Act 4, Scene 3
The Grounds Man
Sunday, April 11th, 12:15 pm
In the walled patio and garden of St. Peter's, just off Father
Schroeder's office. Father Schroeder has ushered Nigel out and has
beckoned Mr. and Mrs. McMillan inside to discuss with his talk with
Nigel. Seated on the stone garden bench just outside the door, the
boy pulls the Royal Geographic from his waistcoat and flips through
the picture pages again, but soon becomes bored and puts it down. He
stands up and surveys his surroundings. The garden is very cool and a
cascade of green, with dappled sunlight passing through boughs of
maple and beech and pine, with shrubs and new flowers lining a stone
path that winds away towards a mossy fountain. It seems very large,
very quiet and somewhat frightening to a small boy, who might expect a
Bengal tiger to leap out at any moment.
Nigel cautiously crept along the shaded pathway, the heels to his
Sunday best T-bars clacking along the stone way, as his eyes searched
the shadows for any hint of some horrible predator. He came to the
fountain and dipped a finger in the water, the ripple sending little
skimmer bugs fleeing into the algae.
At that point he smiled a little hesitant smile, undid his tie and
waistcoat, and looked up from the fountain. Here the path forked, and
he discovered he'd come out of a small corner of what proved to be a
much larger affair, for the garden opened into a great lawn, and the
sunlight rushed in. Here and there along the paths were small copses
of tree and shrub and religious statuary, and waves of ivy, thyme and
rosemary and sage and parsley all along the ancient stone walls.
He walked into the sunlight. Shielding his brow with a hand, Nigel
peered to the far edge of the garden. He spotted a small cottage of
sorts and determined to walk there just to see. It seemed like quite
a distance, indeed, and the sun was quite warm, but he undertook the
journey nevertheless. Across the lawn and through the trees, then
past another shaded patio, he weaved his way to the cottage, which
clearly seemed to him to be the home of a troll.
So imagine his surprise when he came around a neatly trimmed hedge to
find a middle-aged gentleman with a moustache, in Wellingtons and work
clothes, sitting on a bench eating his lunch.
"Well! Alright, young fella!" the man cried, startling the boy.
"Hello." Nigel replied timidly.
"How are you today?" the man asked, his mouth full of food. "What a
perfectly wonderful day to be out, isn't it? Warm and sunny."
"Are you a troll?" Nigel asked, not believing it himself.
The fellow laughed.
"By Jove, no. I'm much less important than that." He said, "I'm the
church grounds man. I take care of the garden."
"Is that your cottage?"
"Bit small, wouldn't you say? That's for the tools."
"Oh," Nigel replied, watching him take a bite of a kipper.
"How rude I am. Come on here and have a sit down." He patted the
bench next to him, "Would you like something to eat?"
The little boy walked hesitantly up to the man and sat down on the
bench. The man gave a chuckle.
"I bet that burned!" he exclaimed. "Sun's heated the bench up quite
fiercely by now, I'd imagine. Are you broiling, then?"
"No, sir."
"Well, would you like a bit of kipper?"
"No thank you, sir. I don't much like kippers. I think they smell
beastly."
of cake, then?"
"Thank you, sir." Nigel said, taking the cake. It was chocolate and
chocolate was his very favourite kind of cake in the world. Still, he
only nibbled at it politely, working around the dried edges where the
pan flour remained.
"Did your wife make it?" Nigel asked.
been all my life. My name's Harry. Harry Campbell. What's your's?"
He extending a kippery hand. Nigel shook it, then wiped his fingers
on his leg.
"Nigel. Nigel Macmillan."
"Well! Another Scotsman!" he said, raising his milk bottle in a
toast, "Here's to you, Nigel Macmillan."
"Have you children?"
"Are you lonely?"
"Not in particular," Harry replied, "I taught for an eternity at a
you know. A regular Mr. Chips."
"Who, sir?"
"Never mind. Milk?" he offered, holding his bottle out to Nigel. The
boy took a sip.
The grounds man sat pensively looking at the boy for a bit while Nigel
took another bite of cake and a two-handed gulp of milk. He handed
the milk back, the mouth of the bottle smeared with chocolate. Paying
it no mind, Harry drained the last swallow and set the bottle down on
the pavement.
"So, have you been to Mass, then?"
"Yes, sir. Just now." Nigel replied. "You've got milk on your
moustache."
"Where's your mum and dad?" Harry wiped his mouth and glanced through
the trees. "They in the garden, too?"
"I don't suppose so," Nigel said, studying his wristwatch. "They're in
a meeting with Farther Arnie in his office."
"Nice Pooh watch," the gardener said, then leaned into Nigel
confidentially and asked, "So what's the meeting about? If you don't
mind me being nosey."
"About me."
"About YOU?" He let out. "Bollucks! You don't say!"
"That's a bad word."
"Sorry."Harry apologised, "Why?"
"Mum and Dad told him I've got a difficulty." The boy volunteered,
twirling a lock of chestnut hair around a little finger.
"Father Schroeder is very good with kids. What kind of 'difficulty'?
You seem like a right kind of chap." Harry said, looking the boy up
and down, "For all I can see, anyhow."
"I take my clothes off."
"I'll be buggered! Really?"
"That's a bad word, and you'll get in trouble with Father Arnie,"
Nigel admonished the grounds man, then, feeling more confident,
continued.
