Milly Paris Gets to Know Polly Quazar

Penelope opened her present from Miles and was very pleased with the very quaint Australian clock. She loved it.

Polly Quazar, the sweet Australian clock, was put above the mantelpiece in the dining room. As she was telepathic she had no trouble talking to Milly Paris - which she did, morning, noon and night. They chatted for hours, mostly about Australia and about the Aboriginal Dreamtime. Milly was so fascinated by it.

One day disaster struck. Milly’s hands stopped working. She had just put on her favourite fragrance, Paris Time, and was feeling very happy, when Polly whispered to Milly that it was nine o’clock exactly. Milly’s hands spun round and round, but the spinning wore the mechanism and suddenly one of the hands got stuck at eight o’clock. Milly struggled to turn the hands to nine o’clock, but to no avail. They simply wouldn’t budge. She strained and strained, but still nothing happened. She started to sob.

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!” she cried.

Mog Og strolled into the kitchen.

“Oh, Milly, do stop sobbing. Dry your eyes. Your perfume, Paris Time, is lovely and sweet and Polly is your friend. What’s got into you? I’ll go and get you a handkerchief so you can dry your eyes.”

“I - I - I can’t move my hands to nine o’clock, Mog Og. All the spinning and whirring of my hands has broken the mechanism. I am doomed. Doomed! Doomed!” she wailed.

Polly, in the next room, could hear her cries.

“Milly, whatever is the matter, my dear friend? Has Mog Og upset you, or are you suffering from a chill or the flu, with the English weather?”

Polly always thought the wet English weather was responsible for everyone being a little bit temperamental in England.

“No, Polly. My hands are stuck. If I push my hands any more, they will drop off. I have been whizzing my hands round and round and round, guessing the time and trying to catch up with all of you lot. I’m not much use. I’m as good as a chocolate Advent clock.”

A chocolate clock isn’t much use for telling the time, that is true.

“I know Dr Laugherty will just put me on a dusty shelf in the dusty attic.”

Polly interrupted with her keen Aboriginal insight: “I think you’re right, Milly. He’s sure to do just that.”

“Oh, oh, oh!” wailed Milly.

“But wait - I haven’t finished,” piped up Polly. “I can see you getting better and coming back so much happier. I’m certain of it. You’ll see - it will happen, so don’t be sad.”

Milly continued to sob, and Mog Og offered her a handkerchief. Her mascara was ruined and her lipstick was smudged. Mog Og felt very sorry for her. He jumped on to a chair and stretched up and wiped her face clean so she could put on some more mascara and pink lipstick and put a bit of rouge on her cheeks as she looked so pale. Milly realised crying wouldn’t help, so at last she fell silent and dried her tears.

Mog Og began to sing, just to cheer Milly up:

“Milly, Milly, you’re like a fresh Paris flower in springtime.

You’re too nice, too sweet to hide away on a dusty shelf

I’m gonna make a wish that you stay

And hope you don’t sob all day,

So smile your pretty clock smile

And start to sway.”

Milly was glad that Mog Og was singing. It cheered her up, and she soon felt everything would somehow be fine, even though she thought it was the worst time of her life. It was rather bitter-sweet because she had some good friends - especially Jasmine and Polly and George and Mog Og. She’d also heard that a new picture clock had arrived named London Melody. It wasn’t yet on the wall, but she was looking forward to meeting it.