by David Smith
afternoon in August there came a gentle tapping at the Palace gates. It was Pat, the postman from the village, and he was delivering an urgent registered letter for the King.
‘Message for the King’ he whispered through the letter box, hoping that he hadn’t come too early and disturbed the Princess, who was a notoriously late riser. He handed the sealed envelope to a footman, who promptly placed it in a silver letter rack balanced on a silver tray balanced on a red velvet cushion balanced in his open palm. He took one step forward and dropped the lot.
Crash! – went the Silver tray! Spoooiiiing! - went the silver letter-rack. Foof! - went the red velvet cushion. ‘Bugger!’ - went the footman.
‘Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’ - went the rest of the palace guard, cringing in abject terror. But luckily Princess Gladys was distracted elsewhere, spinning a small plate in the kitchen and watching the pattern blink and change as it rotated through 360 degrees.
A few minutes later the envelope arrived with the King. He quickly broke the seal and read the contents. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. He could hardly believe what he was reading. Dr Otto Von Blotto was dead, having succumbed to a massive coronary following a banquet at the home of the third Earl of Forth. The Fourth Earl of Therd had tried to revive him, and the second Earl of Fiff had administered the kiss of life, but sadly to no avail. King Sidney flew into a panic, weeping and wailing and thrashing around the room like a lunatic.
‘Oh what shall I do, what shall I do?’ he cried, ‘How can I help my daughter now that the good doctor is dead?’
‘Erm… find another doctor?’ suggested the footman.
‘Oh yes,’ said the King, calming immediately, ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’
V
And so, on the following Friday, a two line advertisement appeared in the local paper, requesting submissions for the position of Royal Physician. Considering the brevity of the post, it attracted considerable attention, bringing forth four prospective job applicants and a cheque for fifteen pounds in prize money for second place in the paper’s amateur poetry competition.
The first Interview did not go well:
‘And what is your name?’ asked the King.
‘Yes,’ said Dr Benjamin Watt.
‘What?’ said the King.
‘Yes,’ said Watt.
Well, you get the picture with that one…
The second interview fared no better:
‘Who are you?’ asked the King.
‘I am’ said Dr Arthur Whoo…
The third interview was frankly ridiculous:
‘What is your name?’ asked the King.
‘R. U. Kidding’ said Dr Reginald Ulysses Kidding of Kidderminster.
‘Get out – and stop wasting my time,’ said King Sidney angrily.
Thankfully, the fourth applicant, Dr. John Smith, proved perfect for the position, mostly by dint of the fact that he actually got as far as the second question.
As it happened, Smith’s credentials were excellent. He had taken firsts in every medical examination that he’d sat and seconds in everyone that he had stood. He also had one squatting third in P.E., but that was probably due to the lasagne he’d eaten at lunch time.
‘Do you want to see my testimonials?’ he asked.
‘Yes’ said the King, and very impressed he was too.
‘You could have made a joke out of that’ said the footman in attendance
‘Yes, but not a particularly good one’ said the King.
The first meeting between Dr Smith and Princess Gladys was an eventful one. She bit him twice and asked her father to have him beheaded. Under Von Blotto’s old regime King Sidney would have had the Doctor’s head off in minutes, but now he was uncertain of how to proceed.
‘Tell me, Doctor, do you think my beheading you is the right way to go?’ he asked.
‘Hmmm,’ said Dr Smith, nodding sagely and making a bridge with his fingers, ‘Now let’s see…’ He finished his bridge, put the kit away in his desk drawer and looked intently into King Sidney’s eyes. ‘…How successful do you think Dr Von Blotto’s treatment has been for your daughter?’
‘Well, he did make the initial diagnosis, and he was the world’s leading authority on NAGS.’
‘Ah, yes. NAGS. Do you know what they call NAGS down in the village, your Highness? Needs A Good Slap…’
The King was stunned. He could not believe that people were being so uncharitable towards his wonderful, beautiful daughter. And then, in a blinding flash, he saw for one brief moment his daughter through their eyes, and he almost reeled at the realisation that to them she was not wonderful or beautiful. To them, she was nothing but a huge pain in the bum.
