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Authors: R. F. Delderfield

Tags: #School, #Antiques, #Fiction

The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon (9 page)

BOOK: The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon
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Mr. Sermon found this information disconcerting but he tried not to show it and at once broadened the conversation.

"You've got to deliver all this furniture at various places?" he enquired.

"Neow!" said the man, "this is stuff I got at yesterday's sale an" a lot o' junk as you c'n see! Nothing in it reely tho'. Flash, he's my old man, always brought me up to believe the big money was in junk an' not in good pieces. Something in it o' course, if you reckon by profit percentages. Buy an armchair for five bob an' sell it fer fifteen that's two 'undred-per-cent, ain't it? Lay out forty quid on a commode an' The Trade gives you forty-two-ten an" moan all the way down the bleedin' street! You made fifty bob but look at the percentage? No," he went on, dismissing the depressing economies of his calling, "I'm not delivering, I'm tapping today."

"Tapping?" said Mr. Sermon curiously, "tapping what?"

The man threw back his large head and gave a short neighing laugh and then, as though a little ashamed of himself, he winked, smiled and patted Mr. Sermon's knee reassuringly.

"Tapping! Knocking! On the knock!" he explained. "I got a shop see, down on the coast, place called Kingsbay, you prob'ly heard of it!"

Mr. Sermon had heard of Kingsbay. It was, indeed, almost famous in a way for its exclusiveness was sometimes the subject of a music-hall joke and had even been used by Television comics. It was, he remembered, a kind of ultimate in West-country resorts, a citadel to which colonels and admirals and Indian civil servants had retired in the days when we had an Empire, a place said to be ruled over by a Kiplingesque junta who sternly resisted the introduction of caravans and campers and the sale of iced lollies on the promenade. It seemed a most unlikely place to enter in a van with a cluster of chamber-pots on the door.

"I always heard Kingsbay was a very starchy place," he said, "a kind of Cheltenham-cum-Harrogate by the sea."

"That's it," said the man, sagely, "and that's the point! Good buying area, good class o' people. They got stuff 'anded down see ?

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And most o' the pore bleeders are livin on fixed incomes and 'ave to part with a bit every now and again to pay their flippin' golf sub. I milked some nice stuff out o' Kingsbay in me time but it's drying up mindjew, drying up fast! Too many bleedin' amachures and too many dabblers! Proper trade don't get a look in, not like they used to before the war." And he shook his head, looking quite fierce for a moment.

"What exactly do you mean by 'tapping' and 'on the knock'?" asked Mr. Sermon, who was enjoying himself when he could forget his frantic hunger.

"Oh it's just a term," said the man, "we tap see, tap on doors, any doors if they look like they got a bit o' French or Regency behind them. Never know what you might find, brace o' pistols, bit o' Georgian silver, chunk o' Spode or Rockingham maybe. Garden ornaments too, they fetch a good profit but there again, it ain't what it was, nothing like what it was, and if you ask me why I can tell you! You ask me and see!"

"Very well," said Mr. Sermon, dutifully, "I'm asking you. Why?"

The man looked at him gratefully as though Mr. Sermon had done him an unexpected favour.

"Magizines," he said, bitterly, "magizines an' T.V. talks and them bleeders who dabble a bit an' then glue their behinds to a chair an* write a book about it! Time was when you could get a silver rose bowl for a quid. Now everyone knows the flippin' marks and c'n date 'em to the year. Everyone's writing about antiques, see, everyone who c'n sit down to a flippin' typewriter. Ought to be stopped be law it did. Takes the flippin' bread out of your mouth it do!"

At this juncture they moved off level ground and began to descend a long, winding hill that Mr. Sermon assumed was the dreaded Hangman and soon he knew that this must be so for the gradient became alarming and the dealer's attention was fully occupied in keeping the van from running away and plunging off the road into the woods that grew on either side of the long curves.

