Just William's New Year's Day Read online

  FOREWORD

  An eleven-year-old boy called William Brown taught me to read when I was eight and a half. I had tried to learn since I was five years old, but a combination of a terrifying teacher and a strong dislike of school meant that I never quite learned to make sense of the letters of the alphabet. Then one glorious day I was diagnosed with mumps and told by the doctor that I must stay at home in quarantine for three whole weeks. Early in the first week of my holiday from school my mother went to a rummage sale and brought back a pile of William books, including Just William. I leafed through this book and came across Thomas Henry’s delightful scratchy pen and ink illustrations. Under each of these funny drawings was a caption written in capital letters. I asked my mother what these captions said and she read them aloud to me and we both laughed. After she had trawled through all the dozen or so books, found the illustrations and read all the captions, I wanted more. I wanted to read the stories, so, covered in a blanket on the sofa next to the fire, I started learning to read. With my mother’s help the letters turned into words, the words into sentences, the sentences into paragraphs. And then one wonderful day I was able to immerse myself in the gloriously funny subversive world of William Brown and that of his long-suffering parents; his snobbish grown-up siblings, Robert and Ethel; his gang, called collectively The Outlaws (consisting of Henry, Douglas and Ginger, and occasionally Joan, the only girl that William has a soft spot for); his sworn enemy Hubert Lane and the Laneite gang, and Violet Elizabeth Bott, daughter of the nouveau-riche Botts.

  William falls into the path of many authoritarian figures: policeman, clergymen, aunts, shopkeepers, spinsters, gardeners and servants. For this is 1922. But new readers need not fear. William’s world may not be familiar to them, but William certainly will be. He is that scruffy boy with the screwed-up face and with his own logic, who pedantically questions every rule and sets out to break most of them. His sins include burglary, kidnapping, arson, theft, stalking, deceit and slovenliness. But most of his intentions are good and he is always kind to white rats, babies and stray dogs. The situations he gets himself – and The Outlaws – into are funny, but the true genius of his author, Richmal Crompton, is in her richly comic dialogue. In particular William’s poor diction, grammar and mordant observations, which still make me laugh today.

  Richmal Crompton did not write Just William for children. She uses a sophisticated vocabulary and has a satirical view of the society in which she and William lived. In 1922 Richmal Crompton was teaching classics in a girls’ school. Although she was a suffragette who campaigned for women’s right to vote, she must have felt horribly constrained by the limitations imposed on women in the late-Edwardian period, when she was writing. William Brown is the wild child within her whose free spirit has endured triumphant for ninety years.

  Sue Townsend

  WILLIAM’S NEW YEAR’S DAY

  William went whistling down the street, his hands in his pockets. William’s whistle was more penetrating than melodious. Sensitive people fled shuddering at the sound. The proprietor of the sweet shop, however, was not sensitive. He nodded affably as William passed. William was a regular customer of his – as regular, that is, as a wholly inadequate allowance would permit. Encouraged, William paused at the doorway and ceased to whistle.

  ‘’Ullo, Mr Moss!’ he said.

  ‘’Ullo, William!’ said Mr Moss.

  ‘Anythin’ cheap today?’ went on William hopefully.

  Mr Moss shook his head.

  ‘Twopence an ounce cheapest,’ he said.

  William sighed.

  ‘That’s awful dear,’ he said.

  ‘What isn’t dear? Tell me that. What isn’t dear?’ said Mr Moss lugubriously.

  ‘Well, gimme two ounces. I’ll pay you tomorrow,’ said William casually Mr Moss shook his head.

  ‘Go on!’ said William. ‘I get my money tomorrow. You know I get my money tomorrow.’

  ‘Cash, young sir,’ said Mr Moss heavily. ‘My terms is cash. ’Owever,’ he relented, ‘I’ll give you a few over when the scales is down tomorrow for a New Year’s gift.’

  ‘Honest Injun?’

  ‘Honest Injun.’

  ‘Well, gimme them now then,’ said William.

  Mr Moss hesitated.

  ‘They wouldn’t be no New Year’s gift then, would they?’ he said.

  William considered.

  ‘I’ll eat ’em today but I’ll think about ’em tomorrow,’ he promised. ‘That’ll make ’em a New Year’s gift.’

