Locals leaning against the pub wall and standing in little groups huddled whispering under their dark rain stained and weather beaten trilbys. Their collars upturned in the sunshine and taking long sucks on their cigarettes. Girl pumping a pail full of water at the village pump. Her big pink knickers showing on her fat legs as she bent over. The green telephone kiosk to which a person not afeared of speaking over wires, was dispatched from Andromeda Park, to ring westwards to find out when the train was coming. And when with the birds singing I was climbing out of her bed, Miss von B said don’t go, don’t leave me. Her soft blonde skin, a mole on her throat growing little blonde hairs. And her eyes in her face looked as if at any moment she might laugh. But down deep in all the specks and flecks of colour they were eyes full of fear. And I slipped from the covers and stood with one foot tripping over the piss pot on the rug. And she said why did you have to do that. And I said shut up.
The masked singers, the wren men, came and went into the pub with their tambourines and spoons. The dogs barking and wailing in the pub yard when they began to play. And the hounds arrived. Noses in a row sticking out the slats of the cart. From down the road with a clatter of cantering hooves, Baptista Consuelo approached. Accompanied by three top hatted pink coated gentlemen. And as her horse went prancing by. It chose to blast out several farts. Right at our Andromeda Park contingent. Bang, boom, bang, boom. Bringing, I thought, some dispirit across Mr Arland’s face. Haughtiness upon this champion hunting dav was quite prevalent. But I discerned at close range that Baptista had a somewhat stupid looking and quite unnoble little upturned nose. Unlike the firm straight features and nicely curved nostrils of Miss von B. Who was also astonishingly strong and able to hold my arms pinned. As she did while banging down on top of me in some kind of crazed delirium out from under which I tried to get in case she’d suddenly gone nuts like everyone else in the household. But after some prolonged gasps groans and wails she lay quite content for a while before trying it again. And during these between times with my head and ear pressed on the soft soothing flesh of her breast, I felt a lazy cosy comfort as her arm tucked me in.
‘Come come, pay up now. I won’t have any of this shoddy dodging.’
The hunt secretary collecting people’s caps. Making a stack of notes in his hand. I thought he was going about it rather rudely. In the loud offensive way in which he asked for mine and that of my party. There being perhaps some feelings regarding my father not having contributed to the hunt for some time. Nor since my mother’s death did we plant coverts or hold a hunt ball. In a manner overly familiar, the Master of Foxhounds on an enormous bay mare came up to greet Miss von B. Along with him trotted the first whip also smiling with a large assembly of teeth which I’m sure were bought off some itinerant dental salesman who was temporarily out of his size. And together with the huntsman and a hunt servant, all made a distinct fuss, mouthing compliments concerning my housekeeper’s smart appearance. I found their fawning close proximity rather tiresome. While Miss von B rather revelled in it.
‘Ah Princess you are looking so devastatingly radiantly beautiful.’
‘But you are just too kind, Master.’
‘The stones in the walls, ma’am, you make them smile.’
‘Ha you give me how do you say, the blarney.’
Just before moving off a group of riders stopped near by in a field. Some with saddle flasks at their lips. And village boys running with the bottles to refill them at the pub. Till one of them fell clean backwards out of his stirrups off his horse. Landing with the flask still held to his lips where supine he drained it. Upon seeing this, a ruddy faced chap known as the Major although he was never involved in anything the least military, cantered over. Sitting high on his horse accusing the prostrate gent of inebriation. Who now slowly arose from the moist morning grass and staggered a little about the field. The Major shouting.
‘Go home sir, you are unfit to hunt.’
‘Bugger you.’
‘I said go home sir, you are drunk and a danger to the field.’
‘Bugger you you stuffed twit.’
‘Having long emerged from my school days, I shall not be buggered sir, and direct you to depart without giving more disgrace than you already have. And I say go home. You are too drunk to hunt.’
‘You mean I’m too drunk not to hunt. And who the hell are you telling me.’
‘I am a member of the hunt committee.’
‘Well fuck the committee and bugger you.’
‘There are ladies sir, mind your language, there are ladies.’
‘There are crumpet and fluff and brazen arses and horny old devils like you sniffing their saddles.’
‘I shall teach you a lesson sir.’
The Major raising his whip brought it lashing down knocking your man’s bowler off to the ground. Whereupon your squiffy chap on the turf rounded with his own whip to land a swipe across the nose of the Major’s mount. The big grey gelding rearing bucking and kicking. Sending the Major skywards and eastwards pitched on his back, boots in the air. The locals deserted the crossroads with this sign of action. And came aswarm over the walls of the field, smiling and giving each other joyous digs in the ribs. As there was nothing to be enjoyed more than seeing the gentry go berserk. In the quickly man made arena the florid faced Major gathered himself from the ground. Tightly stretching his whip between his white gloved hands he circled round the squiffy chap. And the two of these red coated gentlemen started belabouring and slashing each other from toe to ear. As their shouts roared out over the countryside.
‘Cunt.’
‘Cad.’
‘Cunt.’
‘Cad.’
It was rare to see such delightful justice being done. For, according to Foxy, both protagonists were eegits of the highest order and the meanest bastards imaginable you could find in the district. Where they’d been for years guilty of giving nothing away free. I manoeuvred my small mare Molly to a nice vantage point, a grassy mound, to witness from. And right next to a highly perfumed Baptista Consuelo. Madly licking her lips at every blow. And as a clean swat of the lash landed across the Major’s left cheek she gave a sucking hiss of her lips followed by a satisfied smile. Just as Miss von B came trotting and reining up between us. Turning to me as if the whole thing were my fault.
‘Ah grosser Gott such savages.’
Baptista Consuelo looking round to Miss von B and pulling her mount back a pace. She seemed to let the morning air purr down the nostrils of her bumpy little nose as she uttered her vowels in a very superior manner indeed.
‘I think it most jolly good that one gentleman chastise another should he need it.’
‘And you, you little bitch should get a good hoof up the backside.’