What a go-ahead suburb Greenqueen was! For years they had cared about the environment. The streets were lined with gardens and hanging baskets. No artificial sprays used here. The council had stipulated: all was to be clean and green in Greenqueen.
And then disaster struck. There was an ant plague. Every garden, every hanging basket, every lamp post, every shop door, was alive with ants. Something had to be done.
A pest control firm was contacted. Could you come in plain clothes, in plain vehicles, in the middle of the night, and surreptitiously spray the streets with ant-killing spray?
They did that, and no one complained because no one knew.
Unfortunately, with the lack of labels everything was mistakenly sprayed with weed-killer.
Joan Combton-Maxwell was very fashion conscious. In fact, she was the doyen of fashion for the English Upper Class. Unfortunately something terrible was happening down in the yucky portion of town. There was a bubonic plague going on. It was, after all, 1350AD and all that.
Norbert was a neighbour. He was a crank, an inventor, a scientist. He was way ahead of his time. He knew the culprits for spreading the plague were flea-infested rats. He offered to fumigate Joan’s house and destroy the rats and fleas.
Joan consented, if only to protect her eleven children.
“But,” said Norbert, “we must burn all your clothes and start anew. It’s the best way to safeguard against fleas.”
Joan agreed, although she secretly kept her favourite fashionable dress.
It takes only one flea. Joan and her eleven children are buried in a beautiful marble-carved crypt in the local church.