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Runner up: A Wasp in a Wig!
By Mel Howes
Mel's story is inspired by a chapter Lewis Carroll dropped from Through the Looking Glass, called A Wasp in a Wig. The poem below was written by Carroll. You can find it, and the story of the missing chapter, on this Alice In Wonderland fansite
As Alice sat there at Penmorfa, looking out onto the west shore at Llandudno, watching the raindrops trickling down the misty glass of the window, her thoughts turned to Kitty and how interested she had been in Alice winding her ball of wool.
It reminded her of the Sheep and the wool shop. She had spent such a short time there and had not had an opportunity to take in all its beauty, or a chance to touch all its delicate yarns. So much wool of different types and different colours, how would one begin to choose what to knit?
Knitting would be so perfect for such a miserable rainy day like today. If she could choose anything to knit what should it be? What yarn would be best? Who should she knit for?
It was at this point she recalled the conversation she had with the wasp just after seeing the White knight.
“When I was young, my ringlets waved
And curled and crinkled on my head:
And then they said, ‘You should be shaved,
And wear a yellow wig instead.’
“But when I followed their advice,
And they had noticed the effect,
They said I did not look so nice
As they had ventured to expect.
“They said if did not fit, and so
It made me look extremely plain:
But what was I to do, you know?
My ringlets would not grow again.
“So now that I am old and grey,
And all my hair is nearly gone,
They take my wig from me and say
‘How can you put such rubbish on?’
“And still, whenever I appear,
They hoot at me and call me ‘Pig!’
And that is why they do it dear,
Because I wear a yellow wig.”
How unhappy he had been, having to shave his head and lose his curls and then only be able to wear an old barrister's wig, now tatty and misshapen. Surely there was something she could do to help such a desperate creature?
She thought deeply and then she thought some more. Then it came to her: if she could choose anything she would choose the softest, silkiest skeins of yarn in yellow and black and knit, not a wig but a hat, with curling locks and vibrant colour. Easy to put on, easy to remove. Very delicate yarn, for an equally delicate creature.
How should she go about such a task? If only she could find the ball of wool that Kitty had been playing with before she went through the looking glass! It must still be around here somewhere.
She took out her notebook to make some sketches. Her very special book, with all of her very secret and precious things — her Alice things. Her things from her dear Mr Dodgson. Even now so many years later, now she was practically a woman, she still did not understand her parents falling out with him. He used to visit them on holiday here, but no longer. She missed him deeply.
What would he think of her knitting the wasp a wig? After all, this chapter had been cut from his book. Why, even Mr Tenniel said that he could not see his way to a picture. He made such a brutal comment: “A wasp in a wig is altogether beyond the appliances of art.” Alice did not believe this to be true, and she decided that she would knit this wig, and that knitting would be her appliance of art.
She started to search the house almost immediately for any wasp-coloured yarn she could find.
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