The Art Market.

Dame Hilda: Historically speaking, the artistic achievements of Stackton Tressel are decidedly limited to two people. There was a local sculptor appropriately named Stone. But by far the most prolific of our local artists was a Peregrine Cob. He was a water colourist who gained the nickname Custardy Cob, because his pallet was limited entirely to shades of yellow. This gave his snowscapes some curiosity value, and his portraits a decidedly jaundiced look. The tiny local art gallery and museum was bequeathed some 3,500 of his pictures in 1948. These are exhibited on a rotation basis two at a time. Changing every month, which means, of course, that one only has to live in Stackton for 145 years to see the lot. But there is art in Stackton still, as Evadne and I discovered, the morning we went to the music emporium to inspect the decor and to arrange the stock prior to reopening.

Dame Hilda: You know, Evadne. I'm still not sure that we chose the right colours for this room, dear.

Dr. Hinge: We didn't choose them, Hilda. You did!

Dame Hilda: Now, that's simply not true. I distinctly remember Tom, you and I standing on this very spot looking at that colour chart together.

Dr. Hinge: And I distinctly remember you insisting on marshmallow walls and a buttermilk ceiling, Hilda. Even Tom thought it would look gooey.

Dame Hilda: It doesn't look gooey.

Dr. Hinge: Those marshmallow walls are definitely gooey.

Dame Hilda: Oh, nonsense. Anyway, it's the buttermilk ceiling that worries me. I just don't think it's right.

Dr. Hinge: I told you it wouldn't be.

Dame Hilda: You did not.

Dr. Hinge: I most certainly did.

Dame Hilda: Well, I didn't hear you. You must have mumbled. You do that sometimes, you know, dear. You mumble.

Dr. Hinge: You heard all right. You flatly refused to take my advice.

Dame Hilda: If you were so sure you were right dear, you should have insisted. I would have done.

Dr. Hinge: You did! And look what we got.

Dame Hilda: Anyway, we don't want to argue about it.

Dr. Hinge: I say, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: What dear?

Dr. Hinge: There's a strange little man peering in at the window.

Dame Hilda: Oh, yes?

Dr. Hinge: I think he's trying to attract our attention.

Dame Hilda: Well, I certainly can't think of any other reason why he’d jumping up and down like that and waving. Unless he’s a bit funny.

Dr. Hinge: Have you ever seen him before?

Dame Hilda: No, never. And in that red woolly hat and that bright green suit he looks as if he's fallen off somebody's rockery. I wonder where his fishing rod is?

Dr. Hinge: Go and tell him the shop's not open yet, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: Oh, very well. I'm sorry, but we're not open yet.

Dr. Hinge: It's no good shouting through the letter box, Hilda. unlock the door and see what the man wants.

Dame Hilda: Oh, honestly! Excuse me, young man. But if you're looking for us we're not open yet as the sign says.

Artist: Oh, it's all right. I don't want to buy anything. I was told you might be able to help me.

Dame Hilda: Well, you’d better come in.

Artist: Thank you. You see, I've only recently moved into Stackton. I'm an artist, a painter. You are Dame Hilda Bracket?

Dame Hilda: Yes, dear?

Artist: I'm Gareth Morley!

Dame Hilda: Yes, dear?

Artist: The name doesn't mean anything to you?

Dame Hilda: Well, no, I'm afraid it doesn’t. Evadne, does the name Gareth Morley mean anything to you, dear?

Dr. Hinge: No! Should it?

Dame Hilda: Well, he seems to think it should. I'm very sorry, Mr. Morley. I'm sure they've heard of you somewhere dear, but it certainly doesn't seem to be around here.

Artist: No, there seems to be a bit of a break down in communications You see, I understood from Mrs. Dyrenforth up at the big house!

Dame Hilda: Oh, Lorna?

Artist: Yes, that she’d already spoken to you about me, and that you are going to organise the art market for her.

Dr. Hinge: We were going to organise it, were we?

Artist: That's what she said. Arts and crafts, yes. Stalls. One Saturday, perhaps. You know the sort of thing.

Dr. Hinge: Oh, I know the sort of thing, all right. And we were going to organise it?

Dame Hilda: Oh, do stop saying that, Evadne. He's made himself perfectly plain. We were going to organise it.

Dr. Hinge: Hilda! Have you put Lorna Dyrenforth's number in that little book by the phone yet?

