In the Midst of a Zephyr
(But the Hurricane Cometh!)
‘Yeaaah!’ was the cry echoing across the Plains of Camaltookik as the two riders rode abreast; the desire of both to assume the leading position so strong that it thrust the entourage along at breakneck speed – the thunder of hooves could be heard for miles. Oh, indeed they were allies for the moment, but there was no mistaking the competitive nature of both to be the company’s spearhead. The two were flanked on either side by their compatriots, Annie Fourspoons with the Mocha Girls and Wanda Onecup urging along the Pekoe Princesses. Following close on the heels of the main group were a variety of hangers on and sympathizers who had been gathered for the cause. Yes, it was true; their past mutual embarrassment in losing the town of Kickacanalong had forged the Cappuccino Kid and Billy Teacup into an unlikely alliance and they were now hurtling towards their unavoidable destiny – a supreme conflict with their nemesis Mineral Water Wilson and his sidekick Chief Arch-oo.
If one could have got close to the faces of either, their eyes would have evinced the revenge waiting to be dealt out to the grubby infiltrators that had inflicted humiliation and exile upon them. And for what? Mineral Water? Did it even have tannin? Certainly, no substance in that beverage! How could the town-folk be so misled? And thus, the company speared towards Kickacanalong to create a hell-fire never seen before and never to be seen again.
Some days earlier, another group could be observed descending upon the Plains of Camaltookik from the opposite direction. In contrast, this conglomerate seemed to plod along at the speed of a snail and was characterized by the overall desire to be somewhere else. Perhaps this attitude was due the fact that their transportation was interminably uncomfortable over such a long distance. Indeed, at some stages, it was the chosen mode to walk and lead their camels rather than suffer more discomfort at the base of their physical being. Each morning, after the previous days bleating’s of ‘it’s much too hot out here’ – ‘my backside aches’- why do we have to bring this guy back’ –‘if he’s come this far out what bother is he to anyone anyway,’ the Sergeant of Police would rally his troops and the journey would re-commence in a slightly more positive disposition, descending through the same cycle of laborious travel, culminating in the same familiar whinging and whining. The presence of civilians wasn’t helping the cause either. ‘Why on earth do we need these therapists in our pocket to retrieve this escapee?’ was the cry. In defence of the police troop these three were becoming difficult to manage; always blaming each other for every little thing. ‘It’s a wonder anyone at Sun Valley Sanatorium for Samophobics comes out sane’ one constable remarked. ‘Why wouldn’t anyone escape?’
More to it, another civilian enlisted for the retrieval was irritating the wits out of nearly all the troop. The Sergeant had insisted on his coming and the gentleman seemed all too keen take up the offer. He was supposed to have been very close to Willy Wimbledim at one time and was to provide insight into Wimbledim’s whereabouts. It was explained to them that Mr Gallantine had been confided in at some stage regarding the escapee’s possible current destination.
The town of Kickacanalong meanwhile meandered along at its nonchalant pace. Ostensibly it appeared that nothing was different, excitement was lacking and the town’s folk continued in the mediocrity thrust upon them under the new regime. It was better to be indifferent – one could remain free of trouble and controversy this way.
However, the general demeanour belied secret gatherings and meetings between sympathizers of both the Cappuccino Kid and Billy Teacup. These had been successfully undertaken for weeks now. How it had all been kept so secret no one could really fathom; but it seemed that it had and their time was now coming. Weapons and ammunition were now securely stored and all that remained to do presently was to wait for the agreed time when the strike would be made. They knew Mineral Water Wilson and the Hanger Chief never varied their routine. Why would they? They had become complacent – too cocky to be sure. Tomorrow was the moment – tomorrow was their moment. A new era for the town – a new life!
Wilfreda and Wombles had arrived some time earlier and the family were settling in their new surroundings. It was the eve of another day, one which they no doubt suspected would be no different from any other. The morning would come, one of them would take Wombles for his walk, they would breakfast and head into town.
The three had been wiling away the night at a game of Hearts.
‘Oh my goodness’ stated Wally, ‘its way past my bedtime. I’ll think I’ll turn in’.
‘What about you Wilfreda?’ asked Willy.
‘I may do the same I think’ replied Wilfreda. ‘What about you my dear?’
‘I may stay up and observe the stars for a while; it’s quite a clear night for stargazing’.
‘Very well Willy. Good night’.
‘Goodnight Wilfreda. Goodnight Wally’.
A Day of Reckoning
(Perhaps Beer or Wine is Preferable?)
If one was travelling over the town of Kickacanalong at some supreme height, it would not have appeared out of the ordinary, except perhaps for the onlooker detecting a level of activity consistent with that frantic time of the day when the wheels of business turn feverishly. However, if the traveller ventured to engage the view at a significantly lower altitude, it would not have been possible to avoid being struck by the pandemonium that now raged. It was 8:00am in the morning on a day that, weather wise anyway, had opened up to a magnificent display of sunshine and clearness of sky tempered by the most gentle zephyr. Any attraction toward the contemplative disposition that such conditions often lend themselves was soon shattered by the thunder of the hooves of horses plundering the streets, along with shouts of battle ringing loudly through the air.
