Dorothy Miggins is keen to see the Awful Mighty Power, or
whatever, that is the Wizard of Oz as soon as possible, so they head for his Gothic
mansion and are admitted immediately. They march confidently up the beacon-lit corridor
to the great hall at the end and find themselves once more in the presence of
the Wizard himself. Or herself. They haven’t actually seen him or her yet.
‘So,’ says the voice of the Wizard of Oz, ‘you have returned
triumphant! You have melted the Wicked Poo of the West and brought her
broomstick to me.’
‘We have,’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘Although the bristles are
a bit sticky. I didn’t have time to clean it before we left and there might be
some egg and marmalade still attached as a result of my very conscientious
cleaning of her kitchen floor. Honestly, you wouldn’t believe it…’
‘SILENCE!’ roars the Mighty Wizard of Oz. ‘I do not have
time to listen to your silly stories. I am a VERY important person. I have MANY
important things to attend to. And it is my duty to tell you that you have
arrived with the broomstick TOO late for me to help you with your requests. Cut-off
date for requests was YESTERDAY! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!’
‘What?’ says Dorothy Miggins, in that modulated, quiet tone
that some mothers use to scare the bejeezus from their errant off-spring. ‘What
do you mean, too late?’
‘If you really wanted my help you’d have returned in greater
haste,’ says the Wizard. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have VERY important
matters waiting for my attention. I can’t be wasting time hanging around
waiting for the likes of you lot.’
The great hall falls silent. And the lights go out.
In the darkness, Ptolemy Ptinman, Tancrow Pete, Bambino
Bobblion and Toto can hear steady and determined breathing, slow at first, then
picking up pace and building in volume. It can mean only one thing. The Stack
of Dorothy Miggins is about to blow…
‘COME BACK HERE AT ONCE!’ she shrieks in her best
lady-of-the-manor-Hyacinth-Bucket-Audrey-Fforbes-Hamilton voice. The voice that
says, ‘Don’t you DARE mess with me,’ without actually saying it. The voice that
says, ‘You’ve rattled my cage just a little too often and a little too hard.
Mate.’
‘Go away!’ says the voice of the Wizard of Oz.
Dorothy Miggins turns to her ‘size of a chicken and gnu’
dog. ‘Toto,’ she says. ‘FETCH!’
‘At last!’ shouts Hugh Gnu. ‘Some action! C’mon Betty – let’s
show them what we can do!’
It is as if the wand of ye olde musical hall of Victorian
times has been waved over them with its glittery, show-biz magic on full
strength. Hen and gnu, in perfect harmony, launch into a full on tap dance with
high kicks routine, which is no mean feat in a pantomime dog costume. And in
the dark, too. They kick-ball-change, step-heel, step-heel and buffalo their
way towards the direction of the Wizard’s voice. Tancrow Pete and Ptolemy
Ptinman dash around lighting as many flares and candles as they can find, don’t
ask how, they just do. Dorothy Miggins just stands there, rolling her eyes,
because when she said, ‘FETCH!’ this isn’t what she envisaged at all.
And just as the light level rises enough to be able to see
the magnificent dance spectacle that is occurring, Mrs Slocombe high kicks instead
of shuffling, Hugh Gnu mis-times a set of three buffaloes and they crash into a
screen at the end of the great hall.
The screen falls, and behind it is a small, cloaked figure
in a mask and a hat, pulling and pushing levers on a control panel and speaking
into a microphone. ‘I told you to GO AWAY!’ says the figure in the voice of the
Wizard. And then he realises there is a bit of a draft at his back, and he
slowly turns to face the music. But perhaps not dance.
‘YOU!’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘You’re not a great and
powerful Wizard. You’re…’
‘The Phantomime!’ says the Phantomime. ‘Yes! All right. It’s ME! Kenneth! It’s ME! I’m the
star of the show and I’ve had to stand behind a stupid screen all this time.
How am I supposed to show the world the talent and glory of my performance from
behind a stupid screen?’
Dorothy Miggins advances towards the Phantomime with more
than a degree of menace in her step. She jabs him in the chest with her wing.
‘You sent us on a Fool’s errand,’ she says.
‘How fitting for a bunch of fools!’ says the Phantomime.
‘Mwahahahahaha…ha! HA!’
Tancrow Pete, Ptolemy Ptinman, Bambino Bobblion and Toto
gather behind Dorothy Miggins, looking equally miffed at this unwelcome revelation.
‘You can’t give me a brain, can you?’ says Tancrow Pete.
‘Nor me a heart,’ says Ptolemy Ptinman.
‘And I’m going to be the same cowardly lion I’ve always
been, aren’t I?’ says Bambino Bobblion.
‘And I am never going to get home to Much Malarkey Manor on
the Three Counties Border,’ says Dorothy Miggins. Suddenly, the situation seems
a bit hopeless.
