‘No, this is Birthday Land – no one gets hurts. Hey, guess what? All my little people have stopped singing now. They’re rushing helter-skelter through the trees. Where are they going? We have to follow . . .We run behind them, crying, “Wait for us!” and then glimpse a beautiful garden with roses.’
‘Pink roses?’ said Martin.
‘No, these are all different colours of the rainbow – red and yellow, but also bright emerald-green roses, and deep purple ones, and roses as blue as the sky. But never mind the roses – in the middle of the garden there’s a long table spread with the most wonderful party food. There are great wobbly jellies and enormous blancmanges – pink blancmanges because they’re raspberry flavour – and there are trifles with cream and cherries on the top, and ice cream all different flavours – vanilla and strawberry and chocolate – and there are cakes too – big fat sponges with cream and jam, and chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream – and lemon meringue pie with the meringue whipped into peaks, and fruit tarts – peach and cherry, with little rosettes of cream . . .And wait till you see the birthday cake right in the centre! It’s huge, like a fairy castle covered in snow – that’s the icing – and there are windows and doors made of marzipan, and little tiny sweetie figures too, and they’re us – me and Gillian and Martin and Angus and Michael and Rita and Maureen and Babette. We pop them in our mouths, and they’re like the best fruit gums you’ve ever tasted.’
‘Does the birthday cake have candles?’ asked Gillian, as absorbed as the others.
‘Yes, the top of the icing castle roof has all these ridgy things, up and down—’
‘Battlements!’ said Martin.
‘Yes, that’s it, and there are candles all along the battlements, and we line up together and the little people sing us the birthday song, and when it’s over they go “Blow! Blow out your candles!” in their little high-pitched voices, and so we all blow.’
They all blew obediently.
‘And now we have to cut the cake and make a birthday wish!’ I said.
‘Oh please, let me do it and get the wish,’ said Rita.
‘One of the little people has one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight silver knives on a polished silver platter. One for each of us. The cake’s enormous, so we all line up, and when another little man blows on a silver flute, we cut the cake together,’ I said triumphantly. ‘Then we all have a wish.’
‘Oh, oh – what do we wish for?’ said Rita.
‘You wish privately or it doesn’t come true,’ I said. ‘Shut your eyes and wish.’
I closed my eyes and wished so hard I thought I might burst.
I wish Nan would get better and I wish I could get better and we could live together again!
I wanted to keep on wishing it, over and over, but the others started clamouring to know what was going to happen next.
‘We eat all the birthday tea, you sillies,’ I said. ‘We gorge ourselves on jelly and blancmange and trifle and ice cream and every kind of cake.’ We were eating for England, though we’d all had our Spam sandwiches and tinned mandarins for hospital supper.
It didn’t stop us playing party games. I let each child choose a game to keep them interested. Martin chose Murder in the Dark and insisted on being the murderer each time. Gillian played Kiss Chase and insisted that Bill Haley was playing too. Rita dithered because I insisted she choose a game of her own, and eventually said she wanted to play skipping. It wasn’t a proper party game, but I let her have her way and gave an extra length of rope to Martin – ‘To practise your lassoing – don’t you go round hanging anyone,’ I said sternly.
Angus chose Musical Bumps, and we all leaped up and down to the music. Michael opted for Hunt the Thimble and we let him find the thimble every single time. Babette and Maureen conferred and chose Squeak Piggy Squeak and then gave continuous little piggy squeaks in between fits of giggles.
‘Shut up, you lot. You’re being daft,’ said Gillian. ‘What game are you going to play, Elsie?’
‘I think I shall play Pass the Parcel,’ I said. ‘Oh my goodness, the little people are bringing us the parcel, and it’s huge. When we form a circle and the music starts, we have to roll it round the ring.’
‘That’s not right for Pass the Parcel. We played it at my last party and Mummy gave us just a little parcel,’ said Rita.
‘Yes, and what did you do with it?’ I asked.
‘Well, we unwrapped it. First there was brown paper, and then newspaper, and then wrapping paper, and eventually we got right down to this tiny little pink plastic doll. It was my party, so I should have got it, but this other girl snatched the parcel off of me and she got the doll, and when Mummy went back to Woolworths to get me another one, they’d sold out,’ said Rita.
