When I was very little
My dad and his brother
Built a huge snowman
Bigger than any other
He was as tall as Dad
And was round and fat
It had coal for eyes
And a big black hat
A scarf about its neck
For sartorial style
A large carrot nose
And a twig for a smile
Knobbly stick arms
With gloves at the end
A belt around its
girth
Like a cummerbund
I loved that snowman
Standing so very tall
Until the eventual
thaw
And I watched him
fall
What a lovely snowman
Big and round and tall
There isn’t anything I
like better
Really nothing at all
It’s the first thing I
look for
As soon as the snow
falls
It’s definitely a
snowman
See it has “Snowballs”
The campaigners have won
The Hedgehog cull
won’t be done
They argued it
shouldn’t go ahead
It was just wrong they
said
Saying they were un
putdown-able
I think they are just
un pickup-able
This talk of culling badgers
Is completely unsound
If we keep discussing
it
We’ll drive them underground
Spring was certainly in the air on that beautiful early Spring weekend, and what wonderful weather it was, made all the nicer after the long drawn out winter that preceded it, which probably seemed that much longer than it was because we had had no summer to speak of the previous year.
Anyway, the weather
was so nice that after breakfast I left my wife in bed reading the Sundays and
I set off for a good long walk around the village and its environs.
As I enjoyed the warm
Spring sunshine, I noticed the many harbingers of the season such as the
daffodils nodding in the breeze, birdsong everywhere and endless parades of
cyclists along the lanes punctuated only by the occasional car towing a
caravan.
After a couple of
strenuous hours, I had worked up something of a sweat as well as a thirst to
match, so I headed towards home, but because of the thirst I thought I might
just have a cool refreshing beer at the village pub on the way.
However once I reached
the pub I soon realised I was not the only one to have that idea and I had to
negotiate my way through piles of abandoned bikes and was then greeted by the
scene of a packed beer garden full of people showing far too much white flesh
than was good for anyone which had the effect of slaking my thirst.
So I decided to give
it a miss after all and went home early instead, where I could enjoy a cold
beer in my own garden, but when I entered my house I discovered that my
neighbour Gerry, had not only entered the house before me but had also entered
my wife, and more than once by the look of the pair of them and I was
immediately struck with by the thought that their actions had rendered me the
first cuckold of Spring.
Bird song abounds like a symphony
Scripted by natures unseen composer
Conducted by the baton of an invisible
maestro
The shrill woodwinds
Of Blackbirds, Finches, Thrush and the Tit
family
While the Cuckoo sets the time
And a Woodpecker beats a rhythm
The breeze moves the leafy canopy
Like vibrant cascading strings
Timber’s creek and strain adding percussion
Rutting Stags and distant plaintive cries
A Fox cry and a Peacock’s call
Waterfowl and cooing Doves
Underscored by the beating wings of birds in
flight
Insects join the improvised symphony
Droning Bees and Dragonfly
A symbol crash as a Duck enters the water
A waterfall adds the rolling kettle drum
Distant thunder booms like a bass drum
And Xylophonic drops of rain hit the lake
While a Swan gracefully dances
Across the water in perfect harmony
God in heaven the impresario
Of mother nature’s philharmonic company
The lightning struck, intensely bright, followed in almost the same instance by the thunderclap directly overhead, so loud that it shook the car and then the rain began and fell heavily in large drops beating a frantic tune on the car roof, then almost as quickly as the dark skies arrived, they were gone and the sun was out again, although it was a few moments before the April shower stopped completely and a rainbow appeared in the sky.
We were parked by the village green, which was
patterned with strips of freshly cut grass and when we got out of the car the
mixture of sun, rain and cut grass produced a smell that was quite
intoxicating.
We locked the car and headed down the lane and as if
the switch on a great sound system had been flicked on, the bird life in the
trees bordering the green exploded into a cacophony of sound as they emerged
from their shelters to go about their spring business.
We turned off the lane into the woods where nature and
man had both left their mark.
The areas that had once been coppiced or pollarded now
went their own way and the woods were full of life.
On the borders of the woods the old cut and lay hedge
and the ancient hedgerows along the lanes teamed with a great abundance of life
of all kinds.
A sobering reflection on this idyllic scene is that
all the visible life was either predator or prey but that did not detract from
its beauty in fact it enhanced it if anything.
However the skies darkened again and the rain started
to fall and we had to make a dash for the car, but by the time we reached the
car we were soaked to the skin and we quickly scrabbled into the car as if
fearful we would get even wetter if indeed that were even possible.
Just as I closed the door the lightning struck again
and then the thunder shook the car violently once more.
