Our Story - as much of it that can be told that is... (Part five)

Story — Two


Chapter One


The Great Electoral Campaign – Callum Runs for Office

It was only just becoming morning. Both Craig and Zita had been fast asleep when the speakers on the bedroom’s bookshelf announced that the Prime Minister had finally called an election.

It was only a few minutes later that the sound of muffled voices and not so subtle pounding proved to Craig that sleep was out of the question, so with understandable reluctance he tried to awake.

He found the bookshelf atumble with activity. Two of the Queen’s Own Pigs were tacking up large posters of Rhinosasaurises. In his rather fuzzy early morning mind they looked suspiciously like the advertisements for Armstrong Tires.

He raised his head. The Rhinosasaurises were over in the far corner of the room with Beauregard Clayton-Lyon and Big TeddyBear McGruph. BT-McG had acquired a large, red white and blue, hand-painted bow tie. To his right, stood Beauregard, a large chocolate éclair stuck in the side of his mouth. He was waving his arms about in an alarming fashion. Craig rubbed his eyes and decided that it would be far wiser to go to sleep again.

Just then one of the Pigs leaned out from the book shelf and asked, “Now how do you spell — Integrity.” Since spelling had never being one of his strong points he pretended not to hear. The question was repeated - louder.

Zita said “I-N-T-E-G-R-I-T-Y.” The dapper LB Pig doffed his hat and grinned. He scampered back up the shelf to where the rest of the Queen’s Own were gathered. Small pieces of paper seemed to be seeping rapidly from their midst. Grasping the inevitable Craig said, “All right, what’s going on here?” He was ignored.

Beauregard marched over, climbed onto the bed, sat on one of the night’s discarded pillows and said, “We are having a nominating convention to see who is going to be elected to your Parliament for the faithful Rhino Party. Actually it really is between the two Rhinosasaurises as you may well have guessed. Callum wants Haemish to run because of his experience, and ah... Mmm... Well it’s like this; Haemish doesn’t want to run for that exact same reason. He feels that some of his past would not stand up to serious media scrutiny, and he wants to be judged on his opinions and native good nature, not some of his famous past deeds and amazing adventures. He feels that they would overwhelm the public and raise expectations to an unreasonable level. He is of the opinion that Callum would make a far better candidate, after all he is going to medical school and that would look good on posters, “Vote for Callum McCallum - Nearly a Doctor”. But then you see Callum is afraid that if he is elected that being a Member of Parliament will seriously interfere with his studies, what with having to go to court and commissions of inquiry all the time. So they want your opinion.”

“Well I think that Haemish is right, and remember, we are not certain that this terrorist society or whatever, has given up on doing away with him. It would probably be safer if he laid low for a while, and Callum should not think that since that the membership of the present parliament has spent a lot of their time before various judges and special councils that it is normal. Perhaps that next government will be better behaved. All in all I think that Callum would make a fine candidate for the local Rhino Party. By the way, and just out of interest, why does McG. have a bow tie on; and why are you holding the chocolate éclair in your mouth like that?”

Beauregard looked embarrassed and replied, “I am going to be the campaign manager and I want to look the part, but I couldn’t find a real cigar, and anyway they aren’t very good for you, you know. I really want a bowler hat though. Mizz Zita do you think you could make me a bowler hat?”

“What about the Pigs? What are they doing? They and the TBears are no doubt in this ‘event’ I assume.”

“Of course - The Queen’s Own are in charge of the media campaign and the Bears have graciously volunteered to be our campaign workers, going from door to door - to explain about the Socialist Hordes and the mealy-mouthed policies of the other mainline parties - We are ordering some flags to wrap them up in. Pretty organized for only three hours work....”

Sometimes Beauregard’s Louisiana background came through in the most unfortunate fashion Craig had noticed. Just what we need - Huey Long as a role model. He probably wants to turn the whole province into bayou country he said to himself, as he put on his fresh socks.

