Cast the First Stone (10 page)

‘Of course I do, Dave,' she said. ‘And I promise I'll tell them. Anyway, we've got the rest of our time here, haven't we?' She didn't want to think yet about going home. And she knew it was going to be a fantastic time.

‘Yes, sure,' he replied. ‘And it seems as though we're being allowed more freedom than we expected. It's a good job that the Reverend Amos isn't here!'

‘You're not kidding,' laughed Fiona. ‘Come on; we'd better be heading back.'

They retraced their steps, walking quickly towards where the coach would be waiting.

‘What wonderful sights have they in store for us this afternoon?' asked Dave.

‘St Paul's Cathedral, isn't?' replied Fiona. ‘Another church, you might know. But I must admit I was very impressed by Westminster Abbey.'

‘Same here,' agreed Dave. ‘Here we are, and we're not the last, thank goodness.'

In a few moments they were all assembled, chattering excitedly as the coach drew up with Mike at the wheel and Rita sitting on the seat next to him.

‘All aboard,' he called and after a quick head count they were off again.

Christopher Wren's achievements had reached their peak in his plans for the rebuilding of St Paul's Cathedral. Following the Great Fire of London in 1666 the medieval cathedral had been left in ruins.

Standing near to the statue of Queen Anne they gazed in wonder at the great dome, one of the largest in the world, second only to St Peter's in Rome, and at the west front towers, one on each side that perfectly complemented the dome.

Once inside they could see that the dome was just as spectacular viewed from the nave of the church. Gilded arches led up to the dome with its carvings of apostles and painted scenes depicting the life of St Paul. Some of them climbed up to the Whispering Gallery with its strange acoustics that enabled you to hear a whisper from the other side of the dome, just as though the speaker were standing next to you. The young people were too intimidated, though, to whisper any more than, ‘Hello, how are you?' or other such trite comments. After all they were inside a church!

There were monuments a-plenty; not so many, though, as in the smaller abbey. A bust of Lawrence of Arabia; the tomb of John Dunne, poet and a former dean of St Paul's; and memorials to the Duke of Wellington, Lord Nelson and Lord Kitchener. The most moving tribute was the tomb to Wren himself; a simple marble slab inscribed with the words, ‘Reader, if you seek a memorial look all around you.'

They all agreed that St Paul's Cathedral was impressive, far more grand than Westminster Abbey, but it failed to move them in the way that the more intimate feel of the abbey had done.

Not far away was the stone column called the Monument. That, also, had been designed by Sir Christopher Wren to commemorate the Great Fire. It was 2005 feet high, said to be the tallest stone column in the world. They climbed, a few at a time, up the 311 steps that led to the viewing platform at the top. The views all around were splendid. The dome of St Paul's; the Tower of London and Tower Bridge; the Houses of Parliament and Buckingham Palace; in the distance the hills of Hampstead and Highgate; and winding through the city the silver ribbon of the River Thames.

Their way back led along Fleet Street, home of the newspaper giants; the Strand, Trafalgar Square, then back along the Embankment and across Westminster Bridge. Then there was time for a wash and brush-up before the evening meal.

That evening would be their first visit to the Battersea Pleasure Gardens. Sightseeing was enjoyable and informative, but tonight, they hoped, there would be a chance to let their hair down.

Battersea Park had originally been opened in 1858 on the site known as Battersea Fields, a swampy area notorious for every kind of vice, centred around a disreputable public house called the Old Red House.

It was soon considered necessary for Victorian Londoners to have somewhere to relax and enjoy themselves in a respectable setting; and, indeed, the new park soon became very popular. It boasted a man-made boating lake, rocks, waterfalls and laid-out gardens, and it became a very popular venue for the new craze of cycling, enjoyed by many Victorians, both young and older.

And in the summer of 1951 the park became the site for the Festival Funfair in what became known as the Battersea Pleasure Gardens. It afforded a spot of light relief from the more cultural and educational aspects of the Festival itself on its site further down the river.

