WILBERFORCE & GRACE
By
Peter Turner
1. FATHER OF THE CHILDREN
2. MISS WORLECHORT AND MRS TRUMPERTING
3. GRACE, CLARISSA, AND THE AMOROUS FRENCH BOY
4. MARTHA MAJOR AND SCIATICA STAN
5. SONS OF THE FATHERS
6. MR AND MRS LOVELAND
7. GRACE’S LOVE PANGS AMID THE PICCALLILI
8. SECRET LIAISON
9. A HEADMASTER WHO KNOWS HOW TO MAKE AN EXIT
10. REVELATION
11. DISCOVERY
12. MR LOVELAND’S DESIRE FOR AMNESTY
13. WILBERFORCE FINDS HIS GURU – GRACE GETS HER MAN
14. UNDER THE WING
15. A COLLECTIVE ANGST
16. A FATHER’S ANGST
17. THE HARBINGER OF DOOM RETURNS
18. WILBERFORCE REUNITED WITH TOMMY AND GRANNY
19. ANOTHER REUNION
20. FESTIVITIES WITH THE LOVELANDS AND WINDCHEATERS
21. WALTER WORLECHORT FINALLY PROVES HIS MORTALITY
22. WILBERFORCE’S NEW CAREER IN LIDDING
23. RENDESVOUZ WITH THE GOAT OF MENDES
24. GRACE WINDCHEATER AND EDWARD TRENCH
25. NOCTURNAL JAPES STARRING TEST CARD DOLL AND TV GURU
26. RETURN OF GRACE
27. GRACE MAKES HER MIND UP
28. A KNOCK AT THE DOOR
29. TROUBLE AT MILL
30. OUT OF THE BLUE
31. JEANETTE SPREADAGE
32. CHERRY REMOVAL SERVICE
33. SUNDAY SERMON
34. NUTTY SPREADAGE
35. WILBERFORCE IMPRESSES
36. DAVID DUCT
37. DOVETAIL’S PLAN GOES PEAR SHAPED
38. A GRACE WINDCHEATER INSPIRED ACT OF MANSLAUGHTER
39. THE WASHROOM OBSESSION
40. WORDS OF WISDOM
41. WILBERFORCE MAKES HIS MIND UP
42. WILBERFORCE AND GRACE AT THE CROSSROADS
43. THE SPIRIT OF TOMMY TRITE
44. THE WINDCHEATER CHRONICLES
45. A FATEFUL APPOINTMENT
46. FINAL REUNION
-1-
FATHER OF THE CHILDREN
“The respirator should be placed in box with heavy end (container) standing on bottom of box.
The transparent eyepiece should lie evenly on top of container and full length without any deforma...WATSON, GET UP HERE NOW, YOU PALTRY LITTLE SNIVELLING CRETIN!!”
The accused immediately became stone-faced and red-cheeked from a concoction of embarrassment and terror. He trembled his way to the front of the class.
“Tell me Watson, do you find Hitler funny?”
“No Sir.”
“Does mustard gas make you laugh?”
“No Sir.”
“Would you find a good thrashing amusing?”
Before Watson could complete his hat-trick of identical replies, the teacher ordered him to bend over the desk before producing a size-twelve slipper from his desk drawer.
Mr Meyland was as terrifying a prospect as conceivable for a late-1930’s adolescent. Late middle-aged and well built, he wore circular horn-rimmed spectacles, sported steely grey thinning hair, and a bulbous purple blob of a nose. He stood over six feet tall, and the children would get a clear and alarming view of the angry tufts of grey hair bursting from his nostrils as he towered over them.
As a prelude to Watson’s thrashing, Mr Meyland bent the slipper three times with angry arousal. Three monstrous blows to the backside soon followed.
Watson made his way back to his seat and placed his right buttock delicately on it, while the other was uncomfortably and throbbingly airborne. To add interest to the boy’s shame, his baggy black cotton trousers became infinitely blacker around the groin after failing to control his bladder. His humiliation was complete as he began to wail spectacularly.
