Once Mr Collins was successfully located in his room on the second floor of the little terraced house, Lydia made a general announcement at the top of her voice that they should hurry, for the Greasy Pole competition was about to take place.
Mr Collins was anxious to accompany the girls and had already spied that Jane seemed exceedingly pretty and commented to Mrs Bennet as he passed her in the hall that he thought her eldest daughter would make an excellent Mrs Collins.
“You flatter us, Mr Collins, with your kind attentions,” replied Mrs Bennet in a whisper, “but I should tell you that Jane is practically engaged.”
“Oh!” Mr Collins looked crestfallen, but then, after a moment’s thought, transferred his affections to Elizabeth, and—as far as he was concerned—all was well.
“Come on!” urged Lydia.
Mary attempted to walk with Mr Collins along the small path that took them round to the quayside where a large crowd was gathering, but Mr Collins seemed anxious to sidle up to Lizzy. He eventually found himself in what seemed to be a queue, and although he devoted himself to interesting conversation, felt the attentions of the young ladies were not with him and something was going on which he was not really party to.
Ahead, there was a great deal of noise—shouting, laughing, and rather unnervingly for Mr Collins, splashing. He soon became aware that the queue was moving slowly but undeniably towards the edge of the water, but he still could not quite make out what was going on.
Suddenly and to his horror, he saw that Lydia was pulling off her strappy top, which he had already considered immodest, and then worse, peeling off her excessively short skirt, and the rest of her sisters were following suit, even Lizzy, the object of his affections. The five girls now stood before him, all in the skimpiest of bikinis, apart from Jane, who still had plaster on arms and legs, and Mary, who wore a more modest all-in-one swimsuit and was now tucking her short hair into an unbearably tight-fitting bathing cap.
“Come along, Mr Collins,” cried Kitty, laughing. “Get your kit off!”
“I will most certainly not! What would Lady Catherine think?”
“Oh hurry up!” said Lydia impatiently, and she grabbed at Mr Collins’s shorts. Before he knew it, he was standing in his Y-fronts, shivering on the quayside.
“I say! This is outrageous! Give me back my clothes!”
“Too late. It’s your go!” cried Kitty in delight.
Mr Collins found himself now at the front of the queue and before him a long pole, about the width of a telegraph pole, was extended horizontally out over the water. At the end of the extrusion, which was greased for extra slipperiness, to his amazement sat Lydia, practically naked, laughing and shrieking. On the safe land side, a jolly middle-aged woman, fully dressed, ushered Mr Collins onto the pole.
“Off you go. See if you can knock the young lady off!”
The true horror of the situation now unfolded to the unhappy clergyman. About one hundred people stood lining the quayside. About fifty more were bobbing around in the water. With great caution, Mr Collins sat down on the pole, legs dangling each side, and edged his flabby white body along and out over the sea.
“Oh my! Oh my!” he muttered involuntarily, finding the constant lurching forward exceedingly uncomfortable and more than a little painful.
“Come on!” shrieked Lydia.
After several agonising minutes, during which he nearly lost his balance several times, Mr Collins found himself face-to-face with Lydia.
“On your marks, get set, go!” commanded the woman from the safety of the bank.
Lydia swung her right arm at Mr Collins, who by chance sneezed, and in doing so, ducked. Lydia was caught off-balance and, with a shriek, fell into the sea. Mr Collins was the victor! A cheer went up from the spectators. It was all over so quickly.
“Turn around!” came the command from the shore.
With colossal difficulty, Mr Collins heaved his ungainly body around to face back to shore. Once round, he looked up and saw Lizzy herself, the object of his affections, edging towards him along the pole, delightful in her blue polka-dot bikini.
“Oh, my Lord,” breathed Collins. “Oh my! Oh my!”
Lizzy got closer and closer.
“On your marks, get set, go!” commanded the woman from the side once more.
With pudgy fingers, Mr Collins grabbed hold of Lizzy’s arms and she his, trying to push him into the sea, so for a moment or two they rocked from side to side until suddenly all balance was lost and they fell, still locked in each other’s arms, into the salty waters.
They rose spluttering, Mr Collins gasping for breath, Lizzy almost drowning in her hilarity. Along the bank, a cheer and roar of laughter went up from the spectators, only superseded by an even greater cheer and roar of laughter as a pair of Y-fronts was, a few moments later, seen floating on the surface.
Chapter 14
Later that evening, during dinner with the family, Mr Collins attempted to regain his dignity and personal sense of importance. He began by directing his first remarks in a suitably formal manner to Mr Bennet.
“Mr Bennet, I do not presume to come to this thy table trusting in my own righteousness but in thy manifold…”
“Oh, there is no need for that!” interjected Mrs Bennet, not quite following Mr Collins’s train of thought but feeling he was unnecessarily apologising for something.
“My dear, you have interrupted an important speech!” chided Mr Bennet, much amused. “Mr Collins, pray do go on.”
“Thy manifold… er… great and many, many manifolds… and… oh mercy!”
Mr Collins had little idea of what he was going to say in the first place and had launched out by using familiar words which now he started to feel were out of context. He was sure he had heard them somewhere before. Whilst he was pondering this, a silence fell over the table, broken only by a sudden exclamation from Lydia.
“Oh, Lor! There seem to be some crumbs under the table. Gather them up, Kitty!”
Girlish laughter spilled over, and Mr Collins, confused and perplexed, felt the moment had come to redirect the conversation to a subject of which he was certain of his expertise. With this in mind and to the delight of Mr Bennet, Mr Collins talked with great eloquence, longevity, and deference about his patron, Lady Catherine de Brrr, her admirable condescension, and her daughter, who by not being presented at Court, had deprived Britain of its brightest ornament.
Chapter 15
The following day, the girls set off on a mission to North Sands to investigate the lifeguard-training rumour. If a pack of lifeguards were in the vicinity, the girls were naturally most anxious to make their acquaintance and, having taken care with their appearances, set off in good spirits from 3 Island Street. Their only distress was that Mr Collins had decided to accompany them and had been encouraged by Mr Bennet, who was finding the entertainment value of the foibles of this foolish man wearing thin. And so the party set off through town, past the children crabbing on Victoria Quay, up Fore Street, where they stopped every minute or so to dive into Cranch’s for gobstoppers, or the Salcombe Dairy for a tutti-frutti ice cream, or Joules or Crew or Musto or Jack Wills or White Stuff or Fat Face to check on the latest hoodies or to enjoy a few girly moments in Amelia’s Attic heaven, tempted by beautiful strings of freshwater pearls and life-saving little books on how to look as gorgeous as a goddess, so it took them quite a good half hour before they had even reached the Yacht Club. Mr Collins begged them to stop for a moment to admire the view and also give himself the opportunity to get his breath back. But the girls were now impatient to get on, and so with Mr Collins puffing and panting behind, they gambolled forth, passed Woodcot, a delightful home which often opened its gardens to the public and where Mr Bennet had in mind a peaceful retirement, and then down the hill again to North Sands.