Mr. Sermon clutched the side of the seat and set his teeth, trying not to imagine what would happen if the van was unable to negotiate one of the bends and shot off into the precipitous woods.

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Then, with a gasp of relief, he saw that the hill was flattening out and that houses were showing through the thinning timber on the right of the road and the van coasted down the last hundred yards of the hill to swing into a clearing before a seedy-looking bungalow flaunting a huge, crudely-painted sign that read:
the safe arrival
-
good pull-in for transport
with the name of the proprietor underneath. Mr. Sermon thought that he had never seen a cafe more aptly named.

"You'll get a good fry-up here," said the man. "Ada, who runs it, is an old pal o" mine. I alwus look in when I'm over this way," and he led the way up wooden steps and into a long, smoke-filled room set with deal tables and chairs and hung around with what seemed to Mr. Sermon a whole gallery of calendars, all of them depicting young women in various stages of undress.

They sat down at a table near the window and Ada appeared, a forthright, blowsy woman of about fifty-five with a beaky face and hands coated with flour.

"The usual, Ada, but twice over," said the van driver, "and make it quick, my pal's got a big hole to fill!"

Ada, however, was disposed to chat and passed the order to a pallid girl behind the counter, after which she sat down between them, wiping her hands on her apron and lighting the cigarette Mr. Sermon's friend stuck in her mouth.

"Do any good over at Yardley Manor?" she asked. "I heard there was some good prices paid or so Hooker's boy said."

"No good at all, Ada," said the dealer, "London trade scooped all the best of it and the set o' chairs fetched four hundred in the knock-out."

"Was you in on it, Tapper?"

"No," said the dealer, gravely, "not on the chairs and top stuff I wasn't, I was on'y in the Rabbits' Ring but I come off with twelve-pounds-ten and a Persian rug. Mighter bin worse I suppose, tho' Flash, my old pot an' pan, created something awful when I got home. He said the foreigners should stick to their own areas, Kent and suchlike. They did in his day, o'course but times have changed, as I was just telling the perfesser here!"

Mr. Sermon, to whom the smell of frying eggs was refined torture,

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was only half-listening to the discussion but he caught the word 'perfesser' and it pleased him for somehow it gave him standing-room in this exciting world of tappers and knockers. He had been extremely interested in his friend's diatribe and already half-considered himself part of The Trade, a beginner perhaps entering upon the very first stage of initiation into what was obviously a very esoteric community.

"Is he from Smoke ?" Ada wanted to know.

"Search me," said Tapper and turning to Mr. Sermon added, "are you mate?"

Mr. Sermon was not absolutely certain that 'Smoke' meant London, but he took a chance on it and admitted that he was a Londoner.

"What's in that there bag you got?" asked Tapper and this time there was no amiability in his voice but professional curiosity, "it wouldn't be bits'n pieces you wanter flog, would it?"

"It's kit," Mr. Sermon told him, "just some stuff I threw in at the last minute." He drew a deep breath and looked frankly at his companions, "I'm on a sort of holiday, you see."

Neither Ada nor Tapper missed the hint of mystery and Ada looked at him very sharply indeed.

"What do you mean-'sort of holiday'? Either you're on a bloody holiday or you aren't! You can't have it both ways, can he, Tapper?"

Mr. Sermon hesitated and then plunged. "Well, as a matter of fact, I was teaching in school until yesterday afternoon," he said, "but suddenly, very suddenly indeed, I ... I got fed up with it all and . . . and walked out! Just like that! I turned my back on it all!"

They were impressed, he could see that, and it would have needed very little prompting on their part to have encouraged him to elaborate but at this moment a vast plate of eggs, bacon, tomatoes and fried bread was thrust under his nose and Mr. Sermon forgot everything in an immediate attempt to satisfy his hunger. He was halfway through his meal before Tapper had picked up his knife and fork. Lumme!" said the dealer, "you were 'ungry, weren't you, perfesser! Proper treat, idn't it Ada, to see a man go fer his grub like that ? Here mate, don't choke yourself, wash it down with a drink o'

63

tea!" and he poured from the large enamel pot that the girl had set before them.