Craig and Zita left the room, leaving the whole lot of them apparently plotting the overthrow of Democracy-As-We-Know-It.

Downstairs, while they were deciding what to use on the bagels, cream cheese or peanut butter, the Colonel came over to replace a book in the bookshelf.

“What’s good to read Dugal?” Craig asked.

“Well I am still on volume two of ‘Lee’s Lieutenants’ but find it hard slogging.... Think I’d prefer something lighter during the fall; save the heavy stuff for winter y’see. ‘Haps I’ll re-read Blake’s ‘Disraeli’ to put myself in the mood for the forthcoming shenanigans.”

“So you heard about the PM calling an election too; and what are you doing in the Campaign?”

Dugal replied somewhat stuffily, “Don’have any truck with that sort of foolishness myself. Never understood politicians. They never understood me and it was better that way - they wanted to know when, and I wanted to know why. But Haemish now, he knows how it all works. I’member.... One time he bribed us all the long way from Dar-Es-Salaam to Montevideo - just in time to meet an incoming Lufthansa flight! Went through three months back pay that week-end.

Zita coughed on her coffee, she was appalled, “You mean our Haemish?”

“Achhh yes Lassie, Haemish, wonderful keen eye he has.... Nothing like that up in Invergary. That’s where I was born, just to the right of the biggest holly hedge in all of the Strathclyde.”

(It was always difficult to keep up with Dugal’s long conversations, much less keep him on topic.)

“But it was many years ago, far to many for me to remember with any diligence. So is his brother going to represent the Rhino Party for this riding?”

Zita replied “Well they think so. They are all upstairs at the moment looking at the maps and assigning tasks. Beauregard is going to be campaign manager, and BT-McG is going to be in charge of raising money, all The Queen’s Own are writing speeches and The TeddyBears are arranging for a neighbourhood picnic to introduce everyone to Callum, though it is a bit cold for a picnic I think.

Dugal turned around, a canny gleam in his black eyes..., “Achhh, nuu. We’ll serve whus’ky souffle, and some o’McG’s chutney au whus’ky. That will warm them up proper—and win them over. Those who have doubts, we’ll pay them a quarter - ah! - it will be a gran’ time, “

“Thought that you didn’t have anything to do with politics” said Craig, “I don’t” said Dugal “Ooo, but a Scotch tasting picnic—now there’s another thing entirely. I must go up stairs and offer to help. How much money has BT-McG raised, ‘nough for a case, or can we order by the tun? I have a small keg of ‘37 Auchentoshan - it comes from my second cousin Ranald’s own wee still. Far up fair Glen Freuchie. It’s well hidden downstairs ye see?”

Chapter Two

The Police Pay Another Visit

The campaign had progressed most efficiently - until one Saturday afternoon three weeks into the election.

Craig, Callum and a few of the TBears had been out putting up campaign signs around the neighbourhood. It had only taken the Queen’s Own about three days to learn how to use the computer to make the posters and signs, but they were all too shy to go around asking if they could put the results up on people’s front lawns or in their windows. Callum was still nervous about not using his Rhinosasauris name on the nominating forms, and all the TeddyBears were still new to the neighbourhood - so they convinced Craig to help out. (Actually they offered to make him Clark of Her Majesty’s Privy Council, if they won.)

So they all plied into the car and went around the riding. Naturally almost everyone wanted a Rhino poster for the lawn or a window, except for some fractious university professor who asked about Callum’s credentials—which were obvious. Did the professor have a real horn and a snazzy safari jacket? - He then wanted to know about the ‘social grounding’ of their Platform.

Callum told him that it was far too cold to build any platforms on the ground in Canada. The TeddyBear with the GreenFeet was appalled and spoke up “T’is sure back in the County Meath only the very poor builds anyt’ing on the open ground and t’be sure that’s why I left my own dear home and ‘migrated here; to be rich, happy and marry Linda Evangelista.”

