Michael burst out crying and tears ran down Richard’s cheeks in sympathy. Ronnie had a sober expression on his round chubby face

In desperation on the morning of the parade, Adrian came over to our cabin to ask Ronald if he would oblige.

Rather to Adrian’s surprise, in spite of faith in his own persuasive powers, Ronald agreed. I was surprised also but didn’t try to stop him.

I was only too happy to see a little of the old humorous Ronald I knew return.

He was a born comedian with a natural power to make people laugh. Adrian sensed a kindred spirit.

The Jacobs were all for Adrian’s plan. They liked the thought of people from Jacobs’ place taking part in the event.

It would no doubt give them a certain prestige in the community. In fact, I suspected it might have been at Betty Jacobs’ instigation that Adrian came round to ask Ronald.

Perhaps, with her own quiet sense of humour plus a certain woman’s intuition, she sensed the rightness of it. At all events she had everything prepared for the “dressing up” over in her house.

Ronald and Adrian disappeared while I gave the boys breakfast and fed Mahri-Louise. Half an hour later they reappeared in unrecognisable form.

Cocooned

I didn’t know them and neither did the boys. All of the big hulk of Adrian was cocooned in a muslin dress, all sprigs and little flowers.

He had a bonnet to match which had a frilly edge and was tied round his blue-shadowed chin with a pink ribbon.

Betty Jacobs must have made the complete ensemble especially for the occasion. Ronald wore a knee-length dress (presumably belonging to Betty) with a three-cornered piece of material tied at the nape of the neck and slung where his bosom should have been, to make up for any deficiency in shape.

On his head, at a perky angle, sat one of Betty’s hats, festooned with feathers.

However, Ronald had refused to take off his trousers and boots, partly because he didn’t want to and partly because he knew that with them on it made the image even funnier.

Both of them had clown faces made up by Adrian who had had considerable practice in the art. “Mother” had thick lips with a distinct downward swing while “baby’s” were thick also with a definite upward swing, almost touching round feverish spots, high on the cheek bones denoting the unmistakable sign of teething.

“Mother” was armed with nappy pins, nappies, rattles, bottles of milk and juice – all things necessary for a day at the stampede with baby.

Phil, although refusing to be mother, had deigned to be “father” – but straight, no funny stuff.

He was dressed in blue jeans, fringed western shirt, lariat tie and 10-gallon-hat.

“That’s Adrian, your Dad and Phil,” I said to the boys as the three came over the yard towards us. (You could have fooled me but I knew it must be them.)

“Aren’t they funny?” I said, thinking that the boys would enjoy the joke as much as I did.

To my astonishment their reaction was quite different.

Michael burst out crying and tears ran down Richard’s cheeks in sympathy. Ronnie had a sober expression on his round chubby face.

I crouched down to their level. “You recognise Phil,” I said, “and the other two are Adrian and your Dad dressed up as clowns – funny men!”

Struggle

They slopped crying but I could see by their solemn faces that they weren’t going to be so easily appeased. They didn’t like to see their Dad playing the fool dressed up as a woman.

This change had upset their secure world. Ronald, Adrian, Phil and I all tried to get them to laugh but we didn’t make much headway and time was short.

“We’ll go on ahead in Adrian’s car. The parade starts at 11,” Ronald said, looking at his watch, “and it’s 10.30 now. We’ll need to hurry.”

In the meantime, the Jacobs had been trying to fit an old pram, once presumably used to wheel Mandy and Susan about the yard, into the back of Adrian’s car.

They were having a struggle but after removing the wheels and the handle, managed to do it.

When the three men and the pram were safely aboard, the car took off with a screech of brakes and a souped up roar from the exhaust, flinging out a thick screen of dust and a grapeshot of stones as they went.

I had just got my Canadian driving licence and followed more soberly at a safe distance.

The boys in the back seat were still somewhat subdued but brightened up when we arrived at Sandyhills.

No one could mistake the feeling in the air that this was indeed a special day.

I parked the car as near to the centre of town as I could and the boys helped me out with Mahri-Louise’s fold-down pram.

Soon we found a suitable bit of sidewalk among the waiting people from which to watch the parade.

It had started, we were informed but it would be some time before it reached us. You could feel the excitement in the crowd.

There were dogs barking, babies crying and little children jumping up and down with the sheer joy of living.

Decorated

We heard the procession long before we could see it and then it was upon us.

Before our eyes passed every conceivable type of decorated truck plus hillbilly bands strumming out western music, lines of marching girls in short frilly skirts led by proud and prancing majorettes skilfully twirling batons.

There were also battalions of cowboys and girls in western rig, riding on horseback and then came a long section of the parade given to scenes from the homesteaders on trek from a not-so-distant past.

The wooden carts, drawn by two oxen, were the real thing. In front of each hung a large cowbell, a musical accompaniment belonging to a different era.

I was standing out of time watching a scene from yesterday passing in front of me.

The men, women and children taking part in this tableau were so natural that for a long time afterwards I wondered if they really were made-up or did some sections of the community still dress like this?

The women wore simple dresses reaching down to their ankles.

(More tomorrow.)