tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75770678037213371652024-03-14T09:35:47.267+00:00Snapper and the GriffinThe idea for this blog came with the photos of Madame Shawshank of Penrith and a Sussex Griffin. She, the Snapper places a photo upon the page. An image of any kind. I, the Griffin then must respond with a tale of somesuch.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.comBlogger234125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-10081623285019038412014-04-23T10:28:00.002+01:002014-04-23T10:28:41.185+01:00The Rising<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="The Forest of Dean is England's first national forest park" data-pin-description="The Forest of Dean is England's first national forest park and largest oak woodland. Photograph: The Forestry Commission" itemprop="contentUrl representativeOfPage" src="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pictures/2009/4/3/1238775150584/The-Forest-of-Dean-is-Eng-002.jpg" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photograph: The Forestry Commission</span></div>
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We are still recovering and it is likely we shall be considerably more careful with nature in future. Oh of course we heard the 'Green' message and there were all kinds of messages about how to 'save the planet', when what we meant was saving ourselves. But we had reckoned without one key ingredient. There were warnings in the weather. Extremes of hot and cold, floods that covered vast areas of countryside and even the Great Flood that made the river Thames flood its banks and made London look like a dirtier version of Venice.</div>
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Still there were the usual responses; panic in the press, terror among the public and the sonorous tones of a government without a clue. But we did not learn. When the news came later of a tsunami that had struck New York and flooded that big city some people began to take notice of the scientists and some of the religious leaders who remarked as had been remarked before that 'God' was angry. Nobody saw that somewhere in the cracks of our existence, where science and religion and even politics did not exist. Outside of the edges of our human awareness there was something we had overlooked in our self-styled superiority. So when that anger finally became manifest we were taken by surprise. Nothing we had could help us. Our fabulous technology was helpless.</div>
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It began on what has become in our memory Green Tuesday. That morning, when our dear England was enjoying a period of stability, George Lakenham woke up to the sound of trumpets and horses. He prepared himself for the day as usual and went downstairs to make breakfast, sure that he was dreaming. He had just poured his coffee when he heard a rude pounding at his front door. </div>
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George, who was a portly, creaking gentleman of a certain age, sighed. He ran his hand over his thinning hair and stirring his coffee, left the kitchen and headed to the door, his coffee mug in his hand. He was a stable gent was George. An accountant by profession, he was thorough, unruffled and calm. Nothing however had prepared him for this. When he opened his front door he found a tall green haired man with pale, green-tinted skin. The man was wearing green armour that was both beautiful and frankly archaic. It was covered in symbols that George did not recognise.</div>
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"Er, can I help you?" George asked.</div>
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He noticed the troops of horses in his garden with similar men astride them. One of the horses was taking an interest in his garden, eating its way idly through his primulas.</div>
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"Are you the king of the mortals?" the man demanded testily.</div>
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"King? No, we don't have a king. There's the Queen of England, but she's in London. I don't think she rules the country though, that's the Prime Minister's job," George answered before finally asking,</div>
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"And who might you be?"</div>
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The green-haired man drew himself to his full height, which was a lot higher than George.</div>
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"I am the Green Man and your mortal race has a reckoning to make," the man answered.</div>
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"Of course, silly of me. Er, what reckoning?" George asked tentatively.</div>
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"You mortals have been using and abusing Nature as if you had a right to. It's time the abuses were paid," the Green Man told him.</div>
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"I don't know that I quite understand," George said with an increasing sense of worry.</div>
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But the Green Man had turned away and mounted a large green horse. He turned his troop away and they marched off towards London. Even as George watched them he saw with astonishment the trees that grew up through the road and pavements in their wake. Willoughby Road suddenly became a forest. </div>
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So much for Surrey. In Sussex, a land known for legends, the long dragon beneath the South Downs hills awoke and stood sending chalk and flint cascading from him. Small villages were uprooted and people fled into the fields. </div>
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In Leicestershire, Black Annis was seen by two children who escaped her by running home. Beneath Bradgate Park the rocks were seen to rise until they were not rocky spikes, but the back ridge of a large black dragon. </div>
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All over Britain, there were dragons and dark things rising. Faeries rode in their Rades, tall, beautiful and terrifying. All of them kept the people indoors frightened and silent. The government was commanded by the Faerie Queen to return all money to the land. The metals to make coin came from earth, all paper notes came from fabric and must be returned to the earth. </div>
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In vain the government protested that money was needed for the economy. The Faerie Queen herself took over the governance of Britain. She abolished our system of capitalism completely and brought in new practices and procedures. Food and clothes were given to all the people, sustainability was made law. Forests were returned to much of the country and only certain areas were given over to farm for the various communities. Buildings were confined to specific areas also. Many people fled the country to Europe and America, only to find that similar practices were taking place also. </div>
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The Americans had taken to war to defend their way of life, but were swiftly overwhelmed. A dragon cannot be harmed by bullets or arrows, the native spirits were immortal and invulnerable. Religions were equally confined by the Faerie and the Elementals to towns and cities - where human lived. No invasion of nature was allowed. </div>
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So, they have taken over and are transforming our ways of living. Every day we are growing out of our old selves and being transformed. Not by science or religion or even politics, but by those we had forgotten - by She whom we had forgotten and ignored. Nature and her allies of the elements. We mortals live and die, but we are constantly being reminded that we are not in charge of this planet of ours but merely a part of it. </div>
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Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-7865541860127758832014-01-02T12:29:00.002+00:002014-01-02T12:29:18.614+00:00Empty, Empty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There used to be a mud path going past Barnswyck in the old days. But when the people started using it more, the council widened it and decided to build a road. For a while there were machines and men going along the wider path and it was closed off. For three months the construction was a nuisance. It meant going the long way through the main streets of Barnswyck with all the distractions and people. But after the three months the new road was opened with a small ceremony. The mayor of Barnswyck cut a ribbon and the road was opened to new traffic. There was a path and a large culvert beneath the road where Hode's Bridge had been over the stream.<br />
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For a while all went very well and the road became popular. There was a pavement on both sides so people could walk as well as drive past Barnswyck. A text on the road had been painted that said Fullforde, which was irritating to the locals who knew where the road went.<br />
I don't know when exactly it changed, but Martin and Pete were going along there when they noticed that the text had changed. It read, 'Empty Empty' and they joked that Fullforde had always seemed full when they'd been. But as they got nearer, Pete felt unaccounably uneasy and then actually frightened, though he could not tell Martin why. He was curious that Martin did not feel the terror that filled him. Still Martin teased him and pulled at his arm, but Pete pulled himself free and ran back along the road. He heard a deep rumbling short laugh, then a short scream and when he turned back to the road, Martin was gone.<br />
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As scared as he was, Pete thought Martin was playing a trick on him. He did not think anything terrible and carefully went back along the road towards Fullforde. He did not feel scared this time, indeed a deep sense of calm and peace filled him. He came to within sight of the writing on the road and saw that now it read; 'Full Full'. He frowned in puzzlement, the previous sign was not there and somewhere at the base of his mind the terror niggled at him, faintly. He turned and returned to our village.<br />
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Over the next few days, reports came in of people disappearing and even a few vehicles. An articulated lorry that was due in Fullforde was never seen again. The company set the police on the trail of the driver, but they found nothing. Traffic behaved strangely too. The driver in front would see the words 'Empty Empty' and joke about it. The drivers behind would stop with a panicky sense of terror that made them turn around and return to our village. <br />
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The old people met in the leisure centre for their weekly get-together and discussed the matter. Granny Holle, had come to our village from no-one knew where. She was a jolly soul who kept her little house clean with a besom broom, so the children wondered if she was a witch. She laughed at the thought and teased the children, but she was always kind to them.<br />
She arrived at the meeting and said nothing, knitting away quietly as the other old people talked. Little Sam peered in at the door and catching his eye, Granny Holle winked and smiled at him. Sam tried to wink back but he was not quite as good at it and eventually he waved and went away.<br />
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A little later he saw Granny Holle go walking along the road to Barnswyck and he followed at a trot. Yet, to his surprise, he could not catch up to her. He saw at a little way behind her the sign on the road, 'Empty Empty' and felt the sense of terror gathering in him. He stopped and shouted out to Granny Holle, begging her with tears in his eyes to come back. But she only paused, turned and smiled at him, giving him a little wave of her hand. Or was it a wave? Perhaps it was more that she was waving him back. Through his tears, Sam was sure he saw a large creature, shaggy and with a big nose grab Granny Holle around her waist and disappear as if underground. Then he remembered the bridge and he ran forward until he saw the sign on the road that for some reason still read, 'Empty Empty'. <br />
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There was silence for a long time. Sam walked backwards, afraid to turn his back in case the huge creature grabbed him too. As he did so, he saw Granny Holle climb up the bank and onto the pavement again. She paused to push pin up a lock of her long white hair, patted it into place and strolled towards him.<br />
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"Well now Sam, come along. It's time for tea and then I'll take you home," she said.<br />
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"But Granny, what was that - thing?" Sam exclaimed.<br />
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"Thing? Oh that. That was only a troll, my dear. Nothing to worry about any more. If you like, I shall tell you a story about a troll and some goats. I know quite a few tales about trolls my dear," she said giving his hand a little squeeze and smiling at him.<br />
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"But it was going to eat you wasn't it?" Sam asked her in wonder.<br />
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"Well yes, but that sort of thing is really not very sociable, so I had to drive him away," she answered, adding with a wink, "After all, I am a witch, aren't I?"<br />
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Sam did not believe that for a minute, but he did not know what to say. He went home with Granny Holle to have tea and cake, before his mother picked him up and took him home. He told her about the troll and Granny Holle and his mother smiled and cuddled him.<br />
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"When you are a good deal older Sam, I will tell you all about Mother Holle. That's what some people call her," she said.<br />
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I went along the road recently. The words 'Empty Empty' were still there, but faded and worn now. I smiled to myself and went on to Fullforde singing.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-64764482429331729032013-12-23T13:11:00.000+00:002013-12-23T13:11:07.474+00:00The Fox-child and his Dam<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is said that many years ago, in the time of the House of Keys, when its powers held sway over the Wildwood there were both good magicks and those most malicious. Stories are told in the villages not far from the vast Wildwood. In Goat-wyck and Lambton, even as far as Stoneburgh a particular tale is told of the Fox-Child's Dam.<br />
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It seems that a vixen gave birth to a litter of cubs in a quiet hollow beneath the roots of an old oak. This Skulk of Foxes, for so a group of foxes is known, stayed around that oak for quite some time as they grew. Every day it is said, their Dam, or mother went hunting to feed her cubs and returned often with a rabbit or a pheasant that her three cubs shared.<br />
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Now a poacher with some hedge-magicks entered the wood and coming across the by now juvenile foxes, killed two of them and chased after the third who fled. Young as this fox was, he sought his dam, but could not find her. Being possessed of his own magick the fox left the wood and hid in a barn. There he came across a small boy and vengeful of the slaughter of his siblings by a man, he fell upon the boy intending the child's death. But his own magick rose up in him and instead of bloody death, there was a merging of the fox and the boy. Knowledge, such as it was filled them both and the boy's mousy hair became russet, his eyes green and yet the fox's nature was within him.<br />
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So he hid well in the barn and when the poacher came into the barn, following the fox, he saw only a boy asleep, the fox trail confused and lost. So he left the boy asleep and went away.<br />
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Much later, when the sun had run his course and his pale sister the moon arose from her bed, the vixen returned to find her cubs gone and blood around the oak. She screeched her wild rage and grief at the forest canopy and called upon all the ancient dryads of the wood. In that instant, the dryads took pity on her and told her all that had befallen her cubs.<br />
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From that moment, the vixen in her fury swore vengeance and tracked the poacher to his village a little beyond the wood. There had been, some hundreds of years before, some faerie blood in her line and this was still strong in her. From the edge of the wood, she sang to the poacher's oldest child to come to her. The child, a handsome boy like his father, fell into a trance and walked out of the house and into the wood.<br />
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Once within the wood, the vixen had him. She pounced on him with all her rage and tore the boy to pieces until cruel death closed his eyes. Now the vixen returned to the edge of the wood, for she would have all the poacher's cubs. But a cat who had once been a witch's familiar had heard the song of the fox and guessed at it. He had been too late to save the boy, but the little girl he would protect. As the vixen's song called out once more to the little girl so that she too fell into a trance, the cat sat upon the gate post. He sang a deep song, a hearthside song, a mother's love and a gentle song. This song alone interrupted the vixen and the little girl began to cry. Her mother came to her, picked her up and held her until the girl whimpered with the two songs in her head.<br />
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The vixen would have leapt upon the cat, but the poacher's hedge-magick had awoken and he went outside with his gun. The vixen melted back into the cover of the woods and she fled back to the oak, tears of anger and loss streaming across her fur.<br />
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So the villagers say, that when the nights are dark and cold. When winter comes, grey, cold and hard as stone; keep your children indoors by the hearth. Place cold iron over the doors and windows to guard against faerie-magick, for then the Vengeful Vixen sings her bewitching song to avenge her lost cubs. If a child goes, trancelike out of doors and into the Wildwood, they will never be seen again. Mothers tell their children of the Vixen and keep the little ones indoors. If the children misbehave they are told that the Vixen may get them.<br />
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As for the fox-child, nobody knows if he has found his dam. It was said that only Lisanna of the House of Keys might know and even she would not tell. Villagers watch for the fox-child and those few children, especially boys that are born with red hair are blessed at the kirk and wear iron crosses about their necks to keep away faerie magicks. Despite the tale of the fox-child, red-haired children are loved as much for their rarity. They are called flame-haired, copper-haired and seen in the villages as the most beautiful. The girls especially are treasured if they have flaming red hair, for their eyes are green or blue and they are said to have faery blood in them, which strangely is seen as good. It protects them in this dangerous world.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-35534308745084921552013-12-19T15:39:00.002+00:002013-12-19T15:39:33.599+00:00The Fox-Child's Gratitude<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Winter had come in all its wildness to the House of Keys. The wind was wild and bitterly cold, cutting across the land like Death's own scythe, steely and sharp. It had rained the day before, but now that rain had turned into sleet and thence to snow. Deceitful snow that appeared pretty and soft, but could kill in its cold grip.<br />
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Lisanna gazed out of the tall windows of the House of Keys and watched the gardens turn white with the blowing snow. The library was warm and rich with colour in contrast to the bluish-whiteness and greys and black outside. She was about to turn away when a flash of colour in the large gardens caught her eye and she turned back to the window, peering through the haze of falling snow. Beside a bush she saw a russet patch of colour and recognised it as a fox. <br />
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"Poor thing," she murmured, for she was a sympathetic young woman.<br />
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Still and all, it was a wild thing too and she turned back to the warm fire blazing in the hearth. On the armchair near the fireside her cat, Grimoire was curled up tightly, only the gentle rise and fall of his side showing he still lived. Lisanna crossed the room in her salmon pink slippers of kid leather and leaning over the cat, she caressed him. He purr-meowed briefly and sighed, but did not move.<br />
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Lisanna sat on the sopha and took up her book again. After a little while, the door opened and she looked up. Bonnie the housekeeper entered with a stony look on her face.<br />
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"Sorry to disturb miss, there's a wild boy wishes to see you. I'd have him removed myself, but I know your wishes," she said firmly.<br />
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"Bring him up Bonnie, and bring a little hot broth too. It's bitterly cold outside and the poor thing may freeze else," Lisanna replied.<br />
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Bonnie harrumphed quietly but turned to fetch the boy in.<br />
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He dashed in and suddenly so that Lisanna sat up quickly fearing that he might hurt himself in his haste. But more astonishing to her was Grimoire's reaction. The cat suddenly sprang from the armchair and fled under the sopha, hissing at the newcomer.<br />
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The boy's hands and feet seemed to be black to the elbows and knees. The hair on him was thick and reddish. His eyes were green and wild and his ears had something of a pointed nature that was somehow indefinable. He sat upon the floor squatting on his haunches and looked at Lisanna closely.<br />
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Lisanna felt in that instant a strong thrill of terror as if he meant her ill. But he was only a boy, ragged looking and with a strong scent she had never come across before. She smiled, as much for her benefit as his and said softly,<br />
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"Would you like some broth, dear? It will warm you up."<br />
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The boy thanked her in a low growl of a voice and prowled towards the fire. He did not go too near it, just close enough to warm himself. He shut his eyes in pleasure and licked his lips. In that moment, Lisanna felt her heart leap with recognition at an impossibility. She watched him settle on his side by the fire, his elbows on the floor and his head turned to look at her.<br />
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"You are most kind mistress," he said with a smile that was both sly and predatory at the same time.<br />