To Fiona and her friends their visit to the Pleasure Gardens promised to be one of the highlights of their visit to London, if not the best of all. After another satisfying evening meal of steak pie and chips followed by syrup sponge pudding, they all piled on to the coach again, ready for Mike to drive them to the park. After he had stopped the coach at the entrance he told them they must be back in the same spot by half past ten and no later. This was the directive given by Colin and Sheila, who considered they were being quite lenient. None of the young people disagreed. They all thought that their leaders were granting them far more freedom than they had been led to expect. They had, of course, been given a little pep talk about behaving themselves and acting in a responsible manner, ‘. . . because we trust you,' Colin had said, ‘and we know that none of you will let us down.'

The Funfair was all that they had expected, and more, no doubt because they were all in a happy and receptive frame of mind, determined to enjoy themselves to the full. It was all there; dodgem cars; roundabouts; coconut shies and sideshows; ice-cream and candyfloss; hot dogs and lemonade; and a switchback ride.

‘Not as big as the Big Dipper at Blackpool Pleasure Beach,' Dave remarked, ‘but it should be good fun all the same. Shall we go on it, Fiona?'

‘Er . . . yes; perhaps in a little while,' she replied. She was feeling mesmerized, but very happy amidst all the dazzling sights and the mixed aromas of frying sausages, sweet candyfloss and pungent diesel oil, and all around the blaring sound of the mechanical music. She had never been on Blackpool's Big Dipper, and the truth was that she felt a little nervous. She was determined, though, not to let her fear be obvious. ‘We've only just had our meal,' she said. ‘Let's wait till it's settled; we don't want to be sick.'

‘OK,' said Dave. He put an arm around her as they wandered around the fairground. He proved his prowess at the hoopla stall and won a tiny pink teddy bear which he presented to Fiona. Diane and Andy were not close behind, and the four of them had a turn on the dodgem cars, the two lads taking delight in racing around the rink and bumping one another's cars as hard as they could, to the excited squeals of the girls.

They wandered towards the lake where rowing boats could be hired, but decided they would leave that experience until the next night. They had been told that those who wished could make a second visit to the Pleasure Gardens, depending, of course, on whether their funds would allow it.

‘No, we'll go on the Big Dipper instead,' said Dave. ‘Come on, Fee; you said that you would.'

‘I'm game if you are,' Diane said to her friend. ‘It'll be fun. Anyway, you've got Dave to take care of you.'

Still feeling somewhat apprehensive, Fiona sat next to Dave, securely fastened into the little car and holding on to the rail in front of her like grim death. Then they were off . . . and it turned out to be not nearly as frightening as she had expected. Her heart was in her mouth as they slowly ascended towards the top of the first incline, then started on the rapid descent. There were screams from all the girls and whoops of delight from the boys. Fiona's stomach turned somersaults as she felt the wind rushing past, blowing her hair all over the place.

‘Great, isn't it?' shouted Dave, pulling her closer to him and kissing her cheek. Then they were going up the next slope, and she was anticipating the scary delight of the whooshing of the wind in her ears and the crazy feeling of exhilaration. She felt her legs turn to jelly as she stood once more on terra firma, and her head was spinning round and round. But she agreed with the others that she wouldn't have missed it for anything.

‘It's still only quarter past nine,' said Dave. ‘We've got over an hour left. Shall we walk across to the other side of the river? We've plenty of time and we can do the rest of the funfair tomorrow. What do you think?'

They all agreed that they would do a little exploring. ‘But we must keep an eye on the time,' said Fiona. ‘We daren't be late back.'

‘Stop worrying! We won't be,' said Diane. ‘I say, aren't we having a good time?' she whispered to her friend as they loitered behind for a moment, letting the lads lead the way.

‘Wonderful!' agreed Fiona. ‘And you're getting on famously with Andy, aren't you?'

‘So far, so good,' replied Diane. ‘And so are you and Dave, aren't you?'

‘Yes; he's asked me to go out with him; properly, I mean, as his girlfriend, when we get back home,' Fiona told her. ‘I really like him ever so much, Diane. I don't want anything to spoil it.'

‘Why should it?' said Diane. ‘You're thinking about your parents, aren't you?' Fiona nodded. ‘Well, don't! Just enjoy yourself while you can. Anyway, I'm sure it'll be alright. Come on, let's catch up with them . . .'

