Here's the Recap
The Incredible Adventures of Professor Gideon Bracegirdle
Leave your houses! Don't delay, go just as quickly as your feet can take you. Run out into your gardens, run out into the streets and marvel. Marvel with saucer-wide eyes at the approaching sight. Yes! See the prancing horses with their feathered plumes! See the brightly-painted cart they pull, with its yellow spoked wheels and potted plants! See the cart driver, dressed grandly in his purple velvet frock coat, striped bow tie and towering top hat! See Professor Gideon Bracegirdle!
The people thronged the pavements to see such a strange thing. In this day and age, a peripatetic purveyor of all things preposterously phantasmagorical? Yet here he was, the great Bracegirdle, driving his cart through the streets of Chorlton, his bushy moustache set off nicely by his rosy cheeks (rendered that way by means of Bracegirdle's bottomless hip flask. Fortunately, the horses know where they are going and the good Professor won't be nabbed for drink driving.) He waved as he went, doffing his topper with the deft flourish of a born showman, a man confident in his arcane arts. A man who had been rolling his cart around for many along year - nobody, least of all Bracegirdle himself, knew quite how long.
One thing was certain; his cart had seen more roads, lanes, drives, streets, tracks, bridleways, tow-paths, avenues, boulevards, turnpikes, byways, thoroughfares and potholes than it had a right to have seen. It endured, though, thanks to Bracegirdle's loving ministrations and occasional kicks, administered by the point of his stout boots. His horses, too, had clocked up a high mileage, wearing through many a horseshoe in the process. They, too, endured, as did Bracegirdle himself. Timeless, wandering. And wandering, now, towards the old village Green in Chorlton, where a crowd now awaited his arrival with great expectation.
The people were abuzz with talk.
'Bracegirdle, you say? Bracegirdle is here?'
'THE Bracegirdle? Surely not!'
'The last time I saw him, I were but a lad!'
'OW! You're standing on my sodding foot!'
Eyes strained for a first glimpse of the fabled Professor. Necks craned, heads turned, small children climbed onto shoulders and all manner of jostling, pushing, shoving and straining took place. The local Constabulary arrived, alarmed by the crowd's size, yet also excited by the imminent arrival. All the town's great and good had appeared; Byrne, doctor of medicine, Williams, parish Vicar, McEvery, magistrate, Patel, curryhouse owner. One enterprising chap had set up and burger 'n' hot dog stall and was doing a roaring trade.
'Get your Bracegirdle Burgers here! Roll up! Professor's Pasties for sale! Roll up!'
The queue at the stall, however, melted away in a trice as the cart entered the Green, followed by a veritable hoard of people. The town band played, people cheered, bunting was hastily put up and the people were happy.
For the one, the only, the marvellous, the audacious Professor Gideon Bracegirdle was finally here!
Bracegirdle Speaks!
The cart drew to a halt and Bracegirdle leapt down from his seat, hurling the horse reigns towards the nearest tree, whereupon they looped around and around the trunk, securing the cart. The Professor beamed at the crowd, bowed deeply and addressed the now silent people in a loud, booming voice.
'My lords, ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls, vicars and tarts! Welcome! Welcome indeed to you, to this humble gathering here in the wonderful town of Chorlton!' The crowd cheered at this; easily pleased, and by now utterly bedazzled, they were putty in Bracegirdle's hands. He continued. 'Professor Gideon Bracegirdle at your service! A veritable and voluminous variety of valuables are contained herein,' he enunciated, a sweep of his arm indicating his cart, 'which, in return for the odd flagon of ale and a crust of bread, I am more than willing to share - with you all!' The cheering was louder this time. And with good reason.
For Chorlton had been a sad place of late. The flowers did not bloom. the trees wilted. Birds no longer sang their joyful serenades and the chip shop on Beech Road had closed down. A chill wind had been blowing, sweeping dark clouds over the town, casting a gloomy pall over the land. Now Bracegirdle had arrived and with him, the Spring had at last come, following in his wake. The town was in bud, animals stirred and the townsfolk felt something stirring in their hearts for the first time in many a month - hope.
Bracegirdle raised his voice, to better be heard above the joyful shouts. 'Tomorrow, I will give every one of you a bottle of my famed four-times-fermented, foaming formula, guaranteed results every time! Every one of you! And thereafter - why, we shall work miracles here, we shall all work miracles!' The crowd hurrahed with great joy, surged forward and raised Bracegirdle into the air (no mean feat - the Professor was of a, shall we say, sturdy build) and bore him towards the nearest hostelry, therein to ply the great man with tankards of ale and bags of cheese and onion crisps. A gleam showed in Bracegirdle's eyes . . . he had found his public, and they had found him.
