Hal's letter to the miniature circus
|“|| To Messrs Felloci and Gamble,
Prop. Of the Bengali Brothers Miniature Circus
Currently Encamped on the Common,
3rd of April 1957
I feel compelled to write to you to offer my humble and heart felt apologies for the events of last Wednesday evening. I was the gentleman your security fellows chased from the back stage area of your circus after the six p.m. performance . I am also regrettably responsible for the deaths of the yellow and blue budgerigars that were perched upon a stand in that area.
I am sure that their deaths must have been a terrible blow to all concerned, especially considering the violence of their demise. I can assure you that malice was the furthest thing from my mind when I entered that area and their deaths were entirely incidental. I initially thought that I had merely killed some pets of the staff, but upon further perusal of the playbill I now realise that I have robbed your circus of one of it's star attractions, namely Coco and Cheep Cheep, the quaintly named 'Flying Lovebirds'.
If I might be allowed to part way explain my actions. I had been forced into attending one of your performances by some very close friends of mine. I had not left my house in quite some time and it was through that the routine and ridged nature of the
order of performance would make for an agreeable evening.
Unfortunately, the members of my party over looked the implications of the 'miniature' aspects of the proceedings, namely a great number of small living things, a category of nature I am not, to put it mildly, at all fond of. This unforeseen shrinking of scale also necessitated a similar reduction in the size of the circus ring to afford the audience a clear view of all that proceeded.
So it was that I found myself, without warning or chance to mentally prepare, uncomfortably close to a variety of small animals and insects, of time dressed as macabre travesties of humanity; top hatted cockroaches pulling tiny hansom cabs, bowler hatted terriers and poodles taking tea in a bizarre facsimile of a suburban home. I began to feel faint and feverish, and for a while entertained the fancy that I was a trespasser in some animalistic Lilliput.
By the time we reached the horrifying spectacle of the goat being ridden by a monkey sporting Stetson and six guns I feared I would lose all reason.
Barely lucid, I stumbled for what I hoped was the exit, but instead found myself in a canvas walled maze that eventually lead me to a brightly lit room. Scarcely had I a chance to get my bearings than I was swooped upon by a yellow blur that later turned
out to be Coco. He may well have been rehearsing his star turn, but to my addled brain it felt like an attack. I allowed instinct to take over and unfortunately ripped the poor bird to pieces. And, I am afraid to say, ate part of his head. His mate attempted to intervene and soon met the same fate.
I understand there is no way my apologies, sincere though they are, can make up for the loss of these no doubt loved and valued birds. However there is an area in which I can at least attempt to make recompense, that is the potential loss of revenue caused by their demise. Attached to this letter is a package containing an item liberated from Berlin at the end of the war. The symbol stamped on it may give you pause, but I am sure that once melted down it will more than make up for any lost ticket sales.
For legal reasons I will avoid signing my full name, but hope you can accept my humble apologies for my momentary lapse in control and the attached item in good faith.