I said, when I last took up my pen as a veracious chronicler of the
recent history of Mudford (for this is the name of our village; not
elegant, perhaps, but none the less true to life), that my meeting
deserved a chapter to itself. It does. It deserves, in point of fact,
many chapters, though I only purpose to give it one. But it must be the
third chapter, and not the second. For before this meeting was held,
many things happened, and as I look back I often wonder how it was that
I was enabled to endure all the trials and tribulations which Fortune
had in store for me, and that I am spared to write this unpretending
account of all that happened. I say this, because I have been reading
of late historical romances, and I find from them that a little
moralising is never out of place in the course of a story.
The first thing I did was to issue a bill, stating that the meeting
would be held. It was headed, "Mudford," and announced that
I--described as TIMOTHY WINKINS, Esq., J.P. (for I boast that proud
distinction through an error of the Lord Chancellor of the period, who
mistook me for a member of his party, which I was not)--that I would
explain the provisions and working of the Parish Councils Act, that
"questions would be invited at the close," and that "all persons were
cordially invited to attend." I sent a copy of this to every one in
the village, and then fondly imagined that I should hear no more about
the matter till the fateful night approached. In that I was mistaken,
however.
Next morning, as I was sitting in my study--curiously enough getting
ready some notes for what was to be my epoch-making speech--I saw
coming up the drive two ladies, whom I recognised as Mrs. LETHAM
HAVITT and Mrs. ARBLE MARCH, both ladies, I remembered, who had made
themselves prominent in politics in the village, Mrs. HAVITT as a
leading light of the Women's Liberal Federation, and Mrs. MARCH as a
Lady Crusader (is that right?) of the Primrose League. A moment later,
and those ladies were ushered into my room.
"We've come," said Mrs. HAVITT, cutting the cackle, and coming at once
to the 'osses, "we've come to see you about that meeting."
"Oh, indeed!" I murmured. "Yes, the meeting."
"We notice," said Mrs. ARBLE MARCH, taking up the running, "that you
only say 'persons' may attend the meeting. Now we're very much afraid
that women won't understand that they may come."
"But surely," I protested, feebly, "a woman is a person."
"Well, we think" (_this as a duet_) "that you ought to say that 'all
persons, men or women, married or single, are invited to attend.'"
I was a good deal staggered, and thought of asking whether they
wouldn't like the name of the village altered, or my name printed
without the J.P., but I refrained. I promised to print new bills, and I
did it. I thought it would be a poor beginning to a peaceful revolution
to have an angry woman in every household.
Those were my first visitors. After that I had about two calls a day.
One day the Vicar dropped in to afternoon tea, to congratulate me on
my public spirit. I confess I felt rather pleased. I had evidently
done the right, the high-minded, the patriotic thing. My mind became
filled with visions of myself as Chairman of the Parish Council, the
head man of a contented village. Just before he left, however, the
Vicar suggested that I should advise the electors to elect into the
chair someone who had had previous training of what its duties and
responsibilities were, and I suddenly remembered that the Vicar was the
present Chairman of the Vestry. Then somehow I guessed why I had been
favoured with a visit. The curious thing was, that my next caller (who
arrived half an hour afterwards) came to say that the most satisfactory
thing in the whole Act was, that the clergyman could not take the
chair. Then my memory once more told me what manner of man I was
talking to--he was a prominent local preacher. I was being nobbled.
And so it went on. My answer to all who came was, that they could
come and ask me questions at the meeting. Is was a convenient plan
enough--at the time. Yet my suggestions--like chickens and curses--came
home to roost--at the meeting. And that, as I have said, is the third
chapter.
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