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"You're welcome I'm sure sir," Lisanna answered in a quiet murmur.<br />
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"My dam is somewhere, but I am not entirely sure where. A little food and a few moments rest would be greatly appreciated, mistress," he said with an assurance unusual in small boys.<br />
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He rested and Bonnie brought him broth with cooked chicken and pork in it. He ate it with a great deal of pleasure and, Lisanna could not help but notice, savagery. He ate out of the bowl like a dog rather than a boy. <br />
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"You are," Lisanna hesitated and then continued in a rush, "you are a fox-child aren't you?"<br />
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The boy paused and turned to look at her. <br />
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"Look like a fox, eat like a fox..." he said and pushed his pointed face back to the dish.<br />
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"What do you wish in the House of Keys?" she asked him.<br />
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Many strangers had come to this house and most with bad intentions. They wanted Lisanna's hand in marriage, or her life and the Keys of the Wildwood that gave whoever owned them, power over the woodlands. So she did not ask the question idly.<br />
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The fox-child smiled at her and licked his lips,<br />
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"A little food and a few moments rest are all, mistress. I do not wish the Keys, nor you. We who are of the wood trust your powers. You have been kind to us so far. It is enough," he said.<br />
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Having finished the broth, he stretched and yawned, throwing his head back. She admired his gracefulness and his lithe frame. He stood, though it looked awkward in him and gazed into her eyes.<br />
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"You are lonely mistress. The stewardship of the Keys is a lonely duty," he said.<br />
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"My dear, should you not find your dam? I am sure she will miss her child," Lisanna answered coolly, though she felt the truth of his words.<br />
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"It is Yule mistress, the time of sleep before wakefulness again. Tonight it is said all of us wild creatures may speak with humans. My gratitude be upon you mistress. Tomorrow morning your true love shall come and you will know him," the boy said.<br />
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He bowed and was gone before she could call Bonnie. Without him the library felt empty somehow. Grimoire stayed beneath the sopha, wary now. Lisanna took a deep breath and shut her eyes. Her responsibility was the Keys and her house. For twenty years she had kept them safe and protected. <br />
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She shrugged her shoulders and returned to her book. But her eyes did not read the words on the pages and far too quickly the tears came, splashing hot on her pretty face and cooling rapidly. <br />
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Faintly at first then stronger and stronger still, music came upon her. It was like birdsong; the trickling waters of a brook, the wind through the trees in spring and it lulled her. She fell asleep where she sat and when she awoke she did so with a start.<br />
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Had she been here in the library all night? Had the night passed so quickly then? Lisanna reached forward and saw her book on the floor at her feet. The fire had gone out and Grimoire was asleep again in the armchair. Lisanna stood and stretched; first her long pale arms, then her wings, iridescent and shining in the fierce glare of reflected light on the snow. The glare filled the room. She set the fire again and lit it with a word. Then she called for Bonnie and asked for coffee and breakfast. <br />
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"If it please you mistress, there's a gentleman come. He is a knight and a prince it would seem. He was searching for a damosel, but has not found her. Shall I show him in?" Bonnie asked her.<br />
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"Please Bonnie, thank you," Lisanna answered. <br />
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She whispered another three words and the room was scented with cinnamon and roses. The young man who entered the library was a human, not a fay like herself. His hair was dark like ink, his skin was white as snow and his lips she noticed were red as blood. She found herself smiling at him. He was about to speak and she heard his voice in her heart, and reaching out for him, she took him in her arms and held him. <br />
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They were married in the Spring and lived comfortably. How do I know? I am married to Roselle their daughter. As for the fox-child, I am sure he found his dam. I have always taken care not to harm foxes ever since. Nor it is said, did Lisanna. <br />
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After all, it is the heart of winter now, the Festival of Yule. The land sleeps and humans come together to celebrate surviving another year and prepare to welcome the return of the sun.<br />
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Good Yule, or if you prefer, Merry Christmas - especially if you are alone.<br />
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Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-74556330431879236342013-11-10T15:11:00.001+00:002013-11-10T15:11:03.200+00:00A Good Night's Sleep<br />
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There are certain things, Princess Selena thought to herself, which a woman needs. Three good meals a day, a room of one's own with a good bed and the love of a decent person. Of course she was not in that position, having left her father's kingdom some months ago to seek her fortune.<br />
<br />
"Now what do you want to do that for?" her mother had asked her,<br />
<br />
"Before long you'll be ruler of this country - how much good fortune is that?"<br />
<br />
Right now, Selena was thinking that her mother had had a point. She had been alright to start with. She had ridden her horse through several towns and spent her money carefully. She had not dressed in fine clothes so as not to attract thieves. She had even let herself go a little to hide much of her prettiness. Even so, she had skin as blushing as a pale pink rose, eyes as dark as sloes and hair as black as a raven's wing. Fortunately she had insisted as a teenager on learning the arts of war, just in case. She had not particularly enjoyed them, but she learned them as a duty in between reading and study, which she loved immensely. She had been teased by her two brothers Ferdinand and Floyd for it, called a 'bluestocking' which simply led to her wearing blue stockings in patterned fabrics. She ignored her brothers most of the time as a sensible sister does. <br />
<br />
Now, she paused at the top of the hill and looked down into a lovely green valley with a small village of farmsteads and a few houses more central around a town hall and a large church. Her horse had been stolen, she had been swindled and mistreated, but still she persisted in walking in the world to seek her own fortune. There are those no doubt who would have thought her mad, she wondered at herself sometimes, but still she kept on going. She was still a virginal young woman with her own fire and wit and none of her thirst for adventure had gone yet. Although she was ready to drop where she stood and sleep.<br />
<br />
She sat down for a little while and tightened her sash to keep her stomach from grumbling. She gazed into the peaceful valley and admired it even as her eyes scanned it curiously. After a little while, she got up groaning and taking a deep breath she trudged wearily down the hill towards the village. After a little while, she came upon a boy and his dog and greeted them both. The dog sniffed her hands and licked her hand. The boy said his name was Joe and who was she.<br />
<br />
"I am Selena, pale as the moon, dark as night," she said.<br />
<br />
For a moment the boy digested this before shrugging his shoulders. He was about to respond when a sharp cry came over the fields and he turned.<br />
<br />
"Sorry, I've got to go or my mum will get cross," he said.<br />
<br />
"May I come with you?" Selena asked him a little desperately.<br />
<br />
Joe shrugged again and nodded, "Come on then," he said.<br />
<br />
She ate supper with the family and before long was taken before the village council who passed her on to the town council a little way away. They in turn passed her on to the Royal Palace where it was established that she was Princess Selena and of Royal Blood. Along the way, she had reversed her fate. She was fed well, clothed in rough but clean new clothes and even managed to get a horse after helping the Ostler's wife give birth to a pretty baby girl.<br />
<br />
Now it happened that the Queen in this land was a great reader herself. She was also unsure that Selena was who she said she was. So she determined to prove the young newcomer. If she is really Princess Selena then she can marry my son and if not, she can be my librarian. But for pretending there will have to be consequences. She told Selena this very firmly. Selena smiled and answered that she would be happy to be the Queen's librarian in any case for she loved books and for an hour or so after the two women discussed their favourite books.<br />
<br />
The Queen had lost her husband to war and now ruled her own realm until her son was of an age where he was likely to be responsible enough to be King. He was 20 and not nearly responsible enough yet, but she did love him for he was her son. Selena had no feelings for the young prince one way or another. He was handsome enough and quite sweet in his own way, but she saw too much of her own brothers in him. <br />
<br />
The prince was very fashionable and loved music and pictures as well as carousing and hunting. He did not mind reading in the evenings, with his mother for he loved her very much. Had she not raised him, changed his nappies when he was a baby, fed him at her breast and taught him not to misbehave with a firm but loving hand. She had and further she had insisted on educating him too. For all that he loved his mum as who should not?<br />
<br />
So when the Queen told him to give Selena the Groovy Bedroom, he was happy to oblige. The Queen had several mattresses placed upon the bed and under them all she placed a single dried pea. You can see she knew her folktales. Selena was grateful and went to bed without a murmur. She felt the pea as soon as she climbed into bed, got out of bed and removed it before getting back into bed and sleeping very comfortably.<br />
<br />
The following morning she took the pea into breakfast with her. <br />
<br />
"I do hope you slept well my dear," the Queen said, placing her coffee cup on it's saucer.<br />
<br />
"Oh your majesty," Selena answered, "you forget that I read too. So I removed the pea from the bed and slept very comfortably thank you. However, this proves that I read, not that I am a princess. Though I am, I assure you."<br />
<br />
"Hmm," said the Queen passing Selena some buttered toast and pouring her a cup of coffee.<br />
<br />
Selena ate her breakfast and discussed her studies of flowers with the Queen, including the Sweet Pea (<span class="kno-fv"><span class="kno-fv-vq fl" data-vq="/search?biw=1280&bih=904&q=%22sweet+pea%22+%22scientific+name%22+%22lathyrus+odoratus%22&stick=H4sIAAAAAAAAAGOovnz8BQMDAz8HsxKnfq6-gWVZunmxA-PqKgn30OmCWwIXBO73Uo1bw_fr31QAMCmgaCwAAAA">Lathyrus odoratus</span></span>) and the Poppy (Papaver Somniferens). The Queen was most interested and asked her what she knew of Rosaceae the Rose family. Selena answered with both wit and intelligence through breakfast.<br />
<br />
"Hmm," said the Queen, for she had begun to look at this young woman differently.<br />
<br />
The following evening there was to be a ball. Selena was sent by the Queen a beautiful silk brocade dress of deepest crimson, a corset of silk and whalebone and some very pretty shoes of red and clear glass. Selena sighed and shook her head but put on the corset and the dress and a pair of charming knickers that matched the corset. She wore a new pair of dark blue stockings and even tried the glass slippers on before removing them. I can't dance in those, she thought, I'll slip all over the place. She put on her serviceable red satin Jimmy Choos instead and went to the ball. All night she danced and was admired. She ate well and drank well.<br />
<br />
How well that dress suits her, thought the Queen, but where are her glass slippers? <br />
<br />
She asked Selena if the young woman had not liked the glass slippers. Selena kissed the Queen gently on her cheek and replied,<br />
<br />
"Oh your majesty, they are beautiful and I am very grateful. I am at a loss to see how Cinderella could possibly dance in them though. My Jimmy Choos are a lot easier to dance in and I should hate to slip and break the glass shoes."<br />
<br />
"Hmm," said the Queen, pleased with the answer in spite of herself.<br />
<br />
The following morning, she sat at breakfast with Selena (the young prince was still in bed sleeping off a severe hangover). <br />
<br />
"My dear would you like sugar with your coffee, or salt with your kipper?" the Queen asked.<br />
<br />
Selena chuckled and leaning over the table, she kissed the Queen on her strawberry mouth.<br />
<br />
"Oh your majesty, really! I would like a little sugar with my coffee and my kipper is sweeter with a little salt. Now will you give over you darling?" she answered.<br />
<br />
The Queen was at a loss. Not only was Selena clearly a Princess (she had been sent a confirmation from Selena's parents that morning), but she could not possibly conceive of the young woman marrying her son.<br />
<br />
"Selena," the Queen began her voice shaking slightly, "If you will consent to marriage, I should be honoured to accept."<br />
<br />
"Oh my darling, I've been waiting for you to ask me to marry you!" Selena replied, "But no more tricks. Just kiss me and let us talk about books."<br />
<br />
And so, they were married and the prince was much relieved as he preferred carousing and hunting to books and while he liked Selena he was not THAT fond of a bluestocking. He liked Betsy Trotter the barmaid at The Crown and in time he married her. And believe it or not, I assure you that they actually did live very happily. Except for the occasional grumble, but what marriage is free of those?Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-23279336222455195782013-10-20T14:24:00.003+01:002013-10-20T14:24:21.307+01:00What became of Lilia.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JJW6anow-go/UmO52mgFdFI/AAAAAAAAAlw/Qp-kA_jEi_k/s1600/Day+27+Vancouver+(163).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JJW6anow-go/UmO52mgFdFI/AAAAAAAAAlw/Qp-kA_jEi_k/s400/Day+27+Vancouver+(163).JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
"I remember that house well," I told the old man standing on the corner, "But how did it come to this?"<br />
<br />
The old man looked at me bemused for a moment. I explained that I'd been away in China on company business for 15 years. He shook his head in wonderment and shuffled away. As such, I was still baffled. Where was Lilia? Where the friendly hustle and bustle of the house and the street?<br />
<br />
I had left the firm and returned having made some advantageous speculations of my own. I was now a fairly well-off man and had returned hoping to find Lilia and renew our friendship. I had written to her while in China, the intimacy of a handwritten letter still appealed to me, it was not the impersonal text of email that I had used for business. For a while she had returned my letters with vivid descriptions of her own. Her later letters however had the sense that something was left unsaid as if she did not wish to spoil my happiness with her own sorrow. It was subtle, just subtle enough that I could not quite come out and ask what was wrong.<br />
<br />
Did I love Lilia? Yes, in the way I love those women who are good friends, but it never occurred to me to love her any more than that. Somehow it would have felt wrong. Nor did I wish to spoil a valuable and valued friendship with that love that calls itself romantic and is nothing of the kind.<br />
<br />
Besides, I had my books and my poetry to protect me from such 'romantic' delusions. Indeed I had become something of an amateur author myself. I wrote for trade journals about doing business in China and of the intricacies of Chinese culture, which I had come to love as much as the country. Officialdom I disliked, but I disliked that everywhere. The beauty of a Chinese garden, the wonders of the country's museums and the beauty of its people made me long to stay. Only a sickness made me have to return home to England. I was torn, for I loved China, but I loved also my homeland. I returned in late September when Summer clung on to its raiment while cold autumn sought to impose his rule.<br />
<br />
For a while I took rooms in Cavendish Square in London and recovered my health in relative quiet. Another dear friend looked in on me, brought me newspapers and books and welcome talk of people we both knew. She also reported what news she had of the landlady's cat, a large, rumbustious creature, very handsome and friendly to all the local children. He was a hunter in the brick jungle and among the weeds of neglected neighbourhood gardens. My friend knew how much I loved cats and their ways.<br />
<br />
By the second week of October, I was recovered and restless. I phoned Lilia, but there was no reply. I took walks about London and met the ginger tomcat to whom I became quite attached and he to me. Soon enough I was summoned by a letter that finally took me back to Hallamwyck. There, I stepped out of the old familiar station and was shocked to realise that the town I loved so well had changed beyond measure. I had been away almost twenty years after all. I bought a map and went out into the town. I was looking for Branlington House and longing to see Lilia again. So you may imagine my shock to find the house covered in builders scaffolding and the windows temporarily replaced with plastic. Worse, I did not know where to find Lilia, or even if she still lived.<br />
<br />
I wandered like a lost soul, stunned by what I had found until I came across the Pot & Plate, a familiar anchor in this shifting town. I stepped inside and was taken aback to find that it had not changed very much at all. Old Grumble the cafe's resident dog had presumably died some years ago, for I could not see him sprawled on the hearth of the old fireplace. <br />
<br />
I ordered a plate of the house speciality and a pot of coffee from a young woman who seemed familiar. I asked her if she knew what had happened to Lilia Branlington and she became brusque.<br />
<br />
"If you'll take a seat I'll bring your order, sir," she said firmly, a snap in her tone.<br />
<br />
I obeyed more out of shock. Had I said something wrong?<br />
<br />
I sat by the window and tried to absorb it all. The downfall of the house and the disappearance of my dear Lilia. A woman came from behind the counter with my food and the pot of coffee and placed them in front of me.<br />
<br />
"We don't talk of the Branlingtons here sir," she said, setting my order before me.<br />
<br />
I looked up at her tone and she gasped before sitting opposite me.<br />
<br />
"Oh William! Oh my dear, I am sorry, I should have known you would ask. Eat your food sweetheart and come back after five. We'll talk then, when I'm not so busy," she said.<br />
<br />
"I see Old Grumble's gone, Glenda," I said.<br />
<br />
She smiled and her lovely face softened. Glenda McLeod had always had a lovely friendly face. It positively sparkled when she smiled. <br />
<br />
"Oh bless you, no. He died of old age five years ago. Just went to sleep on the hearth and never woke up, poor old thing," she said.<br />
<br />
She sighed and reaching across the table she took my hand. Her fingers were warm and moist - and comforting. I felt that at last I had met my old life and recognised it. <br />
<br />
"Then my George went, doctor said it was his heart. Now there's just me and Sula. I think she was just a little girl when you left. I missed you William, you were always very kind. I remember you feeding Grumble when you thought I wasn't looking! That dog could be a right scrounger when he wanted," she chuckled.<br />
<br />
I laughed,<br />
<br />
"I didn't think you knew. He would look at me with those big eyes and I couldn't resist. Glenda, what happened? Where is Lilia?" I asked her.<br />
<br />
"Come back later William, it's not something to tell you quick and sharp. Where are you staying?" she asked.<br />
<br />
I had not given it much thought, I was so sure I'd see Lilia again. We are so fixed in time ourselves that we do not quite expect the world to change around us so quickly. I told Glenda I had to see a lawyer at 2 o'clock and then I had intended to spend a little time with Lilia catching up. I told her that I was living in London at present and hoped to invite Lilia to come up and visit me there.<br />
<br />
"Oh sweetheart! Go see your lawyer, take a look around and come back here at half-four. When the shop's closed up, we'll go up and talk. You'll spend the night here. I'm telling you William, not asking," she said wagging a finger at me.<br />
<br />
I grinned,<br />
<br />
"Far be it from me to argue Glenda," I answered.<br />
<br />
"Good. Then I'll tell you all I know and <strong>we</strong> can catch up, ok?" she asked.<br />
<br />
I nodded and she came around the table and hugged me. I put my arms around her and inhaled her scent of warmth, cooking and the delicate scent of jasmine perfume. Then she stood back and smiled a little wistfully.<br />
<br />
"You look good William. I'm glad you came back," she said.<br />
<br />
I thanked her and she left me to eat my food. After I had supped I thanked Sula, the young woman behind the counter and said I'd be back later.<br />
<br />
"Righto," she said cautiously.<br />
<br />
Then I went back out into the town and with the help of the map found the offices of the lawyer whose importunate letter had summoned me. I sat for a while in silence in a hushed waiting room that had an air of solemnity. After some minutes I had made a decision and yet it was contingent on what I did not yet know. A young man called my name and I followed him into the office of Sally-Ann Matthews the lawyer. She sat straight behind her desk and smiled briefly gesturing me to sit. Her heavy ash-blonde hair was gathered on the back of her head in elegant waves and her grey eyes were depthless. She had aged well and while a few lines crossed her face, she was still a handsome woman. She was, fortunately, also a highly intelligent woman. <br />
<br />
"You summoned me Ms Matthews and I am come," I said with a smile.<br />
<br />
"I asked you to come because of your part in a legacy, sir," she said, fishing for the file on her desk and opening it.<br />
<br />
"A legacy? What part do I have Sally-Ann, my parent's are long gone and their affairs settled," I answered.<br />
<br />
"Someone else William. You have been left a large box and it's key. I am not at liberty to tell you who left you the box, but you may or may not know who when you see it," she said.<br />
