Polly Brown Read online

  She was only a few mouthfuls into her breakfast when a commotion broke out. Abigail Crumble raced up to the table and anxiously declared, “Polly, come quickly! Uncle Boritz wants us all in his study right now.”

  “What? This minute?” questioned Polly, for she was very taken by surprise. “But I have not finished my breakfast.”

  “There’s no time for that. He wants us in his study immediately. Come on, Polly,” urged Abigail Crumble, tugging hard at Polly’s sleeve.

  “Why the hurry, Abigail? Let me at least take a few mouthfuls first, for I’ve only just managed to remove all the silverfish out of my cornflakes,” Polly replied, showing her annoyance.

  Abigail was quick to answer. “Look, Polly, I don’t know the details. I just know that some very heinous crime has been committed, and Uncle is on the warpath.”

  Polly knew exactly what heinous meant, for the Scumberrys used the word constantly. It meant some terrible and usually unforgiveable act.

  “Oh, dear!” said Polly despairingly as she reluctantly threw down her spoon and got up from the table. “Well, I had better come quickly then, hadn’t I?”

  As Polly made her way to Uncle Boritz’s study, she could not help but think that there was always some terrible and wicked act to pay for that would find one of them fighting for their lives. Why, it had only been a matter of weeks since the last dreadful deed had been committed by, she was informed, none other than herself! That particular incident began in the usual manner, with all children assembled and sitting cross-legged on the floor of the study feeling puzzled and perplexed as to what was going to happen. They all hoped they would not be kept in the dark for too long. Uncle Boritz waited until they had all quietly settled down before standing up from behind his large desk. With Aunt Mildred sitting sedately by his side, the meeting was officially declared open. Uncle Boritz then went on to announce that he would read the offending article aloud so that everyone could listen and consider the facts before judgment was then passed on this most terrible of poems that Polly had so audaciously written. Before barely a word or utterance had escaped Uncle Boritz’s mouth, Aunt Mildred had burst into floods of tears. Uncle Boritz was forced to stop midstream to remind her to hold back the tears until later when they would have a more dramatic impact.

  “You’re wasting valuable tears, dearest. So please do wait until I’ve informed the children precisely what wicked act has taken place to require this most urgent meeting,” he whispered urgently into her ear.

  With that said, the two of them started to look for her hanky. “I thought I put it in my overall pocket,” she sniffed apologetically.

  “Don’t worry, dear, we will find you another,” said Uncle Boritz comfortingly. He pulled open one of the side drawers in the desk, and there, perfectly stacked, were a very large number of neatly pressed, clean hankies. “Here, dearest. I keep these handy just for you,” he said, almost affectionately.

  “Dead right,” thought Polly. Handkerchiefs were, after all, a most essential item when it came to Aunt Mildred and any kind of family meeting. Uncle Boritz handed her a bright red one from the large pile and gave her hand a little supportive squeeze.

  “Right, let the proceedings begin,” he roared. “I think we will start at the beginning.”

  “That’s where most things normally start,” Polly thought to herself.

  “Could I just interrupt a minute, dearest?” said sniffly Aunt Mildred. Uncle Boritz turned full circle to give her his full attention. “What now, dearest?” he asked, looking rather agitated.

  “Well, is there the slightest possibility that I could change the red hanky for a green one? For I do so prefer green,” she simpered.

  Uncle Boritz attempted to hide his annoyance as he pulled a green one from halfway down the multicolored pile of handkerchiefs and handed it to her, this time refusing to look in her direction. “Right, let’s begin.”

  “Thank you, dearest,” Aunt Mildred subserviently said as she proceeded to loudly blow her nose.

  “Thank you for what?” snorted a now-incensed Uncle Boritz. For his dear wife was really interrupting his thought pattern.

  “Why, dearest, for changing my hanky from a red one to a green one,” she answered sweetly.

  “That’s perfectly all right, pumpkin. Now can I begin?”

  “Oh yes, dear, please do,” replied Aunt Mildred eagerly. “I’m so sorry if I’m the reason for the delay.”

