Greetings Noble Sir

by Nigel Flaxton

  ‘Thought you’d overslept.’ Rocky dashed past me, looking hot. I followed to where Miss Rees was talking to staff and parents in the final briefing session. She was also issuing uniforms, the aprons which Miss Shenton had suggested and which Miss Rees’s class had made. They were yellow and each had a large deep pocket across the front. I must have registered my awkwardness as I tried to tie mine behind my back, watched by Taff and Wilf.

  ‘Makes a lovely kangaroo, doesn’t he? said Taff.

  I grabbed something from a table and threw it at him. It was a women’s hat.

  ‘Now you men, stop fooling about. Put that back, Mr Flaxton, quickly. Get to your places everyone.’

  We moved behind the tables and dutifully took up our positions. She surveyed us like a Victorian store proprietor.

  ‘Right, Mr Hughes. Open the door.’

  Taff, who had been appointed to this duty, walked to the single door which was the entrance to the hall. He opened it fully, walked through, then I heard him pull back the bolts on the outside door which was close by. The hubbub of voices which we could hear through the closed windows rose in tone, then stopped suddenly. The outside door banged open and Taff sprinted in and dived under a table to reach his side of the counter. He was very closely followed by an army of charging women, supported by a sprinkling of men, a few teenagers and some of our own school children. I gasped as all hell broke loose in front of me. Within seconds the room was filled with people grabbing clothes, waving their arms to be served, fitting garments on to struggling children. I saw Taff’s bike being lifted over the counter to outstretched arms and later he confirmed it had been sold within the first thirty seconds. I caught sight of Leslie’s red hair weaving in and out waist high to women who completely ignored him in their efforts to snatch bargains. He had a left shoe in his hand and he seemed to be trying to find its partner.

  ‘Have you lost the other one? I called.

  ‘No Sir,’ he shouted back. ‘This is me own one - I’m tryin’ ter find a pair the same size. Ah, them’ll do.’

  He seized his prize and disappeared earthwards. I was sure he would be trampled underfoot. There was no hope of seeing him over the counter so I stooped to look underneath in the hope of glimpsing him among the struggling mass of legs. But my face stopped within inches of his; he was sitting underneath the table calmly trying on his shoes in comparative peace. He grinned as he saw my upturned face.

  ‘Ow about them, Sir, they fit me a treat! ‘Ow much are they?’

  I jumped up, looked at the counter, then bent down again. ‘2/6d - and cheap at the price.’

  ‘Go, on, Sir, lemme ‘ave ‘em for two bob.’ I felt he knew me far too well.

  ‘Alright, you rascal - but don’t till Miss Rees.’

  ‘Coo, ta, Sir. Ta - ra - see yer Monday.’

  The last I saw of him was the rapidly receding seat of his pants as he crawled agilely through the forest of legs. I stood up and put the single florin coin in the pocket of my apron. As I did so the extreme size of the pouch mocked me for I could see the other members of staff already with garments sagging under the weight of their takings. They were selling things and taking money at great speed, keeping up a flow of repartee, as though they had spent their lives on market stalls. By contrast I felt awkward and completely out of place. I looked hard at the front row of buyers to see if anyone needed help but everyone was intent upon the job in hand. For all the use I was, I felt I could walk out there and then and no one would notice.

  I guessed it was only a matter of time before one of the others spotted my inactivity, so I decided to resort to cunning. I had learnt in the Forces that when I was in charge of a group of men in a situation which was quite beyond me the best ploy was to appear very busy. Then hardly anyone would ask me to do something or even ask me a question. They just used their own initiative which absolved me from having to make decisions about matters in which I had no experience.

  I began tidying up the counters where grabbing hands had turned the neat rows of items into muddled piles. Then I dashed into the stock room to bring out more stuff to be sold. As I did so, the noise of the crowd rose excitedly as they realised there were new chances of bargains. I found it impossible to lay things out. As soon as I dumped the pile in my arms on to the counter it was pounced upon. Rocky and Miss. Rees watched carefully and called out prices as the goods were snatched up.