<br />
"Is it Lilia?" I asked leaning forwards with a terrible presentiment.<br />
<br />
"I am not at liberty to tell you William. I will say, as it will not compromise me that Lilia Branlington is not the deceased. Be easy on that score. I can if you wish have the box sent to your residence. It is not a big box, but it is heavy and a little cumbersome to carry," she said.<br />
<br />
"I'm grateful to you Sally-Ann, please do have the box sent to my home in London. If that's all, allow me to say that it is a real pleasure to see you again and to see you so well," I remarked.<br />
<br />
She sat back in her chair, placing her hands across her stomach and smiled.<br />
<br />
"Thank you William. I hear you've been unwell, nothing serious I suppose or we might have lost you. You look well enough. I also understand that you've been in China, are you going back there?" she asked.<br />
<br />
I told her of my return and how it was unlikely that I would be returning. I felt a strong inclination to embrace her, for like Glenda she was another anchor in this shifting town. I resisted the urge to do so, for I had too much respect for her. After a little more chat, I got up to leave. To my surprise she got up and came around her desk to me. <br />
<br />
"I've never done this to you William and most likely never will again," she said and put her arms about me.<br />
<br />
We stood there for a few moments in each other's arms and I kissed her cheek as I released her.<br />
<br />
"A great shame," I said, "That we never got to know each other better. I'll leave my address with your clerk. Should you get the chance to come to London, let me know. I shall make up a spare room for you. I would truly like very much for us to become friends Sally-Ann. I have always had the greatest of respect for you," I told her.<br />
<br />
She smiled and kissed me.<br />
<br />
"Oh William, how very sweet of you," she said, "I shall certainly be grateful to visit you and yes, let us get better acquainted," she said.<br />
<br />
I left her office and made my way to the museum. There was, I knew, a full-length portrait of Lilia by Adams in the gallery - unless it had been removed to the store-rooms. I entered the museum and paused. It was so familiar and precious to me that I almost wept to see it again. I took a deep breath and glanced at the clock, It wanted a few minutes to three-fifteen. I wandered up the grand staircase to the main gallery and entered it. It was a high and long room full of paintings. Along the centre of the gallery at intervals were elegant padded benches where visitors might sit. I strolled along the gallery meeting the paintings again as one meets old friends not seen in some years. Unlike we mortals, the paintings rarely visibly age, they remain as fine as when they were painted for the most part. There, at the centre of the gallery was the painting I had never forgotten. My hand flew to my mouth as if to stifle a cry. There as in her life was Lilia in the deep red dress trimmed with bright orange ribbon and old lace. Her skin was as pale as milk, her hair a cascade of inky blackness and her twinkling eyes as dark as a raven's. I remembered Snow White - skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood and hair as black as a raven's wing and I smiled in spite of myself. I always recalled Snow White when I looked at this painting.<br />
<br />
I sat and gazed at her face. She was smiling as if Adams had said something he shouldn't have and it had amused her. I recalled her voice, her scent and her laugh. I recalled little things she had said, her opinions and her jokes. I recalled her pouring coffee for the two of us; teasing me that I would get fat if I had more than one teaspoon of sugar in my coffee. I sat and gazed upon the image of Lilia, upon my dear, dear friend and I wept. <br />
<br />
After a little while, I took a deep breath and stood up. I wiped away the tears from my face and felt that I should never see Lilia again. Somehow I felt sure that she was dead and would only, could only live in the memories I had of her. I left the main gallery and wandered aimlessly through the museum until it dawned on my to ask an assistant the time. I had about a quarter of an hour to return to the Pot & Plate.<br />
<br />
I hurried there and took a cup of tea and cake in sombre mood. The place was busy now and Sula had only time to place the cake and tea before me, hurrying away to fetch another order. It took another half hour before she showed out the last customer and locked up the door. I asked if she needed a hand clearing up and she smiled and shook her head.<br />
<br />
"'S alright, but thanks," she said, moving in fluid motion about the cafe. <br />
<br />
Glenda came out of the kitchen and I stood by the counter.<br />
<br />
"I did offer to help," I said, "But Sula's got everything under control."<br />
<br />
Glenda smiled and took my hand,<br />
<br />
"Come on you, let's go up to the flat," she said.<br />
<br />
Once we were seated Glenda took my hand in both of hers and sighed. <br />
<br />
"You know there was a garden behind the house," she said.<br />
<br />
I told her I knew about it. I'd been in it one summer with Lilia. We'd sat on the grass and had tea. She'd worn a pale green dress and a matching hairband. <br />
<br />
"Well, it seems that Lilia was persuaded by someone, I don't know who that she should have a well put in. Lilia was all for it, but then an old lady showed up and told her it would be a bad idea. She told Lilia that the Fair Folk wouldn't like it. Well, Lilia laughed at that and the old woman went away in a fury. The well was dug and put in. It seems that one night, Lilia woke up and went out into the garden. She was no sooner on the grass in her bare feet then she changed into an apple tree. A maid who couldn't sleep saw her. The problem was, that the next morning the garden was full of apple trees. The police were baffled. Then the old woman shows up and says that only someone who loved her might return her. They would have to kiss the right tree though. If they didn't, Lilia would forever be an apple tree. Nobody dared, in case they got it wrong.<br />
<br />
That was ten years ago. Now the house is up for sale and the orchard is to be uprooted. Most of us think Lilia will die if that happens, but it needs - well someone like you William. If you can kiss the right tree, Lilia will live again," Glenda told me.<br />
<br />
I sat for a moment taking this in. A faery curse on Lilia did not seem real. I could not imagine Lilia being cursed by anyone. Then I stood up.<br />
<br />
"William?"<br />
<br />
"I'm going over there Glenda. I'm going to kiss the right tree. I never fell in love with Lilia..." I blushed, I had fallen in love with Glenda, but she married George.<br />
<br />
"I know William, I know. But I didn't realise until after you'd gone. Now I have Sula and I'm not the beauty I once was, no man wants me. But Sula and me get on ok," she said with a smile.<br />
<br />
"I did love Lilia, Glenda, but always as a dear and precious friend. Now I have to do what a friend must do - help the friend in trouble," I said.<br />
<br />
Glenda chuckled gently and sat up.<br />
<br />
"The spare room's got a double bed. Go save the girl, hero. I'll keep an eye for you," she said.<br />
<br />
I went down the stairs, my heart thumping in me. I went out into the street, the painting of Lilia in the museum, burning in my memory. There was a fence around the site, but I climbed it. The builders had gone home and the street was mostly empty. A woman shouted out, something about the police, but I ignored her.<br />
<br />
I went around the side of the house and a strong wind blew up. I entered the garden and rain began to fall. I stood with my back to the house gazing at the apple trees. Their branches were weighted with apples, green and red. The gnarled bark and winding branches creaked in the storm that had sprung up. <br />
<br />
"You will never have her, she belongs to us now," a voice made of wind and rain murmured about my ears.<br />
<br />
I stared at the trees and suddenly noticed something I had not seen before. I dashed forward my arms up about my head, branches lashing at me and clasped the slim trunk of one tree. I held on tightly and kissed the rough bark. Very suddenly there was a whimper in the garden. I thought it had been me. The rain dashed at my face and neck as if it would drown me, the wind tore at my clothes and hair. Still branches lashed me unmercifully. <br />
<br />
Suddenly I was aware of a heart beating against mine, of warm limbs and a howl of anguish rent the air. With as much suddenness as it had begun, the storm died away. The apple trees in the garden creaked terribly. I took the living being in my arms and lifted her up. I carried her away from that cursed garden and the house. Only in the evening of the road did I look down to find Lilia unconscious in my arms. I took her across the road to the Pot & Plate and Glenda opened the door silently.<br />
<br />
I sat all night with Lilia. She slept as if dead. I gently caressed her cold brow, stroked her ink-black hair and her pale, pale face. Sometime in the very early morning I must have fallen asleep. I awoke to my name being spoken, aware I slept on a soft stomach. I raised my head to find Lilia awake with a cup of coffee in her hand.<br />
<br />
"Dear William, I owe you so much," she said gently.<br />
<br />
I yawned and stretched and grinned at her.<br />
<br />
"I leave you alone for a few years and look what happens," I told her.<br />
<br />
She chuckled.<br />
<br />
"Lucky for me I have good friends," she said, adding, "Glenda has something to ask you".<br />
<br />
I turned to Glenda and waited. She took my hand and put down her coffee cup. Then she went down on her knee. Reader, I married her. What else should I do?Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-12261441924971941522013-09-12T11:11:00.003+01:002013-09-12T11:11:41.218+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8DHEQmOkYAY/UjGFjgR5HaI/AAAAAAAAAlg/uFMkrwA16ho/s1600/the-beach-at-fecamp-artist-Claude-Monet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="353" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8DHEQmOkYAY/UjGFjgR5HaI/AAAAAAAAAlg/uFMkrwA16ho/s640/the-beach-at-fecamp-artist-Claude-Monet.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The beach at Fecamp - by C. Monet</span></div>
<br />
I heard about the man when I moved to the little fishing village some years ago. It seemed that I had moved into the house he had lived in. Many of his old things were still there and I had packed them up and put them into the cellar, which at least was dry.<br />
<br />
It seemed that I looked a little like him, tall and scrawny with dark hair and eyes. But he had been a painter and I was a writer. My last novel had done very well so that I had been able to buy the small cottage by the sea. There was a small train station from where I could get to the city and to the nearby town for shopping. The cat who lived with me had sniffed around the small cottage and settled in. I sat every morning to write looking out over the promenade to the beach and the sea. The beach was shingle, not sand but I liked it. The sharp tang of the sea and the saltiness of the brisk cold air had a wildness to it. <br />
<br />
My predecessor had come to the village to forget a woman who had it seemed left him. Unlike me, he had been quiet and solemn-faced. Spoke only when spoken to, walked with his face to the ground as if pavement and road could only fascinate him. His paintings were of the sea and the landscape around the village. It seemed that after a little time his paintings were of animals and finally of people. They were not conscious portraits but from sketches or drawings. I took some of them to the city and had them framed. I even wrote some short stories based on his paintings.<br />
<br />
When I had first moved in I was more concerned about finding room for my books and clothes. I had spent money refurbishing the kitchen and bathroom to my taste and setting up the rest of the house with my own things. As a result it took me two months before I finally went down to the cellar and went through the former resident's things. It seemed that he had been alone in the world like me. There was no next of kin and nobody to pass on his things to. I felt a need to respect them, conscious of my own lone-ness in the world. I had friends, certainly, but they had their own lives in which I was a small part. I kept in touch by email and the occasional letter. Once I met a friend for coffee in the city when she came down on business, but until then I had no friends come to my new home.<br />
<br />
So I sat in the cellar with the harsh fluorescent light and went through the former resident's remaining property. His painting materials I kept aside to sell, but much of the time was spent going through his books and his paintings. He had some novels that I had and some art books that I had too. I went through them with pleasure, putting some of them aside for myself and some for sale. Then I went through his paintings. They were all signed and dated which made it easier to see how he had progressed from the dark mood he had been in to the brighter mood as his heart mended over time. But the mood changed when he had come across somebody new. I did not know if they had actually met and nobody would tell me. But he had been clearly struck by her dark hair and blue eyes. There was something almost feral about her expression, like that of a wild thing even when she smiled. He caught that at first but her face seemed to change in his portrayal of her. Her clothes and her expression. She was often painted or drawn on the shingle beach staring out to sea. As if she would rather be there than on the land. As if, the thought came suddenly to me, she belonged there and wanted to go back. Yet, the sea was always rough, green, purple and dark in those paintings. I did not know if that was how he saw her or he was painting only what he saw.<br />
<br />
If there was something between them it ended badly. It seems that she disappeared after a while. Nobody has been able to tell me where she came from, but when she went, the painter walked down to the sea one day when the sea was rough and a storm was threatening. Only a man walking his dog saw the painter. He said the painter was weeping or that his eyes were watering from the winds coming off the sea. He said that he saw the painter walk down the shingle to the sea's edge and keep walking into the sea. The painter did not respond to the cries for him to turn back, but kept on going.<br />
<br />
It is said that his body was never found, perhaps he had weighed himself down with stones in his pockets. In any case he too was never seen again any more than the dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty. Only seals were seen afterwards, a pair with ink-black eyes and friendly faces and they did not stay long.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-2137979912877481882013-09-06T11:53:00.002+01:002013-09-06T11:53:27.981+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I saw him painting the sign when I was an old man. I sighed to see it, but I was not surprised, that's change for you, comes along when you least expect it. But I still remember Miss Celia Montplaisir the woman who had lived where Parlour Lane used to be.<br />
<br />
It was a large 19th century house, all red brick and big sash windows. Around it was a large garden with four trees, some bushes just inside the high walls and lots of flowers. The masterpiece - or as I should say, the mistresspiece of the house was the large living room. Celia always referred to it as the parlour until everyone in the neighbourhood did too. It had a fabulous chandelier with over a thousand lustres that was held up by what looked like a small dragon that snarled and stuck out it's forked tongue just below the high ceiling. There was also a grand fireplace of a rich red and black marble. The fireplace itself had a tiled floor and was large enough for Colonel Martyr-house's wolfhound, a large animal with the manners of a lamb. <br />
<br />
Every August the 5th, Celia had held a party for the children of the neighbourhood. Every Christmas she had a party for the families of the neighbourhood. Most people thought her very rich, but as I knew only too well, she was not nearly as well off as she appeared. I had my suspicions about where her wealth came from, but Celia was such a lively, lovely woman that even having suspicions gave me guilt. Still I had always listened to my grandmother when I was a boy and she had told me much of what she knew. She had grown up the daughter of a woodcutter and knew about the forest beings and spirits. So when I saw Celia's green eyes, her rich auburn hair and the slight quality of something wild I could not help but think of faeries. She was drawn to reds and greens, nut-browns and tree-bark greys in the colours she wore. Everyone fell under her spell, everyone was amazed that she was unmarried. <br />
<br />
Even as I grew up and aged I remember noticing that Celia remained as youthful and fresh as she had always been. Colonel Martyr-house had flirted with her but without words she had kept him friendly and not too close. She had a soft spot for children, their amorality, their wonder and imagination, which she encouraged and fed. Strangely, even at her parties I never saw her eat or drink. Yet she must have burned up energy constantly. <br />
<br />
She was always moving as if to be still even once was to freeze forever. She went to the market and bought food and wine like everyone else did. I believe she loved me as a boy, she encouraged my stories and my drawing. At one August party, she fetched a small harp that the teenagers would have sneered at but for her. She played and sang with such a fine clear voice that everyone fell silent the better to hear her. Even the birds in the garden were silent. The song was a gentle ballad of a lover and her lad. She had loved him truly and he had betrayed her love. All of us were moved to tears at her sorrows.<br />
<br />
She was utterly central to our lives; in our neighbourhood as well as in our town. She seemed to be everywhere, charming the most awkward, persuading easily the most recalcitrant. Nobody wished to upset her and now I wonder if there was a measure of fear in that. It was always unwise to displease the faeries as my grandmother used to remind me. Celia in town would gather children to her, she would feed them cakes of honey and buy them tea while she drank her strong black coffee. She would tell them ancient tales that in her words seemed fresh and exciting as the best tales are.<br />
<br />
I went to the city university at eighteen to study and never forgot Miss Celia Montplaisir. So you may imagine my surprise when I returned after three years of work and study to find the large house and garden had gone and in its place a wide area of grass. I asked after Celia but it seemed as if I had dreamt her, for nobody seemed to remember her. She had gone as if she had never been there at all. I was sure then, though I never dared to utter it, that Miss Celia Montplaisir was and had always been one of the Fair Folk. For we are in the modern age and with all our human cleverness and technology, nobody actually believes in faeries any more. Was that why she left? Did she finally find love perhaps? I do not know. I will never know. How can I when it appears that I am the only one in our town who remembers her?<br />
<br />Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-9682657757450386062013-08-22T12:46:00.001+01:002013-08-22T12:46:10.118+01:00The Nixies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
There was a time in our town when because the crops failed, everyone was starving. We called it an age of austerity. Being rich meant nothing because there was no food anywhere to buy. Before very long, someone suggested the river. After all, one might catch fish and therefore we may eat and silence our insistent stomachs. <br />
<br />
The old people bowed their heads and one old grandmother struggled to her feet at our council meeting.<br />
<br />
"We cannot fish in the river because the Nixies won't allow it," she said.<br />
<br />
"The Nixies? What nonsense! Fairytales for children," said councillor Tilbury-Dox.<br />
<br />
He was a large man whose flesh hung on him now, but his character was bombastic and of course everyone understood him. Nobody believed in the faeries and very few believed in the Nixies. Still, the old grandmother was not known for foolishness, so Councillor Salix, a tall, gaunt woman stood and asked,<br />
<br />
"Why won't the Nixies let us fish?" she asked.<br />
<br />
The old grandmother sighed heavily and her friends began to grumble and mutter. <br />
<br />
"O hush!" Granny Rowan said standing, "It was a long time ago and it was our foolishness that angered the Nixies."<br />
<br />
The old people hushed, but they hung their heads and stared at the floor. Granny Rowan raised her chin and looked around the room with her piercing dark eyes. Everyone watched her in utter silence. We were curious, mostly. Most of us were wondering if we would get a description of a Nixie.<br />
<br />
"Many years back, when we too were young we forgot that we were only human. We started to believe that we were in charge of the natural world and worse, that we could do as we liked with it. We started to take over the fields down to the river, which was bad enough. Factories were built and and the fields built over. If that were not enough, we began to use the river as we wished. In all that, we did not ask the faeries if we might use their fields or their river. We thought we could do what we wished because we wanted to. <br />
<br />
A little after that, a faerie came to a council meeting and asked if the town should not ask the faeries permission for use of the fields and the river. We arrogantly replied that we did not need their permission and anyway faeries were made up for children's tales. The faerie laughed and told us that we must all of us give something precious of our own - from the heart. That alone would allow us to use the fields and the river. That said, she vanished leaving us afraid and defensive. Yet we did not do as she asked.<br />
<br />
First the factories disappeared. Nothing could be rebuilt there and has not been built there since then. The riverboats were sunk overnight and since then we have left the river well alone. If we wish to use the fields and the river we have - all of us, to give up something precious of our own. That alone and nothing else will do."<br />
<br />
Having spoken she sat and all of us were silent. We remembered the black waters of the river, dark and threatening. Even the fields seemed somehow threatening, though we had not quite known why. Now it all seemed clear, yet unclear as well, I mean we had always been taught that the faeries were not real. <br />
<br />
Everyone went home and thought of what they had that was precious to them. Mothers tried not to think of giving up their children. Fathers tried not to think of their families and more, of their cars. Children tried not to think of their parents leaving them. Everyone was afraid, but at the same time, everyone was starving. Of course, hunger won out.<br />
<br />
Councillor Salix sent around a lot of small porcelain bowls to put precious things in. To some of us, those bowls became precious. We gathered together many of our precious things and took them down to the fields and left them. They disappeared overnight and a wide path appeared that led down to the river.<br />
