Polly Brown

by Tricia Bennett

  DOCTOR CHIPATTI TO THE RESCUE

  WHEN POLLY FINALLY woke up the next morning the room was thankfully silent and empty. All the other girls had long left the dormitory for breakfast. Polly felt glad to be left alone, for she was unprepared to face the other children and suffer hurtful jibes, which she found impossible to ignore no matter how hard she tried. Polly therefore remained in the room, sitting on her bed, trying to come to terms with all that had happened the day before. She picked up Eton, who had tumbled onto the floor during the night, and whispered in his ear, “Eton, I need you to be very brave and do something very difficult for both of us. I love you very much, but I am going to have to let you go.” A lone tear slid down Polly’s face as she clutched Eton very tightly to her chest, remembering back to the day she had found him.

  She had gone to the attic for a reason she could not remember. As she moved around the attic, her eyes eventually hit on a large, leather-bound trunk. Being a curious little girl, she wasted no time in opening it. The trunk was laden with old, moth-eaten clothes, and Polly set about emptying the trunk, although she had no idea what she was searching for. Out came one crumpled straw hat after another followed by faded leather bags and old, scuffed shoes. When she was on the verge of abandoning her mission, she suddenly found herself picking up the dismembered arm of a teddy. She momentarily paused, staring at the sad, worn-out limb before deciding that she must continue the search just in case his torso was hidden deeper down in the trunk. If it was, she urgently needed to retrieve it. Finally, her hand came to rest on something soft. Plunging her hand deeper into the trunk, she pulled out the remainder of the teddy.

  “You are, I fear, in a very bad way, little man,” she solemnly declared as a statement of fact. She observed that, sadly, most of the stuffing was missing from his belly. His eye was damaged and delicately hanging on his cheek by a thread. Polly had felt extremely sorry for him, and, after considerable thought, her conscience dictated that she could not ignore his sad plight by abandoning him back to the trunk for the remainder of his days. He was, after all, in a very sorry state, and she felt it was no coincidence that it had been left to her and not one of the other children to unearth him. He was now her responsibility, and caring for others was what she did best.

  Many times she had been called upon to use her caring skills to save animals that had been injured, and this teddy deserved the same respect. So she made the decision to try and save him just as she did whenever she found wounded birds or rabbits lying in the woods writhing in pain. As she stroked the battered teddy, she remembered the terrible day during the summer holidays when she had been out walking through woodland with some of the other children. As they made their way back to the castle in readiness for suppertime, they had discovered a wounded and very frightened hare trapped in some thick bracken. Somehow they managed to catch it before carefully bringing it back to the castle with the full intention of lovingly attending to its injuries. Polly had bandaged its broken leg and placed it in an empty cage filled with fresh straw. She then put in a little saucer of milk and some cabbage leaves, hoping it would eat and build up its strength.

  The next morning Polly went to check on him, for she was very concerned to know how the little chap was doing and, more to the point, whether he required further medical attention. She placed her hand in the cage, only to discover that her new friend was missing. She remembered feeling thoroughly sick as she rummaged through the straw, desperate to find the little fellow. There was no sign of him. Polly was both puzzled and panicked. How could he escape when the door of the hutch had been securely locked? She summoned up the help of other children, and in no time at all the search and rescue party was frantically searching the whole garden, desperate to find the injured little hare. But their search proved fruitless, for, despite combing every inch of the garden, their hare was nowhere to be found.

  That day the children refused to give up hope that eventually he would be found. They carried on patrolling the garden, inspecting every nook and cranny until they were finally called in to wash their hands before lunch, but not before collectively agreeing to meet up and continue their search as soon as lunch was over. They raced toward the kitchen to wash their hands, gobble down their lunch, and then regroup in the garden to continue their search for Thumper.