‘But it’s so unfair’ he said, ‘the poor child can’t help the way she is. She has a medical condition.’
‘Absolutely’ Agreed the Doctor. ‘She has a medical condition, and she needs our help and support to overcome some of the difficulties that creates for her. Tell me, your highness, what help did Dr Von Otto provide, and what has it helped you and your daughter to achieve?’
‘Why he’s been marvellous,’ said the King, ‘seen her twice a year since her diagnosis whether he needed to or not.’
‘And how did these consultations proceed?’
‘Well, he’d check her height and weight, measure her head circumference – you know, the usual stuff. Then we’d have a good old chat about life in general while Gladys played with his receptionist, and then he’d make some recommendations about what we could do for her in future.’
‘I see,’ said Jones, scratching his goatee, deep in thought, ‘and what sort of things did he recommend?’
‘Well, to carry on as before, mostly...’
‘Yes?’
‘…Giving her everything she wants.’
The doctor smiled, leaning forward, and fixed King Sidney with a steely eye. ‘Tell me, your highness, Did Dr Von Blotto ever suggest giving her what she needs?’
The King looked stunned. The King looked puzzled. The King looked more than a little crestfallen.
‘Do you know,’ he spluttered finally, wiping a tear from his eye, ‘I don’t believe he did.’
Over the coming months the Doctor spent hundreds of hours observing Princess Gladys and in consultation with King Sidney himself. When he wasn’t observing or consulting he spent his working day researching; reading thousands of text books and filling notebook after notebook with notes and ideas and possible interventions. He travelled the length and breadth of the land to discuss his patient with all sorts of specialists and add their knowledge and insight to his own. Psychiatrists, psychologists, occupational therapists, paediatricians. Experts in behavioural management, experts in anger management, experts in stress management. Authorities on hypersensitivity, authorities on hyposensitivity, authorities on Ying-Tong-Tiddle-Hy-Po-sensitivity. Dieticians, blood specialists, cranial osteopaths, osteo cranialpaths(?)… You name it Doctor Smith consulted with ‘em.
Star charts started appearing all over the castle walls, along with food charts and stress barometers and visual timetables and cue cards… Games were devised that encouraged eye contact and physical contact, and social stories read that expanded and built on these themes and schemes and the skills developing from them.
And slowly, slowly, things started to change…
VI
Several years passed, and with that passing many gradual changes occurred to bring joy and prosperity back to the land of Punt. After intensive desensitisation and aversion therapies wheelchairs and blind people were once again free to roam the streets of the village, and though allergy treatments couldn’t quite cure the Princess of her reaction to animal fur, hairless breeds of cat and dog were welcomed back with open arms. When it was discovered that the Princess wasn’t allergic to synthetic fur a thriving local business developed in artificial coats for the little creatures, and the village tailors became so accomplished in these designs that it was almost impossible to tell the differe
nce between, for example, a real Dalmatian and his bald, bespoke-suited cousin.
Birds once again took to the skies, their chirruping dulled to a level the Princess could successfully negotiate by discreet and comfortable frequency-blocker earplugs designed for her by the Royal Lugolliers.
Sitting in Doctor Smith’s office one Sunday afternoon, partaking of an exceedingly good Battenberg (the cake factory had re-opened after the ban on smoke was lifted following successful clinical trials of a smoke filtering nasal spray that will probably make its inventor millions when it is finally released into the marketplace. Unfortunately, at this time it is only available By Royal Appointment as the marketing department are arguing over the shape of the bottle), King Sidney proffered the pot toward his Physician and asked:
‘Do you think we’ll ever cure her?’
‘Cure her?’ said the doctor, somewhat astonished, ‘Cure her of what? Being beautiful, and interesting and joyful and clever – why would we ever want to cure her of that?’
The King looked. It had been a while since he'd thought of his daughter in those ways, but seeing her now as she sat on the floor, washed and tidied and arranging buttons by colour, size and shape, he saw all of those things in abundance again and he almost cried out with joy.
Of course, there were many difficulties that couldn’t be resolved; sensitivities and allergies can’t be cured, only managed, and social situations would always be something of a conundrum for the Princess. But these were trifling considerations, given what had gone before, and as