  I could see Mr Brand sitting quietly in Miss Shenton’s room beyond the crush, ready to receive cash, so I suggested relieving Rocky of some of hers.

  ‘Sure, Nigel, this apron’ll be round my ankles in a minute. Here you are.’

  She grabbed a paper bag and stuffed it with a lot of coins. ‘Go on, take that to the Boss, I’ll keep the rest as change.’

  In the classroom Mr Brand was sitting at a table near the teachers’ desk with neat piles of new cash bags and bank account slips. The tranquility of the room and its occupant seemed worlds apart from the rampage in the hall.

  ‘Ah, the first of the takings. Good, tip your bag out here, Mr Flaxton.’ I complied and with practised swiftness Mr Brand swept the coins into piles which he arranged neatly at the front of the table. I retreated and collected more from each of the others in turn, realising that as a fetcher and carrier I had found a job which effectively kept me away from the task of selling, at which I was completely incompetent. I contrived to be quite efficient for once.

  Then, suddenly, the hall emptied. It was quite remarkable. One minute the crowd was pushing and struggling as it had been since the beginning, then there was a great deal of space with only a few stragglers half-heartedly turning things over on the counter. Minutes later even these disappeared. I was puzzled, and looked at my watch. It was a quarter to eleven. I was wondering whether the scenes of the last three quarters of an hour represented a kind of first onslaught when Miss Browning said with obvious relief,

  ‘Good, that didn’t take too long. Come on Mr Flaxton, you’ve been a very good beast of burden, finish the job off, will you, and take what’s left back to the stock room.’

  ‘Isn’t it rather early for that....I mean, won’t there be more customers?’

  ‘Good lord, no,’ said Rocky. ‘Everyone wants to get in at the beginning. It’s no good coming later, anything worth having has gone by then. No, it’s all over. We can clear up and go home.’

  Although I felt relieved as I cycled up the long incline which took me towards my Saturday lunch, for which I now had a hefty appetite, nevertheless I brooded upon the next new experience which loomed. No doubt the Sale had been very successful for the piles of cash had grown rapidly in front of Mr Brand and I felt sure we were well on the way to buying the strip. But the Whist Drives were still to come. Having planned these, six in all, we had to continue with them. I knew my knowledge of these events was also less than one degree above absolute zero and wondered what further surprises were lurking.

  Chapter 34

  In every way I found the first Whist Drive a complete contrast. To begin with, we teachers had nothing to prepare. One of the parents, Mr Ollerton, was a regular player and he organised the whole evening. He borrowed card tables and Mr Trenchard, the Caretaker, arranged for chairs to be borrowed from a local church because the School only had desks with fixed seats. Parents contributed prizes in response to a letter from Mr Ollerton and Mr Brand and when I returned to School on the Thursday evening when the first Drive was arranged, I found these set out on Mr Brand’s desk in the hall. In front was a large placard showing a red diamond which I soon found was a visual aid for those people who had short memories about trumps. The hall had taken on a quite different atmosphere from daytime assemblies or the noise of indoor PT. The rows of green topped card tables each carrying a small, neat number and four chairs set around looked purposeful and, to me, rather mysterious. Packs of cards, scorecards and pencils were placed neatly on each. Havin
g never been to a Whist drive my appearance at this one was a matter of token support. Miss Browning and Miss Shenton were not coming, but the rest of the staff were and, like me, came simply to show willing. Mr Ollerton and his wife had matters thoroughly in hand. I was relieved to see that we had nothing to do this time.

  The room began to fill. But this group of people was very orderly. They came in quietly, some nodding to Mr and Mrs Ollerton as they sat down. It was obvious that most knew one another and they were regular players. Soon most of the chairs were occupied, though I could see one or two tables where there were only three occupants.

  I was propping up the wall at one end of the hall watching idly when Taff sidled up to me.

  ‘Keeping out of the way, Nigel? I don’t blame you.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing to do, is there? I mean, this chap Ollerton has got things taped. He must be used to organising Whist drives.’

