Well, it’s time for Oktoberfest once again, which should pose no problem to most Sherlockians. Beer is the central focus of Oktober fest, and Sherlock Holmes was no stranger to that time-honored beverage. He ordered beer on a couple of occasions (one of them his very first short story), calling it “excellent.” His well-known, extra-Canonical, illegitimate son Nero was also a huge fan of beer, in more ways than one.  

Of course, me . . . I’ve never been a fan of the fermented grain beverage. So what’s a German-Irish-Dutch-Scotsman to do during Oktoberfest, if he doesn’t want to drink beer or polka? (Holmes didn’t polka, by the way. He drank beer, yes, but he didn’t polka. Yes, I’m sure.) The answer is simple: limericks. And so, for no reason at all, I now present the first ever Autumnal Sherlockian Festival of Limericks. Feel free to join in if the urge hits you.

There once were multiple Sherlocks,
With cases they got down at der docks.
It was quite the problem.
They couldn’t quite solve them.
For consulting detectives can’t cure pox.

And here’s to Nathaniel Garrideb!
The last of the living named Garrideb!
Finding him a mate
Was as dismal a fate
As finding a rhyme matching “Garrideb”!

And what of Doctor Watson’s “bull pup?”
A gun, temper, or dog? Look it up!
It’s a case one can argue,
Until all men will hate you,
You’d do better at running the Wessex Cup.

We always mention Aunt Clara . . .
Or have we left that old era?
Does that odd faux Irene
Of the Irregular scene
Need a rap song to firma her terra?

But I must mention Holmes’ brother Mycroft!
Whose power once rivalled our Microsoft.
He outdid Bill Gates . . .
At least going by weights,
For this Holmes came with a fully furnished loft.

Feel the urge to go out and grab a few beers for Oktoberfest yet? Well, then maybe the first ever Autumnal Sherlockian Festival of Limericks has done its job. Hope your celebrations are merry!

Your humble correspondent,

Brad Keefauver