It was a bit of a surprise to the little woman in the tall hat to see that some of the residents of St. Martin's O' The Green
were already preparing for tomorrow's Mid-Summer celebrations. Four men that Peggy Powler vaguely recognised from
around the village, busied themselves erecting wooden poles bound with leather straps and nearby, a large pile of canvas
awaited to hide the bones of what will be the individual tents for the gala.
Thanking the the two Morgans for their assistance in moving the metal-bound doorway of Gwydionel's endmost exit-route,
the Witch's thoughts were on visiting next-door, to borrow the tapestry belonging to the missing daugther of Mary Bretton.
It would make a fine addition to Peggy's marquee and with the aid of Thistle's remarkable advertisement, the last Witch of
Underhill felt that her Fortune-Telling performance would assist in her plan for what she really really here for.
To catch the fiend that was terrorising the little hamlet.
Looking over her shoulder at the men building the temporary awnings, Peggy thought back to her days in the Carnival.
The silence between the builders and yet a language spoken not from the mouth. Billowing giants that rose from the ground,
dressed in bright hues only found when the sun shines through the rain and bound with ropes to stop them rampaging across
the land.
The dreamy features on the sorceress's face told anyone who might be passing that she valued those days, everything was
simpler then and the world was much smaller. But after a few stolen moments of sentimentality, the harsh cackle of a jackdaw
discussing a possible nesting site in one of the village's redundant chimneys brought Peggy back to the present.
Musing was for poets -she thought to herself and opened the gate to the Bretton's pretty garden.
...................................................
"Fair elements, gentlemen, this my helper for the day..." the woman in the tall hat said proudly to the sweating men sitting
against the trees and savouring the shade, "...her name is Kittie". The quartet looked warily at the small smiling females as
they finished their lunch, but said nothing.
The one in the hat and poncho could change the weather and demand adders visit your bed at night, everyone knew this.
Peggy had happily dragooned the young girl into assisting her during the discussion with Mary Bretton about the tapestry.
That colourful fabric was now rolled-up and tucked under Kittie's arm.
"Forgive me for intruding on your meal, but would it be alright if I take the tent near those two stones?" Peggy asked lightly
and pointed towards the monoliths she believed Gwydionel used to snatch the girls. A mental reminder arrived at the same
moment that she would retrieve the advertisement from Thistle later and hopefully, the Bowmans would deliver the other part
of her plan.
The huge draught horse that had drawn the cart was snoozing in the lane with its back leg showing the tell-tale sign of equine
rest and as she and Kittie had approached the Green, Peggy had made a guess that the men worked for Farmer Bulmer.
The red-haired man who was stifling a belch after drinking from his canteen nodded and his eyes moved to peer over Peggy's
shoulder. "Here's... er, here's me-boss, he'll be the fella to ask" he said in a tone that would've implied disinterest if he hadn't
stammered.
Farmer Bulmer was a giant, a man who warranted such a horse and the respect from those who worked for him.
Peggy guessed he topped-out at around nineteen hands high and his belly hinted that the fuel to run such a large figure was
plenty. Bushy eyebrows beneath his flat-cap shrouded intelligent eyes that didn't suffer fools gladly and a strong stubble jaw
offered a strong resolution in whatever he said.
The four men that were now standing as if to attention, also told Peggy that Bulmer was not a man to be messed with.
"I've prepared these festivities for ten years..." Cedric Bulmer proclaimed to the tiny bare-footed woman and the wide-eyed
girl at her side. "...All of St. Martin's know which is their marquee, just as all of St. Martin's know...", that was when he stopped
speaking.
It had happened when he was a boy, something he'd never told anyone and something he'd never thought about in forty years.
The initial image was of dune grass moving from the warm breeze that wafted into the estuary. Under an eye-watering
sky, farmer Bulmer could feel the warmth of the young sun and the sharpness of broken cockle shells amongst the sands.