<br />
We gathered up our small precious things and took them down to the dark, ink-black waters. One by one we placed the bowls upon the water and let them float free. As we watched the bowls floated downriver and we returned to our homes. <br />
<br />
The following morning we went down to the river to see it. Everyone was quiet and hopeful. The water of the river was now bluer and seemed fresher. Little Judy Fisher held her mama's hand and leaned over to look at the river. <br />
<br />
"Look mama, that lady in the water's got a fishy tail," she said.<br />
<br />
A host of Nixies then swam up to the bank and sang. A song made of sunlight on water, of trickling water against riverbanks and over stones. A powerful, yet delicate song that had something of the essence of the river in it. And, as they sang, many big salmon leapt out of the river onto the bank before us, sacrificing themselves so that we might eat and live. Beside us, the meadows filled with wheat and shed their grain. Trees at the edge of the meadows shed hazelnuts and walnuts. When the Nixies had finished their song, they sank back beneath the waters and as they did so, the wheat stalks also sank beneath the earth into the meadow leaving heaps of grain. Everyone gathered up the fish and gave thanks to the Nixies, the salmon and the meadow for the food. We took it all quickly to the town and cooked the fish with the nuts. Bread was made with the wheat and brought to our town hall so that everyone might be fed.<br />
<br />
That is why, every month, we take small porcelain bowls to the river and float them downriver on the clear, blue waters. It is our way of thanking the Nixies for keeping us fed when the nation was starving.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-16597325725544321622013-07-29T15:47:00.002+01:002013-07-29T15:47:29.645+01:0055 cups<br />
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<br />
My grandfather has always loved a cup of tea. Well more a glass of tea than a cup. He rarely if ever drank beer. Even though it seems that my ancestors were once Vikings. My grandmother told me once that Granda drank a glass of tea in honour of a great Viking ancestor of his.<br />
<br />
"But the Vikings didn't drink tea, Gramma!" I told her.<br />
<br />
She straightened in her chair and looked at me sternly. There was something very strong and formidable about Gramma Lise. These days I say she was like a valkyrie ready to ride out to the battlefield, but she was more like an ancient goddess, maybe Elli the goddess of old age. <br />
<br />
"The Vikings travelled beyond their own lands my boy," she said firmly, "Even to the distant south lands. There they discovered spices and tea and all kinds of beautiful things that they traded. So they brought tea back to warm themselves and keep their heads."<br />
<br />
"I didn't know that," I had to admit, "So what was special about Granda's ancestor drinking tea?"<br />
<br />
I had settled on the floor by the fire, seated at Gramma's feet. I knew she could tell a story, but when she told me about family however old, the story was bound to be a good one. I had been left with Gramma while my parents had gone out and I was happy to stay with her. It was cold and wet from all the snow outside, but indoors it was warm and comfy. I had made tea for Gramma and we sat in her lounge with the cat asleep on the sofa and her old dog Fenrir, a wolfhound sprawled on the floor by the fire next to me. His body was warm and his chest rose and fell with his breathing as he slept.<br />
<br />
Gramma sat up in her armchair, she was still a tall stately woman, her hair iron grey and her eyes blue as a summer sky.<br />
<br />
"Well, if you promise not to interrupt, I'll tell you. You won't believe it like as not, but I'm your grandmother and I do not lie," she said firmly.<br />
<br />
I promised and she finished her tea and put the cup down on the table beside her.<br />
<br />
"You see in those days, there were all kinds of things in the snows and the mountains where grandfather's - Per's ancestor lived. Per was your grandfather's name and he was the dearest, kindest man and I miss him very much. Anyway, in the evenings back in those days, the men of the village would gather around the fire in the moot hall. A moot hall is where the village elders held meetings to decided important matters. At other times, the men would meet to tell sagas or long stories. <br />
<br />
This one time, they sat and drank and just talked. Arne Lindstrom said that he was sure he'd seen a troll going over the mountain near Sarnholm and Per's ancestor who was called Agni laughed and sipped his drink. That annoyed Arne who teased Agni about his drink. Agni was drinking tea from a glass he had bought in Persia the previous spring. Arne said that tea was a drink for children and old ladies. Ale was a drink of men, he said and the other men laughed and looked to Agni.<br />
<br />
"Oh I wasn't laughing at you Arne," Agni answered and smiled.<br />
<br />
"This 'tea' <em>is</em> a drink for old women, my mother and grandmother like it as much as I do. But not for children Arne, not after all we went through to get it!" he said.<br />
<br />
"Well, I'm sure I saw a troll and it's not because I drank too much ale," Arne grumbled.<br />
<br />
"Oh I believe you," Agni answered, "I was remembering that time when I was up in the peaks with my cousins in the summer. I had a large packet of this tea with me and my cousins teased me about it. They had brought three kegs of ale with the supplies. During the day we took the goats out to the high pastures and watched over them. In the evenings we brought them into the great barn up there. The goats slept in one half of the barn and we in the other. There we ate our food and drank and told tales. <br />
<br />
One evening we were settling to our supper when the barn door flew open and a troll came in. He was barely able to get into the barn so big was he and he had to duck his head to get under the lintel. Of course, we all drew our swords and reached for our spears. Firstly to protect the goats and then to protect ourselves.<br />
<br />
The troll sat in the doorway and grinned,<br />
<br />
"I'll make you a bet," he says, "If any of you can make me so drunk I fall over, I won't eat you. If I make you drunk so you fall over, I get to eat you." <br />
<br />
At first there was angry grumbling among my cousins but I quietly took my packet of tea and told my cousin Aelfrid to use the small cauldron and make the tea. I had to tell him how, but he looked at me in astonishment so that I had to laugh.<br />
<br />
"Trust me, make the tea and serve it in my Persian glass," I told him.<br />
<br />
Then I spoke up and said to the troll,<br />
<br />
"I will take your bet, but I will drink my ale hot and from my glass cup so you can see that I am drinking it."<br />
<br />
The men looked at me in confusion and told me not to be a fool, but I hushed them and told them that I would have my special tea ale and the troll might have their ale. Now they did not know the effects of tea, so they hoped I was sure I knew what I was doing. But they agreed and fetched the biggest of the three kegs of ale. The troll was given a tankard and I took my tea. A tally stick was brought up and the number of drinks would be marked on the stick. All this the troll agreed to. So we sat opposite each other, my cousins behind me and Aelfrid poured my first glass cup of tea. The troll took a tankard of ale and drank. I drank my tea and began to sing the longest song I knew, which was about the wisdom of Odin and his ravens, Huginn and Munnin. The troll found this rather jolly and hummed along as he did not know the words. <br />
<br />
After the fifth cup I began to sing louder and to laugh a lot so that the troll would think me a little drunk. After the tenth cup the troll was singing a very grave song about a she-troll who overwhelmed the army of Sigmund Flame-hair and ate the soldiers. My cousins were much afraid by this, but I sang a bright song then about the blacksmith who made the armour of the great Beowulf who it was slew Grendel of the dark waters.<br />
<br />
After the twentieth cup, the troll was leaning on the table with one huge hand. I however was forced to pee in a pot. I ate a loaf of fruit bread and had another cup of tea. After the thirtieth cup, the troll went outside briefly and made a torrent that flowed like a river in full flood down the mountain. It hissed as it went and trees burst into flame as the flood touched them. Then he too sat down, and took another cup of ale. Now my cousins were quietly preparing their bows and setting their arrows down in front of them, but beneath their cloaks. <br />
<br />
The fortieth cup had the troll groaning and breathing heavily, but still upright. Now I felt full and I believe both the troll and I could have done with a snooze, but still we drank on. At the fiftieth cup, the troll was swaying like a half-chopped tree. I got up to pee in another pot. I ate another fruit loaf and Aelfrid poured me another cup.<br />
<br />
We had been drinking through the night, the troll and I. At the fifty-fifth cup, the troll put his tankard down and swayed dangerously. My cousins moved further behind me but I smiled to myself. I was still very sober, but the troll looked as if he could weep tears of ale. As he straightened up, the morning sun came up and it's rays warming the troll suddenly turned him to stone. For a moment we sat in shock. There was a rumbling sound and the stone troll crumbled and fell back down to the mountainside followed by a clear spring of water that gushed upwards and down to the valley below.<br />
<br />
I put my cup down, rushed past the remains of the troll and was violently sick. My youngest cousin Brani thought it amusing to bring me a cup of water from the new spring to wash my face and to my surprise the water was good and fresh and pure. I was brought back to the barn and put to bed. <br />
<br />
When I awoke the goats were out at pasture and only Brani was with me. I ate a good breakfast, drank some water and went out with Brani to the pastures. I was teased in good nature by my cousins, but they none of them have teased me about drinking tea ever since. After all, it protected them from being eaten by a troll. Still, it took me a while before I could drink a good cup of tea again!" he said with a smile.<br />
<br />
The company laughed and they broke up and went home after. Arne and Agni walked home together and when they split up to go their separate ways, Arne asked with a smile,<br />
<br />
"At least with us you only had to drink five cups not fifty-five," he said.<br />
<br />
Agni laughed and nodded.<br />
<br />
"Yes, much better not to drink so much," he said.<br />
<br />
"So you see," Gramma said to me, "that is why Per used to drink tea from a glass."<br />
<br />
The door opened and Fenrir raised his sleepy head.<br />
<br />
"Hallo!" Mama called out.<br />
<br />
"Put the kettle on, would you," Gramma answered with a wink at me.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-5304609429809547872013-07-09T16:16:00.001+01:002013-07-09T16:16:24.508+01:00The Iron Dragon at Platform One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Coriander Delaunay glanced down at her magazine again and sighed. She was waiting for George. There was, she admitted to herself the distinct chance that she might leave his ticket at the office and take the train herself. She had collected both their tickets and having drunk three cups of decidedly indifferent coffee she had left the cafe and gone directly to Platform one to wait for him.<br />
<br />
I swear, she told herself, if he's gone on another wild chase after some wrong-doer, I will commit murder with a handbag - or maybe a hairbrush. After all, she was rather proud of the handbag. It was a red Cecile bag she had managed to buy at a considerable discount after someone had neglected a zero on the price tag. Very fashionable and very red. It did not quite suit her clothes, she wore a dark knee-length chocolate skirt a pale pistachio jacket and a white cotton blouse. Her cloche hat was the same colour as the skirt and the bag, she told herself was a splash of colour. It was fiery against her clothes.<br />
<br />
After the three cups of coffee she was soon in dire need of relief. Coriander was a great believer in will power, but the coffee in her system was testing that will power considerably. George's lateness was also not helping. Then suddenly she felt a hand on her elbow and as she turned, George kissed her gently on her cheek.<br />
<br />
"You're late," she said bluntly, "I very nearly went without you, but I would have missed the look on your face so I stayed."<br />
<br />
He grinned and stooping he picked up her overnight bag and took her elbow guiding her forward towards the platform.<br />
<br />
"Let's get on board the train darling and I'll tell you all. I may even show you what I would have looked like had you gone without me," he said.<br />
<br />
Coriander giggled and they walked swiftly for the train. George opened the door for her and Coriander stepped on to the train. She found an empty compartment and told George,<br />
<br />
"Your turn to wait, I need to powder my nose."<br />
<br />
"And a lovely nose it is too. Hurry back Love of my Life. I have sandwiches and tales to tell," he told her, swinging her bags up onto the rack.<br />
<br />
When Coriander had been to the Little Girl's Room and was once more in the compartment with George, she sat carefully and took off her hat, running her hand through her short bobbed dark russet hair. She leaned back in her seat and looked at George who was laying out a small picnic supper on the seat beside him. Yes, she thought, I rather like him. He's utterly mad and undisciplined, no sense of time, impetuous as aunt Maud and he makes me laugh even when I feel like the world's falling on top of me. Of course, his hair is too dull, his eyes are green and not blue and he is not going to be a film star any time soon, but I rather like him. <br />
<br />
She smiled as he turned to her.<br />
<br />
"Do you remember Hecate Primtucket?" he said.<br />
<br />
"Wasn't she one of your ex-girlfriends who cottoned on to you?" Coriander said sweetly.<br />
<br />
He chuckled.<br />
<br />
"Not at all, there's only ever been you Queen of my Heart. Well apart from the blonde in my room last night, she was quite hot. Left me all unnecessary. And the glorious brunette who swooned over me at breakfast and called me - well apart from them there's only been you."<br />
<br />
She leaned forward and punched his leg.<br />
<br />
"You beastly boy. Tell me who this Primtucket is or I'll do something dreadful to you. Of Biblical proportions," she said imperiously.<br />
<br />
He nursed his leg and wondered aloud if he just might eat ALL the sandwiches just to teach her a lesson when she raised her fist again.<br />
<br />
"Alright, alright, don't hit me, I'll talk!" he said quickly.<br />
<br />
The conductor entered the compartment and checked their tickets. His face was slightly grim and when he left, Coriander burst with laughter. <br />
<br />
"Lean back O best beloved and I will tell you about Miss Hecate Primtucket," George told her when she had calmed down.<br />
<br />
"Give me a sandwich first," she said.<br />
<br />
When she was settled with her beef and salad sandwich, George took his sandwich and leaned back to look at her. She was bright, sparky and sweet, he decided. If he could find the nerve to ask her to marry him, he would.<br />
<br />
"Miss Hecate Primtucket was a witch twenty or so years ago," he began.<br />
<br />
"Not one of those lovely pagan witches who know their herbalism and suchlike, Miss Primtucket was a very dangerous witch full of sound and fury and very significant. She could influence elements and change weather. She was practically seething with actual magic. She didn't career about the place on a broomstick or in a mortar and pestle, she had a rather fast Ferrari Tenebroso. <br />
<br />
She was not to be taken lightly. By anybody. It was rumoured that she had once been in love, but the object of her affections betrayed her and ended his life as a toilet brush. Not for her the bitterness of a Miss Havisham, she lived her own life with two black cats called Temper and Tantrum. Both were the scourge of the neighbourhood.<br />
<br />
Now it seemed that La Primtucket decided to take a train to see a friend of hers who was on her deathbed. The friend was on the deathbed not Primtucket. So she duly booked a ticket and arrived at the station. It was said that everyone was exceptionally nice to her, just in case. But for one foolish station man everything would have been fine. He directed her to Platform one, which was where her train was coming in. Miss Primtucket waited and waited but the train was late. She kept her cool nonetheless and waited until a large crow flew into the station and landed on her shoulder. People said it appeared to be talking quietly to her before it flew away.<br />
<br />
Now Miss Primtucket spoke to the station man who snapped that the train was delayed and it would arrive when it arrived. Then he really put his foot in it and added 'despite dragons or engineering works'. Now there were no engineering works that weekend so that left dragons and Miss Primtucket was quite sure he meant her. This, you will understand made her very angry. It was said that her eyes narrowed to small obsidian pits of darkness and she drew herself up to her full height, which was not very much, but nobody with sense would tell her that. <br />
<br />
She whispered something behind the station man's back and glared at a train that was waiting at Platform Two. Then she took her bags and walked away. The train began to creak and groan. It seemed to pause only to sigh before it tore itself to pieces and reformed itself into a large iron dragon. It is reported in the archives of the local newspaper that people screamed and that a small boy was instantly eaten in one mouthful," George stopped and as if to illustrate he took a large mouthful of sandwich.<br />
<br />
"Greedy dragon. What did the mother say or is that not reported? Or did she swoon in sheer terror?" said Coriander lightly.<br />
<br />
"She would have attacked the dragon, but it took her next in two sharp bites. Mother and son, gone in an instant. Then people fled in utter panic screaming and crying. Only Miss Primtucket continued in a calm and relaxed stroll towards the exit. People begged her to stop the dragon, but she glared at them and they backed away in horror at her expression. <br />
<br />
The station man turned to see what all the fuss was and the dragon breathed out a roar of flame that killed him where he stood. Suddenly, Miss Primtucket stopped and so did the dragon. It was as if both of them were holding their breath. The station manager rushed onto the platform and headed towards Miss Primtucket.<br />
<br />
"Madam, whatever offence was given, I sincerely apologise for. I believe you were going to Mount Pleasant City but the train was delayed. A large boulder fell from the sky some miles in front of the train and it is taking some time to remove it. If I can be of service to get you to the City, I will surely do all I can," he said.<br />
<br />
Miss Primtucket recognised him and smiled. A slightly wintry smile, but a smile to be sure. She whispered a word and the dragon fell into lots of bits of iron on the platform. <br />
<br />
"Your apology is acceptable young Harold. I was going to Mount Pleasant City, but it is now too late. Mistress Crowstail has passed away. I will see her in the afterlife. Good day," she answered.<br />
<br />
That said, she continued out of the station and was not seen again in our town. It is said that she went to Provence, but naturally I cannot confirm that. The dragon on Platform one was taken to Ferris Hardiman's scrap-metal yard, but of the three victims there was no sign. I tell you this as a moral fable dear one," George said.<br />
<br />
"Moral fable? What moral?" Coriander asked.<br />
<br />
"Don't mess with witches or dragons," George said solemnly.<br />
<br />
Coriander wagged a finger at him.<br />
<br />
"Don't you forget it Georgie boy. Or I'll turn you into a frog," she told him.<br />
<br />
He appeased her with sandwiches, for a good sandwich turneth away wrath.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-60977864009774466122013-06-26T13:52:00.002+01:002013-06-26T13:52:22.441+01:00Love at the Roots<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It is said there is no greater love than a mother's for her child. This is sadly not always the case, but fortunately in this wild and dangerous world most mothers will fight for their child. Sometimes even after death so I am told. <br />
<br />
It seems that many centuries ago, there was a man who married a very beautiful and gentle woman. He was often called a 'handsome devil' but the poor woman did not fully understand what that meant until she was already married. He took her away to his house on the moors with fine words and such very genteel manners. The woman did not greatly like the house on the moors. It was isolated and the moors seemed endless and bleak. If life is hard, the moors seemed to want to make that especially clear. The man kept her well enough to begin with. He bought her beautiful clothes and left her alone until he wanted her. Very quickly she began to realise that he wanted her merely to obey him rather than to love him. When she disobeyed him in the very slightest way, he beat her terribly. <br />
<br />
Her will was soon silent in her, all her vivacity laid to rest until she became a kind of tensed automaton. She lived in constant terror that she might make a mistake and that he would beat her to death. She saw too that she could not escape him. The moors were too empty and too dangerous to leave the house and walk away, which she would have to do. She was cut off from the rest of the world. But, being a woman she was not without a deep core of strength and a will to survive. If the will to enjoy life had apparently been crushed, her survival instincts flared up in her with the intensity of a star.<br />
<br />
Before long, she found herself pregnant and her husband insisted the baby should be a boy to inherit his wealth. The poor wife dared not say anything, for she wanted her child only to be healthy and happy - boy or girl. Nor did she see anything wrong with the baby being a girl, though she knew her husband was like to beat her if it was.<br />
<br />
Now one day in the winter, her husband must leave her to conduct business in the town some ten miles distant. He left her alone in the house, sure that she would not wander off unless she wished to die. She had wished it in those moments when she despaired of her life, but somehow she would not let herself die. She lived in spite of her cruel husband and being pregnant, she lived for the welfare of her child. <br />
<br />
The winds howled about the house and silently the snow fell blanketing the moors, the garden and the big house. The woman put logs on the fire and threw some of her husband's brandy on them to start a fire in the grate. For a while she sat staring into the flames as if hypnotised. After a while, in her reverie she began to sing a song her mother had taught her when she was a child.<br />
<br />
<div align="justify">
The snow shall fall, but do not sleep</div>
<div align="justify">
So silent and so still.</div>
<div align="justify">
The Winter King shall take you up</div>
<div align="justify">
And with his kindness kill.</div>
<div align="justify">
</div>
<div align="justify">
His touch is cold, his icy kiss</div>
<div align="justify">