He then asked to see the receipt for the professor’s degree. He had the door slammed in his face.

“Quasi-Neo-Trotskyite-Revisionist!” they all shouted, and the Bear with the RedTuque put their secret mark on the middle of his front door - so that no self respecting Bear would ever drop in for tea, or offer to shovel off the steps after a snow storm.

Now quite favourably impressed with themselves they drove home.

When they reached Holmwood, the street was covered by police cars! The Nova immediately shifted into first gear, put on its emergency brake and did a 180 degree turn. It had almost reached third gear before Craig could assure it that all the parking tickets were paid, and that they all had better get home to see what was going on.

They returned just in time to see Beauregard Clayton-Lyon being conducted into the house by two be-coated policemen.

They turned into the back yard where BT-McG was waiting for them. He stood there trembling. He threw his arms about, kicked the remains of their asparagus patch, and flung a rock into the pond, “They t’rew poor Beauregard in the Glass House for putt’ng trut’ serum into one of the ‘ponnent’s mor’nen coffees. Now f’sure, Miss Zita is’n there right now; putt’ng on her best Wes’Country accent - Policemens always trusts Irish accents y’a know, ‘cause of all those Barry O’Sullivan and Paddy O’Brien movies on the Saturday morn’en TV.”

Craig almost fled.

By the time he got parked, and read the riot act to the rest of the assembled Animeaux, the six policemen were all sitting around the dining room table drinking tea and waiting for their scones. Beauregard was sitting by himself in the living room looking very down cast. He was folding his hat into artistic shapes.

The Inspector was apologizing for all the fuss when Craig entered, “I know that your Monsieur Beauregard did this all with the best of intentions, but just think of the chaos that would occur if all the professionals running the various political campaigns started to tell the truth.... Now we knew something was amiss when the Other Gentleman confessed that the great confusion in his party was all his fault - and well since finding him accepting blame is unusual and actively searching it out is unique, so we knew that something was well amiss. When we looked at the list of suspects your Monsieur Lyon was the only one who had not been a campaign manager before. To his credit, he confessed right away. If it had not been for your friend Doyle’s intervention we might have had to put him away as a clear and present danger to the state.”

“What has he have to do with all this?” Craig asked with some astonishment.

“Ah well, Pat, the Arch-Bishop and some of us lads get together for lunch and practice our Latin every couple of weeks. Pat was down at the Club when all these untoward events took place. It seems that your Monsieur Lyon has relatives in the Curia, and Pat recognized the name, and the Archdiocese vouched for his behaviour. As you know Pat has a certain sympathy with obfuscation and your friend was doing his best — apparently there was some kind of a vote and nearly half the campaign funds were used to buy yourself and your good wife an anniversary bouquet. Monsieur Lyon seemed to feel that if everyone told the truth it would even things out.”

BT-McG strolled slowly downcast into the dining room and explained, “We didn’ really have ‘nough money t’buy even half hour of the TV. Even though our Queen’s Own have come up with a super show. They discovered lots of mainly true facts and ‘normously big figures on how Callum could buy huge model Helicopters for $8.00 each retail - So wit’ only $80,000,000 we could buy one for nearly whole country, saving kabillions of dollars.

He’ll take som’o’ d’extra money and rents the French Foreign Legions to guard whales from those pesky Japanese and Norwegian folks. Rest he’ll invest in show’n the House of Commons to all the ex-Commies in Eastern Europe. The figures say that d’def’cit would dissolve on reruns alone. Sadly we had only $73.00, - $54.00 if I forget Christmas present cash, and that wer’nt enough to get us on the TV - even in Newfoundland’. We then voted and ‘cided to buy Zita loads of pretty flowers for the anniversary, since we knows Craig would forget. So then we had only $41.79 and I ‘pose it was this unusual poverty that drove poor Beauregard to crime - un-used as he is to a lack of the ‘ready’.”

