Non-fiction / The Paragon Gang

Ms Suzanna Einstein
LJK Literary Management

Dear Ms. Einstein,

This submission is entitled "The Paragon Gang, Dreaming of America and the Garden of stones". 81,711 words. 300 pages.

After the explosion of the septic tank settled and the damages were assessed, there were no doubts in the mind of anyone on the village that Pogsy, Mikey, Monty, Tommy and I were going to be a force with which to contend. The "Paragon Gang", as the adults called our little group, would over the following 15 years demonstrate that children with imagination and very little inhibitions could and often would bring to life hilarious and incredible adventures.
While post-war Europe was still healing its bruises, a new generation was born with a renewed spirit and a yearning for a bright future. Many looked at the world in a new light and America was being discovered as the beacon of freedom and value. For the first time, and with the new emerging technologies, we were able to see and feel what America was, its lifestyle, its values and its promises.
From early on, we watched every possible American film that had reached England’s shores and every television program that had been brought to the little screen of the shinny new bakelite-clad black and white television.
Every year Pogsy, Mikey, Monty, Tommy and I would meet for the summer at the village. Our worry-free and happy life would constantly be driven by the need to emulate American heroes,
re-enact scenes from American films and attempt to imagine what life would be on the other side of the pond. Our experiences and hilarious adventures would entertain the entire village and cause formidable anxieties to many. Over the years, we would discover new feelings, experience incredible new joys and unimaginable new pains along with the confusing tribulations the growing years seem to always bring.
1965 came and youth was sadly making way for a less exuberant life and new responsibilities, sudden and tragically dreadful moments changed the course of our lives. We looked at the future with new eyes, our dreams were suddenly replaced by reality. In the end, one of us made it to the United states.

After a brief test on Amazon.com, reviews said:
"What a refreshing book! The prose is wonderful. A delightful and funny tale of a group of boys growing up in a foreign country wanting to be American. It is set during a time when kids could be kids. A time when they had to use their imagination to figure out ways to entertain themselves, often with hilarious results.: (5 stars "Rejdive")

"Readers, hang on for a great ride. There is humor, excitement, sadness and a desire for more when it ends. I understand that the author is working on his next book which I'm looking forward to." (4.5 stars. "Lovetoraft")

Thank you for your time and consideration.

P.I.McKenzie.

Chapter 2 "The trouble with Peter"

I
t all started when at the age of 6 as I lit a forbidden match and put it to the little orifice in the center of the manhole cover. It was outside the window of Marcella, my beloved nanny's little house that was nestled among the trees in the back of the property. Like many events in history, little was known of the potential consequences of a seemingly innocent act. But, just like the discovery of the fission of atoms, this act would change the course of history forever and become the first words of a book some fifty years later.
So, the match was put to the hole and the resulting little flame caused a deep rumble and a minor explosion. It only lifted the manhole cover a fraction of an inch, but still filled my senses with frightful excitement while bringing a broad smile on my angelic little face. My heart rejoiced in pleasure in front of such powerful pyrotechnical and explosive accomplishment. So delighted was I, that I proceeded immediately to trot as fast as I could to the home of Tommy White. Tommy… was affectionately nicknamed ‘Tommy Triumph’ for his demonstrated obsession over his father's Triumph TR2 which sat gleaming, in front of the house.
Having reached Tommy's, I followed the basic ceremonials. First, searching and finding Mrs. White to present my proper respects; then seeking and locating Alice, Tommy's little sister, who had fallen head over heels for me the previous summer.
I, flattered by the attention and in a moment of bold confidence, mishandled the relationship by giving a hardy pull on Alice's underwear to find out what were the ruffles and lace that adorned the undergarment that peaked out under her little flowery dress. The screams that followed alerted the entire household to my lack of courtesy. Mrs. White promptly started to teach me the protocol of the delicate handling of little shrieking creatures of the opposite sex. As far as I was concerned, girls were yucky, babbling and whining pests placed on this earth to tattletale on boys and get them in trouble at every opportunity. I had no intentions of learning the subtle nuances and gestures that were supposed to be used to communicate with...girls.
