Writing for Fun
February 2019
Master Fix It - Jan Norman
Master Walter walked along the icy castle battlements with his adopted father, Knight of the Nearly Round Table, Sir Goes Berserk a Lot.
‘Now listen to me son if we should see King Aga you must lower your gaze respectfully and only speak if spoken to. Is that understood? He has an awful temper and if we incur his wrath then we could be banished from his kingdom of Ave a Lot.’
Before Walter could answer the king burst into their vision in a flurry of snowflakes. He was striding towards them after bellowing reprimands to some of his hapless soldiers practicing loading cannon.
Walter, terrified of disobeying his fierce father, not only looked down but shut his eyes too and failed to see the cannonball, dropped by the young soldier who had just been told off by the king, roll towards him.
Sir Goes Berserk a Lot, too busy bowing to his majesty, failed to see it either and only heard the ‘Oof’ as the cannonball knocked Walter clean off his feet.
Concerned, King Aga rushed forward and, sliding to a halt in front of Walter, hauled him upright. Dusting the young boy down, he shouted ‘Are you alright lad?’
Tongue-tied, Walter let out a strangled cry, blushed to the roots of his hair then looked down again wishing the ground would swallow him in his embarrassment.
Giving Sir Goes Berserk a Lot a sympathetic gaze and patting his arm King Aga murmured kindly, ‘Oh I didn’t know that the lad had speech problems. Would you like him to see my physician?’
Realising the misunderstanding Sir Goes Berserk a Lot laughed.
‘No, no, Sire that is not necessary, although I thank you kindly for your offer. The lad is speechless by not only being in your gracious presence but actually being addressed by your majesty.’
The king, equally relieved, laughed and, looking Walter straight in the eye, asked jovially how he was enjoying his training to become a squire.
‘It’s right fine Sire but what I’ze really loikes is ’arses.’
King Aga looked stunned; turned to Sir Goes Berserk a Lot for confirmation, mouthing, ‘Did he just say he liked . . . ?’ and not liking to repeat the word pointed dumbly to the royal bottom.
Walter watching this exchange yelled, ‘No, nos your majesty I’ze mean Harses!’ Nearly crying with chagrin he added, ‘Them thets pulls carts and carries people like.’
‘Oh you mean Horses,’ declared Aga, suddenly twigging that master Walter’s problem was not one of speech impediment but one of differences of dialect as the poor lad had been, before his adoption, an orphan of the streets.
‘That’s it Sire,’ shouted Walter eagerly, ‘ I’ze would luv to work wiv harses but I’ze not wantin’ to disrespect the wishes of my Dad or yous, your splendid majesty!’ and saying this he ran forward and clasped he king round his knees.
Laughing heartily and mightily flattered by the young boys hero worship and pleased to have solved the problem, King Aga bent forward conspiratorially and, taking one of Walter’s hands in his meaty grasp then said, ‘If that is your wish then you will accompany your father next week on a secret mission. You can help to look after all the horses. Will you do this for me, Master Walter?’
Walter jumping up and down in excitement shouted, ‘Will I, will I. Jus’ yous try’s an’ stops me your Royal Majesty. Ize’ll do you proud!’
Sir Goes Berserk a Lot was dismayed.
‘A secret mission, sire?’ he queried. ‘I’ve heard of no secret mission. It’s only a month away from Christmas and snowing hard.’ ‘Of course you have not heard of the mission because it’s my secret and it’s precisely now because it is so near to Xmas.’ Tetchily the king added, ‘Make sure all my knights assemble in the Nearly Round Table Turret this afternoon, Sir Goes Berserk a Lot.’ With this the king gave a nod and moved on.
At the meeting King Aga looked around the gathered knights and beamed. He explained that he had commissioned a certain Sir Glance a Lot from the French Court to buy the prettiest white mare he could find and sail back across the channel with her to Bideford, a port down the coast from Cam a Lot. The horse was to be a Xmas present for Queen Give it Here.’
‘I need six brave knights to escort Sir Glance a Lot and the horse home.’ He looked around expectantly.
All looked out of the narrow turret windows and watched the snow fall and listened to the wind howl and an awkward silence fell. Young Walter, still in the king’s good books, having been allowed to attend the meeting, saved the day.
‘Well I’se knows me Dad’s goin ‘cos I’m goin. An’ don’t’ yous lot worry. I’zell look after all your ‘arses right well I’ze promise and I’m sure our wunnaful king’s goin’ to give yous all pocket money to spend at Merlin’s Magical Emporium arn’t you, Sire?’
The King looked stunned for the second time that day but nodded weakly. The knights gave a rousing cheer and soon six had been chosen.
The next day it had stopped snowing and the small band of knights set off with Sir Goes Berserk a Lot in charge. All were wrapped up against the inclement weather. Walter and his Dad had thick tartan cloaks and Sir Pray a Lot’s wife had insisted he wear his white cloak that she had knitted for him Xmas last. The only trouble was that it had stretched quite a lot and his horse, Prim and Proper, kept tripping over it.