“If I catch ANY of you not paying attention, you’ll get what Watson just had. IS THAT CLEAR?”
The class produced a respectful and terrified yessir with a synchronicity of military precision.
William Windcheater felt no sympathy whatsoever for his blubbering desk mate. He was totally in agreement with the punishment meted out to Watson, and was annoyed at him for disrupting the critical lecture with his catapult.
“This is why you have to listen!”
The seething teacher pointed to the poster affixed to the pimpled opaque window next to the classroom door. All heads turned as one to the right.
HITLER WILL SEND NO WARNING – so always carry your gas mask.
“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…”
Mr Meyland continued to go through the step by step guide in a far more calm, but no less authoritative manner. He comprehensively convinced his pupils of the utter protection provided by the masks, then went into detail about what Britain was fighting for, and whom she was fighting against.
“If we do not stand up to this festering carbuncle of evil, then everything we hold precious will be gone forever. The greatest empire ever to be built on God’s own earth is being challenged by this fanatical purveyor of hatred and ignorance!”
Mr Meyland searched inside his desk and produced a newspaper photograph of the German chancellor.
“JUST LOOK AT THIS RAGING IDIOT!”
The whole class jumped as his hollering anger returned to its original level.
He systematically tore the picture into several pieces and allowed them to fall to the floor. The manic teacher then got onto hands and knees to show his contempt.
“This – is – what – our – peo- ple – think – of – you – Mis – ter – Hit – ler!”
Each syllable was accompanied with a clenched fist banging against the shredded mugshot of the Fuhrer.
Mr Meyland’s theatrical sermon was interrupted by the appearance of the sour and staid Headmistress - and the pupils united by standing immediately to offer a submissive and tuneful good morning, Mrs Mountage.
The Headmistress acknowledged the children with an understated nod. She whispered into Mr Meyland’s ear, who returned a steadfast frown before scooping up the remnants of his unique contribution to Nazi-bashing.
As Mrs Mountage bid farewell and closed the classroom door, the gas mask warning poster fell to the floor, producing a few nervous titters.
“This is exactly the type of behaviour we will NOT be requiring!”
The teacher was huffing and puffing in response to the temerity shown by his pupils as he re-affixed the poster to the glass. He returned to stand behind his desk, stretched out both arms, and leant his palms on its surface.
“You are all going to have to grow up rather quickly over the coming months. Every one of you will experience a huge change to your lives, and laughing at silly little things will not help you come to terms with these changes!
“It is up to us all to stand erect, be custodians of valour, and make sure we all do our bit for our country.”
After his violent tanning of Watson’s backside, the teacher was standing erect in every way.
“We will only be successful if we learn to work for one another, be resolute and never lose heart. I do believe the enemy has underestimated the spirit of this great country, and this is what will spur us on to victory!
“For this great empire of ours taught simple people from all over the world how to play cricket, how to graciously observe fair play, and how to use knives and forks!”
Mr Meyland was becoming more passionate in his pep talk about the wonder of the home country’s resolve, and began to gesticulate accordingly. Certain words were marked out for accompanying limb spasms.
William put up his hand.
“Yes, Windcheater.”
“Sir, do you think we have enough planes and pilots to stop the Germans?”
“Yes Windcheater, I most certainly do!”
The teacher’s straightfaced reply oozed authority and confidence, though in truth he had sore misgivings about the new breed’s willingness to fight for what was left of Britain’s greatness, and it was his job to thrash a patriotic sense of duty into them.
“THIS WAR WILL NOT BE WON ON A DIET OF MOLLYCODDLING AND NAMBY-PAMBINESS!!”
William couldn’t wait for the commencement of hostilities. He fully swallowed Mr Meyland’s stirring propaganda, and entertained grand visions of winning all conceivable medals for exceptional bravery. This was going to be it, and William Hague Windcheater’s pulse raced as he prepared for his finest hour.
***
As it turned out, William had the naivety knocked out of him as soon as the first sirens brought the phoniness to a halt. Rather than unleashing rare fortitude and cascading spunk, his biggest desire was to hide.
