Saint George, Minister for the Environment, had been summoned by King Freddie to investigate the problem of a Hungarian woggalog baby, born in the royal menagerie, who refused to eat Marmorgugelhupf cake. After the usual musings in a hot bath in the royal bath, George vaguely remembered a story his servant, Jack, had told him about his former life as a sailor. Freddie didn’t want the possible solution to be forgotten again, so he sent Prime Minister Merlin the Whirlin with George to record everything in writing.
When George and Merlin approached George’s castle, everything seemed very calm. Monsters lay in the surrounding fields, some of them snoring softly. ‘Looks like Jack has fed them well,’ Merlin observed.
“Yes,” Jorge said. ‘Since I have been able to afford to pay him a weekly salary, he has raised his level of performance.’
Is it true that he pays you sixpence a week?
‘Yeah.’
That is very generous.
Arriving at the castle’s great wooden door, George gave his identifying stroke with the hilt of his sword: two slow strokes and then a fast one, G for George in what later became known as Morse code. The door swung open to reveal an alert and smiling Jack, happy to see his master safely home. ‘Ah, I see you’ve brought the court jester,’ he quipped.
‘You must show the Prime Minister due respect,’ scolded George, ‘and bring us something to eat, we are as hungry as woggalogs.’
Over Gloucestershire shepherd’s pies and Winterbourne wafers, George decided to start grilling Jack about the day’s problem. ‘A woggalog who doesn’t eat cake,’ exclaimed Jack, ‘that’s serious.’
‘Yes, we must find an alternative pacifier,’ said Merlin, ‘and George thinks you might suggest something from your sailor days.’
‘It’s funny,’ said Jack, ‘but since the PS came back with the Marmorgugelhupf cake I felt like I’ve seen something like this before. I was puzzled for a long time until one day my memory returned.
‘What was it?’ George and Merlin chanted.
‘I told the PS about it at the time.’
‘Yes, but what was it?’
‘It’s fufu!’ said Jack triumphantly.
‘Fufu?’ the PS and PM shouted, ‘What is fufu?’
‘Fufu is very important on the Gold Coast,’ said Jack. Everyone eats it.
‘But what is this?’ Merlin insisted. ‘What is it made of?’
“I don’t know,” said Jack. ‘It looks a bit like bread dough before the baker puts it in the oven.’