Those that could fit inside the tavern, 'Ye Olde Dog and Cell Phone', had an evening of revelry, laughter and many a tall story. Those that could not pass through the doors filled the other nearby hostelries, filling the landlords' pockets and emptying their beer cellars. All were happy. All were content. And yet.
And yet.
Bracegirdle's arrival had not completely dispelled the despair over Chorlton. Somewhere, some part of it remained. And grew angry. It had not worked so hard in order for this charlatan, this buffoon, this trickster, to undo it all. The town was his. His it would remain. Despair grew angrier still and watched the merrymaking with loathing and cunning. Yes. Let them be happy. Let the flimflamming mountebank Bracegirdle enjoy his moment in the sun. It would make the fall all the harder when Despair grew so strong that the town could not help but be swallowed whole.
And by the roaring fire in the tavern, Bracegirdle's smile vanished in a trice, to be replaced by a deep frown.
And the people Came . . . .
The morning was a fair one, with a light breeze, blue skies and gentle sunshine. The town Green was full again, with a lengthy queue snaking round and round in a great spiral. Many people nursed sore heads and weary limbs from the previous night’s celebrations, yet this was all forgotten in the excitement of the moment. For Bracegirdle would soon minister to the people and bring his formidable talents to bear, and the people would be glad.
With a sudden crash, the doors to the cart were flung open and Bracegirdle appeared, with a doff of the top hat and a bow. He waved at the crowd and began to orate in his customary loud voice. ‘Good morning! How wonderful it is to see you all here, on this fine day! And not too many of you, I hope, ‘he chuckled, ‘are still feeling the ill-effects of our revelry last night!’ The crowd laughed with Bracegirdle, and he continued. ‘Let us be about our business. I come here to you to perform whatever small services as may be in my power. I bring plentiful supplies of my tried and tested, tantalizingly titillating Tonic, for those of you who require it. Yet this is not all I bring - my cart contains all manner of weird and wonderful remedies for many maladies. So let us begin and venture forth together on a road of exploration!’
Bracegirdle turned his attention to the queue. At its head was a young man, his hair unkempt, his clothes shabby and his cheeks sunken. It was his eyes, though, that drew the attention, dead as they were - lifeless, as though all hope and joy had been extinguished from them. Bracegirdle regarded him kindly. ‘Now then, good fellow, ‘he said in a surprisingly soft voice, ‘what is it that I can do for you?’ The man looked at his feet, shuffled nervously, coughed and, finally, began to speak.
Tommy’s Story
‘I love you. With all my heart. Will you consent to be my wife?’ Tommy spoke the words into the mirror for what seemed the thousandth time. He had to be perfect tonight - such a moment could not be left to chance, every little detail had to be planned. And Tommy had planned everything - tonight was the night of the annual Town Dance, which he was attending with his young lady, Isobel. He adored Isobel.
She was his light, his muse, his very reason for drawing breath. Each time he saw her it was as if it were for the first time - his heart would skip a beat and then pound madly, his legs would turn to jelly. The best of it was, though, that Isobel adored Tommy. He was sure of that, certain of if. Fate had thrown them together and now their lives were complete. Two halves of one whole. Which was why it was time to ask for her hand in marriage.
Tommy had racked his brains for weeks, as he plucked up the courage to ask Isobel. He had thought of a dozen different ways to ask her - a quiet picnic, perhaps? A romantic evening in? But for Tommy, he had to shout to the world of his love and he had decided to make a grand gesture - he would ask her mid-dance, in front of all the townsfolk. She would say yes and it would be the perfect evening. Tommy was looking forward to springing the surprise on Isobel - he had not given her one clue as to what he intended. Not that he’s seen as much of her as he’d have liked recently, as they were both busy. Especially Isobel. Still, all that would change after tonight!
Tommy walked in through the grand doors of the Town Hall, nervousness threatening to consume him. He paused to straighten his jacket and tie and, satisfied, entered the main hall. The place was ablaze with colour, and flags, and streamers, and banners . . . tables groaned with food and drink, the band played by the stage and the townsfolk were dancing, dancing to keep their worries and fears away for one evening, just one evening.