  As Polly entered the kitchen she felt a bit uneasy, for the smell did not seem familiar. Lunch on Saturdays was always soup made from a miniscule amount of minced beef that had been poured over a boiled potato, a few peas, and a couple of carrots. And as she joined the long queue of hungry children, her eyes fell on the plates of children filing past her as they went in search of a seat. Polly was very surprised to see that instead of the norm, there were thick brown chunks of meat in a rich brown sauce. Now as meat was a luxury rarely served to them, Polly fleetingly had the most terrible thought, but dismissed it as quickly as she had entertained it, for it was indeed a most unbelievably gruesome thought. There was no way on earth that those square lumps on the other children’s plates could actually be her wounded hare, could they? As Polly’s plate was handed to her from over the counter, she began to tremble as she headed for a vacant seat to join the other children.

  Having found a spare seat, she sat down at the table and, after tentatively picking up her knife and fork, simply stared down at her plate, wondering what on earth to do next. Meanwhile, Uncle Boritz entered the room, and upon observing a large group of the children sitting motionless, many just staring into their plates, he decided to jolly them along with encouraging words.

  “Children, eat up,” he ordered, breaking out into a wide grin, “for you are very lucky today to be eating jugged hare!”

  Knives and forks came crashing to the floor as all the younger children, Polly included, started crying.

  “Children, children, stop this nonsense immediately and eat up,” Uncle Boritz furiously demanded. “For jugged hare is known to be a real delicacy, and therefore you children should all be truly grateful. Besides, the hare was in so much pain that I believe I did the right thing,” he smugly added with a grin.

  Polly, along with many of the other children, would not and could not obey his order to stop crying. And as far as Polly was concerned there was no way she was ever going to satisfy her hunger by eating what hours earlier had been her wounded pet, no matter how desperately hungry she was. Before long, many more of the children chose to join the mounting army of young protesters, refusing to eat up what only yesterday had been their new friend. Uncle Boritz quickly began to lose his patience, for they were pitting their wills against his. So he quickly determined that they would pay dearly for their act of disgraceful defiance.

  The children were forced to sit at the table for the remainder of the day. Finally bedtime arrived and the rebels were all ordered off their numb bottoms and frog-marched upstairs to their respective dormitories. Morning arrived, and Polly was shocked to discover that the matter was not yet over. As they sat down for breakfast, they were served the same plates of jugged hare stew that they had abandoned the night before. Every child involved in the plot sat at the table and continued to stare down at their plate, refusing to open their mouths and eat one jolly morsel.

  For their defiance, the children remained seated with the same plates of dried-up stew in front of them, while those that had given in gracefully began eating their normal plate of Sunday lunch. For Polly it had to be the first time ever that Sunday lunch seemed inviting, for wafer-thin luncheon meat served up with a miniscule amount of bland vegetables had always been pretty boring, and therefore unappetizing. But today of all days her greatest wish would have been for the plate of hare stew to miraculously disappear and be replaced by a plate of luncheon meat! With the dinner plates and other crockery washed and put away, the children still remained at the table, steadfast in their determination not to take one bite of the seriously shriveled stew.

  Their rebellion lasted well into Sunday afternoon as their stomachs grew hungrier and hungrier and b
egan to gurgle. Uncle Boritz, filled to the brim with rage and frustration, finally dismissed them from out of his sight, sending them, along with their plates, to sit on their own in another room.

  Polly’s younger brother James was amongst the small band of rebels and was clearly distressed to see Polly so upset, so he decided to be both brave and courageous and offer to eat Polly’s for her. Polly willingly agreed and gave James her plate. Her sense of gratitude and relief were to be very short-lived. In no time at all the stew was back on her plate. For to Polly’s absolute horror, not only did James fail to digest the stew, but worse still, he vomited it back onto the plate—Polly’s plate! Her situation was now worse than ever! For now, she had a plate of thoroughly regurgitated jugged hare to polish off.

  Their ordeal only came to an end when Polly decided that firm action was needed to stop this awful crisis from continuing any longer. She marched over to the window and flung it open before turning to each child and removing their plate to throw the contents out of the window and into the garden. Each tear-stained face showed great relief and gratitude as their plate was removed from under their nose, for it meant that their ordeal was over. If this dastardly deed was ever found out, it would be Polly and not any of them who would bear the brunt of any future punishment.