  By now, Uncle Boritz could no longer hide his irritation. Had Aunt Mildred said anything further to upset him, the chances were very high that she would have found herself in trouble.

  He cleared his throat and started. “Right, everybody, are we settled? We have a most serious situation to deal with. This is Polly’s extremely derogatory poem, which was found hidden away in her bedside locker. I feel…”

  Before he could get the next word out, Aunt Mildred blew her nose decidedly loud for a second time before reaching out her hand to obtain another hanky from the pile. As she did so, she managed to accidentally knock over her husband’s large glass of water. The next few minutes were chaotic. Uncle Boritz tried to stop the water from soaking into the large piles of very important letters that he had not responded to. In the end, all the hankies were used to mop up the mess and prevent the mail from any further water damage! With the task done, Uncle Boritz cleared his throat, yet again, and attempted to address the issues that brought about this most important meeting.

  “Children, you need to know…”

  “Thank you, dear,” said Aunt Mildred. “And I must say how sorry I am for spilling the water all over…”

  “Silence in court!” thundered Uncle Boritz, who had clearly quite forgotten that this was meant to be a family meeting taking place in his rather cramped study.

  A stunned Aunt Mildred recoiled back into her seat, gently placing the hanky over her nose and mouth in an attempt to remind herself to stay quiet. Now more than ever she knew her beloved husband was, in Abigail Crumble’s words, most definitely on the “warpath.”

  “I will seriously punish anyone else who disrupts this meeting,” snarled Uncle Boritz.

  Pitstop followed suit, baring his teeth to show total support towards his powerful master. One could have heard a pin drop, as every child held in his or her breath for as long as possible, lest this should be interpreted as an act of defiance, and therefore deserving of the severest of punishments. Finally, Uncle Boritz felt happy to read out Polly’s rather disturbing poem.

  Early in the morning before it is dawn,

  I hear the cows go down the town and trample on my lawn.

  “Right, let’s stop there,” Uncle Boritz said in a most disgruntled tone of voice.

  But before he could proceed, Aunt Mildred started sobbing again. It started quietly, but soon it transformed to loud bawling.

  “Hush, hush, dearest sweet pea,” urged Uncle Boritz before turning to face Polly.

  Aunt Mildred instantly obeyed, for the truth was there was not a real tear in sight!

  “So, Polly. Quite whom are you referring to when you mention cows? Is it Aunt Mildred? Is it myself? Or is it, as I suspect, both of us?”

  Polly tried to speak up, but was prevented from doing so.

  “Quiet, girl,” Uncle Boritz fiercely growled. “So now you are referring to us, your devoted caretakers, as cows, are you?”

  “No!” cried Polly. “You’ve got it all wrong. It is just a silly little poem that I made up in the playground, and it has nothing to do with any of you!”

  “Nothing to do with us?” roared Uncle Boritz, his face going an even deeper shade of purple. “I most certainly think it does! And Aunt Mildred thinks likewise. Don’t you, dear?”

  Aunt Mildred was unavailable for comment, for she was far too busy bawling loudly into her soggy handkerchief. The children sat obediently on the floor, not daring to move a muscle. One of the little ones, Percy Pillsbury, started to cry, for he was very frightened. In a matter of moments, all the childre
n were crying out loud, for in truth, they hated to see Aunt Mildred so distressed.

  “There, you’ve upset everybody,” Uncle Boritz sneered. “Just as you usually do, you little wretch,” he said coldly.

  Polly continued in vain to protest her innocence. It fell on deaf ears.

  “Silence in court,” ordered Uncle Boritz, quite forgetting that he was not in her majesty’s courts of law. “It is no use denying it, because you wrote, ‘I hear the cows go down the town.’ Well, we all live at the top of the hill, don’t we, children?” They all nodded in agreement. “And everything that comes up must go down. So, it is perfectly clear to me, as well as to all present at this meeting, that this particularly nasty little poem is therefore about us! Therefore, no further questioning is necessary, for this is indeed a prima facie case if ever I saw one,” he thundered.

