GRAIL TRAIL

Hello again

Welcome to the November edition of The Autolycan.  October's edition featured the idea of searching - in that case for the Philosopher's Stone - and I've continued the idea of searching this month - this time for the Holy Grail.  I was going to say that the Grail never gets found, but apparently the police have other ideas.......

Hope you enjoy it, and if so do please pass the link on.  No doubt some people could even tell their Facebook friends!

GRAIL TRAIL

                  Holy Grail found by police in Herefordshire        

                                                                                      Daily Telegraph                                

It's a rummy thing but now I come to think of it I don't think I'd ever seen Shreeves look discomfited before. As a rule his sang is froid to a fault; he floats through life in that assured sort of way that kings a shade low on the old self confidence would happily give up half their kingdoms for.

Which was a trifle odd, given that he now was a king.

Spying his discomposure, I fixed him with the unsympathetic stare of a heron debating whether to plump for a Chablis or a Muscadet to complement the delicious lunch now wriggling in its beak.

'You do see, don't you, that if this is to work you can't keep calling me Sir.'

Sometimes we Schusters can wound, but truth to tell I was finding the diversion pretty beguiling.

'Indeed...' he began and then kind of fizzled out. I could see a ferocious inner struggle sashaying to and fro across his brow. I mean, dash it, a single bead of sweat even formed. He looked like nothing so much as a fellow attempting to hide an unusually argumentative nest of wasps under his jacket. The inner struggle was now epic. For a moment I feared he might actually melt, but with a final collapse of will he added 'sir' in a defeated voice.

'Well then,' I chirruped, 'there's nothing else for it. We'll have to change places.'

Relief flooded out of him as the wasps shook whatever passes for hands on a truce and buzzed off.

'Thank you, sir. A most efficacious solution.'

'Of course,' I went on, 'we'll all have to dress the part, I mean to say, full evening dress and ties are hardly going to matter, what?'

'There is no time, sir, at which ties do not matter.'

If you're one of that rather grouchy type given to cavilling a bit you may well be wondering what this modern starting in the middle malarkey is all about. And well you might. Well, it all started when Shreeves brought the letters in with my tea one morning. Ignoring the usual strident demands from creditors, the Schuster gaze fell on a poisonous looking communiqué which grievously troubled the early morning grey matter, normally pretty inert at that time of day.

It sort of throbbed on the tray, demanding to be opened but promising only calamity once it was. I opened, and was surprised when I couldn't read anything. Shreeves pointed out, a touch condescendingly, I thought, that this may be not unconnected with my eyes being screwed tight shut.

'Shreeves!' I faltered. 'The jauntiness of spirit for which I am known throughout the gentlemen's clubs of London has beaten a cowardly retreat. It has rolled over and raised the white flag.'

'Most distressing, sir. Might I hazard a guess that the disturbing communication in question emanates from Lady Worplesdon?'

'Yes you might, Shreeves. The old harpy insists that I present myself without fail at that great rotting pile of hers in Hertfordshire, there to lap up the joy of Christmas in the bosom of the flesh and blood.'

My crest had fallen heavily to the floor. I mean, my flabber was pretty seriously gasted, or possibly the other way round. I was distraught – so much so that I knew not when – or if – I might ever be traught again.

'All that nonsense about coming down for breakfast properly dressed, what? Tie and everything. I mean, why does it matter?'

'There is no time, sir, at which ties do not matter.'

My plea for help was silent but eloquent.

I thought I espied a light in his eye when he poured me a whisky that evening, so I pressed him on the solution.

'I am agog, Shreeves,' I quavered, 'for news of my deliverance from the maw of despair.'

'Assuming, sir, that the invitation cannot be avoided altogether,' at which the Schuster cranium shook miserably, 'you should endeavour to ensure the visit passes as agreeably as the less than propitious circumstances allow.'

'Indeed?' I teased, raising a questioning eyebrow. I should have known better. Shreeves raises a more devastating eyebrow than any man I know. He is in a class of his own when it comes to registering hauteur. I re-grouped hastily.

'What can you offer a cudgelled soul?'

'I wonder, sir,' he intoned 'if Her Ladyship might be persuaded to accept some of your gentlemen friends to accompany you for the festive season.'

I stared at him, aghast.

'How the devil am I supposed to.......'

'…..persuade her, sir? I am of the opinion that an intimation that they might form an impromptu theatrical party which will present a play for the company's delight will procure the necessary agreement.'

'…......!!!!!!!!!!!!........'

'I believe, sir, that your aunt may be susceptible to the thought that it is becoming fashionable for country houses to host such entertainments. Woollam Chersey could perhaps be seen to steal a march on the rest of Hertfordshire.'

A light flashed on in the old bonce.

'You mean......' I cried.

'Precisely, sir.'

'…....that Tuppy and Bingo and Gussie could all come and we could.......'

'My thoughts exactly, sir.'

'By George!'

'As you say, sir.'

'But what are we to........'

'…..perform, sir? There has been much reportage in the newspapers of late of a search for the Holy Grail. It is a story which excites the populace from time to time but dies down when nobody finds it. It is at present much in vogue. I have some little skill with woodworking tools and fancy I could fashion a convincing Grail.'

'And we could, as it were, search for it?'

'Your perspicacity does you credit, sir.'

It seemed a corking idea, and I put it to Bingo Little when I bowled in to see him at the Drones the next day.

'I say!' exclaimed Bingo. 'I say!'

I saw no reason not to take this as assent, any more than the repeated 'My word!'s from Tuppy Glossop later that evening. But it was Gussie Fink-Nottle who really made the thought father to the deed, or whichever way round that rather baffling old saw has it.