  Mr Moss took out a handful of assorted fruit drops and passed them to William. William received them gratefully.

  ‘An’ what good resolution are you going to take tomorrow?’ went on Mr Moss.

  William crunched in silence for a minute, then,

  ‘Good resolution?’ he questioned. ‘I ain’t got none.’

  ‘You’ve got to have a good resolution for New Year’s Day’ said Mr Moss firmly.

  ‘Same as giving up sugar in tea in Lent and wearing blue on Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race Day?’ said William with interest.

  ‘Yes, same as that. Well, you’ve got to think of some fault you’d like to cure and start tomorrow.’

  William pondered.

  ‘Can’t think of anything,’ he said at last. ‘You think of something for me.’

  ‘You might take one to do your schoolwork properly,’ he suggested.

  William shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘that wun’t be much fun, would it? Crumbs! It wun’t!’

  ‘Or – to keep your clothes tidy?’ went on his friend.

  William shuddered at the thought.

  ‘Or to – give up shouting and whistling.’

  William crammed two more sweets into his mouth and shook his head very firmly.

  ‘Crumbs, no!’ he ejaculated indistinctly.

  ‘Or to be perlite.’

  ‘Perlite?’

  ‘Yes. “Please” and “thank you”, and “if you don’t mind me sayin’ so”, and “if you excuse me contradictin’ of you”, and “can I do anything for you?” and such like.’

  William was struck with this.

  ‘Yes, I might be that,’ he said. He straightened his collar and stood up. ‘Yes, I might try bein’ that. How long has it to go on, though?’

  ‘Not long,’ said Mr Moss. ‘Only the first day gen’rally Folks gen’rally give ’em up after that.’

  ‘What’s yours?’ said William, putting four sweets into his mouth as he spoke.

  Mr Moss looked round his little shop with the air of a conspirator, then leant forward confidentially.

  ‘I’m goin’ to arsk ’er again,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’ said William mystified.

  ‘Someone I’ve arsked reg’lar every New Year’s Day for ten year.’

  ‘Asked what?’ said William, gazing sadly at his last sweet.

  ‘Arsked to take me, o’ course,’ said Mr Moss with an air of contempt for William’s want of intelligence.

  ‘Take you where?’ said William. ‘Where d’you want to go? Why can’t you go yourself?’

  ‘Ter marry me, I means,’ said Mr Moss, blushing slightly as he spoke.

  ‘Well,’ said William with a judicial air, ‘I wun’t have asked the same one for ten years. I’d have tried someone else. I’d have gone on asking other people, if I wanted to get married. You’d be sure to find someone that wouldn’t mind you – with a sweet shop, too. She must be a softie. Does she know you’ve got a sweet shop?’

  Mr Moss merely sighed and popped a bull’s eye into his mouth with an air of abstracted melancholy.

  The next morning William leapt out of bed with an expression of stern resolve. ‘I’m
goin’ to be p’lite,’ he remarked to his bedroom furniture. ‘I’m goin’ to be p’lite all day.’

  He met his father on the stairs as he went down to breakfast.

  ‘Good mornin’, Father,’ he said, with what he fondly imagined to be a courtly manner. ‘Can I do anything for you today?’

  His father looked down at him suspiciously.

  ‘What do you want now?’ he demanded.

  William was hurt.

  ‘I’m only bein’ p’lite. It’s – you know – one of those things you take on New Year’s Day. Well, I’ve took one to be p’lite.’

  His father apologised. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You see, I’m not used to it. It startled me.’

  At breakfast William’s politeness shone forth in all its glory.

  ‘Can I pass you anything, Robert?’ he said sweetly.

  His elder brother coldly ignored him. ‘Going to rain again,’ he said to the world in general.

  ‘GOOD MORNIN’, FATHER,’ SAID WILLIAM WITH WHAT HE FONDLY IMAGINED TO BE A COURTLY MANNER.

  ‘If you’ll ’scuse me contradicting of you Robert,’ said William, ‘I heard the milkman sayin’ it was goin’ to be fine. If you’ll ’scuse me contradictin’ you.’

  ‘Look here!’ said Robert angrily. ‘Less of your cheek!’