Tommy looked around but could not see Isobel. Not unusual, he mused, seeing as there were so many people here. No matter . . . she would melt into his arms when he made his announcement . . . . he helped himself to a drink for courage and, greeting familiar faces along the way with nods and smiles, made his way towards the stage and his destiny. He had almost reached it when he saw Isobel already there. Heart pounding, he froze, as she began to speak.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make, ‘she began, and the band went silent and the people listened. Tommy could scarcely draw breath - had Isobel had the same idea as he had? Isobel continued to speak. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I have something to say. About someone in my life who is very dear and special to me. Someone . . . I want to spend the rest of my life with.’ Tommy stood rigid, heart threatening to burst his chest asunder. He forced himself to breathe, with some effort. He listened with rapt, intense concentration to Isobel . . .’I want you all to share this moment with me. As I ask my love, my sweetheart, my soul mate . . . . ‘
Tommy was about to jump up to the stage to answer his love’s entreaty. But someone else was already joining Isobel . . . she turned to the new arrival with tears in her eyes . . . . ‘James, will you marry me?’ James embraced her tightly, shouting ‘YES! YES! YES!’ in reply. The hall erupted in cheers - hats were thrown in the air and glasses were raised to the happy couple. And in the midst of this maelstrom of pleasure was Tommy. Tommy, as his world shattered into shards, each one stabbing him through his heart and soul. He knew James and Isobel had been friends, but . . . . Isobel caught Tommy’s eye for a moment. He just stared at her, unable to move, or speak. She mouthed one word silently at him - ‘Sorry’. And Tommy fled.
Bracegirdle placed one huge arm about Tommy’s shoulders. ‘Young man. .Tommy . . . what happened to you was abominable. Truly heart-breaking. You feel as if your heart is broken beyond mending, that you shall never again know love?’ Tommy nodded. Bracegirdle leaned close, so that nought but Tommy could hear. ‘ If that is the case, you won’t want to talk to the young lady behind you, who heard every word of your tale?’ Tommy looked up into Bracegirdle’s eyes.
‘Professor, I cannot . . . I cannot trust again. The pain. . it is too great . . . ‘As the tears came, the girl behind him came silently forward and cradled the sobbing Tommy in her arms. Tommy submitted, hardly being in a position to resist. Bracegirdle looked piercingly at her. He fixed her with a gimlet gaze, staring deep within her. She met his eyes unflinchingly, as she stroked Tommy’s head. Bracegirdle frowned slightly, as if in thought, then nodded to himself, apparently satisfied. ‘Tommy?’ he said, ‘Tommy my boy? Stand up.’ Tommy stood, his eyes red with tears - but no longer lifeless. ‘Listen to me. Your heart will heal. Your soul will be renewed. And with the help of your new - friend - I foresee a bright future for you.’ Tommy considered. He looked at the girl and back at the Professor. A strange calmness fell upon him. ‘My name is Tommy,’ he told the girl, ‘what’s yours?’ Bracegirdle smiled paternally as the two walked away. He had weighed the girl and found her pure and true. Tommy would be in safe hands.
Bracegirdle and the Wasps
Many of the supplicants in the queue were dealt with easily. Bracegirdle’s Tonic was the order of the day in most cases; two spoonfuls thrice daily, or three spoonfuls twice daily, or a wee nip in the bedtime cocoa, or a small amount to be applied to the affected area, or one capful to be poured into the running tapwater as the bath filled up. The Tonic was nothing if not ubiquitous - it had taken many years of hard work, trial and error and bloody good luck to perfect. Now, it was a tonic to cure the most diverse of maladies, allergies, ailments, derailments, depressions, repressions, highs and lows, ups and downs, skin complaints, bloodshot eyes, hay fever, scarlet fever, saturday night fever, thin blood, thick blood, breathlessness, dizziness and sneezes.
The sun climbed in the sky as Bracegirdle worked hard, taking off his jacket and rolling his sleeves up. The townsfolk kept him supplied with liberal helpings of wine, ale, pastries and other culinary delights and in return Bracegirdle toiled ceaselessly. All was proceeding spiffingly when a commotion erupted at the far side of the Green. A fraught looking man was pushing his way through the crowds, shouting as he went.
‘Professor! Professor! Oh, you must come at once! At once, I say!’ There were frowns of dark disapproval from the people and murmurs of discontent - after all, hadn’t they patiently waited to see the Professor? How dare this interloper usurp the queue? However, Bracegirdle waved his hands in a ‘shushing’ gesture and beckoned the man forth.
He was in a highly agitated and vexed state, sweat beaded upon his brow and his face clothed in the unflattering garments of insomnia. His grim façade, coupled with Bracegirdle’s eager acceptance of him, persuaded the crowd to let him through. A hush fell as he reached the good Professor. He opened his mouth to talk, closed it again when no words came, and tried twice more, with no further success. Bracegirdle smiled at him.