He means to love, your face caress;</div>
<div align="justify">
But we are mere flesh and he is cold</div>
<div align="justify">
As night sky and deep sea.</div>
<div align="justify">
Like these he is eternal old</div>
<div align="justify">
His love too cold for me.</div>
<div align="justify">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify">
Then let the snow fall, but stay by the fire</div>
<div align="justify">
Flame-flickering and so warm.</div>
<div align="justify">
Respect the mighty Winter King</div>
<div align="justify">
Though his love is not for we. </div>
<br />
So she sang, her voice delicate and sad. She drew her shawl about her and placed her hands upon her swollen belly. When she had finished her song she remembered her mother and she wept. She wished her mother there beside her to advise and protect her. All the sorrows of her poor and painful marriage rose up in her and her tears fell hot and heavy. As heavy as her heart.<br />
<br />
Outside, against the frosted windows, the snow felt her song and sorrows. It thawed a little at the heat of them and the Winter King was aware of his name having been uttered. In a swirl of rising snow he strode across the moors until he stood by the house and listened silently. The memory of that song drifted through the snow until he heard and felt it in the icy fastness of his own cold heart. His heart melted a little in sympathy with the wife but he turned and departed deep in thought. <br />
<br />
The following day the roads were impassable, the snow lay deep and crisp and smoothly over the earth and all upon it. Despite this, an old woman knocked at the door of the house. Her dress was brown as a horse chestnut with traces of mossy green. She had a grey apron and a green headscarf. On her feet were a pair of red shoes as red as holly berries. The wife was amazed to see such an old woman outdoors on such a bitterly cold day.<br />
<br />
"Please do come in mistress," she said, "My husband will be back when the roads are clear and will no doubt beat me, but 'til then come in and warm yourself."<br />
<br />
The old woman thanked her and begged her pardon but would she have any food. The wife, glad to have such kind company bid the old woman sit by the fire.<br />
<br />
"I shall fetch you what food I may," she said.<br />
<br />
She filled a large dish with bread, cheese and cold chicken. There was a pudding in the pantry cupboard and cream. Her husband kept only fine silver platters and gilded cutlery, so the wife served her elderly guest on these. The old woman thanked her and reaching into her bodice drew out a letter for the wife.<br />
<br />
"From your mother my dear," the old woman said between mouthfuls.<br />
<br />
The wife put the letter aside and served the old woman making her comfortable and talking all the while. The old woman was clearly very hungry, for she ate everything and more. She drank all the wine and the young wife let her, knowing she would likely be beaten to death when her husband arrived. <br />
<br />
The young wife read the letter with one hand on her heart. She recognised her mother's handwriting and the tone of her voice in the words. It gave her comfort and hope. When she had read it, she placed it inside her own bodice next to her heart. After a little while, the old woman began to sing a song the wife had not heard before and she fell into a deep sleep. <br />
When she awoke the fire had gone out and the old woman was nowhere to be found. The dishes were all clean and in their place. The wineglass too and, there was no sign of the old woman having eaten so much as a breadcrumb.<br />
<br />
The wife busied herself rekindling the fire and halfway through, her waters broke and she fell upon the sofa groaning and struggling to breathe. Almost immediately the door of the house opened and her mother entered, coming into the large drawing room and assisting her daughter in delivering to the uncaring world a delicate little baby girl. The wife wept, both for joy at her precious little girl and at the thought of her callous husband. The baby was wrapped in the wife's shawl and put into an armchair, while the wife's mother efficiently looked after her daughter and made her comfortable.<br />
<br />
Now the snow began to melt and a song was heard softly about the house as if everything in creation were celebrating the birth of the baby girl. <br />
<br />
"She shall be called Bella for she is as beautiful as her mother," the young wife's mother said cradling the baby.<br />
<br />
Tiny Bella silently gazed into her grandmother's green eyes as if she were trying to figure out what was what. Grandmother (as she now was) put Bella into her mother's arms and kissed her gently. <br />
<br />
"Fear nothing my sweetest heart," Grandmother murmured.<br />
<br />
Then she left her daughter and the house. At the end of that week, the young wife noticed a fine beech tree growing beside the house. When the wind blew she was almost sure she could hear her mother singing to her. On the Saturday a young gentleman rode up to the house with sad news. It seemed that her mother had died some three weeks ago. <em>Then who was the woman who delivered me of my baby, the wife wondered?</em><br />
<br />
The gentleman stayed at the house for two days explaining to the widow the legalities of her mother's will. All that time the wife knew her husband was returning and she was half glad when the young gentleman had gone. She put the baby into the nursery and cared for the tiny thing, soothing Bella when she cried, loving her daughter deeper than she had ever know love. <br />
<br />
All that time she kept her mother's letter inside her bodice, dreading the moment when her husband should return. It was not long that she heard a horse on the road and gazing out of the window she saw her husband riding at full pelt. A flicker of fear rose up in her. Then she took a deep breath and went down to the hallway.<br />
<br />
The minutes seemed to stretch interminably but very soon the door was flung open and her husband strode into the hall. Seeing her so calm roused his anger and he raised his riding crop to strike her. He saw it fall across her face, yet she did not move at all and there was no mark to show his viciousness. He roared and came at her, throwing his fist at her belly, but a voice whispered about him and he fell with a cry to the floor. The wife frowned, not understanding, then she walked away to her baby. <br />
<br />
There was a strange kind of peace at first. The husband did not know what had happened, only that he had been prevented from hurting his wife. He ate and drank - and drank until he was furious with wine. He sprang up the stairs to his wife's chamber and came upon her feeding the precious child. If he could not strike his wife he would strike the child and dashing forwards he raised his fist to strike the delicate little baby. To his shock, his wife swept the child aside and his momentum carried him past her through the nursery window. He fell into the branches of the beech. The branches seemed to move quickly so that he was snapped in two.<br />
<br />
So the young mother who protected her baby was protected by the tree that had been her mother once. For a mother will protect her child no matter what. Even after death. For the love for her child is at the roots of her being.<br />
Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-36633573083994322382013-05-01T08:15:00.003+01:002013-05-01T08:15:49.388+01:00Nothing Happened<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It is said that in every town however small, something noteworthy happens at least once. The town of Stillby-on-Frass could be said to be the exception to that rule. Everything seemed to happen there, often all at once.<br />
<br />
"It is becoming tiring and frankly tiresome," Miss Sprickett observed at the weekly town council meeting.<br />
<br />
"But at least we have a high profile in the region, Marilyn," Mr Cogsworth said a little lamely.<br />
<br />
It would take too long to explain the number of natural occurrences that had occurred at Stillby-on-Frass in the last few years alone. Volcanoes, a dragon, a host of locusts and at the local garden festival and thereafter, a swarm of bees among other things. Nobody in the town was in the habit of saying 'It could be worse' because at one time or another, it <em><strong>had</strong></em> been worse. Nobody in the town ever said, 'Worse things happen at sea' because they did not believe <strong><em>that</em></strong> for a minute. If anything, worse things happened at Stillby-on-Frass that ever happened at sea.<br />
<br />
The town meeting was a quiet and muted affair for everyone was rather tired of the sixth rainfall of fish. Herrings in particular for some reason. The smell of them had attracted birds and cats. Lots and lots of birds and cats. The people had kept children indoors and burned the herrings despite those that were eaten with considerable greed by the seagulls and the cats. There were not usually many cats in Stillby-on-Frass, but that week the town was full of them.<br />
<br />
"Just for once," Miss Sprickett said snappishly, "It would be nice to know that nothing out of the ordinary had happened here."<br />
<br />
Nobody argued with that. The council members sat quietly. Mostly tired and utterly sick of the smell of fish. A tabby uncurled itself from the window seat of the council chamber, yawned, stretched and leapt to the floor. The sense of gloom about the chamber did not stop it meowing to be let out. Miss Leaf, a young member of the council got up to let the cat out. As she opened the door Mistress Hardwyck dashed in past the cat. <br />
<br />
She was a short, thin, elegant woman dressed in lilac. Her glasses hung by a chain and her eyes were lit up. In her hands she carried a sheaf of papers and it was these that seemed to have excited her as she waved them at the council members.<br />
<br />
"I've found actual proof!" she cried, "Actual proof!"<br />
<br />
"For heaven's sake Mistress Hardwyck, pull yourself together. Proof of what exactly? A pirate ship in the high street? A tiger in the delicatessen? Five lobsters in Mistress Thompson's gazebo? What?" Mr Latimer exclaimed tugging at his shirt front for want of a waistcoat.<br />
<br />
Mistress Hardwyck stopped and took a deep breath. Her eyes still shone with excitement but she came to the council table and placed the documents before Miss Sprickett who was, after all, head of the counci.<br />
<br />
"Mr Cogsworth, I believe you have a memory for the history of Stillby-on-Frass. Does 1785 mean anything to you?" Mistress Hardwyck asked.<br />
<br />
Mr Cogsworth leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. For a moment there was silence only broken by the simultaneous exclamations from that worthy gentleman and Miss Sprickett.<br />
<br />
"Good grief!" from Miss Sprickett.<br />
<br />
"Eureka!" from Mr Cogsworth.<br />
<br />
"I know, isn't it marvellous," Mistress Hardwyck said.<br />
<br />
"Isn't what marvellous, Mistress?" said Miss Leaf crossly.<br />
<br />
"Mr Cogsworth, if you would be so kind," Mistress Hardwyck murmured.<br />
<br />
"Um, yes, yes of course. In 1785, after the pirate ship arrived in the High Street and before the arrival of Daniel Defoe on an elephant, nothing happened at all. Especially before the stable yard of the World Turned Upside Down tavern," Mr Cogsworth mused.<br />
<br />
"Nothing happened? Nothing at all?" Mr Strident said quietly.<br />
<br />
"Nothing happened at that spot just outside the stable yard of a tavern!" Mistress Hardwyck said, unable to hide her delight.<br />
<br />
"In Stillby-on-Frass? But wasn't 1785 full of events like every other appalling year?" asked Miss Leaf.<br />
<br />
"Oh of course lots of things happened, but there were a few blissful days when absolutely nothing happened. Especially outside of a tavern. No fights, wagers, dramas, nothing," said Mr Cogsworth almost dreamily.<br />
<br />
"I move that we put up a sign to mark that non-event," said Miss Sprickett, "As an inspiration to our town. We can be as quiet and uneventful a town as any other. Even if it was over two hundred years ago."<br />
<br />
So it was that a sign was made and put up on a fence outside what would have been the stable yard of the World Turned Upside Down tavern. There was some delay in it being installed due to bad weather that ended with precisely a hundred cheeses falling from the sky into a herb garden. Also, the death of a much loathed Prime Minister that occasioned twenty street parties in Stillby-on-Frass. But the sign went up and nobody, to anybody's amazement left the town for a more uneventful home town - like London where little of note ever happens.<br />
Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-68284017983812580242013-01-23T11:25:00.003+00:002013-01-23T11:25:58.633+00:00The Slow Return<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/ed/Pieter_Bruegel_d._%C3%84._106b.jpg"><img alt="File:Pieter Bruegel d. Ä. 106b.jpg" height="480" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/ed/Pieter_Bruegel_d._%C3%84._106b.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
The curse of all story-makers is that every so often when you know there is a story in an image - you cannot find it in your own head. Writer's block is the same thing. Nothing is to be found in the mind.<br />
<br />
Some panic, the first time it happens I'm sure the first reaction is panic. Imagination cannot be forced, it's like a cat, it comes and goes as it pleases. We are not generally brought up with that mind-set. The general notion is that you create and create. Snow, rain, hail, fire, flood and other events don't stop the Imagination Express. This is not entirely true as I've found more than once. The big things can inspire all kinds of thoughts that feed the imagination, but the petty, mundane storms and stresses can get in the way of the imagination. <br />
<br />
I have had a whole host of these petty nonsenses and they aren't over yet. Siblings, my own situation have led as always to my asking, why am I here, where am I going, what is the point of living?<br />
<br />
So I have retreated into reading and looking at pictures. I have read a collection of short stories and The Marlowe Papers by Ros Barber, a novel in verse. I have been to four exhibitions that were fabulous and enjoyable. Two at the Victoria & Albert museum on costume, one at Tate Britain on the Pre-Raphaelites and recently the Death: A Self Portrait exhibition at the <a href="http://www.wellcomecollection.org/whats-on/exhibitions/death-a-self-portrait.aspx" target="_blank">Wellcome Collection.</a> This last was fascinating, moving and even funny. <br />
<br />
Slowly I can feel my story-making mojo returning. Like the plants it is hibernating at present, but I hope either very soon or in the Spring to have it back again. The snowy weather we've had in Britain recently has been beautiful and deadly. I have a new book on Albrecht Dürer, which is a beautiful book on an extraordinary artist. I have a new book on Faerie lore by the great folklorist Katharine Briggs. So I am feeding my imagination, letting it simmer and stew until my imagination, sniffing the air returns, well-fed to dream in my head.<br />
<br />
Still I am turning over the furniture in my head looking for a story I may have overlooked, wondering if I will continue to be a writer of small tales, fearing that my imagination will leave me or that I will cease to want to write. My world is in the process of being broken down and reborn and all births are painful and stressful. <br />
<br />
But in the wilderness of our lives - especially the lives of those of us who are single, we can only struggle and hope. Like wandering through the snow, fearful of falling, yet eager to go on and get into the warmth. <br />
<br />
Wherever you are, I hope that you are safe and well. That you are warm and comfortable. Well-fed and loved. And I assure you that I have not gone just yet. I will return with a tale between my ears and hope that it pleases you. It is coming slowly, like a bear waking from its winter sleep to full awareness. I beg you patiently await me, I am on the way back through the snow.<br />
Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-84730003435169638632012-10-10T15:48:00.000+01:002012-10-20T18:10:47.983+01:00From Book to Paper...to Art.<br />
<br />
<img height="308" src="http://api.ning.com/files/tl9yW0SGFnOLp8O5fjAq5uDmF0Mz6QQJaonY8MXuI*YgorBr5yMwQX2sU-iEhrF5LZm9dkRw1agD5kcEcNA9nzwJjIfkkDkp/sublackwellbooksculptures9.jpeg" width="400" /><br />
<br />
<br />
This is from a tale, so I cannot truly make my own. I give you the link, which was sent to me by Penny at the Hen House. This is the art of Su Blackwell a woman of infinite imagination and sheer artistic skill.<br />
<br />
I am torn because I love the work in all its exquisite-ness...but what a thing to do to a book!!<br />
And yet...if I were an unwanted book, I could only hope Su Blackwell would do such a thing to me. <br />
<br />
Readers I offer the <a href="http://www.sublackwell.co.uk/" target="_blank">link</a> to you so that you may enjoy it. It is quite wonderful to me, I hope you will 'ooh' and 'Cor!' as much as I did.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-49244879663130915402012-09-20T12:54:00.002+01:002012-09-20T12:55:31.937+01:00Arachne's Coat Hanger<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
It had been many long years since the wise goddess of the storm-grey eyes had competed against a <a href="http://www.goddess-athena.org/Encyclopedia/Athena/Arachne.htm" target="_blank">certain weaver</a>. That weaver having won the competition had left the wise goddess somewhat cross. The result of a cross goddess, even the wise Athene had resulted in the weaver being turned into an arachnid, the first of them. Arachne the arachnid had become a creature of corners weaving her delicate webs and reduced to living on insects. No longer the vivid, bright, young woman who had delighted in fabrics and clothes. No longer the young woman who was easily persuaded to go with her friends to the market, or who drank wine and ate honey-cakes. No longer the young woman who talked, laughed, sang as she wove, loved and cursed at the changing landscapes of her life.<br />
<br />
Athene had never forgotten that moment of anger and, she admitted to herself, spite. The young woman had been a little presumptuous, but she had won the contest fairly at least. There had been no cheating or daring to criticise the work of the flashing-eyed goddess. Indeed, the young woman had been awestruck at the goddess's work. She had admired its work and been so ashamed at her impiety and presumption that she had hanged herself. At this Athene had taken pity on the young woman, for it is often the way for the young to be presumptuous and not so bad after all. So Athene had insisted that Arachne live and weave her delicate, exquisite webs for eternity.<br />
<br />
Still, Athene thought as she sipped her wine and looked out from Mount Olympus on the world of mortals, she had given the woman life again and that was much. Yet something niggled at her. She recalled Freud and his notion of the ego or conscience.<br />
<br />
"Another presumptuous mortal," she murmured to herself.<br />
<br />
Perhaps, but her conscience had niggled her until she was forced with her own wisdom to recognise her anger had led her astray. Nothing more to do she had told herself, but that was not really enough and she knew it.<br />
<br />
That evening she put her dress in her wardrobe and put on pajamas. Wardrobes and pajamas were relatively modern to her, but she liked them. She lay upon her bed and gazed at the stars. The constellations looked down at her reminding her of past days many centuries ago. But in her mind she was thinking still of Arachne. Where was that spider now? Was she long dead? <br />
<br />
Athene knew even as she asked herself the question that Arachne was still living. The first spider, but also the once and future spider. The mother of all spiders, still weaving her web with the finest spun threads - perhaps even experimenting with different threads. She had always been a smart young woman, even Athene conceded that much. Her only real offence was her presumption. Athene closed her storm-grey eyes and slept. Her pale aunt Selene, goddess of the Moon rode in her chariot drawn by two white horses across the dark expanse of night singing her dreaming songs.<br />
<br />
When rosy-fingered Eos, the dawn goddess caressed bright Helios, he awoke and Selene went to her bed. Athene awoke then and yawned. She stretched her arms and back. Throwing off the duvet (another modern invention she loved), she got up and headed to the bath-chamber to prepare herself for the day. She returned to the bedroom and removed her pajamas. Now in this morning she thought only of the things she would do this day. A young woman who was wondering how to leave a bad boyfriend, a man who was struggling with the business of living and looking fondly on death - and the rest. It's a busy life being the goddess of wisdom, war and craftwork. <br />
<br />
Opening her wardrobe she reached into its depths and stopped suddenly. Beside her beautiful long dresses a spare coathanger was visible. Upon it in thicker gossamer was woven an exquisite pattern. Athene gently took the hanger from the wardrobe and held it up to the light. For a moment she was quiet, her mist-grey eyes softened and she wept to think of the young woman who had dared - with such confidence and courage to contend in her craft with a goddess.<br />
<br />
She put her hand inside the wardrobe and said softly,<br />
<br />
"Come to my hand good Arachne, hard is the lesson you have learned, come to me fair child."<br />
<br />
A small spider about the size of a mortal's thumbnail descended from the top of the wardrobe on a fine silken thread to the hand of the goddess and stayed there, still as if dead. Athene put the coathanger back inside the wardrobe and breathed upon the still spider. Slowly she regained her form, standing in Athenes palm. Her hair was long and soft, though grey as mist. Her eyes were dark and her fair skin had wrinkled with age. A tear fell from Athene's mist-grey eye upon the woman's head and her youth came back to her. She fell to her knees, naked and radiant in the goddess' hand covered her face with her hands and wept.<br />
<br />
Athene hushed her, gave her a new name and fine dresses and bid her live again in the world of mortals.<br />
<br />
"You are not the foolish girl you once were my dear, be wise and think well of me. Death will come to you soon enough. Live and leave to the fire dark misfortunes. Go and weave again Arachne. We competed once, but we shall not compete again. You are a fine weaver and embroiderer, but now you are also a wise woman," Athene told her.<br />
<br />
Arachne vanished then from the goddess' palm into our mortal world and lives among us still, unknown and much loved. She does not speak of the past for it is gone and she will be part of it soon enough. She is much loved these days. She goes to the market with her friends, meets them for coffee and cake, loves clothes, shoes, fabrics and books. She laughs, grumps, sings when she weaves, cries occasionally and when she remembers, she is still. Then she smiles to feel the blood in her veins, the warmth of her skin and she shakes her long hair to delight in being alive.<br />
<br />
