The ghost of Lady Pumphrey de Gloria sails into the
performance space like a magnificent galleon with the wind at her back, closely
followed by our own Mrs Pumphrey who is dressed up to the nines and beyond,
determined to do her glamorous ancestor proud. Mrs Pumphrey arranges herself in
the chair and opens her storybook.
‘Imagine yourselves back in the glory times of Regency
England,’ she begins. ‘When life was for living and enjoying to the full, when
frocks were as wide as they were tall, wigs were big enough to hide a sheep in
and roister-doister was the theme of the gentry.’
She pauses whilst the audience imagines, then, after a
suitable amount of time, she continues.
‘Lady Pumphrey de Gloria was a renowned beauty of the Royal
Court. Her company was sought by the rich and famous, her grace and elegance
copied by all, and even though many tried, no one came close to the size and
sway of her false rump. Every week she turned down at least three proposals of
marriage, and every week she dreamed of finding her true love. Her father, Lord
Sydney Pumphrey de Gloria was a doting father and wanted nothing more than for
his only child to be happy in her life.
On her 21st birthday, Lady Pumphrey de Gloria was
celebrating by having her portrait painted by a young, unknown artist called Mr
Joshua Henolds. Now, for those of you who are thinking, ‘What a boring way to
spend your birthday,’ you could not be more wrong, especially as we are looking
at the situation through the eyes of a hen in love. Yes, Lady Pumphrey had
fallen hook, line and sink plunger for the handsome artist who was now gazing
at her intently (not a euphemism). She
did also have a massive party to look forward to that evening, but it was
spending time with her beloved Joshua that thrilled her the most.
And to cut a long story short, and to scoot around the
ensuing dramas of family outrage and fall into social disgrace (and because the
Lady Author has been writing away like a loon and would now quite like a break
for a cup of tea and chocolate biscuit) Lady Pumphrey de Gloria foresook her
privileged life in the elegant and fashionable Grosvenor Square to run away
with her handsome but modest-of-income artist, and they went to live in the
less salubrious part of town, namely Cheapside.
It was love that bound their relationship together. It
certainly wasn’t Lady Pumphrey de Gloria’s housekeeping skills, famous as she
was for her ability to burn water. Nor Joshua Henold’s keen attention to the
matter of their household income, because money slipped through his feathers
like melted butter through a fork. And whilst, in the early days of love and
passion, Lady Pumphrey de Gloria was happy to live on love and devotion, as the
years passed it soon became clear to her that she missed the comfortable life
of her upbringing.
Also, she was growing very, very bored. And a bored Pumphrey
is a lit fuse on a bomb waiting to explode. What was missing in her life was a
purpose, a passion, and a sense of independence.
‘I need a job,’ she announced one Monday evening after an
uninspirational supper of toasted crumpets because she had recently mastered
the art of the toasting fork. Joshua was about to head off – again – to spend
the evening at his club at ‘The Turk’s Head’ in Gerrard Street.
‘You?’ laughed Joshua (yes, Dear Reader(s) – he had the
temerity to laugh at Lady Pumphrey). ‘Find a job? But what are you trained to
do, m’dear? Nothing at all but to look beautiful and to be charming to all you
meet.’ He pecked her on the cheek. ‘I shall see you tomorrow morning,’ he said,
and off he went leaving Lady Pumphrey steaming with anger and cursing herself
for having fallen for an artist when, in reality, she should be an artist
herself.
‘I’ll show YOU!’ she said. And she went to her bureau desk
and began to write…
…and by the end of the year she had written herself into a
small fortune, left Joshua Henolds (who turned out not to be the love of her
life because, she discovered, writing was her true love) and was celebrating
her first Christmas living alone, but very happy, at a very nice residence in the City of
Bath.’
Mrs Pumphrey looks up at the audience at this point. What
they can’t see is her heart swelling with pride because of the legacy her
ancestor had left the world, and her bravery and determination to become a
successful lady hen in her own right in a world dominated by cocks.
‘You might be aware of some of Lady Pumphrey de Gloria’s
works,’ Mrs Pumphrey continues. ‘Hen and Hensibility. Mansfield Henhouse.
Hemma. Northhenger Abbey. Pecksuasion. And my favourite – First Henpressions,
whose title was later changed to Pride and Prejudice which I don’t think has
quite the same ring of chicken to it. Of course, Lady Pumphrey de Gloria
couldn’t write under her own name because of her fall from the grace of Regency
Society. She chose, then, a nom de very voluminous plume – and became simple,
but far from plain, Jane Austhen!’
Suspend your disbelief, dear Reader(s). All is true!
‘It just goes to show,’ says Mrs Miggins, ‘that if you want the best for your life then it’s best to go after it yourself and not expect others to provide it for you. Sisters doing it for themselves and all that jazz. That’s the Pumphrey spirit for you!’
‘Good grief!’ says Mrs Poo. ‘Whatever next??’
‘The story of the ghost of Peter Sanspantaloon as told by
Tango Pete, that’s what,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘Brace yourself, Mrs Poo. Brace
yourself.’
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