Open Writing

At Christmas time one of our great delights was to go carol singing in aid of the League of Pity. We were all loyal Leaguers. For years we entered into their different schemes for collecting money; Doreen and I recited at their meetings; and the happiest parties I ever went to and always enjoyed were their annual fancy dress parties.

For our round of carols we wore some form of disguise, if only a mask, and on one particular evening I had my red party cloak and hood over my coat and thus became "Little Red Riding Hood". I cannot remember how the boys were dressed, but Doreen was very proud of her "Father Christmas" mask with its flowing grey beard. Cousin Mary joined us, Aunty Ene escorted us, and we made a brave little procession as we strode off into the snow, warmed and reddened by the glow from the long lantern, lit by one candle and carried by Rex.

We made a circular tour, calling at the houses of friends and neighbours, singing lustily, and I hope tunefully, several of the well-loved carols at each house. Almost the last to be visited was a mansion in Edgerton where a Colonel Freeman and his daughter lived. We climbed up the flight of steps to the front door, grouped ourselves about and, after some giggling and shuffling, burst into song.

Our quota being completed we rang the bell, and imagine our delight when we were handed some coppers, and a sixpence. This was luck indeed, we only received a few pennies as a rule, and we all bent forward to see if it were really true. The sixpence slipped and fell into one of the holes in the rubber mat on which we were standing.

In a curve we all bobbed down hunting for it, begging Rex to bring the lantern nearer - and then everything happened at once. The edge of Doreen's long beard entered the lantern and became a flame which ran up to the wax mask over her face. Suddenly she was on fire!

Mary gave a great shriek and flung herself backwards, away from this fearful thing, knocking me off my balance, and together we rolled over and over down the steps and into the snow The crescendo of shrieks faintly reached our ears, accompanied by shrill miaows, for unseen by us a cat had been an interested spectator, and now protested violently at being unceremoniously bundled about under our falling bodies.

By the time we had recovered our breath and stumbled to our feet everything was surprisingly calm, all the excitement quite gone and Doreen whisked inside the house. Auntie Ene, with great presence of mind, had torn off her heavy winter coat, and almost before Doreen was harmed had wrapped it round her head, stifling the flames.

Miss Freeman had rushed out on hearing all the commotion and when the door was again opened there was Doreen, sitting on an oak settle, rather trembly and breathless, a glass of milk in one hand and a piece of parkin in the other; and we began to wish we had been on fire.

Doreen's nose, eyebrows and eyelashes were badly scorched: her eyelashes were particularly long and curly and Mummy grieved for many months because they never grew so beautiful again. Auntie Ene bore her role as heroine so casually, that I feel it was too quickly forgotten what a brave, speedy action she had taken to save Doreen from grave injury.

Once we were at a bonfire party celebrating November 5th. The night was clear and still. All was going merrily: the fire was roaring; fireworks sparkling and sputtering; rockets soaring; Catherine wheels awhirling; potatoes roasting in their jackets.

Suddenly, a distant shriek rent the air from far up the field. Daddy recognised Bobby's voice and was off like a deer, dragging off his coat as he ran. One side of Bobby's coat was apopping and aflame and Bobby was trying desperately to throw away the fireworks crammed into his pocket. These had been set alight by one thrown at him which had acted like a torch on the protruding paper fuses .

All was confusion, but Daddy sprang to the rescue and managed to draw off the burning coat. Bobby's skin was not burned, his serge trousers having saved him from this injury, and although shocked by the sudden rush of bangs and flames, he insisted on staying on at the party. Daddy encouraged him to do so as Bobby and I had only recently grown out of the infantile fear of the flashes and roars.

Years later we had another alarm. Bobby was going through a naughty, tiresome period, becoming difficult and cheeky. Sometimes he would tease the maids as he passed through the kitchen, and one evening the cook became exasperated and threw a full box of matches at him. This hit him on the cheek, and being tightly packed exploded, causing a sudden spurt of flame and a terrifying glow in his eye.

Daddy had just walked into the house and he and I were standing together in the dining-room, under the light from the window. Daddy was expertly examining some patterns, and explaining to me how the feel of the cloth when flicked between finger and thumb conveyed to him whether the piece were all of wool, or a mixture of wool and cotton.

We heard a shriek. Daddy, still in his coat, dropped the pattern book saying, "That means fire, that kind of shriek always means fire," and almost before I had gathered my wits about me he had run into the kitchen, grasped the situation, seized the now sobbing boy, and rushed past me and up the stairs with Bobby over his shoulder, and with his coat flying out. I dashed up after him and Daddy laid Bobby on his bed, and began treating the angry burn streaking across his face, before sending for the doctor.

The maid was reprimanded, but not too fiercely, for she was genuinely sorry and upset that her simple action should have had such a surprising result. Bobby, also, was reprimanded, and he calmed down after this and became a little less volatile. He was about twelve years old, and boys often seem to become difficult at this age, I think.

All through his boyhood Bobby was abounding with high spirit and mischief, but he had a charming nature and so was always forgiven. He and I were very close to one another.

We had the experience of the next door house being on fire. One morning, Auntie Flo, who was now living at number 11, with Uncle Jack and Auntie Clare, came hurriedly into our house to ask Daddy to telephone for the fire brigade, as a back bedroom was on fire.

Imagine our excitement! We ran to the back to see if smoke was billowing out, then to the front to watch for the thrilling arrival of the fire engine, and were half disappointed when Daddy reported that he had put out the fire, and promptly cancelled the engine!

Half disappointed, for we knew how horrible it would be for the aunts to lose their home, and even ours might have been in danger; but how wonderful to have seen a fire engine actually coming next door, the men leaping off, the hose manoeuvred into place and great jets of water streaming out. That would have been fine, we thought! Some small apparatus was sent as, of course, the message was too late to prevent it, but it was not the engine we knew, and we were quite indifferent to it.

We occasionally went to the fire station on one of our expeditions to town, hoping to see the men on their way to a fire. Sometimes the great, wide doors were open, at other times we would stand for a while outside. We longed to be rewarded by the stirring sight of the brilliant red, highly polished engine, ladders spread along the top, the men standing in rows on the sides in dark blue uniforms, with brightly shining helmets upon their heads and axes at each belt.

On the alarm, the doors would slide open and with a sudden jerk the engine rushed out, turned in a half curve, up or down the road, its bell madly clanging, startling people and vehicles out of its way. A more stirring sight we thought it was impossible to see.

Once or twice an officer took us in to look at the enormous engine and we could observe all the details for ourselves. We were especially interested in the greasy pole with the trap door over it. We were told that always a team of firemen were "on call" and they had rest rooms above. When an alarm sounded, they donned their jackets and belts, quick as lightning, then each one in turn slid at great speed down the pole, almost hitting one another, grabbed their helmets, and were at their stations on the engine all in a nick of time.