The Phantomime looks at them with disdain. ‘Oh, listen to
yourselves, you bunch of self-pitying attention seekers.’ (This is a bit rich,
coming from the biggest attention seeker of them all, but at least he knows
what he is talking about.) ‘Just listen to yourselves. Of course you are clever
and brave and caring. You’ve just been on a dangerous journey where you’ve
overcome many trials and returned in one piece, haven’t you? You’ve survived
attacks and kidnapping using courage, wit, patience and the love of friendship.
You didn’t abandon each other, did you? No one got seriously hurt, did they? In
fact, it’s all rather sickening and too much in the Spirit of Christmas for my
liking. Seriously, what more do you people want?’
‘I want to go home,’ says Dorothy Miggins.
The Phantomime shrugs. ‘Okay, granted you’re likely to be
stuck here forever and a day. But hey – three out of four isn’t bad! That’s
75%. A good solid Grade B, or Number 6, or Upper Second, or whatever way
teaching and learning outcomes are measured these days.’
‘But I want to go home,’ repeats Dorothy Miggins, and for
the first time in EVER everyone can hear a slight crack in her voice as she speaks.
And is that a single tear slipping from her eye and sliding down to the tip of
her beak?
Tancrow Pete steps forward and places a comforting wing on
the wing of Dorothy Miggins. ‘You did say you would take her home,’ he says to
the Phantomime. ‘It doesn’t matter about the rest of us, but I think the girl
who led us through everything deserves to get her wish at least. Come on – be
fair.’
Now a sense of fairness is not unheard of as far as the
Phantomime goes. In fact, I seem to remember he showed us his kinder side in
the Christmas Story of 2018. He is also by now feeling rather weary. Perhaps,
he thinks, it is time for a holiday, to get away from it all – the City of
Rusty Duck, the Duckkins and having to live life behind a screen, which is no
life for a flamboyant character such as himself.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’ll take you home. In my hot-air
balloon.’
‘You’ve got a hot-air balloon?’ says Toto, the Hugh Gnu bit,
because he is rather fond of a bit of air travel by balloon.
‘It’s how I arrived here in the first place,’ says the
Phantomime. ‘I was aiming for Peru, and got blown off course by a rogue wind.’
‘You can take me home?’ says Dorothy Miggins.
‘Sure can, sweet cheeks!’ says the Phantomime, because now
he is thinking about a holiday, he is cheering up enormously. ‘But first, a
ceremony! Stand in a line. Quick, quick.’
Everyone does as they are told. The Phantomime straightens
his cloak, hat and mask and produces a large bag from beneath his Wizard of Oz
control station. He rummages around for a few seconds, muttering to himself,
then stands and faces his expectant audience.
‘You, Tancrow Pete,’ he says. ‘You have shown great presence
of mind during your escapades. You already had a brain, you just didn’t know
it, because you spent all your time dangling from a pole in the middle of a
field, which is stupid by anyone’s standards. Travel has broadened your mind,
my friend. And here is a bag of marbles, to remind you of your magnificent
brain. Don’t lose them.’
And he presents Tancrow Pete with a bag of marbles. He turns
to Ptolemy Ptinman.
‘You, Ptolemy Ptinman,’ he says, ‘have shown how much you
care about your fellow companions, and you can’t care if you don’t have a
heart. Your heart is a way bigger than mine, for example, because I care about
very little beyond myself. You have put your friends before yourself. I find
this a weird concept, but the love you have shown is beyond doubt. I present
you with this stethoscope. Wear it always, and if you are ever in doubt about
the presence of a heart in your chest, you can check it out for yourself.’
And he presents Ptolemy Ptinman with a stethoscope. ‘Make
sure you warm the end first, though,’ advises the Phantomime. ‘And remember,
the Winkies wouldn’t want you as their king if you didn’t have the capacity for
love. They need a lot of love after being in thrall to the Wicked Poo of the
West for so long.’
He turns to Bambino Bobblion. ‘You, young kitten, are an
idiot. But you are also brave. Many times during your journey you have felt
fear, but not once have you run away to hide. You have stayed by your friends
through it all, and you also volunteered to go ahead into the market square in
Winkie Land to scope out the joint, as it were. As you grow, so shall your
bravery. But just in case you need a bit of help, perhaps if you find yourself
in a particularly tricky situation, have a swig of this.’ And he gives Bambino
Bobblion a hip-flask of brandy.
‘What’s this?’ says Bambino Bobblion.
‘Dutch courage,’ says the Phantomime. ‘You only need a sip.
Don’t be glugging it all back in one hit. Not like the time I did when I was
performing at the London Palladium. I was talking to God on the Big White Telephone
for a long time the next day, I can tell you.’
The Phantomime claps together his hands. ‘Right! Ceremony
over! Let’s get going, shall we?’ and he holds out an arm to Dorothy Miggins
who takes it, much relieved she is finally on her way home.
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