Mrs Waghorn was a small quiet lady with blue hair. Not bright blue but a pastel shade, which some hairdressers think is nice. She was very kind to people, to make up for her husband shouting so loudly.
Mrs Waghorn liked washing up better than anything and, when Grimble and David Sebastian Waghorn had stood for a minute or two whispering to each other, she put on some rubber gloves and went off to do the dishes with a lovely smile on her face.
Grimble and David Sebastian Waghorn went off to the sitting room to inspect a new book called Party Tricks, which Mr Waghorn had given his son as a non-birthday present. They lay on the floor and started to look for something which, the book promised, would "confuse and delight friends and family".
One of the best tricks in the book was: Take a pack of cards which everyone will think is a real pack, but only you know that all the cards are queens of spades. Ask someone to pick a card, to look at it and put it back into the pack; then shuffle the cards, pretend to examine them carefully and take one from the pack. Naturally this will be the queen of spades. People will think you very clever.
"I wonder how often you can play that trick on the same person," Grimble said. "After you have shown someone a different queen of spades half a dozen times, I think they could get suspicious . . ."
"You know something," said Grimble. "There are fifty-two different cards in the pack. Suppose they are not all queens of spades but just ordinary cards and you went up to fifty-two different people and said, 'Take a card. Put it back. It was the queen of spades.' Unless you are terribly unlucky at least one of them will have taken the queen of spades and be very impressed and those who took one of the other queens will be fairly impressed. The rest of the people won't be very impressed. Do you think that is a good trick?"
"No," said David Sebastian Waghorn. "Actually the best sort of trick is when there are two of us against one of them. Suppose I give my mother a pack of cards from which she picks one and puts it back. You could be standing behind her as she looks at it and then you can signal to me and tell me what card she took."
"That is a very good idea indeed," said Grimble.
"If we worked hard on that we could go into business together as Grimble and Waghorn, Conjurers to the Nobility; and if things went well and we learned more than one trick we might appear on a Royal Variety Programme and be By Appointment Grimble and Waghorn."
"Or Waghorn and Grimble sounds quite nice," suggested David Sebastian Waghorn.
"I was taking the names in alphabetical order," said Grimble. "G comes before W."
"All right," said David Sebastian Waghorn, "let's practise our trick."
"Cards are either spades, hearts, diamonds or clubs – so when you see which card has been taken you signal; S is for spades and shirt so you point to your shirt. C is for clubs and collar. He is for heart and hair and D is for diamonds and . . . and . . . dustbin?"
"How are we going to find a dustbin?" asked Grimble.
"A very sensible remark," said David Sebastian Waghorn.
"What else begins with a D?"
After quite a lot of discussion they decided David Sebastian Waghorn began with a D, and if Grimble did the signalling he should point to David and if David did it he should point to himself, only be sure not to point to his hair, collar or shirt or the trick would go wrong.
When it came to actual cards, they decided to hold up fingers for the numbered cards – ace to ten and hold up the right fist for jack, the left fist for queen and both fists for king. They practised the trick for quite a long time before going into the kitchen to try it on Mrs Waghorn.
"I say," began Grimble, "I wonder whether you would like us to show you rather a clever trick."
Mrs Waghorn said she would like to see it, especially if she could do it without taking her washing-up gloves off.
"Well," said Grimble, "they are your cards but the trick would go better with bare hands."
So Mrs Waghorn took off her gloves and David Sebastian stood behind her and Grimble held out the pack and said, "Take a card. Look at it. Put it back. Now," said Grimble, "I am going to tell you what card it was."
David Sebastian Waghorn started signalling furiously. First he touched his nose, then he held up his right fist, then suddenly he changed his mind, pulled down his right fist and held up his left fist, and his mother turned around and said. "If you are going to hit me I shall be very angry and tell your father and you know what he will do."
"Shout," said David Sebastian Waghorn, quietly.
"Now," said Grimble, "let me tell you which card you picked. It was without very much shadow of doubt the queen of diamonds. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Oh dear," said Mrs Waghorn, "I seem to think it was the nine of spades but with all those wavings from David it is very hard to concentrate. Why don't you two boys go out into the garden with a football?" And the two boys went out in the garden with a football. David Sebastian Waghorn was very angry, "The trouble about my mother is that she has no card sense. It was the queen of diamonds."
Grimble thought they ought to forget about card tricks for the moment and start on football.
They began by putting down their jackets as goalposts and playing on the same side and every time they scored a goal they hugged each other the way footballers do on television. As there were no goalkeepers they scored a lot of goals and there was more hugging than football so they gave up and went back into the house and played psychiatrists; these are a special kind of doctor who do a lot of talking.
Grimble lay on the couch and David Sebastian Waghorn sat in a chair and said "Tell me now, Mr . . . err . . . Grimble did you say your name was . . . what appears to be the matter?"
"It's Christmas . . ." said Grimble. "I have got a cake and my mother has bought a heavy parcel and there is a Christmas tree hidden in the shed and I can do a pretty pathetic conjuring trick and is it going to be enough?"
"What do you expect from this – Christmas I think you call it, Mr, err, Grimble?"
