To be out at this time in the morning was a bit unusual for Thistle Treacle as dawn was still a while away and
the nightshift of those who like to chew on Bogle bones wasn't quite over. The little Yetun tugged at the brim
of his weathered hat, changed his thoughts and continued his vigil on the serene vista of the Green.
He wanted to say the words that the Witch had whispered to him before retiring to the weird interior of her satchel
last night, but Peggy Powler's warning had caused Thistle to just nibble his bottom lip and remain silent in the
undergrowth along the lane.
Some time not far from now, men will arrive with long trestles tables and then the women will bring the foods that
Treacle had enjoyed when they'd all gone home. That time seemed a long way off to the little lonely Yetun in the
brown clothes and what was supposed to occur between now and then just didn't dare thinking about.
Barrels of ale will be rolled up the lane and the merriment would begin. Laughter and games would be the rule
of the day and considering what lay just beyond the standing-stones behind Ms Powler's tent, high spirits would
be the last thing on Treacle's mind.
Still, those silent words of the Witch's spell thrummed in his mind and dared him to give them utterance.
...................................................
"Now mark me-words, Mr Thistle..." Peggy had breathed softly "...What Ah'm about to tell thee can only be used if
me-trap comes a cropper, yer' folla?". Treacle could barely see the owner of the voice and struggled even more
to understand what she was actually saying.
"Why do we have to talk inside this bag?" he asked and resisted the urge to move the satchel's flap.
It was night time outside, but there'd be some light, at least. Peggy sighed and explained that the spell she wanted
Treacle to use if an emergency arose could not be uttered in the open air.
Why such caution was required, she kept to herself.
"These are the words, listen and take heed" the last Witch of Underhill said gently and moved forward to where her
unsure friend was crouched. Peggy's warm breath in his ear related the charm and after repeating the strange words
back to where her cheek waited, she nodded and added "That's me-lad".
...................................................
"Early-bird and all that" Treacle explained to his half-asleep lodger when he returned to his little home that lay off the
beaten track to humans and sheep, his mind was breakfast. Peggy yawned and stretched in the act of unkinking her
muscles from her slumber and only became aware of what had caused Treacle to hurriedly disappear into his burrow
when she glanced down.
"Sorry about that" the red-faced sorceress said to nobody and pulled her poncho down to hide her awkwardness.
Over their morning meal, the odd pair chatted about the day ahead and steered clear of the incantation Treacle had
been burdened with. Peggy had been meaning to ask her host why he didn't seem to interact with the Bogles she'd
accidently met when she'd first arrived at St. Martin's O' The Green, but the moment to do so had just alluded the
opportunity to pose the query.
Quaffing down the last of her chicory-coffee, she recalled one of them in a blue tunic was called Juno and decided
to bring up her encounter with his fellow Fae-folk. Peggy would later admit to herself that it wasn't the best of ideas
that she'd had.
Treacle looked towards the faraway green-grey of the Great Sea and to the woman with the dishevelled hair and
dirty bare feet, he seemed to be concentrating on what might be lurking there ten fathoms deep. With a heavy sigh
of resign, the genial little man told his guest that it was long ago and it didn't really matter if she knew.
Which to Peggy meant that it was important.
"It's because of something I once thought was a funny party-trick, but -if you pardon the pun, it backfired and now they
and myself thought it better that I keep some distance from them" he said and offered the Witch a refill from his hand
-me-down pottle.
Peggy allowed her battered mug to be rejuvenated and showed her host a puzzled gaze. "What der' yer' mean?" she
asked curiously. Treacle stood up and gazed for a few moments at the woman sitting on the turf outside his home.
"If I show you, you won't laugh, will you?" he requested with a serious tone and received a shake of the spell-binder's
head as a reply.
Peggy's mind raced with what the cause of the Bogle's self-imposed banishment could be and for no particular reason,
combed her hair with her fingers as Treacle took a kitchen match and walked a small distance away. "You sure?" he
asked again and pulled at some dried grass from beneath the meadow's hedgerow.
Plonking her hat on her head and ignoring her need to urinate, Peggy gave her friend the thumbs-up. Treacle nodded
and prepared himself to show his secret. Checking again at the facial-features of the woman were not of mockery, the
Yetun lit the straw and turned his back on the flickering flame.
Treacle's face twisted in concentration and he bent slightly forward in his focus, to Peggy, it seemed he was in pain.
Whooosh!... with a sound like ripping cloth, the little fire burst into a seven-foot long blaze that roared out across the
sheep-empty pasture and disappeared into the morning air. Only a thin layer of black soot on the surrounding grass
informed that the spectacle had ever occurred.
"Whey, Ah'll go to our back-door" Peggy whispered in her astonishment and wondered why Treacle's pants weren't
burnt. The creator of the instant inferno just stood shamefaced in the bright sunshine and awaited the Witch's verdict.
...................................................
The sound of people chatting as they walked along the lane, the practice of a guitarist from Durridge and the general
furore of the residents of St. Martin's preparing to celebrate Mid-Summer, all signs that the festival was about to begin.
Elijah Cole and his fishermen friends cajoled each other as they passed clumps of corncockle and cow parsley that
snuggled beneath the foliage of the lane's hedgerow. Behind this collection of roadside plants, two people of a different
world watched the passing scene. Treacle Thistle pondered on how the day would pan out and Peggy Powler wondered
if her friend had any matches in his pocket.
the nightshift of those who like to chew on Bogle bones wasn't quite over. The little Yetun tugged at the brim
of his weathered hat, changed his thoughts and continued his vigil on the serene vista of the Green.