On coming of age, he was secretly delighted that chronic short-sightedness meant he was a complete waste of space regarding employment with any of the forces. In place of his preconceived ideals of triumphant dogfights in his Hurricane, hearty feeds in the mess, and joyful pillow fights in the dorms, William helped out the local funeral director with embalming duties.
The trouble with William was he set his sights too high. Instead of the inevitable desk job that would await him in adulthood, he harboured dreams of being the hero of the hour – but reckoned without his lack of flair and courage. The former was never evident, and his ability to display an unwavering stiff upper lip vanished as soon as hostilities began.
The first and only time in his life where William Windcheater exhibited enthusiasm and sex appeal was on May eighth 1945. The whole country was drugged on joy and relief – so if ever William had no excuse for not being interesting, V.E. day would be it. His eyes met Catherine Crump’s on the pedestrian packed Waterloo Bridge, and his twenty-four-hour charm offensive was enough to sweep the young lady off her giddy feet.
Until this day, William was terrified of the opposite sex – he hadn’t a clue how to talk to a woman, let alone know about the complexities and fittings of physical affection. Within minutes of meeting his future wife, he turned her body to jelly with his lyrical sweet nothings, and showed he knew where everything went once they got inside the broken but gloriously private warehouse on the south bank.
For the pair of them, copulation was as wonderful as could possibly have been imagined. There were no uncomfortable pauses, no unfortunate and impromptu body noises, and even no discomfort, despite the less than salubrious surroundings. Two cherries as one gloriously vaporised.
William and Catherine were drunk on the ecstasy of the day’s significance, and thought the future had no place whatsoever in respect to their desires and actions. In reality, the heady day they experienced together turned out to be the casting off of their status as carefree young adults. William scored a direct hit with his seed, and the rest of their lives became irreversibly intertwined.
William found himself a clerk’s job at the bank, and Catherine moved in alongside Granny and Grandpa Windcheater in their modest terraced house in Wapping. Despite the fact Granny and Grandpa were her parents-in-law, Catherine got into the habit of giving them their new title as they were to become imminent grandparents anyway.
February 1946 saw the arrival of Grace. The first child of the couple was troublesome from the start. Her mother was in labour for twenty-eight hours, and when Grace eventually decided to vacate the womb, she weighed in at a hefty ten pounds. She was a delicate child both in mind and body, with constant tantrum throwing and succumbing to any disease or virus that happened to be doing the rounds.
She’d save her worst behaviour for when being on display to the neighbours and shopkeepers. Poor Mr Clef from the greengrocer store had a few stones of King Edward’s toppled from his display and kicked along the floor, one of which caused dear old Mrs Trumperting from the laundrette to twist her ankle, fall awkwardly to the ground and exhibit her barrage-balloon calves.
Granny and Grandpa were chuffed at being spared the wrath of the Messerschmidts and Heinkels amid the mouth-watering target of the east London dockyards, and their only aspirations thereon were to stay alive.
In fact, the nearest any of the family got to physical harm during the war was the night Grandpa braved the sirens to visit the outside toilet. As he was offloading, a large incendiary detonated in the next street, and the shock wave caused the water to splash up onto his behind. He hastily re-wiped, strapped his braces over his shoulders, and raced back into the house – displaying a sprightliness unseen since he came fourth in the school egg and spoon race at the turn of the century.
The lives of all concerned became easier as Grace’s behaviour improved by the time she got to primary school. She could still be a bit of a madam, but petulance was now seemingly a thing of the past.
Things were looking rosy for the Windcheaters; William worked his way up to become assistant manager of the bank, Catherine did a few hours cleaning, and Grace was showing herself to be an adept and hard working pupil.
The couple took out their first mortgage and moved en masse to a terraced house that included the mod con of a lavatory within its walls.
Both William and Catherine were only children, and decided unanimously they’d waited long enough for their second child. Twelve-year-old Grace was delighted when a baby brother clocked in on the thirteenth anniversary of Victory in Europe.