Dame Hilda: Yes, dear, under damp proofing.

Dr. Hinge: Why is Lorna under damp proofing, Hilda?

Dame Hilda: She's under D, dear. So far, there are two entries under D, damp proofing and Dyrenforths. And alphabetically, Dyrenforth comes under damp proofing. It's all perfectly logical, but of course, if you can do anything better.

Dr. Hinge: No, no, no, dear. I'll give her a call straight away.

Dame Hilda: Evadne?

Dr. Hinge: What dear?

Dame Hilda: Control dear! Count to ten before you dial. After all, she organises the roster of helpers for this place don't forget. And we don't want to scupper ourselves on a point of principle.

Dr. Hinge: It's all right, Hilda. I shall be polite, but very firm. Just leave it to me.

Artist: I say, I really am most frightfully sorry to cause all this bother.

Dame Hilda: Oh, it's no bother dear. Between you and me, Evadne thrives on misunderstandings.

Artist: Well, Mrs. Dyrenforth was certainly right about you, Dame Hilda.

Dame Hilda: Was she? And what exactly did she say?

Artist: She said, I would recognise you at once by your wonderful bone structure.

Dame Hilda: Did she say that? How very sweet of her. So perceptive.

Artist: She suggested and I intend to take you up on this suggestion if you're agreeable. She suggested that I should paint you in the character of Brünhilde! I’ll bet you were superb in the role.

Dame Hilda: As a matter of fact, I was. I still have my Brünhilde costume at home. It fits absolutely perfectly. Not that I wear it about the house, of course, but it's rather too dressy even for the evenings, yes. It's the winged helmet, you see. It just pushes it that teeny bit too far. Oh, here's Evadne back. Well, did you speak to her, dear?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, I did.

Dame Hilda: You didn't upset her?

Dr. Hinge: No, I didn't.

Dame Hilda: You counted up to ten then just as I told you?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, I did. And I wish I hadn't.

Dame Hilda: Why, dear?

Dr. Hinge: Because she talked me into it.

Dame Hilda: Well, there you are then Mr. Morley. You were right after all. We are organising the art market.

{Drawing room.}

Dame Hilda: If the truth be told, I was really rather excited about the idea of the art market. I visualised a great coming together under one roof for one glorious day of all the multifarious talents that usually flower unseen in Stackton. At one stall a potter, slinging his pots. At another an iron worker, working his iron. At a third a spoke shaver, shaving his spokes. I felt it most important that we secured the right premises and I held in my mind's eye a vision of the beauty, elegance, and exquisite taste of somewhere like Glyndebourne or Blenheim or the orangery at Holland House. However, in the event we had to settle for the old gas works. Mind you, it was a superb example of Victorian architecture, containing a lot of lovely filigree work and fluted cast iron columns. And as Evadne pointed out the lingering smell of gas could prove of great benefit to anybody suffering from whooping cough. More practically, it was the only place that was anything like large enough that we could get for nothing. The response from Stackton was overwhelming and some few days before the event Evadne and I settled into the drawing room at the old manse and we'd began the task of allocating floor space to prospective exhibitors.

Dr. Hinge: Now, what about the candle maker, Hilda? Where should we put him dear?

Dame Hilda: Somewhere where it's not going to matter too much if the floor is covered in hot wax, dear. Certainly not en route to the refreshments or the lavatories.

Dr. Hinge: Right, C3, Hilda? that's a corner of the old retort house.

Dame Hilda: Sounds fine and if it's too dark he can always light his candles! Ha ha! Now, what about that terrible Mrs. Spicer?

Dr. Hinge: The meal's on wheels lady?

Dame Hilda: Yes, old madam bossy boots. Oh, she thinks she's so clever. Stick her somewhere well out of the way, dear.

Dr. Hinge: What is she exhibiting?

Dame Hilda: Well, she says she does something interesting with acorns, dear. I can't think of anything interesting one can do with an acorn, except plant it and grow an oak tree.

Dr. Hinge: She'll never manage that on a Saturday afternoon, dear.

Dame Hilda: I certainly hope not. We don't want her to be troubled with squirrels.

Dr. Hinge: I'll stick her around the back of the scrubber. She can do anything she likes with her acorns there.

