A Mixed-Up Bag

Mabel, Doris and Alice, the residents of Blasted Heath Cottage, were pondering what to do about their entry for the next craft show at Glamis Castle, the home of Lord and Lady Macbeth. This annual event was not to be missed, and the three ladies had been regular participants for many years.

However, comments had been made after last year’s show that maybe they should make a few changes, given that their entries in the Pickles and Preserves class had given the judges particularly nasty stomach bugs and even caused one of them to lose a toe and grow an extra finger. Nobody thought they should be banned altogether – apart that is, from the unfortunate judge who now had all the correct digits but not necessarily in the right order – but perhaps they should consider entering show classes that did not actually involve the judges having to eat anything they had prepared.

It was after a visit to Sainsbury’s that Doris got the bright idea of what they could do. She had been scanning the shelves for fresh supplies of batwing pressé - without success – when she spotted Lady Macduff who was carrying a very attractive shopping bag made from evenly-sized patches of differently patterned material sewn together. Surely, she thought to herself, the three of them could come up with something similar to enter in the Bags and Accessories class at the craft show?

“That’s what we should do”, she said to the others when she got home. “We’ll make a tote bag.”

“A toad bag?” said Alice, whose hearing was far from perfect. “Your pet toad for example? We could cut of his head, scoop out his innards …”

“No!” said Doris. “If you touch my toad, I’ll turn your cat into a bag …”

“Hold it, sisters.” said Mabel, pulling them apart. “I reckon this tote bag idea is a good one. We just need to get as many people as we can to contribute patches of material and we’ll sew them together to make a bag. Could be a winner!”

So the three of them split up, went their separate ways, and met again a week later when they had collected contributions from people they knew.

Doris had been to see Iago, whose offering was the handkerchief he had pinched from Desdemona. “This rag has got everyone into so much trouble”, he had told her, “that sewing it into a tote bag is probably the best thing to do with it.”

Alice’s contribution was two bright yellow stockings. “I was given these by Malvolio”, she said. “He reckons that they should be perfect for a tote bag competition, as long as yellow-hating Olivia is not on the judging panel.”

“If she is”, said Doris, “we can always feed her some of our newt chutney before the judging starts. That should take her out of the reckoning for long enough.”

Mabel had been to see Hamlet, who had provided a piece of fine damask cloth that could be made into several patches.

“He said that this had been part of the arras curtain in his mother’s bedroom, but it had been ruined when he stuck his sword through it and killed Polonius who was hiding on the other side. He said that his mother was pretty cut up about it.”

“Presumably not quite as cut up as Polonius”, Alice offered.

“I got the impression that she was more bothered about the arras”, said Mabel. “She’d paid good money for it and gave Hamlet a piece of her mind afterwards. The bloodstains were very difficult to shift.”

“No matter”, said Doris. “That’s nothing new for Glamis Castle – her ladyship is always complaining about that sort of thing.”

Doris was able to supply some other bloodstained fabric squares, courtesy of Shylock who had explained that blood spatter was sometimes inevitable when extracting pounds of flesh from recalcitrant customers.

Richard III had also sent along some quite expensive looking pieces that he said were no longer needed by their former owners, although he was not prepared to give any further details.

“I reckon we’ve got enough”, said Mabel. “Now who’s going to sew them together to make a bag?”

“Not me”, said Alice. “With these great thick fingers? I can’t even thread a needle, let alone sew.”

“Nor me”, said Doris. “Same problem.”

“And me”, said Mabel. “Looks like we’re stymied then.”

“In other words”, said Alice, there’s no way we can make a tote bag, so we can’t enter anything at the craft fair.”

“It’s back to Pickles and Preserves then”, said Doris. “But we’ve been banned from entering that class, due to the fact that whatever we submit usually has unforeseen consequences.”

“We’ll have to cheat, then” said Mabel. “Suppose we enter our Cockroach and Slug Surprise but use someone’s else’s name as a cover?”

“Great idea”, said Alice. “Got anyone in mind?”

“Do you think we’d get away with calling ourselves Juliet Capulet?”

© John Welford

The MasterChef Witches

Heaven alone knows what possessed the BBC to allow Mabel, Doris and Alice – the exceptionally ugly weird sisters who were the residents of Blasted Heath Cottage – to take part in their MasterChef cookery show. Perhaps it was a misguided belief that any reference to the works of William Shakespeare would be good for the ratings, or maybe some magical and other-worldly influences had been brought to bear on the officials who decide these things.

Whatever the reason, the fact remained that the MasterChef kitchen, presided over by the revered John Torode and Gregg Wallace, found itself hosting some unexpected equipment in the shape of three enormous cauldrons as well as the usual cooking facilities. Questions were raised about the health and safety implications of allowing cooking to take place on open fires within the confined space of the MasterChef studio, but – once again – the people with the power to decide such matters seemed to become strangely willing to put aside any objections, and they were also persuaded to change the theme music for the series to “I put a spell on you”, which was appropriate if nothing else.

