A Right Royal Return!

 

It is Christmas Eve. It really IS! The Lady Author has caught up with her narrative timeline at just the right moment, almost as if some planning had been involved all along. (It hadn't...) Also, you’ll notice that this final episode is headed by an original drawing of King Charles, Miggins and Pumphrey created by Lord Malarkey himself. How lovely! 

Anyway, the lady hens are gathered for a final breakfast in Buckingham Palace before they begin their journey to Sandringham House for the Royal Christmas Day celebrations.

‘I thought I’d wear this to church tomorrow,’ says Mrs Pumphrey, parading around in a rather attractive plum velvet duster coat with flashing fairy light trim.

‘Very nice,’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘But my big concern is the King’s Christmas Day speech broadcast. Is Kenneth going ahead with the recording as planned?’

‘He’s still in bed,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘Something about having to rest his exhausted artistic temperament and can we take him up a few crumpets and a camomile tea? But he is confident he can create something suitable to put on TikTok later this evening once we’ve arrived at Sandringham.’

‘It was a bit of a day yesterday, wasn’t it?’ says Mrs Poo, who is in reflective mood. ‘Who knew that the root of the kidnapping would be our own Kenneth the Phantomime?’

‘I would,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘Fancy having a fan club called the Phantomime Fanarchists?’

‘Only him,’ sighs Mrs Slocombe.

After the police had collected the Granarchist, Anna Kissed and the Santanarchist a.k.a. Nick Louse and carted them off to be dealt with by the increasingly flaky British judicial system, the Not Forgotten Party had continued on in very high spirits until gone midnight, at which point everyone turned into a pumpkin. (They didn’t but it amused the Lady Author to write the sentence.) The local chippy came good with another batch of fish suppers and Mrs Slocombe, high on adrenaline, had served up the biggest and fluffiest jam roly-poly ever, with cream for those of the sophisticated palate, and custard for those with no taste buds. The Royal Staff were also very forgiving because they’d been given the chance to run amok through the corridors of Buckingham Palace, something they’d never been allowed to do so before because Queen Camilla was always worried they’d slip on the highly polished parquet flooring and break a leg or something. But then she is President of the Royal Osteoporosis Society – ‘Better Bone Health For Everybody’ - so one can hardly blame her caution. All in all, everything turned out well in the end.

‘Joost as I zed it vould,’ smiles the Grand Duchess Yekaterina.

After breakfast, the hens began preparing to leave for Sandringham House.

‘Where is Sandringham?’ says Mrs Pumphrey.

‘It’s near the top of Norfolk and a bit to the west,’ says Mrs Poo. ‘I visited it a few times when I was a chick. It’s a beautiful place. They have an excellent website if you want to find out more.’

‘You sound very fond of it,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘Are you softening your attitude towards our Royal Family?’

Mrs Poo toys with her muesli. ‘I might be,’ she says. ‘Only a tiny bit, though.’

The other hens smile and say no more. Mrs Poo feels the soft regal touch of her great-great-great grandhen Duchess Yekaterina on her shoulder.

Suddenly, there is a flurry of activity outside the breakfast room door and the Chief-of-Staff bursts in.

‘It’s Their Majesties!’ says she. ‘They’ve made a sudden and unexpected return from their holidays!’

‘Is that sourdough toast and proper English butter I can smell?’ says a familiar voice. ‘I jolly well hope so because I am hungry enough to eat a whole loaf and pat of the stuff.’

‘I told you to have a nibble of something before we left,’ says another familiar voice. ‘But you never listen, do you, Charles?’

And into the breakfast room come King Charles and Queen Camilla, looking happy and refreshed after their three week break from Royal Christmas duties.

Queen Camilla sits at the table, beaming, and King Charles pours her a cup of tea.

‘How’s it been going?’ he says to the open-beaked hens. ‘Anything exciting happen?’

Mrs Miggins shakes her head. ‘Oh no, nothing exciting at all,’ she says, and the Chief-of-Staff winks and makes a tactical withdrawal from the breakfast room.

‘It’s been rather dull really,’ says Mrs Poo.

'Not a frisson of thrill to be seen anywhere,' says Mrs Pumphrey.

‘How was your holiday?’ says Mrs Slocombe.

King Charles helps himself to some toast and marmalade. ‘Oh, it was all right, I suppose,’ he says. ‘But then yesterday, I said to Camilla, ‘Darling, we can’t be away from home for Christmas, can we? It just doesn’t feel right.’

‘And I said, no, we jolly well should come home for Christmas,’ says Camilla, who is, quite frankly, relieved because there’s nothing like having access to your own bathroom facilities and book shelf. 

‘Also,’ continues the King, ‘and I hope your Kenneth the Phantomime chap doesn’t take this too personally, but I want to do the Christmas Day speech myself. I thought I’d do a live broadcast. The grandchildren are very good with social media and cameras so I thought I’d rope them in to help.’

The hens glance at each other.

‘I think that’s an excellent idea, Sir,’ says Mrs Miggins.

‘But you MUST all come and spend Christmas Day with us!’ says Camilla. ‘To thank you for all you’ve done over the last three and a half weeks. It can’t have been easy but we knew we’d left everything in safe hands.’

‘What do you think?’ says Mrs Miggins, turning to the others. ‘Shall we accept this kind invitation and have ourselves a Right Royal Merry Little Christmas at Sandringham House?’

‘I think,’ says Mrs Poo, as the others nod in agreement, ‘that would be an absolutely and right royally marvellous thing to do!’

And there we have it, dear Reader(s). Another year, another story to add to the Much Malarkey Manor archives. Thank you for your most regal company this December. Wishing a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year with love from all of us at Much Malarkey Manor to all of you - wherever you are.