A ghostly Tudor Dialogue

Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard have bumped into each other in purgatory.

Anne Boleyn: It's bloomin' typical, we're stuck here in this misty limbo-land and it was our husband who abolished Catholicism! Oh no – (a loud thump) -

Catherine Howard: Yeah, hey, mind your head, Annie.

Anne Boleyn (groping about in the dim light): Oh, I always was clumsy, and my head is surprisingly heavy. Isn't it awkward having to tuck it under your arm all the time? Since my fateful date at the Tower, I've had this splitting headache.

Catherine Howard: Practice makes perfect, Annie. Look, face forwards, hand firmly under the chin. What have you got in your bag? Surely not more of those awful beavers' tails? I don't know what Henners used to see in them.

Anne Boleyn: No, nothing like that. Actually, he used to eat beaver meat on Fridays to get around the fish rule. 'Beavers are fish', he used to say, pleased with himself as usual. He thought he was dam funny! You know he once asked his fool for a 'joke du jour' and you know what? The fool shrugged his shoulders and presented his neck for inspection. He said that was the new court-gesture!

Catherine Howard: More fool him! Well? What's in the bag?

Anne Boleyn: It's my lute.

Catherine Howard: Oh, no, Annie, you didn't make one last attempt at the palace silver?

Anne Boleyn: no, dear, not that sort of loot. I used to play and compose my own songs. I thought it might cheer everyone up when we're condemned to the fiery pit. Would you like to hear my latest composition, I've called it 'Hose, doublets and velvet shoes - a right royal wardrobe malfunction'?

Catherine Howard: Not just now, Annie. I'm sorry that Henry was so mean to you. Indulgent so-and-so, he used to repeat endlessly that sneer he made up describing you arriving at his chamber. He'd roar with laughter, 'Oh, my second wife would take her time alright, whenever I'd summon her. She'd dawdle around those chilly Hampton Court corridors, finally arriving at our little boudoir and, having kept me waiting for what seemed like half the night, she'd just amble-in!'.

Anne Boleyn: Pathetic! But cheer up, we get the last laugh.

Catherine Howard: How, exactly?

Anne Boleyn: Well, he's gone bald sweating away under that oversized feathery bonnet of his, hasn't he?

Catherine Howard: As a coot, darling.

Anne Boleyn: You see, it's very apt, since he's always wanted a son and hair, and now he has neither!