Once the courtesies were completed and a quick, necessary but diplomatic hello to Mrs. Graham (the head cook and Tommy's protector as well as the holder of treasures and goodies always in great demand). I then took Tommy aside and proceeded to describe, in details, the events of the morning and the steps I had used to successfully conclude my experiment that had resulted in bringing to life the little flame at the center of the manhole cover. Armed with our new wealth of knowledge, Tommy and I decided that such discovery could not be kept just between us. We promptly decided to inform Mikey Arneson and Monty Hedgeford who undoubtedly would hoo and haa at the feat described to them.
The road leading from Tommy's to Mikey’s house was a narrow, winding road. It was lined with hedges so tall that anyone standing on the field side could never see the ones on the road itself but could clearly hear their conversations and make out every word. With excitement in our voice and nervous agitation in our step, Tommy and I trotted down the road, totally oblivious to the presence of Mortimer Pogson Malvesy better known as "Pogsy Malvesy" by his brothers and sisters and the children of the village. Pogsy, though only a year older, had the appearance of a bull in the middle of a herd of sheep.
Pogsy had been born under unusual circumstances and had appeared in this world weighing in at about 14 lbs. His mother, Clarabelle, referred to as Clara Malvesy, had barely survived the ordeal and had remained hospitalized for nearly a month while the surgeon had tried to put the pieces of her womb back together after the behemoth child had wrecked havoc in her body already worn out by 9 previous childbirths. The poor woman had never been able to totally get over the ordeal and had never been able to refer to her last child by his Christian name of Mortimer, chosen by his father in remembrance of some distant great aunt's husband who had "died in the Great War". Instead, she had adopted his middle name Pogson and shortened it to “Pogsy” to upset his father as a revenge for the suffering this little mammoth had inflicted upon her.
Mrs. Malvesy, who may had been a very attractive young woman at one point in her life, had returned home after Pogsy's birth and had announced loudly that her innards were gone and that she would never, pointing at her husband, let this "man" near her, let alone get her to be "with child" again. Parson Malvesy, her scrawny little husband and chief impregnator had gone into a deep three day bout of depression and had established temporary quarters at "McBride's Well" the local pub and hangout for drunks, lost travelers and husbands temporarily or permanently banned form the conjugal bedrooms of the village...
Very early, Pogsy had demonstrated an uncanny ability to devour anything and everything placed in front of him or left within his reach. There was even a rumor that his brother had found his baby bottle nipple in his diapers after Pogsy had ingested it once the milk was gone during one of his numerous daily feedings. By the age of 7, he was taller than 4 of his brothers and sisters and was rapidly catching up with the 5 others, the oldest being almost 21 years old.
As the youngest of the brood, Pogsy had been forced to develop some defense techniques to protect himself from the teasing and loving abuse his brothers and sisters had imposed upon him because of his gigantic size and his gargantuan appetite. Pogsy was never seen without something edible in his mouth. Pogsy wasn't what one would call stylish or elegant. He swaggered around in the school yard, with the assurance of Moses parting the red sea and the grace and patience of a Rhinoceros in search of a date, sending smaller children flying in the dust or hitting walls and fences.
Pogsy had heard us walking down the road and had gone in ambush mode immediately. As he followed his unsuspecting preys, he gathered that a secret was being discussed and decided to find out more. After having heard the plan, Pogsy felt a deep and penetrating awe overcome him. Nothing would make him happier than seeing the young scientists not only fail in their endeavor but also caught while performing the act. Pogsy began devising a plan of his own, a parallel action that would bring him to the heart of the adventure and bring violent retributions on the rear end of the young delinquents. If he was successful, Pogsy would then become the main player in our demise as we either would be caught or killed while playing with matches.
Tommy and I arrived at Mikey's and our three criminal minds in the making climbed up to the tree fort in the back of the property to share in detail the results of the experiment that had taken place that morning.