'King Arthur......' he mused in a disconnected sort of way, and then repeated it. I was about to send for a reviving cordial but it turned out there was more. 'King Arthur.... Merlin.... the Knights of the Round Table – they hunted for the Holy Grail.'

'I thought they spent all day rescuing dragons and slaying comely wenches' I said. Possibly I might have got that the wrong way round as well.

'No, I mean to say, we could be the King and his knights looking for this Grail thingy. We could each take a part' he enthused.

And so it was settled. As you know my idea that Shreeves' stately bearing would be just the ticket for King Arthur didn't exactly bring the house down, and when I proposed that Aunt Agatha slither on in the guise of a dragon ripe for slaying the robustness of her reaction excited a brief but doomed hope that she might throw me out altogether.

I can't think now why it came to me, but my idea that we recruit my cousin Daphne to our troupe of strolling players was a ripper. Not only is she a jolly good sort and all that, but like lots of girls she also has a fearsome ability when it comes to getting things done. Must be something to do with not having to shiver through cold, muddy games afternoons at school. Anyway, she sort of carried the whole thing, and so on Boxing Day evening we were able to present:

KING ARTHUR AND THE HOLY GRAIL

The play opens with Merlin dressed as a humble artisan, putting the finishing touches to a model of the Holy Grail. To him, King Arthur.

King Arthur : Good Lord, Merlin, I had no idea you could turn the old talent on like this when it comes to chisels.

Merlin : Thank you, sir. I trust my crude representation of the Holy Grail will prove equal to the rigorous demands the search will make upon it. I hope it gives satisfaction, sir.

The scene shifts to a Round Table. King Arthur and Merlin join the Knights who are already seated.

King Arthur : I say, chaps. There are dastardly fellows roaming hither and yon. They will stop at naught to get their filthy paws on the Holy Grail. Why, they may even look for it here at Woollam Chersey!

{At this point in the production there was a loud thump as Aunt Agatha fainted and had to be revived with a pail or so of gin.}

Sir Tuppy : Gosh!

Sir Gussie : I say!

Sir Bingo : We must do something!

King Arthur : Let's ask Merlin!

Knights of the Round Table : Yes, let's!

Merlin : I fear that no serviceable solution yet presents itself. With your permission, sir, I will retire and contemplate the matter. Exit

The next morning. Merlin is bringing tea to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. His expression is that of a man who has come up with a ripping wheeze. There is a knock at the door. Merlin attends to it, and admits Queen Guinevere. {There is no dramatic necessity for this just yet, but Daphne was keen to forsake her mother's venomous company in order to spend more time at rehearsals.}

King Arthur : Well Merlin, I told these chaps you could be relied on. I trust you have an almost ungraspably brilliant proposal?

Merlin : I leave you to judge, sir.

I am inclined to suggest that a series of clues be left in locations around Hertfordshire. Each clue, when solved, should lead to the next. It is imperative that they give the appearance of being hidden but in reality are not too hard to find. On solving the final clue, seekers should be directed to a distant but credible location where they might expect to find the Holy Grail. I believe Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland has been the subject of much speculation in this matter, as has – more recently and perhaps regrettably – the Louvre Art Gallery in Paris.

King Arthur : But of course it won't be there, will it?

Merlin : Your perspicacity does you credit, sir.

Knights of the Round Table : Good gracious! Great Scott! Corking!

There is an embarrassed silence while they all look at each other.

Queen Guinevere : I say, might a mere woman suggest that you boys go off and write the clues, then come back and we'll put them all together?

Knights of the Round Table : I mean to say! Spiffing! Huzzah!  Exeunt Knights.

King Arthur : This is all very well but there is just one thing... this Grail business... it sort of gets to a fellow... I think Merlin's Grail really should be buried, somewhere far from here....

Queen Guinevere : ….and there should be a clue, something jolly hard to find and even harder to solve....

King Arthur : ...but what is it to be?

Merlin : If I might make the suggestion, sir and madam. I had at first considered concealing my imitation Grail in the cellar of the Royal Hotel in Hertford. It then occurred to me that the names Hertford and Hereford are strikingly similar. Indeed, the conversion of the former to the latter requires only the addition of a small typographical symbol known as a tie to the upper part of the 't' in Hertford.

King Arthur : A tie?

Merlin : Yes, sir. It is a symbol that has the shape of a small arc with the curve uppermost. Carefully applied the 't' will become an 'e', thus spelling Hereford. It further occurs that we may use this happy circumstance to our advantage.

King Arthur/Queen Guinevere : But how?

Merlin : I could make a second Grail, and clearly mark it as a copy. I could deposit it at the Royal Hotel as originally planned. We could then deposit the first Grail at the Royal Hotel in Hereford, leaving a very cryptic clue in Hertford pointing to its whereabouts.

King Arthur : Astounding! Absolutely jolly extraordinary!

Queen Guinevere : Above all the clue must be obscure, but what should it be?

Merlin : I trust you will appreciate the significance, madam, when I say that the typographical symbol – the tie - is critical.

Queen Guinevere : Something pithy..... something with a deeper message..... I know! How about 'There is no time at which ties do not matter.'

King Arthur look sullen. Merlin beams.

Merlin : An excellent proposition, madam. I judge that it might take a hundred years or more for that to be solved.

Will that be all, sir?

_________________________________________________________________________

ANAGRAM CORNER

JOSE MOURINHO

                                                                O! HE RUINS MOJO!

Poor chap....................