“I say, what a marvelous cock!”

I was so pleased the Vicar had noticed on this splendid spring day. Last year he had seemed to be obsessed by Lady Watson’s tits, and if we’re being perfectly honest, we would have to admit to agreeing they were a most magnificent pair, and most worthy of the prestigious Best Birds award in the Kensington and Chelsea Annual Ornithology Show 1911. But this was 1912. A whole year had passed. A year in which I had spent a great deal of time preparing and nurturing my Spangling Green Cock.

It was by no means the biggest out there, but I told myself size was not everything. I had spent many hundreds of hours grooming it. In the four weeks leading up to the show, I had carried out a strict regimen of massaging and bathing it at least three times a day – sometimes even before breakfast. As the Vicar placed his hands around it, I hoped that this – this - could be my year.

“Quite fidgety, isn’t it? Sign of a good diet,” he said.

I felt a bead of sweat form on my brow as he paused, and let out a silent sigh of relief as he continued.

“Oh, hasn’t it got tiny legs?”

Why did he have to mention the legs? Like a crystal glass dropped onto a marble floor, I felt my confidence shatter. Last year Duchess Bloemfontein had put on such a staggering display of thigh that, whilst she did not win, it was the talk of the Kings Road for many months after. Sadly, the Spangling Green never has offered much to offer the eye in terms of its limbage. Oh, why hadn’t I choosen a good booby over my cock, which now seemed to shrink in the Vicar’s hands? I lowered my head.

“There’s just one small thing, my dear fellow…”

With my confidence shattered and his use of the word ‘small’, I felt an ice-cold razor rip through my dreams. “Here it comes,” I told myself, as I prepared myself for more woe. Why hadn’t I listened to Asquith when he’d told me the vicar was much more a Brown Trembler man than a cock man, and that even the humble Rough Face Shag was known to bring a smile to his face.

“I don’t quite know how to say this, but…”

Come on, get to it! Raise the cold steel of the gun and blast what hopes I have left. Just say that it’s too small. That Lady Watson’s Agile Tits and the Red Fluffy Back Tit Babblers of the previous year’s winner – Miss Emmerford – had both been big, plentiful and full of bounce. I should have taken more time in my selection. If I had been more patient I would have been standing here proudly, showing off a large Willy Wagtail.

“It’s just….”

Why do you torture me so? God, I ask thee to open the ground and swallow me up.

“The ornithology show was last week. This is the canine show.”

I had wondered why I was surrounded by bitches.

How wonderful to see you at the races, Duchess Bloemfontein, Ladies.

Oh I had a bit of trouble at the gate, seems my invitation to the enclosure must have got lost in the post this year.

No, one of the three things I promised my mammy I would never do:

1) Never trust a man from Tramore
2) Never fight for the English
3) Never bet on the Horses

I’m here because I think they are such magnificent animals -  oh I say free champagne, how superb!

You’re right, our new King does seem a little nervous over there, how long has it been now ?

Do not joke about contacting the dead Ladies, have I ever told you about my dabble with the occult ?

Well, it was in January this year. I had gone to visit my second youngest brother Galba in Hammersmith, who has a very important job in a bank you know.  When I arrived on his doorstep It turned out he was away on business, but his dear wife Nellie, being a most kind and considerate soul, invited me in to join her and the friends who she was entertaining that evening.

It was a delightfully gay affair, the younger Mr. Stockton was there  – Charles , who I am told is of the theatre persuasion, but did not seem that interested when I told him about the time I trod the boards as Agamemon in Oresteia – in the original Greek I might add.

Captain Phillip Cavendish and his lady friend Nina were also there and Nellie’s old school chum Bertha. Nellie and my brother had only moved into this house a few months ago, and there had been some strange goings on, which the servants could not be held accountable for.  Plates had fallen off shelves and chairs that had been pushed in, had mysteriously become… un-pushed in. This could only mean one thing – a ghost.

Nellie and her friends were going to make an attempt to contact the spirit world and they asked me to join them.

We sat around the card table and Bertha laid out an Ouija board. I have come across this device several times on my travels and I asked Bertha whether she was qualified in communicating with the dead. Turns out she had spent the last four years living in France, with the French – that was good enough for me.

Nellie’s housemaid dimmed the gas lights in the room and a single candle on the card table was lit. Bertha then told us we were free to greet the spirits

“What Ho!” I bellowed.

I am now informed this was not the correct way. Bertha asked for silence and told us all to put our hands on the planchette and she continued.

“Something lingers in the room around us.”

I was deeply embarrassed and apologized profusely. Bertha restarted.

“Hear me, hear me spirits – is there anybody there…” , lo and behold the planchette began to move.

Q…U…I…D…

The Latin for who, I was most glad to see we were dealing with an educated  ghost, otherwise it would not of have been in keeping with the area.  The puck moved again , this time

Quid Dicit! – Latin for “who speaks?”. I immediately called out “It is my good brother’s wife’s friend Bertha who calls on you “.  Bertha looked at me, and again I felt this might not be the correct manner. After a moment, Bertha looked up at the ceiling and said.

“And who is it we are speaking too ?

Y….D…X…Y…

The planchette was all over the place and there was a sudden yelp from Nina; the maid instantly turned up the lights.  We all looked at Nina who looked slightly flushed and the top buttons on her dress had come undone. I advised the Captain that our ghost friend may not be a gentleman and he assured me that he would be on his guard. The lights were once again dimmed and Bertha suggested that now we had made contact, we could do away with the board and attempt to speak to the spirits directly.

Bertha asked us all to link our hands in a circle and then she called out

“Spirit, give us a sign that you are still there.”

Barely before Bertha had finished her sentence, Nina let out another yelp and the lights came up.  I suggested to Captain Phillip that it might be an idea to take Nina upstairs, so that she may lie down. The Captain fully agreed and carried this out with some haste. The remaining four of us then rejoined hands, the maid dimmed the lights and Bertha resumed.

“Oh spirit, give us a sign ”

Silence. I looked around the others at the table and they looked at me. I was just about to suggest that Bertha might need to speak up, when the silence was interrupted by a rhythmic creaking noise coming from above, and then the most bizarre thing occurred. Bertha, Nellie, Charles and even the maid all burst out in a fit of the giggles.

I feared that they had been overcome by madness, I remembered what my priest had told me about such matters: they had become possessed. I stood up and said in my loudest voice:

“My name Is Tiberius Patricus O’Donnell. You may have put the willies into them, but I am not afraid of you! Go from whence you came and leave this house alone. Begone!”

The creaking began to speed up, I had obviously rattled its cage.

“Begone! Begone!” I bellowed.

The creaking then seemed to reach a climax and then – silence. I instructed the maid to turn up the lights. I was pleased to see that everything was tickety boo. When the Captain and Nina eventually returned you could tell they had been ruffled by the affair but were thankfully okay.  It was then brandies all round.

So you see ladies, contacting the dead is no laughing matter.