SUMMER HAD ARRIVED and school was over until September, and once again the five had come together to the countryside to chat in their favourite orchard and discuss their plans for the long holidays to come.
"I know," said Michael, ever thoughtful, and squinting through his glasses at a piece of paper he had pulled from his anorak pocket, "why don't we go fishing in the big lake beyond Westminster Green?"
"Oh, Michael," lilted Stephen, far more practical, "you know perfectly well that we can't fish! We don't even have the tackle needed. We would have to ask the villagers for it. And, anyway, the girlies will soon get bored unless they catch something in the first few minutes, and you can jolly well be sure that isn't going to happen!"
"Who are you calling a girlie?" piped up Theresa, the tomboy. "I can fish as well as any public schoolboy, if not better. I may not be as good at gutting fish as Michael, but I can wait around aimlessly for hours on end doing nothing just as well as the next young man. Whoever that may be."
"Well I'm not going into the village to ask for favours," rasped Stephen. "All those men hanging around with each other all day long and into the evening. It's not natural, that's all I say, there's just not lovely for you," he went on, lapsing into his Welsh drawl.
THE EARLY JULY SUN WAS LOWERING ITS head over the meadow beyond the orchard where the five were gathered in their peaceful contemplation of the buttercups and marigolds, except for Liam, who was playing with his collection of tin soldiers, marching them up and down hills in his boyish imagination, making the sound of machine gun fire through his teeth, although the soldiers were in fact replicas of those from the Napoleonic wars.
THEY WERE ALL BEGINNING to think it would be best to go home for tea, scones and perhaps some crumpet for Theresa and Stephen when Andrea lisped her opinion rather timidly.
"If we don't have this tackle you are talking about, and if David and George from the big farm have gone off to their mummies' houses for summer, then we really ought to go into the village and jolly well tell the locals to help us! Surely they understand this fishing business!"
"You foolish filly," barked Liam. "The locals are upset with all of us townies after they allowed Boris from the stables to borrow the bicycle and he never returned it! And they certainly won't allow us to get near deep waters!"
LONG SHADOWS WERE BEING CAST as a chill started to creep across the soft turf of the meadow before the five managed to decide what to do next day, which was always the problem for these children during the long recess. 'Children's heads on pillows without plans for 'morrow will ne'er sleep' was a truth to be remembered for these forty days. But Michael broke the silence as they were standing up to go home: "Wait! I know," he chirruped, "Let's all stand for leadership of the Conservative Party!" Beaming, he continued, "None of us has any charisma, any charm, any glamour, any ability or any possibility of winning a general election, but it will be a wizard way to start off the summer holidays!" Michael looked at the astonished faces around him. "Just think," he continued, "we can go into the village and dress up and have ribbons and things and people will make cakes and there might be dancing late at night, and..."
BUT LIAM'S VOICE MOVED IN TO BRING home the truth, ringing with some of the gravity he had inherited from his Scots father: "Ay," he said. "There may be many of these things, but demographic analyses I have been looking at on this bally new-fangled tablet device I have here suggests we are all doomed, and none of us will be going off to camp again, except perhaps for Theresa. And that won't last for long either."
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