Whither And Why: Easter 2012
From the desk of Gerald Honk, Esq.
I strolled along the Butts of Warkworth on a blue and cloudless April morning, with a particular intention. As was tradition, my fellow villagers and I would soon hunt for chocolate eggs in the gardens of my friend, the indiscriminate reveller and indefatigable figurehead, Sir Hilary Harrison-Nairn.
As I walked, I passed a large collective noun of rabbits, hopping as rabbits do. Odd, I thought, as I leapt over the stile and approached the front door.
“Honk!” cried the giant rabbit in the doorway. It was H.H., dressed in his traditional Easter outfit. “You’re early!”
“Indeed, H.H., I thought I would get a head start this time, since I missed both last year and the year before.”
“Did I ever tell you about those disasters? Without you there to hold it all together – better than all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, you are, Honk…”
“You never did, H.H.”
“How convenient! Well, allow me to reveal my unglued Easters prior! The year before last was ill-fated thanks to Bismarck. I discovered him on the morning of the chase looking rather sorry for himself, his muzzle positively painted – with the remains of savaged ouefs en chocolat.”
“He’s a smart pup, H.H., he never misses a trick,” I offered.
“I’ll say,” quipped my friend. “The bounder even beat me at Backgammon last week! The grand failure of last year’s duff expedition, meanwhile, was all my doing. One had formulated a canny plot with which to guide eager egg hunters around the village, using clues, landmarks and, in one instance, a local resident! One busied about the village in the decreasingly wee hours of that morning, perching various clues in and around every nook and the odd cranny…”
“What of the resident?” I ventured. “Whom did you engage to take part in this game?”
“Ah! This is where the thing unravels terribly. I had politely invited old Tom from High Buston to take the role. He accepted, of course, and consented to sit on Dial Place’s market cross, divulging information to those who offered the correct riddle. However, such was his absorption into character, by mid-morning he’d led a few groups astray, by midday he was pretending to be an MP, and sadly, come the evening the parish council had to be sent for.”
“That does sound disastrous, H.H. But no such problem this year?”
“Not at all! In fact, in order to circumvent any egg-related issues, I’ve forgone the beastly ovals altogether!”
“But what will the villagers look for?”
“Bunnies! Delightful little Easter bunnies!”
“Oh, those delicious gold-wrapped chocolate ones? Wonderful!”
“No, no, you misunderstand, Honk. Real live rabbits! Much more fun, don’t you think?”
H.H. wishes to make it known that he has suddenly come into possession of a large quantity of rabbits. Free to good homes. He adds, “please help, they’re ruining the ornamental garden”.
H.H. would also like to point out that feeding dogs ordinary Man-Chocolate is not a very good idea at all as it makes them very sick indeed.
