Home > Humour > The Duke of Hespeler

The Duke of Hespeler

May 2nd, 2011

From the Cambridge Citizen

The meeting of the Hespeler Town Council was called to order. The mayor (unofficial, unelected) took the chair.

“You all saw it,” the mayor said, thumping the table, spilling Jim Hillis’ double-double. “My wife got me up at 4 o’clock, so I know damn well I saw it.” The mayor was clearly angry and frustrated and was warming to his theme. “A royal wedding is supposed to be a happy thing, a joyous occasion. I wanted to declare it a holiday for all of Hespeler. What the point is of being mayor if I can’t declare a holiday, I’ll never know.” The mayor, in his white suit and white top hat, looked like a man who should be capable of declaring a holiday.

“I got up at 4:00 AM to watch our future King and his consort be married, and what’s the first thing I hear: The Queen will make Prince William and Kate Middleton The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge after the wedding. Bloody Cambridge,” he swore. “We all know what that means,” he pointed around the table. The assembled mass nodded, knowing what was next, what was always next. “Might as well call them Duck and Duchess of Preston and Galt for all we’ll see of them here in Hespeler. ‘Oh no,’ they’ll say when the couple come to visit, ‘you can’t go over there. The roads are too small, the downtown too dangerous.’”

The meeting threatened to descend into havoc for the volume of the agreement. “The Prince of Breslaw he’ll be calling himself next,” was heard above the din. The mayor banged his gavel, which was really the butt of a broken Hespeler hockey stick, to restore order.

“What’s needed,” continued the mayor as if he was never interrupted, “is a Duke of Hespeler.” The volume of agreement was almost as loud as the volume of disdain had been moments earlier. This time the mayor, a practiced orator who knew when to quiet a crowd and when to speak over one, yelled above the council.

“Which part of town, after all, has a bar called the Duke and Duchess?” This was a masterstroke, which almost brought the assembled meeting to fever pitch. If not for the mayor’s practiced audience control, the meeting would have been over, with a round of drinks at the Duke and Duchess on the taxpayers of Ayr an almost certain ending, if only Hespeler town council (unofficial and unelected) had any taxing powers, in Ayr or otherwise.

“Who should it be,” asked a councillor (unofficial, unelected), who was well coached by the mayor and hoping for a seat on the Hespeler Senate, if and when they could ever establish a Senate in Hespeler.

“Kirk Maltby,” yelled someone in a Detroit Red Wings shirt.

“Tim Brent,” yelled another, dressed in Maple Leaf blue.

“Kirk Maltby has 4 Stanley Cups,” said the first. “What has Tim Brent done?”

“Anybody can win Stanley Cups playing for Detroit,” said the second. “Tim Brent scored 8 goals for the Maple Leafs. You know how many guys play for the Leafs and never score 8 goals?”

“That guy who rights that Home in Hespeler blog,” said another.

“Too political,” answered one. “Too conservative,” said a third. “Too ugly,” said another, finally creating unanimity.

“It occurs to me,” said the Mayor, “that it doesn’t have to be someone local. It may even be too our advantage to have an outsider. What about Prince Harry?”

“Your brilliant Mayor,” the councillor/Senator-in-wanting up-kissed.

“Perhaps he’ll bring that Pippa with him,” said another.

And so it was that when Jim Hillis returned with his coffee, he was told he had been volunteered to approach “that blogger fellow,” who would be asked to write to Prince Harry informing him he had been chosen Duke of Hespeler.

The meeting, then being adjourned, retired to The Duke and Duchess to discuss the inequity of not being able to impose a tax in Ayr.


Comments are closed.