  ‘Seems to me no one in this house understands wot bein’ p’lite is,’ said William bitterly. ‘Seems to me one might go on bein’ p’lite in this house for years an’ no one know wot one was doin’.’

  His mother looked at him anxiously.

  ‘You’re feeling quite well, dear, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘You haven’t got a headache or anything, have you?’

  ‘No. I’m bein’ p’lite,’ he said irritably, then pulled himself up suddenly. ‘I’m quite well, thank you, Mother dear,’ he said in a tone of cloying sweetness.

  ‘Does it hurt you much?’ inquired his brother tenderly.

  ‘No thank you, Robert,’ said William politely.

  After breakfast he received his pocket money with courteous gratitude.

  ‘Thank you very much, Father.’

  ‘Not at all. Pray don’t mention it, William. It’s quite all right,’ said Mr Brown, not to be outdone. Then, ‘It’s rather trying. How long does it last?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The resolution.’

  ‘Oh, bein’ p’lite! He said they didn’t often do it after the first day.’

  ‘He’s quite right, whoever he is,’ said Mr Brown. ‘They don’t.’

  ‘He’s goin’ to ask her again,’ volunteered William.

  ‘Who ask who what?’ said Mr Brown, but William had departed. He was already on his way to Mr Moss’s shop.

  Mr Moss was at the door, hatted and coated, and gazing anxiously down the street.

  ‘Goo’ mornin’, Mr Moss,’ said William politely.

  Mr Moss took out a large antique watch.

  ‘He’s late!’ he said. ‘I shall miss the train. Oh, dear! It will be the first New Year’s Day I’ve missed in ten years.’

  William was inspecting the sweets with the air of an expert.

  ‘Them pink ones are new,’ he said at last. ‘How much are they?’

  ‘Eightpence a quarter. Oh, dear, I shall miss the train.’

  ‘They’re very small ones,’ said William disparagingly. ‘You’d think they’d be less than that – small ones like that.’

  ‘Will you – will you do something for me and I’ll give you a quarter of those sweets?’

  William gasped. The offer was almost too munificent to be true.

  ‘I’ll do anythin’ for that,’ he said simply.

  ‘Well, just stay in the shop till my nephew Bill comes. ’E’ll be ’ere in two shakes an’ I’ll miss my train if I don’t go now. ’E’s goin’ to keep the shop for me till I’m back an’ ’e’ll be ’ere any minute now. Jus’ tell ’im I ’ad to run for to catch my train an’ if anyone comes into the shop before ’e comes jus’ tell ’em to wait or to come back later. You can weigh yourself a quarter o’ those sweets.’

  Mr Moss was certainly in a holiday mood. William pinched himself just to make sure that he was still alive and had not been translated suddenly to the realms of the blessed.

  Mr Moss, with a last anxious glance at his watch, hurried off in the direction of the station.

  William was left alone. He spent a few moments indulging in roseate daydreams. The ideal of his childhood – perhaps of everyone’s childhood – was realised. He had a sweet shop. He walked round the shop with a conscious swagger, pausing to pop into his mouth a Butter Ball – composed, as the label stated, of pure farm cream and best butter. It was all his – all those rows and rows of gleaming bottles of sweets of every size and colour, those boxes and boxes of attractively arranged chocolates. Deliberately he imagined himself as their owner. By the time he had walked round the shop three times he believed that he was the owner.

  At this point a small boy appeared in the doorway. William scowled at him.

  ‘Well,’ he said ungraciously, ‘what d’you want?’ Then, suddenly remembering his resolution, ‘Please what d’you want?’

  ‘Where’s Uncle?’ said the small boy with equal ungraciousness. ‘’cause our Bill’s ill an’ can’t come.’

  William waved him off.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘You tell ’em that’s all right. That’s quite all right. See? Now, you go off!’

  The small boy stood, as though rooted to the spot. William pressed into one of his hands a stick of liquorice and into the other a packet of chocolate.

  ‘Now, you go away! I don’t want you here. See? You go away you little – assified cow!’

  William’s invective was often wholly original.

  The small boy made off, still staring and clutching his spoils. William started to the door and yelled to the retreating figure, ‘If you don’t mind me sayin’ so.’

