The Last Plum

What happens when a plum is more precious than pearls?

Journal Entry – 5th of September 1959

 

What a glorious evening I must say! Simply glorious! It was – shall we say – such a productive evening for me… I feel I have finally achieved a little comeuppance on my good fellow Lord Edgar. My! How I have distaste for that little man.

He thought that the evening would be such a spectacular finale! All of us gathered to admire the last remaining few plums known to man – plums which he had twisted into gaining ownership of.

I arrived to a smoky room at about 7pm. The room was full of chatter, the ladies dressed to impress. I could hear Simone crooning in the background singing of lost love. But all I could think about was those plums.

“Professor Peterborough old chap! Or should I say Plum-borough…Ha Ha! So good of you to come. Please, let’s get you some champagne”.

Plumborough – yes that’s what Lord Edgar had called me. That’s what they all call me behind my back.

I have spent all my life devoted to the studies of horticulture and most passionately pomology. I am known all over England and I dare say the world knows me.

Why you might say? Why might a man study plums? Well that is something many do not know. They have simply not bothered to ask when they snigger behind their backs at a man like me.

Growing up I didn’t have much. But what I did have was a loving mother and father. My, how I miss those summers! Mother used to pick all the plums off our tree. She was so ingenious! I can still smell the plum pie we used to have every Sunday! Those were such memorable moments. Having scraped and saved and believed in my education, my scholarship to Oxford meant so much to them. They died in my first year…. leaving me all alone. I study plums with such love and passion – for them.

The world has now lost this delicacy… I still cannot fathom how or why… this new murderous disease has finally gotten to all the plums in the world… and I have been unable to find a cure and stop its extinction. I have failed.

To think! No more plum jam, plum tarts or plum pies! Children all over the world will be singing Little Jack Horner pulling out a plum… but not know what a plum is, nor having ever tasted one.

And now that brings me to tonight. I vanished from the party and stole to the kitchen. There I found the icebox, opened it up and saw the last remaining three plums. They were mine! I was not going to let Lord Edgar have them. How dare he be the one who has them for breakfast, when it is me to which they should belong. I gobbled one up, careful not to let the juice spill down my chin. I put the stone and the other two in my pocket before I made my way out the door to the car waiting for me.

I am only sorry I will not have the chance to see Lord Edgar’s face and that of his stuffy friends when he brings the plums out to raise a toast to a fruit that is now gone. I only hope he reads my note out aloud to everyone.

My last hurrah!

 

Words by Alexandra Misic

Illustration by Kyiandra Thanou

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