Vive La Revolution!

 

It is Saturday morning, the day of the Easter Parade.

(Oh, all right – I know in real time that it’s Sunday – Happy Easter to you all! - but the Lady Author was struck by inspiration yesterday and got carried away with her word count. And whilst she would publish two episodes on the same day, she knows you are probably holibobs busy and can only absorb a limited amount of waffle in one day.)

Outside Much Malarkey Manor, the hens are hitching their carnival float to a tractor. They stand back to admire their efforts.

‘It’s pretty magnifique,’ says Mrs Pumphrey.

‘Very colourful,’ says Mrs Slocombe.

‘Very flamboyant!’ says Kenneth, approvingly.

The hens have created an enormous handbag, thinking it will be an ideal container for all the rescued ducklings. But it’s not any old handbag. Oh no, it’s a handbag modelled on the new season Chanel Mini Flap Bag - a snip in Selfridges for just £2,800. Who spends THAT on a tiny handbag, eh? Honestly…utter madness…

The handbag, carefully crafted from pink straw, is surrounded by garlands of flowers. Brightly coloured streamers hang from the handrails of the trailer, and there are smaller sweet-filled handbags which the hens intend to throw into the crowds as they pass by. Mrs Miggins has researched the Health and Safety advice regarding the distribution of sweets into a crowd from a moving vehicle and has chosen to ignore it.

The Phantomime glances at his watch which, in homage to Sherlock Holmes, is a rather handsome pocket timepiece. ‘We need to make a move,’ he says. ‘We have exactly two and a half hours to save the ducklings.’ He takes a puff of his pipe and adjusts his deerstalker hat.

Off they set. The hens have chosen to dress in iconic Chanel little black dresses although you can imagine that on the oval figure of a chicken, they don’t hang quite how Coco Chanel would have imagined. More Breakfast at Greggs, rather than Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Mrs Pumphrey has gone full Holly Golightly though, as she is never one to miss out on a dressing up opportunity.

The village is bathed in full sunshine and everyone has come out to enjoy the parade. Mrs Poo, who is driving the tractor, manoeuvres the Much Malarkey Manor float into position and soon the local Lady Mayoress declares the Easter festivities open and the parade sets off on its circuitous route around the village, to finish on the High Street.

The only person not in attendance this bright, cheerful day, is, of course, Mr Judas S. Carriot, aka The Fridinator, who is sharpening his kitchen knives and getting ready to count his pieces of silver profits…

Kenneth the Phantomime has slipped from the float (not deliberately – this is not a comedy slapstick moment) and run on ahead, fleet of foot and slight of shadow, like Peter Pan on amphetamines. He returns forthwith to report that the ducklings are still safe and alive in the shed at the back of the shop.

‘I wish I could have opened the door and brought them with me,’ he says. ‘But I wasn’t sure how co-operative they’d be about fitting in the pockets of my cloak.’

‘It was a nice thought,’ says Mrs Miggins, reassuringly. ‘But don’t forget, our mission is two-fold. Not only to rescue the ducklings but to make sure Mr Carriot and his nefarious fried food ways are expelled from the village immediately.’

Mrs Pumphrey is enjoying herself enormously. She is throwing sweets into the crowd, and has only hit two people hard enough that they went ‘Ouch!’ Mrs Slocombe is attending Mrs Hare who has insisted on coming along and is popping out more eggs which are hatching into more ducklings.

‘You’ll be glad of a rest come tomorrow,’ says Mrs Slocombe, who knows only too well how tiring laying one egg per day can be, let alone upwards of a dozen.

‘I shall,’ says Mrs Hare. ‘I am looking forward to seeing all my ducklings together and enjoying Easter Day with you lovely folk at the Manor.’

‘We’re approaching the fried food shop!’ shouts Mrs Poo, from the tractor. ‘Is everyone ready?’

A cheer goes up behind her! Mrs Poo brakes and brings the float to a halt right in front of Mr Carriot’s shop.

‘Oi!’ comes a shout from the driver behind them. ‘You can’t stop there. Parade doesn’t finish until the far end of the High Street!’

Mrs Poo makes a gesture of a somewhat unladylike manner. She jumps from the tractor and runs to the fried food shop where she starts hammering on the door with great ferocity.

‘Judas S. Carriot!’ she yells. ‘Come out this instant and face your shame!’

The attention of the gathered crowds is turning towards the shop. An exciting drama seems to be unfolding. The hens on the float set up a chant - ‘Fridinator, Fridinator – out, out, OUT!’ Mrs Hare pops out another egg, raises it up in her paws and shouts, ‘Shame on you, Mr Carriot! Boooooooo!!!! Booooooooooooo!!!’

Mrs Slocombe and Mrs Miggins jump from the float and run along the edges of the gathering crowd, telling everyone about Mr Carriot – duckling thief and murderer – and Mrs Pumphrey stands tall and proud on the float shouting, ‘Free the Malarkey Seventy-Three!’

It is all getting rather chaotic. The crowd are becoming increasingly outraged as they learn of the imminent fate of the innocent ducklings. Some are calling for the fried food shop to be turned into a vegetarian wholefood bistro. The call to free the ducklings grows stronger and stronger.

And then the door of the fried food shop opens and a small duckling appears. The crowd falls silent.  Another duckling appears, then another, and another until a stream of ducklings emerges from the fried food shop, to be scooped up into the relieved and safe arms of the intrepid hens, Mrs Hare and Kenneth the Phantomime. Hurrah!

And then, the figure of Mr Carriot appears. He looks part-shaken, part-stirred, like a dodgy James Bond cocktail. But mostly, he looks enraged.

‘Take back your ducklings!’ he shouts. ‘I’m not staying here. You people don’t know the meaning of fine fried cuisine. You don’t deserve to taste the beauty of a duckling canard in orange whiskey batter. Culinary heathens, the lot of you!’

And he slams the door to an almighty cheer from the entire village. Watching from afar, the lady Ostara smiles gently.

Later, back at Much Malarkey Manor, Mrs Poo makes her final tally of ducklings.

‘101,’ she says. ‘There’s a nice number.’

‘It’s all been rather eventful,’ says Mrs Slocombe, who is looking forward to the doddle of cooking Easter lunch for one hundred and seven.

‘Weren’t we great though?’ says Mrs Pumphrey.

‘You were,’ says Mrs Hare. ‘I can’t thank you all enough.’

‘It still doesn’t solve what we are going to do with all these ducklings,’ says Mrs Miggins.

‘Oh, let’s worry about that another day, shall we?’ says Kenneth the Phantomime. ‘Now, who’s for a celebratory glass of prosecco? Happy Easter, everyone!’