OUR BONNETS AND FROCKS GARDEN PARTY
Chapter 3.
Everyone stares aghast as the distant donkey and trap is overtaken at top speed by Lady Dalrymple’s coach. Clearly it must be being drawn by racehorses judging by the speed at which it is going! The carriage screeches past the little donkey and trap on two wheels and the driver and the donkey are almost forced into a ditch as the horses tear down the drive at a breakneck gallop. The coach driver eventually brings the coach to a screeching standstill at the end of the driveway. Yes, gentle reader, the Gentleman driving the coach himself really was driving that fast!. The Gentleman reaches for his top hat and makes haste to tidy himself before handing the horses and carriage over to the waiting groom. He tries to compose himself before he enters the garden to meet all the guests who have now been gathered for a long time. Sir Stefano has arrived and he is nursing a great indisposition. Last night he was out carousing in London with The Prince Regent and Beau Brummell and he is unable to remember quite how many flagons of wine were drunk. Earlier this week he had received an personal invitation from Jane Austen to attend today which he was not sure he could reply to. However, his feelings of obligation have today outweighed his ardent need for the recovery of his liver. He was at school with Miss Austen’s brother and is well known to the family. He is to stay over night at Chawton House. Jane’s sister Cassandra has embroidered him a fine waistcoat and he is anxious to have sight of it. Presently though, he is disappointed to find himself still at the stage where he is talking out loud - to himself...
Sir Stefano - There is to be a tiny party here tonight. I hate tiny parties - they force one into constant exertion...
He looks longingly over to the lake where he notices that already some of the Gentlemen who will be Gentlemen are already fishing. He longs to join them but knows he must first pay his respects and try to engage his brain in the art of small talk. He sighs. Deeply.
Meanwhile, the eagle-eyed amongst us will notice that the little donkey and trap has almost made it to the end of the long driveway. It definitely is a poor relation if the appearance of the trap driver is anything to go by. Ah, yes it is Miss Oops who has made the three day journey from Bath with many a stop along the way to ensure the comfort of her rescue donkey Jenny. Jenny wears a jaunty old straw beach hat and a sanguine expression. Miss Oops on the other hand wear a frock covered in axle grease since the trap has offered her little in the way of good service on the journey here. She lost her bonnet somewhere along the Bath Road and her little bun looks enormously messy. Nevertheless she is a bundle of high expectation since she has heard that her one true love, Sir Gary Barlow has agreed to attend this garden party. He is a singer; a purveyor of love songs. She has loved him for many years from afar. This distance is known only to her since Sir Gary Barlow knows nothing of her existence. She cannot hope to gain anything more than the opportunity be be in his presence today. For he is the best of men. Once she has settled Jenny in the stable she notices that in the distance she can see a carriage fit for a star. Can it be..? Could it be..? Miss Oops stands clutching her reticule to her bosom beneath a beautiful Catalpa tree which casts dappled shade over her. She prays that somehow she may today look un-plain. Her heart beats. Her cheeks flush. She begins to feel overcome as the carriage draws ever nearer. She can see a finely dressed Gentleman seated on the back seat of the carriage. The Gentleman wears a silk top hat and a fine silk waistcoat and a beautifully tied lawn cotton cravat. He slowly turns his face to look straight at her and...she sees...she sees...Mr Ken Barlow! Gentle reader, allow me to repeat that - Mr Ken Barlow. Miss Oops stares straight ahead. She is catatonic. She is glued to the spot bearing a look of crestfallen disappointment. She is rescued by her two friends Miss Canthus and Mrs Milking-Bennet. Gently they guide her to the dog kennels behind the stables where they know she will hastily recover in the company of some beloved dogs.
Mrs Milking-Bennet - Far be it for a woman of my breeding and status to complain but heads will roll for this! Mark my words - heads will roll! When I find out which imbecile in Production has made this heinous, hapless, humongous error I will show him my hinged Parisien parasol. He will not like it. Oh no - he will not. I will make it my business to make him rue his stupidity for the rest of his misbegotten life. This could kill her! Never in all of my life have I come across such a woeful Production team. Never! I will put in my formal complaint. If one does not complain how is one be pitied?
Miss Canthus - Production do not know their
Eleagnus from their elbow Of that we may all be sure. Here Miss Oops - a pomander of freshly picked lavender. Breathe...breathe - let the wonderful fragrance revive you.
Miss Oops - He has not come dear ladies. He has not come. Must I forever suffer the desertion of favour from Fate?
Mrs Milking-Bennet - Come my dear - friendship is certainly the kindest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.
Mr Archer Darcy - do not even think of going fishing. I will need you to wait on my every whim when we have sorted Miss Oops out with these dogs!
Mr Archer Darcy waits for Mrs Milking-Bennet to glance back at her friend before running like the wind to join the Gentlemen who have now
all been very pleased to go fishing.
