Easter Egg

I have always gobbled down my Easter egg: I still do. This year’s — albeit modest in size — egg didn’t even make it downstairs. I ate the whole thing in bed. My sister was the polar opposite. She’d keep hers for weeks— even months— on end, which drove me mad. So one day, I crept into her room, removed the egg from its box, ate the back half of the chocolate shell, wrapped up the other half and placed it back in the box, seemingly undisturbed. All hell broke out when my crime was discovered.

A gift of Easter eggs from her godmother reminded Susan, the main character in Alison Uttley’s The Country Child, of her own disgrace the year before. She had gone with her mother to visit the local vicarage and was undone (not by greed as I was) but by wonder. I reread the chapter every Easter.

“Inside was a flower-embroidered tablecloth for Margaret, a book of the Christian Saints and Martyrs of the Church for Tom, which he took with wondering eyes, and a box containing six Easter eggs. There were three chocolate eggs covered with silver paper, a wooden egg painted with pictures around the edge, a red egg with a snake inside, and a beautiful pale blue velvet egg lined with golden starry paper. It was a dream. Never before had Susan seen anything so lovely. Only once had she ever seen an Easter egg (for such luxuries were not to be found in the shops at Broomy Vale), and then it had been associated with her disgrace. 

Last Easter, Mrs Garland had called at the vicarage with her missionary box and taken Susan with her. Mrs Stone had asked Margaret to make some shirts for the heathens, and whilst they had gone in the sewing room to look at the pattern, Susan, who had been sitting silent and shy on the edge of her chair, was left alone. 

The room chattered to her; she sprang up, wide awake, and stared around. She had learnt quite a lot about the habits of the family from the table and chairs when her eye unfortunately spied a fat chocolate egg, a bloated enormous egg, on a desk before the window. Round its stomach was tied a blue ribbon, like a sash. 

Susan gazed in astonishment. What was it for? She put out a finger and stroked its glossy surface. Then she gave it a tiny press of encouragement, and, oh! Her finger went through and left a little hole. The egg must have been soft with the sunshine, a sham? But who would have thought it was hollow?

She ran and sat down again, deliberating whether to say something at once or to wait until she was alone with her mother…

Her mother and Mrs Stone returned. Before Susan could speak, a beak-nosed girl ran into the room, stared at Susan and went straight to the Easter egg.  “Who’s been touching my Easter Egg?” she cried, just like the three bears. They all looked at Susan, and with deep blushes, she whispered, “I did.”

They all talked at once; Margaret was of apologies and shame; Mrs Stone said it didn’t matter, but of course, you could see it did,  and the bear rumbled and growled.  When she got home, Susan had to kneel down at once and say a prayer of forgiveness, although it was the middle of the morning. “You know, Susan, it’s very wrong to touch what isn’t yours.” 

But this perfect blue egg! There was never one like it. She put in her little drawer in the table where her treasures were kept.

The Country Child by Alison Uttley is published by Puffin Books. It is also available via ebook.