"Well," said Grimble, "I expect rather a lot. Like a brown Windsor soup or at least a fairly brown Windsor soup. And then turkey and everything and Christmas pudding and things and crackers and balloons and all that. And a cake but I've got the cake."
David Sebastian Waghorn looked very serious and said, "You are suffering from Christmeasles and may have to have a Christmasectomy. I suggest you go into the garden and try to score a goal using your right foot. That will be seven pounds and fifty-five pence."
"There is another thing I'm worried about," said Grimble. "I do not have as much money as I would like to have."
"That," said David Sebastian Waghorn, "is much more serious. In fact I do not know when I heard of a more serious disease. Do your parents talk a lot about money?"
"No," said Grimble, "hardly ever."
"Then they have enough," said David. "Can you come back next week?"
"I could," said Grimble, "but it may be too late."
For lunch they had lamb chops cooked in breadcrumbs and spinach with mashed potatoes and then a chocolate pudding and in the afternoon Mrs Waghorn took them to the cinema and for all that time Grimble completely forgot about Christmas.
But after tea Grimble began thinking again and had another look at the party-trick book. Christmas had quite long gaps between meals and if there was nothing organized, which the old Grimbles were very good at . . . I mean the old Grimbles were very good at not being organized, then it was up to Grimble to provide the entertainment.
There was quite a good trick in which you tucked a penny between your fingers and opened out your hand, and no one saw anything and then suddenly you had a penny in your hand. Grimble tried that trick a lot but finally the penny, which kept falling on the floor, rolled under the sofa, and he gave up.
Grimble left before Mr Waghorn came home – he decided he wasn't feeling strong enough to be shouted at – and when he got to his house he decided he needed something strengthening to eat, like fudge.
The night b
efore, in his fudge book, he had read that you can make fudge of any flavour you like. Now onion was a flavour Grimble liked very much and he was sure it was strengthening. Onion fudge. The words had a sort of rightness about them. Onion fudge . . . like strawberry jam or bacon sandwich.
Grimble put a saucepan on to the stove and then he found an onion and cut it in half and put it in the pan and then he went to look for some condensed milk. There was none in the larder and he couldn't find any in his father's study or in the bathroom where his mother might have left it – she used amazing things, like eggs, for washing her hair. Anyway there was no milk anywhere, but quite an interesting smell was coming from the kitchen.
He looked round and found it was coming from the saucepan . . . so he took it from the flame and when it was a bit cool he noticed that the onion had stuck to the bottom of the pan, because of the heat. By far the best way to unstick things that have burned on to pans is to pour on some water . . . so when the pan had cooled down he poured on some water and let it boil until the burned onion was loose and then, just before he threw away the water, he decided to taste it . . . he poured it into a cup, blew on it to make sure it was cool, and took a sip. It was not just golden coloured water. It was very good onion soup . . . especially when he had added some salt to it.
5. The After-Soup
Announcement
I don't suppose, said Grimble to himself, that we need have a very large turkey, but it ought to be a turkey. A pigeon put under his father's microscope might look all right, but he was sure it wouldn't taste the same.
At breakfast his father was in a very good mood.
They ate a lot of streaky bacon, which his father cooked under the grill because that way the fat ran off and the bacon became crisp, and you can eat it with your fingers. Also they read the papers. FATHER CHRISTMAS HITS CHILD IN CHEMIST SHOP said the headline in one of them.
"What on earth was Father Christmas doing in a chemist shop?" asked Grimble.
"There are two things," said his father. "Either he had a headache and was getting an aspirin, or he was stocking up with talcum powder. Nearly everyone gets talcum powder. It is one of the most giving things there is, so Father Christmas needs a lot of it."
"Does he make his own?" asked Grimble.
"This is a silly conversation," said his father. "What happened to Chelsea?"
"I do not wish to know that," said Grimble. "What is happening to Plymouth Argyle?"
They left a very neat pile of washing-up for Mrs Grimble who had gone to bed with her feet again, and Mr Grimble said "Come into the study . . . I want to talk to you."
Grimble tucked his shirt, which usually hung outside his trousers, back into his trousers and followed his father into the study. "Sit down," said Mr Grimble. It sounded quite an important meeting, so Grimble rubbed his shoes against the back of his socks to polish them and sat down.
"Well now," said his father, "I have news for you. Next Wednesday is Christmas Day."
"I know that," said Grimble. "I have known that all winter."
"Please let me continue. Next Wednesday is Christmas Day and today we are going to go to a restaurant for lunch. Do you understand?"
Grimble said he understood both things his father had said. But even if they went to the best restaurant anywhere and ate everything that restaurant sold, he would still be very hungry by next Wednesday. Unlike camels, who had a drink and could make it last for a week, human beings had to be fed daily.
"At this luncheon," said his father, ignoring Grimble, "I shall make an important announcement concerning the whole Grimble family and Christmas."
"Isn't it possible to tell me what it is now?" asked Grimble. "You see I have been worrying quite a lot about Christmas and lunch time is still hours away."
His father shook his head. "All I can tell you is that the news will be announced directly after the soup."
"Suppose we have grapefruit instead?" asked Grimble.
