Dame Hilda: There are, in Stackton Tressel all manner of hobby groups. Among them is the large and lively brass rubbing circle, its members, having completely worn away most of the church brass in the area, have recently turned their attention to manhole covers. Then there is a small and esoteric art group which devotes itself to making abstract pictures by sticking pieces of uncooked pasta onto sheets of coloured paper. This they call, nosh art. It's advantage being that when one tires of looking at it one can actually eat it. A sort of Picasso bolognese. However, one of the largest of the societies is the Stackton wine making circle, or as they are known locally, the newts. Now, Evadne’s a newt. She's a tall one, I know, but she's a newt nevertheless. And a week or two back she went to a homemade wine tasting organised by Lorna Dyrenforth up at the big house. From which she returned looking I thought even more newtish than usual. Dr. Hinge: Cooee! Hilda I’m home. Dame Hilda: How very clever of you to have remembered where you live. Or did someone carry you back? Dr. Hinge: What’s that Hilda? Dame Hilda: Nothing, dear, nothing, had a good time, have we? Dr. Hinge: Yes, very good indeed. Dame Hilda: You look rather as if you might have done, you've got your hat on back to front. Dr. Hinge: Oh, Hilda, do we really have to go through all these silly jokes every time I come home from a wine tasting? How very clever of you to remember where you live. Ha ha. Or did someone carry you back? Ha ha. Why don't you sit down until the room stops revolving? Dame Hilda: I didn't say that. Dr. Hinge: No, but you will, dear. You always do. Dame Hilda: I don't wish to insinuate that you are even slightly squiffy, dear. But why have you got a jam jar in your hand? Dr. Hinge: This? Dame Hilda: Yes, dear. Did someone pinch your tiddler? Dr. Hinge: My what, Hilda? Dame Hilda: Your tiddler, dear. There's no tiddler in your jam jar. Surely you know the old song ‘Has anyone seen my tiddler?’ Dr. Hinge: No Dame Hilda: Tiddle, iddle, iddle, iddle. idler! Dr. Hinge: Never heard of it. Dame Hilda: But you must have done.’I caught that little fish with some cotton and a pin. Oh, how I laughed when I dragged him in.’ Dr. Hinge: I tell you, Hilda, I've never heard of it. Dame Hilda: I simply don't believe it. I thought everyone knew that song. ‘But coming home, oh dear oh. That rude boy Dicky Diddler. He poked his fingers in my gallipot and pinched my tiddler.’ Doesn't that ring a bell? Dr. Hinge: It most certainly does not. Dame Hilda: Well, you really do amaze Evadne, you must have had a very sheltered upbringing. When I was a girl everybody knew that song. I suppose it was to my generation what greensleeves was to yours. Anyway, if you haven't got a tiddler, what have you got in your jam jar? Dr. Hinge: Well, as a matter of fact, I brought this for you. Dame Hilda: For me? Dr. Hinge: Yes, it's a little sample of something rather special. And I thought you might like a taste. I'll get you a glass. I must admit, I found it very moreish. I bet you’ll like like this one. There you are. Now, just try that. Dame Hilda: What is it? Dr. Hinge: Passion fruit liqueur! Dame Hilda: Oh i say? No wonder you came home with your hat on backwards and a jam jar in your hand. It's really rather nice. Oh, it's certainly better than your dandelion and rhubarb. And a good deal less purgative, I shouldn't wonder. Dr. Hinge: Yes, I really must try to think of something a bit more original. They're all making such exotic things these days. I mean, there was pawpaw brandy, nectar and apricot delight, sparkling pomegranate, aubergine and pansy petal. Then I walked in, clutching my bottle of humble elderberry and just felt rather small. Dame Hilda: Well, for you, dear, that can't have been easy. Dr. Hinge: And do you know what Lorna Dyrenforth uncorked to finish the morning off with? Dame Hilda: Something to sober you up, presumably. Dr. Hinge: Himalayan coffee. Dame Hilda: I thought you looked a bit peaky. Dame Hilda: Anyway, what is Himalayan coffee? Dr. Hinge: Well, it's like Gaelic coffee, only Tibetan, just black coffee with rakshi. Dame Hilda: Rats what? dear. Dr. Hinge: Rakshi, Hilda. It's a Himalayan spirit made from rice. Dame Hilda: Oh. And I suppose you add it to the coffee and float cream on the top. Dr. Hinge: Well, not cream, Hilda. Yaks milk. Dame Hilda: Yaks milk, trust, Lorna Dyrenforth. And where in heaven's name did she get yaks milk? Dr. Hinge: From a yak, I shouldn't wonder. She probably had it flown in especially from the Himalayas. Dame Hilda: And did Lorna make this passion fruit liqueur? I'm drinking. Dr. Hinge: Yes, she did. Dame Hilda: Mm, yes. Do you know this wine really is excellent. You know, I think Lorna Dyrenforth's a bit of a tippler on the QT. Dr. Hinge: Oh, really Hilda. Dame Hilda: I've seen her in the supermarket, Evadne, buying bottles and bottles of Vodka. Dr. Hinge: I expect she puts that in her homemade wine, dear. Dame Hilda: Wouldn't that be cheating? Dr. Hinge: No, not at all. It fortifies it, that's all. It's quite common practice. Dame Hilda: Would this passion fruit liqueur have vodka in it then? Dr. Hinge: It's more than likely. Dame Hilda: No wonder I like it. It's not really homemade wine at all, is it? It's gorgeous, vod and pash. You know Evadne, I suddenly feel like singing, why don't you play something? Dr. Hinge: What would you like, dear? Nelly Dean. Dame Hilda: Don't be stupid. What have you got on the piano? Dr. Hinge: What about this? { Doctor plays introduction ♬.} Dame Hilda: If that's what you want to play, dear. I'd be quite happy, but I'm afraid I don't know the words. Dr. Hinge: Well, you could read them over my shoulder, if you can still see straight. Dame Hilda: Thank you. And perhaps you'll try not to fall off the piano stool, dear? Dr. Hinge: Just sing.
Dr. Hinge: She's late. Wonder what kept her? Dame Hilda: I haven't the foggiest. Maud: Good afternoon, Dame ‘ilda. Doctor. Dame Hilda: Hello, Maud dear. Dr. Hinge: Good afternoon, Maud. Maud: I’m ever so sorry I'm so late, but I went to see poor old Mr. Berridge. I've not seen ‘im for ages. And I’d ‘eard ‘e wasn't well. And ‘e is 87, so I thought I’d best not leave it any longer just in case Dame Hilda: Your visit must have come as a bit of a surprise to Mr. Berridge, I dare say, Maud. Maud: Yes, I think it did, Dame ‘ilda. I went to ‘is cottage about mid-morning and I peeped in through ‘is window and there ‘e was sitting by ‘is fire in ‘is rocking chair in ‘is slippers with ‘is stick in ‘is hand and his ‘ead dropped forward on ‘is chest, sleeping like a babby. Then, suddenly ‘e opens one eye and ‘e sees me. Dame Hilda: Pleased to see you, was he? Maud: No, ‘e wasn't. I puts me ‘and through ‘is letterbox to pull the string to get the key and ‘e ‘its it with ‘is stick. You needn't think you're coming in ‘ere ‘e shouts. Oh yes I am, shouts I, over my dead body ‘e yells, if needs be, I ‘ollers back! Dr. Hinge: You should have been a district nurse, Maud. Maud: Then ‘e grabs ‘old of one bit of the string and I ‘as ‘old of another and we was pulling this way and that in and out, you could ‘ear ‘is knuckles banging on ‘is letterbox. And ‘is rocking chair rocking like mad. Dr. Hinge: Oh god! Maud: Then all of a sudden that string broke and there were a terrible crash. And an ‘orrible silence and I peeped in through ‘is window and there ‘e was with ‘is ‘ead stuck in ‘is corner cupboard. And ‘is chair all up in the air. Well, if looks could have killed! Dr. Hinge: And who ended up with the key Maud? Maud: Oh ‘e ‘ad the key Doctor. Dame Hilda: So you couldn't get in after all, dear? Maud: I got in all right. I must ‘ave pulled that door ‘andle ‘arder than i thought because the ‘ole darn door fell out. Well, it's a very old cottage. Dry rot and woodworm ‘ave taken their toll Dr. Hinge: And so have you now Maud by the sound of it. Maud: Just sat there ‘e did with ‘is legs in the air and ‘is ‘ead in the corner cupboard glaring at me. I said, you ungrateful old devil I said. You