The Triple Goddess (21 page)

If the licence-payers have reason to cheer

And toast you in wine and pints of beer

When they hear your plan for a ruleress.

“A woman possessed of my kind of smarts,

Though she don’t drink stout and can’t play darts,

Is a People’s Queen who shall reach the parts

A Dorking sovereign can’t.

“For am I not right that, in an Election year,

The last thing sort of thing you want to hear

Is those on the Opposition benches sneer

At my stories of parties and junkets.

“So let me propose a winner all round:

In Parliament you’ll confirm that you’ve found

The perfect person who’s agreed to be crowned

As the new She-who-must-be-obeyed.

“Mark my words, there’ll be much celebration

And you’ll be in for sincere congratulation,

Instead of the worst kind of aggravation

I’ll take pains to ensure that you get.

“In the PM’s office you’ll discuss your careers;

Once re-elected, he’s sure to be all ears

To your respectful suggestion that he make you Peers

Or promote you to the Cabinet.”

At this there was a roar of assent

As it soaked in just what the lady meant;

The MPs agreed with her one hundred per cent,

They hastened to assure her,

Doris was heaven-sent, a real find;

Only…they wondered if she’d be so kind

As to consider one thing, if she didn’t mind:

Perhaps a more queenly name?

“Leave it out!” said Doris; “we refuse to muster

The haughty graces that always fluster

The likes of we. Such superficial lustre

Is for them ain’t got no class.

“No, Queen Doris’ll just ’ave to pass.

Now let’s go outside and sit on the grass;

I’ll break out the biggest size of glass

And we’ll drink bumpers all round!”

Consensus
ad idem.
They moved on to sherry,

And vodka, and whisky, and the juniper berry;

And the session became so parlee-ment-ary

It turned into an all-night sitting.

’

Chapter Fourteen

There was no end to King James detestation of everything newfangled. One day he summoned his Lord Chamberlain and informed him of his decision that, henceforth, clothes made of synthetic fabrics were to be forbidden.

‘Forbidden, Your Highness? You mean...’

‘We mean that all clothes, you know, the ones that people wear, whether underwear—smalls, unmentionables, that sort of thing—innerwear or outerwear—jackets and coats and stuff, scarves and so forth, are to be made of natural fibre only. Nothing artificial. D’ye follow us, Lord Chamberlain?’

‘I think so, Your Majesty.’

‘Have a scribe draw up an edict, will you, Lord Chamberlain? Cause copies to be posted throughout the land on recycled paper.’

‘Very good, sire.’

The Lord Chamberlain backed away from the Presence, and the footmen on either side of the double doors of the audience chamber opened them for him to depart in order to carry out the sovereign’s instruction. But before the Lord Chamberlain exited, he turned, struck by a thought.

‘By natural fibre, my liege, I presume you mean cotton and wool. The combination of which, I happen to know, is Viyella.’

‘LC, we will use no more proprietary names. A mixture of cotton and wool is exactly that: a mixture of cotton and wool. The wives of shepherds in ancient times did not sit at home carding and spinning Viyella. And as regards cotton, LC: people are no longer to wear denim. There will be no more jeans. And as for fur,
faugh!
We have a zero-tolerance policy regarding the wearing of fur or furs. There will be absolutely no fur. Even furry animals will be under suspicion, guilty until proven innocent of being bodily detached from their coats. To summarize, LC: anyone caught wearing jeans will be pilloried; put in the stocks and pelted with genetically modified foods. If they’re wearing fur, their heads will be cut off. Got that, LC?’

‘Very good, Your Majesty. Just making a note here on my pad...cotton and wool, cool, denim equals rotten tomatoes, wear fur, lose head.’ And the Lord Chamberlain turned again to leave.

‘Lord Chamberlain!’

‘Sire?’

The King said pettishly, ‘You know, LC, you still seem a little fuzzy on the subject. Cotton and wool are not the only pure fibres, far from it. What we are saying here is that from now on people may only clothe themselves in fabrics that are composed of natural materials. Meaning, LC, ergo, that they are not to wear anything made from artificial, man-made stuff. You know, nasty things that melt like Nylon and Polyester. Dacron. Ugh.’

‘Ugh indeed, sir.’

The King paused. ‘Come here, LC.’

The Lord Chamberlain advanced. He sensed that an error had been made on his part and that he was about to pay for it.

‘LC, cotton and wool are not the only fabrics from which clothes are made. Tell us that ye know this and that we do not have to enlighten ye further.’

The Lord Chamberlain was inspired. ‘Oh no, sir! I mean yes, I do. There’s linen, too. My grandfather bespoke a summer jacket made of linen. And in winter he favoured corduroy trousers to keep his legs warm. There’s nothing like a good wide-wale corduroy, he said, for...’

The King gestured impatiently. ‘Linen, corduroy. There are others.’

