It's far better to give than receive!
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ur Sherlock-Masher als the havoc ;ed on road and rail swain who heaped rue love with exotic highly unsuitable during the 12 days iristmas IA SERITAGE, 29, did not )rward to Christmas. Her sband, who had gone off le barmaid from "The r's Arms" at Harrow, had ,r the anything-butus heritage of a mortgage vintage Metroland mockthree-bedroom semi, :inomery," 17 Delphinium , Wembley, Middlesex. true love, Captain Charles ver, of the Strait Jackets, arving in a peace-keeping in the Middle East state of -Tuhtin. His orders were to thing provocative, such as ig the peace. He must be iuious to all the warring ns, who continued with us relish to slaughter each daily.
e did Gloria know that the ted fool had arranged with ds and other exclusive ria to deliver to her a y of exotic gifts daily ghout the 12 days of mas. They were to be the ate in oneuppersonship in :a of competitive living. If as had bothered to read the print on the contracts, he have known that the gifts :;umulative. But he hadn't idn't.
the first day of Christmas became conscious of an oise outside. Peering gh the cotton wool and that obscured her ion-leaded windows, she 1,600cuft pantechnicon bed "Harrods Arborial qment," from which ged two white-coated men ng a pear tree complete )artridge.
as a gift from her true love per Tuhtin, they explained, that should they do with it? ng if not a lady, Gloria told to plant it beside the :n path. The little horror loor watched sardonically, -ing the air rifle that had given to him for Christmas. Gloria's surprise the tchnicon returned next day another partridge-infested tree, accompanied by a Transit from Harrods's a Department with two doves. The tree was ed opposite the first and oyes shacked up with the dges.
t curtains in Delphinium Close twitched when on the third day of Christmas the two vans arrived with not only a pear tree and partridge and two more turtle doves, but with three French hens as well.
"Somebody seems to be giving you the bird," sniggered the driver as he carried the hens around to the back garden. Gloria was beginning to think he might be right.
"The usual, madam," said the delivery man on the fourth day, "and four calling birds."
By the fifth day the front garden of "The Gnomery" was beginning to look like an aviary in a ploughed field as another pear tree, two more doves, three hens and four calling birds were delivered by tramping feet. But what intrigued the neighbours even more was the arrival of a gleaming black Vauxhall Carlton with gold monograms on the front doors and driven by a handsome, immaculate young man. He couldn't be an undertaker, could he? No, he was from Cartier.
He introduced himself and handed Gloria a heart-shaped purple case in which were five golden rings. The lid was inscribed with the entwined initials, GS and CB. This was much more like it.
She slept late on the sixth day and was suddenly awakened by a new and alarming noise. The convoy of pantechnicons, Transit and Carlton had been joined by a Land-Rover, from which waddled six geese honking and a-laying and stabbing with their beaks at a terrified, cursing driver.
The neighbours were ceasing to be amused and the insurance man who lived at No 9 called a meeting to set up the Anti-Gloria Residents' Organisation (AGRO). A small committee was formed to call on her and demand that the nuisance be stopped immediately. The only person who was enjoying it was the boy with the air rifle, who was now taking pot-shots at the goose eggs.
It was then that The Standard picked up the story of the eccentric woman in Wembley who was turning a residential close into a nature reserve. As soon as the paper was on the streets, the national dailies, the BBC and ITN were in hot pursuit and Gloria discovered the misery of being newsworthy.
It was still dark when the BBC and ITN film vans took up their pitches outside No 17 and before long the road was blocked by reporters' cars. Sharp altercations took place between pressmen and residents whose cars were obstructed, and the police were called. Eventually a rationing system of parking was worked out, with reporters sharing two or three cars while the others were taken to the local car park.
The news-hounds had not long to wait for their story. First came the pantechnicon, which had to mount the pavement to avoid the parked cars, followed by the Transit, the Carlton, the Land-Rover and — a touch of inspiration — two 5,000gal tankers in which seven swans — four in one and three in the other — were a-swimming with their necks sticking through the manholes. A platform artic with a swimming pool brought up the rear.
Delphinium Close was at a standstill, apart from its distraught bird life, which was jumping up and down in agitation on the pear trees.
It was well into the afternoon before the pool was unloaded in the back garden of No 17 and the water from the tankers was pumped into it. Then ensued the tricky task of persuading the swans to come out of their holes. They had been rescued from the Thames at Wallingford by an unofficial upper who said he feared they might catch cold if left in the river all the winter, and they were not taking kindly to their new environment.
Gloria, who by now was knocking back Valium like Smarties, had hysterics when a helpful neighbour called over the fence: "You know those swans belong to the Queen and you could end up in the Tower?" It made a great human-interest picture for The Sun.
As the second tanker backed down the close, leaving a trail of broken paving slabs, it unfortunately established contact with a parked car, whose owner came home to find he had an unusual lozenge-shaped Nregistration Avenger.
By daylight there were, less those that had fallen victim to an air rifle, eight partridges, 14 turtle doves, 18 French hens, 20 calling birds (and what Gloria and the neighbours called them could not be printed in a family journal such as Commercial Motor), 18 geese a-laying and 14 swans. On the credit side Gloria had 20 golden rings and could hardly raise her hands under the weight.
But the thoughtful Charles had more surprises for her. The convoy by now stretched almost down to Wembley Park Station and could be watched by those in the RTITB headquarters at Capitol House who had nothing better to do. Two cattle trucks, each with four cows, and minicoach with eight milking maids had tacked themselves on to the column.
