Tales from the Finchbottom Vale – (26) Betcha By Golly Wow – Rosie’s Tale (Part 02)
In the cold light of day when they surfaced on Sunday afternoon the girls had serious doubts about the wisdom of dressing as Golliwogs for the Sharpington Day Parade but none of them voiced their concerns as they didn’t want to appear wimpy in front of the other two.
The drive over to Sharpington to register was completed largely in silence as they were so hungover from the night before.
Unfortunately it was a trip they had to make, as volunteers for the fundraising effort for the Parade had to register on Sunday afternoon where they would also pick up collection tins.
Fortunately those participating in fancy dress were not required to notify the organisers in advance what they planned to dress up as or to provide a photograph either which was just as well really due partly to the Non PC nature of what they had in mind but mainly as they didn’t know the precise details themselves.
As they walked quietly along the promenade towards the organizers marquee in Jubilee Park the three of them still had great unvoiced misgivings about the costumes.
“Why on earth did I suggest Golliwogs?” Rosie asked herself.
Despite her bravado of the previous night she was particularly concerned because she worked at the Winston Churchill Hospital which had a large number of Black and Asian staff all of whom would be extremely pissed off with her if it came out what she had done.
But as they turned up one of the lanes they spotted something that put all their minds at rest.
They came upon a shop selling a mixture of the usual seaside novelties along with a selection of fancy dress items such as clown masks and reversible wigs.
“That’s perfect” Rosie said holding a clown mask in her hands “No one will see the black makeup under this”
“And these are just what we need” Lindsay said picking up a wig which was black on one side and red or white on the other.
“I think we might just get away with it” Roxy said and as they left the shop with their purchases their collective mood had lightened appreciatively.
They continued their walk up to Jubilee Park and duly registered and were quite surprised at how quickly it was all completed and it was only just over an hour later when they were heading back down the lane again carrying their collection tins.
The journey home was much more typical for them than the earlier one was with all three of them having found their voices again and for the most part they were all speaking at the same time.
But amidst all the incessant chatter, during which it would have appeared to the casual observer that they were all talking and no one was listening, they formulated a plan.
They would drive down from Mornington to Sharpington at “sparrows fart” as Rosie described it and go straight to the Whitecliff Hill Caravan Park where Lindsay’s Aunty Lynn had a static caravan, which she seldom used, but then she did live on the Shore of Teardrop Lake in the Dancingdean Forest, so why would you leave that for a caravan in Sharpington.
Lindsay had already spoken to Aunty Lynn and got her permission although she didn’t say what she and the others were planning to do.