"...Yessum, she's a bit of a hell-cat that one" old Abner agreed with himself as he rewound a rope and picked the odd piece
of flotsam from its braids. Finishing his day-to-day chores of preparing for his customers to return from their lucrative daily
fishing, he cast a analytical eye on the odd pair that had at arrived on the small wooden jetty of his business.
The boat-building enterprise -that the sole-owner and only employee Abner Cuthbert operated, wasn't what many would usually
think of as a regular money-maker, but since Nosy-Gulpers had become a trendy dish for those in the larger towns to consume,
a floating vehicle to catch these expensive fish had proven to be a stable way of obtaining a decent income. Abner could now
list his one-man coracles as twelve boats and another almost finished to join his fleet.
For any landlubber wondering how the small circular vessels kept the water out, the high pile of firewood next to his weathered
leaning home and office on the little pier along with a faint smell of of burning timber, may have given it away. Out back on a
cleared area amongst the reeds, a bubbling pot of pitch waited atop a pile of glowing embers for the seventy year-old to visit
and give the occasional stir.
"Ah don't care for nosy-parkers tryin' to muscle-in on what I made with my own hands" Abner growled his confession and moving
his gaze from the bare-footed woman standing next to Ben Willard's kid, wondered if the molten tar was ready for layering onto
the leather hull of his latest craft. "...A new 'un to Seamarshes, is she?" he asked idly and halted his act of stowing the rope onto
a hook below the only window of his little abode. This question was aimed at the tallest of his latest visitors, the youngster who
didn't have a big hat on his head.
Clem Willard didn't speak, he still believed that when it came to adult discussions, it tended to be adults who took part. To the
sixteen year-old lad, his smaller companion deemed herself an adult and he -himself, was ashamedly still struggling to accept
this harness of responsibility, -though he'd never admit it to anyone. Luckily, the one wearing the big hat did respond.
Peggy Powler had just finished her perusal of the dozen dots floating just along the edge where the reeds ended and the waters
of the Great Sea began when she answered the unshaven man in the oilskin overalls and a cap that had never known a decent
wash. "Aye, the lady came te' Seamarshes recently and Ah' was just curious of why she wanted te' rent a boat" she asked as
she neared the edge of the dilapidated creaking wharf.
The Last Witch of Underhill wondered if this business was so remunerative, why the grizzled old duffer enjoying the remains
of the late-afternoon sun hadn't invested in a better platform to launch his product from. Swaying reeds that were tolerating the
high tide gazed back back from their temporary light-less undersea environment as Peggy waited to see what information could
be drawn from the boat-owner by her reply.
Abner Cuthbert chuckled as he hung the damp cable and then turned to check on his fleet of fishing coracles, the day was drawing
to a close and they'll be heading back to the jetty soon. Plonking his bony-backside on one of the two mooring bollards on the dock,
the old man explained his visit from the busty virago called Muriel Gump.
.................................................................
Billy Brewster had just gotten his coracle to move in the direction he wanted it to when Abner Cuthbert mused that a quick swig of
his home-made mule-kick would be a fine idea to celebrate another day of acquire some frollis. He didn't charge much for the little
boats and considering what Mr Fawkes would pay for the slow-moving fish, his customers were only too-happy to use his tiny crafts
to obtain the Gulpers.
"Good day, Sir..." the woman in the scarlet gown proclaimed as Abner's hand reached for the doorknob of his shack, "...my name
is Muriel Gump and I was wondering if we could talk somewhere less public?" she added and feigning the look of a person not
accustomed to the outdoors, peered downwards and attempted to brush an imaginary smear of dust away from the ample front
of her red attire. Surveying her voluptuous shape restrained in the garnet-hued dress, Abner's thoughts of glugging some gut-rot
quickly made way for more appealing lecherous thoughts.
But not wishing to lose control of the interaction on his own patch, the old man smiled within a squint and peered around at the
calm waters and the surrounding lightly-swishing reeds. "This be all my place Ma'am and there's no one in earshot of what yer'
want to say" he said easily and fleetingly fantasized she was angling to ravishing him in his shed.
However, what she had to say would quickly drive out any concupiscent conjurings.
"I have noticed that your business is here is a fruitful one and that you -with all respect..." Miss Gump thrust her chin slightly
forward in the act of primly enquiring the name of the person she was speaking to and when Abner answered, the aloof woman
with the cool sensuous eyes continued. "...You, Mister Cuthbert, are getting on in years." Absently -or at least the boat-owner
had guessed she was not aware she was doing it, the well-formed female ran her hands down her curving flanks as if ironing
out any creases in her silk garment that may have appeared during her off-road excursion to speak with him.
"I am going to be candid with you, Mister Cuthbert, I wish to purchase your boat-building company from you and the price will
not be out of my reach" Muriel Gump stated flatly and offered her best beguiling smile to the old man with his toothless jaw
hanging slightly. "No price" she murmured provocatively and for a moment, Abner felt stirrings he hadn't contemplated for
a good-few years.
