Roaring Boys by Judith Cook Page A

your friends; it blunts the edge of the sword and deadens the thump of the bullet; in winter a warm nightcap, in summer a fan of feathers.
    Belatedly they leave Dekker’s lodgings bound for the first tourist attraction and it is clear the young man is amazed at what he sees, the side aisles of the great church being full of stalls, while the middle one is used by those parading up and down to see and be seen, prompting Dekker to remark: ‘Is it not more like a market place than a great house of God?’ He leads his protégé to the stalls of those selling fine cloth, loudly insisting that they are looking for velvet or taffeta for a new doublet. If he is worried about wasting their time, then a good ploy is to ask if there is not something even finer to be had than that they have been shown and, after the stallholder has obliged, ordering several yards of the chosen stuff to be paid for and collected later. Failure to collect it is no problem because the stallholder will soon sell it on. He next turns his attention to those walking in the centre aisle, ‘the Mediterranean’, calling out to all and sundry in a familiar fashion. On someone of note, he advises, ‘you should address him familiarly even though he has never seen you before in his life, shouting out loud that he will know where to find you at two o’clock’.

    No visit to St Paul’s is complete without a trip up the Great Tower which costs tuppence:
    As you go up you must count all the stairs to the top and, when you reach it, carve your name on the leads, for how else will it be known that you have been here? For there are more names carved there than in Stowe’s Chronicle. [He should take care, though, because the] rails are as rotten as your greatgrandfather [and only recently one, Kit Woodroffe, tried to vault over them] and so fell to his death.
    By now, of course, it is time for lunch and the two make for an ordinary without further delay. But even entering such a place should be undertaken in a manner designed to draw attention:
    Always give the notion you have arrived by horse. Then push through the press, maintaining a swift but ambling pace, your doublet neat, your rapier and poniard in place and, if you have a friend to whom you might fling your cloak for him to carry, all the better. Let him, if possible, be shabbier than yourself and so be a foil to publish you and your clothes the better. Discourse as loud as you can – no matter to what purpose – if you but make a noise and laugh in fashion, and promise for a while, and avoid quarrelling and maiming any, you shall be much observed.
    Remind your friend loudly, for instance, of how often you have been under fire from the enemy, of the
    hazardous voyages you took with the great Portuguese Navigator, besides your eight or nine small engagements in Ireland and the Low Countries. Talk often of ‘his Grace’ and how well he regards you and how frequently you dine with the Count of this and that . . . and by all means offer assistance to all and sundry, ask them if they require your good offices at Court? [Or] are there those bowed down and troubled with holding two offices? A vicar with two church livings? You would be only too happy to purchase one.
    At this point Dekker suggests his protégé pull a handkerchief out of his pocket, bringing with it a paper which falls to the floor. When it is picked up and handed back to him the response should be:
    ‘Please, I beg you, do not read it!’ Try, without success to snatch it back. If all press you as to if it is indeed yours, say, ‘faith it is the work of a most learned gentleman and great poet’. This seeming to lay it on another man will be counted either modesty in you, or a sign that you are not ambitious and dare not claim it for fear of its brilliance. If they still wish to hear something, take care you learn by heart some verses of another man’s great work and so repeat them. Though this be against all honesty and conscience, it may