Athene too goes among us, more mellowed than she used to be and more forgiving. She pities us when we are foolish because we are but mortal. She smiles when we love and laugh. She weeps with us when we are frightened, unhappy and alone for she understands us better than once she did. Better than we ever understand ourselves and she does not care if we believe in newer gods or no gods at all. For she is the storm-grey eyed, the flashing eyed goddess, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus and that she thinks, is enough. It will do.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-60721214620097703132012-09-04T14:01:00.001+01:002012-09-04T14:01:57.826+01:00The Little Shop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g_OVcRJuRb8/UEXuFjMjZ8I/AAAAAAAAAik/npDZRejFGLQ/s1600/The+Little+Shop.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g_OVcRJuRb8/UEXuFjMjZ8I/AAAAAAAAAik/npDZRejFGLQ/s320/The+Little+Shop.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
There are not many who remember it. It was a strange building, not quite Greek temple and not quite neo-classical church. It had been built in the 19th century as a chapel, but it was not quite that either. When I moved to the town, the grounds around it and the steps leading up to its grand portico were overgrown with weeds and grass. The few trees had run a little rampant and their roots pushed up the paving around the building. I was not the only one who passed by it on the way to work. At first I used to murmur, 'Poor thing' as I passed, then as the sight of it grew more familiar I began to bow my head as I passed.<br />
<br />
But one morning when I passed there was a signboard over it that read 'THE LITTLE SHOP'. It did not seem as if the owners had quite the idea for the sign was worn and the rivets that held the letters to the board were rusted. My curiosity was such that I could not wait for the weekend. My neighbours, a mum with young children on one side and an elderly couple on the other were talking in the street on my return from work and it became clear that they were talking about the shop. <br />
<br />
I was the third atheist in my street, the rest were all worshippers of one religion or another. I noticed the small steel crucifixes worn as necklaces on the women as well as their clothes and shoes. The mum still wore stiletto shoes and it raised her height to a little over five foot four. Despite the differences in belief, I was greeted kindly and asked about the shop.<br />
<br />
"Very strange it was," the old lady said, "I felt very uneasy in there, even though the food looked lovely."<br />
<br />
"My kids were scared to go in," the mum said with a little laugh.<br />
<br />
I remembered a poem suddenly, <br />
<br />
"“Come buy our orchard fruits, <br />
Come buy, come buy: <br />
Apples and quinces, <br />
Lemons and oranges, <br />
Plump unpeck’d cherries, <br />
Melons and raspberries, <br />
Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches,... "<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174262" target="_blank">Goblin Market</a>, that was it. Still, now I longed to go to the Little Shop to see it. I quoted the poem and they laughed. <br />
<br />
"The lady in the shop has lovely red hair though," the mum said. <br />
<br />
"I knew a red-haired girl at school and she was gorgeous to look at, but this lady's hair was really...luxuriant. That's the only word for it - luxuriant. I wouldn't mind hair like hers, mind you I've got no grey hairs yet despite the kids scaring me every day with what they get up to," she added. <br />
<br />
I left them after a little and went in for supper. Pasta and tomatoes with mushrooms and pine nuts again. It wanted a little time yet until pay day. <br />
<br />
On Saturday morning however, I was up early and ready to explore. I bought a loaf of bread and a newspaper. I stopped for a coffee and two croissants at The Flying Cup & Saucer and read the TV guide. On my way afterwards, I headed towards the Little Shop. Outside the Shop I saw a tall red-haired woman in a nut-brown dress and leaf-green boots. She was offering a little girl a beautiful red apple. On the face of it I was not looking at anything unusual, but there was something menacing about the woman. She did not instantly appear threatening, but I was suddenly reminded of Snow White's stepmother.<br />
<br />
The little girl was about to reach for the apple when her mother came striding up the street and took the girl by the hand.<br />
<br />
"Vera! I've told you once if I've told you a thousand times, don't take things from people you don't know," she told the girl. <br />
<br />
Vera was about to cry and the face of the red-haired woman had darkened with anger. The mother turned to her and smiled obliviously.<br />
<br />
"No offence, but you tell them and they just don't listen. You're clearly a nice woman but you know, there's all kinds of weirdos around these days. I tell Vera all the time. It's very nice of you to offer but she's had her breakfast and you just have to watch them. Come along Vera, we'll be late for your grandma," the mother said and strode off with Vera rushing to catch up.<br />
<br />
I strolled towards the Shop slowly and as I did, my foot caught in the pavement. As I tripped and steadied myself, I looked up and the beautiful red-haired woman seemed to be an ancient shadowed woman and the apple seemed to be rotten - almost the shadow of an apple. I was wearing an old steel key about my neck on a ribbon and it banged against my chest as I regained my balance. I took it in my fingers as I straightened up, my heart thumping in me. As I did I saw the old Chapel as it had always been, grubby and overgrown with weeds and grass. Also, it seemed surrounded by strange shadows that seemed to move around the building. Insects scurried over it and spiders spun elegant webs across the entrance and over the woman's nut-brown dress. <br />
<br />
As she saw me coming she smiled and offered me the apple. I caught the look in her green eyes, a look of menace as if I were a lamb before a starving tigress. Her smile was somehow wild and dangerous. I smiled nervously.<br />
<br />
"Won't you come buy our orchard fruits my love?" she asked in delicate melodious tones.<br />
<br />
Won't you step into my parlour? I thought to myself. I held up one hand while clutching my steel key and her eyes flickered as she saw the key and frowned quickly.<br />
<br />
"I'd love to but I've only just had breakfast and I don't get paid until the week after next," I answered regretfully.<br />
<br />
Suddenly my curiosity had evaporated like the dew on the grass. <br />
<br />
"Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries, Bright-fire-like barberries, Figs to fill your mouth, Citrons from the South, Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; Come buy, come buy," she said, her voice like a song in my head.<br />
<br />
A song that wound around me like smoke - like ivy or jasmine, drawing me in somehow and yet I felt uneasy. Queasy and nauseous as if I wanted to throw up from too much food. The coffee seemed acidic in my stomach the croissants ashes in my mouth, dry and horribly burnt somehow. And while that song wound about me, gently, caressing me like a lover, the woman seemed to sway a little as if she were about to faint. I stepped forward and inhaled a green grassy air deeply. She leaned back against the stone pillars leading into the Chapel grounds and put a hand to the pale curve of her neck. Was it my imagination or my nausea that lent her skin a greenish hue?<br />
<br />
"Are you alright?" I asked even as I struggled to master my own nausea.<br />
<br />
She moaned softly and whispered, "Come buy, come buy."<br />
<br />
I was tempted then and she seemed to know it, proffering the apple to me. Her sleeve fell back from her forearm and the same greenish tint to her skin was there. I sought to make sense of it. The light through the trees, I told myself. She is unwell - I am ready to be sick that is why I am seeing this greenish tint to her. In a sudden instant she was the old woman of shadow again for I had grasped my steel key tightly and I knew what she was.<br />
<br />
The shop was not there on Monday morning when I walked past in a state of nerves. But I have not forgotten when the faeries had a shop in our town. Unless it was goblins of course.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-57320943621895450502012-08-24T13:20:00.000+01:002012-08-24T13:20:00.899+01:00Scientist at Sea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bX7VjoAorYs/UDdmv1i9hxI/AAAAAAAAAiU/qvvTBUBzOns/s1600/Microscope+from+the+sea.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bX7VjoAorYs/UDdmv1i9hxI/AAAAAAAAAiU/qvvTBUBzOns/s320/Microscope+from+the+sea.JPG" width="240" yda="true" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A long time ago, during the last big war it seems there was a scientist who went to sea to explore the natural life. By which I mean of course, the fish and suchlike. He had a distinctly logical and rational mind that admitted no 'fanciful' notions. He had never believed in the Faeries as a child, so his grandmother had had to send him to the city to stay with his mother. This also meant sending his mother to the city but at least they were safe. His father was away fighting in the war - as men do. At least it was necessary to fight this time for one cannot allow nitwits to take over the world, especially when they are cruel nitwits.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The little boy had grown up with an intention to be utterly rational and logical for reasons I cannot possibly fathom. As such he had taken a liking to science and a dislike to art (beauty is irrational - fortunately) and love for that too was utterly illogical. He gathered a very logical interest in sea creatures that had nothing to do with his emotions - or so he said.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">At any rate, he had, as I say gone to sea during the war, which may in itself show his sense of logic was slipping. The ship's crew left him alone mostly. They had enough to keep the ship going and avoiding the enemy who were likely to be extremely unsociable.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Now it should be said that seafaring men and women have a long tradition of lore, much of it strange and wonderful. So it was not too long before the scientist was upsetting the crew with his clear lack of knowledge of any sea-lore. He even went so far as to state quite unequivocally that mermaids were a form of wishful thinking.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The first mate, a woman of formidable nature and great strength bet him a hundred pounds that he was wrong and being a rational man he took the bet. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">"It takes a man who is convinced of his intelligence to be a true fool," the first mate remarked.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The scientist maintained a dignified silence before running on deck to throw up over the side. For as a city man the pitch and roll of the ship had left him with a delicate constitution. As he straightened up he looked into the eyes of a mermaid. Her hair was dark green like fine seaweed, her eyes blue-green as the sea and her skin was pale with a silvery tint to it. She looked boldly into his eyes and laughed before flicking her tail and plunging beneath the waves. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Now it takes a rational and logical man to consider phenomenom and our scientist put this vision down to his unsteady constitution. Mermaids, he reminded himself do not exist though he could not understand why he should be wishfully thinking of one. After all, he disliked love for its irrational nature. At that point his stomach overcame his reason and he was violently sick again. Once more he groaned and cleaned himself up before staggering down to his cabin. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">During that evening, the sea seemed to lose its temper. It whistled and raged and clawed at the sky. In its turn the sky also grew angry and growled thunderously, darkened its brows and hurled rain and hail at the sea. Caught between the two the ship was hurled upwards and prow first down into the wild lacy foam of the seaspray. The scientist who had during the afternoon brought his scientific equipment on deck (so as to be nearer the rail) was caught by surprise for the day had been fine with just enough breeze to be comfortable. His microscope among his other equipment and he too were flung up and over the side of the ship. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">He felt the icy cold of the sea wrap around him and leave him breathless so that he could not even shout to the crew. His clothes became drenched with water until they were leaden on him. He sank, struggling to rise up to the stormy surface of the sea, his clothes choking off any movement. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">He felt gently fingers about him then and heard soft singing that wove about him. When he turned his head he looked into the eyes of that mermaid with the blue-green eyes. Suddenly without warning, he found himself deeply in love. All his reason and logic could not save him for it was quite overwhelmed by the mermaid's wild beauty.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">What happened to him is unknown, only that the crew never found him. Only his microscope was retrieved from the ocean and sent to a museum as a memory of the scientist. Those who loved him could only mourn him.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">But the sailors do not mourn him, for they know that on certain days evenings when the sun is not quite gone from the sky a mermaid and her lover can be seen on dark lonely rocks fixed in each other's gaze, deep in love, an utterly irrational emotion.</span>Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-74152254356057134172012-07-12T12:59:00.001+01:002012-07-12T12:59:24.140+01:00The Dancing Dog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-06c_MCm5hz8/T_6v5dZSSyI/AAAAAAAAAiI/hwhzQvPwHZM/s1600/Dancing+Dog.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-06c_MCm5hz8/T_6v5dZSSyI/AAAAAAAAAiI/hwhzQvPwHZM/s320/Dancing+Dog.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
There is a pub in our town called The Dancing Dog. It's owned by a tall silent woman, nobody knows her name. The bartender is a cheerful man called Riley. There was talk that the two of them were an item, but when Riley got married to a blonde from a nearby town that died down.<br />
<br />
Liz was telling me how the pub got its name. It seems that when the building was first built The Woman as she is known bought it and moved in upstairs. She had a dog of indeterminate breed that was often called Hound by her as in 'Hound sit' or 'Hound here'. The dog was a medium animal. Not a big dog like Anson's bulldog or a small dog like the preacher's wife's peke. Hound was a white dog with a tufted coarse coat and a black patch over one eye that gave him a jovial piratical air. Mostly he was a law unto himself, but it was clear that he loved The Woman.<br />
<br />
So The Woman bought the building and Hound would sit outside watching the people go by. The Woman had got a lot of money it was said and didn't know what to do with it. At first she lived quietly visiting the library most days to borrow books and read in the park with Hound at her side, his head in her lap.<br />
<br />
She had a strange and varied taste in books as if she were interested in all kinds of things. She hardly ever read novels, mostly biographies or factual stuff. She drank her coffee black as her dark hair with one spoon of brown sugar in it. She rarely smiled and when the few men tried to talk to her she dismissed them as one dismisses a minor nuisance like a mosquito. <br />
<br />
Kids around town thought she was a witch though I don't quite know why. She always wore red and green. if she wore a red dress she would wear green shoes. Sometimes, though rarely she wore black, but then she would wear a splash of red and a burst of green with it. A couple of old women thought she might have faery blood in her, but I don't know.<br />
<br />
One evening she was seen sitting on the porch of her new home. She was reading a book as usual with Hound sitting by her watching the street with a smile on his face. I should say that Hound was a friendly dog, as friendly as his mistress was cool and distant. Most people loved him except the preacher's wife and a few cats who would eye him suspiciously, though he never chased a cat unlike Wilton's mean old cur. So anyway The Woman was sitting reading with a drink of something on a table by her chair. It was a fine summer evening when the sky is stretching and thinking of bed and the sun is going through her wardrobe looking for a red party dress to wear.<br />
<br />
A tall man rode through town on a rather fine horse with elegant slim legs and a long thick mane of hair. Oh, the horse had fine slim legs and a thick mane too, some knowlegeable people said the horse was Arabian, but Liz said she just thought it was a fine horse and that was enough. The man stopped the horse in front of The Woman and said clearly,<br />
<br />
"A fine dog my dear and a finer mistress."<br />
<br />
Liz made a face and took another sip of her martini.<br />
<br />
"So The Woman barely looks up from her book and says,<br />
<br />
"Yes he is a fine hound and I am far too fine for the likes of you sir."<br />
<br />
Then she goes right on with her book and Hound looks up at the man and turns, yawns and lies down at The Woman's feet."<br />
<br />
Then the man frowned and shook his head.<br />
<br />
"You weren't so cold in Ashdown Woods as I recall," he said.<br />
<br />
"It was a long time ago and I was a different woman and now I've grown up. Tempest is looking well I see. The way out of town is the way Tempest is facing. Follow the road and go back into the woods where you belong," says she rather coolly.<br />
<br />
Now as Liz pointed out, you don't name a horse unless you know the rider, so those few folk who heard that felt their ears twitching to know more. But the man shook his thick mane of dark hair and looked at Hound.<br />
<br />
"If you'll not dance, your dog will I've no doubt," he said.<br />
<br />
Then he whispered a word to his horse and rode on out of town to who knows where. The Woman frowned at that and took Hound indoors with her. That was that for the night. The Sun put on her red dress and went out partying. The night went to his bed along with the rest of us and we dreamed dreams.<br />
<br />
The following morning as The Woman was taking her walk into the park with Hound following there came a group of musicians to practise. That was not exceptional, they often came to practice and some folk would come and sit on the grass and listen. But this time when they started to play their audience was distracted by a sharp cry. They turned and Hound was up on his hind paws dancing to the music. The group played and Hound danced and The Woman became more distraught. She put away her book and swept up Hound in her arms, the dog still dancing.<br />
<br />
"No doubt the strange man had cursed poor Hound," Liz said shaking her head.<br />
<br />
It happened that from that moment on when music was heard near him, Hound would up on on his hind paws and dance away, his ears flapping, his front paws flopped over. People would think it sweet, but The Woman would be furious and demand that the music stop. She would sweep Hound up in her arms and dash away home, tears flooding down her face.<br />
<br />
The news went all around town until one day an old woman went up the street to where The Woman lived and knocked on her door. That in itself was thought to be brave. The Woman mostly kept to herself, but the door opened and the old lady spoke to The Woman and was invited in. A little later the old woman came out of the house and went back home. Soon after, The Woman came out of the house followed by Hound. She walked up the street to the bookshop with her firm decisive stride and Hound trotted after her. Around his neck, for the first time ever, was a fine collar of black leather with shiny steel studs.<br />
<br />
The Crillon boys, wicked with mischief ran after her playing a flute and singing, just to make Hound dance. The Woman turned briefly with a face like thunder, but Hound just stopped and looked up at her inquiringly. Not a jig was in him and the Crillon boys ran off before The Woman should deliver her wrath upon their ears.<br />
<br />
A little after that, The Woman had workmen in to create her building into a pub. She hired Riley and a young talented woman called Sylvie as chef. The first night was advertised in the paper and people could not help but smile. She had called the new pub, 'The Dancing Dog'. Everyone came that first night mostly out of curiosity. What they found was a handsome large room with tables and a stage at one end. Customers were seated and Hound was at the door to greet them all. The Woman was nowhere to be seen. She left Riley and Sylvie to do their stuff and to greet customers. Halfway through the evening a band came up on the stage and played music quietly but with panache. Hound turned, looked at them and yawned before trotting off to the door to the kitchen to see if he might get scraps. He was used to his collar by then.<br />
<br />
"Now," said Liz, "All I'll say is this. Steel has iron in it and that stranger who put the dancing curse on Hound was neither a wizard or a witch. There have been faerie folk in our woods for centuries, my grandma says and she should know. A faerie woman tried to call her away when she was little, but her mam had put a shiny steel cross about grandma's neck and the enchantment protected her. That's all I'm saying."<br />
<br />
I smiled at her, shook my head and went to the bar to get more drinks.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-59488575426479629702012-07-03T11:28:00.004+01:002012-07-03T11:28:54.793+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uL3T-OlTp1U/T-SRX3tw8EI/AAAAAAAAAh8/MsJP7B6cSSc/s1600/Tiled+Steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uL3T-OlTp1U/T-SRX3tw8EI/AAAAAAAAAh8/MsJP7B6cSSc/s320/Tiled+Steps.jpg" width="289" /></a></div>
<br />
It was a beautiful house in the otherwise ordinary street. A wild plant had encroached upon the lower steps leading up to a smart black door with a brass letterbox and keyhole. I always thought that it ought to have a brass door knocker in the shape of a lion's head but it did not. The facings of the seven steps up to the house had once been quite dull and grey. Over time I had noticed as I passed the house on the way to work, new tiles. <br />
<br />
I had never seen the owner of the house, though I knew her to be a rather old woman. I had heard that she was a little short-sighted so I wondered at the beauty of those tiles and their variety. Perhaps she had tiled the step facings when she was younger I supposed. As my own house was not so easy to transform I admit to some envy at charming front of this house.<br />
<br />
One morning I noticed a large handsome cat sitting at the top outside the door. He shut his eyes and smiled in the way that cats do. I nodded politely on my way to work and hurried on. It was a Friday and I had much to do before the weekend arrived.<br />
<br />
That evening when I got home I sat over my supper and read the local paper. It was a strange journal and for that I loved it. There were many eccentric people in my area, quite unlike me of course. The garden of Lady Sunflower (as she titled herself and all around the area called her) was a thing of marvels and wonder. Mr Sedgewick at Lumber Road had transformed his home into something resembling a steam train in plain defiance of planning regulations. Yet as it was both safe and habitable it had been left alone. I saw a photo on page 15 of the paper of the tiled steps and was drawn to the accompanying article.<br />