Old age is a strange thing. As a person comes to realise that time is a constant companion and yet will hold no feelings or
sentiments you as your heart slows to a stop, the journey with this bleak friendless associate demands a doggedness of a
person to construct and defend one's own self-identity as a moral-driven being.
This slow-building exercise involves failures and successes, a wary pilgrimage across a minefield of disguised encounters
that defines the person into a veteran who learns to look ahead and prepare to meet possible obstacles with a guile and
wisdom accumulated by that life-long jaunt with time. Abner Cuthbert wouldn't have said it like that, but he was fully aware
of the stratagem needed to get to seventy years-old.
.................................................................
"So yer' refused the bugger's offer, eh?" Peggy asked as she took off her hat and wafted a breeze across her face, the heat
of the day had abated, but being out in the open air and the Great Sea not providing such a draft, it was still quite warm on
the rotting jetty of the seated man recalling the encounter.
Abner squinted over to where the lad and the woman he knew was the fabled Witch who rid farmhouses of noisy ghosts and
nodded in his introspection. "A handful of emeralds, that's what she offered me fur' the business" he groaned as he got to his
feet. It looked like Billy and a couple of others were calling it day and by the sight of one of his coracles leaning dangerously
in the water, Olly Newsome had caught at least three Gulpers.
"She's not one for taking' no for an answer and she can rant with the best of 'em..." the old boat-builder said as he walked
away to check on his bubbling pot of tar. "...She was sendin' me signals that... well, maybe not in front of the kid" he adde
as he stepped off the jetty and slipped away behind a curtain of reeds.
Clem Willard remembered that his own hanging jaw was now drying in the early-evening air as he closed it with a snap.
The tale wasn't dissimilar from his own encounter with Gretna Grindylow, except the item for purchase was gossip and any of
the flirtation Mister Cuthbert had mentioned, had been beyond his comprehension. Gulping in the lubrication of his dry mouth
and on reflection of his visit to the dripping cave of the mysterious woman, the blond-haired lad concluded he was certainly
out of this depth with this situation.
"The day's gettin' on, me-lad and yer' should be settin' a foot towards home" Peggy said softly as she watched Clem mentally
dealing with his own encounter with the real creature that had visited Abner Cuthbert. Gretna Grindylow was hiding behind a
pernicious mask she'd titled Muriel Gump and up to something the little Witch hadn't worked-out yet.
"Let us away and tomorrow, Ah'll do some fishin' of me-own" the little Witch offered the punchy tall boy and together, they left
the old bugger in oilskins to his business amongst the reeds.
of flotsam from its braids. Finishing his day-to-day chores of preparing for his customers to return from their lucrative daily
fishing, he cast a analytical eye on the odd pair that had at arrived on the small wooden jetty of his business.
The boat-building enterprise -that the sole-owner and only employee Abner Cuthbert operated, wasn't what many would usually
think of as a regular money-maker, but since Nosy-Gulpers had become a trendy dish for those in the larger towns to consume,
a floating vehicle to catch these expensive fish had proven to be a stable way of obtaining a decent income. Abner could now
list his one-man coracles as twelve boats and another almost finished to join his fleet.
For any landlubber wondering how the small circular vessels kept the water out, the high pile of firewood next to his weathered
leaning home and office on the little pier along with a faint smell of of burning timber, may have given it away. Out back on a
cleared area amongst the reeds, a bubbling pot of pitch waited atop a pile of glowing embers for the seventy year-old to visit
and give the occasional stir.
"Ah don't care for nosy-parkers tryin' to muscle-in on what I made with my own hands" Abner growled his confession and moving
his gaze from the bare-footed woman standing next to Ben Willard's kid, wondered if the molten tar was ready for layering onto
the leather hull of his latest craft. "...A new 'un to Seamarshes, is she?" he asked idly and halted his act of stowing the rope onto
a hook below the only window of his little abode. This question was aimed at the tallest of his latest visitors, the youngster who
didn't have a big hat on his head.
Clem Willard didn't speak, he still believed that when it came to adult discussions, it tended to be adults who took part. To the
sixteen year-old lad, his smaller companion deemed herself an adult and he -himself, was ashamedly still struggling to accept
this harness of responsibility, -though he'd never admit it to anyone. Luckily, the one wearing the big hat did respond.
Peggy Powler had just finished her perusal of the dozen dots floating just along the edge where the reeds ended and the waters
of the Great Sea began when she answered the unshaven man in the oilskin overalls and a cap that had never known a decent
wash. "Aye, the lady came te' Seamarshes recently and Ah' was just curious of why she wanted te' rent a boat" she asked as
she neared the edge of the dilapidated creaking wharf.
The Last Witch of Underhill wondered if this business was so remunerative, why the grizzled old duffer enjoying the remains
of the late-afternoon sun hadn't invested in a better platform to launch his product from. Swaying reeds that were tolerating the
high tide gazed back back from their temporary light-less undersea environment as Peggy waited to see what information could
be drawn from the boat-owner by her reply.
