‘Oh Gabriel, sweetie, what have you been up to my darling
boy?’
Ernest looked up, hastily wiping his face, to see a young soldier, in full scarlet and gold uniform staring down at him. Ernest stood up quickly, having no wish to be caught crying, and even less desire to end up as drummer boy in the army. ‘Sorry Sir. I’m alright.I’ll be going now’. The young solider’s face was in the shade, the morning sun behind him, but Ernest could see an expression of confusion there, as the figure took a step back.
‘You ain’t Gabe.’
‘No Sir. I’m Ernest.’
‘Sir he calls me again.’ The soldier laughed softly. ‘Oh my dearie duck you don’t know me at all, do you? Take another look little one.’ The soldier pirouetted. It was not so much the movement, as the soft smell released by it – something warm, sugary, like the baker’s wife. Ernest looked again at the soldier’s soft brown curls, the shape of the person hiding under the regalia. He felt his face turning red.
‘Miss, Ma’am – please, forgive me.. . I was not…’
‘Oh dear lad. So well spoken. It’s me what’s in the wrong for playing a trick on you like that.’ She made a mock bow. ‘Sals is my name. Not Miss, nor yet Ma’am, thank you very kindly.’
‘Are you really a soldier?’ asked Ernest
Sals rolled her eyes. ‘No, sweetie. Not erzactly. I am in the service of entertainment.’ She bent down and confided ‘I’m on the stage.’ She flung an arm out behind her, pointing somewhere along to the east of the city. ‘We’re on tour. “Professor Hazlitt’s Cabinet of Talent” Or something like that, depending on the crowd. I sings.’ She stood back and posed, taking an exaggerated breath, before releasing the opening couplet of a song; ‘The time that I spent, in the Reg-eee-ment, seems nought but a dream to me now.’
Ernest clapped.
‘That’s all you’re getting of that. Lad your age don’t need any more where that came from.’
From somewhere up above them, on the steps that led down to the short jetty where Ernest and Sals stood, came a sharp whistle.
‘Oh hearken do you hear my Sergeant Major?’ asked Sals in mock alarm. She winked at Ernest. ‘No, you don’t, it’s just my Ma. Although she’d frighten any officer for sure.’ She stuck her hand out to Ernest. ‘Come on. We’ll go and see what’s cooking. You look like you’ve got room for an egg.’ Ernest hesitated. Sals put her hands on her hips. ‘Fair enough, I can see your folks have raised you careful. Don’t run off with girls dressed as soldiers and all that. But you ain’t white slave material, chick. You ain’t even a chick, to be frank. So come and eat some breakfast, and then skedaddle. Just to be polite. Just to cheer you up a bit.’
Ernest risked a smile. ‘That’s very kind of you. I could perhaps join you for a short while.’
‘Right then. Quick march.’ Sals led the way up the steps and into the alleys.
Ernest looked up, hastily wiping his face, to see a young soldier, in full scarlet and gold uniform staring down at him. Ernest stood up quickly, having no wish to be caught crying, and even less desire to end up as drummer boy in the army. ‘Sorry Sir. I’m alright.I’ll be going now’. The young solider’s face was in the shade, the morning sun behind him, but Ernest could see an expression of confusion there, as the figure took a step back.
‘You ain’t Gabe.’
‘No Sir. I’m Ernest.’
‘Sir he calls me again.’ The soldier laughed softly. ‘Oh my dearie duck you don’t know me at all, do you? Take another look little one.’ The soldier pirouetted. It was not so much the movement, as the soft smell released by it – something warm, sugary, like the baker’s wife. Ernest looked again at the soldier’s soft brown curls, the shape of the person hiding under the regalia. He felt his face turning red.
‘Miss, Ma’am – please, forgive me.. . I was not…’
‘Oh dear lad. So well spoken. It’s me what’s in the wrong for playing a trick on you like that.’ She made a mock bow. ‘Sals is my name. Not Miss, nor yet Ma’am, thank you very kindly.’
‘Are you really a soldier?’ asked Ernest
Sals rolled her eyes. ‘No, sweetie. Not erzactly. I am in the service of entertainment.’ She bent down and confided ‘I’m on the stage.’ She flung an arm out behind her, pointing somewhere along to the east of the city. ‘We’re on tour. “Professor Hazlitt’s Cabinet of Talent” Or something like that, depending on the crowd. I sings.’ She stood back and posed, taking an exaggerated breath, before releasing the opening couplet of a song; ‘The time that I spent, in the Reg-eee-ment, seems nought but a dream to me now.’
Ernest clapped.
‘That’s all you’re getting of that. Lad your age don’t need any more where that came from.’
From somewhere up above them, on the steps that led down to the short jetty where Ernest and Sals stood, came a sharp whistle.
‘Oh hearken do you hear my Sergeant Major?’ asked Sals in mock alarm. She winked at Ernest. ‘No, you don’t, it’s just my Ma. Although she’d frighten any officer for sure.’ She stuck her hand out to Ernest. ‘Come on. We’ll go and see what’s cooking. You look like you’ve got room for an egg.’ Ernest hesitated. Sals put her hands on her hips. ‘Fair enough, I can see your folks have raised you careful. Don’t run off with girls dressed as soldiers and all that. But you ain’t white slave material, chick. You ain’t even a chick, to be frank. So come and eat some breakfast, and then skedaddle. Just to be polite. Just to cheer you up a bit.’
Ernest risked a smile. ‘That’s very kind of you. I could perhaps join you for a short while.’
‘Right then. Quick march.’ Sals led the way up the steps and into the alleys.
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