Finding Again the World Page 3

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  Uncle Michael held up his handkerchief. “On your marks!” The boys and girls forced their toes into the sand. “Get set!” A boy with ginger hair called Brian made a false start.

  “Get set!”

  “Go!”

  They sprinted towards the woman called Auntie Mary who was standing holding another handkerchief to mark the finishing line. Pete finished first and Uncle Michael shouted, “Oh, well done! Well done. Peter, isn’t it? A beautiful race!”

  He trotted up to the group of boys and girls who were standing around Auntie Mary. “Who came second and third?” he asked.

  “These two were tied for second place,” said Auntie Mary. “John and. . . .”

  “David.”

  “Oh, yes. David.”

  “Well, I think an effort like that deserves a prize,” said Uncle Michael. “So I’m going to give Peter here two cards and John and David one each. That’ll make a grand start for your album.”

  He gave the cards to the winners and Rory said to Pete, “What did you get?” They looked at the coloured pictures and read the titles. One was Christ Cleanses the Temple of the Money-Changers, and the other was Christ Baptized of John the Baptist.

  Uncle Michael, clapping his hands for attention, said, “Now then, everybody. You’re not too tired, are you? Let’s play a quick game of Leap-Frog. Yes, and you smaller ones. It’s great fun. Come along, now. Let’s make a long line.”

  Rory said to Pete, “Bloody hot, isn’t it?”

  Bending down, hands braced on knees, Uncle Michael shouted, “I’ll be Frog.”

  They played energetically for a few minutes until one of the bigger boys banged his knee against a small boy’s head. The game quickly collapsed. While Auntie Mary held the boy and stroked his hair, the others drifted away into small groups. A few chased each other throwing sand until Uncle Michael called, “I say, steady on there. We don’t want anyone to get sand in their eyes, do we?” Four of the boys were holding a competition to see who could do the most push-ups. A girl called Mary kept slapping her young sister and saying, “Just wait till I get you home.” A small boy in a blue bathing costume was quietly burying a small girl.

  David said to Brian, the boy with ginger hair, “What school do you go to?”

  “Brentwood Junior.”

  “Pete and Rory and me go to Parkview Junior.”

  “You in the scholarship class?”

  “Yes, you?”

  Uncle Michael came and interrupted their conversation. “Would you chaps like to gather everyone together for me,” he said. “We’re going to have a story next.”

  Auntie Mary said to the little boy, “Big boys don’t cry, do they?”

  “No,” said the little boy.

  “And you don’t want to be a cry-baby, do you?”

  “No,” snuffed the little boy.

  “And if you’re brave, perhaps we’ll give you a present. Would you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “A nice present for your book?”

  The boy smiled watery through the big tears.

  “There you are,” she said. “Shall we go and join the others now?”

  Holding his hand she walked towards the semi-circle sitting around Uncle Michael. He was wearing grey flannels and a white shirt, open at the neck, with a paisley choker. Behind him hung the drooping banner which read SUFFER THE CHILDREN CAMPAIGN.

  Rory whispered to Pete, “See that kid. She gave him a card.”

  “That’s not fair, is it?”

  “Well, I mean he didn’t win it, did he?”

  “Come along, now!” said Uncle Michael. “We can’t have everyone talking at once, can we?” He smiled at Pete and Rory. “Now. If we’re all listening. I’m going to tell you a story.

  “Once there was a little boy, just like some of you, and his name was Jack. But he wasn’t quite like you because, you see, nobody loved him. His father used to drink and when he was drunk he would sometimes beat Jack for no reason at all. You see, he wasn’t in control of himself. And that’s what drinking can do for you.” Uncle Michael stopped, and looked seriously and slowly around the group.

  “And what about Jack’s mother? Well, Jack’s mother had nine other children to look after and she was too tired to pay a lot of attention to poor Jack. So what do you think poor Jack decided to do? He felt so unhappy that one night, after his father and mother had gone to bed, he packed up the few clothes he had and put them in his suitcase and he. . . . Well, what do you think he was going to do?”

