"What d'ya mean, we need an 'oliday?" wailed Roland. "I need an 'oliday, you mean. I do all the bleedin' work around 'ere. You just sit on yer fat backside an' dish out the orders!"
"Exactly, old chum," replied Sydney undeterred. "We work far too hard for so little recompense, that's why I've arranged a few days for us at the seaside."

"Okay, O-wise one, what have you got us into this time?" demanded Rolo warily.

Sidney and Roland were definitely town dwellers. Two well known gentlemen-of-the-road, whose zany escapades had often found their way into the local newspapers - and sometimes into the local nick - sat at their normal morning meeting place, the Winfield Park fountain.

"Well old boy," replied Sydney. "I was on one of my frequent visits to the library. I do believe that Miss Hartington-Brown genuinely looks forward to my visits, you know."
Isobel Hartington-Brown was the local librarian who appeared to think that the sun shone from Sydney whilst also making it clear, many times, that she considered Rolo a complete and utter moron - the dislike was mutual.

"I might 'ave known, you've been sniffing round Hartington-Whatsits-Knickers, again," retorted Rolo. "What she sees in you, I don't know."

"Pure breeding my dear fellow," replied Sydney. "Pure breeding. Anyway," he continued ignoring Rolo's sarcasm. "I happened to bump into an old army chum of mine, Charles Hoskins. Well, dear Charles works as a Punch and Judy man on the beach at Walton-on-the-Naze, and he wants a short break ..."

"An don't tell me: dear Charlie wants us to stand in for 'im," said Rolo rolling his eyes.

"Exactly, dear fellow. And the good news is that we can begin tomorrow."

"Tomorrow! And 'ow are we getting to Walton that quick? I ain't got a bean and you're too tight to stump up for a comfortable journey. An' I ain't thumbing it!" added Rolo quickly.

"Charles mentioned that if we are at the station here at four-thirty tomorrow morning, for a small consideration, the guard on the milk-train will turn a blind eye to us curling up in the guards' van."

"I don't know about you, but I ain't even got a teeny-weeny consideration, so I dunno where we're getting a small one," wailed Rolo.

"Well, my friend," coaxed Sydney. "If you were to forego your evening bottle of matured gut rot, I'm sure we could manage."

"Oh, I see," proclaimed Rolo. I not only 'ave to get up early. But I also 'as to go ta sleep without me medication! And what, may I ask, will you be putting towards this new venture?" "Don't be churlish, my dear Rolo. This is a chance to change our lives. I do feel you should give me the credit for identifying yet another exciting opportunity!"

The journey to Walton, starting at a cold 4am the following day, was uneventful if you ignored Rolo's continual moaning about the darkness, the coldness, the hour, and all the other factors that colluded to drag him from the comfort of his cardboard home in the semi-shelter afforded by the local cemetery.

"Now, isn't that a beautiful view? How better could one wish to start one's day?" said Sydney, admiring the rising sun slowly lifting itself from the horizon as they gazed across the still black sea. "Charles's pitch is somewhere on the other side of the pier," reported Sydney as the pair walked, drawing strange looks from the early morning joggers, slowly down the road from the railway station to the promenade.

"It's still bleedin' dark," said a petulant Rolo with sulky finality.

"Now, I've been doing a bit of planning," announced Sydney as the pair made themselves comfortable in the cluttered storeroom at the back of the deckchair storage hut.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. Now, I'll sort through what I need in preparation for this afternoon's Punch and Judy performance. In the meantime, you can get the deckchairs down to the beach and then be ready to provide them to the holidaymakers. Shall we say five pounds a day for each deckchair? That seems about right, don't you think? Oh, and let's make sure that all the money goes in the tin, please? We don't want another problem like the Boy Scouts' Camping Fund, do we. Now, if you don't mind, I have my premiere to prepare for."

Rolo ignored this oft repeated jibe. "What do you know about Punch and Judy, tell me that? Don't you 'ave to 'ave a Swizzle or sumfing to do the voice?"

"A Swizzle? Oh, you mean a Swazzle, the device used to produce Punch's voice. No, I haven't got one but Charles assures me there are a couple in the box in which the marionettes are stored.
And I am not entirely without entertainment experience, you know. I have trod the boards on many previous occasions. Became quite famous in the army."

