Through The Knot-Hole

WANTED VOLUNTEER COMPANIONS FOR TIRED PIRATES Someone to talk to and a shoulder to cry on Contact The Warden: Tel. 564423 ‘Fantastic! I’ll get on to it right away. I can kill two birds with one stone. This’ll flutter the dovecotes. What a lark you old scarecrow!’ He chuckled to himself. He got onto the phone straight away and arranged a preliminary visit for the next day. Early in the morning Mr McCann entered the garden armed with cardboard boxes, leather gauntlets and a builder’s helmet. He crawled into the parrots’ cage. ‘Come on now my feathered friends, I’m taking you somewhere special. Don’t make a fuss!’ The macaws immediately got into a flap, fluttered and scratched, clawed, pecked, squawked and screeched as loudly as they could. ‘What you do?’ ‘Gr’off! Gr’off!’ ‘You sun in the ditch!’ ‘Wozzup? Wozzup?’ ‘Now, now, keep your feathers on,’ said Mr McCann as he stuffed each parrot into its own box. ‘Who turn dark on? Where sun go?’ Once plunged into darkness the parrots became silent. Mr McCann emerged triumphant, like a Morris man in coloured tatters, covered in sticky droppings and bright feathers. He hurried to his van with the boxes, loaded them up, changed quickly into something cleaner and set off for the Tired Pirate’s Home. It wasn’t far away. The parrots made no fuss they were too terrified to speak. Fifteen minutes later he was ringing the bell of a big red brick house. After what seemed ages, a large round face appeared and pressed itself against the frosted glass. Mr McCann observed the flattened nose and spread nostrils, he shuddered. A breath from the owner of the face clouded the glass in a sinister way. The door opened slowly. A round ruddy face appeared that didn’t seem to fit very well on the underlying structure. She wore a curious hat with ear flaps. Mr McCann recalled his brother’s bloodhound. ‘YES?’ She barked. Mr McCann took a startled step back then moved forward cautiously, but only with his head. ‘Er, good morning. My name’s Mr McCann. I phoned earlier about the volunteer companions. I’ve got about twelve.’ She looked past him but could see no-one else. ‘Oh! Right!’ She yapped. ‘Come in! Mind the step! Wipe your feet! Sit down!’ Her jowls quivered. He obeyed the commands and was strongly tempted to march and salute, but thought better of it, she might bite him. She squeezed her monumental bottom into a delicate chair that was extremely reluctant to accommodate her. She flung desk drawers open and slammed them shut until she located pen and paper. ‘A few questions.’ Then followed the interrogation. Mr. McCann gazed up at the bare light bulb dangling above the desk in preference to her face. He stared at the light so long that when he did steal himself to pay attention to her, her face disappeared behind a swirl of colour. He could hear a distant clock chiming as she laboriously wrote down his answers. He noticed there were bars on the windows. He could see a tiny patch of sky through the dense trees outside. She continued to snap at his ears with short sharp questions, spraying saliva at him. Mr. McCann sat with his toes touching the ground and his knees tight together. He felt himself sinking lower into his chair and wishing that the ground would open up and swallow him. He fixed his eyes on her paws. They were huge. She lifted them in unison as she spoke then dropped them with a thump on the desk as though they were too heavy for her. A mixture of mothballs, lavender and pipe tobacco wafted across and he took out his handkerchief and covered his nose. ‘What are you offering? Mr McCann!’ ‘Mm?’ ‘I said, what are you offering us?’ ‘Oh, sorry. Just blowing my nose.’ He took a quick peep at the contents of his hanky then stuffed it back in his trouser pocket. ‘I have, er, twelve volunteers willing to give their services for nothing. They’re very good talkers as well as listeners.’ She sat up straighter at this news and attempted a smile though it wasn’t something she was used to doing. ‘That’s very good. When can I meet them?’ ‘Now if you like. They’re out in the van.’ ‘Must be a big van. Is it a mini-bus?’ ‘Oh no, it’s quite small really,’ said Mr McCann, puzzled. ‘I see,’ but she didn’t really. ‘Shall I go and get one of them,’ said Mr McCann hoping to escape for a breather. ‘No, no. Bring them all in and I’ll organize a cup of tea.’ ‘They’ll be quite happy with water,’ said Mr.McCann. ‘Nonsense! It’s no trouble. I’ll just go and sort that out while you’re bringing them in. They’ll have to stand I’m afraid.’ ‘Not to worry, they’ll find somewhere to perch,’ said Mr. McCann almost cheerily. While she was gone, he brought the boxes in and put them on the desk. They were very quiet. He thought he’d better check they were all right. He opened each box gently. They were a little dazed so he got each one out very carefully and found them a little place to perch. The parrots blinked their eyes and fiddled with their feathers and stayed calm in the dimly lit room. Mr. McCann blinked his eyes and fiddled with the keys in his pocket. He took his glasses off and cleaned them and watched the parrots. He was amazed how quiet they were. After what seemed an eternity the door burst open and the warden came in backwards carrying an enormous tray with fourteen steaming cups of tea on it. She struggled to hold open the door with a foot and an elbow. The parrots, startled by the sudden interruption, flew off their perching places and flapped and shrieked and squawked round the room. ‘AHHHHHHH!’ screamed the Warden as beaks, claws and feathers surrounded her. Up went the tin tray and all the cups and saucers. Down on her back went the Warden Up went the legs of the Warden. Down went the eyes of Mr. McCann. Up heaved the body of the Warden. Down the passage way ran the Warden. Through the door flew all the parrots. Mr McCann was motionless. He stared at the tea soaked carpet and watched the feathers floating down. Some saucers were still spinning. He waited till the last one came