Sensible Life

by Mary Wesley

  “I can’t,” said Anne, sotto voce.

  “You are fortunate to have a valid excuse,” said Elizabeth slyly.

  Flora was puzzled by this exchange.

  Around the picnic site children were clamouring to be allowed to bathe, tearing off their clothes and hitching themselves into bathing costumes. Their mothers said, “You must not stay in long,” and “You must come out the moment I call you,” in doubting tones.

  Seeing Felix resignedly pick up his towel and bathing suit, Mabs and Tashie rushed behind a rock to change; Joyce was already in her swim-suit, prancing on long legs, showing her teeth. “Show-off,” said Tashie enviously, as Joyce hurdled a sandcastle.

  Cosmo and Blanco had little luck. “There were so few eels, we put them back,” they said. “No thanks, no bathing for us, it’s far too cold.”

  “It would be tactful if you did swim, darling,” said Milly Leigh. “If you don’t, the children’s fathers will feel they must; somebody should go in with the tinies.”

  “Oh God!” said Cosmo. “Must I?”

  “The cold water might give one of them a heart attack,” persisted his mother.

  “Oh, all right.” Cosmo gave in ungraciously. He took the towel his mother handed him and retreated behind a rock to join Felix. “Now you know why the English are considered mad,” he said. “Come on, Blanco, don’t leave it all to me.”

  “I hope the mothers don’t allow them to stay in long,” said Blanco, beginning to undress.

  “I went in, or partially went in, in February,” said Cosmo. “I’d been bird-watching; the beach was empty that day.” He then remembered Flora had been there and the idiot dog, who was here today. It had all looked different: the sand had been wet, flat, shimmering and Flora had seemed very small at the water’s edge. He ran down the beach with Blanco, catching up with Felix and Freddy Ward who had decided to go in. Ahead of them the small children trotted, followed by their mothers carrying towels. When they reached the water they tested the temperature, gasped and retreated, skipping back up the sand emitting shrieks. “If you are going in, go,” said the mothers. “Don’t stand there shivering, dip.”

  Freddy Ward and Felix waded in, dived and swam out. “Gosh, they are brave,” said Blanco. As Felix turned to swim back Mabs, Tashie and Joyce, who had found a rock on the side of the bay dived, hoping that Felix would see and admire.

  “Aren’t you going to swim?” Anne asked Flora, who sat now above the high tidemark.

  Flora said: “No, thank you.” She was not going to admit that she could not swim in case somebody, Mrs. Stubbs for instance, volunteered to teach her.

  The bathers, risking their deaths from cold, raced and played by the water’s edge until somebody noticed that the tide was advancing and it was time to retreat.

  The small children, enjoying themselves now, were reluctant to come out, but their mothers cried: “That’s enough,” and, “Come out, now let me give you a rub.” Felix picked up a child and piggybacked him up the beach. All the others followed.

  On the dunes Angus had put a match to the bonfire which crackled, spat, and flared up. While people were dressing, Milly and Rosa helped by Elizabeth and Anne set out the picnic tea. Only Freddy Ward, far out, kept on swimming.

  “I call that really lunatic,” said Cosmo.

  “Didn’t you know? He swims all the year round,” said Blanco. “One of his children told me.”

  Everybody was getting dressed now, dragging off sticky bathing dresses, standing blue-faced, teeth chattering near the fire, while mothers tried to rub wet heads dry. Angus thought everyone looked so chilly that he shivered in sympathy and took a swallow from his flask.

  Flora watched the water swirling up across the sand and Mabs and Tashie, who had lingered, break into a run, their figures silhouetted black against the sun. As she watched Vita and Denys came into view, clambering round the rocks, having lingered longer in the cove than was safe. If they had been cut off by the tide they might have been drowned, thought Flora dispassionately. Watching her parents scramble round the slippery rocks, she savoured the thought.

  “Wait a moment, darling, these beastly rocks are cutting my feet. I must put on my shoes,” Vita complained.

  “I love you feet.” Denys handed his wife the shoes he had been carrying for her. “I love every part of you.”

  “But you don’t love our child.”

  “She is not part of you.”