‘Do shut up, Rita, or I’ll lasso you and tie you to a tree,’ said Martin. His arms were attached to his brace in such a way that he couldn’t move them freely, but he made swishing noises with his tongue.
‘Yes, shush, Rita. You’ll see why I need such a big parcel. Come on – we’re rolling it round while the little people tootle and drum, and then they all stop. It’s your turn to unwrap it, Martin – quick, scrabble with the paper, tear off the string. Whoops, what’s this falling out? It’s a present!’
‘You don’t get the present already,’ said Rita.
‘In my version you do – that’s why the parcel’s so big. It’s got lots and lots of presents – and Martin finds a gun. A toy gun with caps.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Martin. ‘And I seize it and shoot at everyone – bang bang bang, and my caps go pop pop pop and make that lovely fireworks smell.’
‘And now the band starts up and we roll the parcel round again, and now it’s . . .Maureen who has the parcel when the music stops. Tear at the paper, Maureen. I’ll help you because your hands aren’t very strong. Oh, your present’s quite big!’
‘Is it a big gun? I don’t really like guns,’ Maureen said anxiously. ‘I don’t like it when they go bang.’
‘No, it’s not a gun – it’s far too big and bulky for a gun. It’s like a big solid rectangle, but there are lots of funny round things chinking inside the parcel too.’
‘What is it? What is it?’ Maureen squealed.
‘It’s a toy stove, with a little door that really opens and a dish you can put inside, and there’s a whole set of silver saucepans, and all sorts of other cooking things, even a little wooden rolling pin, so you can make lots of dinners for all your dollies.’
‘Oh, how lovely. I’ve wanted one of them for ages,’ said Maureen.
‘Now, let’s get the parcel rolling again. It’s a little bit lighter now – and hey, the music stops already. You’ve got the parcel now, Babette. Unwrap it quick before the music starts again,’ I said.
‘Do I have a present too? Is it a cooking stove like Maureen’s?’ Babette asked.
‘Well, take a look, silly. Off with the paper . . .Here, I’ll help – and what’s this tumbling out? I don’t think it can be a cooking stove, it’s too small and soft. Pull the paper away. What’s that? It’s an ear – a long blue ear, and there’s another one! It’s a bunny, Babette. A blue toy bunny with a pink nose, and he’s got a dark blue knitted jumper and bright red trousers with a little hole at the back for his fluffy tail to poke through. Do you like him?’
‘Yes, I absolutely love him. I’ll call him Bobs Bunny and give him carrots to eat.’
‘Maureen can cook the carrots for him on her stove,’ I said. ‘Oh, the music’s starting! Pass the parcel quick! It’s still pretty bulky, but roll it round carefully – we don’t want to break anything.’
‘Is it my turn now?’ asked Rita. ‘The music’s stopped and I’ve got the parcel—’
‘No, they’re still playing – can’t you hear them?’ I said firmly. ‘You mustn’t cheat, Rita. Pass the parcel to Gillian – OK, now it’s stopped!’
‘I’m a bit old for toys,’ said Gillian.
‘I don’t think this is a toy.
It’s quite big, like a box, and you can feel a clasp through the paper. Can you guess?’
‘Is it a chest to keep my things in?’
‘Open it up and see!’
‘This is a weird game,’ said Gillian. ‘OK, I’ve got the paper off.’
‘Look – it’s a blue box with a gold clasp and a handle sticking out at the side. Better open it, Gillian. What’s inside? Oh goodness, it’s not an ordinary box. It’s got a round table thingy inside, and a little arm with a needle—’
‘It’s a gramophone!’ cried Gillian. ‘My own gramophone!’
‘So you can play your dance records as often as you like. You play your Bill Haley records so much we all yell at you, but you don’t care. You just dance to the music. Oh, the little people are starting up their music again.’
‘It’s my turn now,’ said Rita. ‘I want a gramophone too! Oh please, let me have my very own gramophone, Elsie.’
‘It’s not me that works the birthday magic, Rita. It’s the little people – they decide when to stop the music. They want to give everyone a turn, but they don’t like rude girls and boys begging for it to be their go. They might just decide to make you last now, if they’ve still got a present for you. I should shut up if I were you,’ I warned her.
