A Feather in your Cap. (pt. 1)

[wytchcroft]

Crown Heights, thought Percy Robeson sourly, looking down from the lip of the winding lane and out across from the hill and away over the vastness of London. For a moment he was giddy, bracing himself against the ruin of an old lamppost. Gulping a breath or two, his eyes followed shadows in the wide red afternoon sky, scudding along on an invisible current, clouds, smoke or birds he couldn’t tell.

Heights was right enough, but no Crowns and never been none, not in Percy’s time, nor anytime that he believed in, just the winding lane up the embankment that turned gradually but steeply into the sharp knuckle of the hill.
Along the lane were tangles of rose thorn and red berry hedge, most ill-kept and wild, the dark green tangles curling like a gypsy-man’s frazzled hair. Crown Heights indeed, he said to himself, Crown Heights my arse. The Crows Nest most folks called it – and much as Percy hated crows and much as it might be a nonsense, still it was a fairer name than Crown Heights. He wiped his face with a red hanky and thrusting it and his hand down into the worn pocket of his jacket he turned from the ledge of the road and heaved himself forward and up once more, on past the old brick wreckage and the beginnings of the poor street on which he lived.

Not for much longer maybe.

Percy Robeson had just been promoted.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it Mr Botham, with knobs on. Botham was a whittler by trade, a whittler and a witterer to Percy’s mind. A dab hand he may be making clay pipes and such, soap even from Whale blubber when the men off the boats could be found willing for the trade. Aye, turn a hand to anything – but his tongue, well, that he could turn anyway but off. Snide he was, and ever ready with a cutting remark;;
New Boots Master Robeson? Oh my mistake, my eyes you know, not so sharp as they were. What a handsome jacket Mr Robeson? Must be comfortable around the house oh outdoors, you do? Oh do forgive me it must be the fashions - an old stoat like me can’t afford to keep pace with the fashions anymore, but my, whatever next! Still the same job Mr Percy, the old routine? Must have it to a tee by now, what? A career you say? Oh of course, of course Master Robeson, and not to worry eh? Slow and Steady wins the race my dear old mama would have said.

Not any more, thought Percy biting down on the inside of his cheek and almost relishing the sudden interruption that was pain.

Almost home now, he was already fumbling for his key.

For the first time in many months he found himself hoping that Botham was in. He wanted to see that suspicious peering face and mocking grin as he shouldered his way through the door and to the stairs, he wanted to feel those squinty eyes on his back as he made his way up to the second floor and the front door to his digs, one of many in the once grand house. It would be a most pleasing effect if he could announce his news from the landing, holding forth grandly from the top of those broken and dangerous stairs.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. In the event he saw only the tenants from number Four B, a mild faced old couple he saw only infrequently. He did at least get to tell them his news as in the manner of the elderly they could see by his face and at once that he had some to convey. “You do look pleased, Mr Robeson!” The woman said, “A good day was it?”
She was rubbing her hands as if good news for one were good news for all. It was touching really, from such a frail figure – not many like her left these days after all.

“A promotion!” Robeson said with more volume than he needed, just in case Botham was eavesdropping. The old lady squealed in delight and instantly a second, male, head poked around the door, a night hat waved precariously from the top of it in greeting.
“Yes indeed,” Robeson continued, “some may have doubted, but I am no longer just a junior clerk – I am now an Administrative Assistant!”



The male head bobbed up and down. “Well my boy, that’s a feather in your cap!”

The woman shoo-ed at him, “Hssh! Pipe down! Saying such a thing!” Her eyes were wide and she glanced quickly about.

Robeson made the most of his moment. “Not to worry, not to worry! In fact you’re quite right – for at such a level I will be entitled to wear a real feather, it goes with rank. Of course, I shall need a new hat to put it in!” And he smiled broadly.

“Ooh how marvellous!” chorused the woman.

“And, I dare say, in time many other things,” he was openly boastful now, but he found he couldn’t stop. “I’m looking forward to a new house, the use of a Boots and my own sweep!”

It was true, all the way home he had been envisioning young lads falling upon his shoes, fighting for the honour of the polishing – he had been dreaming of a roaring blaze controlled by a toggle on the flue all thanks to a pugnacious chimney sweep who would earn himself a grateful sovereign.

“Chimney as clean as clean can be – why if I were a bird I’d nest in such a place quick as a blink!”

Percy had to admit that he didn’t like the prospect of birds nesting in his chimney (even an imaginary chimney) but as good luck went, everyone knew that such a thing could not be beat – and when it came to advancement in life, well, Percy would take all the good luck he could find.

He shook hands now with the man before him and, nodding to the lady as he did so, turned and jauntily skipped up the stairs, an exit marred only by the fact that his foot went through the rotted board of the fifteenth step, causing him fall flat on his face.

………………………………..

end of pt 1.
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this story was inspired by an image shown to me c/o Alex Kraine - thanks Alex!