“By Gum!” announced Julian; “This is going to be a simply topping weekend!”
“You're jolly right there,” added George - “and with no Jews, Moslems or other horrid inferior sorts to spoil things for we properly indigenous youngsters, either!”
“Hurrah!” shouted Anne and Dick, by way of cheery support.
The four chums (and not to forget Timmy, the dog!) walked their bicycles onto the field where their beloved British National Party were holding this year's Red White & Blue Festival.
Julian had only recently persuaded his staunch pals to join the Party, convincing them that it was necessary in order to “stem the tide of non-White immigration, and to prepare for the coming struggle against the dark forces of the Zionist Occupation Government.” “By Jove!” Dick had responded immediately; “that all sounds jolly worthwhile-sign me up!”
Anne and George had long been looking to fill the void in their lives left by the demise of Mr Mosley's Blackshirts. “Can girls join, too?” they asked.
“Yes,” said Julian - “But you'll have to stand at the back with the trays of sandwiches and do the washing up after our meetings.”
“Oh, you boys!” Laughed Anne, fondly.
“Come on!” Said Julian, opening a refreshing bottle of lemonade; “You girls set the tents up and make tea while Dick and myself find the Organisers.”
Although exhausted from the morning's arduous cycle ride, Anne and George set happily about erecting the pair of heavy canvas pavilion-style tents they had been carrying on their backs, along with installing the small-but-sturdy cast iron stove and the prefabricated, galvanised toilet cubicle they had transported on their bicycles.
The two lads strode through the field of flag-bedecked tents – more than twenty of them, they marvelled! - and soon found themselves at the door of a small caravan.
It was rocking, and strange (gasping?) noises came from within.
With some trepidation, Julian knocked.
“Who is it?” came a man's voice from within. “Is it my 11 o-clock gentleman?” called a woman.
“It's Julian and Dick of the Famous Five,” replied Julian, “We've just arrived, and we're wondering if you could show us what's what!”.
There came the sound of raucous laughter from within. “Oh yes, Julian! We can show you what's what, alright!” shouted the woman. “And as for your friend, I've always got time for a bit of ...”
The door opened. The Boys found themselves faced with a pleasant-looking, greyhaired gentleman clad in what looked to be a cardboard breastplate, a helmet fashioned from a rusting colander and a cardboard scabbard bearing a rubber sword. Which turned out, with only a cursory glance, not to be a sword after all.
Behind, in the gloom of the caravan, was an elderly lady surrounded by other, similarly-clad gentlemen; one of whom brandished a Bell & Howell Zoomatic 8mm camera.
“I say!” exclaimed Dick; “What a wizard camera! Are you chaps making a film?!”.
“Aye. Sort of...” replied the Gentleman; “What do you want?”
“We were just wondering what sort of activities you've got lined up for the weekend.”, said Julian.
The woman and her strangely-garbed companions began to laugh heartily. Their Leader stepped outside and closed the door behind him as the muffled giggling continued.
“Well, lads, it's like this...” he explained. “Do you understand what this festival's all about?”
“Oh yes!” said Dick; “There'll be healthy walks, patriotic singsongs around the campfire, hearty comradeship and fascinating talks about the countryside, local history, and the vital importance of retaining racial and idealogical purity in the face of the growing Arabic menace!”
“Aye. Something like that.” Replied the gentleman. “You came alone?”
“Oh no,” said Julian. “We left the girls setting up our tents.”
The old gentleman's manner changed. He smiled broadly.
“In that case, lads,” he said, as he ushered the pair away from the caravan (which was rocking once again - “It must have a broken leaf spring”, thought Dick to himself); “You run along and have fun, and all of you come over to see us at the caravan later tonight...”
“How exciting!” Said Julian as the chums strolled back to see how Anne and George (and not forgetting Timmy, the dog!) had got on with setting up the campsite: “Not only have we found ourselves in the most wizardly monocultural racial enclave in all of our great Nation, but the kindly old camp organisers have invited us to spend the evening sharing the warmth of their company!”
It was, indeed, going to be a topping night of high-jinks and merry laughter: Of that, the Lads were quite sure...
No-one spoke the next morning.
Silently, and making no eye contact with one another, the four faithful companions returned to their corner of the campsite.
“Going for a shower.” Said George, arming herself with a stiff-bristled scrubbing brush and a bottle of bleach as she headed for the utilities cubicle. “Bags I go next.” Said Anne, still in a daze as she rocked back and forth on the spot, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Julian tried to sit down, but was still feeling a little too tender.
“Come on, Julian!” Said Dick in as cheery a manner as he could muster; “Let's put our best foot forward and go for a jolly good walk!”
Julian tried to smile in response, but the pictures in his head simply wouldn't -simply wouldn't - go away. He wondered if he would ever be able to forget the events of the previous night...
“Come on, you old stick in the mud!” continued Dick – his voice cracking as the confused, disturbed emotions flooded to the surface once again - “Let's just get Timmy and go for a jolly – good – walk...”
He suppressed a wracking sob as he tried to force a smile for the sake of his dear friend.
But his plea had the opposite effect, as Julian remembered something with a growing, cold horror from the previous night...
“Oh God.” He remembered: “Timmy... TIMMY!”
Next Week: The Chums are invited to join Mr and Mrs Reynolds on a “Security Mission”