  The stew was quickly and gratefully gobbled up by the remaining few scrawny chickens, whose lives had up until now been spared the stewpot. With all remains of the stew finally dispensed with, the children could hopefully put the ordeal behind them. Polly had not felt the slightest bit remorseful concerning the deception, but she did feel a twinge of sadness that there was nothing left of their pet hare to bury in the garden. She also hoped it would not lead to further punishment. Luckily for Polly and the other inmates, no one, not even Uncle Boritz, had the temerity to question their sudden licked-to-a-shine plates. For although her guardians may have suspected foul play, all incriminating evidence was long gone, leaving them unable to prove a thing!

  As she looked back on that terrible ordeal, she hoped her newfound friend the teddy bear would indeed be spared the stew pot. Sitting comfortably on her bed, she pulled out her handkerchief and made a temporary tourniquet to hold teddy’s arm in place, for she was quite the little expert on bandaging wounds and applying tender loving care. Then, with the freshly-bandaged teddy under one arm and humming a tune under her breath, she left the room to do whatever was necessary to help the poor little fellow, for she deemed him to be a most suitable case for treatment.

  That same afternoon she marched to a good friend’s house, believing she needed his help and expertise to care for the teddy’s injuries. She rang the front doorbell and waited, but no one answered.

  Polly turned on her heels, very disappointed that the good doctor was nowhere to be found. As she walked across the gravel on his driveway, she suddenly had the revelation that it was Saturday, and that meant she knew exactly where to find him. He and his wife would without fail be sharing an intimate moment as they dined at the Copper Kettle.

  Polly wasted no time and ran as fast as the wind down Main Street until she came to the door of the tearoom. Then, as discreetly as she was able, she pressed her nose up to the window to check if they were inside seated at their usual table. Much to her delight and relief, they were. Polly thought the Chipattis were such a nice couple. He was very swarthy with thick, unruly black eyebrows and a most mischievous grin. Mrs. Chipatti, well, she was as white as a sheet with rosy cheeks. Polly had observed that, unlike the good doctor, she was not Indian at all, as she had light brown curly hair and wore no ring in her nose. Polly had also never seen her in a sari, and neither did she have a red diamond in the center of her forehead.

  They shared their house with their two beautiful daughters, as well as every animal imaginable. Every spare room was occupied by hamsters, rabbits, snakes, and even a live giraffe that the doctor had raised from a baby. It made Polly wish at times that she had been born a koala bear or perhaps an exotic reptile, because then they might have welcomed her into the bosom of their unusual and very warm family.

  Polly quickly dismissed her ridiculous imaginations before discreetly peering through the window again to check on their progress. She observed that they were still waiting for their main course to be served, so she looked around for a suitable place to sit down to prepare for the long wait as they ate their lunch. Every now and then she jumped up and peered through the window just to check how far through their meal they were. Every time she found herself smiling, for their heads were almost joined together as they met across the small, round table, deep in the art of conversation.

  The Chipattis always ordered the same dish for lunch every Saturday, for although it was an English tearoom, the Greedols still made a most delicious chicken curry for them. The Greedols were always happy to oblige and equally happy to charge accordingly.

  Polly often watched as two plates of rice topped with yellow stuff arrived piping hot at their table. Next to arrive at the table was a plate that had four small bowls on it. One of the bowls contained coconut, another chopped banana, in the third was brown pickle, and the fourth held chopped up tomatoes. They sprinkled the contents of these little bowls on the top of the bright yellow stuff before they started eating. As they ate their meal with great relish, they crunched on big cream-colored plates called popadoms, which Polly had taken some time to discover weren’t plates at all! Polly would watch on quite fascinated, wondering if she would like the taste of curry and popadoms.

  The couple were always delighted with their curry meal, which they happily ate, chatting constantly between each mouthful. And Polly observed that they both drank vast volumes of water from the jug that had been brought to their table. They nearly always requested that the water jug be refilled. The reason for their incredible thirst, Polly did not know. All she knew was they were easy to please, and they never ordered anything different from the menu.