This was Trouble with a capital T. The cattle-truck drivers were not waiting all day for their turn to unload in Delphinium Close, so they let out the beasts in the main road. The animals immediately took fright and bolted in all directions. The milking maids denied all responsibility and the two truck drivers were no match for eight stroppy cows.
A Daily Express photographer, scenting a picture scoop, edged one of the cows into the station booking hall, where it let out a stentorian "moo" and rallied its seven companions to its side. They forced their way through the barrier and down the stairs on to the platform, scattering passengers in panic, and then trotted down the ramp on to the track.
Within a minute the current had been switched off and the whole Underground railway system in north-west London was brought to a halt for more than two hours. The story was building up nicely.
Meanwhile the maids were doing a strong line with the reporters and it was well into the evening before the cows were herded and milked. Gloria had had a cautionary visit from a chief inspector of police about nuisance and her hypertension turned to megatension when she had to flog two golden rings to pay for the milk maids' hotel accommodation.
Diversions around Wembley Park Station were set up by the police on day nine to give the convoy, now consisting of 11 vehicles, a clear run. This was just as well, as the leading van broke down as it was turning into Delphinium Close and the column was halted for more than an hour while a breakdown vehicle was summoned.
Eight more cows and attendant maids a-milking were let out meanwhite and proceeded to plod through gardens, to the fury of householders. But the stars of the day's show were nine ladies dancing.— members of the Roysl Ballet — who emerged from a coach to join the m6lee. Not, perhaps, page 3 stuff but within the puritan limits of the Daily Mirror.
On the 10th day nine more ladies from the Royal Ballet were hotly pursued by 10 lords aleaping, by courtesy of Renta peer, from a Leyland Plaxton executive coach. It was only their coronets and ermine, the badges of privilege, that prevented their being arrested for riotous behaviour. Members of the RTITB staff who had brought binoculars the better to enjoy the pantomime were rewarded by the sight of a leaping lord pinching a ballerina, who smacked his face.
As they bounded into No 17, Gloria was knocked down by the 18 ladies dancing and 10 leaping lords, who quickly brought down the lounge ceiling. She told them all to go and leap in the lake, giving them explicit directions to Welsh Harp, but they took no notice. The supply of golden rings was only just keeping ahead of the hotel bills run up by the unwelcome guests.
The 11th day had been worth wating for, reporters and photgraphers agreed unanimously. From the direction of Neasden came the skirl of the pipes as 11 pipers piping headed the column of 12 assorted vehicles surrounded by 10 lords a-leaping and nine ladies dancing, with thermal underwear over their tights. Dogs howled, old ladies fainted and milk curdled. Gloria's dining room ceiling came down and large cracks appeared in the kitchen ceiling under the weight of the dancing and leaping bodies.
The 12th day of Christmas was a Saturday. Thousands of parents, at their wits ends to know how to amuse children sated with toys, sweets and West End decorations, hit on the brilliant idea of a trip to Wembley. The West End was as deserted as Dodge City after a shoot-out and buses were doing 50mph down Park Lane.
The police closed the main roads from the Neasden flyover on the North Circular Road down past Wembley Park Station, which were lined by crowds sixdeep as, accompanied by police motorcycle escorts, 12 drummers drumming hove into sight. They were led by a frenetic Buddy Rich-type performer with a drum kit like the Albert Memorial mounted on the raised forks of a lift truck.
Then came 11 more pipers, 10 more lords a-leaping, nine more ladies dancing and the rest of the miscellaneous column. Forty cows plodded moodily through Wembley gardens and Wembley Park Station was closed as a precaution against bovine mischief. The British Press and broadcasting corps was heavily reinforced by reporters from overseas, all contributing their quota of vehicles to the traffic chaos. The trouble in Upper Tuhtin rated six lines on an inside page.
At that moment AGRO was applying to a judge in chambers for an injuction to restrain Gloria from further visual and aural pollution, as the writ put it. was not represented and th injunction was granted.
Simultaneously, Gloria, whose nerves were at breat point, was being advised b' GP to go into a private clini Harley Street which he stro recommended. The fact the owned it was purely coincidental. Clearly, the Wembley Siren, as The Ma dubbed her, was not going have much change out of h golden rings. But under he sedation in the clinic she w. least safe from her torment The hocking of her last rii happened to coincide with • psychiatrist's opinion that e. was well enough to return home. As her taxi turned in Delphinium Close she was greeted by a scene of utter desolation. Gardens were trampled, hedges broken d4 paving stones smashed, gr4 verges rutted, "For Sale" Ix everywhere. The air was suffocating with reproach. 1 only living souls to be seen a Soviet television crew ma a documentary film, Capita) Corruption: Decline and De, Gloria shuffled up the gar path between 12 pear trees, which perched patient partridges and shivering, ne calling birds whose feathers been plucked by the doves. had to put her shoulder to It door to open it against the weight of claims for damagE summonses, bills and threatening letters heaped c the mat.
What she saw could have been the result of a nuclear explosion or rivalry betweer football fans. Ceilings had fa everywhere, banisters were splayed like rotten teeth, wa cracked, floorboards spl Intel light fittings twisted crazily. not a stick of furniture or a CE to be seen. The house had 1;4 cleared out completely. The drummers were not really drummers at all. They were double-glazing salesmen.
Gloria collapsed in a come and wept pitifully. Between e she hissed: "Charlie, you gre slob, I'll get you for this if it's last thing I do. I'll take you fo every penny you've got. And get £20,000 from The News c the World for the inside story You've got it coming to you, little hero."
How right she was. At that very moment her true love crawled from his foxhole to I the lamp of peace and brotherhood for an Upper TJ., guerrilla. The terrorist spoke English and cared less. He sh Charlie dead.