Abner Cuthbert chuckled as he hung the damp cable and then turned to check on his fleet of fishing coracles, the day was drawing
to a close and they'll be heading back to the jetty soon. Plonking his bony-backside on one of the two mooring bollards on the dock,
the old man explained his visit from the busty virago called Muriel Gump.
.................................................................
Billy Brewster had just gotten his coracle to move in the direction he wanted it to when Abner Cuthbert mused that a quick swig of
his home-made mule-kick would be a fine idea to celebrate another day of acquire some frollis. He didn't charge much for the little
boats and considering what Mr Fawkes would pay for the slow-moving fish, his customers were only too-happy to use his tiny crafts
to obtain the Gulpers.
"Good day, Sir..." the woman in the scarlet gown proclaimed as Abner's hand reached for the doorknob of his shack, "...my name
is Muriel Gump and I was wondering if we could talk somewhere less public?" she added and feigning the look of a person not
accustomed to the outdoors, peered downwards and attempted to brush an imaginary smear of dust away from the ample front
of her red attire. Surveying her voluptuous shape restrained in the garnet-hued dress, Abner's thoughts of glugging some gut-rot
quickly made way for more appealing lecherous thoughts.
But not wishing to lose control of the interaction on his own patch, the old man smiled within a squint and peered around at the
calm waters and the surrounding lightly-swishing reeds. "This be all my place Ma'am and there's no one in earshot of what yer'
want to say" he said easily and fleetingly fantasized she was angling to ravishing him in his shed.
However, what she had to say would quickly drive out any concupiscent conjurings.
"I have noticed that your business is here is a fruitful one and that you -with all respect..." Miss Gump thrust her chin slightly
forward in the act of primly enquiring the name of the person she was speaking to and when Abner answered, the aloof woman
with the cool sensuous eyes continued. "...You, Mister Cuthbert, are getting on in years." Absently -or at least the boat-owner
had guessed she was not aware she was doing it, the well-formed female ran her hands down her curving flanks as if ironing
out any creases in her silk garment that may have appeared during her off-road excursion to speak with him.
"I am going to be candid with you, Mister Cuthbert, I wish to purchase your boat-building company from you and the price will
not be out of my reach" Muriel Gump stated flatly and offered her best beguiling smile to the old man with his toothless jaw
hanging slightly. "No price" she murmured provocatively and for a moment, Abner felt stirrings he hadn't contemplated for
a good-few years.
Old age is a strange thing. As a person comes to realise that time is a constant companion and yet will hold no feelings or
sentiments you as your heart slows to a stop, the journey with this bleak friendless associate demands a doggedness of a
person to construct and defend one's own self-identity as a moral-driven being.
This slow-building exercise involves failures and successes, a wary pilgrimage across a minefield of disguised encounters
that defines the person into a veteran who learns to look ahead and prepare to meet possible obstacles with a guile and
wisdom accumulated by that life-long jaunt with time. Abner Cuthbert wouldn't have said it like that, but he was fully aware
of the stratagem needed to get to seventy years-old.
.................................................................
"So yer' refused the bugger's offer, eh?" Peggy asked as she took off her hat and wafted a breeze across her face, the heat
of the day had abated, but being out in the open air and the Great Sea not providing such a draft, it was still quite warm on
the rotting jetty of the seated man recalling the encounter.
Abner squinted over to where the lad and the woman he knew was the fabled Witch who rid farmhouses of noisy ghosts and
nodded in his introspection. "A handful of emeralds, that's what she offered me fur' the business" he groaned as he got to his
feet. It looked like Billy and a couple of others were calling it day and by the sight of one of his coracles leaning dangerously
in the water, Olly Newsome had caught at least three Gulpers.
"She's not one for taking' no for an answer and she can rant with the best of 'em..." the old boat-builder said as he walked
away to check on his bubbling pot of tar. "...She was sendin' me signals that... well, maybe not in front of the kid" he adde
as he stepped off the jetty and slipped away behind a curtain of reeds.
Clem Willard remembered that his own hanging jaw was now drying in the early-evening air as he closed it with a snap.
The tale wasn't dissimilar from his own encounter with Gretna Grindylow, except the item for purchase was gossip and any of
the flirtation Mister Cuthbert had mentioned, had been beyond his comprehension. Gulping in the lubrication of his dry mouth
and on reflection of his visit to the dripping cave of the mysterious woman, the blond-haired lad concluded he was certainly
out of this depth with this situation.
"The day's gettin' on, me-lad and yer' should be settin' a foot towards home" Peggy said softly as she watched Clem mentally
dealing with his own encounter with the real creature that had visited Abner Cuthbert. Gretna Grindylow was hiding behind a
pernicious mask she'd titled Muriel Gump and up to something the little Witch hadn't worked-out yet.
"Let us away and tomorrow, Ah'll do some fishin' of me-own" the little Witch offered the punchy tall boy and together, they left
the old bugger in oilskins to his business amongst the reeds.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.