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  “I’m going inside now, but please; don’t ask me any more questions.”

  The old lady walked back inside, and Willow carried onto school.

  The next day, most young people would have not spoken to the old lady, except perhaps to say good morning. But they aren’t Willow.

  “Why are you hanging your washing up on the line?” She questioned again. “And why are you only in your night clothes – why haven’t you got dressed – I’m dressed – everyone gets dressed before they leave their house – you haven’t – why are you not dressed”.

  The old lady turned and with a very serious face said,

  “Young lady; Please, don’t make me cross. You ask a lot of questions that you should keep in your head. Please, don’t ask me any more silly stupid questions or I will help you learn to keep your thoughts in your head.”

  She turned and walked back inside.

  Now for me, that would be quite clear. I would know that I had angered the old lady and perhaps I should apologise, or take more care over what I said. But I’m not Willow.

  The next day, Willow walked by the house and the lady was once again washing her clothes in the river.

  “You are a silly old lady, not having a washing machine and making use of the river to wash your clothes. Everyone else has a washing machine, but you don’t. You don’t have a drier either – so everyone has to see what you’re washing and drying. It….”

  The old lady had stopped washing her clothes and turned and stared at Willow. Her mouth pursed shut and fixing a solid, hard, cold stare at Willow, she raised her finger and pointed it at Willow.

  Willow felt a change. Her legs started to join together and take root in the ground, her arms were being forced into a raised position – her fingers started to turn brown and more fingers started to come from her hands and fingers… no they started to look like twigs and branches and she found she couldn’t say anything, couldn’t shout couldn’t call for help – just slowly turn into her namesake – a Willow tree. As the bark started to harden, her clothes slowly broke up and got trapped within the bark until very soon all that remained of Willow was a young tree where she stood. Nothing else remained or indicated that Willow was ever there.

  As Willow grew and the seasons turned, she found herself starting to cry as she thought about what she had said, and perhaps how cruel it was. Because the days seemed longer now, she watched as the old lady got much older, and finally died – and watched as a young family moved into her house and how the parents taught their child. As she cried, her tears were carried down the weeping branches to the river. And did Willow learn? Yes, as every time the wind blew, the lesson that Willow failed to learn when she was a girl was carried in the air between her long branches… shuuuushshshsh… shushhh… shusshhh….

  OO - - OO

  The Walnut Box

  I’ve always had an interested in the shapes that can appear in “burred” wood. Sometimes, like clouds, you can see images of things and that gave me an idea…

  Andy walked into a collectable shop. He was always interested in the amount of brick-a-brack and stuff that these places had, all sort of old and sort of looking like they should be expensive, and typically were, but somehow not looking like they should be called antiques. In particular though, his eye was drawn to a burr walnut box – about the size that would hold a set of playing cards. Each of the corners had a small brass edging and there was a line of brass running round where the lid would hinge close. The burr of the walnut was beautifully intricate – and it almost looked like something Andy recognised – a face! but the wood felt so warm to the touch and so tactile, that he just had to ask about the box.

  The shopkeeper looked at him. “That’ll be £30 please” he replied – then added “of course, do you really want to buy that one? There’s a nicer one just over there.” He pointed to a similar sized box, which looked neat enough, but somehow this box looked warmer, more inviting, more – well, just better somehow. So Andy politely refused and the shopkeeper took his money.

  Andy sat at home, with the new box sat on the coffee table. The hinge lid was open, and Andy was about to put his playing cards into it when he noticed… the cards wouldn’t fit in! But when he lifted them out, it was apparent that the hole was big enough – but as he moved the cards towards the box the hole seemed to close up – not a lot and not really visible – but close up it did and the cards wouldn’t fit! Andy was frustrated, but thought of other things that he could store in the box – that were much smaller – and so stopped worrying.

  That night, Andy sat with the side light on as he read his book. The light flickered, then went out. The book landed on the floor.

 

  The next morning Brian rang Andy’s house. No reply. He banged on the door – nothing. He tapped at the window. Nothing. All the curtains were drawn at the front, and everything looked in place. Brian walked round to the back of the house – and looked through the window (Andy never bothered closing the curtains at the back of the house). On the coffee table Brian saw a burr walnut box, with a set of playing cards next to it and on the floor lay a paperback book – that looked like it had been dropped. Other than that – nothing. Except… and Brian couldn’t believe that he was thinking this - the burr on the box looked like Andy – his face squashed against the box…

  Two days later and they broke into the house having not heard from Andy at all. Everything was as it always was, but with no note or message. Brian saw the box on the table, and said to the order “That box creeps me out. I know where Andy got it from – and that it didn’t fit the cards he had bought it for. I’ll take it back for him.”

  The next day Brian walked into the shop and up to the shopkeeper. “My friend bought this box from you for £30. We’ve not heard anything from him in over a week – I know that he was going to bring this back as it didn’t fit the playing cards he wanted to store in them; I’d thought I’d do him a favour.”

