Although she never gave it thought at the time of their wander back from Saul Pritchard's orchard, Peggy Powler would later
deliberate on why it was Iris -the middle one of the sisters, who had unknowingly revealed a way to get Seamarshes out from
under the curse of the Merethon called Gretna Grindylow. The little Witch's early-morning walk came after she'd snoozed for
a couple of hours in her dangling canvas bed and then with questions still on her mind, found herself wide awake with dawn
still beyond the horizon of the Great Sea.
Setting her passage to avoid the hard-shelled drupes scattered on the ground of the grove, the bantam sorceress failed to see the
little girl in the pale-white nightdress watching her from the orchard gate. Peggy was busy dissecting the sparse information she'd
gleaned from Saul Pritchard's hypnotic account of his grandfather's arrival in the quiet shingled bay and his sighting of an upright
lizard-like being, the answer was there, she was sure of it.
"Will you be staying with us for a long time, Miss Powder...?" Iris mispronounced the Last Witch of Underhill's name with the lilt
of a child one can only forgive instantly. "...We're having pancakes this morning" she added as if her initial question had some
logical connection to her statement regarding breakfast. A startled Peggy looked up from her submerged reverie and offered a
face of curiosity towards the little girl standing alone in the wee-hours of the night.
"Shouldn't yer' be in bed, me-darlin'?" the wool-gathering necromancer suggested kindly as she approached the ghost-coloured
shape standing on the bottom slat of the five-bar gate. The sea continued its eternal sound of movement beyond the bushes
that made up the rest of the orchard's boundary as Peggy and Iris stared at each other in the gloom.
"Ivy thinks you might be that Witch from Underhead who can do majick..." the wheat-haired girl whispered secretly towards the
bare-footed ambler of walnut nurseries and whipping around her butter-blonde locks in the dew-damp air, furthered "...I think
you're here to catch Missus Skink".
.................................................................
With Peggy's flame-flickering thumb lighting the way down the small track towards Iris' strangely-constructed home, the cheery
twelve year-old showed her own kind of enchantment as she gazed at her smaller companion's ability to create a special-type
of candle. "Does it hurt?" Iris asked softly -remembering to breath and clutched her fingers tightly to stop her grabbing at the
weird flambeau. Unable to douse the smile that the young girl demanded from anyone she encountered, Peggy shook her
head and said the trick was always in the spell.
"It tek's a long time to master these things, me-lass..." the Witch said seriously "...Majick is nay a toy nor a weapon. Iffn' there
is a power te' wizardry, it resides in the person who harnesses it, not the art itself" she supplemented and hoped she'd quoted
Myrddin her tutor correctly. Iris nodded with a look of deep appraisal of the words as she surveyed the track where the pair of
unshod females strolled and then for no reason at all, replied "You talk funny". Peggy's smile merely widened.
As the break of day broke across the edge of the world, the answer that the poncho-wearing visitor to Seamarshes had been
seeking, suddenly tinkled out on an idle musing from a little girl who couldn't sleep. Realising the real worthiness hiding within
the words, of the doggerel, it would some time later in the day when Peggy would recite the child's rhyme and joyfully bask in
the mordancy of their meaning.
"I had a little walnut tree, where nothing could be found, but a black walnut laying on the ground.
A woman with a tail came to visit me, and all for the sake of my little walnut tree.
Missus Skink's dress was made of crimson, her smile was of a cove. She asked to take my walnut and promised me my love.
I shooed her to the water, I drove her to the sea. And then the salty waves took the Mermaid away from me."
With the moribund gloom struggling to remain alive in the leafy path, the little Witch asked Iris to carefully repeat the tune and
putting the poem to memory, enquired where she'd picked-up such a strange rhyme. Looking towards the glowing lantern in the
kitchen window where the jonnycakes were being spooned onto the griddle, the distracted girl in the gossamer gown explained
she had heard it from her grandpa after he'd passed over.
Leaving another potato-sack of questions until some other time, the excited exorcist hurriedly escorted hungry Iris towards a meal
of sweet hotcakes and a day of busy work for herself.
.................................................................
It is agreed by those who know and before the preachment of the new religion, that the domain that Peggy Powler patrols are
staked down with giant oaks onto a bauble that hangs from Herne's mighty wrist. The sky of this disc-shaped trinket is the
arena where the sun chases the moon in an eternal hastilude of love.
Every evening when the exhausted sun ends his amaranthine pursuit to find and mate with the pale Goddess who flees on the
shoulders of her star-dusted mare, the blazing ambitious suitor weeps into the vast waters of the Great Sea and casts a brine to
enrich the creatures within and bring taste to those from the telluric tribe.
It is written.
After contemplating a full stomach and these esoteric facts, Peggy Powler hitched her satchel onto her shoulder, thanked the
Pritchard family for their generous hospitality, stroked the nostrils of Daisy-Maisy and set off to bring the disguised Merethon
to heel.
