Once upon a time there were two kingdoms who were constantly at war with each other. The wars were never about anything important, but the kings of both countries were always taking offence over silly things. So they had the War of the Trampled Asparagus (which left a peculiar smell behind for weeks after), the War of Black Cats (it fizzled out because nobody wanted to cross the road), the War of One Hundred Beefsteaks (that was a particularly bloody war), the War of the Idle Tinker (more of a skirmish than an actual war), the War of the Martins (nobody could ever figure out if this had begun as a fight over birds or people with boring names), the Lost Columns War (quite a peaceful one in the end), and many, many more.
This went on for years and years and years, and the people of both countries were getting sick of it, what with their sons getting killed and their young women raped and the asparagus crops ruined. But the kings kept finding reasons to attack one another, although they never did any of the fighting themselves. Or went near to where fighting took place. Or sent their sons into the fighting. And they kept their women, and their vegetable patches, at a safe distance from the enemy.
And so yet another war began, this time because one king accused the other (it doesn't really matter who was who) of deliberately displaying badly drawn cats, felines that looked full of evil, knowing full well that his opposite number's regal symbol was a pouncing tom. And that, for those mad monarchs, was enough reason to send out the troops. Again. This war, which began life as the War of the Wicked Puss, would come to be the known as The War to end All Wars, and later as the Peace of the Gilberts. And this is why.
I don't think I've told you yet, but the army of one side, let's call them the Northish Army, wore blue uniforms. And the army of the other side, we'll refer to them as the Southish, wore red coats. It was the Fourteenth of May in this long ago year, in a distant century, and there was a small battle taking pace, only about thirty on either side. Neither side was really winning, but they weren't losing either. Which suited most of them well, except for their stupid young officers, who still believed in daft notions like patriotism and glory. As darkness was falling each officer commanded one of their men to sneak forward along the edge of the cliff and see if they could find out exactly where the enemy were, with a view to mounting a night time attack. Each man set off, reluctantly, and cautiously edged forward, wondering how long they'd have to be away from their friends until they could turn back and say that at least they'd tried. So neither was paying as much attention as he should to what was around him, and both got a big surprise when they found themselves face to face, barely a meter apart. There was just enough light from the moon for one to see that the fellow he'd encountered was wearing blue, and for the second to see red. Both hoped the other would run away, but neither did. Both hoped the other would say something, but neither did. So, each at the same time, realised that this other man, was, according to customs of the time and the whims of their king, their enemy.
So they fought. But without weapons, without conviction, and without any real desire to hurt their opponent. They danced around one another for a few minutes, took the odd swing and missed, until the man in red tripped over a tussock, staggered into his adversary, and both found themselves falling over the edge of the cliff. On the way down they were convinced that they were going to die, but luck was with them. They fell into the huge wooden wash tub of the village that sat by the beach. The washing had long since been done, but the soapy water, still surprisingly warm, remained, and it was deep enough to break their fall so that they didn't break any bones, but each took a blow to the head and fell unconscious immediately. Luck was even more in evidence, because they both finished sitting in the water, with their faces just clear enough so they wouldn't drown.
They came to in the morning when one of the women of the village found them there in the suds and splashed some water into their faces to see if they were alive. Spluttering, sore and surprised, they looked at the woman, looked at each other, and gave big sighs of wonderment that the luck I mentioned had spared them. Both wanted to laugh, but found that it hurt too much. But they couldn't help themselves when they eventually emerged from the tub. A night spent in frothy cleanser had leached the dye from their jackets, the colours mixing in the water, and their clothing had both taken on the new hue. A fetching shade of light purple.
They agreed that this clearly indicated they were on the same side now (even more so when each discovered the other's name was Gilbert) and that they should become friends - and their kings and officers could go hang if they didn't like it. The woman said how lovely it was to watch them seeing sense and didn't they know that that was how all the people, in both kingdoms, felt about these stupid wars? And if they could become friends like that couldn't they persuade their fellow soldiers to do the same? They both saw the sense this woman talked, so they came up with a plan.
Each went back to his platoon and led them forward along the cliff, saying this was the best route to spring a surprise on the enemy. They'd arranged to meet near the place of their encounter the night before. When the two groups came upon one another the Gilberts sprang into the middle and said they were friends now, because they both wore the same colour, and wouldn't it be good if everyone did the same? All the men agreed, except the stupid officers, so they were grabbed and thrown over the cliff at almost the exact same spot as the fall the night before. Everyone heard a big splash. The Gilberts told the other men to take off their coats and throw them over the cliff too, then they led the way down to the little village.
When they got to the beach they found the two officers dead. That 'almost' had been enough. Nobody was upset about this as the young men had been truly horrible. They also found their coats in the big sudsy tub, being worked hard by the woman and her friends. The women told them the job would take a few hours, but if they went round the corner there was a party waiting for them, with food and drink and music and dancing. A Peace Party they said.
It was a wild party. The men had a wonderful time, and slept the night away in an exhausted stupor. When they woke they found that their coats were now dry, and were all the same shade of purple as the two Gilberts. Keeping together they went from one of bit one army to another, spreading their message of peace to both sides, and all the soldiers turned on their stupid officers and wanted their coats dyed purple. The people rejoiced to see the war ending this way, the kings fumed and shouted, but had to run away for fear the people would turn on them, and both countries became republics and signed a hundred year treaty to be allies and collaborators in progress.
And that, children, is why every Sixteenth of May is Wear Purple for Peace Day, and why I dress up like the Emperor Nero.
