Autumnal Sparks
Oct
‘One of you must have seen it! Where is it?’
They could tell that Dad was getting cross; his forehead was furrowed like the farm fields, and his hands were flapping about. He was almost shouting, but not quite.
‘Lizzie? John? One of you must know!’ They stood there wide-eyed, shaking their heads.
Their mother came in. ‘What on earth is going on?’
‘I need my hat to go to work. My tweed, flat cap.’
‘For goodness sake. That old thing is only fit for the garden. It’s not that cold. Get on with you – you’ll be late.’ The front door slammed after him. Lizzie looked at her brother and put a finger to her lips. A secret. He liked that and grinned.
Lizzie called out to her Mum, ‘We’re going to Brian’s. See you later.’ She sensed the response and added, ‘Yes, John is coming too.’ They quietly collected the bag from under the stairs, hurried out, and skipped down the road.
Brian’s Mum greeted them in her usual way. She hugged Lizzie and exclaimed when she saw John. ‘Oh, my goodness. You’ve grown, young man. What a handsome lad you are!’ He beamed with pride. ‘Come in, come in out of the cold and warm yourselves by the fire.’ Lizzie loved the farmhouse kitchen, warm and sweetly scented, newly baked bread on the table with the farm’s own butter. John eyed it longingly. It didn’t go unnoticed. ‘Help yourselves. Loads to go around. Brian won’t be long. He’s just out collecting eggs.’
The door opened and Brian appeared with Alan. ‘Morning, Mrs Evans. Found Brian in the hen house. He’s got dozens of eggs.’ Brian handed them over and looked shyly at Lizzie. John jumped up and straight to Alan, his hero. ‘Right, have you got the things we asked for?’ Lizzie nodded enthusiastically and handed him the bag. ‘Brian? What about you?’
‘Just about to ask, Mum. Have you got an old jacket that Dad doesn’t need?’
She laughed. ‘All his jackets are old. Let me have a look.’ She disappeared upstairs and came down with two, holding them up for inspection. ‘What do you need it for?’
‘You’ll see!’ Alan answered, grabbing an old, frayed one. ‘Perfect. Come on, gang.’ Mrs Evans looked bemused and smiled as they dashed out of the door. They sat down in the hay barn. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got then. Lizzie pulled out her father’s cap and a plain beige sock; Alan produced an old pair of paint-stained trousers, a black pen, and a ball of string.
‘Right, I’ll do the trousers and you two the jacket. Johnny boy, you’re with me.’ He tied some string around the bottom of the trousers and started stuffing them with hay.
‘You do the other leg,’ he told John. He threw the string to Lizzie and Brian. ‘Okay. You get on with the jacket. Fill it as much as you can. You can do the sock as well.’
They worked in silence, busily stuffing the clothes. The only sound in the barn was the scratching and squeaking of little creatures rustling through the hay. Finally, they gathered all the sections together.
‘Would you just look at that!’
‘It’s amazing!’
‘Lizzie, you should draw the face on the sock. You’re better at art than the rest of us.’ She grabbed the pen and scribbled two bushy eyebrows over piercing black eyes. The corners of the mouth drooped down under a thick moustache. ‘Well, he wouldn’t look happy, would he?’ No room for a beard so she just did black dots as though he hadn’t shaved, like her Dad looked at weekends.
She stood back proudly. ‘There! It’ll be the best guy in the village.’
‘Scarecrow,’ John muttered to no one in particular.
‘Right, we need something to put him in to take him to the shops.’
Brian went rooting through the back of the barn. ‘There’s an old pram somewhere. Come and look with me.’ A couple of rusty wheels emerged followed by the rest of the pram.
‘It’ll be ok if we brush it off.’
They took both ends of the guy between them and lifted him carefully into the pram, only losing a few bits of stuffing from his legs and arms. He lay there looking magnificently scary.
‘What’s this for?’ asked John.
‘Hang on. We need a sign. Got any cardboard?’ Brian yanked a corner off an old box and handed it to Lizzie. ‘Do you want to write it?’ He gave a shy smile. ‘You know I can’t spell.’
She dashed off a sign in her best writing, only bigger. ‘PENNY FOR THE GUY.’ ‘Right, we’re done. Let’s go!’
The guy bounced back and forth, up and down, as they dashed along the dirt track to the village. Lizzie thought that the hay that had escaped from his arms, legs, and head just added to his rough appearance.