  One of the small boys put up his hand and said, “My name is Andrew and I think he was going to run away.”

  “Yes. That’s right. Jack was so unhappy he was going to run away! He was going to run away to LONDON. But poor Jack hadn’t any money so he had to try and get a lift in a car or on a lorry. So he stood by the side of the road for hours and hours but nobody stopped and he was getting colder and colder. And then a very strange thing happened! A car stopped and who do you think was driving it?”

  Andrew said, “His father.”

  “No. No, you’ll never guess. It was the minister of the church that Jack attended! And so the minister said, ‘Hello, Jack, my lad. Where are you off to at this time of night?’ And Jack told him his story.”

  “Silly bastard,” whispered Rory.

  “‘Cheer up, Jack,’ said the minister, when he’d finished. ‘Someone loves you very much.’ Jack stared at the minister but he couldn’t think who it might be. . . . Can any of you think who it was who loved Jack so much?”

  Uncle Michael smiled at the silent group in front of him, the sunlight glinting on his spectacles.

  “No? Can’t anybody guess? Well, Jack couldn’t either. So the minister said, ‘There’s someone who loves each and every one of us, Jack, and that someone is God. Why, He must have sent me to you tonight when you were so unhappy.’ And the minister told Jack how God really does love us all, and especially boys and girls. And the minister took Jack home with him and gave him a cup of hot chocolate before he phoned his father.”

  “Told you,” whispered Rory.

  “And after that, whenever Jack felt unhappy he always prayed to God as the minister had taught him and he always felt at peace.

  “And now I want everyone to close their eyes and we’re going to say the prayer that Jack said.”

  Led by Uncle Michael they recited the Lord’s Prayer. As soon as the prayer was finished he nodded to Auntie Mary who sat down at the harmonium and started to play.

  “No, it isn’t a piano. It’s a sort of organ,” he explained as they all gathered round. “And how would you like to sing a few songs? I think we could persuade Auntie Mary to play for us.” He smiled across at her, his eyes twinkling. “And I’ve even got some papers here with the words on.”

  Pete looked across at Rory and said, “I’m afraid we’ll have to be going now. We have to be back for tea.”

  “That’s fine, boys,” smiled Uncle Michael. “But you’ll come again tomorrow, won’t you? Remember the badges are for attending three days in a row.”

  “Oh, yes,” said David. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

  “See you,” said Brian.

  As they walked away and started to climb the cliff the singing started. At first it was thin and ragged but it soon gathered strength drowning the shush of the sea and the cries of the gulls.

  A sunbeam, a sunbeam,

  Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,

  A sunbeam, a sunbeam,

  I’ll be a sunbeam for him.

  David, Pete, and Rory received the badges on their third day. The badges were blue with the letters SCC in gilt. Each badge was in a tiny box, and wrapped in tissue-paper.

  For each day they received a picture-card. Each album had fifty spaces and after attending for five days the empty slots s
eemed endless. “It’d take us years,” said Pete. “Yes, but you can win ’em,” David said.

  Rory had ten cards but he’d given one of the small boys two piggy-backs in return for an Agony in the Garden and a Do This in Remembrance of Me.

  The morning was already hot as they turned into the park on the cliff-top. They did not linger by the fishponds as they used to do, but followed the path that led out onto the dunes. Near the park-gates Pete stopped and bent over a poplar-sapling, turning the silver underside of the leaves.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for hawkmoth caterpillars. Poplar Hawks. Jim said he’d got some near here last Saturday.”

  “Oh, come on, Pete. We haven’t got time now.”

  “All right, all right. What’s so important?”

  “You know he likes us there early,” said David.

  “Oh, piss,” said Pete. “You go on and I’ll catch you up.”

  When they neared the sandstone cliff they could hear the sounds of the children playing and the voice of Auntie Mary. She was playing tag with four little girls and the small boy called Andrew. The little girls ran after her squealing with delight and Auntie Mary kept shouting, “You can’t catch me! You can’t catch me!”

