A good writer makes his characters come alive to the reader. Alex could certainly do this, at least as far as I was concerned.

The Meredith Sisters (Amelia, Dora & Elspeth) who live in Manchester just before the first World War were Alex's creation, and he got them into several scrapes which inevitably led to their bottoms being thoroughly spanked. He breathed enough life into them that I had no difficulty in believing in them as real people.

I thought I would pay them a visit.

The Meredith Sisters

The door was opened by a pretty, dark haired young woman; I wished I'd worn a hat, just so that I could take it off.

'Miss Amelia Meredith?'

The eyes narrowed briefly, 'I fear our mother is not at home' she said.

'It's all right, I'm not the Cat in the Hat.' Damn. Why did I say that?

'Who are you sir?' It was on the nervous side of curious.

'Oliver Patbotham, at your service Miss' I bowed, 'I am afraid to say that I bring grave news.'

Once again I regretted not having a hat, if only to hold it in the 'Mexican-bandits- have-raided-our-village-Senor' position.

The eyes widened.

'Errr, may I come in?'

I was shown into an airy sitting room where Elspeth sat reading a book, Dora darning a sock. I'd never seen them save in my mind's eye, but they were exactly as I had imagined. Of course.

'What is it Ammy?' Elspeth stood up.

'This is Mr. Patbotham. He says he has some grave news.'

Dora's sock dropped into her workbasket.

'I'm sorry to have to tell you, ladies, that your author, Mr Alex Birch has passed away. I offer my sincere condolences.'

'What?'

'No!'

Elspeth gasped and sat down, hands flying to her mouth.

'When?'

'What happened?'

When the bombardment abated I was able to explain the circumstances such as I knew them.

Elspeth sobbed through a matted handkerchief, Dora merely looked surprised.

'What will become of us?' asked Amelia, doubtless feeling responsible for her younger sisters.

'I think that unless someone else decides to write you then you'll just carry on as you are' I explained.

'Well, that will be no bad thing in my opinion.'

'Dora! How can you say such a thing with Mr. Birch so recently deceased?' Amelia rebuked her sister.

'I can and I will. Every time Mr. Birch wrote a story for us we ended up with thrashed bottoms. Perhaps this was his purpose in writing all long' she said darkly.

'It is still unbecoming. I think Mr Birch was a perfect gentleman, and any ill which befell us in his stories was our own doing; or at least, the doing of one of us.'

Amelia turned a pregnant gaze onto Elspeth who stopped her crying and looked up nervously.

'Don't think we've forgotten that it was your folly that resulted in our gross maltreatment in the Carpenters Arms Elspeth.'

I smiled to myself; I could remember the scene just as Alex had written it, these three supposed temperance warriors, naked and bent over beer barrels, their bottoms being royally strapped by the landlord's friends.

'And at the fair' piped up Dora. 'Actually I don't think you've paid us proper recompense for either occasion.' She moved threateningly towards Elspeth.

'Dora's right' said Amelia, 'You owe us for your foolishness.'

I let myself out, hearing as I left several loud clangs; perhaps of a coal shovel against a soft bottom, interspersed with Elspeth's wails.

Alex, I thought, would have approved.