  ‘Sure, and all this crowd are regulars. I don’t want to play with them if I can avoid it.’

  An unseen hand punched my stomach. ‘Play - you don’t mean we might be roped in?’

  ‘It’s possible, boyo. They need four at each table see, two pairs at each. So some of us may have to make up the numbers.’

  ‘Hell, no! I’ve never played proper Whist, only the knock-out kind. I wouldn’t know what to do with a partner.’

  ‘Mm, I’m not much better - and Melvin in my class said his Gran wants to play with me. She goes to all the drives around here and she’s a terror. That’s her over there by the door, facing this way.’

  I followed his directions and saw a thin but very tough looking woman of immense age dressed entirely in black. Wisps of hair protruded untidily beneath a black hat with a battered brim. Round this faded flowers provided the one touch of colour in a portrait of gloom. She had the lifted chin and pouting, flat lips symptomatic of a marked absence of teeth. She was made of whippy spring steel forged in the social furnace of the city.

  ‘She looks at least ninety,’ I said. ‘She couldn’t do much to you: Why does she want to play with you particularly?’

  ‘Melvin says she wants to get her own back on me because I kept him in last week when he should have been doing her shopping. When he got home the local shop was shut and she had to go without her cigarettes.’

  ‘Oh, I see. No wonder you’re in her bad books. Never mind, she’s got someone opposite her, so she’s got her partner for the evening.’

  ‘Hey, but Nigel....’

  ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ called Mr Ollerton above the discreet chatter, cutting short Taff’s reply. I’m so pleased to see plenty of you here to support the School in raising money for our youngsters’ team strips. Now it’s time to begin. I see there are two spare places. Could we have these filled by two of the teachers?’

  He looked up expectantly. Wilf at the other end of the hall actually turned away involuntarily. Taff looked at his feet and I felt myself colouring as faces turned towards me. Then I heard Miss Rees’s voice.

  ‘I’ll make up one table and I’m sure Mr Brand will fill the other.’

  I looked up sharply with both relief and surprise. ‘Yes, I don’t mind unless one of the younger men would prefer....’ said Mr Brand in his mildest tone.

  ‘No, no, Sir, you carry on by all means,’ said Taff quickly.

  ‘Good, that’s fine,’ said Mr Ollerton.

  At this point Rocky made an entrance. Her timing couldn’t have been worse. All eyes swept to the door as she came in, obviously breathless from hurrying

  ‘I do apologise, Mr Ollerton, I missed a bus.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry at all. Actually you’ve come in the nick of time. You can now make up a table with the other three men teachers, then no one will be left out. Come on, take this table, will you?’

  It wasn’t really a question and none of us had the face to refuse in front of everyone, now poised to begin. We sat down quickly, glad at least to be out of the general gaze. Though intensely worried about making a fool of myself in another unknown pursuit, I consoled myself with the thought that at least we were all together at one table. Rocky had sat down opposite me so we would be partners. At least I shouldn’t have to pretend with her; she was becoming well used to my incompetence.

  Mr Ollerton offered a pack of cards to Miss Rees who had sat at a table near to him. Obviously she knew what to do because she cut the pack and showed him an upturned card.

  ‘Spades are trumps”, he announced, and flipped over his chart. At our table Rocky took the pack and dealt at speed.

  ‘Good dealer, signs of a misspent youth,’ said Wilf. She grinned.

  ‘I’ll take you on at this any day you like.’

  I felt the punch again. ‘Er, that means you’ve played before, I assume?’

  ‘Good lord, yes,’. She looked up with disbelief. ‘Nigel, you don’t mean you haven’t played Whist before? What have you been doing all your life?’

  I felt I had to defend myself. ‘Ah, now if this were Pontoon it’d be a different matter.’

  ‘Pooh - that’s only an excuse for gambling. This needs intelligence.’

  ‘That’s what we’re worried about,’ quipped Taff.