Fort Paragon was our retreat from the world of adults, away from the daily stress of having to walk the fine line between having fun and getting caught. It was an imposing fort, solidly built in the biggest tree. It was composed of a semi formal entrance with a solid staircase leading to the first level. The initiated ones could then climb to a second level where the main meeting hall was located. Anyone who had proven worthy and who had passed basic initiation rituals was allowed to attend meetings. The second level was the pinnacle of secrecy and only those whose membership had been associated with seniority were able to have access to the "secret meeting hall". Under no circumstances, were girls and enemies allowed entry to the fort, only the titled ones were allowed in the secret room.
To understand the reasons behind these rules, one must understand the hierarchy and structure of our group: To start, we had established a system of seniority according to the length of one's membership in the group. To formalize the process, we agreed that our group would be called the "Secret Society of the Order of Paragon".
Mikey was unanimously granted seniority No. 1 as he and his father had built the fort which was located in his tree, and located in the back of their property on Paragon Lane.
I had received seniority No.2 based on my ability to provide resources as my Grandfather's estate was the largest in the village and my reputation as a daredevil had been well established.
Monty was No.3 based on his keen sense of finances and his ability to gather funds and control the spending of the collected pennies and shillings according to the votes of the group.
Tommy was No.4 because he had joined the group after the three of us.
Directly opposed to the democratic way of managing our group, each of us had been assigned, or had claimed titles reminiscent of a totally feudal system. Mikey owned the fort had had been bestowed the title of "Mikey the first, Earl of Paragon". My title was probably the most accurate of all as my family ancestry having been traced to the Plantagenets and the "Black Knight" carried a certain prestige. In addition, my grandfather having been recognized by his Majesty King George VI for his priceless services to the kingdom added weight to my social standing and I was bestowed the title of "Knight and Regent and Commander of the Admiralty." Monty's title had been evident to all and he had been bestowed the title of "Chancellor or the Exchequer".
Tommy wanted to be a "colonel". We suspected that the title was important to him as he liked the word "Colonel", he also had an uncanny ability to sneak in forbidden places and see and hear things that were not intended for us to hear. He was bestowed the title of "Colonel of the Guard and Chief Secret Agent".
Last but not least, and in the spirit of good will, we concluded that any group with self respect should have in its midst the presence of a member of the other side. Alice was the only one we would have, in our right minds thought of even allowing as a member of our group and she was bestowed the title of "Lady Alice, Maiden of the Fort".
It had been decided that anyone who would join our group from that time on, would be "Vassals" and "Subjects" and would only be bestowed titles after accomplishing an extraordinary deed or distinguishing themselves in a battle or other dangerous endeavor.
Mikey and his father had remodeled and added to the fort the previous summer partially to fill the void of an empty and lonely summer. Summer was always difficult for Mikey who never left the village. Most of the families who reside there, always returned home to spend summer vacations closer to their families. I spent most summers in England with my paternal grandfather in London and at his property in the country. There I would join Tommy, Monty and Mikey. Our summers were spent exploring the local fields, creeks and country roads surrounding the village. Once in a while, Mikey's dad would take us along on deeper exploration of the countryside to check out fences and hedges from the top of an old tractor.
The fort had been a welcome retreat, a place of cozy rest and a harbor of peace where secrets were kept and treasures hidden. We had established secret rules and regulations as to who could be allowed in the fort, what secret password would be required and what subject could be discussed openly and what secrets and treasures would be kept.
After the proper meeting ceremonials had been concluded, I proceeded to explain to Mikey the reason for the great excitement and reveal the fascinating details of the steps that had led to the creation of the little flame in the middle of the manhole cover. Tommy, jumping up and down of impatience decided to run over to Monty's to be the first one to deliver the news and outline the plan the three bandit buddies had formulated.
