Still William
Authors: Richmal Crompton
To Colonel R. D. Crompton, C.B., R. E
.
3. The Sweet Little Girl in White
4. William Turns Over a New Leaf
9. William’s Truthful Christmas
14. William and Saint Valentine
FIVE BRILLIANT THINGS ABOUT WILLIAM
1. He Has a Field at the Bottom of His Garden
When I was a boy, my cousin Colin lived in a small country town, and there was a field at the bottom of his garden. It was enormous and overgrown, with a rusty car in one corner
that you could sit in and pretend to drive, and a very grumpy goat tethered to a post, which would butt you if you got too close. There were two other children, a boy and a girl, who lived three
doors down, and sometimes they were in our gang, and sometimes they were the enemy. I’ve always wanted a field like that.
2. He is Very Good at Climbing Trees
In the small back garden of our house in London there was an apple tree. I used to climb up to the very top and squidge the long lines of ants that busied themselves in the
branches. I thought I was really brave, like an explorer planting his Union Jack on top of Mount Everest.
I went back to visit that house recently, and the apple tree is still there. It’s not really very tall at all, in fact it’s not much bigger than a large bush. William is much braver
than I ever was. In the chapter called ‘A Bit of Blackmail’ he seems to climb really high – but maybe he’s just fooling himself.
3. He Is Kind to Most Animals
There are two types of people – those who like animals and those who don’t even seem to notice them. William is the first sort of person, and he especially likes his
dog, but isn’t very keen on his cat or some insects. In fact he can be pretty mean to them. But who am I to judge: I used to squidge ants.
4. He Acts Out Brilliant Stories
When I was a boy, I thought I was a rebel leader. Every time I flushed the toilet I’d get shot in the back by a government sniper. I’d stagger out of the loo and
into the bathroom, barely managing to wash my hands as the life ebbed from me. I’d stagger across the landing, teeter at the top of the stairs, then roll, slide and tumble down them groaning
in agony, until I finally came to rest by the front doormat, where I lay dead, a tragic waste of a young life. Then my mum would shout, ‘Breakfast, Tony!’ and I’d get up and go
into the kitchen for a fried egg or beans on toast. William does that sort of thing, only a million times better.
5. He Is Very Serious
Let’s face it, most adults are pretty idiotic – at least, William thinks so. They dress weirdly, behave weirdly, tell people off for no good reason, and even when
there is a good reason they tend to tell off the wrong person. When they talk to each other they laugh a lot – that high-pitched, nervous laughter that doesn’t really mean anything. But
William isn’t a laugher. He knows what’s important – his gang, playing at pirates, getting muddy, capturing insects – and he takes these things very seriously. What has he
got to laugh about? When he’s playing he’s got a serious responsibility as leader of the gang, and when he’s at home someone or other is always having a go at him. And anyway when
he does laugh he sounds like a braying donkey.
The first William book was written nearly a hundred years ago. The word ‘cool’ hadn’t yet been invented. Well, it had, but only in the sense that your hot
chocolate’s cool if you forget to drink it for half an hour. But the writer Richmal Crompton knew William was cool, and tens of thousands of readers down the decades have known the same
thing. All boys want to be like William, and not just boys – grown-ups do too. I certainly do. Why do you think I agreed to write this intro-duck-shun? (That’s how William would spell
‘introduction’.)
Tony Robinson
CHAPTER 1
U
ntil now William had taken no interest in his handkerchiefs as toilet accessories. They were greyish (once white) squares useful for blotting ink
or carrying frogs or making lifelike rats to divert the long hours of afternoon school, but otherwise he had had no pride or interest in them.
But last week, Ginger (a member of the circle known to themselves as the Outlaws of which William was the leader) had received a handkerchief as a birthday present from an aunt in London.
William, on hearing the news, had jeered, but the sight of the handkerchief had silenced him.
It was a large handkerchief, larger than William had conceived it possible for handkerchiefs to be. It was made of silk, and contained all the colours of the rainbow. Round the edge green
dragons sported upon a red ground. Ginger displayed it at first deprecatingly, fully prepared for scorn and merriment, and for some moments, the fate of the handkerchief hung in the balance. But
there was something about the handkerchief that impressed them.
‘Kinder – funny,’ said Henry critically.
‘Jolly big, isn’t it?’ said Douglas uncertainly.
‘ ’S more like a
sheet
,’ said William, wavering between scorn and admiration.
Ginger was relieved. At any rate they had taken it seriously. They had not wept tears of mirth over it. That afternoon he drew it out of his pocket with a flourish and airily wiped his nose with
it. The next morning Henry appeared with a handkerchief almost exactly like it, and the day after that Douglas had one. William felt his prestige lowered. He – the born leader – was the
only one of the select circle who did not possess a coloured silk handkerchief.
That evening he approached his mother.
‘I don’t think white ones is much use,’ he said.
‘Don’t scrape your feet on the carpet, William,’ said his mother placidly. ‘I thought white ones were the only tame kind – not that I think your father will let you
have any more. You know what he said when they got all over the floor and bit his finger.’
‘I’m not talkin’ about
rats
,’ said William. ‘I’m talkin’ about handkerchiefs.’