Alan had decided that they park up outside the Co-Op. ‘Loads of people walk past here.’ Yes, my Mum, thought Lizzie and Dad worked just along the road. She shuddered as she pictured their faces. ‘Here comes someone, Ready to call out gang?’ Brian looked down, John looked bemused, and it was left to Alan and Lizzie. ‘Penny for the guy, please!’
The lady walked by and ignored them. They carried on and were beginning to collect a few coins when Lizzie’s Mum strolled along with her string bag.
‘What on earth are you doing? Begging on the street!’
Alan stood up. ‘We don’t mean any harm. Everyone does it.’
‘I haven’t seen anyone else,’ she replied tersely.
‘They’re just not as prepared as us.’
There was a pause, and they sensed that all would be well until a finger pointed. ‘Lizzie, is that your father’s cap?’ she snapped. No point in denying it. Lizzie nodded. ‘Goodness me, I don’t know what to say. Wait till he finds out.’
‘You don’t have to tell him. I’ll bring it back later.’
Her Mum huffed and held out her hand. ‘John, you’re coming with me.’ His bottom lip quivered. ‘Stop that. We’ll have none of your crying nonsense.’
The depleted gang was less enthusiastic after that, but Alan carried on regardless and many people smiled and spoke to them. ‘Oh, I remember doing that when I was a lad.’ ‘Good to see children carrying on the old traditions.’
And then Mr Bowen from the rugby club came along. ‘Hello, young Alan. How you doing? That’s a fine guy you’ve got there. Would you donate it to us for our bonfire on Saturday? I’ll pay you for it.’
Alan looked at the others as Mr Bowen brandished two half crowns. They nodded. ‘Yes, sir, you can have him.’
‘Apart from the cap,’ Lizzie shouted quickly as she pulled it off. ‘That’s not included.’
‘That’s ok. I’m sure I can find another. Do you want to bring it to the rugby club? There’ll probably be a glass of pop for you all,’ he grinned. ‘I don’t think it would suit me pushing that pram through the village!’
They emptied their money out later – lots of pennies, shillings, sixpences, farthings, and Mr Bowen’s two half crowns. A lot more than they’d expected, thanks to selling the guy. ‘You take it and add it up, Alan. Let us know. What we going to buy with it? None of your jumping jacks, I hope! I hate them.’
He grinned. ‘Uum, it’ll buy a lot of those! No, I’ll let you know.’ He was still grinning as he walked away. Lizzie held her Dad’s cap and began the walk home. ‘Bye, Brian. See you tomorrow.’
Lizzie was on tenterhooks that evening but her Mum didn’t say anything.
‘Sorry, kids,’ her father said during tea. ‘Mum found my cap in the cupboard after all.’ They all nodded. ‘You looking forward to Bonfire Night tomorrow?’
John squealed with excitement ‘Yes, Daddy!’
Bonfire Night was actually quite tense, as it always was in Lizzie’s memory. The bonfire itself was great, but they always had one, every week. Everyone burnt their rubbish. The food was special. Mum cooked sausages and baked potatoes. But the fireworks were a different matter. Dad called them towards him.
‘Right. All the fireworks are in this tin and you MUST not touch it. Do you understand?’ They nodded vigorously. ‘The milk bottles are for the rockets and if they don’t go off, you must not go near them. Understand?’ They nodded. ‘And the nail on the shed is for the Catherine wheel. Stay well away.’
‘Have we got any sparklers?’
‘Oh, yes, but you must wear your gloves. Right, I shall start the display.’
The Roman Candles fizzled quite pleasingly; the Whistle Stop whooshed into the sky; the Catherine Wheel stuttered around its orbit (don’t touch!); a beautiful rocket shot off spreading green and red stars, but another fizzled out in the milk bottle (don’t touch!). The sparklers were great fun drawing shapes and names in the dark.
Dad was happy. ‘Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it?’ They grinned and nodded. ‘Time for food, I think. I’ll pick out the potatoes from the bonfire.’
The smokiness from the fire and the sulphur from the fireworks lingered on their clothes as they sat and ate. The sausages were a good end to the day.
Lizzie wondered how much money they had as she lay in bed that night. Enough for a lot of sweets and pop, she thought.
By Lesley Abbass