don't deserve to ‘ave people come to see yer. I’d took ‘im round a junket and do you know what ‘e did with it? Dame Hilda: Perhaps you'd better not tell us, Maud. Maud: ‘e throwed it straight on ‘is fire. Dame Hilda: Wait, he didn't put his fire out. Maud: No, that's what's so strange. It set fire to ‘is chimney. Mind, it ‘ad of not been so bad if that cottage of ‘is weren't thatched. ‘e wouldn't come out. Come out of there you daft old devil I was shouting from across the road. And ‘e just stood there in the smoke in ‘is slippers, shaking ‘is fist at me and waving ‘is stick and the firemen playing their water all round ‘im. That man's not fit to look after ‘isself. Dame Hilda: Well, it sounds as if it's been quite a day, Maud. Maud: Well, between you and me, Dame ‘ilda, I think it made a nice change. Relieved the boredom you might say. Well, I'll be about my business then. Dr. Hinge: By the way Maud, the kitchen table's covered in wine bottles and jars. Don't wash them out dear. There's still odds and ends of wine in a lot of them. I'll sort them out later. Maud: Just as well, Doctor. I can make up all that time I wasted on that wicked old man. Sometimes I wonder why I bother. Really I do. Dame Hilda: I say Evadne, was Major Dyrenforth at the do this morning? Dr. Hinge: No, he wasn't dear. Why? Dame Hilda: I just wondered, I've just seen him coming up the drive. You, um, didn't come away with anything that wasn't yours, did you? Accidentally, I mean, you haven't got a handbag full of spoons, have you? Dr. Hinge: I haven't actually looked, Hilda, but I don't imagine so, perhaps Lorna wants her jam jar, back. Major: Good afternoon, ladies. Dame Hilda: Hello, Major. Dr. Hinge: Good afternoon, Major. Major: I'm frightfully sorry to burst in like this, but I just wondered, Doctor, you didn't happen to see anyone leaving the do this morning, carrying a long extending ladder and a roof crawler, did you? Dame Hilda: Well, even you couldn't have got that into your handbag, dear. Dr. Hinge: No, I certainly didn't, Major. No, you surely don't think someone from the wine circle took them. Major: Inadvertently, perhaps. Dame Hilda: This may sound a silly question, Major, but how does one inadvertently walk off with an extending ladder and a roof crawler? Major: Well, I've known stranger things, Hilda. Fellow invited to one of Lorna's wine and cheese parties, Inadvertently went off with the garden roller. Dr. Hinge: How ever did he manage to do that? Major: It was parked at the top of the drive on that steep slope there outside the garage. He came out of the front door, bit unsteady on his pins, leaned against the roller and away they both went. He tried to stop it, of course, poor chap, ran the best part of three quarters of a mile down Wendelbury hill before he was finally forced to let go. Mind, when they found him, he was as sober as a judge. Dame Hilda: And feeling a little flat, I shouldn't wonder. Major: We didn't see that roller for almost a year. Then someone spotted it on the common in a clump of birch trees. It was being used by the squirrels. Dame Hilda: Really, Major? You'd not think they'd have had the strength to pull it, would you? Major: No, they were sort of playing around it. I don't know, what ever squirrels do. Dr. Hinge: Oh, listen. oh, I'm sorry, Major, but I thought I heard a strange noise coming from the kitchen. Maud: Red sails in the sunset. Dame Hilda: Oh, good heavens, Evadne. She must have been at your wine, dear. It always gives her hiccups. Dr. Hinge: Oh, leave it to me, Hilda. Excuse me, Major, I won't be long. Dame Hilda: I'm afraid her home made wine seems to be wreaking a certain amount of havoc all round today, Major. Incidentally. Would you care for a glass of mine? Major: Yours? I didn't know you went in for that sort of thing, Hilda. Dame Hilda: Oh, just in a small way. I have some here on the sideboard, as a matter of fact. It's a very humble little vintage, but it has a certain cheekiness that I find rather endearing. There we are, See what