  The Shopkeeper retrieved £30 from the till and handed it to Brian. As he did so, he said, “My colleague, the one that used to run this shop with me, bought that box at an auction for £40. He was told that it was the box that a successful poker player had kept his cards in. At his final game, he was accused of cheating – so put the box up for the bet to show faith. The cards were then laid out – he laid out his cards, three aces and two kings - and his competitor laid out the same cards – card for card, suit for suit. The competitor then loudly proclaimed how he had been cheated – but the poker player knew it wasn’t him, but his competitor that had cheated. The poker player also realised that because he had been so very successful that everyone thought he had been cheating all along so it was something that he was never going to win. So he issued a curse on the box that it would never hold cards in again and that anyone who did so would disappear and never play cards again.”

  “My colleague took the box home – and being similar to your friend – also saw that it would be great to store cards in. I’ve never seen my friend again – he disappeared that night. But you know the really strange part? I’m sure that in the burr of the walnut I saw his face, pressed against wood.” The storekeeper picked up the box and examined it. “But it’s not there now – I must have imagined it. Silly, huh?”

  “Yes” said Brian, “Silly, huh…”

  OO - - OO

  Colin the rabbit

  A story of whimsy; we were driving down a road and saw loads of rabbits by the roadside – and we wondered if there was the potential for a rabbit that wasn’t like the others… we called him Colin…

  I was taking a quick stroll yesterday around the garden, when I found a small rabbit hole. Being curious, I took a peek inside. Rather than the chaos I expected, what I saw was calm and serenity, with the Bunny family carefully unpacking their clothes from their suitcases.

  “We’ve only just dried out” said Mary “the wet weather had soaked the furniture and we had to pack e
verything up really quickly. I say ’we’ but in truth it was everyone except Colin – oh, he’s a one…”

  I thought I’d ask about Colin in a little more detail.

  “Colin is a typical male rabbit” explained Mary. “He’ll be around when the decisions need to be made – what needs to be done and how it should be done… but when it comes to actually doing it – well at that point he’s nowhere to be seen. With the rains recently some of us thought we’d just leave Colin’s stuff to get wet – especially his bunny MP3 player the iHop, but he’s so nice and friendly that we couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t be fair.”

  I asked if this was a one-off perhaps and that Colin was just busy doing something else.

  “No, he’s never around. When we dug this home, he was up on the surface eating the grass, and making droppings – ‘marking the ground’ he called it. Mind you, we all have to go at sometime, so that was a job that could have waited. When we brought in the furniture – he was somewhere else – one of the group thought he saw him dash across the road – oh, he’s so stupid. But then, once all the work was done, back he comes, nails neatly clipped with that smile and…. well, I’d forgive him anything…”

  Mary’s voice trailed off, and I knew I wasn’t going to get any more information from her. I tried a couple of other bunnies, but the response was the same. I spoke to a couple of the male bunnies and they laughed

  “Colin – oh he’s a lazy beggar! Mind he keeps the ladies amused and that leaves us to drink carrot juice mixed with fennel vodka, so we don’t mind. That said, you want to watch the Fennel vodka – Boris the rabbit mixed some up a few years back and we all went blind drinking that! Mixed-up-my-toeses we called it!”

  I tried to talk to Colin himself, but he’d had to dash; he said something about an urgent job on the other side of the field. He flashed me a smile … and well, you have to admire him, don’t you?

  OO - - OO

  THE FLOODS OF LONDON – Chapter 1

  This is the first chapter in my novel the Floods of London, the Continuing Adventures of the Black Crane. Although set (ish) in the latter part of the 1800s I have allowed a lot of poetic license… as I wasn’t there at the time…

  The Ventnor Club, London

  Commander Franklin relaxed back into his black leather armchair, angled at precisely the correct direction to enable him to have a perfect view of the entrance to the smoking room and yet capture the warmth from the open fireplace. His favourite drink (40 year old Tobermory whisky, with a small splash of Highland water) had been poured and sat to his right hand in his cut-crystal glass. He drew on his pipe and allowed the cherry smoke to linger on his palate before he gently breathed it out into the club room. It had been a long day, but a successful one as Lady Millicent had once more been caught and captured and was at this moment sitting in the holding cell of Scotland Yard. The Commander felt some pride at the capture of this most elusive of modern-day pirates and he was sure that the report that he had given to the news reported would appear somewhere on the front page of the London Gazette tomorrow morning.

  There was a polite cough behind him and he turned to the right to see a waiter holding a silver tray. Upon the tray was a folded card, with the handwritten words “For the attention of Commander Franklin” drawn upon it. Franklin took the card and politely thanked the waiter. He then opened the card.

  “Lady Millicent has escaped.”

