Polly Brown
Page 39
Polly looked up and tentatively placed her hand in his. She felt most cautious and reserved as they shook hands, for she needed reassurance that he was on the “good” side and part of the rescue team. His grasp was distinctly firm as he squeezed her small and frail hand. She looked him up and down, her eyes momentarily halting as she stared at his white mustache that curled upwards at both ends. As she looked into his blue eyes, she could see a twinkle. Only then did she breathe a deep sigh of relief and begin to shake his hand in a more affirmative manner.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” said Polly most sincerely.
“Don’t mention it, old boy,” replied the strong soldier with the turned-up mustache.
“Well, it’s really nice to meet you,” said Polly as she waited for him to let go of his overly firm grasp of her hand.
“It’s awfully nice to meet you, too, old bean,” he said with a smile before sneezing as a white feather fluttered down in front of his nose. Much to Polly’s relief, he let go of her blood-drained hand to pull out a handkerchief from his pocket.
Polly had little time to notice the feather, for by now there appeared to be many faces peering down at her, and thankfully they were all smiling. The colonel lifted Polly from the floor and then introduced her to his men, of which there were many. She was introduced to Sergeant Major Ramsbottom, Staff Sergeant Prior Palmer, Major Woodlouse, and many more of the lovely soldiers from the SAS Polly hugged each and every one of them, for she was most grateful that they had rescued her and thereby “delivered her from all evil” as she had prayed she would be earlier on that most terrible of days.
The good colonel smiled before saying, “Come on, old boy, the brigadier is waiting outside to meet you in person, for you are indeed a very brave young lady. Yes, a most courageous little sausage, if ever I met one. I do believe that if girls where allowed to join the SAS, we would love to have you sign up,” he said, giving her a hearty slap on the back. “But sadly this is extremely dangerous work that is better left in the capable hands of grownups,” he said with a loud chortle.
Polly agreed wholeheartedly with the colonel on his diagnosis, for she had to admit that she had been very frightened and had felt limp like jelly throughout most of her ordeal. As she filed past the seats that previously had been occupied by the horrible “things,” she noticed that all that remained as evidence that they ever existed were puddles of thick, black sludge that lay in pools on the seats and trailed all down the aisle. Polly sighed as she thought of the poor cleaning ladies who would certainly have their work cut out for them as they struggled to scrub the seats of the ghastly smelling slime and muck that now stained the vacated seats. She was so concerned at the amount of work those cleaning ladies needed to do in cleaning up that she placed her hand into a pocket and pulled out a few pound notes, for she wanted to leave a tip for the poor ladies as a little encouragement.
The soldiers lined both sides of the steps and politely saluted Polly as she disembarked from the plane. She felt like royalty as she took each step down until her feet reached the tarmac. She thought that Queen Victoria could stick with her sponge-making sessions, for this was indeed much more fun. As she alighted from the plane she looked up into the sky. There above her she could hear the noise of the Red Arrows display team as they very stylishly wrote in every color of the rainbow across the sky. Polly smiled and had a lift in her step as she walked across the tarmac to the tune of “Land of Hope and Glory,” which was being played by the Queen’s Color Squadron along with a Royal Air Force band. She found herself feeling all cracked up inside as she listened to the music being played. She felt touched as she thought to herself how wonderful and talented the Red Arrows were, as well as the Queen’s Color Squadron, along with the RAF contingent. They would never be fully aware of just how much their thoughtful and overwhelming efforts had gone to making her feel very proud to be British!
Polly was taken over to meet the brigadier who stood waiting most patiently to greet her. He was joined also by the French president, Monsieur Legume, who was still tucking his shirt into his trousers, as he had only just got out of bed and had rushed straight to the airport in only a matter of minutes.
“Well done, old chap—I mean, Polly—for that was a close call,” said the brigadier warmly and enthusiastically as he stuck out a hand to greet her.
“What was a close call?” Polly asked, a little unsure if they were on the same line of thinking.
“Well, my dear, if you had not alerted the tower when you did, those terrorists would have escaped and gone ahead with their most incomprehensible act, and that’s a certainty,” said the brigadier, arching his eyebrow to show the seriousness of the matter.
“Oh,” replied Polly, feeling a proud sense of achievement.
“Yes, I’ve witnessed firsthand the reprehensible acts these men do, and it leaves the most terrible trail of carnage,” he said with a sniff.
“How did you know that my name is Polly?” she asked, a puzzled look written all over her face. The brigadier chortled out loud and pointed to her large piece of paper, still pinned by chewing gum to the plane window.
“Oh, my goodness,” she mumbled, feeling most embarrassed, for she had clearly forgotten that she had written the note. There had been so much high drama going on all around her.
She was also very glad she had left a tip for the cleaning ladies, for as if clearing up the considerable mess the terrorists had left behind was not enough for the poor dear ladies to contend with, they now had her chewed up gum to scrape off the plane’s window. She sincerely hoped they would forgive her.
Polly then shook hands with Monsieur Legume, the French president.
“Bonsieur, Miss Polly,” he said in broken English. “Eet ees so veree good to meet up weeth you, mon petit choux.”