What a wonderful and remarkable time spring is
wherever you are but in the British Isles the unpredictability transforms,
almost in a heartbeat, from tranquillity to chaos and back again, and you know
I don’t think I would want to live anywhere else.
The Interesting Tree stood
in the centre of Tree Sprite Wood, and it had stood there for a very long time,
in fact it had stood there long before there was a Tree Sprite Wood.
It was called the
“Interesting tree” for a very good reason, because whenever people walked by
it, they would say “look at that interesting tree”, and very many people did
pass by and whatever their reason for being there in the wood, whether they
were daily dog walkers, occasional ramblers, courting couples, families groups
with exasperated parents trying to tire their children on a Sunday afternoon or
middle-aged couples out for their daily constitutional’s, they would all say
“oh look at that interesting tree”.
It was a strange stunted
tree, lopsided and misshaped with a trunk that varied in girth and was all
gnarled and knotty and its branches were irregular in size and shape, and protruded
at odd angles from the trunk with no symmetry whatsoever, and its overall
appearance earned it its reputation as “interesting”, although it could equally
have earned the name “odd”.
People also imagined they
could see a face among the knots and gnarls, which of course they could,
because the tree was alive.
But not in the
conventional sense, where people talk about a living tree, all trees are alive,
but the “Interesting Tree” was alive in a very real sense, it had a
consciousness, and not only could it think, but it could philosophize, and talk
at length on many subjects, it could also feel, laugh, cry, and it had friends.
Among exalted circles in
the natural world, he was known as “The most
noble and erudite, ancient sage tree of wisdom and enchanted dwelling place of
the Rainbow Fairies”, but he prefered to be called Wilf.
Wilf was the oldest tree
in Tree Sprite Wood by some considerable distance and only Witch Hazel came close to his longevity, but she
wasn’t a tree.
Hazel
moved to the wood when it was still young and it was only after the wood had
been thriving for several centuries that the Rainbow Fairies took up residence.
Had the
21st Century passers by known that the interesting tree was
inhabited by Fairies they would have found that very interesting indeed, but
people don’t really see, they look, they look all the time but they never see,
but that’s not the reason that they couldn’t see the Fairies.
They
didn’t of course notice the Fairies because Rainbow Fairies can mimic every
colour of the rainbow, which was why they were called Rainbow Fairies and they
where in fact like chameleons and they could blend in with their surroundings
perfectly, so they were always there, sometimes only a few feet away, but they
could never be seen, unless of course they chose to be.
Apart
from being an “Interesting Tree”, Wilf was also a very happy tree, because he
loved Tree Sprite Wood and in particular he loved being home to the fairies.
The wood
thrived over the centuries and everything in the wood was perfect, but one day
someone walked through Tree Sprite Wood who didn’t think Wilf looked like an
interesting tree, because as he approached he thought it looked old and ugly
and completely out of place in amongst the young and healthy trees that surrounded
it.
The man
was a tree surgeon who wore stout scuffed boots, a yellow vest that didn’t
cover his belly and a silly white hard hat perched on his head and he walked
right up to Wilf and sprayed a big blue cross on the trunk of the “Interesting
Tree” and that sinister blue cross meant Wilf was to be cut down.
After
marking Wilf’s trunk he continued on through the wood looking for other likely
candidates for the axe.
After
completing his inspection of the wood he returned to his truck and had his
lunch and then he filled in his worksheet before he headed back to the
“Interesting Tree” with his chainsaw.
However
what the Tree Surgeon had not bargained on was the protector of Tree Sprite
Wood, Hazel the White Witch.
Hazel was
a very beautiful witch, but she was also very old and even White Witches are
suceptable to the ravages of time so her beauty was now confined to the inside.
So it was
necessary for her to transform herself into a beautiful Enchantress when the
Tree Surgeon returned to kill the “Interesting Tree”.
The
moment he saw her he was completely mesmerized and forgot why he was there and
then Hazel lured him away from Wilf and took him deeper into the wood while the
Fairies removed the blue paint from Wilfs belly and as they scrubbed and
scrubbed at the paint they tickled his bark so much that he laughed and laughed
until tears rolled down from his knotty eyes and he was the happiest tree in
Tree Sprite Wood.
The Tree
Surgeon in the scuffed boots, yellow vest and the silly hard hat perched on his
head was sitting next to a babbling brooke when Hazels enchantment had worn off
and when he awoke from his dream state he had no recollection of how he got
there.
After a
few confused moments he got up and then spent an hour searching for the ugly
twisted tree with the blue cross on its trunk, but he couldn’t find it again as
the Rainbow Fairies had disguised it as a young perfect specimen of treehood so
the man gave up his search.
