'Helper'

     

I was aged 15 when I volunteered to be a helper at my local Brownies unit. With few plans for the summer and the fierce encouragement of my slightly eccentric careers adviser; sacrificing a few Mondays of my summer holiday to help brighten the lives of a few, unassuming and insouciant girls seemed to me a viable, almost lucrative idea.

My first day, the 29th July, happened to be one of the hottest days of the year, with temperatures reaching a vindictive 26 degrees Celsius. Looking agape, I hobbled into the hall, a beleaguered hog. I was then swiftly greeted by Eva, the leader of the group. Given her ivory pearl earrings and renaissance-style blouse, it wasn't totally nonsensical to assume that Eva had emerged from the courts of Henry VIII; the Lady-In-Waiting notified me that I was going to "perpetrate" the game that evening.

A sea of faces with an amber crest soon formed, all severely staring in my direction. Agitated, I informed them that we were going to be playing 'Wink Murder', an easy option, I had hoped.

On balance I believe that they could sense the fear that seized me that late afternoon. The sect domineered over me and they knew it. When it was my turn to be the murderer, they must have made some sort of esoteric communication as whilst I was erratically winking not one of them died. Even the detective stood there, feigning innocence and pretending not to notice me. For a macabre twelve minutes I stood in total humiliation until, pressed for time, the Abigail moved the group onto the craft which was painting masks. 

One by one, I watched as a total of nineteen grotesque exaggerations of my face emerged; some with sputum oozing out of their nostrils, others with highly-defined beards.

Over the next couple of weeks, the situation rapidly deteriorated: I was consistently dubbed "goose" in the children's game and maliciously impersonated. Finally, after bearing a full five weeks of this silent warfare, I could take it no longer and resigned, a curmudgeon with my dignity in tatters.

I still, occasionally, pass some of the reprobates in the street. Forced to acknowledge my inferiority, I lower my head in reverence. But, dear readers, I urge you not to make the same mistakes that I have, for I have painfully learnt my lesson. Like a phoenix out of the ashes of sorrow, my parting advice is never leap before you look, in case what you are leaping into is calamity.

With thanks to stmarysbeverley.org for the image.