‘My boy, rest a moment. Take your ease, and a spoonful or two of my tonic.’ A tablespoon of Tonic was duly poured and the man swallowed it, immediately appearing to relax somewhat. After a couple of deep breaths, the power of speech returned to him.
‘Professor, my name is MacGregor. I have a most pressing and ghastly problem.’ His face darkened once more. ‘ They . . .THEY have returned!’ The Professor snatched his coat up in a blur of motion and clapped MacGregor on the back. ‘Have they, indeed? Have they, indeed?’ he bellowed. ‘No time to lose then ! Let’s be off, and you can tell me your tale upon the way!’ He placed his hat upon his head, grabbed MacGregor and started off at a brisk pace, trailing people behind him.
MacGregor’s Story
MacGregor loved his garden. The apple trees, which his children enjoyed climbing; the rockery in the corner, with its varied little flowering plants peeping out hither and thither; the sunny lawn area, scene of so many summer picnics and impromptu football games. Most of all, though, he loved his vegetable plot. True enough, things like potatoes were mundane enough (though tasty), but other plants were far more rewarding. Take MacGregor’s runner beans - every spring he would erect a row of tall, slender canes, and stretch netting either side to form a sort of mesh tent. The runner bean plants would grow up the sides of this tent and flower in a glorious, vibrant scarlet, that would light up the whole garden. MacGregor looked forward to that sight almost as much as he delighted in the wonderful flavour of his beans, and his peas, beetroot, carrots and whatever else took his fancy to grow that season.
MacGregor’s job was a boring one and his garden was his refuge, his ray of light into his life. He spent many an hour in his garden with his wife and two children, playing games, teaching them how to tend to the plants . . . and then they came. Late one summer. Wasps are to be expected at that time of year and, at first, MacGregor thought nothing of it. There were quite a few of them, it had to be said, but again, wasp numbers varied from time to time.
The following year the wasps appeared much earlier and in greater numbers. Perplexed, MacGregor raised the matter with his neighbours. Curiously, they had no such problems - not a wasp was to be seen in any of their gardens. And then the attacks began. Jemima, his daughter, was stung one afternoon by a particularly large and nasty wasp. The stung area glowed red and seemed to throb - it was no ordinary sting. MacGregor immediately called the Town Council offices to arrange for a pest removal chap to call round. A man duly arrived from the Council, only to report that he could not find the source of the infestation. Indeed, not a single wasp manifested itself while the man was there. Clearly not believing MacGregor, he left in a huff.
Yet the wasps remained; aggressive, malevolent, and in increasing numbers. Soon MacGregor and his family were driven from their beloved garden, keeping all doors and windows tight shut, even in the most oppressive of heat. Occasionally, inevitably, a wasp would find its way into the house and just as inevitably, a family member would be stung. It was only the chill of late autumn that put paid to the wasps, as their numbers finally, mercifully, dwindled. Winter brought peace, for a time, and respite. The garden had grown unkempt and overgrown, yet there was something else - its soul was harmed in some way, or perhaps not harmed - but possessed. Its anguish sang out to MacGregor, adding to the despair he already felt.
A despair that was renewed the following spring, when, months early, they returned. Bigger, more numerous, and more vicious than ever. MacGregor’s family entered a state of perpetual war with the wasps, hardly daring to venture outside during daylight hours, haunted and hunted by the inexplicably evil insects that seemed so intent on destroying them. The family became a topic of much debate amongst their neighbours - some few believed them and defended them, many others sneered and laughed their derision openly. Yet even those allies of the family had their doubts; no one but the MacGregors had witnessed the wasps and family friends feared the worst - that the family was in the grip of a collective madness.
The wasps disappeared later than ever that year - the snow was already on the ground when the last one was seen. MacGregor took stock and tended to the many stings and wounds inflicted upon his brood. His wife and children were scarred, so brutal and often had the stinging been, and MacGregor’s own body was covered in pock marks. Every night, he went to bed fanatically hoping for cold weather the following day, to keep them away.
Yet they had returned earlier than ever and Bracegirdle was his last, faint hope - though hope was a word he had almost forgotten the meaning of. He finished his story.
‘So you see, Professor, we cannot endure any more of this. My children can no longer attend school. I have lost my job and my wife is but a pale shadow of her former self’ He turned his forlorn eyes upon Bracegirdle. ‘Professor . . . can you . . . will you help us?’
