disintegrating paperbacks offering tips for low-cost travel, a picture book about boats, a commemorative volume published on the 250th anniversary ofTrinity Church. I had a hopeful moment when I glimpsed a couple of children’s books in the bottom of the box, but neither turned out to be
The Butterfly’s Ball
.
He looked crestfallen.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Esther may have it. She always loved it.”
“Esther?” I tried to remember which sister was Esther—the artist, or the one who was into yoga.
“The youngest. She was our pet. Always underfoot. She knew every word of that poem, too, God bless her.”
“Do you remember it?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” he said, and without further prompting began to recite.
Come, take up your Hats and away let us haste
To the Butterfly’s Ball, and the Grasshopper’s Feast!
The Trumpeter, Gad-fly, has summon’d the crew,
And the Revels are now only waiting for you.
And on the smooth Grass, by the side of a Wood,
Beneath a broad Oak that for Ages had stood,
Saw the children of Earth, and the Tenants of air,
For an evening’s Amusement together repair
.
He paused, beaming.
“Is that the end?” I asked.
“Oh, dear, no. It goes on for a couple of pages. Esther knew every word of it by heart.”
“Where did it come from? The book itself?”
“It belonged to Gwennie. Our daughter. We lost her, when she was five. She and Miss Edlyn were like sisters.”
I must have looked puzzled, because he went on to clarify the facts.
“His Lordship and Her Ladyship had just the one daughter, Edlyn. She was born two months after Mairead and I had our little Gwendolyn. My wife was Miss Edlyn’s nursemaid, and the two little girls were inseparable. Rupert and Percy, Edlyn’s older brothers, were already boarding at St. Clement’s by the time she was born, so if not for our Gwennie, there wouldn’t have been a playmate in the household. It was Percy who introduced Miss Edlyn to Mr. Winslow. They were at Harvard together, though Percy was older than Phineas. Percy brought him to the house in Brighton, the summer Miss Edlyn was nineteen. By the next Christmas, they were married.”
“And you and your wife came here, to live with her, after she married Mr. Winslow.”
He smiled. “You have a fine memory.”
“How did you come to be working for the family?” I asked.
He gazed at me for several moments, then took a deep breath.
“I’m from Galway, but I was living in London. I’d gotten a job as a houseman for the Shand-Thompsons. Mairead’s aunt Una was a cook for the family. She’d been with them for forty years. She brought Mairead down from Salthill when I had been working in the household for, oh, just about a year. We were married a year later. Gwennie was born in 1937, and two months after that, Her Ladyship gave birth to Miss Edlyn.”
I saw him struggle to contain his emotions, remembering so much more than the bare facts he was relating to me.
“You see, it wasn’t the usual situation: this was wartime. The government expected the Germans to bomb London at any time, so they drew up a plan to round up all the children and the pregnant women and get them to safety in the countryside before the bombs fell. Whole schools of children went together. I remember it like it was yesterday, the mothers and the kiddoes walking along streets toward the train station, everybody crying, the children wearingname tags pinned to their jackets, toting their little gas masks and not much more than a change of clothes and a sandwich or two.
“I’d been sent out on an errand, and when I got back to the house, I was asked to come into the parlor, which tells you right there how upside down everything was. You wouldn’t be invited into the parlor, unless you were being dismissed. His Lordship and Her Ladyship were there, and Mairead had Gwennie on her lap. Miss Edlyn was crawling around on the floor. Mairead and I were told to pack our things as quickly as we were
The Butterfly’s Ball
.
He looked crestfallen.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Esther may have it. She always loved it.”
“Esther?” I tried to remember which sister was Esther—the artist, or the one who was into yoga.
“The youngest. She was our pet. Always underfoot. She knew every word of that poem, too, God bless her.”
“Do you remember it?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” he said, and without further prompting began to recite.
Come, take up your Hats and away let us haste
To the Butterfly’s Ball, and the Grasshopper’s Feast!
The Trumpeter, Gad-fly, has summon’d the crew,
And the Revels are now only waiting for you.
And on the smooth Grass, by the side of a Wood,
Beneath a broad Oak that for Ages had stood,
Saw the children of Earth, and the Tenants of air,
For an evening’s Amusement together repair
.
He paused, beaming.
“Is that the end?” I asked.
“Oh, dear, no. It goes on for a couple of pages. Esther knew every word of it by heart.”
“Where did it come from? The book itself?”
“It belonged to Gwennie. Our daughter. We lost her, when she was five. She and Miss Edlyn were like sisters.”
I must have looked puzzled, because he went on to clarify the facts.
“His Lordship and Her Ladyship had just the one daughter, Edlyn. She was born two months after Mairead and I had our little Gwendolyn. My wife was Miss Edlyn’s nursemaid, and the two little girls were inseparable. Rupert and Percy, Edlyn’s older brothers, were already boarding at St. Clement’s by the time she was born, so if not for our Gwennie, there wouldn’t have been a playmate in the household. It was Percy who introduced Miss Edlyn to Mr. Winslow. They were at Harvard together, though Percy was older than Phineas. Percy brought him to the house in Brighton, the summer Miss Edlyn was nineteen. By the next Christmas, they were married.”
“And you and your wife came here, to live with her, after she married Mr. Winslow.”
He smiled. “You have a fine memory.”
“How did you come to be working for the family?” I asked.
He gazed at me for several moments, then took a deep breath.
“I’m from Galway, but I was living in London. I’d gotten a job as a houseman for the Shand-Thompsons. Mairead’s aunt Una was a cook for the family. She’d been with them for forty years. She brought Mairead down from Salthill when I had been working in the household for, oh, just about a year. We were married a year later. Gwennie was born in 1937, and two months after that, Her Ladyship gave birth to Miss Edlyn.”
I saw him struggle to contain his emotions, remembering so much more than the bare facts he was relating to me.
“You see, it wasn’t the usual situation: this was wartime. The government expected the Germans to bomb London at any time, so they drew up a plan to round up all the children and the pregnant women and get them to safety in the countryside before the bombs fell. Whole schools of children went together. I remember it like it was yesterday, the mothers and the kiddoes walking along streets toward the train station, everybody crying, the children wearingname tags pinned to their jackets, toting their little gas masks and not much more than a change of clothes and a sandwich or two.
“I’d been sent out on an errand, and when I got back to the house, I was asked to come into the parlor, which tells you right there how upside down everything was. You wouldn’t be invited into the parlor, unless you were being dismissed. His Lordship and Her Ladyship were there, and Mairead had Gwennie on her lap. Miss Edlyn was crawling around on the floor. Mairead and I were told to pack our things as quickly as we were
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