When Tommy and Monty returned, panting and sweating, the final planning for the grand experiment, the mother of all tests, the grand-falloon of iron disk moon launching, the terminal velocity of methane deflagration, the ultimate attempt at manhole cover airborne propulsion, the daring and fearless beachhead in the realm of experimental science, the most elaborate criminal scheme ever devised by four six year-old would-be scientists in search of fame, would be completed and ready to be put into action.
The grand plan, which was to see a solid cast iron manhole cover fly hundreds of feet in the air, was devised based on a very methodical and precise time schedule. The plan had to be followed to the letter. We knew any deviation form the plan would probably result in the discovery of the endeavor and the premature aborting of the experiment, the exposure of the final event, the termination of their scientific career and the restriction of their rights to move and wander at their leisure. Secrecy was the key and advance stealth techniques were going to be essential to the overall success for the mission.
I, as the original experimenter and chief scientist, was nominated to receive the title of General in charge of the mission. The vote was unanimous and was assured before hand by the announcement that I would no longer participate and simply abort the mission if I did not receive the vote of confidence expected from his criminal accomplices.
Tommy, second keeper of the truth was appointed Chief Spy and was placed in charge of monitoring the activities of all non essential personnel, including parents and other various individuals who had not and would certainly never hold the proper security clearance to allow them access to the group’s secrets and planning information. His duties were to present a routine report detailing their location at all times and the movements which may bring them closer to ground zero, thus putting the plan in danger.
Mikey was given the stealth mission to enter the main house kitchen and retrieve the largest and fullest box of wood "security" matches he could find. This mission, though apparently simple, was in fact a very risky and dangerous one, as he had many times been forbidden access to flame generating devices and had been warned often of the potential pain such disobedience could bring upon his person. All these warnings had been witnessed by Mrs. Barton who was the head cook and ultimate ruler of the kitchen and associated pantries and storage areas. In addition, it had been determined that such incendiary devices were kept in a secret location, probably high enough to require equipment assistance in the form of a chair, step stool or even potentially a full fledge ladder, with all the accompanying dangers such technicality would add to the mission. Mikey however, was a courageous soldier who welcomed a challenge. His confidence in his ability to overcome the obstacles placed in front of him was almost legendary and his determination unshakable. If there were a way to reach those matches, he would find it, use it and return victorious to an adoring group of friends.
Last but not least, Monty was given the responsibility of planning their rapid escape and laying out a route of egress from the location of the manhole cover launch. In addition to his physical escape planning, Monty was given the task of coming up with a credible story intended to exonerate them from any suspicions in the event something might go wrong and their deed discovered and blamed upon them by unsophisticated and scientifically uneducated adults.
Our little army decided that all these plans had to be precisely coordinated and followed. They concluded that each step had to be practiced until it could be performed smoothly. These exercises as mundane as they may have seemed, had the secondary effect of reinforcing their resolve and building their confidence like a platoon of Royal Marines before a secret mission. The four little operatives sat down in the fort and reviewed their plan. They went over each phase carefully and concluded that nothing was left to chance therefore eliminating any possibility of outside interferences which could bring instant failure of the mission. The four little maniacs even came to the conclusion that their imminent success would bring them instant fame and glory, an interview on the national radio and a long series of articles depicting their exploit in the local newspaper, surpassing in importance the local gossip and traffic accident reports. They may even see an article about them on the most important page of the newspaper, just ahead of the local church movie day announcement.
The decision was then made to implement the plan as soon as possible after breakfast the following morning. This would give them the time to complete the preliminary and essential phases, gather once more in the fort and assure that every part of the plan was in place and the launch ready to go. The little scientists would then take the long walk back form the fort to the launch site and carry on the glorious experiment.
Tommy and I returned to the scene to revisit the site and, while I was busy reviewing the potential trajectory and landing site of the manhole cover, Tommy started observing the comings and goings of the adult employees and various other potential intruders. Marcella, my loving and patient Nanny was under particular scrutiny since the manhole cover was located adjacent to her little house and any interference from her could signal a disruption and potentially dangerous conditions for the completion of the project.