you think of it. Major: I say, this is rather good. Dame Hilda: Well, it's from an old family recipe. I had an ancestor, you know, who was a Benedictine monk. Major: Tastes just like curacao. Dame Hilda: Well, I'm not too well up on holy orders. He could have been a curacao monk. Major: It is very good indeed, Hilda. Dame Hilda: Do you think so? Major: Splendid, really. Lorna would be most impressed, I'm sure. Dame Hilda: Oh, so flattered. I'll give you a little sample to take home for her. You don't mind it in a jam jar, do you? Major: Not a bit. Dame Hilda: There we are then, for dear Lorna, with my love. Major: That's most kind. Dame Hilda: Oh, you're back Evadne. Is Maud all right? Dr. Hinge: I think that'll cure her? I've got her holding her breath, drinking a jug of water, and counting up to 5,000. Dame Hilda: That’s an awful long time for her to hold her breath, Evadne! Dr. Hinge: Yes isn’t it? What have you got in that jam jar? Major: As a matter of fact, Hilda's been good enough to give me a taste of her homemade wine. Dr. Hinge: Her homemade wine? Dame Hilda: Yes, dear. My homemade wine. Dr. Hinge: Which one, Hilda? Dame Hilda: Oh, the, the, the, the prickly pear and pineapple, dear, with a pinch of orange pith. Dr. Hinge: Oh that one? Major: Hilda's generously given me a little sample to take back to Lorna. It really is the best I've ever tasted, just like curacao! Dr. Hinge: Yes, it probably is. She makes another one that's remarkably like crème de menthe don't you? Dame Hilda: Yes, sometimes. Dr. Hinge: Now why don't you let the Major taste that one? Dame Hilda: Well, I would have done, dear, but we seem to be right out of it. Major: What'd you make that with, then, Hilda? Dame Hilda: Er, well, I guess, well, it's just after dinner mints and honeydew melon. Dr. Hinge: And then you float a pineapple chunk on the top, don't you, dear? Dame Hilda: That's right. Dr. Hinge: Like a lukewarm yellow ice cube. Dame Hilda:{Whispers!} There's no need to over do it, Evadne? Major: Well, I really must be getting along. Lorna's pickling beetroot, you see, and she wants her ladder back. No need see me out. Thanks for the wine. Bye for now. Dame Hilda: Bye Major. Dr. Hinge: Goodbye dear. Hilda, that business with the curacao was very naughty. Every word will be repeated to Lorna. You can be sure. Dame Hilda: Yes, of course it will, dear. I'll give her passion fruit and yak's milk. Dr. Hinge: You know, the Major has given me an idea. Something that Lorna will never have dreamt of. You remember when he was talking about the common? Dame Hilda: Yes. Dr. Hinge: Now you know all those birch trees there? Dame Hilda: Yes. Dr. Hinge: I am going to make birch sap wine. It was extremely popular among the Russian peasants in the 19th century. Dame Hilda: Well, the more revolting the better if you're a Russian peasant, dear? Dr. Hinge: In fact, they got such a taste for it that in their enthusiasm for making it, they killed off entire birch forests. Dame Hilda: Evadne, you're not seriously contemplating chopping down those lovely trees on the common are you? Dr. Hinge: No, no, no. There's no need to chop them down. Dame Hilda: Thank goodness for that. Dr. Hinge: There's no need to do them any harm at all. You simply tap the tree, bleed the sap off into a gallon glass demijohn and then plug the hole up again. Mind, it'll have to be done at night. Dame Hilda: That's the best time is it? Dr. Hinge: It is if one doesn't want to be caught at it. And Hilda, I shall not be able to do it alone. Dame Hilda: Well, you needn't look at me. I'm not creeping about the common at night, tampering with trees. I simply wouldn't know what to wear. Dr. Hinge: Just your ordinary clothes, Hilda. Dame Hilda: None of my clothes are ordinary! Dr. Hinge: Whatever you feel comfortable in. Dame Hilda: Well, I don't know. I mean... We wouldn't have to camouflage ourselves or anything? Dr. Hinge: Oh, no. All I'm asking is that you give me a hand to make a wine rare enough to compete with Lorna Dyrenforth. Dame