A Real Fairy Princess Tale by a Knight Errant


Once upon a time, not so terribly long ago, in the magical land of Alberta Canada, a Knight was called upon to save a Fairy Princess.

A friend phoned from New York and asked me to help the Princess, because her country, Yugoslavia, was in flames and its main city, Sarajevo, was in desperate shape. We discussed the matter at length on the telephone and it was decided that she would wave her magic wand and appear in Calgary, which she did. I went to the Fairy Princess Arrival gate at YYC International and a very attractive Princess was met and brought to my humble home.

She was Princess Elizabeth of Yugoslavia. Her Father and Mother had left on the run to Kenya, one jump ahead of the Nazis, during WW2 and had no chance to regain the throne when the Communists took over post WW2. Princess Elizabeth at one time was married to Richard Burton, in between his go arounds with Elizabeth Tailor. She is related to all the Crown heads of Europe via Catherine the Great of Russia.

The presence of the Princess was an interesting time for many of my friends. We organized a Bar B Q and songfest in her honour (my friends are an international lot and most sing very well). It was fine evening spent eating, drinking, and singing the old songs with Eilish , an Irish Leprechaun, plucking the guitar. In effect we partied while Sarajevo burned. Most of us had no idea where Sarajevo was at that time, nor did we much care when wine, good company, and song had our undivided attention. All play and no work make for a dull Princess, so they say, and Princes Elizabeth soon reminded us of her need for money and supplies for the capital city. The war, with all its atrocities, by all sides, had not yet spread out into the ethnic zones as it did soon thereafter. As always, I had a plan or two and any plan is better than no plan.

¨ Plan A... Suffield Alberta is a UK training area, RAF planes are constantly bringing troops to Calgary (YYC), and I knew where to get my grubby hooks into a whack of medical supplies. His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales is the Honorary Marshal of the Royal Airforce. Since the RAF flights return to the UK empty on the first deployment trips, here was our free transport as far as the UK if we could get the Pr. of Wales to slide a word in to the RAF. We would also ask that the planes drop the supplies at RAF Stn. Guterslough, Germany, whence the French 'Medicins Sans Frontiers' (Doctors without Borders) would transport it into Yugoslavia. Princess Elizabeth would go along incognito, dressed as a Red Cross nurse. It was a great plan, but our good Prince Charles ( I still have the faxes) could not help. The Royals are not allowed to interfere in the political process, so, with regrets, our good Prince Charlie went back to growing Brussels Sprouts, and dancing with Camilla. Foiled by the fickle finger of fate!

¨ Plan B...The plot thickens. I would borrow a BMW (car) from a friend (mine was N/S) and blast off for Camrose, Alberta, where CIDA (Canadian International Development Agency) and all the Western NGOs (Non Government Organizations) were having their annual meeting. The eloquent and elegant Princess could give a speech so touching that a Polar Bear would weep icicles. We should be able to lever some shipping money out of one or two of these 'Bible Thumping - Do Gooders,' after all, people were dying by the herd in Yugoslavia.

Now things started to get interesting. If you have never driven a BMW, you have not lived! We threw our gear plus two large thermoses of coffee into our borrowed Beamer early the next morning and struck off for Camrose

I happen to be an "Uncle" on one of the Hudderite farms along our route north. As Pr. Liz was interested in Child Development and my friend 'Chicken' John's wife, Katy, was the local Kindergarten teacher, I decided to expose Liz to this very interesting group of Canadians. The Hudderites speak German. When I introduced the Princess, she also spoke in German! Well, the ladies scooped her up and waltzed her through the Chicken Barns, Cattle Barns, Kitchen, Root cellars, Kindergarten and School. Liz enjoyed every minute of the tour and my Hudderite friends were delighted at her visit. As we made ready to leave, they provided about a ton and a half of fried Chicken and hot fresh Buns. Down the road, we stopped at a pleasant little vale and, with our coffee and their delicious provisions, had a great feast in the sun.