  “There was a time when she was.” Vita massaged the sand off her soles. “How this beastly sand sticks.”

  “I cannot bear to think of it.” Denys remembered his wife’s distorted stomach. “The idea of her being part of you is to my mind purely academic and rather disgusting.” He flinched from the memory.

  Vita laced her shoe. “Disgusting? You never said that before.”

  “Not you, sweetheart. I do not mean you.”

  “I should hope not.” Vita tied the shoelace tight and reached for the second shoe, snatching it from his hand. “I’ve had enough of this picnic,” she said, standing up, “and these happy families. We’d better look sharp or we’ll get wet.”

  “Somebody might have told us about the tide,” said Denys. “It’s jolly dangerous, we might have been trapped.”

  “As we are trapped by Flora,” said Vita crossly.

  “When she is seventeen we’ll get her out to India and be shot of her.” Denys laughed and his wife joined in. “I do love your honesty and lack of hypocrisy,” he said. “I think I have had enough of all these people.”

  “They will keep an eye on Flora, that was the object of our coming—”

  “We could surely have achieved that without taking all day.” Denys jumped down onto the sand and, turning, held out a hand to his wife.

  “Well! We found our little cove and achieved something there.” Vita sprang down to join him.

  “So we did.” Denys was pleased by her return to good humour. “A great feeling of well-being. I feel I can endure that managing matron for a few more minutes; there she is, waving.”

  “Everybody come up close to the fire and have a drink of hot tea,” shouted Mrs. Stubbs. “That way you won’t catch your deaths.”

  Freddy Ward was swimming back with long steady strokes, coming in with the tide. Mothers made their children sit down and distributed sandwiches. “I can’t think who suggested bathing, it’s only the last day of April,” said one of the mothers. “We would never let them do this at home.”

  “We’re in France now,” said Mrs. Stubbs.

  Flora moved to one side, putting the fire between herself and her parents.

  “I know we are in France,” said the mother who had raised the objection to bathing.

  Cosmo, Felix and Blanco came back from behind the rock where they had been dressing. Mabs, Tashie and Joyce joined them; they had all put on warm sweaters, but still had bare feet.

  Tonton, coming up behind Flora, nudged her; she put an arm round his woolly neck. She was watching Freddy Ward coming out of the sea. He had a hairy chest, hair on his shoulders, and tufts sprouting from under his arms. He wrapped a rug round his waist and wriggled out of his swimsuit. Coming up to Angus Leigh, he said: “I could do with a swig from your flask, old boy. The water here is colder than at home.” Angus handed him his flask. Holding the rug with his left hand, Freddy Ward raised the flask with his right.

  It was at this moment that Louis pounced. Nobody had observed his approach. He snatched at the rug and Freddy Ward was exposed, standing naked, head thrown back, drinking from the flask.

  “He did look extremely indecent,” said someone who had been present at the picnic, recalling the incident long afterwards.

  “The Natural Leader was quick off the mark restoring the rug, though.”

  “All the same, snatching it from the garde champêtre and calling him her good man didn’t help.”

  “There might have been real trouble if the Shovehalfpennies hadn’t known about French byelaws and explained our ignorance
.”

  “Curious that they used that child—what was she called?—as interpreter. Her father was in the Indian Civil Service, wasn’t he?”

  “Anyway, what might have turned into a nasty incident was smoothed over quite amicably. Nobody laughed until the man had gone on his way.”

  “It didn’t seem terribly funny at the time.”

  “Catholic country, of course, France.”

  “I don’t suppose the children had ever seen a naked man. One didn’t in those days—”

  “I remember it had the most extraordinary cohesive effect; we all gathered round the bonfire and enjoyed our tea—”

  “I seem to remember we were all leaving for home next day. Wasn’t it the General Strike?”

  “Yes, and the end of the holidays.”

  Flora, who was one of the people who had never seen a naked man, was filled with an immense pity for Freddy Ward. It was terrible for him having that dreadful growth between his legs. No wonder he kept it hidden. She thought him extremely brave to carry on as though he was normal and to be so uncomplaining.

