Durrell - Picnic and Suchlike Pandemonium

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By Gerald Durrell

My Family and Other Animals

A Zoo in My Luggage

Birds, Beats and Relatives

Garden of the Gods

The Overloaded Ark

The Talking Parcel

The Mockery Bird

The Donkey Rustlers

Catch me A Colobus

Beasts In My Belfry

The New Noah

The Drunken Forest

The Whispering Land

Rosy is My Relative

Two in the Bush

Three Singles to Adventure

The Arks Anniversary

Golden Bats and Pink Pigeons

Menagerie Manor

The Picnic and Suchlike Pandemonium

The Bafut Beagles

Marrying off Mother and Other Stories

The Aye-Aye And I

Fillets of Plaice

Ark on the Move

Encounters with Animals

The Stationary Ark

This book is for my sister

Margo,

who has let me lampoon her in print,

with great good humour.

With love.

Contents

The Picnic

The months of March and April of that year had been unprecedentedly dry and warm for England. The farmers, caught by surprise by the novelty of a situation, which did not allow them to plead bankruptcy because of unusually late frost, rallied gamely and started talking about the horrors of drought. People who had, the previous autumn, informed us that the wonderful crop of berries and mushrooms were signs of a hard winter and an even harder summer to follow, now said that a surfeit of berries and mushrooms meant a fine spring the following year. To top it all, those paid Munchausens amongst us, the weather forecasters, predicted an extremely hot spell from April to August. The English, being gullible, got so overexcited at these predictions that many of them went to extreme lengths, like laying in suntan oil and deck chairs. In the whole length and breadth of Bournemouth, on the south coast, where we were living, there was not a pair of bathing trunks nor a sunshade to be had for love or money .

My family, all sun-worshippers, responded like buds to the warmth. They quarrelled more, they sang more, they argued more, they drank and ate more, because outside in the garden the spring flowers were in riotous sweet-scented bloom and the sun, though only butter-yellow, had real heat in it. But, of all the family, it was my mother who was moved to a strange fervour by the meteorological forecasts that were being mooted about, principally, I think, because she heard these predictions from the radio.

To Mother, this made all the difference; the difference between reading your horoscope in a womens magazine and having your future told by a genuine gypsy on the steps of his caravan. Throughout the war, the British government, including Churchill (when he was not otherwise engaged), lived inside our radio set for the express purpose of keeping Mother informed as to the progress of the war, and the imminence of the German invasion. They had never told her a lie and, more important, they had won the war. Now, of course, the war was over, but the integrity of the men who had lived in the radio was just as impeccable as it had been of yore. When she heard farmers talking of thousands of cattle dying of thirst or reservoirs drying up, anonymous doctors giving tips on how to avoid sun-stroke, and of beauty consultants advising on how to get a tan without withering away, Mother naturally concluded that we were in for a heat-wave that would make the West Indies seem like an extension of Alaska.

Ive thought of a wonderful way of welcoming Larry back, she said one morning at breakfast.

Larry, who of his own volition had been absent from England for some ten years, was paying a flying visit in order to attend to the promotion of one of his books. In spite of a letter from him saying how the thought of returning to what he called Pudding Island revolted him, Mother was convinced that he was pining for the sights and sounds of Merry England after so many years as an exile.

Who wants to welcome him? asked Leslie, helping himself liberally to marmalade.

Leslie, dear, you know you dont mean that, said Mother. It will be so nice to have the family all together again after so long.

Larry always causes trouble, said my sister Margo. Hes so critical.

I wouldnt say he was critical, said Mother, untruthfully. He just sees things a little differently.

You mean he wants everyone to agree with him, said Leslie.

Yes, said Margo, thats right. He always thinks he knows best.

Hes entitled to his opinion, dear, said Mother. Thats what we fought the war for.

What? So that wed all have to agree with Larrys opinion? asked Leslie.

You know perfectly well what I mean, Leslie, replied Mother, sternly. So dont try and muddle me up.

Whats your idea? asked Margo.

Well, began Mother, its going to be unbearably hot...

Who says so? interrupted Leslie, disbelievingly.

The wireless, said Mother, crushingly, as though speaking of the Delphic oracle. The wireless says we are in for an unprecedented trough of high pressure.

Ill believe it when I see it, said Leslie gloomily.

But it was on the wireless, dear, explained Mother. Its not just a rumour it came from the Air Ministry roof.

Well, I dont trust the Air Ministry, either, said Leslie.

Neither do I, agreed Margo. Not since they let George Matchman become a pilot.

They didnt? said Leslie incredulously. Hes as blind as a bat, and he drinks like a fish.

And hes got B.O., too, put in Margo, damningly.

I really dont see what George Matchmans got to do with the weather on the Air Ministry roof, protested Mother, who had never got used to the number of hares her family could start from a normal conversation.

Its probably George up there on the roof, said Leslie. And I wouldnt trust him to tell me the time.

Its not George, said Mother firmly. I know his voice.

Anyway, whats your idea? asked Margo again.

Well, continued Mother, as the Air Ministry roof says we are going to have fine weather, I think we ought to take Larry out to see the English countryside at its best. He must have been missing it. I know when your father and I used to come home from India, we always liked a spin in the country. I suggest we ask Jack to take us out for a picnic in the Rolls.

There was a moments silence while the family digested the idea. Larry wont agree, said Leslie at last. You know what hes like. If he doesnt like it, hell carry on terribly; you know him.

Im sure hell be very pleased, said Mother, but without total conviction. The vision of my elder brother carrying on had flashed across her mind.

I know, lets surprise him, suggested Margo. Well put all the food and stuff in the boot and just say were going for a short drive.

Where would we go? asked Leslie.

Lulworth Cove, said Mother.

Thats not a short drive, complained Leslie.

But if he doesnt see the food, he wont suspect, said Margo triumphantly.

After hes been driving for an hour and a half, hell begin to, Leslie pointed out. Even Larry.

No, I think well just have to tell him its a sort of a welcome home present; said Mother. After all, we havent seen him for ten years.