As the rounds progressed, the other entrants fell by the wayside one after the other. It might possibly have been that their dishes were considered too unoriginal by the judges when set against what Mabel, Doris and Alice had to offer. After all, none of them could compete with the delights of bat wing surprise or dog tongue upside down cake. Alice’s newt and lizard turnovers were declared the star dish of the third show, and nothing could compare with Mabel’s adder’s fork ice cream in the semi-final.

At least, everyone said that these entries were the best things they had ever tasted, and that included all the guest gourmets who came on to the show at various stages. Was any undue influence brought to bear on their judgments in the form of strange incantations uttered over the cauldrons just before the tastings took place? Who could possibly tell? 

The final was therefore fought out between the three witches, who now found themselves in competition with each other as opposed to cooperating to get rid of the other entrants. Sisterly love soon gave way to sibling rivalry and no tactics were considered too underhand to be attempted.

Of the three final dishes, Mabel’s was clearly not going to win. The added ingredients supplied by Doris and Alice, when Mabel’s back was turned, had a devastating effect on the BBC presenters when they passed by and sniffed at the cauldron – all John Torode’s hair fell out and Gregg Wallace suddenly found himself sporting a luxuriant set of dreadlocks that reached down to his waist. The make-up department had a terrible time getting the pair back to their usual appearance, and Mabel was promptly dismissed from the show.

Doris had prepared a new approach to brunch, which was to combine breakfast and lunch on the same plate, in the shape of fairly traditional muesli laced with strips of raw yak meat. Doris being Doris, the muesli had a few added ingredients in the shape of dragonfly wings and chopped hedgehog spines, but it was definitely the pieces of yak that made Doris’s dish stand out as the main contender for the top prize. As usual, John Torode questioned whether it was sufficiently seasoned, but that appeared to be the only objection.

Alice was incensed. After all the effort she had made to get the right rats for her take on ratatouille, she had no intention of seeing her sister steal what she saw as her rightful crown. Doris knew all about doctoring a rival’s entry, so there was no way she was going to allow Alice to get close to hers. Alice had no choice but to win by bribing the judges. 

And that was what she did. As mentioned above, Alice had come to the show with a consignment of rats, and not all of them had been used in her dish. Indeed, she discovered just before the broadcast that some of them had given birth to litters of baby rats and she therefore had considerably more than she started out with. Her rats were direct descendants of those that that caused such devastation by spreading the Black Death in the 14^th century, as were the fleas they carried that were the real culprits.

Alice had the very weapon she needed. If she was not given first prize by the judges, she only had to release her highly fertile vermin for Black Death Number Two to be let loose on to the streets of London. She therefore had a quiet word with John and Gregg, urging them to favour her ratatouille over Doris’s unusual brunch.  The words she actually used had seemingly been provided for that very purpose by William Shakespeare when he wrote Twelfth Night:

“If muesli beef’s the food you love, plague on!”

© John Welford

Things That Bounce: a story

Ophelia’s knock at the door of Blasted Heath Cottage was answered by Doris, one of the three haggard old crones who had a reputation in those parts for preparing strange concoctions in their cauldron and issuing misleading advice to passers-by.

“Do come in”, said Doris. “We’ve just made up a new brew in the cauldron and we’d love you to sample it, just to see what effect it has”.

Ophelia gladly accepted the first invitation, but declined the second.

“What can we do for you?” asked Mabel who, if anything, was even more gaunt and haggard than Doris. “As you know, our advice can always be trusted. We always speak at least one version of the truth, although not necessarily the one that will do you most good.”

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take”, said Ophelia, “but it’s not really advice I’m after”.

“What is it then?” said the third crone, Alice, who was just visible through the smoke from the cauldron. “You don’t want our advice and refuse to sample our new potion, but you must want something? Old bitches like us don’t feature very highly on most people’s lists of folks to drop by on for a jolly little chat.”

“I want an idea,” said Ophelia. “I’m going round everyone I know because Hamlet has started a new writing group at Elsinore Castle - it meets in the library every Friday morning – and he’s set us a challenge that has left me baffled.”

“In what way?” asked Doris.

“The theme he’s set is ‘Things That Bounce’, and I really don’t know what he’s on about.”

“Balls”, said Alice.

“There’s no need to be rude”, said Ophelia. “I only asked.”

“Balls bounce”, said Alice. “Tennis balls, basketballs, footballs …”

“Table tennis balls, volleyballs, even cricket balls”, Mabel added. “They all bounce.”

