“George”, roared His Majesty, “George.”

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“Yes, Sire,” came the calm voice of his manservant from behind.

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“George, my light won’t work,” said HM as he jiggled with the switch on his desk-lamp.

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“Let me see, Sire,” soothed George. And he, too, tried the switch, then gently unscrewed the bulb from its fitting, held it to his ear and gave it a small shake.

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“Ah, yes. I think the bulb is broken.”

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“Broken,” exploded the King. “How can it be broken? I haven’t touched the ruddy thing.”

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“Might I enquire, Sire, how long the bulb has been in the lamp? 

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“How should I know?” snorted His Majesty. “At least twenty years I imagine. I remember I had to ask the Queen about it.”

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“Then the bulb is to be congratulated for working for so long,” said George. “They usually only last for ten years.”

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“Well, I can’t work without a desk-lamp. I want it replaced at once.” And the King thumped the desk with one royal hand while waving George away with the other.

 

 

George went to find the royal quartermaster and explain the problem. Carefully he handed over the defunct bulb. The quartermaster cradled it in reverent hands. “I haven’t seen one of these in a decade or two,” he mused. “They don’t make them like this any more. The modern ones may be cheap and eco-friendly but they give such a cold light. This one now, it gives a warm glow, creates an atmosphere conducive to calm and good cheer.”

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“Well it doesn’t give a warm glow any longer and His Majesty is in the dark and not happy,” responded George. “The point is, have you got a spare?”

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The quartermaster rubbed his hand over his chin as he thought. “No,” he said. “I’ll have to consult the royal electrician.”

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He reached out a hand for the red phone on his desk and dialled a number with his forefinger. Elsewhere in the palace, the royal electrician heard a loud ring and saw a light flashing over his in-house phone to signal an urgent call. He placed his soldering iron in its cradle, pushed up his visor, wiped his hands on a paper towel and lifted the handset. The royal quartermaster explained the problem to the royal electrician. ”It’s one of the old globe bulbs with a warm wavelength filament.”

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“Mmmm,” mused the royal electrician, “I haven’t seen one of those since I was an apprentice. They don’t make them like that any more, The modern things may be cheap and eco-friendly but they give such a cold light. Those old globe bulbs gave a warm glow, created an atmosphere conducive to calm and good cheer.”

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“Yes, yes, I remember the marketing slogans, but His Majesty’s bulb doesn’t give a warm glow any longer and he is in the dark and not happy,” interrupted the royal quartermaster. “The point is, have you got a spare?”

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“No,” said the royal electrician. “I haven’t. But give me a few minutes and I’ll see if I can source one.”
Putting the phone down, he reached out a hand and pulled a dusty catalogue from the shelf behind him. His frown grew deeper as his fingers leafed through the pages until nearly the end. Then: “Aha! I’ll try the Lantern-makers Company. They have a royal warrant they won’t want to lose and they may have one on their shelves. I’ll get back to you, quartermaster.”

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He replaced the receiver to end the call, picked up his mobile and punched in a number. 

 

In a cobbled lane across the royal park, Sara was polishing the display in the window of the Lantern-makers Company, when the phone rang. She pulled off her Marigolds and answered the call. The royal electrician explained the problem. “Have you got one of the old-fashioned globe bulbs with a warm wavelength filament somewhere in your stock room?”

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“Ooh,” said Sarah, “I haven’t seen one of those since my granny died. They don’t make them like that any more. The modern ones may be cheap and eco-friendly but they give such a cold light. Those old bulbs gave a nice warm glow, made a room real cosy and cheerful.”

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"Well His Majesty’s bulb doesn’t give a warm glow any longer and he is in the dark and not cheerful," interrupted the royal electrician. “The point is, have you got one?” 

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Sarah reached out a hand and flipped through a file of index cards. “If I have, it’ll be on shelf ZX27b. Hold on and I’ll go and look.”

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Minutes later she was back, a new bulb held in careful hands. “Don’t want to drop this. I’ll wrap it up in tissue, pack it in a padded box and send the boy to deliver it to the palace.”

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“Thank goodness,” said the royal electrician and relayed the news to the royal quartermaster.

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“Thank goodness,” said the royal quartermaster and relayed the news to George, who had been quietly wringing his hands together.

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The boy arrived with his package and handed it to the quartermaster. 

 

The quartermaster handed it to George.

 

George carried it through the palace corridors and up flights of stairs to the King’s study.

 

“At last!” His Majesty greeted him. “Have you got one?”

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“Yes, Sire. Allow me.” And George unwrapped the glass globe, fitted it into the empty socket and stood back.

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The King reached for the switch. The bulb lit up with a warm glow, creating an atmosphere of calm and good cheer.”

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“Well done, George,” beamed the King.

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“Well, Sire” said George humbly, “I can’t take all the credit. As the proverb says, many hands make light work.”