No one has ever accused me of being overly bright. With cars and computers, I'm down right stupid. The Beamer ran like a clock and went like a bullet, but never seemed to use any gas. Every time I glanced at my gauges, the tank was half full. Somewhere short of Camrose, a little light came on over another gauge. I had been reading the Oil Pressure Gauge as the Gas Gauge! On a main highway this would not present too much of a problem, but there was nothing but farmland between Camrose and us.

As we approached the Battle River escarpment, I knew we were in trouble. Off to the east is a farm, but its access is at the bottom of the escarpment and then double back up and along the escarpment. Our last chance was to roar down, take a hard right, roar up, take a hard left, roar another 500 yards… and then, cough, splutter cough, silence! Our gas tank was as dry as a popcorn fart. Off to our left, was a big farm and Liz insisted that, as my co-driver, she go for help.

As I watched her go through the fence and across the pasture, my thoughts went back many years to my military service. Just east of there, at Wainwright Alberta, the Battle River escarpment was always part of the final field Exercise. One's group either attacked it or defended it. If I had run out of gas in my 60-Ton Centurion Tank there would have been hell to pay. Here I was drinking coffee in a BMW while a PRINCESS went to fetch fuel from a remote farmhouse. Times had changed!

Pretty soon, a tractor towing a small wagon came down the road. An elderly gentleman was driving and my Princess was sitting on the wagon with her legs dangling over the side and holding a Jerry can of fuel. She wore a smile you could see for a mile. Normally, the Knight in shinning armor rescues the Princess, but here we had the Princess rescuing the Knight, now that's Women's Lib +.

After our refueling, for which the Farmer would take no money, the Farmer's wife provided us with tea and sandwiches. I never told them that Elizabeth was a Princess. As far as I was concerned those great people were the King and Queen of the Battle River and their farm was Camelot. I wonder what they would have thought had they known that they were rescuing a Princess and her Knight out in Alberta.

We got back on the road and soon arrived in Camrose. Despite our best efforts, neither CIDA nor the NGOs would give any support, as Yugoslavia was not considered a Third World Country. Canada was not, at that time, involved in the Balkans, but they soon were to be (and that's another story). Curses! I was foiled again!

¨ Plan C ... Since we were in Alberta, I thought Elizabeth might as well see our mountains, so off we went via Rocky Mountain House. She loved the beauty and grandeur of the bottom half of the Banff - Jasper parkway. I also took her to Yoho, where we sat and watched some Ethnics Bar B Q and let their pet ducks swim in the river. It was close to noon and, since we were both puckish, there was the food problem to solve. I wandered over to the ethnics and asked if PRINCES ELIZABETH could hold a duck while I took a photo. Well, when they heard PRINCES ELIZABETH , they went bananas! Now, here is the clangor. These lovely people, two families, were from the Philippines. Elizabeth came over and introductions were made. It turned out that Elizabeth had had a Filipino Nanny as a child and spoke perfect Filipino! Our newfound friends wined and dined us and just fell in love with THEIR Princess. Once again the Princess had rescued her Knight.

¨ Plan D... We stopped at Banff Springs for a cappuccino and someone mistook Elizabeth for her daughter, Catherine Oxborough from TV's Dallas, and a whole raft of people wanted autographs, so we departed for Calgary and spent a quite evening at my house.

Elizabeth had come all the way from New York and we had swarmed all over Southern Alberta only to find that nobody really gives a damn about Yugoslavia. The Serbian Church in Calgary set up a reception for their Princess. She gave her talk and funds were donated. We shared in a great lunch and a few hearty slugs of Slivovitz (better consumed lying on the floor, I hear). From there, Liz went directly to YYC Fairy Princess Departure gate and, with a wave of her magic wand, was back in New York.

But the story wasn't over yet! Elizabeth had left her Passport at my house and I had to Courier it to Pearson International in Toronto because USA Immigration didn't believe that she was a Fairy Princess. So I did, finally, save my Princess in distress.

Princess Elizabeth dubbed me a Knight of Yugoslavia. Now that Yugoslavia no longer exists, am I back to being a Day?

I kinda liked being Sir Jack. It put me right up there with Sir Richard Burton, eh!

© Jack C. Downey CD

6/17/2002

Jack C. Downey CD
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