Simkins Goes to a Tea Party

Cue (NZERS), Issue 34, 31 October 1945, Page 25

Simkins Goes to a Tea Party

O 0 this is Christchurch, said Simkins to himself, looking at the buildings 011 the opposite side of the street because, after all, it was all you could see unless you climbed a high building or went up in a plane. A flock of bicycles loentpast and Herbert quite enjoyed watching them, especially as there was the usual nor 9 wester blowing. From sheer force of habit he looked for a gharry but there wasn't any, and so he set off up the strada, bound for the piazza or the Square as the natives called it.

Not a bad dump, thought Herbert as he bumped ‘and pushed his way through the pedestrians. Reminded him of Bari, although there was not the same smell and there were not the Yanks about. He wondered where he would stay the night. Pity there wasn’t a New Zealand Club. He looked hard at some of the bints but they showed little interest in him. Of course, if it was the same as in Italy a lot would still be sleeping. He didn’t want to go to any of the posh hotels, not after his experiences in Wellington. He didn’t like their soft, springy beds and sheets and things. He liked the warmth and the tickle of blankets next to him. And he didn’t like their fussy waiters and all the implements spread out on a white cloth. Give him a spoon and a dixie, some good army munga, and a bed-roll on the floor and he would be happy. He looked round for a pensione, even if it did cost him a few cigarettes or a couple of tins of bully. He could hunt up his old Div.

friends dPmani.

In the meantime he was hungry and there was a trattoria right ahead. He pushed his way inside, kit-bag, bedroll and all.

’’Eggs and chips, Momma?” he asked the middle-aged woman behind the counter. She gave him a withering look and then relented when she saw his pretty service ribbons.

’’Just sit down over there, soldier, and order what you want,” she said. ’’And if you like you can leave your baggage in here.”

Herbert looked at her speculatively. ’’They’re worth molte lire,” he said doubtfully. ’’You won’t hock them, will you?” he added with what he hoped was a disarming smile. The woman assured him rather sharply that she wouldn’t touch them, and so he left them but he kept' his eye on them all the time he ate. The meal didn’t cost him such a packet of lire after all, and he began to trust the old girl at the counter. Perhaps he could leave his gear with her while he went in search of an asteria.. He put it to her and she agreed after he had slipped her a couple of clothing coupons. He didn’t want them anyway. He had enough army clothes to keep him going on the farm for some time to come

anyhow.

It was Herbert’s first visit to Christchurch and in spite of its misfortune in being in the wrong island it wasn’t a bad burg at all. Yes, he decided after the fourth or fifth visit, the beer was definitely good—not quite so good as Stella perhaps but better than the Italian version. And the - bints, why they were just the job to look at, not at all hard on the eyes even after the Trieste smashers. Herbert felt so pleased with life that he decided to go visiting some of his old amici.. His ’’Bludge Here” list showed where Alf lived and he boarded a tram going Riccarton way.

No. 88 —the bishop’s number in the old housey slangwas a neat little bungalow in ang at little garden. Just the job, thought Herbert. He wouldn’t be too a proud at all to stay a day or two or even a week or two in this casa. He walked boldly up the path and rang the bell. A brunette of about thirty opened the door and Herbert felt a respect for Alf that he had never felt before.

”Bzion l mean hello, Mrs. Birtles,” he began. ”Is Alf in? I’m Herbert Simkins.”

”Oh,” said Mrs. Birtles. . ”No, I’m sorry Alf is out.”

’’Bad luck,” said Herbert, ’’but you must have ’heard of me. Alf and I were just like this and that,” he added, crossing over his fingers under her pretty nose. . ’’Well,” said Mrs. Birtles doubtfully. "But won’t you come in and have a cup of tea?” - Den t mind if I do,” said Simkins with a broad wink and followed her inside. He wouldn’t half mind a chat with the brunette, even if Alf were away. But he was not prepared for what confronted him in the sitting room. There were four women and the local vicar sitting round sipping away daintily at little cups of tea* (Mugs of chai, Herbert would have said in any other circumstances but

A flock of bicycles went past and Herbert enjoyed watching them

nothing could be less like the cookhouse or the Naafi than this sight.) Herbert was so busy goggling at the sight that he barely heard the introductions, but he managed to give what he thought was a bow and a grin. ”Sayeeda” he began and then recovered enough to say ”Please-ter-meet-cher” to the little circle. Madonna mia, he exclaimed under his breath. Why had he had those extra beers when there was the old vicar to contend with?