"No soup, no news," said his father and started twisting the globe of the world. "Second time today I have lost the Falkland Islands," he muttered. "Ah there they are. Just to the right of Patagonia," and he got a magnifying glass and examined them carefully.
Grimble went out partly happy because he liked restaurants but partly worried because he did like to know exactly what was going to happen, when it was going to happen . . . and an important family announcement after the soup was a bit too vague for comfort. Grimble found his encyclopedia and looked up turkey. "Turkey" . . . said the book: "Republican country lying partly in Asia and partly in Europe." As this was not the turkey he had in mind he looked up the next column and it said: "Turkey – large game bird with a pendent dilatable appendage on the head and a wrinkled and tuberculed neck. The male weighs up to 34 pounds." He did not understand that – except the weight part.
As the encyclopedia did not give the price, he went down the street to the butcher's shop, where there were a lot of turkeys in the window with THIS JOINT cards stuck into them and every THIS JOINT card had a price written on it.
The small turkeys cost at least two pounds fifty pence and some of the bigger ones cost much more than that. For a boy who had 119p, some tree delivery money, and an Irish 5p piece it was quite obvious that this was too expensive. With a swift decision such as Nelson, Napoleon and other leaders have had to make in their time, Grimble made up his mind: No turkey from me to the old Grimbles. They cost too much and it's not really my job . . . anyway the announcement after the soup might well make the whole idea of turkey-buying unnecessary.
On the other hand . . . on the other hand I have five fingers . . . that was David Sebastian Waghorn's joke . . . (David Sebastian Waghorn was a very funny boy.)
On the other hand he had not yet bought any real Christmas presents for his parents – the fudge he had made for them was all right but he had used their sugar and their milk and their chocolate so it was really more their present to them.
119p is a fair amount of money to spend on presents for two people so perhaps he could keep his earnings from the Christmas trees for himself. He thought about it and decided he should spend 79p on his father and 40p on his mother. Then he thought that was a bit mean; his mother had been very good to him about the welsh rarebits, so he made it 69 and 50. His mother ought to have something for her feet and his father some arrows that would stick to the globe, so that he could find places again when he was looking for them.
He went into a stationer's shop and there were some good red stick-on arrows in an envelope that cost 19p, and as this left exactly 50p and the shop sold a book called Grimble by Clement Freud for 25p, he bought two. He thought it was a jolly good name for a book.
For his mother he bought four 121/2p tins of talcum powder, one smelling of lavender, one of violets, one of roses and one of French fern. They did not have any onion talcum powder. He asked and the chemist said not.
Back in the Grimble household, preparations for going out to the restaurant were in full swing. Mr Grimble had put a dust sheet over his globe, combed his hair, and put on a pair of purple socks. As neither of the Grimbles drove a car (in fact the Grimbles did not have a car) a taxi had been ordered to take them to the bus stop. It was going to be a really proper outing.
The restaurant to which the Grimbles went was called The French Restaurant. All the waiters were Italian and the chef was Indian. He sometimes came in and watched people eat to make sure they did not leave anything on their plates, and when they had finished he would turn to the waiters and say, "There, I was right."
A man with a long finger came up to the Grimbles and said, "Follow my finger," and he held it up and they followed it to a table. Then the man gave them a menu and went away.
After a while he came back with a piece of paper and a pencil, to write down what they had chosen to eat. Grimble ordered vegetable soup and some roast chicken and bacon and fried onion and spinach. His parents said prawn cocktail and duck, both of them. He thought that was a waste. If they were both g
oing to have the same things, they could have had it at home. Restaurants were for being different in.
When he had finished his soup and his father had finally got hold of the last prawn in the cocktail glass and swallowed it, he gave a small cough and said, "Here is the Christmas announcement. At half past three tomorrow afternoon the Grimble household will leave for Africa by taxi and bus and then by train and boat. We shall spend Christmas on the SS Particular, which is a very luxurious kind of passenger ship with nine out of ten for roast turkey and the best Christmas-pudding maker in the Mediterranean Sea. I expect you have heard of Particular Christmas pudding."
"On Boxing Day we arrive in Ifni, which is at the top end of the Sahara desert and we will take sand samples, which I need very badly for my work. We will then fly home."
"In an aeroplane?" asked Grimble.
"I have always felt that to be the best way to fly," said his father.
The chicken and the duck then arrived and the waiter got all the vegetables wrong.
"It is going to be an absolutely marvellous Christmas," said Grimble. "It is going to be the best Christmas I have ever had, I know it is."
"There are," said his father, "one or two things I feel I should tell you. While the good ship Particular 's chef is a master in the art of making Christmas puddings he has absolutely no idea about the manufacture of Christmas cake. I should have bought a Christmas cake and taken it with us – but I regret that it is now too late. It is very sad, but I only thought about this on the bus."
Grimble turned a bit red and said, "It so happens that I have a Christmas cake ready and iced and rather looking forward to going to Africa."
His parents looked at him with great admiration.
"It also happens," said Grimble, "that my presents to you are very small and light and they will be most suitable to be brought back on an aeroplane."
Grimble at Christmas Page 3
