The Camberwell Raid Read Free

in French. She had, however, taken lessons in English during the three months prior to Christmas and could speak it passably well. Boots encouraged her to use it, and the family, particularly Mr Finch, helped her to enlarge her vocabulary. Like her late mother, however, she could not pronounce aspirates, which was why, after Boots had been ambushed, she dropped an aitch in saying, ‘Papa, I’m ’ere too.’
    ‘So I see,’ smiled Boots. ‘Was it your idea to have everyone chuck snowballs at me?’
    ‘No, mine,’ said Emily.
    ‘Was there a good reason?’ asked Boots, as they all entered the house.
    ‘Yes, I wanted to feel sixteen again,’ said Emily.
    ‘Well, that’s a fairly good reason,’ said Boots.
    Chinese Lady, appearing in the hall, asked, ‘What’s been goin’ on out there?’
    ‘Just a few snowballs whizzing about, Grandma,’ said Tim.
    ‘I might of guessed your father would forget his age as soon as he got home,’ said Chinese Lady.
    ‘No, that was Mum,’ said Tim, ‘she wanted to be sixteen again.’
    ‘Em’ly, you been throwin’ snowballs?’ said Chinese Lady.
    ‘Only a few, Mum, and only at Boots,’ said Emily.
    ‘Yes, we all did,’ said Eloise, and as Boots unbuttoned his coat she moved and helped him off with it. Rosie smiled. Eloise had become the first to do things for Boots. ‘Papa, ’ow wet your coat is. We must dry it at the fire.’
    ‘No need,’ said Boots, ‘it’ll dry on the hallstand.’
    ‘No, no,’ said Eloise, ‘it will feel cold and damp when you put it on in the morning. I will ’ang it on the fireguard.’ And off she went with the coat to the kitchen. Chinese Lady and Emily followed. Tim looked at Boots and Rosie, a grin on his face.
    ‘I like her all right,’ he said, ‘but she’ll get us a bad name.’
    ‘How?’ asked Boots.
    ‘Calling you Papa,’ said Tim.
    Rosie laughed. Boots regarded her with affection.
    ‘Nice you’re home, poppet,’ he said.
    ‘Love it,’ said Rosie, ‘so come on. Nana’s making a pot of tea. One day we’ll all drown in tea.’
    ‘Not a bad way to go,’ said Boots, as they moved towards the kitchen, ‘and more respectable than drowning in beer as far as your grandmother’s concerned.’
    ‘What a sober thought, Dad,’ said Tim with a flash of wit, and Rosie thought that despite the stimulating atmosphere of Somerville, home was where she belonged. Home was family. A family of fun.
    ‘Well,’ said Mrs Bessie Brown of Caulfield Place, Walworth, that evening, ‘I still can’t properly take it in, our Sally and Freddy both gettin’ married on the same day, Easter Saturday.’
    ‘Well, keep tryin’, me old Dutch,’ said lean and wiry Mr Brown, ‘and when you’ve took it in, you’ll get used to it. There’s still a bit of time to go.’
    ‘Orrice’s mother has been ever so kind and helpful,’ said placid Mrs Brown, ‘she’s a real lady.’
    ‘So are you, Bessie,’ said Mr Brown, ‘and I ain’t reluctant to say so.’
    ‘I never knew our Sally more up in the clouds,’ said Mrs Brown.
    ‘It’s love, I reckon,’ said Mr Brown.
    ‘I think it’s love,’ mused Mrs Brown.
    ‘I already said that,’ pointed out Mr Brown, toasting his feet at the kitchen fire and pulling on his pipe.
    ‘Sally’s never been in love serious before,’ said Mrs Brown.
    ‘Well, she is now,’ said Mr Brown.
    ‘Our Sally, head over heels like she was only seventeen, would you believe,’ said Mrs Brown.
    ‘Picked the right bloke, though,’ said Mr Brown.
    ‘And then our Freddy and all,’ said Mrs Brown, conjuring up imaginative pictures of Freddy and Sally at the altar together, along with their respective marriage partners. ‘I always thought he’d marry Cassie one day.’
    ‘I reckon Cassie always thought so too,’ said Mr Brown. ‘Mind, Freddy put up a good fight.’
    ‘Oh, you saying something, love?’ said Mrs Brown.
    ‘I’ve spoke one or two words,’ said Mr Brown, ‘but I don’t think