"I don't do it ALL the time." the boy complained, "Just when I'm
uncomfortable ... at home and in the neighbourhood and in Mrs.
Farthley's class, in the headmaster's office, and on the athletic
Nigel stopped, and leaned back into Harry, looking up with a secretive
"Of course not."
"And in Mass, today," the boy finished.
Harry slapped his dusty overalls in astonishment.
Nigel gave him a frown.
"Damn's not a bad word," the gardener protested, giving Nigel a pinch
on the cheek, "Is it?"
"I don't understand," Nigel said sadly and suddenly felt completely
secure reaching out and taking hold of Harry's little finger.
"Everyone gets very upset when I become uncomfortable."
"Are you comfortable now?" Harry asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, you see," the man reasoned, "Sometimes it's alright. The
secret is knowing when, and what to do to outsmart people."
"Outsmart people?" Nigel asked, squeezing the man's finger."How?"
The man scratched his chin.
"How does it work?" Nigel asked skeptically.
"Let's say, just for argument, you're in Mrs. Fart-what-ever's class,"
Nigel giggled. "You said Mrs. FART!"
"And you see the kids all there, and you know they THINK you're going
to go starkers, but instead, you say your incantation and you DON'T!
Now they're all cheesed off 'cause they guessed wrong."
It was a captivating idea.
"Do you have an incantation?" Nigel breathed.
"Yeah. Of course. Got to when you're a teacher." Harry leaned back
and folded his arms in satisfaction. "I used it on my boys for years,
but mostly on other teachers and headmasters and such. Not much use
for it now, though."
"Can I have it?"
"Nope," Harry replied.
"Why not?"
"It has to be bespoke for you and you alone. Can't lend 'em and you
can't trade 'em, either."
"Can I get one?"
Harry jutted his jaw forward in thought and looked into the branches
overhead.
"Sure, mate. Let's see if I can think one up for you."
So Nigel sat there very patiently while the grounds man stirred his
brain. It seemed forever.
"Well?" Nigel asked, shaking Harry's little finger insistently. "Do
you have one for me?"
"Aha!" Harry announced dramatically, clapping hands in glee. "I've got
one that's the mutt's nuts!"
"That's a nasty word." Nigel whispered.
"Belt up, or I'll forget it." He paused. "Here it is. Are you
ready?"
"Yes!"
"Now don't say it, just listen first. You've got to do it just right,
and you've got to clap or it won't work proper."
"Yes, yes!" Nigel urged, starting to squirm.
Then, clapping to the beat, Harry the grounds man recited the
incantation.
Monkey's Dirty Underwear
Monkey's Dirty Underwear
Everybody's going to stare,
At Monkey's Dirty Underwear!
Nigel actually squealed with delight, as it were the most delectably
scandalous thing he'd ever heard.
You just made it up."
"You just see, Nigel."Harry said with infectious enthusiasm, "Try it
out on the first person you meet and see if it doesn't leave 'em
flatfooted. But remember, you've got to CLAP and keep CLAPPING until
it works!"
"Like this?" the boy asked, and began to recite, clapping in time. He
broke into giggles at several key moments, and Harry would give him a
disapproving look.
"It's got to be perfect." he explained, "Some people are stronger
against it than others, so you've got to keep saying it and keep
clapping until it gets to them."
Nigel put on a deeply serious expression and tried again.
Monkey's Dirty Underwear
Monkey's Dirty Underwear
Everybody's going to stare,
At Monkey's Dirty Underwear!
"That was fantastic! The dog's bollocks, I tell you!" Harry beamed,
"Why, I've never heard it said so well. Now, every time you get to
feeling uncomfortable, say your bespoken incantation and just see what
happens! Everyone near you will stop and listen and, Bob's-yer-uncle,
you've fooled them! And you'll still be in your clothes! But
remember," the grounds man warned, "You've got to clap!"
"Thank you, Mr. Harry! I swear I'll do it just right." Nigel swore
solemnly, "I promise!"
"Now that's a good lad." Harry smiled.
Nigel stood up and began prancing about on the lawn-mostly because the
walk was too hot for bare toes-just as he imagined Christopher Robin
did with Pooh, saying the incantation under his breath again and
again. Suddenly, Nigel stopped, turned and looked at the man.
"Do you take care of other gardens?"
"Well," Harry replied, "I've got my own at home, and a fine garden it
is, too."
"Did you make the garden where Adam and Eve lived, too?"
"What! The Garden of Eden? Look, laddie. I'm not Methuselah."
"Oh." Nigel said, a bit downhearted. "I just thought maybe you had,
and you didn't know that the garden's all overgrown and bushy and then
you'd go fix it up and then let all the animals in again."
"We'll have to leave that to the Almighty. I'm plenty busy here."
Both of them fell silent for a time. Shortly they perceived voices
"Wait, here's his socks," someone said.
"There! He's thrown his undies over into the ivy."
Then, unmistakeably, came Father Arnie's high voice.
like that! So you'll consider putting him in school here next
session?"
Harry glanced quickly at Nigel.
"Your mum and dad?"
Nigel nodded. "And Father Arnie."
"Well, I'd say you've been snooped out! You left a pretty obvious
trail."
Harry stood up and held out a hand. Nigel held out his, and the man's
fingers gently wrapped around the boy's delicate hand.
"Getting stiff sitting from arthritis," Harry grumbled, "Come on.
Let's meet your parents."
Then the grounds man gave Nigel a confidential wink.
HMSVV2010
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