By 4 o'clock in the afternoon, each of us four little scientists had finally accomplished our missions, had gathered the necessary materials and information and were ready to complete a dry run just to make sure that the project would go unimpaired and unobstructed by snoopy adults trying to figure out what our band of little maniacs were cooking.
According to plan, we nonchalantly went towards the manhole cover, gathered around it, pretended to light a match and place it softly by the little hole. None of this suspicious activity seemed to attract the attention of the adults. Satisfied and reinforced in their belief that they could carry on without interference, the four little manhole-cover launchers slowly moved back to the fort to rest and envision the next morning with anticipation and excitement.
Side note… Let me tell you about Marcella.
Marcella, my nanny, had been in charge of the domestic affairs on a family-owned property in Africa. She followed my father back to England and had transplanted herself from her native land to take charge of me when my parents separated and later divorced and it had been agreed that I would be raised in proper British fashion between the family fief in England and our family compound in Africa.
This wonderful and imposing woman wasn't a stranger to my antics, as she had known me practically since I was born. Marcella was the one who dressed me, fed me, rocked me to sleep, escorted me to school and made sure that I was always dressed appropriately according to the standards of proper British upbringing. Marcella affectionately addressed me as "Master Peter". That made me quite conscious that, in spite of the apparent formality, Marcella was my protective shield against the world. She nurtured me and cradled me while my parents attended to their responsibilities and roamed around the world providing me with an above average and comfortable life.
Needless to say, I was granted a freedom few other children enjoyed. The house was spacious and comfortable, the property was large and secure, and the life in the country was generally accompanied by benefits and privileges not afforded in the rest of England or for that matters, the continent. By the age of three, I had already experimented with lesser projects and had managed to destroy a large number of kitchen and household items as well as a fair portion of Marcella's illusions that life with "Master Peter" was going to be a picnic.
The first major and memorable incident came about while on a shopping trip to the open-air market near Nakuru. Trusting as they were, Marcella and Ajuma had left me sitting in the back seat of the old Land Rover. Such abandonment soon led to boredom and the irresistible urge to occupy my mind and hands. After fiddling with knobs and switches, I had managed to release the parking brake, giving the old Land Rover an opportunity at some freedom and adventure unsupervised by Ajuma, my father's most trusted driver.
Finding the slope attractive, the rugged vehicle had started to roll and had gained enough momentum that when Ajuma realized the car was on the move, he was no longer able climb back on board to stop it. Marcella saw, in great horror, the little truck bounce over sidewalks and store displays, demolishing several roadside benches and street merchant stands in its path while sending feathers flying as it annihilated cages filled with live poultry. To add insult to injury, a donkey, frightened by the commotion, had managed to break lose from its post and was running down the road in front of the car while screaming his lungs out. This parade would had stopped on its own, as the street leveled at that point, if a hand carriage hadn't come in its way to alter its course and send it straight in the middle of a herd of sheep trying to cross the road. Miraculously, only one goat was injured in the melee. I apparently, was seen laughing uncontrollably while riding this out of control jalopy followed by 30 or 40 screaming local inhabitants led by Marcella, Ajuma and the Vicar of the local missionary church, holding the hem of his cassock in one hand and yelling at God (to be heard over the yells and screams of the crowd) asking him to save my soul (saving my bum would have been more appropriate at that time) and stop the car in a demonstrated miracle. As if it had heard the Vicar, the Land Rover jumped the ditch on the roadside and came to rest in a shallow brook sending surprised ducks flying in every direction.
Once the car was finally secured and the brake set, Ajuma and the crowd of villagers extracted me out of the leg space in front of the back seat where I had fallen and wedged myself securely.
To the great disapproval of Marcella, I was then held high in great ovation by the gentle people of the village, returned to the top of the hill, given food and fruit juice, examined in detail for eventual injuries and shown to all present as the little local hero who had driven the car and survived the ordeal. While the festivities were to my great delight, going on, Marcella proceeded to take the poor Ajuma to task for not keeping an eye on me. She started to hit him by swinging an unidentified dead poultry at him with the violence of a set-to-kill gladiator, and sent the frightened chauffeur running around the Land Rover, still in the middle of the small creek, to shield himself for the ire of this large, mad and overprotective woman.
