional meals of his family and their friends. The only drawback to the life was that it must be dull, painting all day. William had tried painting, and, though he considered that he could paint as well as anyone, still he didn’t consider that, judged as a pastime, there was much in it, and always, after experimenting with this and other careers, he returned to his original decision to be a pirate.

  It was exceedingly seldom that any of the artists appeared in winter or even early spring, and so William was much surprised and interested when Honeysuckle Cottage, just outside the village, which was regularly let to artists, suddenly betrayed signs of artistic habitation in early January. There wasn’t any doubt that it was artistic habitation. An easel and several canvases were being unloaded from the cab, and the lady who was supervising the unloading wore short untidy hair and no hat, and appeared almost immediately afterwards in an apple green smock, strolling about the garden, her hands in capacious pockets, whistling. William, watching her with interest through the hedge, observed that she was both young and pretty. Moreover she obviously had very good eyesight, for she suddenly spied him and called out ‘Hello!’

  There was no challenge or reproach in the voice. It was interested and friendly. Evidently she did not share that curious grown-up convention that you should pretend complete indifference to all your neighbours’ affairs.

  ‘Oh, do come in,’ she said. ‘How nice to see someone.’

  William, unaccustomed to this sort of welcome from grown-ups, entered the garden slowly and cautiously.

  ‘I was just going to explore,’ went on the artist, ‘and it’s so dull exploring by yourself. Do you know anything about this garden?’

  William, of course, knew everything about that garden. He knew indeed far more than their owners about all the gardens in the village.

  ‘Yes,’ he said still rather cautiously, for William was always cautious in his adoption of new friends.

  ‘Well, do come in and help me. Is there anything interesting in it?’

  William entered and, still warily at first, introduced her to her garden. His caution soon vanished. She was, as a grown-up, almost too good to be true. When she saw the open space in the middle of the little wood at the bottom of the garden, she called out, ‘Oh, what a lovely place for a fire,’ and when she found the little stream that ran through the end of it she said. ‘Wouldn’t it be fun to have races on it . . . and make a little backwater?’

  The afternoon passed more quickly than William ever remembered an afternoon passing in the company of a grown-up. She said that her name was Miss Pollit, and that she’d be sketching in the field the next morning, and that he could come if he liked.

  He found her already seated at her easel when he arrived. It seemed that she wanted to get the view of the copse down below the valley.

  ‘There’s a sort of purple light from the saplings that I want to get, William,’ she said. ‘You only get it at this time of the year.’

  William received this statement with kindly indulgence. There wasn’t, of course, any purple light, but he knew that all artists suffered from a defect of vision that made them see thing differently from other people.

  She worked hard, and yet she could talk at the same time. She told him about things that she’d done. She’d climbed mountains in Switzerland. She’d travelled on a tramp steamer half-way round the world. She’d gone on a big game shooting expedition, and killed two lions and an elephant. William listened enthralled. When she finished he asked her breathlessly to marry him. She said that she was frightfully sorry, but she was already engaged to someone else. He made up his mind never to marry anyone, consoling himself with the reflection that, after all, a pirate was better without a wife, though he couldn’t help feeling that she’d have made a splendid wife for a pirate. He went to see her every day, and the week of her visit flew by on wings. She asked him to tea on her last day.

  ‘We’ll have a fire in the wood,’ she said, ‘and we’ll cook sausages and ham and eggs, and we’ll make a lock and a backwater in the stream, and have a regatta with races on it. And I’ll show you the witch doctor’s bones that I got in Africa. Come in old clothes, and then we can get in as much of a mess as we want to.’

  William was so much excited at this prospect that he could hardly live through the hours that intervened between the invitation and the visit.

  But on the morning of the day before the visit a dreadful thing happened. Miss Pollit met him in the village and called out lightly as she passed:

  ‘I say, I met a Mrs. Lane yesterday and she told me that her boy was a great friend of yours, so I’ve asked him to come too.’

  Hubert Lane! Hubert Lane had been away from home for a week, but he’d come back in time to spoil what should have been the greatest day of William’s life. Ever since Mrs. Lane’s futile attempt to put an end to the feud between the two boys, she had, in face of all evidence to the contrary, persisted in looking upon them and referring to them as ‘great friends.’

  And now Hubert was coming to tea with Miss Pollit, coming to help make a fire and cook sausages and ham and eggs, to help make a backwater and a lock in the little stream and to have races on it, and to see the witch doctor’s bones that she’d brought from Africa.

  The presence of Hubert, of course, would shed a blight upon every minute of it . . . It was too late to say anything. William had been str
uck speechless with horror, and already she was out of sight. He stood, silent and motionless, considering the situation. Impossible for her, of course, to cancel her invitation to Hubert, even if he made her understand that they were deadly foes. The only thing to do was to say nothing and go through with it, hoping for the best. Hubert might have one of his bilious attacks that day and be unable to come. Hubert had a fatal habit of over-eating, which necessitated occasional retirement from public life for a day or two. William was of an optimistic nature. There wasn’t any reason why Hubert shouldn’t have one of his attacks of ‘gastric trouble’ (as his mother called them) on the day he’d been asked to tea to Miss Pollit’s. William hung about the baker’s shop that morning, hoping that a particularly lurid cake that he saw upon the counter was destined for the Lanes’ household. It looked the sort of cake that would incapacitate Hubert for at least three days. William, in fact, ended by fully persuading himself that Hubert would spend to-morrow in bed. He felt quite happy and secure when he rose the next day. He was sure that Hubert had eaten half the lurid cake, and was now groaning in the throes of his ‘gastric trouble.’

  During the morning William sauntered gaily down the road and past the Lane house. He threw a glance up at the window which he knew was Hubert’s bedroom, and smiled triumphantly. But the smile was short lived, for there at the front gate stood Hubert looking revoltingly healthy, and holding a bunch of hothouse flowers tied with a ribbon.

  ‘Look what I’m going to take to Miss Pollit, William,’ he said. ‘You’re going’ there too, aren’t you?’

  Hubert’s small pig-like eyes gleamed with triumph. He knew that William had no hothouse flowers or indeed any flowers of any sort, and no money to buy any. Hubert always loved to go one better than anyone else. He smirked with his most nauseous friendliness as he spoke.

  William walked on as if he hadn’t heard him, but he walked gloomily. The whole afternoon was spoilt now. He’d been looking forward to it more than he remembered ever looking forward to anything, and now Hubert with his bunch of hothouse flowers was going to spoil every minute of it. She wouldn’t like Hubert, of course, but he’d be there all the time listening, sneering, sniggering, being in fact his natural and objectionable self, storing up phrases and incidents to taunt William with from a safe distance afterwards.