All the ladies who remain in the garden have naturally picked their delicate way towards the Maypole - for it is May Day. To be fond of dancing was a certain step to falling in love and yet our resourceful ladies have decided it is incumbent on them to make the best of it and take up a ribbon. Since the Gentlemen have deserted them - naturally, they decide to pay homage to the beautiful day - for in Spring all lady’s fancies turn to horticulture. They dance around the maypole as they sing;
We’re here in the country - oh isn’t it grand
Breathing fresh air and admiring the land
Isn’t it marvellous - isn’t it bliss?
Having a party in grounds such as this
We’re each of us grateful and couldn’t want more
Than roses around every window and door
Columbine, heart’s-ease plus foxgloves and phlox
With formalised plants of ligustrum and box
Every row serried in fullest of order
With lavender edgings to perfume each border
The garden transforms to a great work of art
And June will see much of the flowering start
Isn’t it fun dears and isnt it jolly?
Creating a lime walk and maybe a folly
Arches and arbours with burgeoning blooms
Fountains cascading, parterres, water flumes
Violets and chamomile, parsley and thyme
Rosemary, honesty, sage and woodbine
Iris, forget-me-nots, dewed alchemilla
All underplanted with snowdrops and scilla
This garden is lovely - no hint of decay
What a glorious choice to be out here all day
So find us a spade and our gardening boots
The weeds will be vanquished pulled out by the roots
We’re here in the country - oh isn‘t it grand?
Breathing fresh air and admiring the land
Isn’t it marvellous isn’t it bliss?
Having a party in grounds such as this
The maypole ribbons have intertwined right down to the bottom and the ladies all fall to he floor. The church clock strikes four and Mrs Milking-Bennet has decided it is time for the Gentlemen to return. They have neglected their duties for long enough...
Mrs Milking-Bennet - Ladies, I beg you - follow me. We will go together and bring back the Gentlemen. It has pleased them to neglect their duties to us for too long. We are like delicate hot-house flowers and we need to be administered unto constantly and consistently. I dropped my handkerchief earlier and had to pick it up myself! I have never heard of such a thing!
The ladies look at each other and decide to follow Mrs Milking-Bennet. They come to the edge of the lake and notice all the gentlemen are in their shirtsleeves and all have removed their cravats. They appear absorbed completely in their fishing whist listening to Sir Stefano reading them a comical Poem.
Sir Stefano - Gentlemen; I would like to recite for you my poem about a dream I had about Mr Darcy. It’s called Coarse Fishing. A-hem...
Today I walked with Darcy and I read to him a sonnet
We were down besides the river which had dragonflies upon it
And there my dear friend bade me stay - to sit a while and nod
I did - and I was mesmerised as he showed me his new rod
It was sixteen feet and rising and it’s really not surprising
That my eyes were out on stalks just like a pike
When he showed me how to use it - I said ‘
Sir - do not abuse it
For that’s just the size of rod I really like
He lay there in his languor tying knots onto his flies
I watched him use his sculpted hands to shade his piercing eyes
He ran his skilful fingers through his glossy strands of hair
As I stood to attention trying not to gasp for air
He slept awhile beneath my gaze upon the mossy bank
Eventually as he awoke my soaring spirits sank
I could have watched forever - drinking every detail in
I offered him some ale then drowned my spawning thoughts with gin
He spoke to me quite openly - I grimaced and tut-tutted
When he told me of his lovely wife - I like the fish was gutted
Oh Mr Darcy can’t you see? I love you yes I do
And if you’d give me half a chance I think you’d love me too
The day too soon was ended - it was all a dream - a stunt
Imagine if we could have floated downstream in a punt
Yet I keep my dream here safe within - my heart still all a quiver
When I recall my perfect dream with Darcy - by the river
When the raucous laughter of the Gentlemen dies down Sir Stefano goes again...
And now Gentlemen a Poem about Mr Wickham...
I want to dip my wick in Wickham
Oh Mister Wickham turn those burning eyes on me
I want to dip my wick - Oh Mr Wickham be a brick...
Mrs Milking Bennet - (
shrieking to drown out Sir Stefano) MR ARCHER DARCY! MR ARCHER DARCY!! MR ARCHER DARCY!!!
Her beseeching and most urgent call is SO loud that ALL the Gentlemen jump out of their skins and fall into the lake in a state of surprised shock at the same time. After a matter of moments each Gentleman resurfaces from underwater. Imagine now gentle reader the sight of ALL the Mr Darcys, Mr Knightly, Colonel Brandon, Captain Wentworth et al coming up for air at the same time. Their wet, white shirts are stuck to their rippling bodies and and they are now striding purposefully towards you. Yes. You! Just imagine it...Their steadfast gaze fixed upon YOU as they draw closer and closer and closer...
I will leave you with that thought gentle reader, until our May Day Garden Party next year...
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