Things finally calmed down and everyone returned to their affairs. The whole incident remained between the three of us until the local vendors showed up uninvited at our house demanding reimbursement for the damaged stands and the merchandise that had been destroyed during the memorable downhill trek of the old Land Rover.
I digress; so let's get back to our story.
By the age of 5, I had already several memorable accomplishments to my credit. The manhole cover incident, as it became known, would however take the top spot in my long list of mischievous accomplishments.
Morning came early and our band of four little scientists soon gathered in the fort. The final planning stages were almost completed and a last dress rehearsal would cap the preparation stage of the event. The dress rehearsal was nothing more than suspicious looks and observations to assure that no one would be observing the experiment in its glory.
Unbeknownst to us, we had been under constant surveillance by no one else than the Giant himself, the mother of all unwilling bullies, the king of aggravation, the pope of pain, Pogsy the Pog. The child Ogre had risen early that morning and was ready to jump into action the minute we would have been involved so deep into the plan that turning back would be impossible. This should have assured discovery and capture by one or more adult, and a stinging spanking while Pogsy would parade himself as the hero of the day for having attempted to stop the pyrotechnics and "prevent" us from hurting ourselves.
Unaware of the surveillance, we carefully approached the manhole cover, sat in a circle, giving each of us a view of the scenery at each other's back and guaranteeing a 360° view of the battle field. The manhole cover was located next to a wall fence, separating a small garden Marcella kept, off the common grounds of the property. A few feet further stood her house with the bathroom being the closest room to the wall. In order to better see the progress of the experiment, Pogsy had elevated himself up a trellis on the other side of the wall so as to be ready to pounce on the little lads while remaining hidden until the last second.
My three accomplices then proceeded to pry the manhole cover from its cradle and lift it a few inches from the ground, thus exposing the entrails of the septic tank, allowing dreadful gases of decomposing matter to rise and cause the worst grimaces of total disgust to appear on our criminal faces.
What followed happened so fast that none of the players truly recalls the exact sequence. I recall respectfully taking possession of the box of matches Mikey had so skillfully removed from Mrs. Barton's kitchen. I then had taken one match from the box, struck it carefully on the emery sheet glued to the side of the box and brought the flame to the rest of the open box of matches, causing an instant flare up of the entire box while my three friends barely maintained the manhole cover in an open position. Upon the burning sensation on my bare fingers, I simply tossed the entire burning box in the void of the septic tank while Tommy, Mikey and Monty, no longer able to sustain the weight of the manhole cover, released it to fall back in place in its steel ring.
At the same exact moment, the trellis gave way under the enormous weight of the Pog who propelled himself over the wall, landing square on top of the manhole cover and to our surprise, rolling back in a fetal position while moaning:
"My Todger, My GooliesOoo, My Peanut".
Unbeknownst to us, Pogsy, in his effort to maintain his balance on the trellis, had bent a branch back and out of his way. As the trellis gave out and Pogsy started to fall, the branch suddenly released, violently whipping back to its original position, smacking the poor giant right in the most sensitive part of his anatomy, causing immediate, excruciating and uncontrollable pain.
The added dead weight of the moaning Pogsy blocking the manhole cover from lifting up, and preventing the pressure of the flame-triggered explosion from escaping then caused the unexpected following chain reaction.
The explosion had no exit, and therefore, proceeded to seek the path of least resistance and promptly traveled up the pipe to the nearest toilet. Unbeknownst to us, my beloved Marcella, had chosen this exact moment to install her imposing posterior on the porcelain throne with anticipation of a healthy moment of satisfying personal freedom, while reading one of her favorite magazines. At first, the rumble, as unusual as it was, did not strike her as alarming. When the pipes began to vibrate under the strain of the explosion, she stopped reading her magazine and wondered what was going on. Suddenly, a cold column of water accompanied with remnants of previous toilet offerings exploded from the peaceful bowl and violently hit Marcella square in her most private area, causing an uncontrolled scream and a moment of sheer panic in this soft hearted and motherly woman.
