The thoughts of I, Matthew Crawley, aged 11 years, who finds himself in need of distraction upon being held prisoner with my fellow sufferers of Class 1A on Monday, 6th September 1897 AD by our cruel form teacher Clarence Montgomery, also known as Mr Swizzler* on account of his suspiciously red nose and rumoured fondness for whiskey, and sincerely hopes he does not discover what I am actually writing.
I wonder what she would do if she knew I call her Miss Hoity Toity, though? I imagine she would put her hands on her hips, declare "Boys are so stupid!" and stalk off with her nose in the air. She is perhaps six years old and the tallest and no doubt the eldest of the three little girls who arrived on the sands with their three nannies in their prim and proper brown uniforms just as I sat down with heavy heart and the rest of my class to begin our lunch-time detention.
One of my classmates, Hodson, mentioned there being an aristocratic family with three daughters holidaying here at the seaside and staying at the huge clifftop house Mother and I espied from the train when first we travelled to my new boarding school and Mother speculated about who could possibly own such an imposing residence. Hodson said that as well as the three nannies they came with a large entourage of servants. He counted among them butlers, ladies maids, footmen, coachmen, cooks and parlour maids and goodness know what and who else pouring into the house, he claims he was quite dizzy trying to count them all. I think those three little girls must surely be the daughters.
I noticed them just as I sat down with heavy heart and the rest of Class 1A to our lunchtime detention, our punishment for what transpired this morning after old Swizzler's presence was required elsewhere, thus leaving us to amuse ourselves as we saw fit. Our class of 20 or so quickly organised ourselves into an impromptu game of cricket with a ruler and ping-pong ball and Singh keeping score on the blackboard and a chair for the wicket so, you see, it was all very civilised albeit with the ping-pong ball bouncing wherever it chose including the ceiling and at times dangerously close to the windows, which caused us great merriment as well as a few quarrels.
I am fortunate in that my desk is close to the largest window that overlooks the sea shore and from where I can spend a pleasant time watching the trio's adventures while appearing to Mr Swizzler to all intents and purposes to being so deeply engrossed in our given project, to write a two page essay on the reason why we should have been quietly studying in his absence and not "causing mayhem", that I seek further inspiration from the passing clouds. And even more fortunate in that we have an enlightened headmaster in Dr Rushton-Clarke, who does not subscribe to corporal punishment, for caning is the case in most other public schools, the reason Mother chose this establishment for my education.
But it is only today, thanks to those three little girls, have I found its education particularly enlightening and worthy of dedicated pursuit.
Each little girl has a nanny of her own, all prim and proper in their brown uniform, and each prim and proper nanny walks after their charges carrying a picnic basket and beach blanket over their left arm because their right is now free, which wasn't the case to begin with. They had arrived holding hands with their child and doubtless envisaging a gentle ladylike walk. In this ambition, they were to be disillusioned.
Miss Hoity Toity started the mini rebellion. No sooner had they reached their destination than she pulled away from her assigned nurse and an argument ensued during which Miss Hoity Toity, to judge by her wagging finger, scolded her nurse severely and obtained her freedom.
Not to be outdone, Middle Miss, as I have christened the sister next in age and who looks to be about five years old, was the second to protest albeit with less fierce protest, the pattern already having been set by the leader of the revolution.
Baby, as I have named the very smallest and obviously youngest, and who seems a very even-tempered child and the darling of all, has been awarded her own freedom by default though I suspect she would be quite content no matter the circumstance. She is running, here, there and everywhere in excitement, fascinated by everything she sees: their fellow beach-goers, the terns and the sea gulls, the sea, the sand and the shells, all captures her attention delightfully.
The small black dog that has accompanied the six visitors and seems in particular Baby's companion, runs alongside her and then runs back to presumably chivvy her along with equal enthusiasm. Although her plump baby legs can't keep up with her desire to race and she falls regularly on to her bottom, but each time only laughs and picks herself up to run on unperturbed.