  “Sorry to interrupt, dear,” Aunt Mildred said softly as she was rather reluctant to spoil her husband’s magnificent flow. “But quite what does prima facie mean? For I fear that none of the children, nor my good self for that matter, have the slightest idea what on earth you are talking about!”

  “For heaven’s sake, dearest. Loosely translated, it means, ‘on the surface,’” he said proudly, feeling totally overcome by his supreme knowledge.

  “Yes, but which of the many surfaces are we concerning our good selves with here, dearest? Is it one of the many kitchen surfaces? Or the dining table surface? Better still, is it the…”

  “Enough, woman! Yes, enough of this ridiculous and very time-consuming nonsense,” he rather loudly roared, for he was no longer able to hide his complete exasperation. “I am not referring to any domestic appliance or apparatus. I am merely saying, in legal terms, that it is very clear, without having to dig any deeper, what Polly means by cows. She is clearly and specifically referring to us!”

  “Oh, dear. Then that is most wicked and unkind of her,” Aunt Mildred agreed.

  Before he could be rudely interrupted again, and after taking a deep breath, he announced in a loud, formal manner, “I therefore have little or no choice but to pronounce you guilty and sentence you to three weeks on R.O.P.E.”

  Polly gasped and gulped at the same time, unable to believe what she was hearing. For she believed she was entirely innocent of any offense, and these were therefore nothing more than trumped-up charges. For this, she was now on R.O.P.E., which was better known to the children as “Relinquishment of All Privileges and Enjoyments.”

  R.O.P.E. was a sentence worse than death, with every conceivable self-indulgent privilege being removed and replaced by grim and unpleasant chores that needed doing in and around the castle. In Polly’s eyes it was little more than slave labor, and three weeks seemed like a lifetime to spend every day from dawn to dusk washing, ironing, cooking, and scrubbing floors and toilets. With no television, no pocket money, no going out to catch a breath of fresh air, and no communication allowed with the other children, Polly often feared she would indeed go mad. With none of the other children allowed to speak to her, she was forced to eat at a separate table along with any other miscreant on R.O.P.E. She even had to put her hand up in the air, just like at school, if she wanted to go anywhere such as the bathroom. To Polly, the whole matter was simply ludicrous. One thing was for certain: if she wasn’t “loop the loop” already, then it would only be a matter of time before she was!

  Being punished with endless cleaning chores was not the worst of it. If it had been, Polly might well have been able to bear it. But for Polly and some of the other children there was much more to endure. Each Sunday after lunch was over and as soon as the dishes were cleared from the tables, Uncle Boritz would go to his secret cupboard and after a few minutes reappear carrying a large cardboard box in one hand and a big black book in the other. He would then sit at the head of one of the tables and, after placing the box on the table next to him, he would open his big black book. This book caused Polly to shudder from head to foot every time it appeared. Those children who were on R.O.P.E. were then ordered by Uncle Boritz to leave their seats and stand in the center of the dining room.

  Polly never failed to note that it was always the same bunch of criminals standing shamefaced in the center of the room with all eyes upon them. Uncle Boritz would not begin until all the offenders were gathered together, their heads hung low in shame. He would empty the contents of his cardboard box onto the table and then spread the contents out for all to view. Every eye fixed a firm gaze on the table as each child longingly coveted each and every item. The gifts comprised of small coloring books, trinkets, little packs of colored pencils, sweet bars, hair slides, and more. There were just a couple of larger, more expensive items such as a hairbrush set and a large bar of chocolate. Most of the items were cheap but colorful. To all the foster children who owned so little, every sweet or trinket was regarded as highly desirable. After allowing the impatient children the opportunity to drool over the gifts, he would then turn his attention to his large black book.

  Having opened the book, his cold, steely eyes would scan the open pages, causing every child present to tremble and take deep breaths. They stared intently into his face, hoping for a clue as to whether this week would bring good or bad news for them. Thankfully they would not have to wait too long to find out! Those with the most stars were called up first, so one-by-one they waited to be called to go forward and stand in front of him. Every child sat on the edge of his or her seat, ready to race forward and be given the chance to choose from the spread. The decision-making process could last an eternity, as each lucky child sweat over what gift to pick up, only to change their mind and put back their chosen item and agonize further over what other gift they might prefer. For Polly and all the other children standing in the docks awaiting sentence it was an intolerable wait.