Beauregard swung himself over the brown sofa, and sat on the long white bookshelf, between it and the dining room. He didn’t want to get too close to the police. He said that he was very sorry to Callum and BT-McG.

“I was getting quite upset you see — all the other parties would not let us take part in the important debates - and the dumb TV cameras never see Callum and me, because..... well perhaps we ar’nt as tall as some of the other candidates and, and - its not fair. I’ve written the CRTC but they referred me to the CBC and then they sent me to someone else, who redirected me to another department..... and well it is MY job to get us on the television so that we are very well known and can show up the numerous failings of the other parties, and I am not doing a very good job of it and I am so very sorry..... and..... and.....”

Beauregard looked away lest his emotions got the best of him.

All the policemen nodded knowing only too well what it’s like to deal with the media, especially the CBC. The Inspector stood up brushing the crumbs from his lap and said that they must get back to work, but he took out his wallet and put $10 dollars on the table “A campaign donation.” he said. He shook hands with Beauregard and Callum and told them not to be depressed, and that he would personally lose all traces of this “misunderstanding” from the files. All the other policemen put their folding donations into Callum’s helmet as they left and wished them all good luck.

This left them with a total of $77.38 (after they paid Beauregard’s contribution to the Policeman’s National Canasta Soiree Fund). Not enough to match the major parties and barely enough to by a keg of Scotch, even with Dugal’s bulk discount.

So instead of having a picnic, as it was getting quite cold and Zita had not finished all their new winter clothes yet, they got out Dugal’s second best pewter flask, filled it with some of his 33-year-old Auchentoshan, and took it around with them as they went campaigning, as a “convincer”. It was this tactic that led them astray.

An Over Indulgence.... or Two

One night just before the election Craig had gone to Montreal to pick a returning Zita up. Beauregard had accompanied him to the airport. He was in a small panic. He thought the discomfort of a long car ride was well worth the opportunity to deliver his version of why he had tried to get Mademoiselle Marie-Ellen to give him a good-night kiss before any less amusing version reached Zita’s ear.

You see when Zita was off in Ireland, visiting her family; the woman who had tried to teach Craig French, came over for dinner. Naturally she had been presented to Dugal and the Dragons. When she went upstairs to be introduced to all the others, Beauregard looked up from behind his copy of ‘The Picayune Times’ and had asked for a good-night kiss, less he was tempted to mentioned to Mizz Zita that they-all had been entertaining women in her absence.

Poor Marie-Ellen was scandalized. Callum and Haemish had to use their considerable powers of persuasion to prevent her from crying.

Naturally Beauregard was mortified by the outcome, and apologized many times. He said that it was her French accent that reminded him of all the young demoiselles from Ste. Margarine Parish back home. They had always kissed him good-night (and some times good-morning, we have no doubt) and it was the memories that had caused him to lose his composure. That and the stress of being arrested had undermined his natural better instincts.

(With this in mind he thought it best if he met Zita at the airport, and made his explanations before the Q-O Pigs spilled the beans, or mentioned silk teddies and the mirrors.)

It was late and rainy when he and Craig reached the new Montreal airport. They waited for Zita in silence, when she arrived she was desperately tired from the long flight, and the awful coffee. In spite of this she said that she was very glad to see both of them. As they sat in the car, Beauregard told her his sad tale, with a certain amount of elegant embroidery, so she forgave him right away - it was easier she knew - and they both fell asleep as soon as they reached the highway, and didn’t awake until Craig announced that they had once again reached home.

When they entered the house they found it unusually quiet - even the stereo was off, and Dugal was fast asleep, rather oddly curled up under the dinner table. When they got upstairs there was a whole lot of un-suppressed giggling going on.

Across the doorway to the den a banner had been strung, which read, “Welcome Home - what did you bring us? Love from us.”

