IT seemed such a good idea at the time.
Making a scarecrow for a competition at the local agricultural show would give my daughter and her friends at church something to do in the holidays.
It might even be a bit of fun. Neither should it be too difficult – after all it was only a souped-up Guy Fawkes. Wasn’t it?
As it is the 400th anniversary of the King James Bible this year we agreed to make a scarecrow depicting King James I and the children happily began sticking jewels on his crown and chain of office.
The following session took on a new dimension – making his body.
Advice for making scarecrows on the internet suggested pairs of old tights stuffed with paper for his head, arms and legs.
We followed this advice, which almost made him life-size. But without any vertebrae or any bones at all he lurched and rolled drunkenly, while his head slumped forward then flopped back erratically.
Even when attached to a wooden frame it created a new set of problems.
Like weighing scales, if not balanced exactly, the king would veer dramatically to one side like a sinking ship.
And as time grew closer to the big day, concerns about his attire began to arise.
Beryl, who is involved with the local pantomime, came up with an excellent pair of velvet knee breeches and some fabric for his tabard.
But with only 24 hours to go, the issue of his hosiery had still not been resolved. Fortunately, this was sorted when Stephen, a neighbour, knocked at the door and offered a pair of sparking white, post-operative surgical stockings. Perfect!
And the knobbly texture of James’ legs did indeed suggest some medical conditions – swollen ankles and varicose veins at the very least.
With his attire complete he was locked in the shed until the big day.
But the moment I clicked the padlock a thought struck me like a knife through the heart. Where was the key?
It was nowhere to be seen. Hours later it still had not resurfaced.
There was nothing for it. We had to break into our own shed. But despite a prodigious use of screwdrivers, knives and hairclips, nothing made any impact on that lock.
Again, another neighbour came to the rescue. Tim, with a high-tensile steel saw, hacked through the lock in minutes. We were back on the road again!
Show day itself, however, provided more surprises.
In relation to the other entries, King James looked like Gulliver in the land of Lilliput.
But what was really astonishing was the degree of humour and artistic endeavour that had gone into those other scarecrows. It is true to say that some would not have been out of place at Holmfirth Art Week.
And it was clear that, despite the king’s stature, he did not dwarf the opposition. Quite the reverse.
We returned that afternoon for the judge’s verdict with family and friends. But where was our treasured objet d’art ?
It appeared to have been replaced by a donkey.
A closer inspection revealed King James was still in evidence but had been partially obscured by one of the animal attractions.
But an even closer inspection also revealed a rosette! The judge had been able to view our creation and awarded it third prize!
“What are you going to do with that now?’’ chortled my sister as I carried his majesty home.
“Put it on my mantlepiece,’’ I replied. And in a way, I almost meant it.