But first... she needed a fish hook.
deliberate on why it was Iris -the middle one of the sisters, who had unknowingly revealed a way to get Seamarshes out from
under the curse of the Merethon called Gretna Grindylow. The little Witch's early-morning walk came after she'd snoozed for
a couple of hours in her dangling canvas bed and then with questions still on her mind, found herself wide awake with dawn
still beyond the horizon of the Great Sea.
Setting her passage to avoid the hard-shelled drupes scattered on the ground of the grove, the bantam sorceress failed to see the
little girl in the pale-white nightdress watching her from the orchard gate. Peggy was busy dissecting the sparse information she'd
gleaned from Saul Pritchard's hypnotic account of his grandfather's arrival in the quiet shingled bay and his sighting of an upright
lizard-like being, the answer was there, she was sure of it.
"Will you be staying with us for a long time, Miss Powder...?" Iris mispronounced the Last Witch of Underhill's name with the lilt
of a child one can only forgive instantly. "...We're having pancakes this morning" she added as if her initial question had some
logical connection to her statement regarding breakfast. A startled Peggy looked up from her submerged reverie and offered a
face of curiosity towards the little girl standing alone in the wee-hours of the night.
"Shouldn't yer' be in bed, me-darlin'?" the wool-gathering necromancer suggested kindly as she approached the ghost-coloured
shape standing on the bottom slat of the five-bar gate. The sea continued its eternal sound of movement beyond the bushes
that made up the rest of the orchard's boundary as Peggy and Iris stared at each other in the gloom.
"Ivy thinks you might be that Witch from Underhead who can do majick..." the wheat-haired girl whispered secretly towards the
bare-footed ambler of walnut nurseries and whipping around her butter-blonde locks in the dew-damp air, furthered "...I think
you're here to catch Missus Skink".
.................................................................
With Peggy's flame-flickering thumb lighting the way down the small track towards Iris' strangely-constructed home, the cheery
twelve year-old showed her own kind of enchantment as she gazed at her smaller companion's ability to create a special-type
of candle. "Does it hurt?" Iris asked softly -remembering to breath and clutched her fingers tightly to stop her grabbing at the
weird flambeau. Unable to douse the smile that the young girl demanded from anyone she encountered, Peggy shook her
head and said the trick was always in the spell.
"It tek's a long time to master these things, me-lass..." the Witch said seriously "...Majick is nay a toy nor a weapon. Iffn' there
is a power te' wizardry, it resides in the person who harnesses it, not the art itself" she supplemented and hoped she'd quoted
Myrddin her tutor correctly. Iris nodded with a look of deep appraisal of the words as she surveyed the track where the pair of
unshod females strolled and then for no reason at all, replied "You talk funny". Peggy's smile merely widened.
As the break of day broke across the edge of the world, the answer that the poncho-wearing visitor to Seamarshes had been
seeking, suddenly tinkled out on an idle musing from a little girl who couldn't sleep. Realising the real worthiness hiding within
the words, of the doggerel, it would some time later in the day when Peggy would recite the child's rhyme and joyfully bask in
the mordancy of their meaning.
"I had a little walnut tree, where nothing could be found, but a black walnut laying on the ground.
A woman with a tail came to visit me, and all for the sake of my little walnut tree.
Missus Skink's dress was made of crimson, her smile was of a cove. She asked to take my walnut and promised me my love.
I shooed her to the water, I drove her to the sea. And then the salty waves took the Mermaid away from me."
With the moribund gloom struggling to remain alive in the leafy path, the little Witch asked Iris to carefully repeat the tune and
putting the poem to memory, enquired where she'd picked-up such a strange rhyme. Looking towards the glowing lantern in the
kitchen window where the jonnycakes were being spooned onto the griddle, the distracted girl in the gossamer gown explained
she had heard it from her grandpa after he'd passed over.
Leaving another potato-sack of questions until some other time, the excited exorcist hurriedly escorted hungry Iris towards a meal
of sweet hotcakes and a day of busy work for herself.
.................................................................
It is agreed by those who know and before the preachment of the new religion, that the domain that Peggy Powler patrols are
staked down with giant oaks onto a bauble that hangs from Herne's mighty wrist. The sky of this disc-shaped trinket is the
arena where the sun chases the moon in an eternal hastilude of love.
Every evening when the exhausted sun ends his amaranthine pursuit to find and mate with the pale Goddess who flees on the
shoulders of her star-dusted mare, the blazing ambitious suitor weeps into the vast waters of the Great Sea and casts a brine to
enrich the creatures within and bring taste to those from the telluric tribe.
It is written.
After contemplating a full stomach and these esoteric facts, Peggy Powler hitched her satchel onto her shoulder, thanked the
Pritchard family for their generous hospitality, stroked the nostrils of Daisy-Maisy and set off to bring the disguised Merethon
to heel.
But first... she needed a fish hook.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.