The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1437 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Monica and Tom seemed to be getting on well, despite the absence of the two leading men, the rest of us chatted and the meal was a reasonable success–especially in my eyes–I hadn’t had to plan, shop, cook and clear up afterwards.

Two hours later, Simon and Henry returned–just in time to get the bill. They both looked tired and irritable. Simon sat beside me and ordered a stiff brandy, his father asked for the same.

“How bad is it?” I asked knowing that he wouldn’t have been able to tell me, but the conversation had to start somewhere.

“Terrible to bloody awful.”

“Nobody’s hurt though?”

“That is about the only saving grace–we owned the whole block the bank was in. There were half a dozen shops, a dozen flats and maisonette plus some garages. They’ve all gone–just a mouldering heap by now.”

“So people’s homes have gone up in smoke?”

“Yeah, our building, but our tenants homes–all gone.”

“What sort of shops?” asked Stella.

“A pharmacy, an ironmongers, a small Polish food store, a betting shop and a burger joint.” Henry knew his tenants.

“That’s pretty awful, but is it any worse than losing all your personal possessions–your photos, your kid’s toys, your best frock or favourite underwear. Possibly a pet or two–it’s dreadful.”

“Why did they burn it all down, Mummy?” Trish looked perplexed.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, probably a lot of different reasons.”

“Don’t they like you, Daddy, to burn your bank?”

“Probably not, Trish, they see us as undeservingly privileged–born with a silver spoon in our mouths.”

“I wasn’t born with a spoon in my mouth was I, Mummy?”

“No, darling, only Grampa Henry, Daddy and Auntie Stella, could be so described.”

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous for a baby–it could swallow the spoon?” she looked quite concerned.

“It doesn’t mean it literally, Trish, it means born into a wealthy family because in the days when the phrase was coined, ordinary poor people ate with wooden or pewter spoons.”

“What’s putrid?” she asked, “it sounds rotten.”

“Pewter is a metal made from lead and tin, it’s a grey colour.”

“Oh–sounds horrid.”

“No, it isn’t horrid, it’s very old fashioned but in the old days they didn’t have stainless steel and anything else either affected the food or drink or was affected by it, so they came up with pewter which did the trick until something better came along.”

“Poor people couldn’t afford to eat, could they, Mummy?” Livvie was entering the discussion.

“Years ago, even as recently as fifty or sixty years ago, if you were out of work or sick the money you got to help you pay your rent or food bills was very little.” I started a narrative. “Sometimes they received a tiny amount from the parish–the local council or charitable body–or they could even end up in the workhouse.”

“If fey was out of work, how could fey go to a workhouse, Mummy?” Meems was taking an interest.

“The workhouse was a place where people were sent to work for their food and shelter. It was deliberately austere, so the food was little and basic and the work was hard to discourage them from staying.”

“Sounds awful, Mummy,” concluded Livvie.

“Sounds like school,” opined Danny although his grin showed everyone he was joking.

“You could always come to our school,” smirked Billie and I was delighted that Danny didn’t put her down as he could have done. Instead he just said, “All those nuns–no thanks.”

“Nun but the brave,” suggested Trish, should be the school motto.

“Do they sing out of doors?” asked Simon.

“Sing, Daddy?”

“Yes you know–opera and stuff.” I could see where this was going but Trish couldn’t.

“No–why would they sing opera? Woss opera?”

“I just thought it was convent garden,” beamed Simon right over the heads of the children the adults groaned.

Trish still looked perplexed. “I don’t get it, Mummy?”

“Daddy was joking–Covent Garden in London is where they do operas.”

“Oh–wossanopera?”

“Opera is a form of musical theatre, frequently sung in Italian. The singers have very trained voices so they can produce amazing vocalisations.”

Trish looked blank.

“They can sing very high notes and things and hold the note.”

She shook her head.

“Gramps has got some–if you ask him nicely he might play some bits for you.”

Daddy nodded and winked. “No Wagner,” I mimed to him and he groaned.

“You wannopera, you gotopera,” Danny handed her his phone–somehow he’d patched into You-tube and she listened to some on his phone.

“Taxi’ll be here in a minute,” said Simon looking at his watch, which drew a close to the proceedings. We bid goodbye to Henry and Monica and they walked with us to reception which meant all the reception staff became very active, even though we knew they worked at less than half that pace normally. Henry thought it was very funny and suggested the same happens in the bank when they know he’s around.

“How come it doesn’t happen when I visit?” Simon complained.

“It does when I do,” I agreed with Henry.

“Huh–right, I’ll have to sack a few tomorrow–that should get their attention,” Simon asserted.

“It’s Saturday tomorrow, Si.”

“Yeah, we’re open in some branches in the morning–I could go in and read the riot act.”

“I don’t think it’s bank staff who need to be read that,” I considered.

“Well okay, you know what I mean–shake ‘em up a bit.” He paused then merrily called out, “Come on kids, the peasants are revolting,” it didn’t go down terribly well with the reception staff and I noticed some black looks from them. However, the next moment the minibus taxi arrived and we all climbed aboard and set off for home.

By the time we arrived home, I had barely enough space to go and change and get the tea ready. Fortunately, only Simon felt hungry, so I warmed up some curry I had in the freezer and did him some rice. It wasn’t the salmon Henry had promised but the way he tucked into it, he didn’t seem to care. The rest of us had egg and cress sandwiches and a sponge cake I’d made the day before–I added some jam and a bit of whipped cream and that was tea. Needless to say, the children quickly demolished the cake after eating two sandwiches each. I didn’t actually get to sample it, but maybe that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing–I’d had too many spuds with the salmon–so cake wasn’t really something I needed to eat.

While the children played or watched television, I asked Simon what would happen with the damaged bank. “We’ll send in a team to secure any money that’s in the vault–it’s only a large safe, so if the fire was that bad it might all be ashes.

“How much would be in there?”

“Fifty thousand give or take a bit.”

“That’s a lot to lose.”

“Not really, if it has burned we’ll get the money back from the Bank Of England, we hand over the lot with what info we have and their forensic team look it over–it’s amazing what they can deduce from the rubbish. Then they pay us what we agree is there–it’s all recorded.”

“I thought your records would have been burned.”

“No–it gets sent immediately to head office by computer.”

“Oh, so you should get most of it back?”

“Yes, what’s more worrying is how many jobs we’ll have to offer to those whose branch no longer exists.”

“Oh–not so good.”

“That’s the worst bit,” he agreed, “and the bit I hate.”