Spring is a busy time on his father's land, lambs need around the clock monitoring from lip-licking foxes and their mothers need
to be guarded from something Cedric's father called 'foot rot'. But there were days when he would slip away and run down to
where the meadows met the seashore and caper in the rock pools to watch worlds rarely seen by adults.
It was on one of those days he met the thing he'd like to call a mermaid.
...................................................
"So thee like my gardens?" the water-nymph asked as she sat on a water-logged stump and preened sea-lice from her tail fins.
Cedric had been squatting next to the large tidal pool not far from where Peggy Powler would sit almost four decades into
the future.
A small crab was contemplating on how to remove a Penny-Gunnel from an ideal hiding place when the enquiring voice reached
his ears. Standing up, Cedric initially believed it might be one of the girls from the village. "Out there in the briny-brim, such wonders
are common and their inhabitants enjoy wealth no dry-lander could thinked" the fish-woman announced without looking up from
her grooming.
Cedric wet his pants at the point of gazing at the creature. A large spiky-fin ran from the base of her spine all the way up to where
long lank kelp-wrapped black hair hung on scrawny shoulders. The mermaid's face was half-hidden under these drying tresses,
but the trembling boy with the growing dark stain on his trousers might have guessed at her age to be around his mother's.
The appendage that made the female invader different from those of St. Martin's occasionally flopped in the damp sand and as
Cedric eyes glanced towards his path of escape, he realised the sea-fairy's skin was covered in off-white scales.
"For a kiss, Me can take thee there..." she said lightly and this confused young Bulmer for a moment, time enough for the mermaid
to slip from the driftwood and begin crawling seal-like towards the lad. "Divna' be bashful Cedric, Me show thee hues so pretty that
thee'll never leave the waters" she hissed as she slithered closer.
Cedric ran then, he ran with an awful cackling behind him and even though his mind raced in wondering how she knew his name,
his thoughts were almost outraced by the work of his bare feet. Feet unshod like... like the little Witch who was standing before him.
"Choose whichever tent you wish, Ma'am" Cedric Bulmer whispered and turning back to where the shire horse swished its tails at
flies, he touched the front of his moleskin trousers to see if they were damp.
were already preparing for tomorrow's Mid-Summer celebrations. Four men that Peggy Powler vaguely recognised from
around the village, busied themselves erecting wooden poles bound with leather straps and nearby, a large pile of canvas
awaited to hide the bones of what will be the individual tents for the gala.
Thanking the the two Morgans for their assistance in moving the metal-bound doorway of Gwydionel's endmost exit-route,
the Witch's thoughts were on visiting next-door, to borrow the tapestry belonging to the missing daugther of Mary Bretton.
It would make a fine addition to Peggy's marquee and with the aid of Thistle's remarkable advertisement, the last Witch of
Underhill felt that her Fortune-Telling performance would assist in her plan for what she really really here for.
To catch the fiend that was terrorising the little hamlet.
Looking over her shoulder at the men building the temporary awnings, Peggy thought back to her days in the Carnival.
The silence between the builders and yet a language spoken not from the mouth. Billowing giants that rose from the ground,
dressed in bright hues only found when the sun shines through the rain and bound with ropes to stop them rampaging across
the land.
The dreamy features on the sorceress's face told anyone who might be passing that she valued those days, everything was
simpler then and the world was much smaller. But after a few stolen moments of sentimentality, the harsh cackle of a jackdaw
discussing a possible nesting site in one of the village's redundant chimneys brought Peggy back to the present.
Musing was for poets -she thought to herself and opened the gate to the Bretton's pretty garden.
...................................................
"Fair elements, gentlemen, this my helper for the day..." the woman in the tall hat said proudly to the sweating men sitting
against the trees and savouring the shade, "...her name is Kittie". The quartet looked warily at the small smiling females as
they finished their lunch, but said nothing.
The one in the hat and poncho could change the weather and demand adders visit your bed at night, everyone knew this.
Peggy had happily dragooned the young girl into assisting her during the discussion with Mary Bretton about the tapestry.
That colourful fabric was now rolled-up and tucked under Kittie's arm.
