Just William: The Fall Of The Idol, Part Two Of Two

Relax and enjoy the second part of this latest story about irrepressible schoolboy William. What happens to his crush on Miss Drew? Richmal Crompton wrote these beloved stories in the 1920s when if you wanted to, you could send a postal order for 45p to an address in London and become a member of William's Outlaws Club. If only we still could!

Guitar music by William King.

Transcript

Hello, It's Mandi here. Thanks so much for joining me again to hear the second part of The Fall of the Idol, A William story by Richmal Crompton. Before I start reading, Please feel free to make yourself as comfortable as you can. That's great. I'll begin. The Fall of the Idol, Part 2. Miss Drew was less amused the next evening. She had a male cousin, A very nice-looking male cousin, With whom she often went for walks in the evening. This evening, By chance, They passed William's house, And William, Who was in the garden, Threw aside his temporary role of pirate and joined them. He chotted happily on the other side of Miss Drew. He entirely monopolised the conversation. The male cousin seemed to encourage him, And this annoyed Miss Drew. He refused to depart in spite of Miss Drew's strong hints. He had various items of interest to impart, And he imparted them with the air of one assured of an appreciative hearing. He had found a dead rat the day before and given it to his dog, But his dog didn't like them dead, And neither did the old cat, So he'd buried it. Did Miss Drew like all those flowers he'd got her the other day? He was afraid he couldn't bring her any more like that just yet. Were there pirates now? Well, What would folks do to one if there was one? He didn't see why there shouldn't be pirates now. He thought he'd start it anyway. He'd like to shoot a lion. He was going to one day. He'd shoot a lion and a tiger. He'd bring the skin home to Miss Drew if she liked. He grew recklessly generous. He'd bring home lots of skins of all sorts of animals for Miss Drew. Don't you think you ought to be going home, William, Said Miss Drew coldly. William hastened to reassure her. Oh no, Not forever so long yet, He said. Isn't it your bedtime? Oh no, Not yet, Not forever so long. The male cousin was giving William his whole attention. What does Miss Drew teach you at school, William, He said. Oh, Just ordinary things. Armadas and things and about lending a hundred pounds. That's an awful soft thing. I understand it, He added hastily, Fearing further explanation, But it's soft. My father thinks it is too, And he ought to know. He's been abroad lots of times. He's been chased by a bull, My father has. The shades of night were falling fast when William reached Miss Drew's house, Still discoursing volubly. He was drunk with success. He interpreted his idol's silence as the silence of rapt admiration. He was passing through the gate with his two companions, With the air of one assured of welcome when Miss Drew shut the gate upon him firmly. You'd better go home now, William, She said. William hesitated. I don't mind coming in a bit, He said. I'm not tired. But Miss Drew and the male cousin were already halfway up the walk. William turned his steps homeward. He met Ethel near the gate. William, Where have you been? I've been looking for you everywhere. It's hours past your bedtime. I was going a walk with Miss Drew. But you should have come home at your bedtime. I don't think she wanted me to go, He said with dignity. I think it wouldn't have been polite. William found that a new and serious element had entered his life. It was not without its disadvantages. Many had been the little diversions by which William had been wont to while away the hours of instruction. In spite of his devotion to Miss Drew, He missed the old days of carefree exuberance. But he kept his new seat in the front row and clung to his role of earnest student. He was beginning to find also that a conscientious performance of home lessons limited his activities after school hours. But at present, He hugged his chains. Miss Drew, From her seat on the platform, Found William's soulful, Concentrated gaze somewhat embarrassing and his questions even more so. As he went out of school, He heard her talking to another mistress. I'm very fond of syringer, She was saying. I'd love to have some. William decided to bring her syringer, Handfuls of syringer, Armfuls of syringer. He went straight home to the gardener. No, I ain't got no syringer. Please step off my rose bed, Mr. William. No, There ain't any syringer in this here garden. I don't know for why. Please leave my hosepipe alone, Mr. William. Huh, Said William, Scornfully turning away. He went round the garden, But the gardener had been quite right. There were gelder roses everywhere, But no syringer. He climbed the fence and surveyed next door's garden. There were gelder roses everywhere, But no syringer. It must have been some peculiarity in the soil. William strolled down the road, Scanning the gardens as he went. All had gelder roses, None had syringer. Suddenly he stopped. On a table in the window of a small house at the bottom of the road was a vase of syringer. He didn't know who lived there. He entered the garden cautiously. No one was about. He looked into the room. It was empty. The window was open at the bottom. He scrambled in, Removing several layers of white paint from the windowsill. He was