Mrs Markle, the village postmistress was walking up and down a small stretch of the river Brimsmal, the pretty waterway that ran through the top half of the village of Sleepy Hamlet. She was more than a little concerned because a large chunk of the opposite bank, which bordered Lord Hamlet’s estate, was being invaded by Himalayan Balsam.
This member of the family, Impatiens Walleriana, once contentedly grew in the borders and pots of the nation’s gardens. That was until around 100 years ago when it seemed to have been bitten by the nomadic bug and began to break free from its chains of oppression and move onto pastures new. Since then it has been busily colonising our river banks by quite literally, uprooting the previous tenants and moving in. To some, this could be seen as Darwinian evolution; survival of the fittest, if you like. But to others, namely Mrs Markle, who held no truck with Darwin and his contentious theories, (She was after all a Puritan) saw it as an invasion by an unwanted foreigner. So she’d called a meeting in the village hall and with her religious zeal, had whipped the villagers up into such a frenzy that everyone, including Mrs Heppleheimer, had agreed to come along to help eradicate this invasive plant.
By and large she had been very happy with the villager’s willingness to attend, but admitted privately to a certain amount of apprehension that Mrs Heppleheimer had agreed while smiling in that way that led the onlooker to believe that a quick trip to the hills might be in order. This feeling was only added to when Lord Hamlet came along the tow path, dressed in the full battle attire of an officer of the Raj.
It was at this point, Mrs Markle would later recount, that she started to smell a rat of Germanic proportions and when she turned to the sound of squeaking wheels she was confronted by the very Germanic proportions of Mrs Heppleheimer that she feared; and the damned woman seemed to be dragging a 12 pound Mountain Howitzer Cannon behind her.
Mrs Markle gaped variously at the cannon, Lord Hamlet and Mrs Heppleheimer, who was wearing a WW 1 German helmet complete with spike. Obviously the first question was to be, ‘why?’ This only led to the impish reply of, ‘why what?’ Mrs Markle pointed at the cannon and said, ‘that?’ And then Mrs Heppleheimer had grinned her run-to-the-hills grin again and announced with pride that it was her 12 pound Mountain Howitzer or Himalayan Balsam eradicator as she had re named it for the day. Lord Hamlet smiled the smile of the easily duped and Mrs Markle visibly sagged at the images of what was about to happen, over which she was going to have no control, but somehow receive all the blame for.
Mrs Markle tried to explain to Mrs Heppleheimer that a cannon was not needed and that they only had to cross the bridge, and remove the plants by hand. Mrs Heppleheimer continued to load the cannon with gun powder and cannon ball then packed it solid. She nodded in some absent minded way to acknowledge that she was aware of what Mrs Markle was saying but had no intention of listening to it. Mrs Markle battled on getting more and more hysterical while pontificating with wild punctuation. It was only at the point when Mrs Heppleheimer picked up the wick that Mrs Markle realised she was actually going to do it. She was actually going to fire a cannon ball in the 21st century and at the opposite bank.
She jumped in front of the cannon and spread her arms wide putting her defiance and herculean bussoms in the way. Her eyes took on a life of their own when Mrs Heppleheimer lit the taper and lowered it towards the fuse. Her mind, acting in situ with her legs, dived to her right just as the cannon let rip with the first of its many salvos.
Mrs Markle looked up in horror as the cannonball blew a hole the size of a small vegetable patch on the opposite bank. Mrs Heppleheimer muttered some curses in German, made some minor adjustments to the Himalayan Balsam Eradicator and aimed it once more. Mrs Markle jumped as the second report came from the cannon, sending water and fish everywhere accompanied by large cheers from the throng of villagers who’d silently arrived for the day’s activities. Mrs Markle’s civic duty came once more to the fore as she attempted to talk sense to this Germanic, ecological saboteur. She was rewarded by yet another blast from the cannon and a Whoopee from Lord Hamlet as the river erupted, divesting itself of yet more fish. This continued for quite a while, with Mrs Markle verbally tussling with Mrs Heppleheimer, who ignored her and continued to send salvo after salvo into the river bank while Lord Hamlet assumed the position of Colonel-in-Chief, and ordered the firing with his ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ sabre.
Meanwhile, up at Hamlet Hall, Lady Hamlet, who was chairing the monthly meeting of the Ladies Countryside Alliance, had called Jennings, the butler in to explain what the deuce all the noise was about. Jennings, in his best faithful retainer voice, informed her that the villagers had taken it upon themselves to eradicate some Himalayan Balsam from the banks of the River Brimsmal, and that They were using a cannon to do it. Lady Hamlet, not a horticulturalist by profession, was quite sure that if she’d consulted the pages of her Encyclopaedia of British Flora and Fauna it would make no mention of cannon balls being used as an effective substitute for pesticide. Add to this the worrying thought that her mentally deficient husband was somehow involved, forced her to make the rash decision to ‘go and take a look’. And so with the massed ranks of the Ladies Countryside Alliance, she set off to do just that.
Back on the river bank, Mrs Heppleheimer had got bored with the Himalayan Balsam and had taken to eradicating crows nests instead and was taking pot shots at the cedar trees, this proved to be a very unpopular move so she’d returned her attention to the Balsam problem.
And so it was that at the precise moment she placed the glowing taper onto the fresh gunpowder, Lady Hamlet and the Ladies Countryside s Alliance honed into view from behind a dense clump of Rhododendron bushes.
At this point it is fair to say that the world slowed down. Mrs Markle’s eyes, once again opened wide, but in a manner that would’ve led the casual passerby to believe that nature was shooting it’s footage with a lot more frames per second than was usual. Lord Hamlet’s sabre came down in a slow arc as his face took on the expression of someone who was about to order the firing of a cannon at his wife. Mrs Heppleheimer looked at the gun powder with regret as it flared; the cannon bulged, bucked and released its payload. Lady Hamlet and the Ladies Countryside Alliance looked on in open mouthed horror as the cannon ball left its barrel and headed directly for them. Luckily Mrs Heppleheimer had aimed it to hit the water and with its Tsunami like entry into the river the world once again began to move at normal speed.
The huge wave rose high and engulfed all members of the Ladies Countryside Alliance. Lord Hamlet, not normally given to quick thinking, bolted into the bushes like Peter Rabbit after spotting Mr Macgregor. Mrs Heppleheimer was next to react; she placed the smouldering wick in Mrs Markle’s hand before disappearing closely behind the retreating Lord of the Manor. The villagers followed suit, leaving a horror stricken Mrs Markle on her own.
When the water had settled and all the fish landed, Lady Hamlet’s eyes scorched a path across the river and screeched to a halt in front of Mrs Markle who was standing, slack jawed and catatonic with a smouldering wick in one hand and smoking cannon behind her. The rest of the scene was devoid of all human life. The altercation that followed between Mrs Markle and the advance party of the Ladies Countryside Alliance did not go too well for the village Postmistress and it took some time for it all to be smoothed over, viable explanations given and retribution handed out where applicable.
But after a while the village went back to its normal ways, with the exception that for the next two weeks, everyone partook in the abundance of fish that had been made available through Mrs Heppleheimer’s random assaults on the River Brimsmal.
On a final point: Even after the Somme like assault by Mrs Heppleheimer had finished and the dust and water settled, it was noted that the only piece of river left untouched by the barrage was a 20ft stretch of river bank that was occupied by a singular patch of Himalayan Balsam.
Sleepy Hamlet © Karl Dixon 2010
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