When they entered the bedroom and turned on the lights there arose the most pitiful moan from both the bookcase and the dresser. BT-McG was propped up, half sitting on the dresser, with his hat covering his face, Callum and Haemish were resting face down - on the stereo receiver, breathing very slowly and very quietly.

The TeddyBear with GreenFeet spoke up, “Now dey’ve been a bit into d’poteen, Y’err honour.

T’be sure it was all fault to Colonel and Mr. Haemish. It was themselves who decided that as its’ only t’ree days to the election, it was the time to get everyones to vote for Mister Callum. They broke out bottles of the Colonel’s Special Stock, them bottles that he keeps hidden under the rug in the back room of the basement.”

Obviously not too well hidden thought Craig.

“And y’see it was himself over there,” pointing at BT-McG “who was sick on the lawn and didn’t go to Mass at all.” The little TBear was quite indignant.

BT-McG said in a very quiet and hoarse voice, “It was the six Black Russians I had at the Doctor’s house that did it, I’m slorry to say.” He then slipped down onto his side and fell asleep.

Callum whispered slowly that they had being going door-to-door all evening explaining how they would run the country; with truth and humour. They had gone to the Bowen’s house last because Callum knew that they had the best chocolate cake in the world always ready, just for guests.

He and the Reverend Dr. Bowen had been arguing about what to do about North Africa and they drank all the Scotch in Dugal’s flask and then Desmond brought out the Jamison’s and they finished that. By the time the Tia Maria was found, Haemish, Dugal and Mrs. Bowen had rearranged the living room into the second battle of the Somme and were discussing the subtle points of General Haig’s failure.

When the fist World War had been re-fought in the living room and Callum had argued Dr. Bowen into insensibility in the den, all the Animeaux, and Desmond had too much to drink, and the Reverend Dr. Bowen had to bid them a fair-thee-well holding on to the front door, and the rest of them had to walk home arm in arm - so that none would fall down. BT-McG was quite ill, and the others were relying on Dugal’s walking stick to get them back.

It seams that the Dragoon Guards heard the noise a block away and went out to guide them. They were all quite embarrassed by their behaviour.

By the time Craig and Zita arrived home they were all feeling quite awful and the Q-O Pigs and the other TBears were not about to give them any sympathy at all and had hidden all the aspirin and the 222’s.

Election Night

The day of the election had turned out to be very busy for Craig; he had to pick up a rather nifty model 1897 Winchester pump and get it registered at the Police station, have a coffee with Bill - who wanted to know how Beauregard was settling in, go to the liquor store for the Colonel and Zita. Then as a favour to Haemish he had picked-up Miss Tanya at her school and delivered her home so she could vote. On the way they had discussed the impact of the free trade negotiations on imported French silk lounging robes, brocaded halter tops and the other complex necessities of a young and fashionable life.

As she got out of the car she asked if Haemish had got his new ski boots yet, as downhill season was not too far away and she wanted Craig to make sure that Haemish wore his new scarf as she was quite concerned that he was not used to the cold weather, having come from the middle east and all.

As he was wondering about all this, especially the ski boots and new scarf the Nova burbled up “I knew it was never too late to have an exciting life - old guns, young blondes and foreign intrigue - it’s a lot better then taking dull trips to the IGA and motoring over to aunt Jessie’s Sunday pot luck lunches - I knew my life would get better - it really doesn’t matter if I am a little old and my paint doesn’t quite match does it? It’s what’s in your heart that counts. I knew it wasn’t too late for me to be a credit to The General. Will our life always be like this?”

“I well, not always this exciting, and don’t pay too much attention to Callum and Haemish’s stories about the terrorists. They are much exaggerated.” He did not want to scare the little Nova into a nervous fit, or a radiator hose collapse.

“Anyway we are much too busy just now for things like that, Zita and you have to take Callum’s supporters to the polls tonight.”

