A Very Small Protest

The bench beside the park’s lemon tree was not much to look at. Its paint had faded, and one end creaked whenever Moses sat down. But Elsie, Moses and Pip met there most afternoons. Pip called it headquarters. From that bench they had planned a treasure hunt, invented a board game and argued for twenty minutes about whether a beetle could be a pet.

On Friday, an orange barrier stood in front of it. A woman in overalls was measuring the seat. “Is it being moved?” Elsie asked. “It’s coming out on Monday,” the woman said. “A few things need sorting.” Her phone rang before Elsie could ask anything else. The three friends walked to the swings, but none of them felt much like swinging.

“They can’t just take it,” Moses said. “They can,” Pip replied. “It’s not actually ours.” Elsie tore a page from her notebook. “We could tell them why it matters.” Moses suggested a huge banner. They had one sheet of paper, two pencils and a biscuit wrapper. “It may have to be a very small protest,” Pip said.

They wrote down what happened at headquarters. Pip drew the treasure hunt. Elsie added the board game. Moses drew three figures on the bench, making his own shoulders unnecessarily broad. “No one will recognise you,” Elsie said. “They’ll recognise the bench.” They went home with their page folded inside Pip’s jacket, ready to show the woman on Monday.

On Monday, the woman introduced herself as Jo. Beside her stood a toolbox and several new wooden boards. “We want you to see this,” Elsie said, handing over their page. Jo read it carefully. “I can see it gets plenty of use.” “Every afternoon,” Moses said. Jo looked at the creaking seat. “That’s exactly why I’m taking it away for a few days.”

She showed them a cracked board beneath the old paint. “I’ll replace this and fix the loose legs. Then it comes back.” “To here?” Pip asked. “Unless you’ve found a better headquarters.” Pip shook her head so quickly that Jo laughed. Elsie looked at their protest page. “We thought coming out meant gone for good.” “I should have explained properly,” Jo said.

The bench returned on Thursday, with firm legs and smooth new boards. Its fresh green paint was dry by the time the friends reached the park. Moses sat at the end. Nothing creaked. Jo had left their folded page with the park caretaker, who handed it back. Across the bottom she had added a little drawing of a toolbox beside three people on a bench.

Pip put the page in their headquarters notebook. “What shall we plan first?” Elsie asked. “A bigger protest,” Moses suggested. “About what?” He considered the empty biscuit wrapper sticking out of the notebook. “The biscuit situation.” Pip leaned back against the new boards. “That,” she said, “might need more than one sheet of paper.”