Hilda: Oh, very well. Dr. Hinge: Splendid! Now, there's a recipe in one of these books somewhere. I remember seeing it the other day. Now, let's see. Oh, here we are. Good. Now, this is the right time of year when the sap is rising. Now, I'll read the instructions and you make a list of the things we'll need. Dame Hilda: Right. Now, hold on a minute and let me get my pencil. Dr. Hinge: Right. Ready? Dame Hilda: Yes. Dr. Hinge: Now, it says, first, find your birch trees. Dame Hilda: Birch trees. Dr. Hinge: I really don't think you need to put them on the list dear. Now, these would be at least nine inches in diameter. Dame Hilda: Tape measure. Dr. Hinge: Drill a three-quarter inch hole in the trunk. Dame Hilda: Something to drill three-quarter inch hole in three trunk with. Dr. Hinge: At an angle of 30 degrees. Dame Hilda: And something to work out what an angle of 30 degrees is. Dr. Hinge: Hilda, perhaps you'd better leave the practical side of this to me. Dame Hilda: With pleasure, Evadne. ………... Dame Hilda: And so it was that at dusk a few days later, Evadne and I set out for the common carrying between us six large glass demijohns, a brace and bit, a large old wooden protractor from Evadne’s school geometry set and on the back it said made in Bosnia. Several yards of plastic tubing, a box of wooden bungs, and a small stepladder. We were trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. By the time we got to the common, it was dark and rather spooky. Dame Hilda: I don't think I like this. Let's go home, dear. You never know what comes out at night. Dr. Hinge: Oh don't be such a coward, Hilda. Hand me the brace and bit, and do hold the torch steady. Dame Hilda: I hope you know what you're doing, Evadne? Seems to me that this is closer to vandalism than viniculture. Dr. Hinge: Will you hold that torch still? Dame Hilda: I'm doing my level, best, dear. I can't help it if my hands trembling. {Hoot!}Why does that owl have to keep doing that? Dr. Hinge: What else do you expect an owl to do? Dame Hilda: I don't know, but I thought they were supposed to be the birds of wisdom. {Hoot!}Stupid things. Dr. Hinge: Hilda the torch. I'm drilling a hole in my hands. Dame Hilda: Well, don't blame me. Blame the owl. Dr. Hinge: Ignore the owl, Hilda. Concentrate on me. Dame Hilda: Well, that's all very well Evadne, but it isn't you that keeps on hooting. Dr. Hinge: No, that's better. Now, hold it steady. Dame Hilda: I say, Evadne. Dr. Hinge: What? Dame Hilda: Can glow worms fly? Dr. Hinge: Of course not. Dame Hilda: Well, then there must be somebody coming towards us with a torch. Dr. Hinge: Oh there's no need to worry Hilda, just behave naturally. Dame Hilda: Oh, yes. And when they say, good evening, what are you two up to? I say we're milking trees. Major: Hello, anybody there? Dr. Hinge: Good Lord, it's Major Dyrenforth? Over here, Major. Major: So there you are. Saw you heading through town with your demijohns at dusk. Thought you might be grateful for a man's hand on your brace and bit. Dame Hilda: Brace and bit, Major? Major: Oh, I'm thoroughly conversant with the signs of birch sap wine-making, Hilda. Lorna had me at it last year. Dr. Hinge: She did? Major: Made gallons of the wretched stuff. She hopes to have it ready for the circles next wine tasting. Dr. Hinge: Does she? Major: Wants to use some of it in a little experiment, Siberian coffee. Depends, of course, whether she can get hold of any bears milk. Dr. Hinge: Well, that does it, then, Hilda. We may as well pack up and go home. Dame Hilda: If I may make a suggestion Evadne. You know what your best bet for the next wine tasting would be? Dr. Hinge: What? Dame Hilda: I'll teach you how to make prickly pear and pineapple. Major: Oh, what a good idea. Lorna thought that was absolutely a superb. Between you and me, better than anything she’s ever made. Dame Hilda: Really, Major. And it's ever so easy to make. Isn't it, Evadne? Dr. Hinge: Yes, isn't it, dear? Once you know the secret.
Transcribed by Lorraine Taylor |