  It was the same with the Pistachios, an Italian family that came in at the same time every Sunday for their specially made lasagna. Then there was the Corcellut family, who reserved a table every Thursday to sit down to share a quiche cooked in traditional French style. Polly thought that this pie looked very colorful, as well as mouth watering, so she quite fancied trying a slice. Then there was also a Russian family, whose name she could not pronounce, and whom Polly observed were late as usual for their big bowl of steaming Siberian dumplings! Polly never fancied trying these at all, mainly because she had heard along the grapevine that these dumplings were made from horse meat, and she loved horses and ponies far too much to want to eat them!

  Polly found it strange that this English tearoom was more than happy to make these unusual dishes for their regulars. But she felt pleased for them, thinking it made people who had come from faraway lands feel at home in England and not quite so homesick. These regulars were obviously delighted with the service they received, and Polly observed that they never failed to leave a generous tip. So, she longed to become a waitress (as well as a nun and a part-time firefighter) when she grew up. This was another good reason why the Copper Kettle was her favorite tearoom in the whole wide world.

  Polly continued sitting on the step outside the tearoom, hoping that Mrs. Greedol would not notice and chase her away. She constantly fidgeted, for she found it impossible to remain calm and composed as she waited as patiently as she could ever wait! Would they ever finish lunch and leave? Finally, they emerged out of the tearoom and on to the pavement.

  “Why! If it isn’t young Polly Brown,” Dr. Chipatti said rather cheerily. Polly’s face went crimson, as it always did when someone greeted her warmly. “Good morning to you, Polly, and isn’t it a beautiful and most fine day,” said the good doctor, sporting a huge grin on his face.

  “And a good morning to you too, Dr. Chipatti, although I do need to point out that it is one thirty in the afternoon, so you might need to adjust your watch!”

  Dr. Chipatti looked down at his watch and laughed before as
king, “Well, my dear, what can I do for you this very pleasant afternoon? Have you perhaps come to ask if you can take my pet chinchilla out for a walk?”

  “No,” replied Polly. “I have something much more important on my mind, and only you can be of assistance. So I really do need your help.”

  They strolled back to the good doctor’s house deep in conversation. Polly filled the doctor in on all the necessary details. The doctor appeared deep in thought, and Polly was forced to hold her breath as she hoped that he would agree to help her.

  Finally they arrived at his front door, and the doctor took out a brass key to open the door before looking down into Polly’s anxious face. Then, with a big broad smile and eyes filled with compassion, he said, “Well, Polly dear, after hearing this most sad and tragic story of yours, I feel I have little choice but to offer you all the assistance you need.”

  Polly visibly relaxed before breaking out into a smile.

  “Thank you so much, Dr. Chipatti. I don’t know what I would have done if you had said no to my request.”

  “Then come this way, young lady,” he said, beckoning her through the front door and into the hallway. “But first I must look in on my pet giraffe, for I clean forgot to give him his breakfast this morning!”

  Dr. Chipatti then suggested that Polly follow him to his small private study. The room was lined with tall oak bookcases filled to capacity with books that Polly thought only the cleverest of doctors could possibly understand.

  “Pop yourself down over there, Polly,” said the loveable doctor, directing her towards an empty chair. “I will be back in five minutes, after reassuring dear Cyril that his belated breakfast will be with him shortly.”

  Polly moved towards the chair.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she muttered, as she sat down on the seat and made herself comfortable.

  As she waited, she gazed up at the many paintings lining the walls, all of which had been painted by the good doctor himself. Polly sighed to herself, for she thought it most unfair that God should bestow such a wealth of talents on one man. If painting and being a doctor and author were not enough, she also knew that he was a brilliant musician. She thought it most unfair that he should sail through life so gifted when others like herself struggled to produce any talent whatsoever! Polly quickly rebuked herself for allowing jealous thoughts to enter her head, for she knew that if she entertained them long enough they would certainly take root in her heart, and that would not be right. He was, after all, a kind-hearted and extraordinary man who used his talents to help others, so she had no right to feel anything other than the deepest gratitude and admiration towards him and his equally delightful family.