Fun and Games
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For Robin and Nicki, who are both rather partial to the idea
of kilted Cartwrights.
As dusk drew in across Nevada Territory and post-production cannily planned to
slot in one of those useful shots that doubled as both sunset and sunrise, the
Cartwrights settled down for a quiet evening in. Another quiet evening in,
thought the Giggly Sisters, who longed for a change to the normal routine. Even
Paw, their pet bear, sighed deeply as once again the checkerboard was produced.
“Could we play a different game, just for a change?” the blonde pleaded, giving
Ben a beseeching look. He leant over and patted her on the knee.
“Would you prefer a nice game of chess?” he suggested. This was the only other
board game in existence on the Ponderosa and, handily enough, the same board was
used for both games. Ben was not exactly parsimonious, but he’d not become one
of the wealthiest men in the territory by squandering money. Mind you, one of
the marketing chappies had a terribly good idea for a Bonanza Rummy game, which
could prove to be a handy source of extra revenue. “Or we could nip outside for
a quick game of horseshoes, if you prefer?”
The Giggly Sisters exchanged pained looks. They were longing for a change!
“You wouldn’t happen to have Twister stashed away somewhere?” ventured the
redhead, hoping against hope. Hoss shook his head sadly.
“I ain’t built for them sorts of games!”
Adam looked perturbed. “Don’t forget my bad back!” he protested, envisaging all
sorts of unseemly wriggling, if the broad grin on Joe’s face was anything to go
by.
“Now, Adam!” Ben chided. “That back of yours isn’t all that bad, is it?”
“I couldn’t carry Joe in the Honour Of Cochise!” Adam countered swiftly.
Joe shot him a venomous look. “But you managed to drag Kane half-way across the
desert in The Crucible!”
“That was completely different!” Adam protested.
An evil grin flitted across the redhead’s face. “Yup, The Honour of Cochise
featured the whole family, while The Crucible was Adam-centred!”
“Don’t forget those seminal shots of me in the bath!” Joe added. The thoughts
this conjured up caused the blonde to take several deep breaths and put her head
between her knees for a moment.
Ben tried desperately to think of another activity to keep his sons and the
girls occupied. He dismissed a fencing tournament: once again, the epees had
vanished – he really would have to have a word with Continuity one day.
Although, in a pinch the unfeasibly large poker and other assorted fireside
tools could be used.
“What sort of things do you do in Scotland?” he asked, a slight tinge of
desperation colouring his words.
A gleam lit the redhead’s eyes and Ben instantly regretted asking. “We play toss
the caber and do Scottish country dancing,” she suggested. “You’ve got lots of
suitable trees for tossing the caber, and Hoss is just the right size to do it.”
“You lot are good at dancing,” the blonde said, excitedly. “We could have some
dancing.” She glanced around and saw that the epees were missing. “If we could
just scare up some swords, you could do a sword dance!”
For a horrified minute, Adam envisioned he and Joe trying to dance carrying
massive swords, but the blonde read his mind and put that idea to rest. “You lay
the swords on the ground, crossed over and dance around them,” she explained.
“But you can’t do any of this unless you’re wearing a kilt!” exclaimed the
redhead. “It’s just not the same. The skirl of the pipes and the swirl of the
kilt.” She sighed. In actual fact, the redhead hated pipes close to, but she
wasn’t going to share that thought with Ben. Not actually being Scottish
(despite the accent) the blonde loved the pipes and enjoyed nothing more than
hearing the pipes and drums in the brisk winds that generally plague most part
of Scotland.
Joe suddenly recalled that he’d stuck the epees behind the picture of the scary
Indian in his bedroom. However, with darkness falling, he certainly wasn’t about
to go and retrieve them now. That picture was terrifying in broad daylight, but
in the half light of dusk… He shivered slightly. No wonder so many fanfic
writers had him constantly suffering from nightmares – that picture was truly
terrifying.
“I’d like a kilt!” Hoss piped up. He could just see himself – pleats swaying to
the primitive rhythms as he marched proudly along, a bass drum balanced on his
broad, manly chest.
Situated on the sidelines, the wardrobe lady blanched. She knew that a
traditional kilt required 8 yards of pure wool tartan, an expensive business at
the best of times. Casting an experienced glance at Hoss, she estimated that a
properly fitting kilt would require at least 12 yards of material and would take
up a good deal of the clothing budget for the rest of the series. Then a thought
struck her and she smiled broadly: trimming a couple of inches off Joe’s trouser
legs would be one way to recoup costs and no-one would ever notice!
“Tell me more about this caber-tossing!” Hoss begged and as the redhead
explained the intricacies of throwing a tree trunk so that it landed upon its
end and then tumbled its length, the blonde got down onto her knees, pulled out
an inch tape and began to measure Hoss’ calves in order to knit him a pair of
kilt socks. She gulped loudly when she looked at her measuring tape, double
checked it and then decided to switch to a larger size of knitting needles. Or
rather, two pairs of double-ended needles, as socks are knitted on four pins.
The blonde could “turn a heel” with the best of them!
Hoss was in seventh heaven: the Highland Games promised all sorts of sports at
which he could excel! As well as caber tossing, there was shot putting and tug
of war.