Dame Hilda: Evadne, I do wish you'd stop using gasworks jargon, dear. All this talk of retorts and scrubbers, it really doesn't suit you, you know. You're far too tall. Now, what about Maud, dear? Evadne, You did put her olde English sweetie shoppe somewhere prominent, I hope?

Dr. Hinge: Oh, yes, I have. but I've not put anyone too close to her, just in case.

Dame Hilda: Well, talk of the devil. That sounds like her now.

Maud: Good morning, Dame ‘ilda. Doctor.

Dame Hilda: Hello, Maud, dear.

Dr. Hinge: Good morning, Maud.

Dame Hilda: And how did your sweetie making turn out in the end, dear?

Maud: Well, I had no trouble with me marzipan potatoes and me peppermint cream penguins. But the pulled toffee weren't easy at all.

Dame Hilda: Pulled toffee. That's very advanced, isn't it, dear?

Maud: Well, the making of it's not so ‘ard. You just melt the butter add the sugar, water, a drop of vinegar and treacle and boil ‘em up. It’s then the trouble starts. With the pulling. I got the recipe ‘ere, in me bag. Now, just listen to this, It says, to draw the toffee two people are needed, each with well buttered ‘ands.

Dr. Hinge: My god!

Maud: Now, lift the ‘ot, soft mixture from the pan and pull ropes of it to pass to your partner. Throw it backwards and forwards, changing ‘ands when the ‘eat is unbearable. Use more butter on the ‘ands if they are burning. Work fast or it’ll set too soon.

Dr. Hinge: Sounds fraught with danger, dear.

Dame Hilda: Well, I don't see how you could possibly do that on your own, dear.

Maud: Oh I didn't do it on my own. I did it with my Arthur.

Dr. Hinge: Doubly fraught with danger!

Maud: Oh, ‘e did his best, ‘e really did. I ‘ave to admit it. I'm going down the ‘ospital to see ’im now.

Dame Hilda: The hospital, dear?

Maud: First degree burns. But mercifully ‘tis only ‘is ‘ands. ‘is feet ain't nothing like so bad.

Dr. Hinge: What exactly did he do to his feet, Maud?

Maud: Why, you see, one of ‘is shoes got stuck to the floor, and ‘e were working in ‘is stocking feet. Now, I don't know whether you've ever dropped a dollop of boiling ‘ot toffee on your stocking foot Dame ‘ilda?

Dame Hilda: Well, no, dear, never.

Maud: My Arthur’s ’ad ‘ot toffee! And according to ‘im, ‘tis pretty painful. The air was absolutely blue.

Dr. Hinge: His language was bad, was it Maud?

Maud: Oh, ‘tweren’t ‘is language, Doctor. It was the second pan of toffee. It caught. While I were trying to ‘elp ‘im up,

Dame Hilda: Help him up, Maud?

Maud: Of the floor where ‘e'd fallen.

Dr. Hinge: Fallen?

Maud: Trying to open the window ‘e were, when ‘e slipped. That's ‘ow he got ‘is lacerations. When ‘is ‘and went through the glass. Burns and lacerations. Dame ‘ilda, I do ‘ope it's all been worth it. ‘ere, try a toffee see what you think.

Dame Hilda: Thank you, dear, they look lovely. I'll have it later on. And do give Arthur our love when you see him, won't you, dear? { knock!} Oh, that's probably Major Dyrenforth and Tom, back from the round.

Maud: I'll go, Dame ‘ilda, and then I'll get on with me work. It'll be nice to be in a kitchen where everything ain’t sticky.

Dr. Hinge: Yes, we like it that way as well, Maud.

Dame Hilda: Perhaps we should send Arthur a little get well present, dear.

Dr. Hinge: What do you suggest, Hilda? Sweets?

Dame Hilda: Oh, don't be silly. Arthur doesn't like sweets, which makes his predicament all the more sad.

Major: Ah, ladies.

Dame Hilda: Oh, Major, Tom, you’re back. Hello, dear. Did everything go all right?

Major: You know, Hilda, I had no idea what went on behind the closed doors of Stackton. Men I knew only as rugger blues and old Rotarians spending their evenings making pixies out of pipe cleaners.

Dr. Hinge: Now, you did call Mrs. Telford I hope major. She was most insistent. It seems she and all those ghastly children have been hard at it for ages making things. Well, you know what she's like, a sort of one parent kibbutz!

Major: No, we saw her all right. She opened the sitting room door, and there they were. Everywhere!

Dr. Hinge: The children?