Polly smiled back at him, most unsure as to what her proper response should be, especially as her French was so very poor. She wished in that moment that she had paid more attention in her French classes! Mr. Legume did not seem to mind and continued on.
“Polly, I theenk you are a veree brave ladee and I have onlee one thing left to say to you.” He then proceeded to speak much too fast and, worst still, in French.
Polly now had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, so she answered as best she could. “Well, thank you for saying how much you like England, I too think it is a very nice place. You should visit it sometime.”
The French president shook Polly’s hand one more time before saying, “Au-revoir.”
He then turned and headed back toward the terminal in search of a cup of strong black coffee and perhaps, if he was very fortunate, an aspirin or two.
Polly turned her attention back to the brigadier, for, being a very English man, she found him much easier to understand. She went on to say how amazed she was to get help, and so quickly, on French soil. The brigadier smiled before answering her question.
“Well, young Polly, the French authorities saw your flashlight SOS and your note. And for once,” he said turning his eyes up into his head, “Yes, for once they took quick action and phoned our dear prime minister, who in turn called the queen at Buckingham Palace. Luckily, she had just taken her curlers out, and was just about to get into bed when the call came through. If the call had come just ten minutes later, the chances are very high that she would have been fast asleep, and therefore most grumpy at the thought of having to get out of bed.”
Polly laughed, for she knew how grumpy she felt when she was tired and was forced to get up and go to school.
The brigadier continued on. “Well, Polly, once the queen was dressed and her tiara was firmly in place, she put on her white elbow-length gloves and made her way to 10 Downing Street (taking her corgis with her, of course, for they needed the exercise). She had quite a lengthy wait, let me tell you now, for the prime minister had also long gone to bed. Once dressed, he walked back to the palace with the queen, and they sat up discussing the crisis over tea and cakes. Tea, I might add, th
at was very much needed if they were to stay awake long enough to come to a reasonable resolution concerning your crisis. It was very quickly decided—but not before the prime minister had helped himself to a second serving of cake—that this situation ranked as a category ten on her list of importance. It was therefore decided to call for the help of the SAS. They were, of course, about to ring the president of the United States of America to get his views on the matter, but the prime minister remembered that he was on holiday, so there was a high probability that he would be out in his fishing boat and therefore unobtainable!”
“So Tommy Pulleyblank was right after all!” said Polly as her mind flashed back to the day of the mole crisis.
“Who’s Tommy Pulleyblank?” asked the brigadier.
“Oh, never mind,” replied Polly as her thoughts continued to go back in time to her very sad life at the castle.
“Well, Polly, as I was saying, we called up the French president, Monsieur Legume, to obtain his permission to land our specialist team on French soil. At first, he was not a happy bunny, for he was very insistent that it should be left to the Foreign Legion to storm the plane. However, when we told him that our dear queen had specifically requested that you, dear Polly, be rescued by our own Special Armed Services, he reluctantly agreed to allow our boys to take over the operation. And, if the truth be known, he was more than likely a little worse for wear, so in no position to put up much of an argument.”
Polly raised an eyebrow to express that she didn’t understand what “worse for wear” meant.
“Tipsy, Polly, tipsy. For the French love the odd bottle of rich and fruity red wine. It’s a very important part of their tradition, the same way that we Brits like our tea,” chortled the brigadier. “And if you ask me, I think he definitely is still slightly the worse for wear, for it was only last night that he officiated a state banquet,” he snickered, giving her a little nudge at the same time. “Yes, they certainly love their wine almost as much as we British love our nice pot of tea. Speaking of which, I could really use some tea right now. How about you, old bean?”
Polly admitted that she was rather thirsty after her traumatic flight from England with no refreshments.
“That’s settled then,” said the brigadier as he placed an arm over her shoulder and commandeered her towards the airport terminal.
He then ordered Corporal Beanpod to make up a fresh brew and bring it to them.
“The French can’t be trusted to make a good cup of tea, old girl, so we’ll make our own, in the good old fashioned way that only us Brits know how,” he said with a wink and a smile.
Over their cup of tea, Polly went on rather glumly to tell the brigadier about her trip to Piadora and how it had been ruined by the set of unfortunate events that had taken place ever since she had set foot in the airport terminal. The brigadier listened intently before saying, “Leave it with me, my dear girl.”
He then disappeared and went in search of the French president. Meanwhile Polly patiently sat and finished her cup of tea.
“Well, Polly, I have sorted things out for you,” he said on his return. “I have just spoken to Monsieur Legume, as I found him in the airport cafeteria downing a cup of rather strong black coffee. You wouldn’t happen to have an aspirin on you, would you?”
Polly shook her head. The brigadier acknowledged her answer and then continued on. “Anyway, we have decided to fly you first class to Brazil on none-other than Concorde Airlines!” said the brigadier with a big beam on his face. “In fact, we have agreed that no expense should be spared in giving you the holiday of a lifetime. So we’ve decided to up the stakes and make it an around-the-world trip, stopping off wherever your little heart desires. Now how’s that for service with a smile?”