Rita did as she was told. She even put her hands over her mouth. I felt a bit mean, then – but it was a good feeling too, having such power over Rita, power over everyone.
‘OK, there’s the music. It’s such a lovely tune, and we roll the parcel. Do you know, it’s still ever so big. What on earth can be inside? Pass it round. Don’t hang onto it, Rita! Round it goes. Oh Michael, the music’s stopped and you’ve got hold of it. Quick, scrabble at the wrapping paper. Rip it off – use both hands, that’s the way. Oops, watch out, here’s something very heavy, and I can see shiny red, and there are wheels and a handlebar. Can you see what it is, Michael?’
‘Is it a bike?’ he whispered.
‘Yes, it’s a brand-new bike for you, Michael.’
‘Is it a trike with three wheels like my one at home?’ asked Michael. ‘Or – or is it a big boy’s bike?’
‘It’s definitely a big boy’s bike, but it’s a specially small size, so you can reach the pedals easily. Get on, quick! Let’s see if you can ride it.’
‘I won’t fall, will I, like I fell off my brother’s bike?’
‘Of course you won’t fall – and it won’t matter if you do, because the grass in Birthday Land is so soft and thick it’s just like jumping on your bed. You bounce straight up again. But you’re not falling . . .you get your balance straight away, and off you go, round and round, so quickly we all get giddy – but you don’t, Michael, you keep going. We all cheer you, and – oh my goodness, you raise your hands above your head and pump them up and down in the air. You don’t even wobble then – you’re a brilliant bike rider! You’ll be riding the Wall of Death in a fairground quite soon. Speedy Mike, that’s what we’ll all call you.’
Michael laughed and laughed and went ‘Wheeee!’
‘Now, the parcel’s much smaller now, and lighter. We can just about throw it to each other. The music is quicker, and we pass the parcel in time to the beat. Sometimes it stops for a moment, and I tear at the paper—’
Rita gives a little moan.
‘But the music always starts again before I can get the layer off. It stops for Martin—’
‘It’s not fair, he’s had his go! He had his gun!’ Rita wailed.
‘And Martin scrabbles hard, but the paper is all stuck down with paste now and it won’t tear off easily – and goodness, there’s string around the next layer. Rita pulls at it when the music stops.’
‘Oh!’
‘She has to unpick the knots but she’s too impatient. The music starts again. Around we go—’
‘You’re doing this deliberately, Elsie. You’re being so mean,’ said Rita. ‘I’m not playing any more. I’m not listening. I’m sticking my fingers in my ears, see? La-la-la!’
‘Oh dear, that’s a shame, Rita, because I’m pressing the parcel right into your hands and the music’s stopped.’
‘La-la-la . . .You’re just teasing, I know.’
‘And you say you’re not playing, but your hands are tearing at the wrapping paper. You simply can’t resist, and then suddenly—’
‘The music starts up again – how did I guess?’ Rita snapped.
‘No, no, the band is silent. All the little birthday people are staring at you, eyes shining. We’re all waiting, and there, in your hands, is a shiny crimson enamel box – round, in the shape of an apple, with a dear little green stalk clasp. You shake the little box and it rattles. I wonder what’s inside . . .’
‘Old apple cores and apple pips?’ said Martin.
‘Go and play with your gun, you silly boy. Of course it’s not. Open the clasp quick, Rita. We’re all dying to see what’s inside. Oh! Oh my goodness!’
‘What? What?’ said Rita.
‘You’re opening it – very carefully so nothing will spill – and it’s full of jewellery . . .real jewels. There’s a gold necklace with a little heart and the letter R picked out in tiny red rubies.’
‘Rubies!’ Rita whispered.
‘And there are rings, one for every day of the week, set with different stones: a ruby to match your necklace, then an emerald, a sapphire, a yellow topaz, a pearl, and an amethyst – and a great big sparkly diamond to wear for best on Sunday,’ I said.
‘Here, why does Rita get all the jewels? They must cost heaps and heaps more than a toy gun,’ said Martin.
‘Because she wanted them more. And don’t tell me you want to swap your gun for a lot of necklaces and rings.’
‘No fear!’ he said. ‘I was only commenting.’