"So you think you can speak Swazzle?" said Rolo simplistically. "An' what about an 'and getting these bloody deckchairs down to the beach?" Rolo suddenly stopped, and stared down at the beach. "Anyway, that beach's soaking wet," he declared wisely. "The kiddies can't sit on that."

"The tide is going out, dear boy," said an exasperated Sydney. "By the time you get down there the sand will be perfectly dry."

Within the hour, Rolo had clumsily manhandled a couple of dozen candy-striped but now faded deckchairs down the weed coated sea wall steps to the area of beach indicated by Sydney. Sydney meanwhile sat lounging in the warming morning sun, each hand twitching as he rehearsed his cast of glove puppets.

"Oi. 'Ow's about a bit of 'elp down 'ere," shouted Rolo from his undignified tangle amid a heap of deckchairs at the foot of the steps. "These bloody fings 'ave got a life of their own!"

"Please don't muck about, old chap, we still need to get Punch's booth erected down there. The show will start immediately after lunch," replied Sydney.
"And take your coat off. You look ridiculous. We are at the seaside. Get into the swing of our holiday."

"I ain't taking me coat off; it might get nicked! An' what's this about our 'oliday, you ain't lifted a finger yet."

The lifeguard, dressed in his skimpy trunks, was happy to assist Rolo extricate himself from the deckchairs, and also swiftly erected the Punch and Judy booth.
"You should take that heavy coat off," he suggested cheerily. "It'll get pretty hot later today."

"I'm okay, fanks," said Rolo. The 'eat don't bover me."

"Did you see that poncy geezer in the tight trunks?" said Rolo to Sydney as he wolfed down the remains of a couple of delicate cucumber sandwiches that Sydney had obtained from the ice cream kiosk further along the promenade.
"Still he was pretty 'elpful so I shouldn't 'old that against 'im". "But, I'm sure he's after me coat."

"I cannot see anyone wanting that coat," shuddered Sydney. "Hang it on the rail there. Get some air through it."

"No way. It stays on me back. Is that all we gets for dinner, then?" asked Rolo wiping his greasy lips on the crusted sleeve of his coat. "Most of me bleedin' sarnie went to that damn great albatross!"

"It's all we have at the moment, old chap. And it isn't an albatross, it's merely a largish seagull. Now, once we bring in some cash with this afternoon's performance we can enjoy a bountiful evening meal," promised Sydney dabbing his lips with a dainty but discoloured handkerchief.
"While I think of it: during my show, make sure that everyone makes a donation whilst I'm performing."

"Why me?" demanded a surprised Rolo. "I've done most of the bleedin' work and now you want me to collect the money! I thought you didn't trust me wiv the money?"

"Be sensible, my dear pal. I can't collect the fee and perform, can I?"

"You could collect it when you've finished. I was looking forward to putting me feet up for a bit."

"By the time my performance is complete," explained Sydney. "If you don't get around with the hat fairly quickly, the audience will have left. I won't say that I distrust their honesty, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Just keep moving through thencrowd with the hat. You'll soon get the hang of it. Don't leave all the work for me."

"Good afternoon, young man. That'll be one pound, please." Rolo politely addressed the small boy just about to join the meagre group of young people currently gathering in the roped-off Punch and Judy area.

"I'm gonna sit on the sand," sniffed the boy

"That is still a pound, please."

"I ain't got a bleedin' pound. I come to watch the show."

"Yes," replied Rolo through gritted teeth. "And it's a pound to watch the show."

"No it ain't," said another member of the audience. "I didn't 'ave to pay nuffink yesterday. Me dad said if I sits near the back, I can nip off quick like. So that's what I did, see. It didn't cost me nuffink'. And," he continued, "it ain't you what collects the money anyway. You're just a scruff bag! An' you smell."

"You cheeky little bleeder," said Rolo drawing his coat tighter around him and moving toward the sharp tongued offender. If you don't pay up, I'll knock yer block off. See 'ow you likes that!"

"Muuum! Daaad!"