Major: The porcupines!

Dame Hilda: The porcupines, dear?

Major: You couldn't see the carpet for them, Hilda. They were drying their snouts.

Dr. Hinge: But how had their snouts got wet in the first place?

Major: They'd painted them, you see.

Dr. Hinge: Oh!

Major: Yeah. Pine cones made into porcupines with shiny, black snouts.

Tom: And little beady eyes, glass, like teddy bears, only tiny. Didn't ‘alf give me a turn. She switches on a light and there's 2,000 beady glass eyes. Wallop. Like Walt Disney ‘ad gone into ‘orror movies.

Dame Hilda: Do they really look like porcupines, Major?

Major: Well, to be quite honest, no. They look like pine cones with painted snouts and beady glass eyes.

Dr. Hinge: About the PA system, Major?

Major: Ah yes, the PA system, Tom?

Tom: Ah yes, sir, the PA system. Now, I haven't quite sorted that out.

Dame Hilda: I suppose you mean it hasn't fallen off the back of the lorry yet dear?

Tom: Well no. As a matter of fact, I don't, dame. The trouble is the stuff I'm giving to the fellow in exchange for the PA system, well, that ain't fallen off the back of a lorry yet.

Dame Hilda: Ah, Maud!

Maud: I've made us all a nice cup of tea, Dame ‘ilda.

Dame Hilda: Well, now everybody's here. We can try your toffee Maud. Pass it round dear, will you?

Maud: I've got some in me pocket ‘ere. Eh, it's a bit sticky, still ‘cuse fingers.

Dr. Hinge: Thank you Maud. No, no, no, don't bother, dear. I'll pick the fluff off myself.

Maud: Tom?

Tom: Ah. The rock upon which our kitchen foundered. Thank you,

Maud: Major?

Major: I say this looks rather splendid. You must give the recipe to my good lady wife. Might get her off the sugar mice. She uses all my garden twine for tails.

Dame Hilda: What about mine, dear?

Maud: Dame ‘ilda!?

Dame Hilda: Thank you, Maud. Bless you.

All: { Trouble chewing!}

Maud: Now, I says it as shouldn't. You can't buy toffee like that.

{Gasworks.}

Dame Hilda: By the time the day of the art market arrived we were all talking normally again. Though Evadne had meantime found it necessary to make a fuss and pay a visit to the dentist. After all, she does so enjoy her little moments of martyrdom. Well, on the appointed day, the old gas works was packed. Now, as we had organised the whole show, we'd naturally given ourselves the prime site for our music stall. It was an old loading bay. The only raised platform left in the entire place. And it was in such a position that anybody going anywhere had to pass it, clever you see?. After all, we were going to sing as well as sell music. So it did seem important that we were somewhere central where we could be heard by everybody. Anyway, as Evadne said, “if anybody's having that, we are.” And I agreed with her. So we did. And at last the time for the official opening of the Stackton’s first arts and crafts market drew near.

Dame Hilda: Oh, Tom, dear. It's almost time for the opening ceremony. Have you been round and is everybody all right?

Tom: More or less, one or two little ‘iccups.

Dame Hilda: Oh, dear.

Tom: The glass blowers burned ‘is lips, ‘e's singed ‘is moustache and set fire to ‘is trousers twice already. And the potter, ‘e ‘asn't got the speed of ‘is wheel right yet, ‘is remains of three earthenware vases are splattered all over the end of the wall. So I advise you when you go past him, duck.

Dame Hilda: Oh, and Tom, would you have a quiet word with that lad selling the t-shirts and badges? I mean, I'm not easily shocked. But I was.

Dr. Hinge: It didn't stop you reading them all, though, did it?

Dame Hilda: Well, I mean, how else could I have found out that they were shocking, dear?

Dr. Hinge: I'd already told you that.

Dame Hilda: Well, yes, I know, but I had to make sure you weren't just being stuffy!

Dr. Hinge: Let's not pursue it, dear. Now, Tom, what about the microphone? shouldn't it be here? The Major will open the show from our stand, you see.

Dame Hilda: So that we can get a good crowd right at the start.

Tom: I'll fetch it over. Be back in a jiff.

Dame Hilda: I say, Evadne, just look at the crowd around Maud’s Sweet stall already.

Maud: Get your ‘ands off my ‘umbugs you little varmint. Or you’ll wish you’d never come!