Almost instantly, the water rushed sideways from under her, filling the bathroom with gallons of smelly waste. Immediately following the flood, a second and even more violent surprise came up and added injury to her already insulted derriere, in the form of the explosion's flaming gases seeking a mean of egress from the weight sealed septic tank and promptly burning to a crisp the imposing but very private posterior of my already terrified nanny.
With nothing else left to do but succumb to the violent attack, Marcella promptly fainted, slumped over the toilet, her dignity shattered and her privacy lost forever.
An ominous silence fell upon the compound. The four of us and Pogsy, still not realizing the extent of the damages we had caused looked at the manhole cover in ecstasy, and while recounting the details of the event in our minds, exploded in the most delicious nervous laughter. Pogsy laid there like a wounded hog, holding his little todger and shattered nuts with both hands, silent tears rolling down his cheeks, beaten and defeated, his bullish pride shattered and his carcass finally at our mercy.
Unbeknownst to us, the explosion had caused more damages than even suspected. The force of the deflagration had also caused it to search for other paths of escape and had found three other toilets throughout the main house. Suddenly, the lid of those toilets had been flung open by a violent jet of excrement filled water, surging upwards with the power and pressure of a geyser, exploding in all directions, covering the walls, doors, windows and accessories before settling back in the bowl and all over the floor.
Forgetting all escape plans we had made in the event an unexpected development, we began to take note of the confusion and unexpected adult traffic around us. We suddenly realized that something had gone terribly wrong...We scattered immediately, Pogsy joining our group and running as fast as his bulk and painful crotch would allow. The five of us, seeking the protection of our invincible fort to get away from the painful retribution we suspected would be shortly forthcoming.
Alerted by the terrified screams of the revived Marcella, the rumbling loud noise of the explosion and the sudden foul odor emanating from the entire area, Hugo the chauffeur, followed by the stable boy and two of the maids, rushed to the scene only to find the smelly brown sludge everywhere and finally discovered Marcella. Poor Marcella was sobbing uncontrollably, still sitting on the commode, her modesty shattered forever and her honor reduced to singed posterior hair on her blistered derriere.
It wasn't long before a vengeful adult posse had encircled Fort Paragon and had demanded immediate and unconditional surrender under the threat of severe beatings. The five of us were dragged back to our respective homes, flying at the ends of our unyielding fathers and mothers arms while crying and screaming, begging for mercy, knowing that our demise was near.
Much lecturing was given that night, proper spankings were administered to each of our criminal bums, much agonizing and gnashing of teeth ensued and our sore pink cheeks became a perfect match to Marcella grilled bums. The prognostic for her enjoyment of a sitting position remained bleak for about two weeks. The prognostic turned out to be the very same for the five of us, yes, even Pogsy ended up having his rear ended beaten to a pulp by his irate mother and at least two or three of his brothers and sisters. In addition, Marcella christened me "the Devil child" and refused to talk or look at me for almost a month adding a stinging twist to the punishment.
Eventually everything went back to normal, the smell finally subsided and peace returned to the village, Marcella's posterior regained (we suppose) its natural color, Pogsy abandoned his bullish habits and was recruited in the group after we had all seen how valuable it could be to have an Ogre in our service after the manhole cover incident. The five of us returned to the fort to plan more adventures and dream of glory days yet to come.
The village however, was never the same and if you should ask one of the old timers who witnessed it, they will tell you that this affair is still being recounted in various versions and the story told to the children as an example of how dangerous it is to play with matches around a manhole cover. Pogsy, our enormous and powerful new friend was inducted in the "Secret Society of the Order of Paragon", bestowed the title of "Sheriff of Isfield Forest and became the official guardian of the Fort".