“I know”, said Ophelia, “but that all sounds a bit too obvious, and I’m not sure that I could write a decent story about table tennis balls or any other sort. That’s why I’m looking for suggestions for other things that bounce.”

“Fortunes”, said Doris. “They can go both up and down. Lots of people have suffered loss of fortune and bounced back up again.”

“And how many people do we know to whom that’s happened?” Ophelia asked. “Shylock pointed out to me that his fortune went in two directions, but after it went down it hardly bounced back up again.”

“Reputations”, said Mabel. “They can bounce”.

“Same problem”, said Ophelia. “You should hear Othello go on about reputation – you can’t stop him. But once his went through the floor there was no upward bounce. All the “reputable” characters in his play ended up dead.”

“So who else have you spoken to?” asked Doris. “Surely someone must have an idea about what can bounce?”

“Well, I did have word with Falstaff”, said Ophelia. “He thought I’d said ‘Thugs That Bounce’ and went on for hours about all the gorillas that have ejected him from every club and pub in Windsor, London and just about everywhere else. He’s far more deserving of the title “The Barred” than our beloved creator.”

“I’ve got an idea”, said Alice, who was quietly stirring the cauldron. “You see this alphabetti spaghetti? Just pick out all the letters you need for ‘Things That Bounce’ and drop them into the cauldron”.

This puzzled Ophelia, but she did as she was asked and selected the sixteen letters that made up the words of the title. She dropped them into the steaming mess of the cauldron and was surprised to see that they did not immediately dissolve. Alice moved her hands across the surface and muttered an incantation. The letters promptly disappeared downwards.

“What’s happening?” asked Ophelia. “How does this help?”

“Don’t worry”, said Alice. “I may be a bitch but you can trust my magic. I’ve put an anagram spell on the letters. They’ll bounce off the bottom of the cauldron and re-appear in a different order. Just wait and see.”

Sure enough, a few seconds later the letters came back into view, but this time they spelled out the words ‘Gaunt Honest Bitch’.

“That’s me”, said Alice. “That should give you an idea for your story.”

“Thank you”, said Ophelia, “I think it has!”

© John Welford

New Beginnings

It is not generally realised that Macbeth made a third visit to the witches on the blasted heath, in addition to the two that are recorded in the famous Scottish play by that bloke from Stratford with the receding hairline.

“Hi there”, Macbeth offered in greeting, as cheerily as he could manage under the circumstances.

“You again?” said the chief witch. “What do you want this time?”

“Well”, said Macbeth, “the thing is that I’m getting ever so slightly worried about the way things are turning out”.

“That’s hardly surprising”, said witch number two, “given that you’ve already slaughtered half the cast and your wife has gone completely doolally. On those grounds, ‘ever so slightly worried’ would appear to be something of an understatement”.

“And what do you expect us to do about it?” asked witch number three. “We told you what would happen, but if you chose to conveniently ignore the bits that didn’t suit you at the time, that’s hardly our problem, is it?”

“Yes”, said Macbeth, “I’m sure you’re right, but it looks very much as though I’ll end up dead by the time the curtain falls at the end of Act Five, and I’d quite like that not to be the case.”

“Let’s get this straight”, said the chief witch. “You’re the title character in ‘The Tragedy of Macbeth’ and you expect to still be alive at the end of it? Have you ever seen a Shakespeare tragedy? Hamlet? Othello? King Lear? How many of those plays conclude with a jolly little song and dance number?”

“But that’s just the point”, said Macbeth. “I want you to fix it so that this play is different from the others. How about ‘The Tragi-Comedy of Macbeth’? Everything looks terrible half way through Act Four but it all ends up OK by the final curtain.”

“And just how are we supposed to manage that?” asked witch number two. “We said you’d be king, and your wife decided that killing the guy who was actually king at the time was the way to make that happen. We said that Banquo’s descendants would be kings, so you bumped off Banquo and nearly got his son as well. It’s your own stupid fault you’re in the mess you are now, not ours”.

“That’s what tragedy is all about”, said witch number three. “Some idiot gets above himself, does some stupid things and ends up paying the price. In the current case, that idiot is you.”

“But can’t I make a fresh start?” Macbeth pleaded. “Suppose I go to Macduff and say that it was all a terrible misunderstanding and I’m really sorry that I murdered his entire family, and would he like to go with me for a walking holiday in the Trossachs? I’d even offer to pay his bar bills”.

“And how you think he’d react to that?” asked the chief witch. “You reckon he’d let bygones be bygones, do you?”

“”It’s worth a try, surely?” said Macbeth. “Especially if I tell him some of my best jokes, like the one about the Englishman, the Scotsman and the pound of pork sausages?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one”, said witch number two, “how does it go?”

Macbeth was on the point of telling her when the chief witch pointed out the fatal flaw in his plan.