  Uncle Michael was striding along the beach with his head bent. As they scrambled down the last few yards and approached him he was saying “. . . nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two . . .” They followed him. He stopped at “twenty-five” and ground his heel into the sand.

  “Good morning, boys. Isn’t Peter with you today?”

  “Yes, he’s just coming. What are you doing?”

  “Marking out a pitch. Would you like to help me before the others get here?”

  “Okay. What do you want us to do?”

  “Get a stick and draw lines from the four marks I’ve made. It’s for a game of touch football.”

  As they edged the first line they saw Pete climbing down the cliff. A voice behind them said, “It’s no use whining. You’re here and you’re going to stay here.” Mary and her little sister. Rory called to her, “Hey! You’ve got a big spot on your back!” She turned and blushed. “I’m not going to speak to you so you needn’t think that I am,” she said. “So there.”

  Pete sauntered up to them holding a Craven A packet in his hand.

  “Where you been?”

  “Up the top.”

  “You’d better put those fags away,” said David.

  Peter grinned. “I haven’t got any fags.”

  “What is it?”

  “What you got, Pete?”

  They dropped the sticks and looked at the packet as Pete eased it open. Inside was a Poplar-Hawk caterpillar. It was about two inches long and beautifully coloured. The back was a soft dove-grey and the underside a pale lime-green. Along its sides were rows of scarlet dots like eyes.

  “Isn’t it a beauty?” said Pete.

  “Are there any more?”

  “Hey, come on. Let’s go.”

  “I didn’t see any more.”

  “Come on, you chaps,” a voice shouted. “Let’s get that marking finished.”

  “Oh, shutup!” said Rory quietly.

  “I’m going to keep it until it turns into a moth,” said Pete.

  “Isn’t it big!” said David.

  They watched the caterpillar in fascination as it reared its head and lifted the front part of its body off the ground, weaving from side to side as though seeing dimly with the scarlet eyes of its markings.

  “Come on, you three!” shouted Uncle Michael.

  “All right!” shouted Rory.

  While they had been talking most of the others had arrived. Uncle Michael shepherded the crowd over towards the pitch and explained the rules of the game. Auntie Mary had taken the small children and was playing “Black Pudding” with them.

  “Now remember!” shouted Uncle Michael. “All passes must be forward passes. Brian! Let’s have you over here as captain of Red Team.” He put his hand round Brian’s shoulder and looked at the group in front of him. “And. . . Rory. . .you’re Blue Team, here.” He took a sixpence from his pocket and spun it into the air. “Call! Heads it is. Brian, you have first pick.”

  The teams were quickly sorted out. Rory, as he chose last, was left with the thin boy with thick glasses who ran with his arms held at a funny angle. Punctuated by silver blasts on Uncle Michael’s whistle, the game got under way. There were seven players on each side and the ball was fumbled and hasselled from end to end of the pitch. Every few minutes Uncle Michael would shout, “Oh, well done! A beautiful pass! Play up, Blue Team!”

  Red Team was four goals ahead and most of the players were crowded down around Rory’s goal when Peter suddenly caught the ball which Rory had flicked out from the centre of the struggling mob. Rory and he started to run up the nearly empty pitch towards Brian’s goal. Three players sprinted towards Peter to intercept him. “Pete!” yelled Rory. “Over here! Pass over here. Pass, you silly bastard!”

  The silver whistle cut the game short. Uncle Michael trotted out into the centre of the pitch. “Rory?” he called. “That isn’t the sort of language we use, is it? Is it, Rory?”

  “No.”

  “Now, I must insist that you apologize to Peter and be a good sportsman about it.”

  Rory stared at him incredulously. Then turning towards Peter, he said, “I’m sorry I called you a. . . .”

  “Rory!”

  “I’m sorry I was rude to you.”