Walter, like all young boys, had his pockets crammed with odds and ends and managed to fix it by looping the end of the cloak back and sticking it down to the horse’s bottom with some slightly hairy, chewing gum.
Sir Gets It Wrong a Lot looked surprised to see the snow and was reluctantly persuaded to leave behind his bucket and spade and rubber ring that he had packed for the seaside trip.
Sir Falls Over a Lot tried to mount his horse, Stumble Over, slipped and had to be dug out of the snow by the others using Sir Gets It Wrong a Lot’s spade. Walter decided that it might be a good idea to take it along but not for the original purpose of making sandcastles.
Sir Boast a Lot spent the first few miles of the journey boring Sir Rust a Lot by droning on and on about the pros and cons of using either fur or silk to line cloaks but eventually he fell silent and all Sir Rust a Lot could hear was the soft plop, plop as bits of his rusty armour and chain mail fell into the snow and the occasional sneezes of his horse, Bony Knock Knees, as he inhaled rust dust.
After four days riding they were on the hill overlooking the harbour. The sun was shining and the wind had dropped.
Bony Knock Knees had never seen the sea and in his eagerness to get close started galloping down the steep snow covered track. He lost his footing and with poor Sir Rust hanging on for dear life, slid all the way down to the quay on his bottom.
Ever resourceful, young Walter, found tweezers amidst the fluff and bits of sticky toffee in his pocket and spent half an hour picking splinters out of Bony’s sore bottom.
As soon as the French ship docked the mare was led down the ship’s gangway and stood on the quayside, a vision of equine beauty. She was a dainty white mare with long, champagne coloured mane and tail, sporting tiny black polished hooves and wearing a shiny black and red saddle. Her name was Babycham.
Bony knock Knees’ knees knocked together in his excitement. He could not take his eyes off her. Seeing admiration in Bony’s and all the knights’ horses’ eyes she began to show off and behave coquettishly, fluttering her eyelashes at one and all and prancing delicately. At that moment Bony fell in love.
The cortège set off for the nearest Sir Cost a Lot’s Tavern in order to settle Babycham down to rest after her journey. Bony Knock Knees was walking just behind Babycham. Still in love and starry eyed he could not take his eyes off Babycham’s swaying bottom in front, her tail swishing hypnotically from side to side like a metronome. Swish, swish . . . Bang. His nose hit her rump as he failed to notice she had stopped. Irritated Babycham bucked and kicked and poor Boney’s knee was injured. Walter took charge and bathed and bandaged his wounds and set his mind to solve the problem of getting Boney home as clearly he could not walk.
After settling Boney and Babycham the knights set off for Merlin’s Magical Emporium to buy magical presents for their families.
Once back in the tavern, after supper, they showed off their purchases. Sir Fall Over a Lot had bought his wife a large bottle of perfume but had fallen over and broken it. Kind Sir Boast a Lot gave him a spare silk scarf saying he had bought too many.
Sir Gets It Wrong a Lot had bought a birthday card instead of a Christmas card but made up for it by buying a bolt of silk material which his wife would love.
The others had bought their respective wives perfume and necklaces.
Collectively they had bought crates of Champagne and Brandy for the king’s Christmas party and lots of Dutch cheeses, the sort covered in hard wax and Walter suggested buying a huge sleigh in which to carry home all their purchases.
Walter was very excited as he thought he had solved the problem of getting poor lame Bony Knock Knees home. He had purchased four magic balloons on strings that could float in air. Strong enough, if fastened to a blanket slung under Bony’s belly, to lift him off the ground and let him be towed home. Oh and also what did Dad think of his Xmas present for Mum? He pulled out a bottle with a label which said ‘Kiss and Cuddle Juice’. He said the merchant selling it kept winking at him and saying he was sure a handsome young lad like him should have lots of girlfriends but Walter thought girls were yucky but thought Mum might like it as she was always saying ‘Walter give your Mum a big kiss and cuddle’.
Sir Goes Berserk a Lot turned bright red and fairly snatched the bottle away from his son and stashed it in his sporran.
‘Erm, No son, it is definitely not a Mummy present. I’ll tell you what, I was going to give her this bottle of perfume as my present. How about we swop?’
As Walter was about to ask why his Dad could give his Mum the ‘Kiss and Cuddle juice’ but not him, Sir Goes Berserk a Lot hastily decided to give Walter an early Christmas present of a magical catapult, one where you always hit your target.
‘Here you are son. This is for being so clever and fixing things on our journey.’
Walter was over the moon and spent the next half hour before bed catapulting soggy crusts of bread into a mouse hole in the skirting board so that the mice would not go hungry.
As for the catapult it would prove its worth on the journey home . . . but that is another story.
[To be continued]