Mr. Sermon said nothing for the next five minutes and by that time his plate was empty and wiped clean with bread. He sat back with a sigh of contentment and watched Tapper consume a leisurely breakfast. Ada got up and slouched about the bungalow, serving one or two lorry drivers who came in for tea and cigarettes.

"How far is this place, Kingsbay?" asked Mr. Sermon, suddenly.

"About fifteen miles," Tapper told him, "was you thinking o" going on there?"

"I can go anywhere I like," said Mr. Sermon, more to himself than to his companion, "anywhere at all, so why not? Are you going on now?"

"No," said Tapper, "not until after the auction. That starts at eleven but I don't need to get there till the lunch interval, I got a dealer covering for me."

"You're on your way to an auction? But I thought you said you were tapping?"

"So I am, on me way to the auction. Two birds with one wallet, you might say," said Tapper and as he spoke he extracted a leather case from his hip pocket and opened it, fishing among the notes inside for an address card. Mr. Sermon goggled. Only over the counter of a bank had he seen so much money in one roll. The wad of five-pound notes in Tapper's case was at least two inches thick and must have contained all of three hundred pounds.

"Good heavens!" Mr. Sermon could not help exclaiming, "do you carry all that money about with you everywhere you go?"

"That ain't much!" said Tapper, disparagingly, "I usually have twice that amount but I'm short this week. They keep paying me cheques and the shop float is run down. Bloody nuisance it is when you get nothing but cheques. What the 'ell's the good of a cheque ? You gotter pay it in the bank 'aven't you and then where are you? Every flippin" nosey-parker has a dekko at 'ow you're doin" and before you know where you are the flippin' Bloodsuckers is on to you! Cash is all that matters in my line, mate, you gimme cash every time and stick the cheques where the monkey sticks his nuts!"

He found what he was looking for, a neat, printed card and

64

replaced his wallet in his pocket. "Here we are, the Hon. Mrs. Gliddon-Foster, Cedar Walk, Bletchley Wood. She's the targit fer tonight! Wants to sell some picshures I'm told but they couldn't be all that good or they'd have gone to Sotheby's years ago. Point is, you never know what else she's got that she don't know about. Got a feeling about her, I have, down here, in me old barometer!" and he tapped his stomach and sucked his teeth or such of them as remained.

Mr. Sermon was vastly intrigued, so much so that he overcame his natural diffidence and blurted out: "Look here, Mr. Tapper-that is your trade name, isn't it? Couldn't I ... wouldn't you take me with you today and drop me off in Kingsbay tonight ? I'd give you a hand lifting and carrying. I'd offer to take turns driving but I don't think I could manage your van very well. I'm interested in antiques, I always have been and I ... I'd enjoy it immensely, particularly the auction. Suppose I pay half for the petrol we use?"

Tapper looked at him kindly. "I'm easy," he said, "if you don't mind messing around most o' the day. I like company in the van,
get
sick o' me own in no time. Right!" He took the matter as settled. "Let's pay Ada and get started. Bletchley Wood? It's about six miles from here I reckon," and he slapped a note and a florin on the table and called to the proprietress.

"Look here, I can't have that, let me pay for the breakfast!" said Mr. Sermon eagerly.

"Don't be silly," said Tapper casually, "proper treat to see you eat it! Ten bob and two for the girl, Ada. See she gets it!", and winking and hitching his belt he led the way out to the yellow van and swung himself aboard.

Mr. Sermon climbed in beside him feeling replete and very much at peace with the world. He had taken an immense liking to this odd little man and the trend of his adventures so far both pleased and excited him. He would never have believed that he could have embarked upon them so swiftly and smoothly and the sense of entering a new world that he had experienced in the bus the previous night returned to him. He no longer felt any apprehension about the van, for clearly Tapper was a man who could look after himself and anyone along with him.

BOOK: The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon
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