“I’d really rather not.”
“Well, then, before we go any further,” said a Councillor who happened also to be the landlord of The Hat With Feather “while the Alderman is making up her mind—which, as the only lady member of this sub-committee, I’m sure her ideas would be most welcome—I think, if you’d just stretch out from where you’re sitting, Councillor Perse, there’s some sherry in that cupboard, which, with permission of the Chair…” he looked enquiringly at Topson… “we might possibly sample while we’re waiting. Whisky for them that prefers, and there’s plenty of bottled beer.”
“Well, thank you, Councillor Selby,” said the chairman. “After all, it’s a poor heart that never rejoices, as they say, and, of course, this merger might help out with the rates. Gistleward’s mostly residential, but there’s plenty of shops and factories in Hansbury Heath. I declare the meeting adjourned pro tem for twenty minutes. After that we’ll have to get on. There’s a full Council meeting at nine.”
Whether or not two glasses of excellent sherry played any part in the matter, it transpired, after the interval, that Alderman Mrs Skifforth had abandoned her show of reluctance and was prepared to share her thoughts with the meeting.
“I wondered,” she said, “whether we could have a torchlight procession—real torches, I mean, not electric bulb things-and beat the bounds for the very last time. I thought it would make a nice ending.”
“I like that idea. It’s classy,” said the chairman. “It’s poetical and it’s local and it’s historic, and, whatever else we think of, we ought to include it in. Those in favour? Thank you. Carried unanimous.” He stared hard at Mr Perse, but that gentleman had raised a languid hand. “Well, now, anything else? We’ll have to be careful who’s to be handed the job of carrying them torches, by the way.”
“It ought to be the Mayor and Corporation,” said Mr Perse, “and then, if the borough goes up in smoke, the accumulated rates will come in useful for re-building.”
The chairman rapped on the table with his knuckles.
“Order! Order! Any more suggestions?” he demanded. Time’s getting on, and frivolious comment is out of place. Now, then. We haven’t got very far yet.”
“I vote we do the whole thing in the evening. What was that play where the chap took the head round in a hat-box?” asked Councillor Perry.
“Do you mind?” pleaded Alderman Mrs Skifforth. “We’ve had enough of that sort of thing in Brayne, I should have thought!”
“No offence. The title was all I meant. What was that thing called now? I took my missus to see it. It give her nightmare. Night…night…”
“Night Must Fall,” said Councillor Perse.
“That’s it. So in the evening we beat the bounds by torchlight, like the Alderman says, and then, when night has done falling, as you may say, why not follow up with fireworks in the park? Everybody likes fireworks.”
“Ah, that’s it, fireworks,” said Councillor Selby. “A set piece of the Queen to finish up with, and we could floodlight the Mayor in his chain and robes and get a couple of planes to write Brayne For Ever right across the sky.”
“Followed by singing Auld Lang Syne.”
“Abide With Me, I reckon.”
“Lead, Kindly Light ’ud be more like it, wouldn’t it?”
“Procession of boats on the river, with lanterns and that, and the Eton Boating Song.”
“Why the Eton Boating Song? Eton’s nothing to do with us,” said Councillor Beaton.
The Councillor who had suggested it hummed the tune.
“I thought that was the old-fashioned waltz,” said Beaton. “I done some of my courting to that tune.”
“Never mind that,” said Councillor Briggs. “What about a daylight procession of narrow-boats on the canal, with prizes for the best decorated?”
“You’d never get the bargees wised up to it in time,” objected Councillor Yaffle.
“Look here,” said Councillor Perse, “if you really want to keep Brayne’s name on the map, why shouldn’t the Council make an offer to buy Squire’s Acre, and hand it over to the National Trust?”
There was a momentary silence. It was broken by the chairman.
“Well,” he said, “I must say I like that idea, but what would it run us into? It’s the ratepayers’ money, you know.”
“We should need to buy the grounds as well as the Hall,” said Alderman Mrs Skifforth, “and turn them into a public park.”
“Why the National Trust? We could develop the Hall for dances and receptions and that, and make a bit of money,” said Councillor Selby. “Get it licensed, p’raps.”
“Serve teas on the terrace and the lawn.”
“Put down some tennis courts and a couple of bowling greens.”
“Let the art club give an annual exhibition in the long gallery.”
“Use it as a skittle alley.”
“We’ve always wondered where a branch library could be put. This is the answer,” said Perse.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs Batty-Faudrey wouldn’t be thankful to be quit of the place. She don’t live there any more, so she might consider a really reasonable figure,” said Councillor Yaffle.
“We could name it Brayne Old Hall. That would keep the borough on the map, I reckon,” said Councillor Beaton.
“Have to do it before this ruddy merger comes in, then, otherwise Gistleward and Hansbury Heath might want to have a finger in the pie,” said Councillor Briggs.
“If we do it, they’ll never get over it!”
“Brayne Old Hall! We must tie the new name up legal. I bet Gistleward won’t half be wild!”
“A truce to this inter-tribal warfare,” said Mr Perse. “Does anybody know what kind of figure Mrs Batty-Faudrey is likely to have in mind, if we can persuade her to sell Squire’s Acre?”
“If she knows it’s for the Council, she’ll stick the price up,” said Councillor Selby.
“Then we must approach her privately,” said Mr Perse.
“As through who?” asked the chairman, suspiciously, noting a smirk of self-approval on Mr Perse’s countenance. “Well, we can report all this to the full Council. Meanwhile, I declare the meeting closed. Well, thank you, Councillor Selby. I don’t mind if I do.”
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