‘More? Yes, I suppose there are. Very good, I’ll go and get on with...’

‘Footman on the left!’ barked James. Both footmen stood forward at attention.

‘Tut!
Our
left, you ninnies. Go and get our portable writing block and a folio sheet of recycled paper and a woodless HB pencil for the Lord Chamberlain. Make that several folio sheets, and two pencils, and mind ye that they are well-sharpened ones.’

The articles were brought, the writing platform was hung round the Lord Chamberlain’s neck, and he was furnished with paper and pencil.

‘Ready, LC?’

‘I am prepared, sire.’

‘Then write down these words, Lord Chamberlain.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘There’s cotton, and there’s wool. Got those?’

‘Actually, a previous notation was made to that effect, sir. Now may I...’

‘Can you write fast, LC?’

‘Fairly. But I have a secretary, in fact two secretaries, who...’

‘Here goes then. In addition to cotton and wool, there’s buckram and grogram and fustian...’

‘Of course there are, I had forgotten those. Silly me. Buckram and grogram and fustian: I’ve added those to the list. Now I...’

‘...and canvas and felt and hessian and stammel and drill and twill and nankeen and mull and nainsook and jaconet and dowlas and moleskin and sharkskin and dimity and duck and mohair and camlet and barathea and cashmere and alpaca and vicuna and angora and worsted and kersey and tweed and serge and shalloon and baize and lace and percale and rep and seersucker and chintz and cretonne and holland and foulard and grosgrain and damask and brocade and silk and samite and satin and sateen and gazar and tulle and ninon and taffeta and tiffany and tussah and tussore and gaberdine and sarsenet and shantung and velvet and velveteen and velours and muslin and moiré and organdie and organza and calico and madras and bullion and chenille and crinoline and toilinet and bombazine and drugget and gauze and crape and crêpe and crêpe de Chine and crêpeline and marocain and georgette and gingham and voile and cambric and batiste and lawn and poplin and chiffon and lisle.

‘Got all those, LC? We are sure there are more, but right now we...Lord Chamberlain?’

Chapter Fifteen

The next day the Lord Chamberlain, his right arm in a sling, was again summoned before King James.

‘Ah there you are, Lord Chamberlain.’

‘Good morning, Your Majesty.’

‘LC, we recall you once telling us, when we and you were playing Real Tennis at Hampton Court and you nearly beat us by mistake, that you are ambidextrous.’

‘Ambidextrous, sir?’

‘Meaning you can write with equal facility with both hands. Using one at a time, of course. We presume you are familiar with the term, LC, because it was you who mentioned it.’

‘It is true, O King,’ said the Lord Chamberlain dully. ‘I cannot deny it.’

‘Nor should you, LC, it is an enviable accomplishment. ‘Footman on the right!’

The footman on the King’s right was prepared for what was coming, and brought forward the writing platform and three folio-size sheets of recycled paper and three sharpened HB pencils. The King motioned for the footman to equip the Lord Chamberlain with them.

‘Now then, LC. Yesterday you were an inspiration to us.’

‘How the...I am most gratified to learn so, Your Majesty.’

‘There is another proclamation we want you to make to the people.’

‘Really. Why am I not surprised. What’s on the menu today, sir?’

‘No more motor cars, LC.’

The Lord Chamberlain thought of the Rolls-Royce Silver Phantom that came with his job. ‘I see, sir.’

‘What do you see, LC?’

‘That there are to be no more cars, sir.’

‘By which we mean not only no more engine-powered cars, LC, but no more motorized transportation of any kind.’

‘Do you think that
wise
, sir?’ The Lord Chamberlain heard himself sounding like Sergeant Wilson responding to an order of Captain Mainwaring’s in an episode of
Dad’s Army
.

‘We do, LC. We think it wise because it is we who are the King, and you who are the Lord Chamberlain. And let us be clear what we mean here, LC. Write this down: There is to be no more of
anything
that requires an internal combustion engine or solid or liquid fossil or other fuel and a battery to power it, hybrids not excepted, whether the propulsion be afforded by petrol or diesel or kerosene or biodiesel or ethanol or propane or hydrogen gases, and whatever else there may be...chip fat, for example...that is capable of effecting translocation of a party or parties from A to B or anywhere else within the alphabet. I will allow migratory fish-friendly hydroelectric and wind turbine-generated rechargeable and solar-powered vehicles on a case-by-case basis, subject to monthly inspection to catch any scoff-laws.’

‘…“hybrids not…”’

‘So in addition to forbidding motor cars, LC, we are talking no aeroplanes, rockets, ships, boats, or ferries.’

‘… “biodiesel or eth…” We are? Bloody hell.’

‘They poison the air with noxious fumes, exhaust, that block the light needed for the photosynthesis of plants and the growing of crops. They steal their oxygen and ours too.’