Open Writing

By the time Sleeping Beauty was rescued from behind the bramble hedge - and presumably all the creepy crawlies that lived therein - I would have thought that a hundred years of spiders and their webs, mildew and moths, would have left her in a rather unsavoury condition: not as alluring and kissable as we are led to believe. And what of Snow White? Perhaps her glass coffin was airtight, and the Prince had only to lift the lid to find her as fresh as the day she was put inside. Another kiss, another marriage proposal. And Cinderella? One tiny foot, one glass slipper, and we hear nothing of calloused hands or broken nails - her prince will adore her for ever more. Whatever the circumstances it doesn't seem to matter: the Princess will be rescued, and the Prince will be her hero.

I have a question: why does it always happen that way round? Why does no-one ever rescue a Prince? There are goodies and baddies in all folklore; the wicked are banished or magicked into something else, and the stupid find themselves humiliated. There's plenty of punishment, and good always triumphs over evil in the end, but I would be really happy if I could find just one unfortunate man, handsome, kind and good to his mother, who finds himself in some dire predicament; along comes a beautiful Princess with a mind of her own - and hey presto! She rescues him. There are no strings attached - she doesn't have to kiss him and she certainly won't ask him to marry her. A lack of soap and water and a six month growth of beard could not be any worse than the hundred years spent lying down by Sleeping Beauty!

I make light of all this. We would be so much poorer without fairy tales and folklore, fantasy and fables. It's the blend of the possible, the pretentious, the ridiculous, the funny and the heartbreakingly sad. All human emotion is there in a fairy story, and we do not want to be disappointed; we need to know that in the end, at the end, everything will be all right. Well, almost everything. Hansel and Gretel had to make do with one parent instead of two, and the Pied Piper of Hamelin did leave behind one sad, lonely little boy.

I could go on: some live, some die, some love, and some come to nothing. I know what I'll do - I'll write my own fairy tale, the missing link, the one about a Prince being rescued by a kind Princess.

The only difference is - this one will be true.

**

Almost a hundred years ago - ninety three to be exact - a baby boy was born to a rich and beautiful girl. She came from France to marry a wealthy man, but after a while she felt very lonely for her family and the French way of life. Because she was so sad, her husband didn't want to spend that much time with her, and he often went away. Soon her baby son was born, and the girl loved him so much; he made her feel warm and special and she never wanted to let him out of her sight. She was so rich that she could go backwards and forwards to France or Switzerland to stay with her family, so the little boy rarely saw his father. When he was old enough to go to school his mother couldn't bear to be without him, and although he was longing to have someone to play with, it never happened. There was just one cousin of his own age, but even when they played together his mother couldn't bear to let him out of her sight.

Time went by: no school, no fun in the playground. He had a tutor from time to time so he learnt a little bit. It was the strangest, loneliest life you could imagine for a little boy. When his mother died years later - even though he had grown up by then - he didn't know how to take care of himself at all. He didn't even know how to make a cheese sandwich or a pot of tea! What was he to do?

Time went by and the young man grew thinner and thinner, so thin that he might have faded away completely. One day, a lady saw him as he walked slowly by, and she decided to marry him to save him from disappearing altogether. Alas, she was not a good or kind lady. In a real fairy story she would have been the Wicked Queen, for when they were married she often didn't let him come into the house at night, and even made him sleep in a shed at the bottom of the garden if she was in a bad mood. He was still almost as thin as before, and his life wasn't any better at all. How could he possibly escape? Perhaps if he had been to school and played ordinary hide-and-seek games, he would have thought of a way out and made a plan. No, he was a boy who had never even played marbles or conkers and didn't even know how to do a jigsaw or play dominos! How on earth was he going to get away from his monster of a wife?

One day, in another part of the town a beautiful girl received an invitation to a party, and quite by chance the young man and his wife were invited too. Nobody could see how unhappy he was for he wore elegant expensive clothes, and had long ago learnt to smile and pretend; at least that valuable lesson had been learnt by heart. Only the beautiful girl could see, the moment she saw him, how unhappy he was. She could see, too, the hard, cruel face of his wife and how she certainly didn't love him at all.

Just as the clock on the church tower was going to strike midnight - and without the help of any glass slipper - the beautiful girl stood quietly by the young man and whispered in his ear.

"Come with me," she said. "I will look after you. You can't stay with her a moment longer."

And although he was so frightened that he could scarcely breathe, he knew in his heart that this was the one person in the world who could rescue him.

A Princess who could, at last, take care of her Prince.

As the last chime struck they crept away together. The Wicked Queen saw them go and she called and called, her shrill voice rising above the hubbub of the departing guests, but it was too late: the lovers, for so we must call them now, had gone and were nowhere to be seen.

And where had they gone? They ran away to France, of course, because that was the country most beloved by the young man.

They stayed there for a long time, for of course there had to be a divorce and the wicked wife was so greedy that she wanted all the money. The young man, remember, had come from a rich family. The lovers didn't need many francs, they weren't bothered about pâté de foie gras or truffles or fine wine. The Princess and her Prince were together, and that was all that mattered.

The years passed, and because the two did everything together they didn't notice that they were getting older; they were so busy talking or sitting in the sun, going to parties or listening to music that all the sad things in the world passed them by. Then one terrible day, the old man fell ill, and his wife was sure that he would die. What heartbreak, what a cruel blow! How could this happen to her? She didn't realise, you see, that she was living in a Fairy Tale, and there isn't always a happy ending. You remember the 'Happy Prince', and the black and white bird? Like all lovers, they had never thought that one day they might have to part company.

There is still one more page to be written for this story. The ending has yet to be decided, for it will be a long time before the Prince is well again. Every day the Princess cares for him and makes sure he has all the love and nourishment that he needs, for that is what she has always done.

"Come with me," she had whispered a long time ago. "Come with me, and I will look after you."

It goes without question that in fairy stories neither a Prince nor a Princess will ever, ever break a promise.