”1 am so glad to meet a friend of dear Alf,” said the vicar, shaking hands effusively with Herbert. ”1 give you a warm welcome on his behalf.”

”Prego” said Herbert graciously. ”It’s very good of you, padre old chap,” he added, trying to match the other’s heartiness.

”Do sit down, Mr. Simkins,” said Mrs. Birtles but Herbert did not seem to hear. ”Sit down, Mr. Simkins,’’ she repeated pushing a chair towards him.

”Oh,” said Herbert, ’’you mean me? You fooled me with the Mister, you know. Please just call me Herbert, like the other bints, I mean friends do.”

Herbert sank into the chair and carefully placed his hat under it. He was about to throw away his cigarette butt, which up till now had been hanging from his lower lip, on to the floor but he noticed just in time that it was carpeted. While .Mrs. Birtles was pouring out a cup of tea, he stubbed it out on his boot and flicked it over his shoulder. _ He hoped 1 no one noticed but it went suspiciously near the food table.

Mrs. Birtles thrust into his unsteady hands a fragile, miniature cup, saucer, and plate, complete with teaspoon and cake fork. Poor Herbert felt the sweat break on his ruddy brow. And then to make matters worse, the vicar was thrusting a plate of sandwiches and another of biscuits under his nose. What was he to do? It was worse than when the orderly officer fell in the grease trap and the C.O. was bellowing for Herbert. He tried to work it out. If he took the plate in one hand and the cup and saucer in the other how could he oblige the vicar? He solved it by carefully lowering the whole of the stores on to the carpet and leaving both hands free. The old chap had been standing there quite a while and Herbert felt he had to make amends.

I’ll take a couple of each,” he said. ’’Save you coming back, eh?” And he stacked the rations on the little plate. Mrs. Birtles seemed to have a few clues because she produced a small table for him, and left him free to look at the other hints, signoras, he corrected himself as he looked round the circle.

’ And what did you do in the army?” one of the signoras asked in a kind voice.

Herbert looked at the vicar. He didn’t like embarking on his old Dig. stories after the old bloke had been so decent. No, he would tell the truth this time. Besides he was not likely to get any free drinks anyhow.

. ’’Most of the time I was a sanitary fatigue,” he told them modestly. ”1 saw a bit at Cassino but I got the sh-shivers and had to evacuate in a hurry.”

’’Quite,” said the vicar, with a slight cough. ’’And I am sure you are so glad to be back? Where do you come from ?”

’’Taranaki,” said Herbert defensively, ’’and I don’t want the usual cracks either.”

”I’m sure you don’t,” said the vicar. ’’Nothing would be further from my mind. Are you staying long in Christchurch ?”

’’Not over Sunday,” replied Herbert, wondering if the old chap made his parades compulsory or not. ’’l’m going on to Dunedin. They tell-me there’s still plenty of plonk and pretties down there. There will need to be, you know, especially after Trieste.”

’’Quite,” said the vicar hurriedly. ’’And what did you think of Italy generally?” he added.

”Oh a stinking, rotten hole,” said Herbert feelingly, and most of those present shifted uneasily in their chairs. ’’There are one or two decent places, but nearly every town and village has a . whole swag of different stinks. And you should see the streets, just covered in—”

’’Quite,” said the vicar. ’’Most interesting, Mr. Simkins. Well, my dear Mrs. Birtles,” he said turning towards her, ”1 really must be going.

Are you coming my way, Mr. Simkins? I am sure we men are not wanted at a tea party. And Mr. Birtles will not be back for some days, I believe.”

’’Well, if that’s the way it is,” said Herbert, ”1 guess it’s not much use my staying.” He looked hard at Mrs. Birtles but she gave him no encouragement. Strange, thought Simkins, what with her husband away.

Not like . . . ”Yes, I’ll come with you, padre. I suppose I’ll have to go to a pub after all. Ciao, Mrs. Birtles. Tell Alf to have one for me when he comes back, won’t you?”

”1 shall,” said Mrs. Birtles doubtfully.

,"CiaO, signore,” Herbert called to the stony-faced tea-sippers. ’’See you bad in.”

’’Are you coming my way?” the vicar asked after they had reached the street. ”1 would like to have a talk with you if you are.”

’’Sorry,’’ said Herbert quickly. ’’Got to find a pub and fix up a bint for the night.” The vicar winced, and Herbert wondered why. Then it dawned on him. ”Oh,” he said with a delighted smile. ’’Not what you mean, you old dog. Just to go to a dance or something. We’re not in Rome or Trieste now, you know, padre.”

But the vicar did not answer. He was stalking up the strada rather pink about the ears.