The Case of the Missing Pussy Willow

The Case of the Missing Pussy Willow

(Or… The Importance of Grammar)

 

  “And in other news, Hilda’s pussy willow will be featured on the BBC’s One Show on Thursday,” announced Doctor Frith, the chairman of Lilymead’s parish council. A chorus of “ooh”s and “ahh”s circulated around the room.

To any other group this might not have been exciting news, but to the villagers of Lilymead it was very exciting. Having a garden featured on the television might mean that they were in with a chance of winning Prettiest Village in the UK, a title that had been awarded to their neighbours, Waterford for the past four years.

“I didn’t know Hilda had a pussy willow,” chimed Mr Bellows from the post office. He frowned, and the expression was mimicked by several others as they thought about Hilda’s beautiful garden.

“I know she has a lovely canary creeper,” said Mrs Foster from the charity shop. “It climbs up the trellis.”

“And a stunning horse chestnut,” said someone else. “Produces wonderfully huge nuts in the autumn.”

“And her catmint,” piped up Doctor Frith. “My wife would love to have her catmint. But I haven’t seen her pussy willow.”

“I have,” grinned Mr Malloy, showing all ten of his missing teeth. He folded his arms around his chest and leaned back. Pride exuded from him.

“Where?” Mrs Foster pressed.

“Usually in the middle of the garden, it loves the sunlight. But I’ve seen it behind the shed and in the kitchen window before too.”

“You’ve seen her pussy willow behind the shed and in the kitchen window?” Mrs Foster said, looking shocked and confused.

“Oh!” called Doctor Frith. “Hilda’s pussy, Willow, will be featured on the BBC’s One Show…”

 

Apologies for the lack of A-Z yesterday. I’d spent all day in Bristol on a school trip. It will be back next week…

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