Holy Ronnie is close at hand.
Bring him, say the pieces of turnip.
Shall I start? asks Terence.
Start what? says Saint Roley.
Playing the trumpet, says Terence.
Yes, says Saint Roley. Play something simple.
Okay, says Terence. Bzzz!
It's perhaps about bees.
Holy Ronnie is lifted from the kitchen paper, on which he was resting.
The turnip pieces regard him.
Remember our life together? says Holy Ronnie.
Remind us, say the pieces.
He may have forgotten, says Saint Roley.
Not at all, says Holy Ronnie. You underestimate my powers of recovery.
Saint Roley is miffed. He is the intermediary. Is there no need?
Blaah! Terence manages a sustained note.
Well done, Terence, says Louisa. If you like, I'll teach you Under the Sea.
Terence thinks he would like that.
Blueberries any one? asks Louisa.
Yes, please, says Gaius.
Okay, says Arthur. I like fruit.
Holy Ronnie is recounting the things that the turnip and he did together.
At first we knew nothing of one another.
You were part of a turnip.
Did you know that?
You were round, smooth and purple.
Like a fine bruise.
I was an old pencil at the end of my life,
Lying rotting in leaves.
We came together.
After Arthur picked you.
He said you jumped into his hand.
I was found by an emu wren
Who knew where to find me,
And given to Gaius
For the purpose of writing things down.
From then on, we were inseparable.
Terence made a hole in you, with a tent peg
He inserted me in.
On a bicycle we bounced in a backpack
Using momentum
To avoid being stifled
By Gaius's underpants.
After a sea voyage,
We arrived on Kangaroo Island
And stopped at Louisa's
Which is where we are now.
We were both
O coincidence!
Placed in a roasting pan
And then rescued, for it was not our lot to die there
You first.
Then me.
(So I was in longer).
Therefore I entreat you....
This pencil is a bit of a motor mouth, thinks Saint Roley.
But anyone can see that the pieces of turnip are rapt.
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