Maffick

[…] we crown our work by putting into our children’s hands a book that reeks of Jingoism, Imperialism, and Patriotism; that “mafficks” on every other page, that sings the glories of all the ruffianly kings who bore rule in the Dark Ages, and never fails to applaud their most disreputable military adventures!

[…] father has given a day from business, mother has helped, even those shiny-headed nuts, the sons, have condescended to assist, and now villadom, feeling a little safer, is ready with the dinner-bell, its characteristic instrument of music, to maffick at the victories it has done its best to spoil.

“[…] but if to be foreign is to be mad, I think I’d rather be English.” “There!” cried Miss Haymer. “That’s typical! Pure jingoism, Connie! You can’t maffick under my roof! […]”

But far the greater number of the inhabitants lead a sober life, only breaking out into occasional excess on “mafficks” of authorised national rejoicing, on the days of public holiday, or on the last night of the year, and other periods of unusual solemnity.

War gives to them something of the excitement of the public-house; and much as I hate the passion of jingoism among those to whom fortune has given the education and opportunity to think, I recognise that a slum “on the Maffick” was a thing far less degrading to human nature than the calculations of financiers or the plots of statesmen.

It was a clandestine “maffick,” but was all the more exuberant because we had the satisfaction of knowing that we had outwitted the authorities completely, they being in utter ignorance of our celebration.

This, needless to say, ended the maffick and put a damper on the rest of the VE Day celebrations.