He wanted to say the words that the Witch had whispered to him before retiring to the weird interior of her satchel
last night, but Peggy Powler's warning had caused Thistle to just nibble his bottom lip and remain silent in the
undergrowth along the lane.
Some time not far from now, men will arrive with long trestles tables and then the women will bring the foods that
Treacle had enjoyed when they'd all gone home. That time seemed a long way off to the little lonely Yetun in the
brown clothes and what was supposed to occur between now and then just didn't dare thinking about.
Barrels of ale will be rolled up the lane and the merriment would begin. Laughter and games would be the rule
of the day and considering what lay just beyond the standing-stones behind Ms Powler's tent, high spirits would
be the last thing on Treacle's mind.
Still, those silent words of the Witch's spell thrummed in his mind and dared him to give them utterance.
...................................................
"Now mark me-words, Mr Thistle..." Peggy had breathed softly "...What Ah'm about to tell thee can only be used if
me-trap comes a cropper, yer' folla?". Treacle could barely see the owner of the voice and struggled even more
to understand what she was actually saying.
"Why do we have to talk inside this bag?" he asked and resisted the urge to move the satchel's flap.
It was night time outside, but there'd be some light, at least. Peggy sighed and explained that the spell she wanted
Treacle to use if an emergency arose could not be uttered in the open air.
Why such caution was required, she kept to herself.
"These are the words, listen and take heed" the last Witch of Underhill said gently and moved forward to where her
unsure friend was crouched. Peggy's warm breath in his ear related the charm and after repeating the strange words
back to where her cheek waited, she nodded and added "That's me-lad".
...................................................
"Early-bird and all that" Treacle explained to his half-asleep lodger when he returned to his little home that lay off the
beaten track to humans and sheep, his mind was breakfast. Peggy yawned and stretched in the act of unkinking her
muscles from her slumber and only became aware of what had caused Treacle to hurriedly disappear into his burrow
when she glanced down.
"Sorry about that" the red-faced sorceress said to nobody and pulled her poncho down to hide her awkwardness.
Over their morning meal, the odd pair chatted about the day ahead and steered clear of the incantation Treacle had
been burdened with. Peggy had been meaning to ask her host why he didn't seem to interact with the Bogles she'd
accidently met when she'd first arrived at St. Martin's O' The Green, but the moment to do so had just alluded the
opportunity to pose the query.
Quaffing down the last of her chicory-coffee, she recalled one of them in a blue tunic was called Juno and decided
to bring up her encounter with his fellow Fae-folk. Peggy would later admit to herself that it wasn't the best of ideas
that she'd had.
Treacle looked towards the faraway green-grey of the Great Sea and to the woman with the dishevelled hair and
dirty bare feet, he seemed to be concentrating on what might be lurking there ten fathoms deep. With a heavy sigh
of resign, the genial little man told his guest that it was long ago and it didn't really matter if she knew.
Which to Peggy meant that it was important.
"It's because of something I once thought was a funny party-trick, but -if you pardon the pun, it backfired and now they
and myself thought it better that I keep some distance from them" he said and offered the Witch a refill from his hand
-me-down pottle.
Peggy allowed her battered mug to be rejuvenated and showed her host a puzzled gaze. "What der' yer' mean?" she
asked curiously. Treacle stood up and gazed for a few moments at the woman sitting on the turf outside his home.
"If I show you, you won't laugh, will you?" he requested with a serious tone and received a shake of the spell-binder's
head as a reply.
Peggy's mind raced with what the cause of the Bogle's self-imposed banishment could be and for no particular reason,
combed her hair with her fingers as Treacle took a kitchen match and walked a small distance away. "You sure?" he
asked again and pulled at some dried grass from beneath the meadow's hedgerow.
Plonking her hat on her head and ignoring her need to urinate, Peggy gave her friend the thumbs-up. Treacle nodded
and prepared himself to show his secret. Checking again at the facial-features of the woman were not of mockery, the
Yetun lit the straw and turned his back on the flickering flame.
Treacle's face twisted in concentration and he bent slightly forward in his focus, to Peggy, it seemed he was in pain.
Whooosh!... with a sound like ripping cloth, the little fire burst into a seven-foot long blaze that roared out across the
sheep-empty pasture and disappeared into the morning air. Only a thin layer of black soot on the surrounding grass
informed that the spectacle had ever occurred.
"Whey, Ah'll go to our back-door" Peggy whispered in her astonishment and wondered why Treacle's pants weren't
burnt. The creator of the instant inferno just stood shamefaced in the bright sunshine and awaited the Witch's verdict.
...................................................
The sound of people chatting as they walked along the lane, the practice of a guitarist from Durridge and the general
furore of the residents of St. Martin's preparing to celebrate Mid-Summer, all signs that the festival was about to begin.
Elijah Cole and his fishermen friends cajoled each other as they passed clumps of corncockle and cow parsley that
snuggled beneath the foliage of the lane's hedgerow. Behind this collection of roadside plants, two people of a different
world watched the passing scene. Treacle Thistle pondered on how the day would pan out and Peggy Powler wondered
if her friend had any matches in his pocket.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.