When they got home everyone was in a high state of agitation; Callum was watching “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance”, since it was about getting Jimmy Stewart elected in spite of scandalous behaviour on the part of his opponents, he thought it was appropriate. It also took his mind off the fact that other parties had decided to take this election so seriously that they had resorted to lying and making rude faces at each other on the Television.

He had privately asserted, “All in all; I would rather be polite than be Prime Minister.”

(That didn’t mean that he had given up - no he just wanted to represent a real protest vote - for those people who thought that leading a country was far too important a job to be taken that seriously. If they achieved only that Callum and all the cronies would consider it a great campaign and declare themselves elected in the hearts of Canadians, where it really counted anyway.)

Zita, Haemish and BT-McG had to leave the house early as they were electoral officials and had to ensure that everything stayed on the up and up. The rest of them had dragged the other two Televisions into the den, then settled down to watch the results. They had placed 16 tubs of Hagan Däs ice cream in the freezer and the Asti Spumante in the refrigerator.

(Asti floats were the favoured and traditional drink for all official Rhinosasauris celebrations you see.)

Craig warned both the TBears and the Queen’s Own that it was probably going to be a long and forlorn night, since he thought it very unlikely that Callum would win. Privately he thought that they had all toiled enormously hard, and he was very proud of them all; especially of Callum who never got discouraged, nor had false hopes.

The TeddyBear with GreenFeet spoke up, breaking his thoughts, “I went to Mass first thing this morning, and prayed and prayed and prayed that we pulverize whoever that bog-hopping, skin-flint hardhearted professor - the one who wanted us to build houses for poor peoples in the dirt - voted for, and then every t’ing will be fine with me. And I lit t’ree candles too. The TeddyBear with the RedTuque helped me find some spare coins for the collection, and then he went over to the government farm - to the old oak grove and prayed for a very out-of-sorts FuryBear to come and pay that rotten man a visit in the very middle of a moon-less night.”

From across room, Colonel Dugal looked up from his book and smiled, “We appreciate all the assistance, moral and otherwise, that you two have sent Callum’s way. I am sure that your brother the Bishop will be pleased to pieces with how well you are fitting in over here.” The two smallish bears beamed.

The three returned about 10 o’clock, and came upstairs to the den, looking quite dispirited. BT-McG and Beauregard went off to the far corner shook hands. Zita went over and the three of them wiped each others’ eyes. Haemish went into the back bedroom with Callum; Dugal wandered in with them, trying to cover his second best flask with his tam. About 10 minutes later the three of them came into the den - where everyone was waiting. Callum walked over and climbed up on the old wooden wheelchair, and thanked everyone for their efforts.

“They have said ‘It is not if you win or lose, its how you play....’ Friends we have had the very best innings I ever saw. I wouldn’t change an iota for all the world. I have just been told that Beauregard and BT-McG. feel that they have somehow let us all down. That just couldn’t be true. They are the truest friends Haemish and I have ever had. We just now phoned home and I have been fortunate enough to have just spoken to the High King of the Rhinosasauri. He has awarded both Monsieur Beauregard Clayton-Lyon; late of the Ville de Nouvelle Orleans, and Master Bruin Theodore McGruph (which was BT-McG’s real name), late of the County of Lanark, with - The Most Royal Order of the Gladdened Heart; For Actions far above the Constraints of Prudence or the Demands of Fear. Now bring on the haggis chutneys and the Asti-Floats!”

With that Dugal and Haemish piped the Haggis in. The Dragoons pushed in the wicker laundry basket full of Hagan Däs ice cream, Asti Spumante - some Coke Classic for Craig - and many double handled crystal mugs from Dugal’s great-grand father’s wedding. Then they all, everyone of them, got onto the sofa, turned off the election and put Candice Bergen and Sean Connery in “The Wind and The Lion” on all three televisions. They made numerous toasts, pulled the red and white diamond quilt over themselves and after a while fell asleep.

A while later Craig heard Callum telling Zita, please not to cry, it was really only a movie.