It is a good job that the glittering grey spires of the City of Rusty Duck can be seen in the distance, because Dorothy Miggins soon realises she is ill-prepared for a long journey and begins to think that the citizens of Duckkins Land are bordering on the irresponsible to send her on her way with nothing more than a few flowers and chocolates.
‘I think we shall be at the City of Rusty Duck within a couple of hours,’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘It doesn’t look very far away. Perhaps we shall be lucky and a bus will pass by.’
‘Wuff!’ says Toto, who hopes the journey will be quick, too, because it is jolly hard sustaining a pantomime dog posture, and it is a good job Mrs Slocombe and Hugh Gnu are consummate professionals when it comes to staying in role. Sometimes.
The journey is pleasant enough. The sun is shining, the trees are full of bounce and verve, the fields are lush with ripening corn. The Yellow Brick Road continues on its forward course; Dorothy Miggins even does a little skip every now and again. It’s all very perky.
But then they reach a crossroads. Inconveniently, the City of Rusty Duck has vanished from view; even more inconveniently, there appears to be no helpful signpost saying ‘City of Rusty Duck – This Way’. Dorothy Miggins sighs. ‘Well, this is aggravating,’ she says. ‘Which way should we go, Toto?’
‘That way,’ says a voice.
‘I’ve asked you time and time again to stay in character,’ sighs the author (biscuit number 23).
‘That wasn’t me!’ says an indignant Toto. ‘I mean, wuff. Wuff,wuff, wuffity wuff.’
‘Then who was it?’ says Dorothy Miggins, placing a thoughtful wing to her beak (acting, you see.)
‘Hi!’ says the voice. ‘It’s me. Up here!’
And there, in the cornfield to their left, and dangling quite high up on a post, is a scarecrow.
‘I think you should go THAT way,’ says the scarecrow, pointing to the road that leads right. ‘Or maybe THAT way,’ he continues, pointing the road straight ahead. ‘Actually, I don’t really know. I haven’t much of a brain for these things.’
‘Why,’ mutters Dorothy Miggins to herself, ‘do I have so many helpful people in my life?’ She clears her throat. ‘What’s your name, Mr Scarecrow?’ she says.
‘Tancrow Pete,’ says the Scarecrow. ‘On account of my love of dancing and my penchant for Burnt Orange Self-Tanning Trump Lotion. One has to look one’s best on the dance floor.’
Dorothy Miggins has to agree he does indeed look very orange and feels immediate shame that she thought it was on account of him being a massive pumpkin head.
‘Can you see the City of Rusty Duck from up there?’ she says.
‘I’m afraid not,’ says Tancrow Pete. ‘Just crows. Crows, crows everywhere. Here a crow, there a crow, everywhere a crow and another crow.’ He lets out a huge sigh which sets at least 23 crows rising into the air, but they soon settle again, a-peck peck peckin’ at the corn. Tancrow Pete is clearly a very ineffectual crop protector.
‘Did you say you are going to the City of Rusty Duck?’ he continues.
‘Yes,’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘To see the Great and Powerful…’
‘Powerful?’ says Toto. ‘I thought it was Great and Mighty?’
‘Whatevs,’ says Dorothy Miggins, getting down and cool wiv da kidz. ‘We’re going to see the Wizard of Oz to ask him how I can get home to the Three Counties Border. I arrived here by cyclone, you see.’
‘Is that like Uber?’ says Tancrow Pete.
‘Smoother ride,’ says Dorothy Miggins.
‘I wonder why he is called the Wizard of Oz, when he lives in the City of Rusty Duck?’ says Tancrow Pete. ‘Shouldn’t he be called the Wizard of Rusty Duck?’
‘Well,’ says Toto, taking advantage of the fact the author has briefly left the scene to go for a lady tiddle break at the Wee Shop, ‘if he was called the Wizard of Rusty Duck we might have encountered a few problems with the rhyme scheme in the farewell song from Duckkin Land. You know, what with ‘duck’ rhyming all to easily with f…’
‘TOTO!’ says Dorothy Miggins. ‘Please remember this is a family story and there might be children listening.’
‘Never mind children,’ says the author, returning from her comfort break very much relieved. ‘I am listening. Resume character, please!’
‘Wuff,’ says Toto, starting to sound despondent with the limitations of the role.
Tancrow Pete nods sagely. ‘I see,’ he says. And then, ‘I don’t suppose you could help me down, could you? It’s so….uninspiring dangling around up here, day in and day out. I mean, I know I don’t have the brains to do anything else, like be a farmer perhaps, or a marine biologist, but maybe if I came with you to see the Great and Powerfully Mighty Wizard of Oz he might give me a brain.’
‘More chance than if he was the Great and Powerfully Mighty Wizard of Rusty Duck who might not give a f ***,’ mutters Toto under his/her breath, but thankfully no-one hears, least of all any children.
Dorothy Miggins considers the matter. It might be safer to travel in a group, in case they are later attacked by, say, a lion of some sort. And it is nearly Christmas after all. Season of good will to all etc etc blah blah blah.
‘Very well,’ she says. ‘Toto, help Mr Tancrow Pete down from his pole.’
Well, that is sight to see! Mrs Slocombe balances atop the shoulders of Hugh Gnu, a-wibblin’ and a-wobblin’ as they struggle to release Tancrow Pete. But they do it – hurrah!
And soon all three are on their way, following the Yellow Brick Road to the left because when in doubt, it is always best to follow the road least travelled. Apparently.
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