<br />
<i>It seems that a large number of black cats have added a new tile to the </i><br />
<i> step facings at number 12 Limpopo Avenue. They were seen by Miss</i><br />
<i> Carraway who asked them the meaning of the new tile. The black cats</i><br />
<i> told her that a new King of the Cats had been crowned and the tile</i><br />
<i> was to mark the coronation of the new King.</i><br />
<i> As such, we have a new monarch in the area and we join all cats </i><br />
<i> in wishing the new monarch all happiness and long life. Long live</i><br />
<i> the King! </i><br />
<br />
I ate my supper and waited until the cat who lived with me should come in for his supper. I waited and waited and when he did not come I put food in his plate and went to bed. The next morning I turned over to find him sound asleep on the bed against my side. He looked unusually the worse for wear and I stroked him gently to flatten his fur down a little. As I lay there stroking him I recalled the article in the newspaper and I wondered with a smile if he had been celebrating the previous night. I got up gently so as not to wake him and prepared myself for the day. I had dressed and brushed my hair before the mirror in my bedroom. As I got up and turned to the window seat I noticed a rather charming small coronet there. I would have picked it up but for the sudden movement on the bed. The cat had woken and was staring intensely at me. I crouched by the bed and placed my hand gently over his paw.<br />
<br />
"I am honoured your majesty," I said quietly, adding, "Would you like breakfast?" <br />
<br />
He stood and yawned, which I took as a yes and headed for the kitchen followed by the cat. In that one morning I found I was living with royalty.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-19999731755129951132012-06-10T11:57:00.004+01:002012-06-10T11:57:56.883+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
A long time ago there was a giant called Robur. It seems that he had been living in a cave at the foot of a mountain. Every so often he would venture out and snatch a cow or a few pigs or even catch pheasants and steal vegetables to make a stew.<br />
<br />
When the thief was discovered by the inhabitants of the nearby village they had a brief meeting. Deciding that they could not lock him up for the crime, they armed themselves with flaming torches and pitchforks. That very evening they marched up towards the mountain cave intending to do away with poor Robur. Fortunately for him, Robur saw them coming (the flaming torches were a give-away) and gathering his few things he fled over the mountain and towards the village of Cachepot. As he fled, his exertions meant a large button was torn from his shirt and rolled down the mountainside towards the villagers.<br />
<br />
As one they parted to let the huge wooden button roll onwards toward the village square. Suddenly it occurred to them that their homes might be at risk and they returned down the mountainside to the<br />
village. The button slowed as it reached the village and the villagers returned to find Madame Sagesse, the village herbalist standing upon the button with a smile on her face.<br />
<br />
Now some of the villagers who had suspected Madame Sagesse of witchcraft felt they now had their proof. Still, the old woman was a remarkable herbalist so they kept their peace. The head of the village Mere DeTout strode between the villagers and approached Madame Sagesse.<br />
<br />
"Mistress, Robur the giant is gone and this mill wheel was thrown after him," she said.<br />
<br />
"Oh Bonne Mere this is no mill wheel, though it is big enough. This is a button and a most useful button too. Let it be raised up and placed in our square with a sign saying - 'This is all that is left of the last giant who stole from us'. That should keep us safe," Madame Sagesse replied with a grin.<br />
<br />
A ripple of laughter ran through the villagers for they liked her wit. The button was rolled under cover so that it should remain dry. Then everyone went to their beds and slept very well, glad that Robur was gone.<br />
<br />
The following morning the villagers fetched good strong ropes and waxed the button with beeswax until the wood of it shone beautifully. A thick canvas was set up in a large frame and the button stitched to the canvas. Beside the button the sign was set up in very large letters.<br />
<br />
Now it happened that a giant called Gulliver happened in his travels to come across Robur's previous home and swept it clean and made a much smarter home than it had ever been. He planted a vegetable garden and trees of almond and walnut. In the meantime while these plants grew he must eat and during the night he went down to the village with some diamonds. He intended to take vegetables and leave two diamonds as payment, but instead he saw the button and the sign and became thoughtful. He left the village and returned to his mountain home. Then he sighed and went over the mountain to Cachepot. There had been a good harvest but not enough for the village and for Gulliver. So he continued on quietly until he came to a city. There was a great deal of stored vegetables and he took all he needed, left a diamond and went home.<br />
<br />
Quietly he lived, cultivating his garden carefully and staying away from the village below the mountain. Now it happened that one morning Madame Sagesse took her basket and went up the mountainside to the forest. You may imagine her surprise when she saw almond trees blossoming where there had been no almond trees. Curious she made her way towards them and discovered a fine vegetable garden and a whole terrace of herbs with rosemary, sage, parsley, thyme, basil, tarragon and the rest. All that would have graced a fine lord's kitchen garden. I wonder whose garden this is, she said to herself.<br />
<br />
Then she found herself lifted up and up and placed on a large hand. At first she thought Robur had returned and that she was about to be eaten, but when she turned to find a large face looking at her she realised that this was not Robur. <br />
<br />
"What do you want with me, giant?" she asked.<br />
<br />
Gulliver asked her very quietly what she was doing in his garden. She told him of her curiosity at the almond blossom and asked if he had been to her village.<br />
<br />
"I have mistress and the wit of that button amused me greatly. So as your village does not like giants I do not go there. I have diamonds to pay for what I want, but if your village will not trade, so be it." Gulliver answered.<br />
<br />
Madame Sagesse sighed and told him about Robur.<br />
<br />
"So you may see sir that the village has a reason to dislike giants as much as they love their livestock," she said.<br />
<br />
"Mistress, I am not Robur, nor do I eat meat. I need my vegetable garden to eat well and my almond and walnut trees also. Not all giants are the same as all people are not the same. You have a basket mistress, what are you looking for?" Gulliver asked her.<br />
<br />
Madame Sagesse laughed then and curtseyed.<br />
<br />
"I am looking for herbs sir, but I gather mine from the forest so that if I find mushrooms also I may gather them. I came only to see the almond blossom and so came upon your wonderful garden," she said.<br />
<br />
Gulliver nodded and asked her if she would come up to his home afterwards so that they might talk. He was a sociable character and felt a little lonely. He liked Madame Sagesse too. She promised and he set her down nearer the forest and went home to make breakfast and bake bread.<br />
<br />
Later when Madame Sagesse came to call on him she told him where he might find lots of fine mushrooms. She also advised him on being careful for some were not edible and very poisonous. Gulliver made her nettle tea and offered her poppy seed cake. She sat upon the edge of a saucer and they talked of many things before Madame Sagesse had to return home. But she promised to come and visit him regularly.<br />
<br />
Now among all the wonderful days we have there is always rain to remove the sunshine. So it was that villagers taking their sheep to high pasture also discovered the garden and discussing it they decided that Robur must have quietly returned. They returned to the village and reported their discovery to Mere DeTout.<br />
<br />
Mere DeTout consulted Madame Sagesse who sighed and told her about Gulliver.<br />
<br />
"Diamonds? He wanted to trade with us and he has diamonds?!" Mere DeTout exclaimed.<br />
<br />
"He is not the same as Robur. Indeed he has left the village alone after he saw that button and the sign. Still he is often lonely and I have been visiting him regularly for tea and conversation - and cake of course," Madame Sagesse answered.<br />
<br />
Mere DeTout called a village meeting and Madame Sagesse told them all about Gulliver.<br />
<br />
"But what if our livestock go missing. How do we know he only eats vegetables? What if he wants a little meat to flavour his pot?" one of the villagers asked.<br />
<br />
"He cultivates his garden including his trees so that he can do without meat. Not one of your livestock has gone missing since he has arrived. If they do go missing the gates have not been properly closed or the wolves have got in and carried off a cow or a sheep or a pig. Do not assume Gulliver had been at them," she answered.<br />
<br />
For some time this was accepted but one morning a villager woke up to find not only his sheep missing but his young shepherd boy also. Instantly he ran to Mere DeTout and demanded that something be done. Gulliver was the first suspect even when Mere pointed out that the shepherd boy was most likely out with the sheep early. <br />
<br />
"Never without his breakfast or taking his lunch with him Mere," the man answered.<br />
<br />
Mere managed to insist that the man leave it to her and she would find the sheep and the boy. She sent him home and went directly to Madame Sagesse. Madame sighed and frowned.<br />
<br />
"The fool wants to believe it must be the giant's fault without any proof," she said.<br />
<br />
She told Mere she would go up to see Gulliver and ask if he might help find both the sheep and the boy. Mere thanked her and added that she did not believe that Gulliver was at fault at all. <br />
<br />
"The foolish boy most likely forgot to close the pen properly. Then when the sheep got out he went out early to get them all back. But as you say the instant some boy makes a mistake everyone is willing to believe it must be the giant's fault," she added.<br />
<br />
Madame Sagesse put a shawl about her shoulders and took her basket. Then she went up the mountainside to see Gulliver. Along the way she fretted about the boy and the sheep and indeed about Gulliver. When she got up there she knocked at Gulliver's door and went in. On a saucer were all the sheep and the boy was sitting on the handle of a teaspoon while Gulliver told him a story. Madame burst into laughter at that and told the boy that because his and the sheeps' absence the village would soon be ready to chase Gulliver from his home. The boy blushed and begged Gulliver's pardon. As Mere DeTout had suspected, he had not closed the pen properly and the sheep had got out. He dared not tell the farmer for fear of getting a beating, so he had gone out early to find the sheep. In this way he had come across Gulliver looking for mushrooms and Gulliver had kindly helped to collect the sheep up and bring them home to feed them and the boy.<br />
<br />
When both sheep and boy were returned a little later to the village it did much to shame the villagers out of their prejudices. So from that day forward the villagers learned to live with Gulliver in great happiness and often visited him.<br />
<br />
As for Robur's button it was kept and used to celebrate the villager's friendship with the giant Gulliver. <br />
<br />Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-38685534472515899052012-05-25T16:07:00.001+01:002012-05-25T16:07:08.443+01:00The Knight of the White Horse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
There was once a woman who had a child. Her husband had gone to find work in another town and she missed him. But worse was to come, for before long her child was taken by the faeries and a changeling left instead. You may imagine her sorrow and her fear for her child.<br />
<br />
But she quickly became less unhappy and more angry. She read about the faeries and one morning put the changeling into swaddling clothes and told it that she would put it into an iron cradle unless it told her who had taken her own child and where she might fetch the child from. The faeries do not like cold iron and the changeling struggled in its swaddling bands and wept. It snarled and growled and threatened, but the mother was adamant. So the changeling soon became meek and told the mother that the Queen of the Lake beyond the forest had her child.<br />
<br />
The mother put the changeling back into the wooden cradle and surrounded it with iron and steel implements. That done, she took her own iron crucifix and a carving knife as well as enough food for the journey. She could not drive through the forest and so she must walk. She put on her boots and her wool coat and set out through the back garden. She was about to go through the gate into the forest when her long-haired white cat met her.<br />
<br />
"Where do you go to, mistress?" the cat asked.<br />
<br />
The woman was astonished to hear her cat speak, but told the cat that she was going to get her child back from the Queen of the Lake beyond the forest. The cat said that he would go with her, for he had a longing to travel and the mother might need his help. The woman did not know how he might help her, but she was glad of the company, so they went across the meadow beyond the gate and into the forest.<br />
<br />
They walked and walked until the woman was very weary, but still she would not stop. The cat then left her and when he returned he had two pheasants in his jaws. Hunger gripped the woman's stomach and she thanked the cat. She stopped and made a fire, cooking both pheasants. One she ate and the other, the cat ate. They were most glad of the rest and the food. Now as they finished eating, beautiful gentle music slipped between the trees and into their ears. The woman felt herself relaxing and leaning back against a tree she began to fall asleep. The cat however growled and miauled loudly and hissed until the music stopped. He nipped the woman's hand and would have scratched her sharply if she had not awoken.<br />
<br />
"They seek to beguile you mistress. Sing your own songs loudly and let us go on," the cat told her.<br />
<br />
The woman shook the sleep from her head and they went on through the night. The woman stumbled from time to time but she did not stop. The cat helped guide her as best he could. The following morning found them tired and bedraggled but still moving on. Just as the woman felt tiredness seeping into her bones they came out of the forest and beheld a large calm lake.<br />
<br />
"Be aware mistress, for this is the Queen's lake. Rest here and I will fetch food for us both," the cat told her.<br />
<br />
She was only too happy to sit with her back against a tree and rest. Off the cat went to hunt for food. <br />
<br />
Now the Queen of the Lake soon heard from her minions that the woman was arrived near the shore of her lake. She arose up through the waters and strode across the surface of the lake to the shore. Beyond the shore was a wide strand of grass and moss and there against a tree she saw the mother. The Queen's blue-green eyes showed neither compassion nor pity. She saw only that the mother of her new acquisition was come. She whispered a word and at her command the waters of the lake lashed the shore and climbed the bank to flow across the strand. Before it had reached the woman however it must stop, for the forest was not the Queen's domain. Even among faeries, invasion is not a welcome act and the Queen of the Forest was most powerful. The Queen of the Lake returned to her waters and sent her guards to watch the woman. <br />
<br />
Before long, the cat returned to the woman and woke her. They ate two hares this time and the cat sniffed the air and growled. He knew that the Queen had been there, but he ate his hare in silence.<br />
<br />
Now the Queen sent a knight across the waters towards the woman. The knight was tall and his armour shone like the scales of a trout on his lean body. The woman found him rather elegant and beautiful, but his look was stern.<br />
<br />
"My most noble Queen of the Lake demands that you renounce all rights to her property," he told her.<br />
<br />
It is not wise to upset a mother in any circumstances, but this comment roused the mother's fury. Still, before she could answer the cat stood before her, his fur bristling with rage of his own.<br />
<br />
"My mistress has her own champion, the knight of the white steed and she will fight the Queen's champion and the Queen herself to regain her child. Nobody may wilfully break away a child from its mother without paying dearly for it. Go back and tell your impertinent madam that," the cat replied.<br />
<br />
The knight was furious, but he returned across the waters and down into the centre of the lake. Not long after an old gauntlet was flung back up to land before the woman and the cat. Now the woman became afraid of what the cat had done, but the cat told her,<br />
<br />
"Trust me mistress, I am, like all cats, not all that I appear to be. Come with me a little way into the forest and fear nothing."<br />
<br />
The woman did not see that she had much choice and returned into the forest with the cat. There, in the shadows of the trees the cat bid her await him. He trotted off among the trees and in a little while a beautiful white horse appeared with armour and weapons draped over a fine saddle. The woman spoke kindly to the horse who answered her in familiar tones,<br />
<br />
"Mistress, put on the armour and the sword. I have been a cat in your garden, I shall be your steed by the lake. Know that this armour was worn by a great warrior queen who was blessed by the Queen of the Forest. I was the Queen of the Forest's champion then and I am yours now. You shall defeat the Lake champion if you want your child enough. Once you have done that, you must cast his sword into the lake and demand the Queen of the Lake return your child to you."<br />
<br />
The mother put on the armour and buckled on the sword. Her mind was full of fearful thoughts and her hands trembled with worry. Yet, she was also angry enough to want her child back. She mounted up onto the white steed and rode out onto the grassy strand between the lake and the forest. At the horse's bidding, she took a bugle from the saddle bag and blew a challenge to the lake.<br />
<br />
The Lake Queen's champion arose from the choppy waters of the lake and rode to the strand to meet the mother. The knight repeated the Queen's demand haughtily. But hearing it put aside all the mother's fears and she drew her sword firmly in her hand. <br />
<br />
The knight charged at the mother, but she brought her sword down on his with such force that she broke his blade. She turned on the white steed sharply and with the flat of her blade, struck the knight so that he was flung from his saddle. He threw aside his broken sword and prepared to meet her. The horse bid her stay in the saddle, so she pointed her blade at the knight and asked if he would yield. If he yielded he would lose the battle and his Queen would transform him into a fish. So he refused and now the mother was at a loss. She did not want to kill the knight, but she wanted her child back. Remembering her steed's words, she bid the knight give up his sword to her. He dared not, so she rode a little closer until she was between him and the lake. The horse pushed him step by step towards the forest, but now the mother drew forth her iron crucifix and the knight instantly gave up his sword and fled back to the lake. With a scream of horror he dived into the lake and as he touched the waters, he became a long trout. <br />
<br />
The mother dismounted, but held onto the horse's bridle. Sheathing her own sword, she took the knight's and mounted up again. Now, with her heart full of anger she demanded that her child be returned to her. Nothing happened and in that instant, she hurled the knight's sword towards the centre of the lake. The blade flashed as it turned in the air like a fish leaping from the water in the sun. It plunged into the lake and a loud shriek filled the air. The waters parted briefly and the Queen of the Lake strode again to the strand. In her arms she bore the mother's child.<br />
<br />
"Give me back my child or I will follow you into the lake itself and fight you for my child in your home," the mother demanded. <br />
<br />
With a furious and haughty look on her face the Queen paused, then she set the child upon the strand and returned to the waters saying over her shoulder,<br />
<br />
"You may take your child if you know which one it is."<br />
<br />
As she spoke a hundred identical babies appeared upon the strand. The mother dismounted and the steed whispered a word. In that moment, all but one of the children appeared older than the forest and the lake themselves. The mother went straight to her child who reached up to her. She took the child in her arms and held it close, kissing the soft warm face and weeping with her relief. Then she turned and returned to the horse who led her away back through the forest towards home.<br />
<br />
As for what became of the child, why she grew into a musician of great ability and talent, but she never once spoke of what she had seen as a baby in the palace of the Queen of the Lake. The mother always loved and cherished her daughter and the beautiful white cat who stayed with the mother into her old age.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-54547971913982338822012-05-13T15:19:00.002+01:002012-05-13T15:19:40.104+01:00Revenge at Castiglioncello<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I came at last to Castiglioncello, weary from the heat and the crowds. There was the scent of freshness in the streets despite the glaring sunlight, which I knew was from the sea. My good friend Giovanna was not on the station, but she texted me to come to her with an address. I got a taxi outside the train station and gave the driver the address in my casual yet rough Italian. He nodded silently and turning on the meter, drove out of the station through the city.<br />
<br />
Italy's usual mix of architecture; the good, bad and ugly as well as the people in the streets occupied me. I love to look and Italy is full of wonderful things and people to look at. I had been doing research in Florence and having a weekend to myself I had called Giovanna whom I had not seen for a while. When I stepped from the taxi and paid the driver ten minutes later I felt at least a little more alive. I entered a street with a wall at one end. To my left was a beautiful old building that I guessed had been built in the 19th century. Around the high windows of the second storey at the building's base were shops and cafes.<br />
<br />
I looked at the text again and a quick search revealed two large doors between the shops. I pushed at one of the heavy doors and it opened wide enough for me to slip inside. I closed it behind me and turned to find a shaded, cool stairwell and to the right of it a corridor that led to another set of doors. Beside the bottom of the stairs was a set of mail-boxes and I climbed the stairs, grateful for the coolness indoors. On the first landing I found the address I was looking for and knocked at the door. For a moment I heard muffled voices in quick, fluid Italian of the kind I wished I spoke. Then the door opened and Giovanna smiled and told me how glad she was to see me. I would have replied similarly but she kissed me, hugged me quickly and pulled me into the flat. It was a large, high-ceilinged flat with the sort of elegant beauty and a richness I knew neither Giovanna nor I possessed. I was led through to a bright, yet cool living room where, on a sofa sat a very well-dressed woman. <br />