‘Thank you so much, Elsie,’ said Rita, her arm in the air, admiring her invisible jewellery.
‘Don’t thank me, thank the birthday people,’ I said. ‘We’re still playing. The music starts—’
‘What are you going to give yourself, Gobface? I bet it’ll be pink,’ said Martin.
‘It might not be my turn,’ I said. ‘We’re passing the parcel again, all of us. Come on, you lot. Stop playing with your presents. You’ve got to join in too, Angus, so put down your tomahawk for a moment.’
‘Oh, I always forget Angus,’ said Martin tactlessly.
‘The birthday people don’t forget him. In fact, they’ve got a special present in store for him. I wonder what it can be, because the parcel’s quite small now.’
‘It could be your turn, Elsie. Maybe you’ve got diamond jewellery too?’ said Rita.
‘That would be lovely but— Oh, the music’s stopped, and we’ve both got our hands on the present. It’s a big box with a skull and crossbones on it. I pull it and Angus pulls it, and we hear a little rattling inside, and one of the birthday people goes “Careful, children – that parcel’s dangerous!” So I let go of it, a bit scared, but Angus hangs onto it and opens the lid, and it’s a chemistry set with lots of little test tubes and bottles and jars, and a tiny book telling you how to do all these experiments. Angus, you can make itching powder!’
‘I can sprinkle it all over Nurse Patterson!’ he said.
‘And you can create your own fireworks. You can even make a bomb!’
‘Yes, you can blow her up too!’ said Martin. ‘Can I have a go with your chemistry set? I’ll let you have a shot with my gun.’
‘Can you make powder with your chemistry set, Angus? Powder and lipstick? I’ll have some of them if you can,’ said Gillian.
‘OK. And maybe there’s a way to crystallize rocks. If so, I’ll make you some more jewellery, Rita,’ said Angus. ‘What can I make for you, Elsie?’
‘You can make me some rose perfume. That would be lovely,’ I said.
‘It’s your turn with the parcel now, Elsie,’ said Gillian. ‘Get them little people to start up the music.’
‘Yes, they’re playing, and we send the parcel round and round again. We
can toss it one-handed, it’s so light – almost too light. Maybe we’ve had all the presents and there’s absolutely nothing left?’
‘Oh no!’ said Babette.
‘No, no,’ said Maureen. ‘That’s not fair. You must get a present, Elsie. Or you can share some of my saucepans. You can even have my little rolling pin.’
‘She’ll have her own present – won’t you, Elsie?’ said Gillian. ‘Go on, the music’s stopped. Open it!’
‘Yes, all right. The band plays a long final chord, and as the music fades I scrabble at the parcel. It’s difficult because I’ve got bitten nails – look – but I very carefully nip the last bit of paper with my teeth, and then the tiniest little ornament tumbles out.’
‘What’s a ornament?’ asked Maureen.
‘It’s a boring china thingy like a crinoline lady,’ said Martin. ‘My mum has some in a cabinet. What did you want one of them for, Elsie?’
‘This isn’t a china crinoline lady! This is a teeny weeny golden Coronation coach pulled by eight pearly grey horses stepping out grandly, each little leg the size of an eyelash.’
‘But you’ve already got one of them. What do you want another for?’ asked Martin.
‘I haven’t got one like this. I hold my palm out flat, and the little coach and horses glow and glow, so brightly it’s like I’ve got the whole sun in my hand. It’s burning me, so I set it down very gently on the ground. It’s started humming now, and as we watch, we see the horses’ legs start to move, making the tiniest clacking sound with their weeny hooves – and then the coach and horses start getting bigger and bigger. In a flash they’re life-size – and I peer into the coach, and there’s this smiley lady wearing a crown.’
‘The Queen!’ Rita gasped.
‘Yes, it’s the Queen, in a white dress with that blue ribbon sash, and she’s got a gold crown set with diamonds on top of her brown curls. She’s waving at me – she’s waving at all of us. We’d better curtsey – and you boys bow.’
There’s a lot of bashful giggling going on.
‘Ssh! You have to pay the Queen some respect!’ I said sternly. ‘She’s leaning out of the window. She’s beckoning to me. “Hello, little girl!” she says, in such a posh voice. “Would you like a lift in my carriage?”