The competition between Miss Hoity Toity and Middle Miss is most entertaining. Wearing the biggest, most colourful hat I ever saw in my life, decorated with flowers and feathers, and which incidentally is far too big for her, and carrying a white parasol, she is ahead of the group, pretending she is nothing whatsoever to do with her companions, but is a grand lady who just happens to be taking a stroll alone along the sands. The effect, however, is a little spoiled by the fact I never heard yet of a grand lady who every now and again glances backwards and then gives a little run, determined to outpace her rival.
The rival, Middle Miss, wearing a less ostentatious but large enough hat with brightly coloured ribbons and which she is holding on to for dear life because of the strong sea breezes, is attempting the same leisurely grand lady walk while trying to pretend she is doing nothing of the sort. But as soon as Miss Hoity Toity runs she, too, is given to an abrupt burst of speed before settling back into a sedate ladylike stroll. Except she is so busy holding on to her hat and watching how Miss Hoity Toity walks in order to emulate her that she fails to look where she is going and stumbles clumsily every ten steps or so.
Oh! Miss Hoity Toity might have done well to observe her sister's caution with the hat. A strong gust of wind has just tugged it off her head and sent it flying far into the distance. She is giving chase followed by Middle Miss, three prim and proper nannies, Baby, Small Black Dog and assorted visitors to the beach. I can almost hear the shouts and cheers from my wonderful vantage point. It has turned into a hugely popular sport, there is much waving of arms and shouting. I wish I could cheer heartily too, but that would certainly arouse Mr Swindler's suspicion as to my concentration on my work; dipping a pen into the ink and then gazing outside cannot fool him forever.
Small Black Dog is the victor! He has swum into the sea where the huge hat was floating out towards the ocean to seek its fortune elsewhere and caught the hat in his mouth! Instead of returning it, however, he is running even further away with his prize. Now that he AND the hat are being chased, Small Black Dog has decided to make the game even more interesting. He drops it constantly and as soon as anyone gets close enough to have a chance of retrieving it, he immediately snatches it back up off the sands again and runs off, wagging his tail for all he is worth.
Finally, however, he has dropped the huge hat one too many times and run too far and the followers have given up the pursuit. Realising the fun is over, Small Black Dog has run back to Baby, and they greet each other as if they have been separated for many years, with lots of petting and hugging from Baby and lots of licking and tail wagging from her canine companion.
Some kind soul has provided both Miss Hoity Toity and Middle Miss with a deck chair each and while the three prim and proper nannies are fussing around Miss Hoity Toity, Middle Miss sits bolt upright, arms folded, head held high, in a manner that seems extremely self righteous. I suspect she is rather glad her sister lost her hat.
Proud of himself and expecting to be showered with praise, Small Black Dog has just dropped the bedraggled, squashed, sand-covered and soaking wet hat, a poor shadow of what it was in its previous existence, at Miss Hoity Toity's feet, but it is not quite the reception he imagined, for she has buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
Middle Miss is obviously finding it all very funny – or rather, she WAS! Miss Hoity Toity has now seized her sister's hat in a fury and hurled it as far as she can. It is already making good progress with the wind behind it and Small Black Dog leading the chase once more. Miss Hoity Toity and Middle Miss are now embroiled in a furious row and Baby is trying to play peacemaker by proffering her own little sun bonnet first to one and then the other, but they are too busy with their argument to notice. The prim and proper nannies have had enough and are packing to go home.
And I suppose I must return to my set essay. Though I do wonder whatever will become of those three little girls when they grow up. I think I have their personalities down to a T. Will Miss Hoity Toity and Middle Miss always be enemies, and Baby always so kind and amiable? Miss Hoity Toity is the fiercest, so strong-minded and haughty and superior. I wonder who will be the man brave enough to marry her?
*Swizzler – Victorian word for a heavy drinker
A/N: Just a light-hearted piece, hope you enjoyed reading. If anyone has any further ideas for a Downton Abbey fic they'd like to read, let me know. :)