The bright afternoon sun was immediately blocked into shadow as a large, bikini clad Gorgon, with spare flesh escaping from all sides, rose from behind an adjacent beach windbreak.
"What's going on 'ere? You molesting my little Timmy? George, sort this bloke out." George, who unlike his female companion, was a great deal smaller in all respects, appeared from the shadow of the Gorgon.
No input was expected from George, that was clear - the Gorgon obviously had it all under control.

If Miss Isobel Hartington-Brown was an example, Rolo had never had a harmonious relationship with members of the opposite sex and it looked as if this encounter would be no different. However, he could see Sydney's offer of a 'bountiful evening meal' going up in smoke due to lack of funds if he didn't solve this problem quickly. Sydney's idea of a large audience was hardly a crowd. First thing, he decided, was to remain on the other, safer side of the rope barrier to the Gorgon. She definitely didn't look the athletic type so he should be safe enough.

"So," she boomed. "What's your problem? What're you doing to my little boy?"

"Madam," Rolo began. "The show is about to start and I am collecting the donations on behalf of my colleague, Mr Sydney" - he added the last bit to sound more professional.

"He's not supposed to collect the money, mum," shouted the charming little Timmy. "It was a different bloke yesterday. I fink 'es going to nick it."

"I thought you said you didn't pay yesterday?" said Rolo feeling he was losing control of the conversation.

"Are you saying my boy's dishonest?" demanded the Gorgon threateningly.

"What's going on, Roland? Is there a problem?" called Sydney in his best 'meet the public' voice. "You do know my premier performance is about to start."

"No trouble, Syd. Just getting these little gi.., your audience, seated. We've just got a little problem." replied Rolo, turning as Sydney approached behind him.

"It's Sydney, please, Roland. We must have a respectful working relationship."

From the corner of his eye, as he turned back, Rolo saw the flailing clenched fist of the Gorgon coming his way. Instinctively he ducked and fell to the sand ... Woomph! The Gorgon's fist connected with Sydney's nose sending him, as an undignified heap, to land on top of a quivering Rolo.

"Get orf, yer creasing me coat!" bellowed Rolo. "An' I got sand everywhere."

"My dear, boy," replied a red-faced Sydney sitting up and carefully cradling his sand-soaked bleeding nose.

"It was not my intention to come between you and the lady. She certainly seemed rather anguished."

"Anguished! She's a bleedin' nutter." Pushing Sydney's bulk to one side, a sand-spitting Rolo forced himself up onto all fours. "God, me life flashed in front o' me eyes. Pity I didn't 'ave me glasses on, I missed most of it." "Roland, you only have one use for glasses, and it's not those purloined from the NHS," unusually, Sydney had cracked a very small joke. "Unfortunately it seems that our audience has fled," he commented looking around him. The Gorgon, Timmy and George had disappeared along with the remnants of an audience. "Never mind," he said optimistically. "It will give me the opportunity to rehearse a little more; I have a novel idea for the second act that I'd like to perfect. And, of course, old chap," he added. "We can pop onto the pier early and avail ourselves of a splendid evening meal with our takings. I trust you informed them of our no refunds policy."

"Yea, I did," said Rolo, "but I fink we might 'ave to starve again tonight. Most of the bloody money's spilt somewhere in this damned sand and I ain't digging for it. It's got everywhere and I mean everywhere," he bleated. "I dunno when I'll get the chance to get rid of it!"

"You could wash or shower, dear boy. The lifeguard has a shower beside his hut."

"Shower! I ain't 'avin' no shower. An' anyway you ought to 'ave yer 'ooter looked at. Looks right comical wiv all that red sand stuck to yer face. 'An I fink you'll 'ave trouble blowing yer swizzle," Rolo added wisely.

"Well, I feel a shower is in order for you, at least, before I discuss another little task that we have to complete," said Sydney. "I'll get the lifeguard to clean my nose up, and then we'll pop along to the funfair on the pier."

"I love funfairs. I like the dogems best," said Rolo, excitedly. "But if we ain't got no money, 'ows we gonna get a ride?"

[THE END]

Find out how Rolo and Syd manage on the pier

© scrapyardsummer 2021