Polly flung her arms around the slightly embarrassed brigadier, for she was so overwhelmed with gratitude. With the brigadier’s face now a deep purple, he informed her that he had organized for her to stay in a top-class hotel for the night, while all the necessary preparations were made. He also told her she could eat whatever she wished from the à la carte menu and have a deep soak in a bath filled with bubbles, as well as a good night’s sleep in a huge four-poster bed.
Polly’s gratitude was much too deep to express, for not only had she been saved but she had known nothing but kindness and decency since her dramatic rescue by the wonderful SAS She would certainly send them a box of chocolates when she next got the opportunity. And now the icing on the cake was to be told she was getting a free around-the-world trip aboard Concorde. She really was being treated as though she were royalty!
Polly said her good-byes to the brigadier, and as she did so, he said to her, “Oh Polly, I have one more thing to tell you.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s a message from the French president, for when I told him about all that had happened to you since you arrived at the airport, he told me to give you this message, “Reculer Pour Mieux Sauter.”
“Oh thanks,” said Polly, a little mystified, for she had absolutely no idea what it meant, but she wasn’t prepared to let on this fact to the very wise and capable brigadier.
“Well, brigadier, please tell the president that I will pop by and see him for a cup of tea when I’m next in France, would you?” she said brightly as she turned to leave the cafeteria, flanked by his men.
“I will, Polly, and now you must let my men escort you to your hotel.”
Polly waved good-bye to the brigadier as she left the concourse accompanied by some of his men. She was very delighted to discover that the vehicle she would be traveling in was pink, for as you will remember, pink was her favorite color. Yes, she was going to her hotel in the SAS’s Pink Panther Land Rover. “Perfect, absolutely perfect,” she said to herself as she climbed on board and was driven away from the airport.
As they were driving along, Polly took the opportunity to tell the boys how much she loved pink, and then she asked them why their vehicle was that specific color. They informed her that the reason it was pink was to help the vehicle blend into the pink haze often encountered in desert terrain. Polly marveled at their intelligence and wisdom in choosing pink as the color for their vehicles. Soon she arrived at her destination, and, after giving the whole squadron of elite men a big hug and a kiss, she waved them good-bye and headed inside the hotel lobby.
After a wonderful meal, Polly filled the bath with a whole bottle of champagne bubble bath that she had seen standing and waiting to be used on the bathroom shelf. The whole bathroom soon filled up with bubbles, some even floating up to the ceiling. She then slipped into the bath for a nice, relaxing soak, remembering to take off her ring and balancing it on the side of the bathtub. As she reached out to take one of the small soaps that lay in a gold bowl beside the bath, she found that it was not soap, but indeed a smooth stone she had picked up. As she held it in the palm of her hand she saw that this one had writing on its smooth surface like the other stones, only the inscribed word was, as usual, different. Endurance.
“How nice,” thought Polly, but in truth she had no idea what it meant. She still thought she would add it to her collection of stones once she had finished in the bathroom. As soon as she was ready for bed, she put the smooth stone with the others she had collected. She then remembered that she had left her ring in the bathroom, so she leapt out of the bed and went in search of it. With the ring safely back on her finger, she jumped back into the bed and pulled out her pen and gold book, opening the book at a fresh page to record the events of the day, only to discover her diary had already been written in for her:
The poor princess had indeed endured a most terrible day filled with frustration and many misunderstandings. She had known nothing but fear as she witnessed the frightening events that had taken place on the plane. Had it not been for her strawberry-flavored chewing gum and torch, there was every possibility that she might not have made it out of the plane alive. In hindsight the terrible misunderstanding at the duty-free shop had wor
ked for the good, and therefore to her advantage.
As the whole of France slept soundly in their beds, they would never know that the princess had saved their country from a terrible fate. However, the princess had not gone unrewarded, for she was now going to be treated like the princess she truly was by being given the opportunity to fly around the world on none other than Concorde.
She would use this trip to her advantage, stopping off in India, South Africa, Brazil, and many other countries. Yes, she would visit every land where her people lived and quietly suffered. Her trip would serve to confirm that she was indeed a princess to the poor and downtrodden, as well as the hungry and the outcast—something she must never forget. The princess would be well advised to heed the warning that if she got too caught up in the trimmings and refinery of being a princess, she would lose sight of her gift, and that gift was: seeing what many others chose to ignore.
The princess enjoyed a delightful champagne bubble bath before discovering yet another stone, this one having the word endurance written most beautifully on its smooth surface. She had at the time of its discovery no idea what this word meant, but now she knew and understood that it meant to “hang on in times of great trouble.” Yes, she had indeed endured and come through many fiery trials on that most terrible of days, and she had come through them a much stronger person.
She had also come to learn another truth in the words given to her by the French president. As the young princess had rarely paid attention in her French classes, she had been quite unable to translate the meaning of reculer pour mieux sauter, and therefore, its hidden truth. But loosely translated, it meant that sometimes you have to take a step backwards to go forward better. The princess now understood that, just as an athlete attempting the long jump takes steps backwards to ensure their jump will take them further, the princess missing her plane and then being taken hostage had resulted in her being propelled further toward her destiny.