  As the goods on the table were of varying value, it was obvious to all present in the room that the more popular the child, the quicker their name was called to go up and make their choice. Their own children, who never normally ate with them, were always in attendance on Sunday, and so it came as no surprise when their names were the first to be picked. In a matter of minutes, all the more expensive gifts were long gone, leaving only the cheap and cheerful gifts to be chosen by the remaining children hoping for a reward. No child ever dared comment on this. However, their favorite foster children did not do too badly either. To be given anything at all made the good children very happy. It also meant that as they sat stroking their new and most precious gift, they cared little as to what fate befell those unfortunate enough to be in the center awaiting severe admonition.

  This whole torturous procedure could go on for an eternity before all the little toys were finally gone. He could now turn his attention to the troublemakers, who, having stood in the center for a considerable length of time, were feeling more anxious than ever, as well as afraid of what was in store for them. For their sins, they would be subjected to the most soul-destroying ordeal. Every misdemeanor was read out to all present, and the audience was reminded of every past offense the children in the dock had ever been found guilty of. No naughty child was to be exempt from this character-stripping process. They were to learn if their punishment was to be brought to an end or extended for a further few weeks. And hardly a week went by without a large puddle of tears being left on the floor, the only evidence of their total demise that needed to be hurriedly mopped up at the end of these terrible sessions.

  Polly longed with all her heart to move from being labeled wicked to the good side, but if the truth were to be told, she had given up all hope of ever attaining this level of goodness and perfection. She had come to accept that she was thoroughly rotten to the core, and therefore no good thing could or would ever come out of her life.

  For Polly to have any hope of choosing a small gift, she had to eliminate all the crosses and gain additional stars. As it took three stars to eliminate just one cross, it had not taken her very long to work out that she had to earn a massive nine stars if
Sunday lunchtimes were going to become something to look forward to. She believed there was more chance of flying around the world on Concorde Airlines than getting enough stars to end her misery. As miracles had no place in this castle, her melancholy grew deeper and deeper. Polly and her partners in crime braced themselves each and every Sunday for more pain and further degradation.

  Needless to say, Polly hated Sunday lunchtimes with all her being As the children with gifts happily continued to sit, totally absorbed in what they had just won, there was little thought or sympathy for those who remained in the center, waiting to be given the list of grueling chores. But as if all that were not bad enough, on many occasions there was one more punishment yet to be served to Polly!

  As she stood before Uncle Boritz, completely stunned at receiving any sentence at all for her innocent poem, she was ordered to raise her head and stand up straight. She had little choice but to obey. He then pulled out his long cane and proceeded to mete out his own special brand of discipline. You can imagine what happened next. It is enough to say that Polly’s cries could be heard throughout much of the building, as the noise of her screams traveled down the long, sparsely-furnished corridors. Many a time, her younger brother James tried to intervene and stop Uncle Boritz from his wickedness, but sadly, he was no match, and he was always punished for his unwelcome intervention. So there came a time when James gave up trying to rescue Polly, and he too sat in a comatose trance, just the same as all the other foster children.

  When Polly’s ordeal finally came to an end and justice had been served, Uncle Boritz dragged her back into the center of the room, still hurling insults at her. He would then turn his attention back to the children sitting at the tables and start pontificating. (Well, what does pontificate mean? It means to go on and on and on some more!) He droned on and on about the necessity for utter loyalty to Aunt Mildred and himself. He told them that whatever went on in this castle stayed in the castle and should never be discussed outside its walls. The children all nodded their agreement. They were in no position to do otherwise, or woe betide them! The children knew from previous experience that he would, as usual, go on reminding them that just as their mums and dads had abandoned them, likewise, nobody else would ever want them. It was therefore essential that they all stick together, unless of course they wished to find themselves homeless—something that terrified them all!