The three witches were sitting round the cauldron on the blasted heath when Witch One felt her thumbs get a bit itchy. For reasons best left unexplored, this appeared to be the equivalent of the doorbell ringing in more conventional domestic situations.
“By the pricking of my thumbs”, she said, “something
literary this way comes”.
“Don’t you mean ‘something wicked’?” asked Witch Two.
“That’s what you usually say.”
“No”, said Witch One, “wicked produces quite a different
thumb itch. The guy coming up the hill is someone who writes, I’m sure of it”.
And she was perfectly correct. A man emerged through the fog
and filthy air who was quite clearly none other than the greatest writer of
them all, namely William Shakespeare.
His reception was a little less friendly than he might have
expected from three of his better-known creations.
“And what might you be after?” asked Witch Three. “If you
want us to do a sequel to the Scottish play you’ve missed your chance. J K
Rowling has scooped the witches in Scotland scene big time, and I don’t think
that even you could get one over on her.”
“I’m sure you’re right”, said Bill. “But that’s not why I’m
here. You see, I’ve got a bit of a problem that I think you can help me with”.
“If it’s anything in the bedroom department, count us out”,
said Witch One. “What you get up to in your second best bed is entirely your
problem”.
“No, it’s nothing like that”, said Bill. “Just listen for a
minute and I’ll tell you.”
“OK”, said Witch Two. “Have a seat. Do you want a bit of
supper while you’re here? We’re trying
out a few new ingredients – all those dogs’ tongues and newts’ eyes are so 11th
century. How does ‘librarian’s finger’ grab you? We sent our favourite hell
hound to gather a few samples, although a few weeks ago he only got a nibble at
quite a good one in Leicestershire. He’s a bit miffed about that.”
“If it’s all the same to you”, said Bill, “I’ll give it a
miss this time”.
Instead, he turned to the matter that was bothering him.
“The problem”, he said, “is that I don’t seem to be very
good at spelling. Even when I write my own name I can’t make up my mind how to
spell it. I’d like to be a bit more consistent, and I was wondering if you
could help me.”
“Of course we can,” said Witch Two. “Nothing could be easier
once we use our magic ingredient.”
“Which is?”
“Alphabetti spaghetti”, said Witch Three. “We keep a large
quantity in reserve for just such an occasion, plus the fact that we quite like
it.”
“I’ve got just the spell for this”, said Witch Two. “You
remember I mentioned librarians’ fingers?”
“I’m unlikely to forget”, said Bill.
“Well”, said Witch Two, “we’ll just throw a load of
alphabetti spaghetti into the pot, add a generous quantity of librarians’
fingers and, because librarians are so clever, when we say the magic words the
fingers will stir all the letters into the right order and you’ll never spell
another word wrongly ever again.”
“And what is better”, said Witch One, “if we get it right
this will apply to absolutely everyone in the English-speaking world - even
Americans if we’re lucky”.
“And if you’re wrong?”
All three witches studiously pretended not to hear this.
Witch One poured a large quantity of alphabetti spaghetti
into the cauldron, Witch Two added the librarians’ fingers, and Witch Three
uttered the magic words:
“Hocus pocus bogus logus.”
“Just a second”, said Bill. “Did you say ‘bogus’ just then?”
“Don’t think so”, said Witch Three.
“Surely not”, said Witch Two.
“She said ‘hocus pocus bocus locus”, said Witch One. “I’m
sure she did. It would be a bit odd if we cast a spell to make everyone spell
properly and we couldn’t even spell the words of the spell.”
She laughed uproariously at this, as did the other two
witches. William Shakespeare didn’t laugh.
The cauldron bubbled away for about five minutes, then it
gave a wheezy sort of cough and spat out a number of spaghetti letters that
fell on to the ground and spelled the words: “Spell complete – patent applied
for”.
“So,” Bill said, “You are telling me that every time anyone
writes a word from now on it will be spelled the same way in all circumstances,
whatever the context and whoever is doing the writing.”
“That’s write”, said Witch One. “The librarians’ fingers
have determined that their is now only won way of righting every word in the
English language.”
“But sometimes you need too”, said Bill.
“Wye?” asked Witch Three.
“And sometimes you knead moor”, said Bill, “because some
words sound the same but mein something different. Will you’re spell make shore
that nobody ever gets it wrong?”
“Oh deer”, said Witch Two. “Probably knot”.
“Wee didn’t think of that”, said Witch One.
“Wheel get people writing lead instead of led and piece
instead of peace,” said Witch Three.
“I’ve only won thing two say”, said Bill Shakespeare.
“Witch is?”
“Bloody Liberians”.
© John Welford
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