It was the day of the Covent Garden May Fayre, which celebrates the first ever recorded performance of Punch and Judy with a brass-band parade, a special puppet mass at the Actors’ Church and as many Punch and Judy shows as can be crammed into the church grounds. While I’d been a probationary constable at Charing Cross, I’d always been on crowd control that day, so I called up Lesley and asked if she wanted to try the fayre from the civilian point of view. We got ice cream and Cokes from the Tesco Metro and dodged around the tourists until we reached the front portico of the church. A single ‘professor’s’ booth had been set up not half a metre from where poor old William Skirmish had had his head knocked off.

‘Four months ago,’ I said out loud.

‘It hasn’t been boring,’ said Lesley.

‘You’re not the one who’s had to learn Latin,’ I said.

Mats had been put down for the kids to sit on while we adults stood at the back. A man in jester’s motley stepped forward and warmed up the audience. He explained that over the centuries there had been many versions of the Punch and Judy show but today, for our education and our entertainment, the renowned Professor Phillip Pointer would perform The Tragical Comedy, or Comical Tragedy, of Punch and Judy as told to John Payne Collier by Giovanni Piccini in 1827.

The story started with Punch being bitten on the nose by Toby the dog.

8 The Jackanory Version

The Jackanory Version

Toby the dog bites Punch, who beats Mr Scaramouch, Toby’s owner, to death. He then goes home and throws his baby out of the window and beats his wife Judy to death. He falls off his horse and kicks the doctor in the eye. The doctor attacks him with a stick, but he grabs that and beats the doctor to death. He rings a sheep bell outside a rich man’s house, and when the rich man’s servant remonstrates with him Punch beats him to death. At that point, my ice cream melted and slopped all over my shoes.

The Tragical Comedy, or Comical Tragedy, of Punch and Judy as told to John Payne Collier by Giovanni Piccini in 1827. Not very hard to get hold of, once you know what you’re looking for. After the show, Lesley and I showed the Professor our warrant cards and he was happy to hand over the hard copy of the script. We took it over to the Roundhouse on the corner of New Row and Garrick Street, and settled in to read it with two double vodkas..

‘It can’t be a coincidence,’ I said.

‘You think?’ asked Lesley. ‘Something is using real people to act out this stupid puppet show.’

‘Your governor’s not going to like this,’ I said.