Two Totally Turtley Doves

 

On the tenth day of Advent my 3-D tree gave to me...a bird of some sort. Possible a robin? Or a waxwing? I can't find its ilk in my Observer's Book of Birds. I think it's mid-sneeze, so clearly allergic to pine trees. Talking of birds...

...the first turtle dove raises his wings and takes a step backwards. ‘No need to get tetchy, ma’am,’ he says. ‘I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot…’

‘You don’t say,’ says Mrs Poo.

The turtle dove removes his hat and his brother stands upright and does the same. ‘Let me introduce us,’ he says. ‘I am Juan Turtle Dove and this is Enrico.’

They both bow. Mrs Pumphrey immediately curtseys in return because that’s her default setting when faced with an act of chivalry. 

The Phantomime has now regained all his faculties, well, as many as he was ever going to regain.

‘Did I hear you say you are looking for the Lord General Porpoise yourselves,’ he says, nudging his way to the front of the hens.

‘Sir, we are,’ says Enrico. ‘We ‘ave been searching for ‘eem for many years now. We beliff we are growing ever closer to ‘is whereabouts.’

‘Why’s he speaking with a Spanish accent and his brother isn’t?’ whispers Mrs Slocombe to Mrs Pumphrey.

‘I have no idea,’ whispers back Mrs Pumphrey, ‘but es muy romantico, si?’

Mrs Miggins, who has been listening to everything with her suspicious ears and watching everything with her cynical eyes steps forward and crosses her wings across her chest. ‘That’s because he is being deceitful,’ she says. ‘He isn’t Spanish at all. He is merely trying to win over the susceptible amongst us,’ and she glares at Mrs Pumphrey.

Enrico glares at Mrs Miggins who glares back. She’s watched enough ‘Scam Interceptor’ programmes to know a fraud when she sees and hears one.

‘My apologies for my brother,’ says Juan, hurriedly. ‘It is true, we travel incognito…’

‘Clearly not,’ says Mrs Poo. ‘That’s a Fiat, not a Cognito…’

‘I mean, we have to be very careful how much of our true identities we reveal,’ says Juan. ‘Such is the delicate nature of our bounty hunter business.’

‘And why, exactly, are you looking for this Lord General Porpoise?’ says Mrs Miggins.

The two turtle doves look at each other, wondering how much they should reveal about what they know.

‘Let’s put it this way,’ says Enrico, suddenly sounding like a shifty Cockney barrow boy, ‘the Lord General Porpoise comes with a high price on his head. If we can catch him and bring him in, then we stand to make a small fortune, don’t we, Juan?’

Juan nods, ‘And…’ he begins to say, when all of a sudden, there is a loud shriek and cackling from the trees that line the side of the road and three hens dressed in stripy Breton tops, pedal pushers and little red berets leap onto the road.

‘Oh no,’ sighs Juan.

‘The Three French Hens,’ says Enrico, rolling his eyes.

‘Or Les Trois Poulet Francais,’ as they like to call themselves,’ says Juan. 'Because that really trips off the tongue, doesn't it?'

‘Bonjour!!’ call the Three French Hens in unison. ‘You naughty turtle doves, you thought you could leave us behind, did you?’ and one of them throws an onion at Juan, who ducks. The onion catches the wing mirror of the motorhome.

‘Oi!’ says Mrs Poo. ‘Much as I am loathe to be hollering at my fellow lady hens…STOP WITH THE ONION THROWING!’

The onion-throwing French hen runs to Mrs Poo, kisses her on each cheek and apologises profusely. ‘So sorry,’ she says. ‘It’s just a little game we play with the two turtle doves. Sometimes it gets a bit out of hand.’ And she retrieves the errant onion and straightens the wing mirror of the motorhome.

‘RIGHT!’ shouts Mrs Miggins, ‘this is all getting too loud and chaotic for my liking. Please, doves, hens, move out of the way so we can be on ours.’

The turtle doves look at the French hens, who look back and nod. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible,’ says Enrico. ‘Because we know that YOU know about the Lord General Porpoise, and in our books that makes you as liable to track him down and catch him as us. We all have a civic duty to bring him to justice. You can’t leave us. You’ll have guilty consciences forever otherwise.’

‘Oh, I think we can live with that,’ says Mrs Miggins, whose own guilty conscience has given up fighting any sense of moral compass that once might have existed in her mind.

‘Just hang on a minute,’ interrupts the Phantomime. ‘I need to find the Lord General Porpoise, even if you girls don’t.’ He turns to the turtle doves and French hens. ‘Take me with you. I’ll help you to find him. I have more cunning and guile than these four put together.’

'Do you?' says Mrs Miggins. 

'Abso-bloody-lutely I do,' says the determined Phantomime.

The turtle doves and the French hens gather in a huddle. There is a lot of whispering and muttering and bobbing up and down of heads. Then Juan turns to the Phantomime.

‘Very well,’ he says. ‘But how do we know that your travelling companions won’t reveal what they have heard about the Lord General Porpoise? We know they promised Mrs Glossop they would forget all about him but…’

‘Forget who?’ says Mrs Miggins.

‘Fair enough,’ says Juan Turtle Dove.