  Franklin inhaled sharply – and a deep wealth of tobacco smoke entered his lungs, causing him to splutter. As he calmed himself – and quickly took a sharp drink of his whisky – he quickly apologised to the other gentlemen in the club room, all of which were looking somewhat disturbed at the intrusion to the general quiet of the club room.

  “Gentlemen, I do apologise for my intrusion to your quiet. I have just been passed some information of an alarming nature and it took me quite by surprise. Good day to each of you.”

  Franklin stood up, and started to walk towards the club door. The waiter was standing politely to one side with Franklin’s coat, hat and stick. He assisted Franklin to dress and as Franklin left the club doors, the Hackney Cab drew up to the door. Franklin got in and called to the driver. The driver jerked the horse’s reigns and the cab sped towards the police station.

  New Scotland Yard, London

  “Can someone please explain to me how Lady Millicent escaped from our cells, when I asked for a round-the-clock watch on her cell and put her at the furthest end of the cells?” Commander Franklin shouted at the assembled policemen. Each of the policemen were standing in a straight line along the corridor outside of the cells, backs ramrod straight and looking forward. This was an embarrassment that they could not explain at all.

  “Take me through what happened, Sergeant, from the start. I’m interested to hear how someone manages to escape from a locked cell, past three guards, through a locked door and then steal herself away without being seen at all. She can’t just vanish – she’s not Houdini”

  Sergeant Kimble coughed and started to explain….

  St. Katherine’s Dock, London, earlier that night

  “Will you please stop roughly handling me officer, I will not run from you – and besides, I am a Lady!” Lady Millicent’s voice was in control of the circumstances, but with a small measure of frustration at having been caught in such an unfortunate circumstance.

  “Commander Franklin, I implore you. Please ask your officers to undertake their duties with some degree of decorum. I have offered you a promise that I will not run from you – and actually, if you look at my shoe, you will see that with the state of this heel I would not get very far at all”

  At this point, Lady Millicent pulled up her skirt. All the policemen stopped to look at her beautifully slim leg and the patent leather boot at the bottom, all surrounded by (what was at one point) white lace. Each officer felt their hearts start to race – with the apparent exception of Commander Franklin who focused his attention on the broken heel of the boot. Lady Millicent looked up caught sight of the policemen’s eyes and giggled a little. So easy!

  “Hmm” (cough) “Well Lady Millicent, as you have given me your word, the officer will release his grip. However, this is not the first time you have endeavoured to escape from us, so please excuse our reluctance to treat the incident so loosely. Before we ask you to get into the carriage to escort you to Scotland Yard, would you mind handing over the item that you stole from the Tower?”

  Lady Millicent smiled and opened her purse. She reached in and drew out the diamond. All the policemen gasped as she handed the crystal – about 2 inches across – to Commander Franklin.

  “I just love the sparkle of the diamond, don’t you, Commander?”

  Commander Franklin held the diamond to the light. Even through the gaslight he could see it was a perfectly cut work of art, with no blemishes or flaws anywhere. There was little surprise that this was a thief’s dream, such exquisite beauty that would be sold on to very rich patrons who would show this to a very small, restricted group. This would not be an item that would be tawdrily broken into smaller pieces and then sold off wholesale.

  “But what would you have done with this?”

  “Ah, now that I can’t tell you. My, err, patron had a specific need for it and I was not party to understand its purpose. Not that I would be able to understand the man anyway.”

  “Lady Millicent, as you won’t tell me, I’ll take this item from you and it will be returned to the Tower. You, on the other hand, will be taken to Scotland Yard and will be tried in the morning. Officers, take her away.”

  New Scotland Yard police cells

  Lady Millicent sat in the cell, looking at the white washed brickwork with the heavy iron door facing her. This looked like quite a pickle and for a moment she thought that escape would not be possible. But that odour was just too much – trying to escape via the kitchen rubbish chute was probably the only option she had to escape, but the grease, onions
and fish oils that had been smeared onto the walls as the rubbish had been deposited over the years had certainly transferred some of their smell onto her clothing. She wondered if she would last the evening – not the incarceration, but from not being unwell from that pungent smell.

  “Excuse me, guards” she called out. She listened for the clang as the small hatch in the door opened up.

  “Yes, M’Lady”

  “I don’t mean to be a bother, but I wonder if you could help me? You see, I smell quite badly and I really would not want any of you to have to clear up the cell if I’m sick. Additionally, if I’m to be tried tomorrow, I would like the opportunity to at least present myself in a better state than I do now. Could you ask your sergeant to contact my house and have them send a fresh change of clothes? I would also appreciate a bath to try and remove this horrid smell – could I also request that the house sends my Blueberry vanity case along with the clothes. If it’s not possible, could you please let me know?”

  “Yes, M’Lady”.

  A couple of hours passed, before the small hatch opened again.

  “Excuse me M’Lady, but could you please stand up against the back wall?”