“That’s all very well”, she said, “but don’t you think that Mr Shakespeare’s audiences will be just a teeny bit disappointed with all the build-up to the gory battlefield death of the central character, only to end up with the protagonists having a belly-laugh and exiting stage left arm-in arm?”

“OK”, said Macbeth, “how about Plan B?”

“Which is?”

“You suddenly reveal that everything that happened in the first three acts took place in a parallel universe, and that the whole thing was a figment of somebody’s imagination? Duncan is actually alive and well, and so is everyone else.”

“Presumably”, said the chief witch, “your wife is not a raging homicidal maniac but a Sunday-school teacher from a small village in Dorset?”

“Now you’re talking!” said Macbeth. “I like what you’re saying! You simply make a whole new set of predictions and we all live happily ever after!”

“You’ve convinced me”, said witch number two. “Leave it to us and we’ll sort everything out. New beginnings! Don’t you worry about a thing.”

And with that Macbeth marched back down the hill from the witches’ camp, whistling a merry tune. It was just as well that a strong wind was blowing in his face as he walked away, because it rendered him incapable of hearing the guffaws of laughter that came from the trio round the cauldron.

© John Welford 

A Bad Spell

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 11^th 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

Fairies Versus Witches: a story

Macbeth had a bit of a shock as he crossed the blasted heath. There – gathered round a camp fire – were three mysterious other-worldly figures, namely Oberon, Titania and Puck.

“Wotcha”, said Oberon, “How are you doing?”

“What are you doing here?” asked Macbeth. ”I was expecting witches, not fairies.”

“Union rules”, said Titania. “We’re all members of the NUSB”.

“That’s the National Union of Supernatural Beings”, Puck added. “The witches are due their tea break so we’re filling in while they have it. Don’t worry, they’ll be back later.”

“And in the meantime”, said Oberon, “We’re at your service”.

“If I recall correctly”, said Macbeth, “You’re in the love potion business, and I don’t think that’s something I need.”

“We have a few other sidelines”, said Titania. “How about three wishes?”

“Three wishes?” said Macbeth. “I don’t recall Bill Shakespeare mentioning fairies granting wishes. That’s pantomime stuff.”

“How do you know he didn’t write pantomimes in his spare time?” said Puck. “He might have done for all you know”.

“Anyway”, said Oberon, “that’s the deal. We will grant you three wishes, subject to the usual rules.”

“Which are?”

“No wishing for more wishes, and be very careful what you wish for. We tend to take people at their word in this business, and things don’t always turn out as expected.”

“Mind you”, said Titania, “We’ve had quite a few successes and many of our clients have walked away very happy”.

“Such as?”

“Well”, said Oberon, “There was that guy from Liverpool who wanted the Blues to win the Premiership. And another guy from North London said exactly the same thing, oddly enough. We made sure that a team wearing blue did actually win, so both of them got what they wanted ... I think”.

“And what about all those people from America with funny voices?” said Titania. “They all wanted to be the ‘Republican nominee’ – whatever that is – and it was a bit tricky because they couldn’t all have their wish granted.”

“So what did you do?” asked Macbeth. “I wish you’d tell me, then I might have a clue how to phrase my own three wishes.”

Oberon was only too happy to explain. “We simply said that the Republicans would get the right guy if they played their cards right. We sat each of them down and played a few hands of whist. They soon got the message – namely that the trump card always wins”.

“And were they happy with that?” Macbeth asked.

“Well”, said Puck, “The guy with the silly hair was – I’m not so sure about the rest.”

“OK”, said Oberon, “Maybe we’d better hear what your two wishes are”.

“Two?” said Macbeth. “I thought you said I had three”.

“You weren’t listening, were you”, said Titania. “You’ve already used up one wish by saying ‘I wish you’d tell me’, so you’re definitely down to two now”.

“That’s not fair!” said Macbeth. “I wish you’d just be straight with me and not play all these tricks.”

“My God, you’re so stupid” said Titania. “And that’s being as straight as I can manage. Is it any wonder you don’t survive Act Five?  That’s two wishes down, one to go. Be very careful now.

“I just wish …” said Macbeth.

“Ye-ss?” said the fairies in chorus.

“ … I’d never set eyes on any of you!” said Macbeth.

“Your wish is our command” said Oberon, as he and the other fairies disappeared with a faint ‘pop’ and their places were taken by the witches that Macbeth had been expecting to meet in the first place.  

“Phew!” said Macbeth. “You don’t know how relieved I am to see you. At least with you witches I’ll get some straightforward predictions with no silly games. Everything you say will be straight down the middle and utterly devoid of hidden meanings.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said the leader of the witches. “When it comes to witches versus fairies you can always trust a witch. Mind you, I do have to agree with Titania on one fundamental point.”

“Which is?” asked Macbeth.

“You really are incredibly stupid”.

© John Welford