Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps guzzled a frothy tankard of ale in a couple of gulps and called urgently for another. The experienced bar maid at the Goose and Grasshopper poured speedily of her plenty, immediately recognizing the symptoms of a gentleman in distress. Full of a host's earnest concern, she asked Barmy what could be troubling him so.
When Barmy had restored the tissues sufficiently to speak, he replied haughtily that the world would be a happier place if young girls would remember the lessons they learn at their mothers' knees when those girls grow to become mothers themselves. He then proceeded to tell a stirring tale of woe.
Always willing to help, Barmy had agreed to fill in for the curate of the picturesque hamlet of Maiden Eggesford. The man of God had (with what motives, Barmy now admitted wondering?) sprained an ankle before boarding a bus to escort the Mothers of the village on their Annual Outing. Once out from under the vicar's controlling authority, these demure paragons of respectability had acted more like a band of pirates of the Spanish main, Barmy complained, than sedate matrons in their middle years. After progressing no more than 50 yards on their journey, these red-hot Mothers, sixteen in all, had abandoned the vicar's instructive and enlightening programme and ordered their driver to direct the bus toward the Amusement Park and Arcade on the pier at nearby Bridmouth-on-Sea.
Barmy felt a rising dread at the thought of releasing his increasingly effervescent group of Bacchantes in a spot with so much scope for action. Events fully justified his fears. Five of the Mothers seemed to appoint themselves as leaders of the troupe, and no comment or look of Barmy's could restrain their ardor.
One Mother led all sixteen of them in singing a ribald song at the tops of their voices. Another beaned a green grocer with his own tomato. A third claimed to notice a fire on board a sailboat tied up to the pier, and, when the owner leaned over to look, shoved him into the ocean. A fourth put out her cigar in the navel of a plaster copy of the Venus de Milo offered for sale in the arcade. The fifth pinched a young man in an immodest spot as he walked by the group.
Barmy could distinguish the Mothers only by their attire. One wore a puce mantle, while another clutched a crocheted shawl around her shoulders. Another wore a pink bonnet, still another was dressed in bombazine, and the last wore a Homburg hat that she had wrestled from the head of the bus driver and steadfastly declined to return.
Based on Barmy's descriptions of these ringleaders, the bar maid named them as Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Mainway, Mrs. Ottley, Mrs. Dopplewaite, and Mrs. Larson. She could coax only a few additional clues about those dread events from Barmy, his natural cloth-headedness and the healing effects of the ale combining to cloud his memory.
From the six statements below, can you tell which Mother committed which offense in what order while dressed in what garment?