Time was marching on and there was still no sign of my tea. At last I could stand it no longer and whispered in Auntie Maggie’s ear about the state of my belly.
‘Now, Rosie, don’t whisper, it’s rude. Flo, what are we doing about food? Rosie here tells me she’s running on empty and I’m feeling a little hollow myself.’
Auntie Flo looked flustered and muttered something about not being sure she had enough ham to go round. Great-aunt Dodie leaped to her feet and made moves to leave, apologizing all the while.
‘I am so sorry, I quite lost track of time. Of course everyone’s hungry. Archie and I will take our leave now. Thank you so much for your hospitality. Come on, Archie, shake a leg.’
Uncle Bert held up an imperious hand. ‘Don’t be daft. So there’s not enough ham? That’s no reason to leave. It seems a pity to break up the party now. How about going to Coffin’s for a slap-up plate of fish and chips? That’s if you like fish and chips of course.’
Great-aunt Dodie beamed, showing a set of teeth Hazel would have been proud of. ‘Like fish and chips? I should say I do. Remember, Mr Featherby, you’re talking to a woman who has not only eaten sheep’s eyes with the Bedouin but has survived the food at Cheltenham Ladies’ College. Now that is no mean feat, I can tell you. What d’you say, Archie? Fish and chips at Coffin’s? Then I suggest a stab at plan B.’
‘That sounds most pleasant, Dodie dear,’ Mr Herbert said. ‘I must say that the establishment’s name adds to its allure. I wonder if they have to put up with a lot of cannibal jokes? I expect they do, poor things.’
I must have decided that Great-aunt Dodie was all right because before anyone could stop me I was demanding to know what ‘plan B’ was.
Auntie Maggie looked embarrassed, although I could tell that she and everyone else wanted to know. ‘Shoosh, Rosie, don’t be so rude. It’s none of our business what plan B is.’
‘Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs Featherby. Of course the girl’s curious. Archie and I had three possible plans, Rosa. Plan A was to come and visit you all, stay a polite interval and then motor back to Bath and my home in time for supper. Plan B was to come and visit you, find an hotel, and then, if you’re game, see you all again tomorrow. Plan C is in case you’re busy tomorrow and we have to amuse ourselves by pootling about a bit before returning to Bath.’
Uncle Sid was adamant. ‘This is a boarding house, Miss Loveday-Smythe. We’ve got plenty of room, if you don’t mind the smell of paint. It’s not as bad as it was, although I could just be getting used to it.’
Everyone began talking at once, except me and Mr Herbert. I was too faint with hunger to argue the toss and kept tugging at Auntie Maggie’s dress until I got her attention.
‘Yes, love. How about we all talk it over while we’re wrapping our laughing gear around some cod and chips? Me and Rosie here are about to fade away from lack of grub.’
It didn’t take long to walk to Coffin’s and get all nine of us seated. To my relief, the table was soon groaning under the weight of huge plates of fish and chips, teetering piles of bread and butter and steaming cups of tea.
Between mouthfuls, it was decided that once we’d eaten we’d all return to Dunroamin for what Madame Zelda called ‘a good old chin-wag and piss-up’. There was general agreement to this plan.
‘Plan D,’ I yelled through a mouthful of chips and everyone laughed, I don’t know why.
Dunroamin was the new name that Uncle Sid and Auntie Flo had chosen to go with the new paint, curtains and lino at the boarding house. Uncle Sid said it might bring them luck and enough business so that he could stop travelling in corsets and settle down with his Flo. I had been trying to work out what ‘travelling in corsets’ meant for some time. I thought it meant that Uncle Sid was like Sugar Plum Flaherty who lived round the corner from us. Sugar liked to dress up like a lady and walked around in high heels, stockings, smart dresses, a blond wig and make-up. I was a bit confused, though, because Uncle Sid never looked like Sugar. I’d never seen him in a dress even, let alone a corset. In the end I asked Paulette what ‘travelling in corsets’ meant.
‘Bless you, sweetie,’ Paulette answered. ‘Your uncle Sid doesn’t wear dresses or corsets. He sells corsets to shops, that’s what it means. He travels about in his nice car, flogging corsets to shops who then flog ’em to ladies and sometimes to people like Sugar or Freddie the Frock, but mostly to ladies.’
Once the last crumbs had been demolished, we all traipsed back to Dunroamin via the boozer on the corner. Uncle Sid and Uncle Bert had insisted on paying for everyone’s fish dinners, saying it was their duty to feed their guests. This made Great-aunt Dodie and Mr Herbert very determined to lay in the drinks. There was a spirited discussion about this but Great-aunt Dodie stood her ground. We were despatched home to sort out some glasses and she and Mr Herbert disappeared into the off-sales bit of the pub. Ten minutes later they came staggering in with two wooden crates. One was filled with bottles of beer, lemonade and orange juice. The other had whisky, gin, port and several packets of Smith’s crisps. They didn’t have fancy flavours in those days, just plain with a little, dark blue twist of paper with the salt in it.
Our party was soon in full swing. Madame Zelda, a glass of gin in one hand and a small cheroot in the other, settled down happily with Mr Herbert and soon they were nattering away twenty to the dozen about books, the occult, Soho and the war. Paulette, Uncle Sid and Uncle Bert were at the piano, Paulette singing quietly with Uncle Bert accompanying her and Uncle Sid listening and sometimes joining in with the singing. I was sitting with Auntie Maggie, Auntie Flo and Great-aunt Dodie because the talk had got on to funny food and I was dying to know how you ate sheep’s eyes. I must have decided that I liked my great-aunt because before long I was happily ensconced on her lap.
When there was a brief gap in the conversation, I whipped my wrinkled thumb out of my mouth to ask about the sheep’s eyes. I was quite disappointed to hear that they were put into a stew whole. However, I cheered up when Great-aunt Dodie told us about the Bedouin custom of giving them to honoured guests because they were a delicacy. Of course, the next thing I asked was whether you swallowed them whole or cut ’em up. Auntie Flo told me I was a revolting little tyke but Great-aunt Dodie said it was a good question. She was just about to answer it when Mr Herbert, who’d had a few by then, demanded that she gave us a tune because Uncle Bert was taking a rest. Auntie Maggie suddenly noticed the time and said it was way past my bedtime and that was that. I was whisked off to bed and missed the rest.
I felt cheated because I knew it was highly likely that I never would find out about the sheep’s eyes. Personally, I think you’d have to cut ’em up, because they might get stuck in your throat otherwise.