“You have to wear a singlet, or sleeveless t-shirt with your kilt when
competing,” advised the redhead. Hoss nodded eagerly. This would be an ideal
opportunity to show off his musculature. He smiled happily in Adam’s direction.
“You ain’t the only Cartwright with a hairy chest, you know!”
As viewers will confirm, Adam was not the most athletic of the Cartwright
brothers. Normally, he confined himself to the daily game of musical chairs that
Ben insisted his boys play before every meal, which cunningly ensured that no
son sat in the same place two meals in a row, thus effectively doling out the
most flattering camera angles to everyone fairly. Thus far, his scheme had
worked perfectly, but Ben was convinced that sooner or later his sons would
tumble to the fact that his place at the head of the table meant that the
patriarch of the Ponderosa effortlessly dominated every mealtime.
However, Adam thought there ought to be some Scottish sport he would be good at
and he tried a smile in the redhead’s direction as he asked, “And what else is
there? Something I’d be good at?”
Glancing dubiously at him, the redhead frowned. Her hair had miraculously
straightened itself that day, and was yet another vibrant colour of red. Adam
found the effect rather confusing. Perhaps this was why he was suddenly being
nice to her, as he usually couldn’t stand her. But try as she might, she
couldn’t think of a single Highland game he would be good at.
“I’m sure you’d have fun at the ceildh afterwards,” she ventured, thinking of
all those church ceildhs where the minister’s four sons had swung the kilt with
the best of them, even if they had been wearing rugby shirts with their kilts.
“You’re quite a good dancer.”
To say Adam was put out was an understatement. He wanted to show off his manly
hairy chest. The girls were carefully not thinking of the unfeasible amounts of
fur the two oldest Cartwright sons sported on their chests. Joe’s golden
smoothness was much more their style. The thought of Joe caused them to sigh in
unison.
“What about me?” Joe asked, plaintively. He did that so well. Okay, he did
everything so well.
“You could help us support the beer tent,” the blonde suggested. “That’s a very
important part of the games.”
“Plus, we can all do the Dashing White Sergeant!” the blonde added, thinking how
handy it was that this particular dance stipulated one man to two women. You’d
almost think it had been invented especially for the sisters and Joe! Paw looked
boot faced at this and she hastened to reassure the little bear.
“Grandpa Ben will do the Gay Gordons with you!”
Paw looked delighted, but Ben had an expression of supreme dourness that would
rival that of John Knox, who was not renowned for being a barrel of laughs. It
was bad enough to have these two girls living in the house and almost beyond the
pale that Joe and the blonde had a furry animal as their child substitute, but
to have to partner the creature in a dance with a very dubious name…!
Sensing the unease, Joe jumped into the fray. “I will get to wear a kilt, won’t
I?”
“Of course you will, poppet!” the redhead reassured him. A frisson of delight
ran up her spine as she envisaged Joe’s neat butt encased in swinging tartan
pleats.
Adam smiled sardonically. He had no intention of clothing himself in some
outlandish garb. “Ah, but will you be a proper Scot?”
Joe returned Adam’s gaze steadily. “I already am, brother!”
Ben buried his head in his hands, while the entire wardrobe department
celebrated with a spontaneous Strathspey. They’d often noticed Joe’s cavalier
attitude towards underwear and thought it a splendid tribute to their tailoring
skills that he did not wish to spoil the cut of his trousers with visible lines.
In sheer desperation, Ben was just about to suggest a stirring game of “Murder
in the Dark”, but Joe and Adam were still staring with undisguised animosity at
one another. Perhaps that was tempting fate just a little too far, although it
was hard to see how Adam could claim to mistake his baby brother for a wolf
while actually inside the house.
Luckily, Hop Sing staggered forth, carrying a steaming platter at shoulder
height. Adam sniffed ostensibly and started to declaim loudly and with great
portent.
“Great Chieftain of the puddin' race!” Adam gave Rabbie Burn’s tribute to the
Haggis great dramatic emphasis, but sadly the allusion was lost on Hoss.
“Who are you callin’ a puddin’?” he demanded. Adam turned pale and started to
back away. He wished he were wearing a kilt: the sporran would provide an
admirable degree of protection and, in an emergency, could be swung at one’s
opponent’s head.
For a moment it looked as if things were going to turn rather nasty. Then Joe
had the bright idea of drawing out a hopscotch grid in the dust that covered the
peculiar gap at the side of the stairs. Silence descended, except for the toss
and clunk of the peever, followed by the thunk, thunkety thunk as the combatants
jumped their way up the grid and back down again.
Sitting on the sofa, knitting industriously away, the blonde smiled at Ben in a
distracted fashion. She’d always thought he would look stunning in a fair-isle
pullover and it would make a lovely change from his normal leather waistcoat.
Perhaps she could also knit Buck a matching tam o’shanter? It would be handy for
pulling over his eyes when he had one of his numerous little dozes.
As a particularly loud jump reverberated throughout the house, Ben recalled the
Highland Clearances of the 1700s. Presumably, there were vast tracts of Scottish
wilderness, where all that could be heard was the wind whistling through the
glens and the eerie cries of long-dead clansmen. Perhaps he could have a little
word with Mr Dortort (or The Creator, as he was known on set) about a new
series, where a brave pioneer conquered a hostile environment. Only this time
the hero would definitely not have any children…
The End
Giggly Sisters Productions
August 2003