determined to have that syringer. He took it, Dripping from the vase and was preparing to depart when the door opened and a fat woman appeared upon the threshold. The scream that she emitted at the sight of William curdled the very blood in his veins. She dashed to the window and William, In self-defence, Dodged around the table and out of the door. The back door was open and William blindly fled by it. The fat woman did not pursue. She was leaning out of the window and her shrieks rent the air. Police! Help! Murder! Robbers! The quiet little street rang with the raucous sounds. William felt cold shivers creeping up and down his spine. He was in a small back garden from which he could see no exit. Meanwhile the shrieks were redoubled. Help! Help! Help! Then came sounds of the front door opening and men's voices. Hello? Who is it? What is it? William glared around wildly. There was a hen house in the corner of the garden and into this he dashed, Tearing open the door and plunging through a mass of flying feathers and angry disturbed hens. William crouched in the corner of the dark hen house, Determinedly clutching his bunch of syringa. Distant voices were at first all he could hear. Then they came nearer and he heard the fat lady's voice loudly declaiming. He was quite a small man but with such an evil face. I just had one glimpse of him as he dashed past me. I'm sure he'd have murdered me if I hadn't cried for help. Oh the coward and a poor defenseless woman. He was standing by the silver table. I disturbed him at his work of crime. I feel so upset. I shan't sleep for nights. I shall keep seeing his evil murderous face and a poor unarmed woman. Can you give us no details madam, Said a man's voice. Could you recognize him again? Anywhere, She said firmly. Such a criminal face. You've no idea how upset I am. I might have been a lifeless corpse now if I hadn't had the courage to cry for help. We're measuring the footprints ma'am. You say he went out by the front door. I'm convinced he did. I'm convinced he's hiding in the bushes by the gate. Such a low face. My nerves are absolutely jarred. We'll search the bushes again madam, Said the other voice wearily. But I expect he's escaped by now. The brute, Said the fat lady. Oh the brute and that face. If I hadn't had the courage to cry out. The voices died away and William was left alone in a corner of the hen house. A white hen appeared in the little doorway, Squawked at him angrily and retired, Cackling indignation. Visions of lifelong penal servitude all hanging passed before William's eyes. He'd rather be executed really. He hoped they'd execute him. Then he heard the fat lady bidding goodbye to the policeman. Then she came to the back garden, Evidently with a friend, And continued to pour forth her troubles. And he dashed past me dear, Quite a small man, But with such an evil face. A black hen appeared in the little doorway and with an angry squawk at William, Returned to the back garden. I think you're splendid dear, Said the invisible friend. How you have the courage. The white hen gave a sardonic scream. You'd better come in and dress darling, Said the friend. I'd better, Said the fat lady, In a plaintive suffering voice. I do feel very shaken. Their voices ceased. The door was closed and all was still. Cautiously, Very cautiously, A much dishevelled William crept from the hen house and round the side of the house. Here he found a locked side gate over which he climbed and very quietly he glided down to the front gate and to the road. Where's William this evening, Said Mrs. Brown. I do hope he won't stay out after his bedtime. Oh, I've just met him, Said Ethel. He was going up to his bedroom. He was covered with hen feathers and holding a bunch of syringa. Mad, Sighed his father, Mad, Mad, Mad. The next morning, William laid a bunch of syringa upon Miss Drew's desk. He performed the offering with an air of quiet, Manly pride. Miss Drew recoiled. Not syringa, William. I simply can't bear the smell. William gazed at her in silent astonishment for a few moments. Then, But you said, You said, You said you were fond of syringa and that you'd like to have them. Did I say syringa, Said Miss Drew vaguely. I meant gelder roses. William's gaze was one of stony contempt. He went slowly back to his old seat at the back of the room. That evening, He made a bonfire with several choice friends and played pirates in the garden. There was a certain thrill in returning to the old life. Hello, Said his father, Encountering William creeping on all fours among the bushes. I thought you did home lessons now. William arose to an upright position. I'm not going to take much bother over him now, He said. Miss Drew, She can't talk straight. She don't know what she means. That's always the trouble with women, Agreed his father. William says his idol has feet of clay, He said to his wife, Who had approached. I don't know if she's got feet of clay, Said William, The literal. All I say is she can't talk straight. I took no end of trouble and she don't know what she means. I think her feet's all right. She walks all right. Besides, When they make folks false feet, They make them of wood, Not clay.

Reviews

William’s life lessons are so entertaining. Thanks Mandy 🙏🏻

“What a scally-wag!”, my dad would say. William will be lucky to survive childhood! Thanks for the reading, Mandy.

Oooh William…what a piece of work!😂 thank you!!❤️❤️🙏🏽