  SEVENTEEN

  WHEN THE NATURAL LEADER announced that it was time for the little ones to go home, everyone was secretly pleased. The little ones, charming and tractable earlier in the day, were fretful; parents were glad to collect picnic baskets, bathing dresses, towels, buckets, spades and passionately collected seaweed and shells, and head for the charabanc. They looked forward to the relief of their children in bed, a long drink before dinner, and quiet packing before tomorrow’s journey.

  “Come with us,” said Cosmo to Flora. “Help us fetch our surprise from the bus. You are not going back, are you?”

  “Of course she isn’t,” said Blanco. “I need her for my message in Russian to Cousin Thing. She can dictate it phonetically, can’t you, Flora?”

  “I don’t think it’s a very kind idea,” said Flora surprisingly.

  “I am not a very kind person, nor is my cousin, but you will do it because I ask you to.” Blanco held Flora’s arm. He was about to pinch or twist it when, catching the eye of Felix who was walking abreast, he desisted, saying, “What about it, Flora?”

  Flora muttered, “All right, Hubert,” thinking that if she told him the words for “I hope you are happy and blessed,” which she happened to know in Russian, Blanco was unlikely to discover the difference.

  “Your parents are going back with the smallest children,” said Felix. “Do not forget that you promised me a dance.”

  “Dance?” said Cosmo.

  “I have my gramophone, I left it with the driver, and a box of records. I thought dancing would be good.”

  “A great idea,” said Blanco. “Have you got the Charleston?”

  “Of course.”

  Flora watched her parents strolling ahead.

  “We could visit the casino after dinner for the last time,” suggested Vita. “Our next chance of a casino will be in Calcutta next winter.”

  “And the child?” Denys glanced over his shoulder.

  “Looks as though she is staying. She’ll be all right, with Mrs. Leigh to keep an eye on her. Mind you behave yourself,” Vita said to Flora. Flora did not reply but disengaged her arm from Blanco. They stood watching the Natural Leader shepherd the little children and their exhausted parents into the charabanc. Vita and Denys, without waiting to be shepherded, had claimed the seat behind the driver, apart from the melee. The driver started the engine and engaged the gears with a crash and the charabanc lurched away. As it gathered speed the watchers heard a ragged rendition of

  “Show me the way to go home,

  I’m tired and I want to go to bed,”

  led by the Natural Leader’s strong contralto.

  “Your parents will really enjoy that,” said Cosmo. “Now let’s find our box of surprises.” He went with Blanco to claim the cardboard box they had brought from St. Malo, while Felix collected the gramophone and records. Flora dived under the charabanc to pull out her wicker basket from where it had been reposing in the shade. “What have you got in there?” Felix asked curiously.

  “Langoustes.”

  “What?”

  “Crawfish.”

  “Gosh! Where d’you get them?”

  “Jules heard about the picnic and sent them to me.”

  “Who is Jules?” asked Blanco.

  “He keeps a café in St. Malo and is her—”

  “Her what?”

  “My friend,” said Flora, opening the basket to make sure that all was well.

  Felix, Cosmo and Blanco stared in admiration at scarlet langoustes reclining on a bed of seaweed, packed round a jar of mayonnaise. “What a brilliant contribution,” said Cosmo. “Clever little Flora!”

  Flora blushed.

  “Let me help you carry it.” Felix took one of the handles. “Did your parents know?”

  “Oh no,” said Flora. “No.”

  “They might have stayed on if they had,” said Blanco. Flora shot him a look.

  Back at the beach Mabs, Tashie and Joyce had rebuilt the fire, and parties were returning from exploratory trips up the valley with fresh fuel, branches of furze and dry sticks. Mrs. MacNeice had put potatoes to roast in the hot ash; her husband was busy with the wine and a corkscrew. Elizabeth and Anne contrived a spit for Felix’s chickens and set them to roast.

  Everybody exclaimed in approbation when they saw the langoustes, and Rosa held out a hand to Flora, saying: “Sit near me, Flora, have a glass of wine. You deserve it.”

