[John Whitworth]

I must be getting old. These competitions increasingly puzzle me. What on earth would the characters chat about? But some of you, sharper-witted, will be able to help.

No. 2820: postscript

Barbara Hardy’s recent Dorothea’s Daughter and Other Nineteenth Century Postscripts is a collection of short stories in which Professor Hardy imagines significant conversations between characters some time after their novel has ended. These postscripts enter into dialogues with the original narratives by developing suggestions in the text rather than changing the plot in any way. How about other such postscripts to any well-known novel? Please email entries, of up to 150 words, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 16 October.

[Brian Allgar]

A tricky one, this ... Oh well, in the hope that Lucy doesn't decide to follow Vicky's primrose path by excommunicating anyone who posts here:

He was indeed an altered Toad!

Yet somehow, life in and around the Wild Wood had become duller in consequence.

One evening, the Mole and the Rat were reminiscing about the exciting times thay had lived through, and especially the night they had evicted the invaders from Toad Hall.

“Remember how you went for the ferrets?” said the Mole.

“Yes,” said the Rat, “And my goodness, how you walloped those weasels!”

“Of course, it’s wonderful that Toad is a reformed character.”

“No more caravans, stolen cars, horse-theft ...” The Rat sighed wistfully.

“No more boastful songs and speeches ... But do you know, Ratty, I sometimes miss them.”

“I know what you mean”, said the Rat thoughtfully. “I’ve been wondering ...” He showed Mole the photograph he was studying. “It’s a new invention, and I’m sure that Toad would be unable to resist it.”

“What is it?” asked the Mole.

“It’s called an aeroplane ...”

[Rob Stuart]

‘The Worst Thing in the World?’ Winston took a deep breath. ‘Well, for me it was rats. In a cage on my head.’
‘How awful,’ said Julia.
‘And what happened to you, exactly? You weren’t in Room 101, because that’s where I was.’
‘No. I was down the corridor in Room 78.’
‘And what does that contain?’
Julia shuddered. ‘Something You Find Quite Irritating.’
‘Oh.’
She nodded. ‘For me it was those woolly hats that look like pandas.’
He blinked at her.
‘They even had a bloke wearing one, Winston. I had to betray you then. Anyway, it all turned out for the best. We were cured of our insanity.’
Winston nodded. That was true enough. ‘Right then,’ he said, signalling to the waiter, ‘we had two teas at two dollars each, so that’ll be... four dollars.’
‘Five,’ Julia corrected.
‘Oh yes, that’s right,’ said Winston. ‘Five.’

[John Whitworth]

Ah I begin to see...

Some conversation between characters in Alice in Wonderland that touches on Mr Dodgson's fondness for naked little girls. Now let's see...

Nothing wrong with naked little girls mind. Why many an old DJ...

[Rob Stuart]

Postscript to The Rupert Annual 1977: Rupert and the Child Psychologist

‘Obviously all children incorporate elements of fantasy into their play,’ the psychologist was explaining, ‘but in the case of your son Rupert I fear this has developed into full-blown psychosis.’
‘There’s not a day that goes past without him claiming to have met the King of the Birds in a castle in the clouds,’ Mrs Bear said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, ‘or to have fallen down a hole in Nutwood forest that turns out to be a gnomes’ mine.’ Mr Bear gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
‘Don’t despair,’ the psychologist said, ‘there are various strategies we can... we can...’ He tailed off.
‘Are you all right?’ said Mr Bear.
The psychologist frowned. ‘I’ve just realised that I’m sitting here having a conversation with a family of... bears.’
‘What makes you think we’re bears?’

[John Whitworth]

Alice and Humpty Dumpty

'Do you know Mr Dodgson?' said Alice rather timidly. She knew how Humpty Dumpty would argue.
'No,' said Humpty Dumpty, shortly. 'Who is Mr Dodgson?'
'He wrote this book.'
'Nonsense, child. That is Mr Carroll. Everybody knows that.'
'But Mr Dodgson is Mr Carroll' said Alice.
Humpty Dumpty looked affronted. 'How do you know?'
'Because I know Mr Dodgson. He takes me places.'
'What places?'
'This place for a start.'
'A start to what?'
'I mean this is one of the places he takes me.'
'Where is he? Humpty Dumpty turned his head with much creaking. 'I can't see him.'
'He wrote you. So you wouldn't.'
'He wrote you too.'
'No he didn't. I'm a little girl on the other side of the Looking Glass. Mr Dodgson likes little girls.'
'I've heard,' said Humpty Dumpty decidedly, 'of people like that. You're better off here.'

[Brian Allgar]

Sir,

I believe your piece to be a thinly-veiled attack on me, and I have advised my lawyers.

Yours litigiously,
Humberty Dumberty.

[Graham King]

Hi,

Ah, that recurring distasteful theme...

I hope you ES gentlemen and ladies will indulge me writing a little in defence of the repute of one of my favourite authors.

It's easy to slur deceased CL Dodgson... on ill-founded grounds. Easily-found up-to-date references, such as The Victorian Web and Wikipedia entries on him (and scholarly works to which they refer), help explode the 'Carroll' myth.
These sources cover key points such as the fact that he was by no means emotionally-engaged primarily with little girls, but had many friendships with adult women throughout his life; and that depiction of unclothed children in various forms of art was a fairly mainstream Victorian aesthetic, and innocuously so, not a sinister predilection peculiar to Dodgson.

I think re child welfare Dodgson has no case to answer (and of course currently can't answer- though others might speak up on his behalf); but rather it seems to me that his detractors have their case against him still to make (if they can).

That's my opinion, for what it may be worth!
Perhaps the best indication of the soundness of his character lies in the quality of his work.

[John Whitworth]

For what it is worth I am quite sure that Dodgson was excited sexually by little girls. I really don't see what that has to do with the quality of his work. I also have no doubt at all that he did not act on his feelings.

What you feel and what you do are quite different things. J.M. Barrie had a thing for little boys and used to share his bed with them. But that was all he shared. I think.

Writers are often quite odd and children's writers perhaps more often than most. Poets of course are madder than a box of frogs.

[Gail White]

Great idea for a contest. Personally, I've always suspected that Elizabeth and Darcy were at each other's throats within a year. I could never picture them having any children.