‘Oh – handkerchiefs! White ones are far the best. They launder properly. They come out a good colour – at least yours don’t, but that’s because you get them so
black – but there’s nothing better than white linen.’
‘Pers’nally,’ said William with a judicial air, ‘I think silk’s better than linen an’ white’s so tirin’ to look at. I think a kind of
colour’s better for your eyes. My eyes do ache a bit sometimes. I think it’s prob’ly with keep lookin’ at white handkerchiefs.’
‘Don’t be silly, William. I’m not going to buy you silk handkerchiefs to get covered with mud and ink and coal as yours do.’
Mrs Brown calmly cut off her darning wool as she spoke, and took another sock from the pile by her chair. William sighed.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t do those things with a
silk
one,’ he said earnestly. ‘It’s only because they’re
cotton
ones I do those things.’
‘Linen,’ corrected Mrs Brown.
‘Linen an’ cotton’s the same,’ said William, ‘it’s not
silk
. I jus’ want a
silk
one with colours an’ so on, that’s all.
That’s all I want. It’s not much. Just a
silk
handkerchief with colours. Surely—’
‘I’m
not
going to buy you another
thing
, William,’ said Mrs Brown firmly. ‘I had to get you a new suit and new collars only last month, and your
overcoat’s dreadful, because you
will
crawl through the ditch in it—’
William resented this cowardly change of attack.
‘I’m not talkin’ about suits an’ collars an’ overcoats an’ so on,’ he said; ‘I’m talkin’ about
handkerchiefs
. I simply ask you
if—’
‘If you want a silk handkerchief, William,’ said Mrs Brown decisively, ‘you’ll have to buy one.’
‘Well!’ said William, aghast at the unfairness of the remark, ‘Well, jus’ fancy you sayin’ that to me when you know I’ve not got any money, when you
know
I’m not even
going
to have any money for years an’ years an’ years.’
‘You shouldn’t have broken the landing window,’ said Mrs Brown.
William was pained and disappointed. He had no illusions about his father and elder brother, but he had expected more feeling and sympathy from his mother.
Determinedly, but not very hopefully, he went to his father, who was reading a newspaper in the library.
‘You know, Father,’ said William confidingly, taking his seat upon the newspaper rack. ‘I think white ones is all right for children – and so on. Wot I mean to say is
that when you get older coloured ones is better.’
‘Really?’ said his father politely.
‘Yes,’ said William, encouraged. ‘They wouldn’t show dirt so, either – not like white ones do. An’ they’re bigger, too. They’d be cheaper in the
end. They wouldn’t cost so much for laundry – and so on.’
‘Exactly,’ murmured his father, turning over to the next page.
‘Well,’ said William boldly, ‘if you’d very kin’ly buy me some, or one would do, or I could buy them, or if you’d jus’ give me—’
‘As I haven’t the remotest idea what you’re talking about,’ said his father, ‘I don’t see how I can. Would you be so very kind as to remove yourself from the
newspaper rack for a minute and let me get the evening paper? I’m so sorry to trouble you. Thank you so much.’
‘Handkerchiefs!’ said William impatiently. ‘I keep telling you. It’s
handkerchiefs
. I jus’ want a nice silk coloured one, ’cause I think it would last
longer and be cheaper in the wash. That’s all. I think the ones I have makes such a lot of trouble for the laundry. I jus’—’
‘Though deeply moved by your consideration for other people,’ said Mr Brown, as he ran his eye down the financial column, ‘I may as well save you any further waste of your
valuable time and eloquence by informing you at once that you won’t get a halfpenny out of me if you talk till midnight.’
William went with silent disgust and slow dignity from the room.
Next he investigated Robert’s bedroom. He opened Robert’s dressing-table drawer and turned over handkerchiefs. He caught his breath with surprise and pleasure. There it was beneath
all Robert’s other handkerchiefs – larger, silkier, more multicoloured than Ginger’s or Douglas’s or Henry’s. He gazed at it in ecstatic joy. He slipped it into his
pocket and, standing before the looking-glass, took it out with a flourish, shaking its lustrous folds. He was absorbed in this occupation when Robert entered. Robert looked at him with
elder-brother disapproval.
‘I told you that if I caught you playing monkey tricks in my room again—’ he began threateningly, glancing suspiciously at the bed, in the ‘apple pie’ arrangements
of which William was an expert.
‘I’m not, Robert,’ said William with disarming innocence. ‘Honest I’m not. I jus’ wanted to borrow a handkerchief. I thought you wun’t mind
lendin’ me a handkerchief.’
‘Well, I would,’ said Robert shortly, ‘so you can jolly well clear out.’
‘It was this one I thought you wun’t mind lendin’ me,’ said William. ‘I wun’t take one of your nice white ones, but I thought you wun’t mind me having
this ole coloured dirty-looking one.’
‘Did you? Well, give it back to me.’
Reluctantly William handed it back to Robert.
‘How much’ll you give it me for?’ he said shortly.
‘Well, how much have you?’ said Robert ruthlessly.
‘Nothin’ – not jus’ at present,’ admitted William. ‘But I’d
do
something for you for it. I’d do anythin’ you want done for it. You
just tell me what to do for it, an’ I’ll
do
it.’
‘Well, you can – you can get the Bishop’s handkerchief for me, and then I’ll give mine to you.’