scs Fairy Tales

By Authors Unknown

A Fairy Story

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Princess who was an only child. But she was not a happy Princess, her father didn't love her because he had wanted a son and, as this was long before the time of Monsanto, gene manipulation and all that technical stuff, it was just his luck that the 'x's and 'y's and, for all I know, the rest of the alphabet got all mixed up and he couldn't say 'a son is born'.

No, no, no. This is not one of these religious stories that tend to crop up at this time of year, with fully booked Red Roof motels, stables round the back, a donkey or two as onlookers and the sky illuminated by a wonderous star in the heavens. Not to mention three guys on camels who arrived from the East, sources say Szechuan, with portions of #24, #63 and #72 (with extra fried rice) in their saddlebags. Excuse me, you thought home delivery was a new thing ? No, actually it's been around for . . . But stop ! Home delivery is going to get us back onto that manger story and that's not where we're going. Well, I'm not, you can if you want to but you're on your own.

Anyway, because Daddy was not a happy chappie when she was born, he didn't love her, he didn't even have her baptised with a fancy name such as Rapunzel, oh no, Princess Senga was what she got. When she was only five years old, he sent the Princess to live in a very high tower from which there was no escape along with her nurse. She wasn't really qualified as a nurse or even a childminder but she had worked for 20 years in the Scottish Prison Service which Daddy decided was ideal training for the task in hand.

Actually, it wasn't a tower as you'd imagine it, was a 22 storey tower block on the North side of Glasgow, the lift was out of order and the stairs were full of crackheads and junkies so it was actually safer for her to stay in her top floor apartment. Well, to be honest, it wasn't really a proper apartment, more of a two-room and kitchen. One room for Senga and one for Nursie. Now, obviously, they had to get food. So, each day, having locked the Princess in her room watching re-runs of Oprah on the TV, Nursie would go down to the local Co-op and buy the groceries.

Life continued in this way for more than 20 years and the Princess had never been out of the flat. But each day, she would look longingly out of the window and gaze at the view beneath. It was only a courtyard scattered with broken tellys, fridges and freezers and with chip papers and empty Burger King boxes blowing in the wind, but it was something she had only observed from 22 storeys up. Now, if you think about it, you'll realise that the Princess had never been to a hairdresser and, as a result, her hair had grown very long. In fact, it was so long, it hung down past her (very pretty) erse ! Give Nursie her due, she took great care in ensuring that the meals complied with the very latest thinking on 'healthy eating'. It meant she had to totally change tack every couple of months but, what the heck, she had nothing else to do. As a result, the Princess was what was locally referred to as a 'Stoatir'.

Now one day, as Nursie returned from her shopping expedition, she was apprehended as she stopped to get her breath back, by this time her asthma was absolutely chronic, on the 19th floor. Aye, the lifts were still out of order. A youth dressed in Levis, £150 Reeboks and an 'I'm a proud Bluenose' tee shirt offered to sell her what he described as 'asma preventir'. So Nursie bought some.

She got back up to the flat, let the Princess out her room, and sat down. Still short of breath, she decided she'd try the 'asthma preventer'. So she poured herself a glass of Carlsberg Special, tipped the powder in and stirred it up. It looked OK, so, in a ladylike manner, she drank it down in three gulps. Alas, what she had purchased was an LSD type drug and she went to the window and decided she'd fly down to the chip van that had just pulled up at the entrance to the building. She landed right on top of the van, went through the roof and ended up totally battered and somewhat bruised as well . . . Deid ? Of course she was deid ! After a header out a 22nd storey window ? Think this is some kind of fairy tale ?

The Princess was disconsolate, greetin' as well, she didn't have a key for the flat and Nursie's key had been on a chain (18 carat gold, good gear) around her neck when she fell. There was enough tinned food in the cupboard to last for a couple of weeks so that wasn't an immediate problem but what to do thereafter ?

The next day, her mind was clearer, so was the courtyard, the polis had arranged for the chip van to be towed away. She decided that she would call for help and see if there was any response . . . so she did, every hour on the hour for five minutes at a time. It was around 2.30 the next morning when she got her first response . . . 'Haw, Geezabrekk annat. Hiv you any idea what time it is ?'

Nonplussed, she stuck to her plan and, soon she was rewarded. A male voice from the flat below called out, asking who was she and what the problem was. The Princess explained her predicament and the man said he'd get back to her once he figured out a plan. Two hours later he did. "Haw Senga, hing yir hair doon soit Ah kin climb up !"

(At this point I must ask that you suspend belief just a little bit. It's not as if her hair has to reach right down the ground, just the window of the flat below)

So she leant over the window and let her hair hang down. Within a matter of minutes, the man had climbed up her tresses and was standing beside her in the flat.

'Oh', said the Princess, 'you have saved me, you can break the door down and I can at last escape from this horrible place after 24 years of confinement. I really don't know how to thank you. In fact, I don't even know your name.'

With a short bow, the man said, 'My name is Josef Fritzl.'