It was the first glorious weekend in May, the girls’ first Saturday afternoon off in a month. However this morning was filled with a special air of expectation. It took two long weeks of continuous pleading and cajoling until they had finally persuaded poor old Alton to ferry them to town in lordship’s new mechanical lorry. Though Alton was not yet entirely confident with its entire operation, “too many levers and gears for these old hands,” nonetheless in a moment of weakness he had finally succumbed to their request, albeit most reluctantly. Now that the morning finally arrived, he was surely regretting that decision.
Lord Knowles had purchased the vehicle more as a statement of his abiding confidence in the new Austin Motor Company than any real consideration for better operations of the household. On its arrival he immediately passed it over to poor Alton on the simple premise that as the senior liveryman he would be able to master its curious technical challenges.
According to his lordship’s resolute financial advisor in London Austin was a “very promising new enterprise with great potential in the budding automobile industry.” This strong endorsement resonated with his lordship especially on learning that the army had secretly agreed to acquire two-dozen of the same vehicles confident that they would provide more reliable transport for both men and material. Following confirmation from a pair of his cronies in Whitehall, Lord Knowles had immediately purchased a sizable number of priority shares in Austin. He then became entirely convinced that parading his new lorry throughout the county would do wonders to promote his investment.
Maggie and Rose were giddy as schoolgirls as they raced to finish dressing. Their black laced work-shoes and soiled aprons had been tossed recklessly into the back of their tiny closet certain that Mrs. Beechly would not bother to inspect their quarters in any detail this morning, after all it had been Beechly’s glowing review to Mr. Williams that had freed the girls for their afternoon escapade.
They executed their plan with military precision. Each had already rehearsed wearing the dress, gloves, shoes and hat for this warm spring day in town. There would be no confusion about presentable attire for church - this day was exclusively about defining a delightful personal style.
Maggie had chosen her ankle-length pale blue chiffon with faux pearl buttons and ivory lace at the cuffs and collar. She loved the swirl of its material and thrilled at the thought of the stir its snug fit would set off from the throngs of young men who would stand aside to let her pass. She paused briefly, bit her lower lip in expectation, tossed her bonnet to the corner chair and shook her long chestnut brown hair free to fall around her face and neck. She then stepped forward to the tiny worn mirror to quickly smooth it back with an old pearl handled brush - three crinkled hair-pins would hold it all in place and allow the world to inhale the full depth of her riveting smile. She pinched both cheeks and flashed herself a quick wink. This was to be her moment and she was determined to seize it.
Rose selected her full-length soft golden taffeta skirt with an ivory chemise and a matching gray and gold corduroy demi jacket. Yellow she knew always favoured her hazel eyes and high cheekbones. She’d pinned her auburn hair up and back in the latest fashion that she’d copied from a drawing in a borrowed catalogue and capped it with an elegant little pillbox hat - a fusion of rusty lace and green ribbon.
For these two young women this was a breakout event, a wonderful celebration of passing seventeen with an exciting adventure. They giggled as they saluted the mirror and sprinted down the back stairs and into the kitchen. When they raced toward the rear exit they barely acknowledged Mrs. Beechly’s distant exasperation, “Please girls, there will be no running in this house - this is not a gymnasium!” They slowed briefly to a canter and then picked up the pace as they poured out the rear door and mad-dashed across the courtyard toward their elderly prince and his huffing mechanical coach.
Running up beside the snarling green monster Rose paused just long enough to allow Maggie to climb on board ahead of her. She then turned to the woman who had championed them in their moment of crisis and embraced her with a quick kiss on her left cheek. “Thanks ever so Mum, you really saved the day.”
“Just you make sure to be back no later than quarter of five,”
“No worries, Miz Quayle,” Maggie shouted over the low groans of the broiling beast, “We’ll be back in loads of time, promise.”
“And save us some of that lovely pudding will you please, Mum,” Rose implored, “We’ll be starving when we get back.”
After two attempts, Rose finally managed to slam the metal door fully closed. The girls then nestled in as best they could next to Mr. Alton on the lorry’s luxurious front bench. Neither had ever been close enough to even sit on a motorized vehicle before let alone ride in one. Beaming, they turned toward each other and laughed aloud, both confident that this would be a day they’d never forget. They paused just long enough to inhale the luxurious aroma of the polished black leather seats and the bewildering array of gauges and levers on the dashboard. The motor gurgled more than it purred as it slumbered in neutral, awaiting the next command. Alton nodded, tugged the goggles down from his cap, depressed the clutch and with much grinding and some muttered swearing finally persuaded the shifter into gear. Immediately the graceless steel box lurched forward and began to lumber and chug its way out through the back gates toward the main road. The girls laughed and turned back to wave toward Mrs. Quayle, who stood hands on hips, her battle-spoon sheathed at her side. She returned the wave, shook her head and muttered, “Mother of God, save us all.”
Ever the Boy Scout Alton planned their journey as meticulously as if they were off on a worldwide expedition to the far reaches of West Africa or Outer Mongolia. Today’s challenge to Alton was indeed formidable. Their route to the local village would take them over six dusty, raucous miles along a heavily worn and deeply rutted road. His mission was to acquire a number of important supplies that had been penciled in order on a flap of worn out wallpaper. Leading his list was new harness for the dairy wagon, six sacks of barley seed and a month’s supply of feed supplements for that herd of Jerseys that patrol the back pastures of the estate. Poor Alton never could comprehend why with all that lovely great range of grassland meadows those cows should ever require food supplements. “Ours is not wonder why, ours is but to do and die,” the words of his late grandfather always quoted. He made the turn onto the road, pushed again on the accelerator lever and pointed the nose of the lorry forward toward town. “We’re off!” He called out and the girls squealed with delight.
* * *
‘Rack and Ruin’
Danny and Phil were renowned throughout the village as a matched pair of young hooligans looking for their next round of trouble. They were fast developing a reputation about the village as a pair of ruffians, clearly over charged by testosterone and blessed with very little common sense. Both barely past sixteen, they constantly sought out some minor mischief, which made them irksome but never quite criminal. Together they had twice before appeared before a magistrate though there had not yet been a charge or complaint serious enough to render a formal charge. However most of the local merchants were convinced these lads were well on the road to ruin. Although they shared a common passion for challenging the conventions of local society, the boys had arrived at this spot from two entirely different directions.
Danny had been ejected from St. Mildred’s Charity School as quickly as the law would allow, an escape he had finally made good on his fourteenth birthday.
For as many years as he could recall he had suffered through as much righteous catechism and rigid repetition as they could dish out. A sadistic squad of mean spirited matrons and duplicitous deacons had stuffed him past full with the ‘vital rudiments’ required by the diocesan board, a congress of “the steadfast administrators of the faith” who had contrived and supervised his Christian education. Their vision of appropriate godliness and enlightenment for society’s unwanted was entirely based on an absolute commitment to the righteous preservation of God, King and Empire.
To be sure there was no reluctance to see him go. From earliest days