  He had already come to look upon the Resolution as a kind of god who must at all costs be propitiated. Already the Resolution seemed to have bestowed upon him the dream of his life – a fully-equipped sweet shop.

  He wandered round again and discovered a wholly new sweetmeat called Cokernut Kisses. Its only drawback was its instability. It melted away in the mouth at once. So much so that almost before William was aware of it he was confronted by the empty box. He returned to the more solid charms of the Pineapple Crisp.

  He was interrupted by the entrance of a thin lady of uncertain age.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said icily. ‘Where’s Mr Moss?’

  William answered as well as the presence of five sweets in his mouth would allow him.

  ‘I can’t hear a word you say,’ she said – more frigidly than ever.

  William removed two of his five sweets and placed them temporarily on the scale.

  ‘Gone,’ he said laconically, then murmured vaguely, ‘thank you,’ as the thought of the Resolution loomed up in his mind.

  ‘Who’s in charge?’

  ‘Me,’ said William ungrammatically.

  She looked at him with distinct disapproval.

  ‘Well, I’ll have one of those bars of chocolate.’

  William looking round the shop, realised suddenly that his own depredations had been on no small scale. But there was a chance of making good any loss that Mr Moss might otherwise have sustained.

  He looked down at the twopenny bars.

  ‘Shillin’ each,’ he said firmly.

  She gasped.

  ‘They were only twopence yesterday.’

  ‘They’re gone up since,’ said William brazenly, adding a vague, ‘if you’ll kin’ly ’scuse me sayin’ so.’

  ‘Gone up—’ she repeated indignantly. ‘Have you heard from the makers they’re gone up?’

  ‘Yes’m,’ said William politely.

  ‘When did you hear?’

  ‘This mornin’ — if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.’

  William’s manner of fulsome politene
ss seemed to madden her.

  ‘Did you hear by post?’

  ‘Yes’m. By post this mornin’.’

  She glared at him with vindictive triumph.

  ‘I happen to live opposite, you wicked, lying boy, and I know that the postman did not call here this morning.’

  William met her eye calmly.

  ‘No, they came round to see me in the night – the makers did. You cou’n’t of heard them,’ he added hastily. ‘It was when you was asleep. If you’ll ’scuse me contradictin’ of you.’

  It is a great gift to be able to lie so as to convince other people. It is a still greater gift to be able to lie so as to convince oneself. William was possessed of the latter gift.

  ‘I shall certainly not pay more than twopence,’ said his customer severely, taking a bar of chocolate and laying down twopence on the counter. ‘And I shall report this shop to the Profiteering Committee. It’s scandalous. And a pack of wicked lies!’

  William scowled at her.

  ‘They’re a shillin’,’ he said. ‘I don’t want your nasty ole tuppences. I said they was a shillin’.’

  He followed her to the door. She was crossing the street to her house. ‘You – you ole thief!’ he yelled after her, though, true to his Resolution, he added softly with dogged determination, ‘if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.’

  ‘I’ll set the police on you,’ his late customer shouted angrily back across the street. ‘You wicked, blasphemous boy!’

  William put out his tongue at her, then returned to the shop and closed the door.

  Here he discovered that the door, when opened, rang a bell, and, after filling his mouth with Liquorice Allsorts, he spent the next five minutes vigorously opening and shutting the door till something went wrong with the mechanism of the bell. At this he fortified himself with a course of Nutty Footballs and, standing on a chair, began ruthlessly to dismember the bell. He was disturbed by the entry of another customer. Swallowing a Nutty Football whole, he hastened to his post behind the counter.

  The newcomer was a little girl of about nine – a very dainty little girl, dressed in a white fur coat and cap and long white gaiters. Her hair fell in golden curls over her white fur shoulders. Her eyes were blue. Her cheeks were velvety and rosy. Her mouth was like a baby’s. William had seen this vision on various occasions in the town, but had never yet addressed it. Whenever he had seen it, his heart in the midst of his body had been even as melting wax. He smiled – a self-conscious, sheepish smile. His freckled face blushed to the roots of his short stubby hair. She seemed to find nothing odd in the fact of a small boy being in charge of a sweet shop. She came up to the counter.