  “Now, I don’t want to cut your game short,” said Uncle Michael, “but Auntie Mary and I have prepared a surprise for you, so if we all sit down for a few minutes to catch our breath I can tell you about it after the story.”

  The group of boys and girls trailed over towards the harmonium where Auntie Mary already had the small children sitting quietly. David and Pete sat at one end of the semi-circle so that they were partially hidden by the harmonium. Uncle Michael and Auntie Mary came along the line handing out the picture-cards. Pete already had the cigarette-packet open on the sand by his side. He put his card into his shirt-pocket and uncovered the cigarette-packet again. David’s card was The Soldiers Dice for Jesus’s Robe.

  “Hey Pete.”

  “What?”

  “Do you want to swap me?”

  “Swap what?”

  “My card for the caterpillar.”

  “You’ve got a hope!” laughed Peter.

  Uncle Michael clapped his hands sharply to silence the chatter and said, smiling, “Now, when we’re all ready, I’m going to tell you a story. It’s not a new story. Actually, it’s a very old one, one that Jesus Himself told. It’s called the Parable of the Sower. Who knows what a parable is? Anybody? Yes? Charles, isn’t it?”

  The thin boy with thick glasses said, “Well, it’s sort of a story . . . and it isn’t really . . . well, I mean. . . .” He picked nervously at the cluster of white spots near his lip. “. . . well, it isn’t about what it’s about.”

  “Good!” said Uncle Michael. “That’s right. It’s a story that has two meanings. And now here’s the story just as Our Lord told it.

  “Once upon a time, a man was sowing wheat in his field and as he threw each handful some of the seeds fell in different places.

  “Some of the seed fell onto the path that ran along the side of his field and it was crushed underfoot as the people walked along or it was eaten by the crows and sparrows.

  “And some of the seeds fell onto places where there were lots of stones and rocks and . . .”

  “Why do you think it’s got that little horn on top of its head?” whispered David.

  “It’s to make it look fierce,” said Pete, “so birds won’t peck at it.”

  “Does it just eat poplar leaves?”

  “Yes, but it should be nearly ready to turn into
a cocoon now.”

  “And some of the seeds fell into good ground and grew up into strong plants that gave a hundred seeds from the one they had grown from.”

  He paused, and there was silence. “Now what is the story really about?” There was no reply. Suddenly in the silence Rory said, “I don’t know.”

  Uncle Michael’s face tightened slightly and then he smiled again as he said, “ls there anybody who does know?”

  Rory flicked sand at Mary’s back, hoping that she would turn around, but she took no notice. The voice went on and on. Rory watched the slow swoop of a gull as it dipped down over the cliff. At the edge of the shore where the waves ran up and frothed upon the sand, he could just see the white, scurrying shapes of sand-pipers.

  “And the rocky ground stands for the sort of people who are very enthusiastic at first but give way as soon as temptation comes along. I expect that all of you . . . “

  The caterpillar humped its body and started to flow over the edge of the cigarette-packet. Its body creased into a row of folds like a tiny concertina. Pete headed it off with a match­ stick.

  “. . . close our eyes and pray to our Lord Jesus that we may be like the good ground.

  “Oh God, Our Holy Father, look down on these Thy little ones, and grant that they, in Thy infinite Mercy, may find Salvation and that eternal peace which Thou hast promised. Lead them, guide them, shelter them under Thy wings of Love; take away from them the burden of their Sin, that they may, at the last, enter Thy Kingdom, perfect in Thy Holy Love. . . . Amen.”

  After a slight pause, Uncle Michael raised his head and said in a bright voice, “And now boys and girls, Auntie Mary is going to tell us about the surprise she has for us.”

  Auntie Mary moved across to stand by Uncle Michael’s side. She clasped her hands in front of her and stirred the sand with the toe of her gym-shoe.

  “Well, children,” she started.

  “Children!” whispered Pete.

  “We’re going to have a treasure hunt!”

  The smaller children started to squirm about in the sand and even Mary unbent to say to her little sister, “A treasure hunt! Isn’t that nice?”