The Professor Peregrine Papers

I had been pressing the Professor to reveal more of the details of his questionable family history with patchy results. Eventually he pulled a faded photograph from a dog-eared copy of Wisden (circa 1949, I believe) and began to tell a sad tale:  “Let me tell you about Great Uncle Purlicue. His notable skill was to entice an audience to a remote, bucolic location on the pretext of delivering a speech of national importance or distributing free tickets to a Minor Counties match with associated hog roast before unexpectedly removing his hat and delivering a heartfelt rendition of ‘Who Were You With Last Night?’.” The Professor stared wistfully from the window overlooking his fine display of prize dahlias, statuettes of first-class umpires signalling wides and enamel buckets before going on in subdued tones:  “Sadly, Great Uncle Purlicue was so successful at gathering a crowd that he was accidentally elected to various positions of dubious authority. This proved to be his undoing...

I have often urged the Professor to cast a little light upon some of the less documented periods of his life. Eventually one Tuesday afternoon last spring, as he sipped a cup of particularly doubtful Lapsang Souchong, he recalled a quite unexpected episode of many years ago:  “I must confess that there was a disturbing period of approximately 3 weeks in which I was pursued by a robot. At the time I was attempting to publish my now-famous and, dare I say, groundbreaking paper entitled ‘Formidophobia in the Sermons of the Reverend Mawkin Barcarole’. I was so unnerved by this paranormal episode that publication was delayed by some months. I surreptitiously took this photograph at the time.” I studied this image for several minutes before venturing to suggest: “Forgive me Professor, but I can't help noticing a striking resemblance between the robot in this photograph and Professor Atrabilious of Kirmond le Mire University, dressed in a ludicrous costume. Professor Atrabilious is, I bel...

 Back then, beside the lake, we discussed the nature of time endlessly. She cut the water with a pocket knife and it was still water. Although, far from still.  "Remember that." she said. I do remember, but I don't believe that she's still there watching the same water. Perhaps she's watching other water and forgetting.

One day recently, as the Professor was working on his paper discussing the social and metaphysical ramifications of deploying a deep square leg, he suddenly looked up from his endeavours and asked me if I knew the story of the year his brother * entered the International Hedge Climbing Contest in Claxby Pluckacre.  I did not. To this day, I still do not know the story. * The Professor is widely believed to be an only child.

To assist in my biographical efforts, the Professor helpfully jots down a few notes whenever he recollects random incidents from his past. Sadly, most of these notes turn out to be shopping lists, receipts for dry cleaning or scorecards from long-forgotten matches. However, written on the back of a leaflet for gutter cleaning services, the following words proved to be particularly instructive and illuminating. I hope that others will be as moved as I by his account. “I remember my father saying to me when I was still a callow youth, ‘Treasure the words of Maharaja Jam Saheb of Nawanagar and remember his sterling service to the county of Sussex.’  With that, his genial but confused demeanour became stern and momentous.  ‘But, at the same time, never forget the contribution of a man such as Mr George Brann and his partnerships with Mr C B Fry at Lords. And while you're at it, open another bottle of that fine sherry, my boy.’ The Professor's Father Takes Guard I refreshed his gl...

The Professor was in a pensive but loquacious frame of mind recently following a particularly agreeable game of pitch penny in Wickham Skeith. There wasn't a dry eye in the house when, once again, Arthur 'Toad-in-the-Hole' Shellbottom was declared Champion Pitcher and Foremost Penny Ruminator.  Taking a long draught from his pint of Dringey Forplaint Special Ale, the Professor began his solemn tale: “Shellbottom's great-grandfather was the principal reason that my own ancestor became an academic and funambulist. The two men were great rivals in the hatting business, vying for the role of principal supplier of doubtful hats to the Federation of Minor Cricket Umpires and Croquet Mallet Makers. My great-grandfather thought he had the edge on his opponent with his use of the finest gutta-percha in his much-admired, multicoloured trilbies. But there was no way he could compete with Shellbottom's development of a range of ventilated hats named after British politicians of...

To further my understanding of the Professor's baffling family tree, I sent him a note enquiring about the life of his Great Uncle Quidnunc. The Professor's reply arrived the following day together with a half-eaten Eccles cake. I present that reply in full together with a facsimile of Quidnunc's original design drawing: "Great Uncle Quidnunc avoided almost everyone, including me, for most of his life, except when he understood that there might be a little spare cash on offer. He preferred to live a scholarly life. In his will, however, he was generous to a fault and I inherited the only completed example of his Inverted Solleret Pantomorphic Machine. The paper he authored concerning the theory of this device was described by an anonymous academic and quodlibetarian as 'The grand piano of theoretical physics but without the pedals and the bit that holds up the lid.' The gift was accompanied by a simple note, written in large, capital letters: 'WHEN NEAR THE...