So, what was really behind the photograph of the fairies championed by the gullible Conan Doyle?
We all know what Wikipedia says about it, but has anyone asked the actual Fairy? In extracts from her diary, she tells all, and more!
Note: I realise that some of the vocabulary might confuse those not born at the opening of the 20th Century. Please, read it like you are a flapper girl and it will be totally gorgeous!
A fantastic being in a fanciful world; the job of fairy is a much sought after position for a certain type of mythical person. The basic qualifications are that you need to be diminutive in stature, gossamer in nature and be able to dimple at less than three seconds notice; blinking demurely while waving a wand is often seen as an advantage to new candidates who line up round the block at the seasonal auditions.
You get a blindingly odd mix of hopefuls, each one with their wings ironed and neatly folded on their backs, small lunch box and acorn of water (thirsty work and we don’t want fairy-hopefuls fainting all over the place as then we have to gather them up with a broom), mothers plumping up bits that the kids really don’t want plumped, ears tweaked and perked, and at least half of them wearing their junior-fairy school shirts and staring at the others as if they are rotten scraps of malodorous pond weed. Oh yes, such a nice, sweet collection of tiny souls.
So, why exactly do we all audition? Well, contrary to popular disbelief, there is no such thing as a fairy, at least, not at birth; you must train for the role. Admittedly you need some starting qualifications (if you can’t fly under your own steam you are really unsuited for the job) and you need to be the right size (bloody small), but aside from that, most of being a fairy, all the wand waving, cute smiles and chucking fairy dust all over the place malarkey, is pretty much down to great training and a lot of hard work. Trust me, I have been through it and my right arm would ache for weeks after a particularly aggressive wand class.
My own audition was probably much like everyone else’s; stress on steroids. Cue the harp.
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