Billy Teacup, the Cappuccino Kid and their gangs launched their raid mercilessly, taking the town and it leaders by surprise.
‘Out of here’ shouted Billy to Mineral Water Wilson and the Hanger Chief as the gang members, most enthusiastically the Pekoe Princesses, wrested the town leaders from the café. The idea was of course to lead them to the edge of town and evict them into permanent exile. However, while en route to their goal, supporters of the status quo had spread the word around and were able to rustle up enough troops to provide sufficient resistance to thwart the venture. The street became awash with flying cups, spoons, and bottle top caps employed as deadly missiles; not to mention the lethal use of saucers flung wildly about like Frisbees.
It was chaos indeed when Willy, Wally, Wilfreda, and Wombles arrived in the centre of town for their usual stop at the café. Protagonists from either side were running to and fro, giving updates to anyone adjacent, whether they wanted to hear it or not. One such individual caught the ear of the visitors as they endeavoured to find a safe haven whilst dodging shrapnel.
‘Are we winning?’ cried one protagonist to another.
‘Holding our own, but there’s a complication. A troop of police from out of town has converged and it’s now a three way battle.’
‘Well who alerted them I wonder?’
‘Don’t know but they’re on camels and using them to bulldoze their way through.’
The foursome (we will assume Wombles’ instinct was similar to the thought process of the other three) decided it was best to skirt the backstreets and surface on the other side of town – best to be with the police than against them. The task was negotiated without too much incident but horror struck Willy as he turned his eyes again to the battle.
‘What on earth are the three therapists from Sun Valley Sanatorium doing here?’ exclaimed Willy. ‘Are they here for me?’
Willy watched furtively from behind a lamp post and his fears eased somewhat when it appeared that the three therapists were attempting to use their indubitable skills to negotiate a peace treaty in the middle of the fracas with some of the warring parties. His fears were allayed when a rapid volley of saucers from out of nowhere honed in with incredible precision on their targets.
‘Look out’ cried the first just before he got hit between the eyes.
‘Damn’ cried the second – then fell.
‘Aaahg’ exclaimed the third crashing to the ground.
‘One less worry!’ said Willy.
The fear now passed, Willy turned his sights to the other side of the street; but it wasn’t just fear that beheld him this time – but unadulterated rage. Here was the man he had called friend for so many years. Here was that man riding on a camel, assisting the police in a plot to rob him of his new life.
‘ROTHERBY GALLANTINE – YOU…….YOU…..*! #!#*&$@*’! yelled Willy as he started out for his foe.
Wally tried to stop him. Wilfreda tried to stop him; but he was just unstoppable. Wombles – that faithful basset hound followed him in support.
Gallantine had heard the cry and turned his camel towards Willy. Willy launched himself from the pavement and laid hold of his foe, pulling and shoving at Gallantine’s leg in an effort to dislodge him. Meanwhile Wombles, obviously making the association that as his master was at odds with the rider, the camel must be a ‘bad’ camel, launched himself at the beast’s leg. The camel looking down as if to say ‘what is this basset hound doing on my leg,’ began to swing the leg back and forth, back and forth. This was a ride Wombles hadn’t had before. Up and down, up and down. Wombles held on for dear life but suddenly his grip loosened and he began spin around the leg as well. Up and down, round and round. Poor Wombles couldn’t take anymore and leaving all to fate let go. Fortunately for the heroic hound he was catapulted into the arms of Wilfreda; who wasn’t so fortunate, as taking the impact launched her some distance, falling on her rear, followed by the inevitable faint.
As all this had taken place, Willy had won his battle, unseating Rotherby Gallantine who now lay useless on the pavement.
Hours had now passed since the battle had begun and all those who weren’t knocked out wandered the streets exhausted and wondering whether it had all been worth it. It was indeed a horrifying sight. The streets flowed with mineral water, scattered amongst which were broken teacups and saucers, bent teaspoons and strainers, crushed bottle caps and broken bottles. Billy Teacup, the Cappuccino Kid, Mineral Water Wilson and the Hanger Chief were nowhere to be found. Nor the Pekoe Princesses or the Mocha Girls. No one had won – it was a lesson hard learnt. Even the police had retreated, deciding this man Willy Wimbledim wasn’t worth it. They were last seen heading out of town with one R. Gallantine slumped over a camel hump; the same camel pulling a trailer containing three moaning and groaning therapists who may well have needed some of their own counselling upon returning home.
The visitors sat on the step of the café wondering how all this could be. What was the point? Surely coffee, tea, and mineral water could live together. The sun then came down on the sad and sorry town and…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Brriiiinnnng…………
‘What? Oh dear, that time again.’
‘Another restless night dear’ said Wilfreda.
‘Afraid so Wilfreda. I dream too much I think. I must take some of your sleeping pills tonight!
THE END