"Forgive me for intruding on your meal, but would it be alright if I take the tent near those two stones?" Peggy asked lightly
and pointed towards the monoliths she believed Gwydionel used to snatch the girls. A mental reminder arrived at the same
moment that she would retrieve the advertisement from Thistle later and hopefully, the Bowmans would deliver the other part
of her plan.
The huge draught horse that had drawn the cart was snoozing in the lane with its back leg showing the tell-tale sign of equine
rest and as she and Kittie had approached the Green, Peggy had made a guess that the men worked for Farmer Bulmer.
The red-haired man who was stifling a belch after drinking from his canteen nodded and his eyes moved to peer over Peggy's
shoulder. "Here's... er, here's me-boss, he'll be the fella to ask" he said in a tone that would've implied disinterest if he hadn't
stammered.
Farmer Bulmer was a giant, a man who warranted such a horse and the respect from those who worked for him.
Peggy guessed he topped-out at around nineteen hands high and his belly hinted that the fuel to run such a large figure was
plenty. Bushy eyebrows beneath his flat-cap shrouded intelligent eyes that didn't suffer fools gladly and a strong stubble jaw
offered a strong resolution in whatever he said.
The four men that were now standing as if to attention, also told Peggy that Bulmer was not a man to be messed with.
"I've prepared these festivities for ten years..." Cedric Bulmer proclaimed to the tiny bare-footed woman and the wide-eyed
girl at her side. "...All of St. Martin's know which is their marquee, just as all of St. Martin's know...", that was when he stopped
speaking.
It had happened when he was a boy, something he'd never told anyone and something he'd never thought about in forty years.
The initial image was of dune grass moving from the warm breeze that wafted into the estuary. Under an eye-watering
sky, farmer Bulmer could feel the warmth of the young sun and the sharpness of broken cockle shells amongst the sands.
Spring is a busy time on his father's land, lambs need around the clock monitoring from lip-licking foxes and their mothers need
to be guarded from something Cedric's father called 'foot rot'. But there were days when he would slip away and run down to
where the meadows met the seashore and caper in the rock pools to watch worlds rarely seen by adults.
It was on one of those days he met the thing he'd like to call a mermaid.
...................................................
"So thee like my gardens?" the water-nymph asked as she sat on a water-logged stump and preened sea-lice from her tail fins.
Cedric had been squatting next to the large tidal pool not far from where Peggy Powler would sit almost four decades into
the future.
A small crab was contemplating on how to remove a Penny-Gunnel from an ideal hiding place when the enquiring voice reached
his ears. Standing up, Cedric initially believed it might be one of the girls from the village. "Out there in the briny-brim, such wonders
are common and their inhabitants enjoy wealth no dry-lander could thinked" the fish-woman announced without looking up from
her grooming.
Cedric wet his pants at the point of gazing at the creature. A large spiky-fin ran from the base of her spine all the way up to where
long lank kelp-wrapped black hair hung on scrawny shoulders. The mermaid's face was half-hidden under these drying tresses,
but the trembling boy with the growing dark stain on his trousers might have guessed at her age to be around his mother's.
The appendage that made the female invader different from those of St. Martin's occasionally flopped in the damp sand and as
Cedric eyes glanced towards his path of escape, he realised the sea-fairy's skin was covered in off-white scales.
"For a kiss, Me can take thee there..." she said lightly and this confused young Bulmer for a moment, time enough for the mermaid
to slip from the driftwood and begin crawling seal-like towards the lad. "Divna' be bashful Cedric, Me show thee hues so pretty that
thee'll never leave the waters" she hissed as she slithered closer.
Cedric ran then, he ran with an awful cackling behind him and even though his mind raced in wondering how she knew his name,
his thoughts were almost outraced by the work of his bare feet. Feet unshod like... like the little Witch who was standing before him.
"Choose whichever tent you wish, Ma'am" Cedric Bulmer whispered and turning back to where the shire horse swished its tails at
flies, he touched the front of his moleskin trousers to see if they were damp.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.