Dance and Skylark (27 page)

And above all, what matter if the wrong side had won the battle and the whole course of the Wars of the Roses had been altered by Polly's heroic defiance of Sir Almeric? It had been the best battle, the spectators agreed, that they had ever witnessed in their lives; and they had cheered it wildly for fully five minutes, not caring a fig whether the winter of their discontent was made glorious summer by the sun of Lancaster or York. And at the end of the show they had stood up on their seats and cheered again, yelling themselves hoarse when two aeroplanes swooped out of the dark sky, to the astonishment of everybody except Faith, who had arranged the matter secretly with her Group-Captain, and showered upon the arena and the crowd a miraculous rain of red and white roses.

“I'm afraid,” said the Mayor half-ruefully, as he walked with Stephen and Polly across the hoof-scarred turf, while the crowd with strange reluctance began to make its way towards the exits, “I'm afraid, Mr. Gabrielides, that the 'istory wasn't quite right.” And Polly, gigantic and glorious in his armour, with his helmet pushed on to the back of his head, smiled down at him, and said gallantly:

“But, Mr. Mayor,
you
are history.”

As he said this, he made a large and comprehensive gesture which might have included not only the Mayor and his ancient office, but the little town behind him, the
Abbey tower looming over it, the struggling balloon factory making duck-billed platypuses to earn dollars; Mr. Handiman gazing proudly at his silver trophy; Mr. Oxford and Timms discussing Tradition; Florrie, like the Wife of Bath come to life again; Mr. Runcorn in his dusty office sitting down to write a leader dyed in imperial purple: “Only the pyrotechnics, perhaps, were a trifle excessive …” and it might have included too, the trampled and broken banner of Miss Foulkes: WE DON'T WANT FEST—

The Mayor pondered Polly's remark; and Stephen watched the crowd streaming through the turnstiles, and the players in their oddly assorted costumes, roundhead and cavalier, folk-dancer, foot-soldier, knight and nun, Councillor Noakes who despite his beard looked less like Shakespeare than anybody Stephen had ever seen, the Vicar bustling along in his threadbare cassock, Virginia going gravely towards the dressing-tent, and Lance with his arm round Edna's waist as they scampered away into the shadows. Polly is right, he thought. These are the particles that make us what we are; out of such particles is our history made.

The Mayor gravely and gratefully shook Polly's hand and went off to disrobe himself. Stephen as he walked with Polly in the direction of the men's dressing-tent caught sight of Faith coming down off the grandstand and for a moment hesitated. Polly gave him a push. “Go on,” he said, with a great grin. “Go on. You're in love with her, Steve !”

So Stephen ran to the bottom of the grandstand steps and met Faith there; and somehow it seemed quite natural
now to take her by the hand, and quite natural too that their steps should lead them, not back towards the town, but away from it into the misty darkness. As they passed out of range of the last dimmed floodlight a small scurrying figure rather like a brown moth passed through its beam. The shabby old mackintosh was unmistakable; and so Stephen was not unduly surprised when a few moments later there came from out of the shadows behind the dressing-tent, shattering the night's sweet stillness, the sound of a minor explosion: a gigantic, a gargantuan, a superhuman sneeze.

Kemerton, July
, 1950

The order “Hands to dance and skylark” was used in the Royal Navy during long voyages in sail when the Captain thought his ship's company needed some fun and games to liven them up.

This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader

Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP

Copyright © John Moore

The moral right of author has been asserted

All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise
make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
(including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying,
printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages

ISBN: 9781448204458
eISBN: 9781448203864

Visit
www.bloomsburyreader.com
to find out more about our authors and their books
You will find extracts, author interviews, author events and you can
sign up for
newsletters
to be the first to hear about our latest releases and special offers