Continuing onwards, then, the friends make their way through
the woodlands and towards the castle, which sparkles, glitters and glows ever
pinker. As they approach, they can hear the sound of music and laughter wafting
its way across the air.
‘Sounds like a party,’ says Toto, whose toes immediately
start tapping to the music.
Dorothy Miggins knocks at the castle gates. No reply. She knocks again, louder and with
more force. Still no reply. For such are the jollities within that no-one can
hear the arrival of the weary travellers.
‘Right,’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘Needs must.’ And she takes
the Golden Cap from her gingham apron pocket and prepares to use her final
wish.
Bob Frapples appears, quick as his usual flash.
‘Last wish time, eh?’ he says.
‘If you don’t mind,’ says Dorothy Miggins, who is still
harbouring a bit of a grudge at the whole ‘monkeys can’t travel over a desert’
thing. ‘Take us over the castle walls and into the castle, please.’
Bob Frapples scratches his hairy monkey chin. ‘Are you
sure?’ says he. ‘It sounds a bit wild and debauched in there…’
‘Just my kind of party,’ says Dorothy Miggins, firmly. ‘We
need to get in to see Gloria Glinda, the Good Pumphrey of the North. There are
only three days to go until Christmas and I need to get home. Ptolemy Ptinman
needs to return to Winkie Land to take up his post as Pking, Bambino Bobblion
needs to return to the Quadling Woods to become their inspirational guru, and
the only one around here who seems to be able to help us is IN THERE!’ And she
flaps her wing wildly at the castle gates.
‘Seems a waste of a wish,’ persists Bob Frapples. ‘Can’t you
wait until tomorrow when it’s all quietened down? They’ll hear you knocking and
let you in the usual way.’
‘JUST DO IT!’ screeches Dorothy Miggins which makes Bob
Frapples jump, which in turn activates the wish automatically and immediately
the friends find themselves inside the castle walls. The Golden Cap loses its
glow, turning a sort of wishy washy yellow, as its magic fades with the last
wish.
The castle of Gloria Glinda, the Good Pumphrey of the North,
is clearly in full Christmas party swing. Everyone is dressed in their best
frocks, pantaloons and waistcoats. Trees are decorated with traditional baubles in the shapes of
avocados, flamingos and cacti. A jazz band is playing lively Christmas songs. There is a huge chocolate fountain in the middle
of the courtyard, and a hog roast is surrounded by the sort who get excited
about eating from a massive dead pig on a stick.
‘Let’s see if we can find Gloria Glinda,’ says Dorothy
Miggins, who is feeling somewhat undressed and overwhelmed.
She leads the group through the festivities, occasionally
asking revellers if they know the whereabouts of Gloria Glinda and being
pointed in various directions, all of which prove to be wrong.
And then, above the chatter, the music and general
hullaballoo, comes the unmistakable sound of Mrs Gloria In Excelsis Deo
Pumphrey in full operatic throttle.
Like a heat-seeking missile, Dorothy Miggins is off! The
others race after her, through doors and corridors, up various flights of stairs
and along more corridors, until they find themselves in the Grand Ballroom, for
where else would she be? The one, the only, the most glamorous of them all –
Gloria Glinda, the Good Pumphrey of the North!
She is regaling her adoring subjects with her unique version
of ‘The Queen of the Night’ aria from ‘The Magic Flute.’ It is truly something
to hear, probably best with ear plugs. Especially the ‘aah….ah, ah, ah ah
aaaaaahhhh…’ bits.
As she comes to the end of her performance, she spies the
weary travellers at the back of the crowd and immediately stops singing and
shouts, ‘Aaaaah! My intrepid and brave friends from far, far away! Welcome!
Quick – champagne for my friends! Some sausage rolls! Mince pies!’ And she
leaps from the stage and dashes across the room, looking like a mad yet
strangely exotic Christmas fairy in her multicoloured tutu and velvet corset
bodice ensemble. She even has an enormous
pair of gossamer wings attached to her back which seem surplus to
requirement given she is a hen.
‘How are you, my dears?’ she says, full of the joy and
bonhomie of someone who’s drunk one too many champagne cocktails. ‘Not gone
home then?’
‘We tried,’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘It turns out that the
Wizard of Oz is an egotistical, narcissistic megalomaniac with no magical
powers whatsoever.’
‘Is he?’ says Gloria Glinda, the Good Pumphrey of the North. ‘How odd. I
thought he was rather a good sort who’d stick to his promises.’
‘Quite the opposite,’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘Oh, he tried to
take us home in a hot air balloon, but it all went wrong. And now we are stuck.
But we’ve heard that you have the power to get us home.’
‘Do I?’ says Gloria Glinda, TGPOTN. (The author has slipped
into ‘can’t-be-arsed-to-type-names-in-full mode. Soz.)
‘Yes?’ says Dorothy Miggins, more hopeful than certain.
Gloria Glinda scratches her head thoughtfully with her wand.
‘I’m not sure I do,’ she says. ‘and not because I’m a little bit tipsy squiffy,
either.’ She glances at the feet of Dorothy Miggins, still encased in the ruby
slippers. ‘Those, on the other hand,’ she says, pointing at the shoes with her
wand, ‘do have the power to get you home.’
‘What?’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘You mean, THESE ruby
slippers? The same ruby slippers YOU put on me after my house landed on the
Wicked Witch of the East? BEFORE you sent me off to the City of Rusty Duck in
order to seek the useless help of the Wizard of Oz? THESE ruby slippers that
have been on MY feet 99% of the time over the last two weeks? That YOU knew
about from the very get go of this whole riddled-with-danger-and-hazard debacle
of a story journey? THESE RUBY SLIPPERS???’
‘Indeedy doody!’ says Gloria Glinda, completely missing the
irony that has been in the plot of the ‘The Wizard of Oz’ novel since its
publication on 17th May 1900, and the film version since its release
in 1939.
‘You could have told me sooner,’ says a piqued Dorothy
Miggins.
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