They had arrived at MacGregor’s house and Bracegirdle paused at the gate. ‘My dear Mr. MacGregor. After hearing your extraordinary tale of woe, it will be my pleasure - indeed, my duty, to help you in your hour of need.’
As MacGregor had told his tale en route, the numbers of people following had dwindled to a very few hardy souls, yet even they dared not enter the garden. Bracegirdle and MacGregor alone went through the gate, and around the side of the house to the scene of the infestation.
Where not a wasp was to be seen.
Not one.
MacGregor’s shoulders slumped in resignation. ‘I should have known that they would hide away. They always do when others come here.’ A weary tear coursed its way down his cheek. ‘There is no reason for you to believe me. I am sorry to have troubled you, Professor.’
Bracegirdle removed his hat and smiled at MacGregor. ‘Don’t be so foolish, man!’ he admonished gently, ‘Of course I believe you!’
Macgregor started. ‘You do?’ he asked, blinking in surprise. Bracegirdle nodded solemnly.
‘Oh, ‘ MacGregor half-sobbed, ‘You’re the first to . . . the first. . . ‘ Bracegirdle nodded again, and then chuckled.
‘O-ho! Here`s one of them now!’ he said, in apparent delight. Sure enough, a large wasp drifted around one of the apple trees, seemingly aimlessly, then flew at great speed towards the hapless MacGregor. At the last moment, a huge hand darted out and snatched the wasp out of the air. Bracegirdle kept his fist clenched about it and spoke sternly. ‘We’ll have no stinging today, thank you very much, wasp! Away with you!’ He opened his hand and the wasp flew away even faster than it had approached. MacGregor stared after it.
‘How . . . how did you do that? They never normally leave until they have stung one of us!’
Bracegirdle also stared after the wasp, eyes narrowed in thought. ‘He’s not gone. No. He has merely retreated . . . to fetch reinforcements. And here they are, by the sounds of it.’ MacGregor visibly paled as a faint droning sound could be heard on the wind, quickly and terrifyingly growing in volume until it became a din, forcing MacGregor to cover his ears. A great swarm of wasps appeared, a black cloud consisting of thousands of wasps - all with one purpose and one destination - Professor Bracegirdle, the man who had dared to defy them.
‘Now then. MacGregor,’ Bracegirdle shouted above the noise, ‘Stay well away from me and DO NOT MOVE!! Clear? ‘ MacGregor shouted back, ‘Yes!’ and rapidly backed away, before freezing to the spot. From where he watched, in horror, as the swarm reached and engulfed Bracegirdle. All about him they flew, in a frenzy of wings, the sound terrible and cacophonic. Of the Professor, no sight could be seen, so completely was he surrounded. The wasps’ frenzy grew and the very air about them seemed to boil and seethe. MacGregor feared the very worst - they would finish Bracegirdle and then come for him and then his family. He gibbered in terror.
And then it was over.
One moment Bracegirdle had been surrounded by, and covered in, the creatures; the next, they were flying off. As simply as that. MacGregor gaped in astonishment at the sight - the departing swam, now gaining height and speed, and the unscathed Professor., who turned and winked at MacGregor. He dusted his coat off and grinned. ‘All done, my boy, all done. You’ll have no more trouble from them’
Macgregor shook his head in amazement. ‘But . . but . . . how? One moment ago, they were all over you! You should be dead!’
‘Dead? Dead? Nonsense, my boy, nonsense! It will take more than a few garishly-coloured insects to kill me! As to how I did it, well . . . a showman such as I must have some secrets, you know. What I can say, though, is that we had a little conversation. And I persuaded them that it would be folly indeed to remain here.’
‘Folly? how?’ Macgregor asked.
‘Because if they had remained - so would I have. And, MacGregor my dear chap . . . I am far more formidable than even a whole swarm of wasps.’ For a moment, the Professor seemed different to his customary, genial self. A glint of steel showed in his gaze - only for a moment, though, before it was replaced by the usual Bracegirdle twinkle.
‘How can I ever repay you?’ MacGregor said, his voice cracking with emotion. ‘You have freed me and my family from a nightmare - you have delivered us from evil.’
Bracegirdle replied without a moment’s hesitation. ‘You can repay me, my good man, by inviting me into your house and introducing me to your charming family - and furnishing me with some small luncheon? After all, it isn’t every day one gets to exorcise a demonic hoard of insects!’ For the first time in two years, MacGregor laughed and led Bracegirdle into the house. And behind them, the garden began to blossom once more.