They crossed the river by the Albert Suspension Bridge which led to the part of the Embankment known as Cheyne Walk; an elegant road with medieval and eighteenth-century dwellings, as well as a few public houses. Dusk was falling and the view back across the river was an enchanting one. The delicate lines of the suspension bridge formed a filigree pattern against the darkening blue of the sky, and the lights strung amongst the trees in the park glimmered like jewels in the darkness. The only incongruous sight was that of the Battersea Power Station a little further upriver, looking like an upturned billiard table, the four chimneys, one at each corner, resembling the legs, black against the night sky.

As they passed one of the pubs on the waterfront they heard a shout. ‘Hi there! Do you want to come and join us?'

Seated round one of the wooden tables at the outside drinking area were three of their fellow Youth Club members; Alison and Jean who were in the Upper Sixth Form at the school that Fiona and Diane attended, and Paul, who was the same age as his two companions but who had left school at sixteen and was now working in his father's garage.

They all stopped and returned the greeting.

‘Come and sit down,' said Alison. ‘There's plenty of room. Paul, could you grab that stool from the next table, then we'll have enough seats.'

‘Er . . . I don't think we should, really,' said Fiona. ‘We're not old enough, are we? You lot are all eighteen, aren't you? But we're not . . .'

‘You must be nearly eighteen though,' said Jean. ‘You're only a year below us at school.'

‘Next year actually,' replied Diane. ‘My birthday's in April, and Fiona's is in May. I don't know about you two,' she said to the lads.

‘We're almost there,' said Dave. ‘I'll be eighteen next month, and Andy the month after.' He sat down on the bench. ‘Come on, you lot. Don't be daft! Nobody'll know if we don't say anything. It's impossible to tell how old we are. And they're not going to ask for our birth certificates.'

‘They might,' countered Fiona. ‘And supposing Colin and Sheila walk past? They'd be really annoyed with us.'

‘I doubt it,' replied Diane, sitting down on the stool at the end of the table. ‘Stop worrying, Fee, it'll be alright. Anyway, we look eighteen, if not more, when we're not in our school uniform. Come on now; sit down and shut up!'

‘Oh, alright then,' said Fiona. But she was still feeling apprehensive. It was the first time she had ever been in a public house. Well, she wasn't really in one now, she told herself, just sitting outside, but it still amounted to the same thing. And she had scarcely ever drunk anything alcoholic. At one time her parents had used to buy a bottle of port or sherry at Christmas time and she had been allowed a little sip. But they no longer did so. It seemed that alcohol was one more thing that was taboo, like dancing or going to the cinema or wearing make-up.

‘What are you having then?' asked Paul. ‘It's my round.' As the only one of the group who was working he had a little more money than the rest of them to splash around. And they all knew that Whiteside's garage on the main road leading to Leeds was quite a prosperous one. ‘Dave and Andy, what about you? A pint of Tetley's, eh?'

‘Yes, why not?' replied Dave. ‘That is if they sell our famous Yorkshire brew here?'

‘Yes, of course they do,' said Paul. ‘That's what I'm drinking. What about you girls?'

‘Oh, an orange juice for me,' replied Fiona. ‘Thank you very much, Paul.'

‘Now come on,' said Paul. ‘You want something a bit more exciting than that!'

‘What are you drinking?' Fiona asked Alison and Jean.

‘Lemonade shandies,' replied Jean. ‘You should try one.' But Fiona was not too sure about that. She didn't think she would like the taste of beer, even if it was diluted with lemonade.

‘Er, I don't think so,' she said. She was starting to feel a bit silly and immature next to these more sophisticated girls; they seemed to know so much more about what was considered ‘cool' to drink.

‘I know, I'll have a gin and lime,' announced Diane. ‘Go on, Fee; you have the same. My mum drinks that and I've had a taste of it. It's nice; you'll like it.'

‘Oh, alright then,' agreed Fiona, knowing she would look a fool if she hesitated much longer.

Paul, the man with the money, ordered their drinks from the barmaid who was hovering near. They arrived in a few moments; two pint glasses of frothy amber coloured beer, and two smaller glasses holding liquid of a most appealing shade of lime green.