Molly's cart was up on the workbench. Everyone was clustered around it.
‘What's up?’ I asked. ‘Something wrong with your cart, Molly?’
‘Lord no. Dummy did a great job when he made it. I just want to change her name.’
‘I've already painted out "GGG", said Roy.’
‘It was a daft name anyway,’ said Dismal.’
‘Shut up Dismal,’ snapped Jenno. ‘Wot do yew know any'ow? Yew don’t do nuffink but grumble. So just hold yer clapper.’
‘What are you going to call her now, Molly?’ asked Roy.
‘I haven't decided yet. Dummy made her, so I want a name to show my appreciation.’
‘Why don't yew just call 'er "Mr Pearce"?’ said Jenno.
Molly shook her head. ‘Uh uh— it just hasn't got enough oomph for a racing cart.’
‘You could use the same letters to make a new name,’ proposed Roy.
‘How about "Peace R"?’ said Brian.
‘For a racing cart?’ I said.
‘So; clever-dick Peter, can you do any better?’
‘How about "Racer P"?’ I said. Would that suit you Molly?’
‘Racer is terrific,’ said Molly. ‘But the "P" doesn't go.’
‘Just like P for Peter!’ exclaimed Dismal.
‘Just you shut up, you dopy Dismal Dennis. You and your perennial pessimism.’
‘Cripes, ‘ark at pitiful Peter— perennial pessimism, if'n yew please,’ broke in Jenno. ‘'Ee's a re'glar etymological
‘Stop showing off, Jenno.’ I said.
‘Oo's a-showin' off?’
‘If you're so clever, why don't you propose a name?’
Molly put her hands over her ears. ‘Stop it, all of you. I'm going to call my cart "E Pacer".
One of the young women in the choir stood up. ‘Oi don' really wanna interfere Vicar but it's me mum see.’
She broke off turning bright red.
‘Go on Daphne,’ encouraged the vicar. ‘Tell us what's on your mind.’
‘Well, me mum kinda don't believe much in God no more, not since dad got killed. Says that if'n He was
so loving there wouldn't be no war. She comes to church reg'lar even so: she likes the singing, specially
our anthems. No offence to your sermons Vicar. Well, she aren't so young as what she used to be, 'n 'er
'earin's affected. Says it was always difficult to 'ear the choir, 'n now it's something next to impossible, if'n you see what I
mean. So if'n the choir was out in front, she wouldn't 'ave that problem no more 'n she'd keep on coming. But if'n she don't
come, then I don't think I'd want to keep coming no more neither.’ She sat down in a flurry of confusion.
‘Thank you for that information,’ said the vicar, ‘and I'm really sorry about your father.’
‘'Ee were in the choir too, were Dad,’ cried Daphne shaking with emotion. ‘'Ee wouldn't want Mum to stop coming jus'
because she couldn't 'ear us sing.’
Molly’s “E Pacer”