Saint George, Minister for the Environment, had been summoned by King Freddie to investigate the problem of a baby Hungarian woggalog, hatched in the royal menagerie, who refused to eat Marmorgugelhupf cake. After the usual pondering in a hot bath in the royal bathroom, George vaguely remembered a tale that his manservant, Jack, had told him about his former life as a seaman. Freddie didn’t want the possible solution to be forgotten again, so he sent Prime Minister Merlin the Whirlin back with George to record everything in writing.
As George and Merlin approached George’s castle everything seemed very peaceful. Monsters lay in the fields all around, some of them snoring softly. ‘Looks as though Jack has fed them well,’ observed Merlin.
‘Yes,’ said George. ‘Ever since I’ve been able to afford to pay him a weekly wage he has raised his level of performance.’
‘Is it true you pay him six pence a week?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s very generous.’
Reaching the great wooden door of the castle, George gave his identifying knock with the hilt of his sword: two slow taps and then a quick one, G for George in what became later known as the Morse code. The door opened quickly to reveal an alert and grinning Jack, happy to see his master safely home. ‘Ah, I see you’ve brought the court jester,’ he quipped.
‘You must show due respect to the Prime Minister,’ scolded George, ‘and get us something to eat, we’re as hungry as woggalogs.’
While they sat eating their Gloucestershire shepherd’s pasties and Winterbourne wafers, George decided to start quizzing Jack on the problem of the day. ‘A woggalog that won’t eat cake,’ exclaimed Jack, ‘now that is serious.’
‘Yes, we must find an alternative pacifier,’ said Merlin, ‘and George thinks that you might be able to suggest something from your seafaring days.’
‘It’s a funny thing,’ said Jack, ‘but ever since the PS came back with the Marmorgugelhupf cake I had a feeling that I had seen something like that before. I puzzled about it for a long time until one day the memory came back.’
‘What was it?’ chorused George and Merlin.
‘I told the PS about it at the time.’
‘Yes, but what was it?’
‘It’s fufu!’ said Jack triumphantly.
‘Fufu?’ yelled the PS and PM, ‘What’s fufu?’
‘Fufu is very big in the Gold Coast,’ said Jack. ‘Everyone eats it.’
‘But what is it?’ insisted Merlin. ‘What’s it made of?’
‘Dunno,’ said Jack. ‘Looks a bit like bread dough before the baker puts it in the oven.’