Hinton fell in love with Tabble on a hot summer’s day whilst walking along the banks of the Yorcangle river betwixt the swish-swaying strands of the Winnomer trees that diluted the strong sunshine into a more palatable admixture of dappled shade. Hinton, reclining with lavish abandon against one such of these arboreal beauties, was reading a favourite novel, by Noir U. N. Barbe a swash-un-buckling yarn about lascivious pirates with peculiar peccadilloes. “My! What sultry reading you have in your hands there” Tabble remarked cheekily. “Oh, yes! I’ve just reached the splendid part where the dastardly pirate Turquoise-Bangs has her peg-leg fitted”. Hinton being a fan of Barbe, and Barbe being a favourite of Tabble, the conversation ere long flowed long and luxuriantly like the cool waters of the Yorcangle.
In time, Hinton and Tabble discovered their mutual delight in many literary giants like Wilhelmina Rattlepike, R. J. J. Tolreluctant and Charlotte Fannykins. Whilst nattering merrily about these books they loved, they soon discovered they too loved each other.
On a brisk autumnal day whilst walking along the banks of the Yorcangle river, Hinton fell down kneewards before Tabble and made a poetic and marvellous proposal of marriage, ending… “Terrific Tabble, won’t you do me the utmost and glorious of honours and me mine forever?”. A smile spread across Tabble’s face, eyes sparkling, set off with the colours bouncing off the the great opal-set ring handed across as a memento of the moment. The answer came swiftly, “By jolly Jigglewiggle, nothing would fill my heart with more zigglepiggling delight!”.
But as winter drew in silently with its stealthy malice, disaster soon struck. The best laid matrimonial plans of the besotted pair came unstuck. For unbeknownst to them, in the beautiful Yorcangle lurked that most revolting of beasts, a mauve-haired festering meaverweasel which squelching hideously onto the bank ahead of its winter hibernation was swallowed whole by a joshawke which swooped it up in its talons before feeding it bit by bit to its chomping chicks high up in the Norspoon mountains, which were in turn gobbled up by a slithering udderadder (a rare serpent which sprouts a fine set of teats) that was duly milked by a snaketuggler for the morning cereal of the Marquess of Galepond.
What the unsuspecting Marquess did not know, was that meaverweasels carry inside them a terrible disease which often cover them with purple boils which explode horribly, a pestilence which had been cooked into something ever more potent in the bellies of joshawkes and udderadders and cruelly past onto him in the milk poured liberally over his muesli. The poor Marquess soon became the first victim of a fearsome new plague called the ‘jabbering sickness’ which produced big purple boils and provoked a constant babble of nonsense and laughter. Soon the Marquess was jabbering away, and so too his children, Bibby, Libby, Tibby and Jonannathan. Who each passed on the nasty illness to their friends and enemies. Before long, far and wide along the Yorcangle the curse of purple boils and jabbering proliferated terribly.
Jonannathan gave it with a kiss to the the snaketuggler’s daughter Cobrabella who gave it to her sister Aspaa, who flung it at a school chum Tombo Bollinboddle who looked after it for a week before passing it to the Rev’d Jarrew who gave it to Meggin the flowermonger who gave it to Cartillo the tailor who in an unfortunate tavern scrape inadvertently passed it to Tintad the potscraper who at the wrong moment in a tight alleyway as he was squeezing past the immense bosoms of Mrs Betna Bean let out an infectious chortle which gave the poor lady the accursed jabbering sickness.
Bear in mind that the jabbering sickness was not fatal, but it was a damn nuisance. Who could do anything when laughing and sprouting nonsense or swimming in a sea of boiljuices?
A sample of Mrs Betna Bean’s symptomatic utterances is herewith given to the dear reader verbatim: “Brick up the chicken pudding or you will * laughs* never see the moon skip merrily to the tune of Old Barnabby the Handsome Cabbie *chortles* or encounter the delights of a fish-massage at the hands of a moustachioed military officer as he flounces his lace petticoats at passing accountants who have been let out of the mines punitively early for incessant decanting of *guffaws* etc. etc…..”
This ghastly little subplot is necessary background information for the simple elucidatory fact that many of these poorly jabberers had been recruited by Hinton and Tabble in the celebratory arrangements for their matrimonial jubilations. Betna Bean for example was the proprietress of Mrs Bean’s Hall of Goodtidings, Merrycaking and Matrimonial Undertakings and had been engaged when they got engaged to put on a swell shindig. One of her marvellous multi-tiered cakes with Hinton and Tabble crowning the cakey-crag sat on her worktable but her new illness now prevented anything further from being arranged or festooned or decanted or otherwise prepared.
And what with Rev’d Jarrew the Vicar braying and giggling about marshmallow pianofortes and not at all thinking about sermons, Meggin the Flowermonger desperately making crunchy hyacinth pesto in a vain attempt to find a cure for herjabbering before she’d even countemplated snipping the bouquet buds and Cartillo the tailor turning all the wedding finery to rags in order to mop up the unfortunate leakages from his purple boils, the wedding was well and truly off.
‘There, there, Hinton, my darling!’ cooed Tabble encouragingly, ‘…all shall be well again once this jabbering has subsided, as surely the jabbering cannot last for forever, for no jabbering can, when all have jabbered their all! And all boils, are eventually squeezed dry!’. These small words of consolation did the trick, and Hinton was once again steeled to action and invention. The wedding would be saved, by high or low Yorcangle waters! A keen inventor of this and that and all manner of practical thingos, Hinton went down to the shed and in short succession had plotted pinions here and there, drafted an array of dinglegirdles and sluiced open the pool of an enormous practical and poetic knowledge to invent the Clochepaddler. A marvellous device for sealing the wedding cake and wedding bells away safely for such time when the festivities once delayed could recommence!
As Tabble had promised, so the jabbering sickness subsided and peace and good health were once again restored to the jolly souls who lived on the banks of the Yorcangle river. The jabbering was jabbered out and the boils, boiled dry. On a hot summer’s day along the banks of the Yorcangle river betwixt the swish-swaying strands of the Winnomer trees that diluted the strong sunshine into a more palatable admixture of dappled shade Hinton and Tabble were married. Rev’d Jarrew orated sagely on brimstone and fire, Meggin had hooped together blooms of great beauty, Cartillo had threaded wedding raiments of some finery and Mrs Betna Bean put on one almighty shindig with all their friends from the Marquess of Galepond to Tintad the potscraper*. Best of all, though somewhat delayed, there was some of Mr’s Bean’s finest wedding cake ready to be served for all, fresh and sweet as if there had almost never been any delay at all. The knife withdrawn from the first cut, came out dirty, so as according to longstanding tradition Hinton had to give Tabble a great big kiss.
* No mauve-haired festering meaverweasels were invited.
