Father explains

An hour later, we were all gathered in the drawing room, at father's behest.

Mother, Borris, Elsie, Mrs Brownlow, Lilly, Cook (fuuny but I've never known her real name) and myself.

Father had had a bit of a scrub-up since his sudden appearance in the music room and looked more like his old self - although he had not shaven his beard off. His voice was grave as he addressed the assembled company. He spoke thus:

'First, I should like to wish you all a very merry Christmas, although it is not as merry as one might wish. I am on the run! Yes it sounds melodramatic but there is no other way to put it. I have, as the current parlance has it, blown the whistle, on the organisation for which I work. And these people do not like whistle -blowers.

I was taught, at my old school, that loyalty is the most important quality a man can have, and I have always stuck by this admirable principle. But sometimes one has to question the moral - and legal - implications of what one is being asked to do.

I will not go into details - the less you know , the safer you will be - suffice it to say,   I have spoken out against the recent immoral and, yes, illegal activities of  a certain government department. I say recent because I have been proud to have devouted my life, for these past thirty years, to this department. A department, I may add, that has kept this country safe for us and our children to grow up in.

'Gosh, father, you mean all this time you have been working for the Security Services?' I cried, admiringly.

'Shush George - no names no pack drill, eh?'

I had heard father use this expression before, and had never really understood it. I just knew it meant shut up. So I did.

'This gentleman ,' (and here father pointed to Borris), 'is helping me to write an article for his newspaper exposing these recent activities.

'His name's not Borris, and its the Guardian, ain't it?' interjected cook, rather cheekily.

'Now then, Bessie, no names no pack drill.' Responded father.

BESSIE. So that's her name. I shall remember this when next she is rude towards me. I said this to myself of course.

'Me - I prefer the Daily Mail..' Went on our cook, notwithstanding.

'Well, I take the Telegraph.' said mother, 'It's a jolly good read.'

'I like the Daily Mirror,'  Piped up Lilly, 'And I can do the crossword.

'Shut up! All of you.' Said father. Your reading habits are irrelevant at this time.

I had been going to say that I thought the Observer to be the only real quality newspaper - but I didn't, as I could see father was getting cross.

'Now look here,'went on father, 'Borris (no it's not his real name)  and I will be leaving shortly, because I expect Badger and Quinn to return at any moment. And this time they won't take NO for an answer.'

As if on cue, there was a furious knocking at the front door. Lilly made as if to answer it.

'Leave it!' snapped father, 'They'll have picked the lock in a minute.' And so saying, he grabbed a bottle of Black Label off the drinks table and, motioning for Borris to follow, he made for the window. 'Oh, just once thing,'  he paused with his leg over the sill. 'Since the only male at Christmas Dinner will be my son, I want George to carve the turkey.'

And he was gone. Borris, following close behind.

I was elated. I was now 'man of the house' and had the important honour of carving the turkey. I would not, I resolved, let father down.

The knocking started up again.