The musical soiree in the Great Hall of Homeward was a great success - marred only by an incident with the Badfort Crowd.
I had just began my performance on the Bass Viol when a curious noise began on the other side of the moat. It came steadily nearer drowning out my virtuosity.
"It's the Badfort crowd, Sir" said the Old Monkey, peering out of the window. "They've got a sort of band. Most of them are there, Beaver Hateman, Sigismund Hateman, Jellytussle and several others!"
The noise was absolutely vile. The instruments on which they were playing were mainly old pans with bits of wire strung across them. There was a trumpet made of old water pipes. Beaver Hateman was banging a big drum.
They were all shouting "We want our invite!... We want our invite!"
When Beaver saw me he took off his broken top hat and waved it at me. "A serenade to the Master of Homeward!" he shouted and then they all began to sing the most vile song.
"Listen to great big Unc.
Screeching like a cat.
He thinks he can play
but fools himself.
It's just another racket.
Lying, swindling and boasting,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some crime begun,
Each evening sees its close;
Somebody bullied, somebody done...
Luckily at that point the Little Lion, who's musical sensitivity had clearly reached breaking point, had had enough and decided to sit on Beaver. That shut him up and by the time they had got Beaver free they were exhausted and just skulked off home.
I was then able to carry on with my recital, which was much praised. For some reason they kept the Little Lion locked in the kitchen? I suppose that they were rewarding him with some special culinary treat but it does seem a shame that he missed my fine playing.
As for Beaver - I will not be brow-beaten into giving him an invitation to my Christmas Eve Party !
The musical soiree in the Great Hall of Homeward was a great success - marred only by an incident with the Badfort Crowd.
I had just began my performance on the Bass Viol when a curious noise began on the other side of the moat. It came steadily nearer drowning out my virtuosity.
"It's the Badfort crowd, Sir" said the Old Monkey, peering out of the window. "They've got a sort of band. Most of them are there, Beaver Hateman, Sigismund Hateman, Jellytussle and several others!"
The noise was absolutely vile. The instruments on which they were playing were mainly old pans with bits of wire strung across them. There was a trumpet made of old water pipes. Beaver Hateman was banging a big drum.
They were all shouting "We want our invite!... We want our invite!"
When Beaver saw me he took off his broken top hat and waved it at me. "A serenade to the Master of Homeward!" he shouted and then they all began to sing the most vile song.
"Listen to great big Unc.
Screeching like a cat.
He thinks he can play
but fools himself.
It's just another racket.
Lying, swindling and boasting,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some crime begun,
Each evening sees its close;
Somebody bullied, somebody done...
Luckily at that point the Little Lion, who's musical sensitivity had clearly reached breaking point, had had enough and decided to sit on Beaver. That shut him up and by the time they had got Beaver free they were exhausted and just skulked off home.
I was then able to carry on with my recital, which was much praised. For some reason they kept the Little Lion locked in the kitchen? I suppose that they were rewarding him with some special culinary treat but it does seem a shame that he missed my fine playing.
As for Beaver - I will not be brow-beaten into giving him an invitation to my Christmas Eve Party !
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