Free Mr. Tasker's Gods by T. F. Powys Page B

come, the tea of the summer. And the people of the village were invited. The poor were invited from the reading desk when Mr. Turnbull gave out his usual notices. The two maiden ladies, sisters of a retired grocer—Mr. Collis had passed away from a worldly life somewhat toomixed up with brown sugar—enjoyed the privilege of a personal invitation from Mr. Turnbull. The farmers’ wives were invited by letter, and the blacksmith’s daughter, who used to play the piano, was asked to come by Edith, who was sent to see her the evening before. Any other people who wished to come just walked in as they wanted to, in time for the tug-of-war.
    For Shelton this tea was the event of the summer. It was the day in which the mothers dressed their girls in Sunday frocks, each little girl easily persuading herself that she was a triumph over the others. During this day there awakened the great illusion of joy that had been a little inclined to fall asleep during the long days. All the people believed fine things would happen that would set their plain lives on fire. The vicarage field became the scented garden of Haroun al-Raschid, and racing for a packet of sweets was a thing to be remembered and talked of for years.
    The good people went to the party clad in their best, chattering along the road like magpies. At the field they stood in groups and said, ‘Yes, miss,’ and ‘Yes, mam’ to the one or two farmers’ wives who spoke to them. And after they had done that it was nearly time to go home, and even then it would have been hard to persuade them that something wonderful had not happened.
    The event that promised so much joy to the people meant almost nothing at all to the giverof the feast. The life of the vicarage hardly disturbed itself. It was only Edith and Alice who were able to catch any of the fire flying in the air. If the Rev. John Turnbull happened to be at home on the day, he used to hand over his cigarette case to the blacksmith, who came with his daughter, and the blacksmith, after some little fumbling with awkward fingers, abstracted a cigarette. The Rev. John would then walk about with a smile and start a race for little boys and walk away before the race was finished, leaving the competitors somewhat bewildered . It was Mr. Turnbull’s habit on these occasions to take one or two turns in the field and then sit upon a chair, where he remained until the second part of the tug-of-war, and in his chair he consulted with ‘Funeral’ about the conduct of certain small girls who had crept through the laurels and were eating the currants in the kitchen garden.
    After the tea and games were finished there was always a tug-of-war and a prayer for the King. The tug-of-war was pulled first by male and then by female warriors. The male tug was of the nature of a preface to the real thing, it was a sign that the great event of the day was near; one just glanced casually at the men who, in shirt sleeves and black trousers, pulled at one another, and very little notice was taken when one of the sides collapsed or was drawn over the line. After the men had retired people became interested, andthere was a general movement towards the rope where the fray between the married and the single of the village ladies was to be fought.
    On the day of this particular tea, event had followed event, under a blue sky. The village had assembled at the gate, had been admitted by Henry, had eaten cake and had run races for sweets. Mr. Turnbull had already looked six times at his watch, and the Rev. John had handed to the blacksmith two gold-tipped cigarettes and had talked with a pale individual who had once in his life bought a labour paper.
    Henry had been fetching and carrying, and was the only one who tried to make the thing a success. All the unpleasant tasks were left to him. He was the proper one to be called when anything very heavy required to be moved. He was commanded by the sultan in the chair to catch and chastise certain little