Child: OW!

Dr. Hinge: She should have run a school tuck shop really, Hilda, she has such a way with children. Ah, and here comes your little artist friend, mind you don't trip over him, dear.

Dame Hilda: Evadne he’ll hear you. Hello, Mr. Morley, all ready for the off?

Artist: Yes, indeedo, yes, indeed. I do hope you'll find time to come and look at my work, Dame Hilda. Especially in view of your promise pose for me.

Dame Hilda: Oh, yes, dear, yes, don't worry. I certainly shall.

Artist: I’ll look forward to seeing you then. Must run.

Dame Hilda: Quick Evadne! Let's have a peek while he's not here. You see, one should never look at an artist's work while the artist is in the room, dear. One cannot be objective.

Dr. Hinge: Don't you mean rude, Hilda?

Dame Hilda: Well, yes, I do. But I was using artistic phraseology, you see. Oh, here it is. Oh I say? Funny stuff, isn't it?

Dr. Hinge: Yes, isn’t it?

Dame Hilda: Oh, he seems to specialise in feet, he does seem to paint everything from such a very low angle.

Dr. Hinge: Well, he is terribly small.

Dame Hilda: Yes, but even so, I mean, look at that one the old windmill, you can't even see the sails.

Dr Hinge: It's his vision, Hilda.

Dame Hilda: Well, I really cannot for the life of me see why a man should have a vision of just the bottoms of things. He was going to paint me, you know.

Dr. Hinge: Was he dear?

Dame Hilda: But I don't think I'll risk it.

Dr. Hinge: You're probably wise, dear. Though you do have lovely feet.

Dame Hilda: Anyway, I think I've got a better idea.

Dr. Hinge: Have you now? What's that?

Dame Hilda: I'll ask him to repaint that ceiling at the emporium instead. You know, I think it would look lovely if it was the colour of those cows. I wonder what colour that is?

Dr. Hinge: Goo.

Major: Pardon?

Dr. Hinge: Nothing at all, sorry, Major. Just evaluating a picture. Ready to open up are we?

Major: Yes, but there's a slight snag I’m afraid. You see, the extra cable for the microphone hasn't arrived and the lad that was supposed to be bringing it can't be found anywhere. Lorna says we should get on and open it anyway.

Dame Hilda: But will you be able to make yourself heard from our stall without a microphone Major?

Major: No, so I'm going to open it using the microphone at the fullest extent of the existing cable.

Dr. Hinge: And where exactly does that take it to?

Major: Lorna's stall.

Dr. Hinge: Funny, I had a premonition.

Major: Well, I must run. Tom's signalling. Wish me luck.

Dr. Hinge: Wish him luck. I hope he trips over his little length of cable.

Tom: Roll up, roll up. Major Dyrenforth is about to formally open show. Gather round, gather round.

Dame Hilda: I do think Tom could do that with a little less enjoyment. Oh, look Evadne, everybody's vanished right down there. Oh, and it was so important that we were established as the centre of activity.

Major: Ladies and gentlemen, I have often thought the people of Stackton Tressel were by nature crafty, but now I find to my delight that they are arty as well.

Dr. Hinge: Hilda, hand me a sheet of music.

Dame Hilda: Which one?

Dr. Hinge: Anyone? Anyone, the top one?

Dame Hilda: Here you are then.

Dr. Hinge: Ah, thank you. Kitty the telephone girl. Nice and jolly and loud.

Dame Hilda: What are you up to dear?

Dr. Hinge: Hilda, we have three things that Lorna Dyrenforth doesn't. A piano and two strong voices. The minute he finishes we start!

Dame Hilda: Right!

Major: I declare this first Stackton arts and crafts market open.

Dr. Hinge: Sing!

Kitty, kitty, isn't it a pity in the city you work so hard.

With your one, two, three, four, five, or six, seven, eight. Gerrard!

Kitty, kitty, isn't it a pity that we’re wasting so much time.

With your lips close to the telephone, when they should be close to mine.♬

Dame Hilda: It's working. They're coming back. There just one more time, Evadne. Go on dear let's have it once more.

♬Kitty, kitty, isn't it a pity in the city you work so hard.

With one, two, three, four, five, or six, seven, eight. Gerrard!

Oh, Kitty, kitty, isn't it a pity that we’re wasting so much time.

With your lips close to the telephone, when they should be close to mine.