Dear Prudence

Today we remember my dear, sweet mum Prudence Elderberry Johns. (The same "Dear Prudence" of 60's song fame, for the vinyl record, but we'll endeavor to fabricate that tale another time.) Of all the Elderberry sisters — Penelope, Prudence and Paulette — only Prudence (pictured here, center) was able to avoid periods of prolonged prison confinement. Indeed, 'twas my father — the late Royal Air Force Officer Aldridge "AJ" Johns — who saved her from that miserable fate. When he witnessed the comely, which is to say, criminally attractive, nineteen-year-old stealing from the parson’s coffers, he gave her an ultimatum: Agree to be his betrothed or be thrown at the unmerciful feet of the Queen's Court. ‘Twould be the last of her thieving ways and the start of a life that would take her far away from her hardscrabble roots. Alas, her Twisted Sisters™ were another story — a sad, disgraceful one — and my memories of them are not so dear — paddling my arse with a cast iron skillet, washing out my mouth with Amway® detergent soap and locking my brother Milton Jessup, sister Missus Wigguns and myself in the shed when Mum and Dad were on R&R, or possibly I&I. So on this, the weekend of the bloody Mother of all Days, I send blessings to my late Mum — and to all devoted Citizen Breeders™ — but to my evil Aunties I send this message postage due: May you find peace, and by peace I mean piece — a piece of fatty meat you can roast over the raging hell fires of your eternal damnation. Yours Truly, Constable Dooley.