There is a dirt track called The Bridle Path near my childhood home. Once an equestrian route from countryside into town, it has become the domain of dog-walkers, recreational cycling clubs, dressing-gown and slipper clad wanderers from an adjacent lunatic asylum, and rural vandals whose hobby is apparently smashing crockery in the open air, specifically Blue Willow patten china.
Judging by the regular appearance and sheer number of these tiny blue and white fragments appearing on the ground, I'd guess the vandals have easy access to an unlimited stockpile of entire Blue Willow dinner services. Could the vandals be disgruntled employees of a restaurant supply store? Or maybe they are violent partisans of the Royal Copenhagen pattern, driven to such desperate measures by the figurative nature of their Chinoise rival? Can the mystery ever be solved?
Let me take a little reconnaissance ride down the Bridle Path on my bike to see what I can see. Laying in that grassy verge beside the track I observe the shattered remains of a soup tureen, a gravy boat and four teacups; underneath this hedgerow are what's left of six plates and a milk jug; and just now I've ridden over the sharp edge of a broken bit of saucer and my bike has a puncture. So much for my amateur sleuthing, the hooligan masterminds have outwitted me once again.
Frankly, devoid of clues or leads, I doubt even Sherlock Holmes will find anything "elementary" about the Blue Willow case. Hercule Poirot's "little grey cells" are completely stumped. And disconsolate Inspector Maigret surrendered long ago, retiring to a quiet cafe to drown his failures in a glass of pastis. I'm only guessing, but a crime involving decorative crockery with an Oriental theme must surely call for the combined talents of Miss Marple and Charlie Chan. Now that would be a detective story worth reading.