  Silence descended so suddenly that I couldn’t avoid looking round expecting that something weird had occurred. But everywhere I saw only players intent upon their cards. I felt a sudden kick on my shin and swung round to see Rocky gesticulating at a card on the table. It was a four of hearts. I looked at my hand.- I had a three and an ace. After fractional hesitation I whipped out the ace, slapped it smartly on the table, and sat back. A twinge of confidence emerged in my brain and I looked at Rocky. Her expression extinguished it immediately. During the next few minutes the expression was repeated frequently, It began with a longish look at whatever card I played, rather as though she was seeing it for the first time in her life and wasn’t sure what it was. Then she would look directly at me. Whenever I looked at her with what I hoped was a reasonably confident expression, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. I remember thinking how attractively impish she looked. But I also got the impression she wasn’t entirely happy with my play and this feeling was reinforced by the occasional giggle which bubbled to the surface from either Taff or Wilfred.

  At the end of the hand we had four tricks, and they had nine. Suddenly the room relaxed, and a buzz of conversation rippled around the tables.

  ‘Ah, well, could have been worse,’ I said to Rocky.

  ‘Worse? Nigel, you idiot! We could have had at least three more tricks. For heaven’s sake watch what you’re doing next time. If you ignore your partner some of these people will want to carve you into little pieces.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ I tried to look contrite. ‘I’ll try to do better next time. You’d better explain where I go wrong after each hand. I’ll soon pick it up.’

  ‘Me explain? We shan’t meet again: You’ve got to move to another table. Partners change after each hand.’

  This time my stomach was pummelled. I staggered to my feet and groped towards the chair Rocky indicated at a nearby table. I flopped down opposite a large woman with flaccid cheeks and an expression cast in concrete. Not a muscle moved as I slithered into my chair. My ancient loathing of Paul Jones dances rose from my subconscious and refused to go back again for the rest of the evening.

  It was ghastly. Halfway through the next hand the woman who had to suffer me as partner gave vent to a high pitched squeak loud enough to make a number of heads turn disapprovingly. I glanced furtively over my fan of cards which I was deploying geisha-like to hide my face. But her expression never varied.

  At the end of the hand I was on the losing side again and once again moved to another table. In fact that was the story of much of the evening. I suppose it was due to the law of averages that I was on the winning side occasionally. When t
his happened I tried to look nonchalant, as though everything that had happened earlier had been pure bad luck. But even my winning partners seemed to look at me with strange, wild expressions. But, incompetent though I was, no one criticised me openly, - for which I was truly grateful. I am sure it wasn’t from deference to me as a teacher. Nor was it because the players were doing the whole thing in a good cause and therefore weren’t taking the game too seriously. They were in earnest right enough. It was just that it seemed to be inviolate etiquette that no one spoke during play and after each hand there was no time for post-mortems. Mr Ollerton moved us all on too quickly for that, usually to my intense relief.

  There was one moment which came as a notable and particularly memorable exception to the unwritten rule. Fate decreed that Melvin’s Gran and Taff Hughes became partners half way through the evening. I caught his eye as he sat down and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. I smirked inwardly, selfishly pleased that he was in the hot seat, not me. Anyway I knew he had enough Welsh granite in his soul to withstand her.

  Silence descended as usual, to be broken by the occasional flick of a card being laid, or the odd nervous cough. The colour rose in my cheeks with equal normality as I selected a card, then had second thoughts, put it back, changed my mind and brought it out. Then I held it up, poised, cogitating whether to let it go. My partner of the moment seemed to be turning slightly purple, so I did. I was pleased to see his colour drain away.

  Suddenly across the hall steel struck on granite.

  ‘You young bugger - you’ve trumped my bloody ace,’ yelled Gran without the slightest hint of etiquette.

  For a split second the silence continued as heads shot round to where Taff was facing his partner. Then the room erupted with helpless laughter. His bland expression seemed so incongruous as she half stood and brandished her cards over her head like Boudicca sweeping down on unsuspecting Romans. All she needed was a chariot.