Out of the Blue

As it happened Miss Iris Witherspoon was walking along the path that was the other side of the hedge.

It was ten years since she had retired as headmistress of a small school in Cheshire, where her life had been one long innocent ramble through childhood not extending beyond the school gates. Now she had achieved her dearest ambition and bought a stone cottage in a quiet unassuming village in Dorset.

She was just thinking how kind it was of the vicar to lend her his video machine while she had been ill recently. He had lent her three videos as well. ‘Pride and Prejudice’, ‘Journey through the Holy Land’, and ‘How to create a cardboard Zen garden in suburbia’. Now she was better he was due to collect his machine later that day.

Miss Witherspoon was pondering on this when bang, out of the blue she was hit on the head by a brown paper package.

For a moment she was stunned in the calm haze of that late summer afternoon, but just had time to catch a glimpse of a strained white face peering out of the train window as it passed.

Her sunhat askew, she stumbled momentarily before reaching down to pick up the parcel. Putting it to her ear, reassuring herself that it was not ticking, she opened the paper gingerly.

“I love fairy stories,” she thought as she read the title ’Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Other Tales’.

“I’m tired of the vicar’s videos and have time to watch this before he calls for his machine. What serendipity.”

Hardly able to contain her excitement, she hurried back to her thatched cottage and poured herself the usual small glass of port, her daily treat.

Her first surprise was to see that Snow White was dressed in a French maid’s outfit. “Her skirt is a little short, but this is obviously a modern version,” she thought.

She continued to sip her port slowly, eyes fixed on the screen.

Her avid viewing was interrupted by a knock on the door and she noticed she had consumed more port than usual.

The Reverend Adrian Bradbury was shocked at Miss Witherspoon’s appearance – her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

“Do come in,” gushed Miss Witherspoon, “and partake a little port. Perhaps you could explain something to me.”

The Reverend Bradbury sat nervously on the edge of the chair, sipping port carefully. He was not sure what to say. The fairy story currently showing was ‘The Sleeping Beauty’ and he could not understand why the young lady was tied to a bed and Prince Charming was dressed as a Viking.

“I’m so glad you don’t understand it either,” said Miss Witherspoon breathlessly, “and look.” She fast-forwarded the video. “Cinderella seems to be a nurse and Buttons a doctor. He certainly has a very long stethoscope.”

The vicar remained mesmerized. None of the confessions he had heard over many years had ever prepared him for anything like this. He drained his glass of port.

“Miss Witherspoon,” he said solemnly. “Perhaps we ought to involve police constable Ardent. I can’t quite put my finger on it but something about this video is not right.”

She lifted the telephone receiver but he stopped her. “Maybe we should just watch it one more time. To make sure we are not bothering him unnecessarily you understand.”

However, they did not have to ring PC Ardent because he had noticed that the vicar’s bicycle had been outside Miss Witherspoon’s door quite a while.

Not much happened in the sleepy village so the constable made note of anything and everything. “You never know when it might come in handy,” he had explained when his Sergeant had queried why the notebook was full of train spotting, pub lunch menus and how many times Mrs Sprog had flushed her toilet.

Approaching cautiously, truncheon in hand in case of trouble, he was surprised to see Miss Witherspoon and the vicar perched on the edge of the sofa together, engrossed with the television.

“Evening all,” he said flexing his knees and following police protocol to the letter. “Just checking all is well.” He gave them a funny look.

“We were just about to call you constable. We are really puzzled by the content of this video which appeared out of the blue and hit Miss Witherspoon,” stuttered the Reverend.

PC Ardent settled down on the sofa with a cup of tea. Not port, as he was on duty. He nibbled biscuits spilling crumbs over his uniform as he watched intently. Occasionally he would utter an exclamation before saying “Miss Witherspoon I feel you may inadvertently be in possession of material of a salacious content. I shall have to confiscate it.”

“But,’ he raised his hand as the other two expressed their disappointment. “I should watch it once more to be sure. No point in manufacturing unnecessary paperwork.”

He watched carefully as the wolf tried to convince Red Riding Hood, who seemed to be extremely dumb, that it was normal for a grandmother to have a piece of bric-a-brac that the constable had never associated with grandmothers before.

It was dark by the time PC Ardent left with the video, explaining he would make a copy of it before handing it to his superiors to be on the safe side as “evidence has a nasty way of disappearing.”

“Time I was off too,” said the Reverend Adrian. “Felicity will be wondering where on earth – or heaven – I am,” he chortled at his port-inspired joke.