<br />
"Signora Ferrara, meet my dear English friend," Giovanna began and introduced me.<br />
<br />
I told Signora Ferrara that I was honoured to meet her and her watchful dark eyes studied me even as she smiled and bid me sit. I took a chair opposite the sofa and Signora Ferrara called for coffee. A young woman with a ready smile brought us coffee in the sort of elegant porcelain that only a woman of a certain age will buy. At that age, one does not care too much of the opinions of strangers having determined to be oneself and be damned.<br />
<br />
"You must call me Alegra, young man," Signora Ferrara said, "Signora Ferrara sounds as if I am old. I am not so old just yet."<br />
<br />
I thanked her and she poured the coffee. When the three of us were settled she smiled at Giovanna very tenderly and said to me,<br />
<br />
"I hear you like stories of all kinds, but especially about faeries and the like."<br />
<br />
It was the sort of remark that usually felt like an accusation, but this time I felt that she was somehow testing me. I said that I had always loved folktales and legends as well as the old myths. For a moment she was silent, giving Giovanna a warning look when my dear friend put her arm in mine and squeezed my hand. Then Alegra Ferrara sat back on the sofa and crossing her long legs sipped her coffee.<br />
<br />
"You know my dear that Castiglioncello is very old like so many of our cities. It has a fine history and many stories of its famous sons and daughters are well-known locally," she said casually.<br />
<br />
"Dio mio! Tell him what you told me Alegra! He can visit the museum later," Giovanna said quickly.<br />
<br />
I was aware then that my friend was full to bursting with something she knew. Something she wanted me to know - that she knew I would <b>want</b> to know. Alegra chuckled softly and took another sip of coffee. She winked at me.<br />
<br />
"Perhaps you would like something to eat, my dear," she said to me.<br />
<br />
At that I grinned and politely declined as Giovanna threw up her hands and exclaimed. Alegra put up her hand to conciliate Giovanna and chuckled again. Giovanna had always been impatient but charmingly so and I saw from this that the two women were old friends.<br />
<br />
"Once upon a time - isn't that how these tales start?" Alegra asked.<br />
<br />
I nodded feeling impatient excitement now myself. <br />
<br />
"Well there was in the 19th century in this city a young woman. She was said in the reports of the time to be quite a renowned beauty, not like Giovanna and myself who are not famous for our beauty. This woman was said to be either a witch or in league with the devil. She was neither, but there, people will talk. This young woman, Agnella, had made a lot of money. She gave much of it to poor women who had been seduced by men and abandoned when a child came along. She was much loved as a result by many women in Castiglioncello and indeed some men.<br />
<br />
Now there was a group of young men in the town who wished to bring her down. They saw her as a troublemaker - many men see a woman like that when the woman exposes the viciousness of some men. Among this group was a very handsome gentleman. He was rich too and he decided that he would seduce Agnella so that in the society of the city she would be ruined.<br />
<br />
He began by sending her poems on her beauty, which she ignored. These were not the first poems she had been sent recounting how beautiful she was. She knew that true beauty is not in mere flesh for age can destroy good looks as easily as it wishes. But then this young man would serenade her in the evenings so that her neighbours knew how he felt. She responded by sending her maid to ask him to keep the noise down for she was reading and did not wish to be disturbed.<br />
<br />
The young man persisted in his aims and wore her resistance down. She could not deny that he was attractive and this blinded her to his lack of inner beauty. She longed for him as those in love will long for each other. Before long he had seduced her and only then did he leave her well enough alone. She wept, she raged, she became a recluse and all of Castiglioncello heard of her ruin. Strange as it may seem, she was pitied rather than disdained, but in many ways that was worse.<br />
<br />
Now it happened that one night she awoke to find a very attractive woman in her room by the balcony. She started up in horror, but to her surprise she could not move to call her maid or cry out.<br />
<br />
"Agnella you have been ill-treated, but when your child is born you must give it to me. Once you are avenged you must build a palace in my name. I will tell you my name when you give me your babe," the woman said and promptly faded into the moonlight.<br />
<br />
You may imagine Agnella's astonishment at this visitation. She was not sure how she felt about her illegitimate child being taken from her. On the one hand the child must remind her of the cruel father, but on the other, a child is not at fault for the actions of it's parents. She lay back on the pillows and fell asleep. When she awoke the following morning she was sure she had dreamed the incident and that it could not possibly be real.<br />
<br />
Before long however she was delivered of a beautiful baby girl and as she fell asleep exhausted at the delivery, she heard strange yet gentle music. She dreamed, or so she writes in her diaries, that the beautiful woman came to her in a meadow and kissed her.<br />
<br />
"Don't forget to build my palace when you are avenged. Name it after the Queen Amasella. When you awake no-one will remember that you have given birth. Your child will be with me and I will keep her safe and well. She will return to you when you are a very old woman," the woman told her.<br />
<br />
When Agnella awoke it was as the strange woman had told her. Her own body was clean and fresh and nobody remembered that she had ever been pregnant let alone given birth. Agnella kept her own counsel and said nothing to anyone. She continued her business from her home and did not go out, though she always read the journals and newspapers of the town.<br />
<br />
Occasionally she wondered what her daughter was doing, what she looked like and if she was happy. A week later she read in the local newspaper that the man who was her daughter's father had been seduced and humiliated. He had left the city in disgrace - Agnella had been avenged. She built this building and it has been always called Casa Amasella after the faerie queen.<br />
<br />
From that day forward Agnella went back out into the city. To her mild surprise, nobody recognised her. Not long after, she fell in love and married a good and honest man who helped her to build her business. After some time, she became pregnant again and gave birth to another girl child whom she called Elisabetta. She took great care of that girl and loved her becoming both a friend and mentor to her. Her husband also loved Elisabetta and cared for her.<br />
<br />
So the women grew and aged and yet Agnella did not forget her firstborn. When Elisabetta was old enough, she told her of the sister she had and what had happened to her. She was told never to forget and to be kind to her sister when she should return to the family.<br />
<br />
When Agnella grew old, Elisabetta had married and divorced. She returned to her mother's house and took care of her mother. It was one sunny bright, crisp Spring day when a young woman appeared in the garden of Agnella's house. Agnella had been sleeping in a chair under the cherry tree, which was pink with its blossom. The young woman approached her dressed in a red dress with green shoes and softly spoke,<br />
<br />
"Mama are you fast asleep?"<br />
<br />
Agnella was not fast asleep, but merely dozing and at the sound of a voice she awoke and gave a cry that brought Elisabetta to the door to the garden. She watched her mother reach up to the young woman and embrace her, sobbing.<br />
<br />
Quietly, Elisabetta stepped into the garden and approached the young woman. Agnella kissed the young woman's face and held her hands tightly. At the sound of footsteps behind her, the young woman turned and looked into Elisabetta's eyes.<br />
<br />
"Sister?" Elisabetta asked.<br />
<br />
The young woman smiled and Elisabetta reached out to touch the young woman. But as the young woman stepped from the shade of the cherry tree into the sunlight, she faded and disappeared. Agnella gave a cry that broke her heart and she died that evening. From that moment on, Elisabetta dedicated her life to finding her sister again. She has not found her yet though she has not given up searching.<br />
<br />
You smile my dear, how do I know that. I am Alegra Ferrara, the first born daughter of my mother, the woman who built this building. I too have been searching for Elisabetta."<br />
<br />
She took another sip of coffee and gazed out of the large windows as if she were not a grown woman but a little child abandoned in a crowded city.<br />
<br />
"I thought we might be able to help," Giovanna said softly to me.<br />
<br />
Well, we are still looking, but like Alegra Ferrara we have not found Elisabetta just yet.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-9866560460025244312012-05-09T19:32:00.002+01:002012-05-09T19:32:24.735+01:00The Big Wheel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ucHk48Z-0Ks/T6qeWMjbJMI/AAAAAAAAAhM/dJwYp5l6USo/s1600/The+Big+Wheel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ucHk48Z-0Ks/T6qeWMjbJMI/AAAAAAAAAhM/dJwYp5l6USo/s320/The+Big+Wheel.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
It was not that long ago that Vivien had been aware of magic and that she had met her true love. It was an unusual business that I was told of when I answered somebody else's comment on magic with derision. I was in a cafe - I am often in cafes these days, writing one thing or another. My friend smiled but we were interrupted politely and apologetically by Vivien.<br />
<br />
"I know that magic is often called science unknown, but I have experienced true magic myself," she answered.<br />
<br />
I had been about to dismiss her experience as purely rational, but she did not let me continue. Instead, with great gentleness she put up her hand to indicate that I was to be silent and let her continue. She was a quiet, middle-aged woman, her hair blonde with traces of white that looked elegant. Her eyes were a startling blue and her manner was calm so that I was hushed easily not wishing to offend her.<br />
<br />
"I was young and I had not met my true love. I was sent to a college to study law, which I gave up in favour of my love of textiles. I learned there how to make textiles. One day I went for a walk and promptly became lost. I wandered aimlessly getting more and more lost until I found myself with the town behind me and a dry, dusty landscape ahead of me. I felt an unaccountable urge to wander into the shimmering landscape. For a moment I fought against it until I realised that I was already moving into it. To my surprise I found a large castle in the deserted landscape. I was so surprised that I stopped and gazed at it. As I did so, the gates opened and I felt urged to enter the castle.<br />
<br />
I was drawn inside without knowing why. I was not a curious person and I still am not curious particularly. Still I entered to find a large hallway with a beautiful marble floor and a large table at the centre. An old man met me and told me that I was to work for him weaving fine cloth. I told him that I was still studying and that I was not an expert but he dismissed my objections.<br />
<br />
"You shall weave for me and become my wife," he told me.<br />
<br />
At this I became furious for I had no intention of marrying him. I was young and he was very old and not all that beautiful either. I told him that I would not marry him and he produced a large cage from out of the air. Within the cage was a lion with a very mournful countenance.<br />
<br />
"This lion was once a handsome young prince whom I chose to be my butler. He refused and now he remains as he is. You will work for me and when the full moon comes you shall become my wife," he said.<br />
<br />
I bowed my head. I did not wish to become his wife, but I did not wish him to transform me either. Quietly I agreed to weave for him, but I did not agree to become his wife. I was led by an empty suit of clothes upstairs and into a large chamber with one window that looked upon the deserted landscape. In the chamber there was a loom, a chair, a bed and a table. As soon as I entered the room, the door shut behind me and was locked. I was a prisoner of this old man, but I had been brought up not to despair.<br />
<br />
I set up the loom and as I did so I began to think of how I might escape. The solution came to me almost instantly and as soon as I could I began to weave. In the evening I settled on the edge of the bed to sift through my resources. I had my handbag with me and within it was a bar of chocolate and I thought to save it should I need it in desperation. I rummaged through my handbag to see what else I had. I had my hairbrush, my make up bag and a little money. I also had a spare pair of knickers and tights, for which I was grateful.<br />
<br />
The door opened and the empty suit of clothes entered with a tray of food. The door shut firmly behind it so that I could not slip out behind it. Once the tray had been placed upon the table, the suit of clothes left the room. I ate and drank diluting the wine with my tears, for my weariness had made me deeply sad at my plight. Having eaten I went to bed and slept deeply and dreamlessly, waking before the sun had risen.<br />
<br />
Once I was awake I dressed and went to the window. Outside the sky was still dark and opening the window I leaned out over the sill. The room was a long way from the ground, yet I felt more determined than ever to escape. If I could not leave through the door I would leave through the window. I went back to the loom and continued to weave a narrow long cloth.<br />
<br />
A little later the suit of clothes brought me breakfast and having eaten and taken coffee I returned to the loom. As I wove, I wondered about the lion. What had the handsome young prince looked like, I asked myself?<br />
<br />
Not knowing, I shrugged and went on with my weaving. As I did so, I sang all the sad songs I knew. While I wove, the old man did not visit me, but I slowly became less afraid even as my sorrow deepened. If he wished to marry me, he would not harm me at least. I suddenly was drawn from my own thoughts by the sound of scratching at the door. I left the loom and went and listened at the door. I took hold of the handle and pulled at it, but it would not open. I growled at the door and at my futility but the door would not move. I returned to the loom and sat down breathing heavily. Then suddenly the door opened and as I arose, the sad lion padded into the room. I gasped and retreated behind the loom, but the lion entered the room and sat in the centre of the floor. I tried to shoo the animal but he shut his eyes slowly and then lay down with his head upon his large paws. I dare not come from behind the loom but after a while it occurred to me that the lion had not tried to hunt me behind the loom. I came a little way out and spoke softly to the lion. In another part of the castle I heard a shriek and part of the castle fell with a thundering crash. The lion raised his head and seemed to smile.<br />
<br />
Then to my shock he spoke to me.<br />
<br />
"Do not be afraid mistress," he said, "I mean you no harm at all. Your speaking with kindly to me has broken a part of the spell that binds me in this shape. Every day the old man who cursed me leaves and goes about the world to cause misery and mischief leaving this castle. I have learned to open all the doors of the castle except the main doors that lead to freedom. If you are willing, I can help you to escape and you can perhaps help me."<br />
<br />
I was much surprised as you may imagine, but agreed to help the lion if I could, but I did not see what I might do. It occurred to me that the lion might be a servant of the old man in disguise, so I did not disclose my own plan to escape from the castle. Still the lion seemed to guess at it and told me that the old man required me to weave a cloak for him which he would imbue with magical powers over the affairs of men and the business of nature. He intended to gain all that he might have through these powers. He had seen me some time ago and decided that I should be his wife. The lion told me that I must promise to grant his wish in the future. It would not compromise me at all.<br />
<br />
I agreed and with a sigh, the lion arose and left the room. I returned to my weaving considering all that the lion had told me. By the evening I had woven a long strip of cloth and hoped that it would reach the ground. I unfastened one end of the fabric and struggled to move the loom. But the loom was large and heavy and I could not move it at all. I cut the fabric from the loom and reset up the loom to weave new cloth.<br />
<br />
I ate the supper brought for me and as soon as the tray had been collected I returned to the loom and wove through the night. Towards the morning I threw myself upon the bed and snoozed until I heard the door to the chamber open and my breakfast was set upon the table. I drank three large cups of coffee and ate as much as I could stomach before returning to the loom. I wove quickly until the door opened and once more the lion entered. He lay down beside me and again placed his large head upon his large paws. Cautiously, I caressed his shaggy mane and he sighed heavily.<br />
<br />
All that day I wove until the lion left me and a little after that my supper was brought. Through much of the night I wove until I had a good long length of fabric. I bound the first piece of cloth to the second and bound both pieces to the loom. Now I gathered my handbag up and fixed it to me using my belt. I was about to fling the long cloth out of the window when the door to my room opened and in the starlight I saw the lion. Silently he padded in and whispered a word. The door shut behind him noiselessly and he passed me and sighed at the window. It opened and he turned to gaze upon me.<br />
<br />
"Quickly mistress, the old man is drunk on his wine and sleeps deeply. I will leap after you are at the ground," he said quietly.<br />
<br />
I threw the loose end of the fabric out of the window and climbed down it to the ground. For a moment I stood still, breathing in the cold night air. The lion peered from the sill above me. I pulled the fabric outwards and leaned backwards to anchor myself holding the fabric wide.<br />
<br />
"Come slide down the centre of the fabric," I whispered to him.<br />
<br />
He leaped onto the fabric and wriggled down until he was close enough to leap from the fabric to the ground. Then he bid me get upon his back and together we fled from the castle. Too soon it seemed our escape was discovered, for I heard a loud rumbling in the distance behind us. When I turned to look I saw a large metal wheel pursuing us. It glowed orange with the rage of the old man.<br />
<br />
"Have you a mirror, mistress?" the lion asked.<br />
<br />
When I told him I had he bid me throw it over my shoulder. I did so and a vast ocean suddenly appeared in the deserted landscape. This gave us time to get further away. The large wheel stopped turned into the old man who shook his fist at us and jumped up and down in fury. Then he turned into the wheel and rolled around the ocean.<br />
<br />
The lion ran and headed towards a large city, but soon enough the large wheel was behind us again. I took out of my handbag my hairbrush and threw it over my shoulder at the lion's request. A great forest sprang up behind us and we heard through the trees a loud crash followed by what my aunt Rose calls, 'very unladylike language'.<br />
<br />
Again we continued towards the city at the edge of the desert. I leaned over the mane of the lion and kissed him. In the distance I heard a loud shriek and the lion dashed away with renewed strength. Still, after a while the wheel was behind us again. I told the lion that I had only a pair of tights, my smalls and one bar of chocolate to throw over my shoulder.<br />
<br />
"Then throw them mistress," the lion answered breathlessly.<br />
<br />
I obeyed him for I saw no alternative. Where the tights landed a long ravine appeared. Where my knickers and the bar of chocolate landed neither did not change at all. Still the lion sped on, and I began to weep for I was sure that he should soon tire and we should both be once more enslaved or even killed. But the wheel was going too fast and went over the edge of the ravine and crashed upon its side. As it did it changed back into the old man who staggered forward. When his foot landed upon my knickers they folded up like a great silken flower about him. He shouted and thrust his hand out between the silken folds until his hand found the bar of chocolate. He grasped it and drew it back to him. The lion stopped, gasping and I dismounted, holding the dear creature in my arms, weeping with terror. As my tears fell upon him his fur darkened and I knew that I loved him.<br />
<br />
From the knickers came another shriek and suddenly a large pillar of smoke issued up towards the sky and the ravine split swallowing the knickers in the dusty earth. <br />
<br />
"If you have still your scissors mistress, I beg you remember your promise and thrust the blades into my heart. I cannot beg you enough," the lion said softly.<br />
<br />
At first I refused but he reminded me of my promise and wept at the thought that I would not keep it. With horror I obeyed him and to my astonishment the lion vanished and the handsome young prince appeared with my scissors turned to silver buttons upon his coat. I hugged and kissed him with relief and we walked together into the city where we were wed. Some years later I returned here to finish my studies. But not once have I ever forgotten that the world is full of magic - and indeed science."<br />
<br />
She got up and whispered a word then she pointed at our table. A cake had appeared and our coffee cups were refilled. Realising who she was, I apologised and we thanked her. She smiled her sweet smile and Queen Vivien left us.Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7577067803721337165.post-4091359229215960642012-05-08T20:14:00.001+01:002012-05-08T20:14:31.897+01:00I've been away from this blog since January, but only because I couldn't log on! Blogger wouldn't let me for some reason. This is the first time I've been able to log on.<br />
<br />
Since the previous post much has happened that has taken a lot out of me, but I'm ready to write again. So far, this year has been very rough and the outlook doesn't look promising. But with so many people struggling around the world just to eat and keep a roof over their heads, I cannot yet complain.<br />
<br />
So this is just to say that, Blogger willing, I'm back again. Watch this space... a story will appear... so long as I can log on in the morning!<br />
<br />
<br />Griffinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03863034333159354009noreply@blogger.com5