  With the departure of the very young, Flora’s parents and the Stubbs family, the picnic entered a fresh phase; people achieved a second wind, grew more relaxed, more intimate. As it grew dark they gathered round the fire to feast and, presently, when they had eaten the delicious langoustes, the not very successfully roasted chickens, the sausages, the pate and salad, and filled in corners with cheese and fruit, they started asking riddles and telling jokes. The fire flared up with salty blue flames and the driftwood crackled and spat. There were bursts of laughter and ripples of merriment as Cosmo told limericks which were capped by Joyce, and with her tongue loosened by wine Flora dictated a message in Russian to Blanco, who wrote it on the back of an envelope borrowed from Felix. Then, “I say!” cried Tashie or Mabs (the two girls were indistinguishable in people’s memories of that period), “what happened to those frightful open tarts?”

  “Open tarts? Open tarts?” the boys asked, laughing as at some brilliant witticism. “Tarts? What tarts?” Some of the adolescent boys were a little tipsy by now and repeated the word, finding it both humorous and risqué. “You know. What the sahib and memsahib brought from the patisserie, those tans. What we thought would get full of sand, those tarts. What happened to them?”

  Nobody knew and after eating so much nobody cared. “Perhaps they ate them themselves? They went off on their own,” a boy persisted, “for a little quelque chose behind the rocks.”

  “Enough of that,” growled Freddy Ward. “Their child is here.”

  Hurling himself into the breach, Angus Leigh cried, “And so she is! Now I must tell you the story of the lady at the King of Egypt’s ball. She had an extremely décolleté dress and very large you-know-whats. Have you heard this one, Rosa? Stop me if you have—”

  “Here we go,” Mabs and Cosmo groaned. “Go, go, go.”

  “Well, when she was presented to His Majesty she dropped a deep curtsy—”

  “Dropped a deep curtsy,” sang Mabs and Cosmo.

  “—and out popped from her bodice her beautiful breasts, and the King said—”

  “Mais, Madame, il ne faut pas perdre ces belles choses comme ci comme ça etcetera,” chorused Mabs and Cosmo.

  “Oh, you are rotten,” said their father, laughing, and Rosa, leaning towards him, said, “I seem to remember you first heard that from Jef years and years ago, and he learned it from his father.”

  “Ah, Rosa, once we were young. How Jef would have enjoyed this picnic,” and as Rosa and Angus remembered her h
usband, Flora’s possible embarrassment was saved and Jef’s children Felix, Elizabeth and Anne looked at one another and said, “Father never told that sort of story.”

  They had all eaten so much and joked so much that there came a lull; people fell silent, sitting and sprawling round the fire which was sinking low, glowing red with only the occasional spit of blue. A few yards away the tide turned, sighing as each small wave whispered up the sand a little less optimistically than the last. Out at sea an orange moon came surging up, and all the people gathered round the dying fire on the last day of April 1926 sat gaping as miraculously it changed from orange to gold to silver, swinging up into a cobalt sky.

  Then Mabs and Tashie, breaking the silence, sang:

  Au clair de la lune

  Mon ami Pierrot,

  Prête-moi ta plume

  Pour l’amour de Dieu,

  Ma chandelle est morte,

  Je n’ai plus de feu;

  Prete-moi ta plume

  Pour l’amour de Dieu.

  Years later, at the moment of his death, Felix would remember those young voices and the recollection of their purity would purge him of his fear, but at the time he cried out: “What about a dance?”

  Felix wound his gramophone and put a record on the turntable. Soon they were dancing on the flattened grass round the fire, and some with more temerity barefoot by the edge of the sea.

  Blanco danced the Charleston with Joyce, who danced freely, kicking and twisting; there was no time to notice her teeth. Angus danced with Rosa and his wife. Felix danced with Mabs, Tashie, Joyce, Elizabeth and Anne. Cosmo danced with anyone who would risk their toes.

  Felix had the Charleston, foxtrots quick and foxtrots slow. Everybody danced. Then, winding up the gramophone, he put on a record of a Viennese waltz and only the older people could remember how to waltz, which they did while their children watched, applauding. Felix, snatching Flora by the hand, said: “You promised to keep me a dance,” and half-carrying her, for she was small and light, said, “Put your arms round my neck,” and whirled away with her along the edge of the sea until the record stopped when he put her down and said, “That was good, wasn’t it?” and Flora said nothing, how could she? She had thought he had forgotten her, but he had remembered.