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I was not sad and I was not laughing either. Nor was Melvin. Who was Melvin?
Melvin and Cyril were two brothers, known to my father because they reminded him of two characters in a book for children, as Budge and Tod. Cyril was Budge, big, clumsy, with a raucous frightening laugh like a goat bleating. Melvin, or Tod, was my hero. He was mischievous and likeable – unlike Budge or their sister Beryl who was a sneak, always telling tales about the boys – any boys – to her father and mother, my Uncle Walter and Aunt Helen.
We were all very fond of pancakes; so my mother told the cook to make pancakes as a treat for our lunch – two each, she said, which made ten for the five of us children and two more to make a generous dozen. Melvin, who had a nose that did not mislead him in gastronomic affairs, had sought out the kitmagar. He was a nice man, fond of children. The nine year old Melvin had natural charm; he also had the skill to enhance his assets. Accordingly, when lunch was served, my mother found herself confronted with a pile of forty pancakes to serve. The kitmagar, asked to explain this extraordinary miscalculation, uneasily admitted that the chota sahib had amended his mistress's estimate of adequate supplies. Melvin, who was unabashed, augmented his meal by tearing off and eating a piece of pancake which I was about to put in my own mouth. My mother laughed, but I was not amused. My father told us to try to behave ourselves when we were at the table.
Melvin had made a garden, as had my sister and I; he had greatly improved on our efforts by fencing his with a piece of rabbit wire. This I greatly coveted. So when the day came for Budge, Tod and
Beryl to leave for England I asked if I could have his fence to put round my garden. “You can put it round your head for all I care!” was his disconcerting reply. He did not want to go to England; as it was only two years before I myself would be going I feared and wondered about this place that upset even Melvin.
My dread