The Summer of Sir Lancelot

afternoon, sir. Quite a pleasure to see you again. It was Oystercatcher, sir.‘
    ‘Har!‘ Sir Lancelot rubbed his hands. ‘Harry the gateman was right again. Now I can afford a really decent rod.‘
    ‘Would you care to browse through our selection, Sir Lancelot? I have another gentleman just choosing some waders. I shall be with you in a minute, sir.‘
    Sir Lancelot ran an eye along the rods. Selecting one or two, he took them outside to the pavement and whisked them powerfully among the pedestrians, as though after a catch among the traffic. People stared, a cabby or two became witty, but such interruptions are midge-bites to a man concentrating on his casting. Sir Lancelot grunted. Any Brackett and Knockett rod was a work of art, naturally, but none seemed exactly what was wanted to belabour Percival‘s successors. Another caught his eye. The first switch told him this was the weapon of a fisherman‘s lifetime. He was like some master violinist at last getting his hands on a Stradivarius. The thing twitched in his hands with such lightness and power, he could see himself depopulating Witches‘ Pool in a couple of afternoons.
    ‘I‘ll have this one,‘ he announced. ‘Damn the cost.‘
    ‘I‘m afraid, Sir Lancelot,‘ Pytchley apologized, ‘that one is already sold.‘
    ‘Sold?‘
    ‘Yes, Sir Lancelot. Perhaps you did not observe the label on the handle? This gentleman bought it before trying on the waders.‘
    ‘You!‘ thundered Sir Lancelot.
    ‘My dear sir,‘ murmured Mr Chadwick. ‘Good afternoon.‘
    ‘What the devil are you doing in London?‘
    Mr Chadwick blinked his bird‘s eyes. ‘I hardly feel I am entirely obliged to answer that question. But I will say how sorry I am that business brings me temporarily from our delightful countryside. On an evening like this, I could wish no more in the world than to be standing beside Witches‘ Pool — ‘
    Sir Lancelot had quit the shop. He was standing on the pavement, quivering.
    ‘This is the end!‘ he cried.
    But it wasn‘t quite. His eye fell on a newspaper placard displaying yet another regular feature of our native summer scene.
     
    ENGLAND
    COLLAPSE
     
    it said.
     

6
     
    ‘I suppose I did put up a bit of a boob with Sir Lancelot,‘ decided Simon Sparrow.
    ‘Well, darling, you don‘t seem to have assumed your most charming bedside manner,‘ suggested his wife Nikki.
    ‘Anyway, I was in the right.‘ Lie wondered if he was trying to convince her or himself. ‘Any patient coming in and flatly demanding an X-ray has to be examined first, whether he‘s the President of the Royal College of Surgeons, the Prime Minister, or even Sir Lancelot. I couldn‘t take the risk of letting the old boy go with an abdominal aneurism or something ghastly brewing inside, could I? He could always have sent for Hubert Cambridge,‘ he added a shade pettishly, changing gear.
    It was the evening of the following day, and Simon was driving his Mini from their house in Dulwich to have dinner with the Ivors-Smiths in Chelsea.
    ‘You didn‘t feel inclined to risk even a hairline fracture of your principles?‘ sighed Nikki.
    ‘No, not even if it meant spiking my own heavy artillery in this battle for the job. You see — ‘ Simon slipped between a couple of surly buses. ‘What would you say if I told you that was exactly the result I wanted?‘
    ‘I‘d tell you to drop into Simpson‘s and buy a hair shirt, darling, just to complete the picture.‘
    ‘I‘m going to land this job under my own steam,‘ Simon announced firmly. ‘Well, without Sir Lancelot‘s steam, anyway. Do you know what would happen if the old boy actually pushed me on to the staff? I‘d have
    him hanging round my neck at St Swithin‘s for the rest of his life, which is bound to be an embarrassingly long one.‘
    ‘But, darling,‘ complained Nikki, ‘he‘s become an absolute hermit in the middle of all those mountains.‘
    ‘Don‘t you believe it! I know my Lancelot. Whatever he says, he‘s bored with nobody to talk to except Lady Spratt and the fish. I can just see him now, wandering into my theatre every day and looking over my shoulder and sniffing in that irritating way of his. Honestly! I‘ve had about enough of that caper.‘ Simon became so heated he nearly ran into an ice cream van. ‘Sir Lancelot has absolutely dominated me since Grim and Tony Benskin and Taffy Evans and all the rest of us shook in our shoes as his first firm students and I‘m