The Professor Peregrine Papers

Early last Absolu, Daglet Scribacious was convinced that he had seen Dorothea Tanning on a passing train. To his considerable regret, he failed to attract her attention.   That night, he dreamed of dancing with Ann Radcliffe to the music of Mozart.  The next morning, the Professor and I insisted on buying him a double espresso or three at his favourite coffee shop. We conversed at length on the weather, our favourite umbrellas and the best way to cook toad in the hole.  It was so much safer that way.

Some years ago the Professor's work “Sylvan Ascendance” caused a considerable amount of perturbation almost amounting to a prototypical brouhaha. The question of how apparent levitation could be achieved was discussed at length by art critics, aeronautical engineers, savants and other rampallions.  In preparation for this work, the Professor was known to have instigated a process of non dualist meditation and trampolining but was also rumoured to have been seen installing a system of wires and hoists. He now refuses to discuss this brief period of his life in any way. Although one night shortly before the last winter solstice, following a tasting of aged Calvados, he did disclose to me in confidence that, “I'm damned if I could remember how to get the unfortunate participants down again.” Shortly after this mystifying spectacle, the Professor moved on to take up the post of Principal Curator of Unexplained Trinkets at the Pudleston Bauble Museum.

While, once again, trying to establish some degree of order in the Professor's papers, I came across a number of old postcards of Paris concealed beneath a biography of Evelyn Rockley Wilson.  The Professor leafed through the fading cards and, of course, began one his anecdotes:  “These cards remind me hardly at all of my meeting with Daniel Brereton in Paris one autumn evening. He'd just finished working his shift at ‘Le Maillot de Lumière’, the bar somewhere in Le Marais.” “He's no bartender,” I suggested. The Professor ignored my interruption and went on, “We strolled though a local park of fountains. As we walked on we became so deeply absorbed in a discussion concerning the diligence of lightning that we paid no attention to our surroundings. Eventually we looked around and were surprised to find ourselves facing a castle that had no meaning at all.” “He's no bartender,” I repeated.

The Professor's celebrated book, ‘Cor Blimey! The Country Wife Goes To The Sand Dance’, dealt with the popular depiction of philosophy, literature and fulminology in the period from the English Civil War to the outbreak of the Second World War. However, the Professor recently confided in me that, if time had allowed, he would have included some later phenomena such as the recorded output of Mr Paul Anka, the later works of André Masson and the repertoire of Thelonious Monk from 1955 to 1965.  It was, however, the omission of the work of the Scamander Duo that he regretted most keenly.  Their performances reflecting on major philosophical works prior to the 18th century and, in particular, their critique of Leviathan by Thomas Hobbes resonated strongly with the Professor. Unfortunately, their masterpiece ‘Look Out, Missus! It's a Bellum Omnium Contra Omnes’ was comprehensively ignored when first performed in 1957. This may have been in part due to its 7 hour duration, although ...

Professor Withington Marsh has for many years been a trusted colleague and intellectual sparring partner of Professor Peregrine. To this day, Marsh is a strong advocate for the concept of the collective unconscious and believes that recognition of archetypes may hold the key to a truly fulfilled existence. (“He's so Jung, at heart,” the Professor likes to joke at dispiritingly frequent intervals).  Central to Marsh's current research is the belief that taking an opportunity to relate ancient, familiar and resonant tales in a leisurely manner will provide a new understanding of their importance, lead to a more satisfying “inner life” and present clues to the probable winner of the Grand National and other noteworthy horse races. I admit to a degree of scepticism but, one wet afternoon last summer, the Professor and I agreed to join Marsh in an attempt to validate this theory. 1 - We commenced by recounting the well-known, simple tale of the gardener and the crab. I confess that...

Uncle Leucocholy's entry into Paris has become legendary, possibly because he took disproportionate delight in telling and retelling the story to anyone who could be persuaded to listen. “Oh, the dark meetings on the Champs-Elysées,” he would mutter, darkly. He sidestepped questions about why he descended by parachute. “Ah, the faces looking up at me from the crowd. Bien sûr, Pierre and Guillaume,” he would enthuse. He adamantly refused to explain the suit of armour or his reasons for being in the city at all.  "Ha ha," he would exclaim, reconditely. Despite the cloud of ambiguity that invariably surrounded him, everywhere that Uncle Leucocholy ventured, people would be inclined to cry “Hooray!”. There are many things in this world that I do not understand.