Bunty made sure there were lots of paper, large sticks, glue, cardboard and paint brushes. ” We are going to make placards Bunty!” Lola had said excitedly
Lola found as many empty bottles as she could. She didn’t know why but had been told by a rather scruffy individual who had suddenly appeared from the bushes that the meeting for the new branch committee was going to take place in her house and that “Things were going to happen”
Bunty thought it would have been far better to let the dogs on him but Lola was in a whimsical mood and wouldn’t let her.
“Now then Bunty lots of the common folk will be arriving and I want to make it clear to them that I am the one to lead them so no making them feel unwelcome. I have decided the servants hall is the best place after all so there will be no mess on my damask.”
Bunty stomped out of the room and shuddered at the thought and wondered what Papa would say if he had ‘the great unwashed’ fermenting unrest in the servants hall.
As dusk fell Lola’s pet socialist emerged from the gloom and scuttling along with him were a bunch of similarly dishevelled men who seemed to be angry. As it happened they were constantly in a state of anxiety and given to shouting “up the workers” at the drop of a hat.
Soon the hall filled with a motley collection and Padraig bounded onto the scrubbed dining table and addressed the throng.
“Men we are gathered here today thanks to this lady here, indicating Lola who emerged from the corridor dressed head to toe in red satin set off with a dazzling mink stole.
She waved her hand gracefully; the men muttered and looked threatening but she waved full bottles of russian vodka and shouted “Molotov cocktails all round” there was a roar of approval and with cries of “let’s get the party started” a pleasant evening ensued.
Branwell took his last bow; the ladies in the audience were swooning with delight and ‘the Scragg Ends’ had to rush forward to form a meaty wall of mottled purple flesh to protect him.
Vita happily counted the takings and stuffed a large wad of notes into her bra just before they came off stage.
“what did we make then v?” said the lady Scragg End called Dave
“oh not too bad” said Vita “We might even break even after I have paid for the stage hands”
Dave was busy taking off her false eyelashes and cleaning her face; she was having none of it. “Come off it Vita, you know and WE know you have been making a fortune. Branwell might be trusting but we haven’t worked in the slashing sheds for all these years not to smell something fishy”
“God help the butchers of Gusette then!” said Vita
just as it was going to turn ugly Branwell came in, worn out, with bits of Delphinium sticking out of his hair
“I have had enough Vita, I’m going home, you will have to cancel the other shows I don’t care what you say I’m not going to another place.”
Suddenly Vita’s plans had gone from one extreme to the other – how was she going to get out of this?