When my son Ludo first suggested selling lemonade outside our house in Acton as a way of earning some extra pocket money, I was a bit dubious. Don’t you need a licence from the European Union before you can set up a stall in your driveway? And what about ’elf and safety? I could picture some busybody from the council, armed with a testing kit, reprimanding my six-year-old for not using organic lemons.
Then I thought, ‘Sod it.’ If he wanted to earn some money instead of depending on handouts from his parents, then good luck to him. He set up his stand at the end of our driveway at around 1 p.m. last Saturday, complete with a handwritten sign, a pile of cups and a jug of freshly made lemonade. I advised him that he’d need his money box in case people needed change.
Five minutes later, I was pottering about in the garden when my wife Caroline came running out. ‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Someone’s stolen Ludo’s money. You need to get after him.’
‘How big was he?’ I asked.
‘Don’t be pathetic,’ she said. ‘Go.’
I raced outside to find Ludo standing behind his lemonade stand in tears. Apparently, a teenage boy had cycled past, then doubled back and asked Ludo if he could speak to his mum. Ludo came in to find Caroline and when they headed back outside the money box was gone.
I ran back into the house, got my bike, and tore off in the direction I thought he was most likely to have gone in, but there was no sign of him. I doubled back and began searching the surrounding streets. Nothing.
It’s probably just as well I didn’t find him. Later, when I asked Ludo for a more detailed description, he told me that the man was big — ‘bigger ’n you, Dad’.
I don’t know what I would have done if I’d caught up with him — probably not brave enough to fight him for Ludo’s money box — but I was pretty angry. What kind of lowlife steals from a six-year-old boy?
A couple of months ago, my wife’s bicycle was stolen from outside the front of our house and, more recently, we had the satnav nicked from our car while it sat in our driveway. These are the kind of petty crimes that everyone in Britain has learnt to live with and we scarcely bat an eye when they happen.
But the sheer venality of this crime was shocking. For most people, seeing a little boy standing behind a stall outside his house would bring a smile to their faces. They might even stop to buy some lemonade. Not this particular teenage boy. All he saw when he spotted my six-year-old son was an opportunity.
I’d wanted Ludo to learn an important lesson and I suppose he has. It just wasn’t the one I had in mind. He has been taught not to trust people. He’s discovered that if you don’t remain vigilant at all times when it comes to guarding your property, the chances are you’ll lose it. No doubt that’s a useful thing to learn in contemporary Britain, but I couldn’t bear to see all Ludo’s hopes crushed. Surely there had to be a way of extracting something of value from this episode?
I decided there was. I told Ludo he shouldn’t let this minor setback deflect him from his original goal. I replaced the float and urged him to sell the rest of his stock. He was understandably nervous at first, but he perked up when the neighbours started buying lemonade. Not everyone was a heartless criminal. There were some kind-hearted people out there, too.
I kept an eye on him this time and parked my bike in the driveway, ready to jump on it and give chase at a moment’s notice. Luckily, there was no repeat of the first incident. By the end of the afternoon Ludo had made £8. He insisted on going to Sainsbury’s to buy some more lemons so he could make a second batch of lemonade next weekend. That’s the spirit, I thought. Bloodied but unbowed.
Ludo has learnt a valuable lesson after all. If the universe turns out to be not as nice as you thought, you don’t withdraw and hide behind closed doors. You get right back out there and carry on. I hope that’s a principle he can stick to, no matter what the world throws at him.
Toby Young is associate editor of The Spectator.
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