Christmas Illuminations - Part II

Having sent Blenkinsop back onto the roof of Fortescue Towers, securely anchored this time to avoid any further damage to the memsahibs roses and having banished Clackthorpe to a distant part of the estate it was hoped that the sorry state of the Christmas illuminations could at last be sorted out.

Indeed, with a little help from Utterthwaite, the great house soon boasted a fine display of seasonal lighting by yesterday evening. A million twinkling fairy lights stretched down the long drive. Saint Nicholas could be seen peeping from the west wing chimneys, illuminated deer gambolled through the arboretum and a thousand festive lanterns brought cheer to the formal gardens. Even the charred remains of the east wing roof shone with cheerful seasonal light. Quite splendid and almost certain to win the prize for the best illuminated dwelling in the village. Can't be shown up by ones workers and servants can one ?

Safe in the knowledge that the horrors of the weekend had been erased and with the mem' off at one of her W.I meetings one settled down with a large brandy and ones chums Carstairs, Fanshawe-Smythe and the vicar for a few rubbers of bridge and some reminiscing about the good old days on the frontier.

We had just reached the story about sergeant major Wilkins, the two donkeys and several 'ladies' from the 'Club Cha-Cha' when our evenings entertainment was rather rudely interrupted by a loud roaring noise and a quantity of plaster falling from the ceiling. Of course, one immediately thought that cook had got into the wine cellar again and was attempting to kill Blenkinsop, an all too common occurence given their volatile differences. However, a few moments later the infernal racket was repeated sending us all outside to locate the source to find a large aircraft parked on the lawn and Blenkinsop attempting to guide another down the long drive with two table tennis bats from the games room. It would seem that several pilots mistook the long drive for runway three at the local airport and the flashing Santa Claus on the west wing for the lights of Terminal two.

Of course, being a military man one immediately set to sorting the whole jolly mess out. After all, the wily pathan could never bother one so why should a couple short haul passenger flights parked in ones drive. A couple of hours and we had them on their way although one is told that PC Brown was none too happy about a couple of 737s rolling through the village at 1am.

All in all, quite an adventure but one does wonder how to explain the tyre tracks across the mems croquet lawn.