When he
got back to his truck he picked up the worksheet and his pen from the passenger
seat and put a tick in the box marked “complete” and then he drove away.
Hazel,
Wilf and the Rainbow Fairies had faced much more dangerous adversaries over the
ages and bested them, so an overweight tree surgeon was no more than a
diversion so when he had driven away everything was as it should be and always
would be in Tree Sprite Wood.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
Followed by an average winter
Then he had an indifferent spring
Leading to the most glorious summer
I used to have a tiny Lizard
He
was really small and cute
I
used to call him Tiny,
Because
he was “my newt”
Upon the wooded hill
The
forest sentinel stood
Made
from wind falls
Wooden
scraps and ullage
Skilfully
fashioned
To
become, complete with binoculars
The
birdwatcher
But
all was not as it seemed
For
the sentinel
Destined
to forever study
What
fell before his gaze
Every
autumn
Turned
his attention upon
His
favorite birch tree
Who
when the autumn wind blew
Began
to shed her leafy canopy
All
the year round he studied
In
detail her fully covered form
But
in the autumn, he could
Revel
in her nakedness
The
sentinel spoke to himself
“Oh,
I’m getting a woody”
And
with that his sap began to rise
“Oh
no too soon, too soon”
Then
all too suddenly it was over
So,
upon the wooded hill
The
frustrated forest sentinel stood
Staring
through his binoculars
And
telling himself
“There’s
always next year”
My wife and I sat down one Sunday night to watch, what we thought was a nice little medical drama on the BBC about a Super Eruption which we quite innocently believed to be about an epidemic of teenage acne.
Well,
I can tell you that what we saw, and I not ashamed to say this, frightened the
life out of us.
I
haven’t seen my present wife that distressed since her latex glove split while
she was worming the dog.
When
I consulted the Radio Times to make sure we had been watching the right channel
I noticed a BBC documentary, directly following the program on BBC2, on the
very subject of the drama we had just watched. .
I
knew we could rely on the BBC to put the true story and allay all our fears.
Now
as a result of the documentary my wife has taken a handful of Valium and I’m
writing this from the cupboard under the stairs we were not at all reassured
and it seems fact is worse than fiction.
Eagles may soar free and proud
Soaring
high among the cloud
And
they may look down to view
On
more humble creatures who
Can’t
soar high among the cloud
And
cannot soar free and proud
But
these creatures I should begin
Now yesterday I planted out
My annuals in a bed laid out
I went to take a look today
But find my annuals gone away
What evil in my garden walks?
All I see are marigold stalks
Now I see the trails of slime
I know who did this awful crime
Not creepy crawlies or even bugs
But evil little snails and slugs
You cannot poison them they say
That isn’t nice there’s another way
Grit or eggshell on the trail
Or little cups of beer or ale
But I’m not one to treat them nice
They will pay the ultimate price
Eco friendly products do they pay?
That’s what the manufacturers say
I have read on the weed killer lids
That it won’t kill any of your kids
And it won’t kill the family moggy
It won’t even kill the family doggy
But does it kill the weeds pray tell
No, it just makes them a little unwell
Downshire is a relatively small English county but like a pocket battleship it packs a lot in, a short but beautiful coastline, a channel port, the Ancient forests of Dancingdean and Pepperstock, the craggy ridges and manmade lakes of the Pepperstock Hills National Park, the rolling hills of the Downshire Downs, the beautiful Finchbottom Vale and farm land as far as the eye can see from the Trotwood’s and the Grace’s in the south to the home of the Downshire Light infantry, Nettlefield, and their affluent neighbour’s, Roespring and Tipton in the North but it’s in the largest Town in the county, Abbottsford, where our story begins, though that’s not where it ends.
Apart from being the largest conurbation in the County, Abbottsford is also the administrative center, the location for the Downshire Constabulary HQ and more relevant to the story, the Law Courts.
Marc and Sarah Hughes were both Lawyers and had their own practice in the town, and had a reputation for representing the more disreputable clients in the area, in fact the more infamous the better, because the worse the client was the more they would charge to represent them, and they lived well on the profits of their immoral business.
They were a childless couple and lived in a luxury Riverside apartment in Abbottsford.
Their status as being a double income couple with no kids, they considered to be a blessing as they could never have made room in their lives for something as needy as a child, they were far too selfish.
Both Marc and Sarah were both from well-heeled families and had been used to having money all their lives and everything else that wealth entailed, but neither of them possessed a moral compass or a conscience, and they were determined to ensure they continued in the same vein in both wealth and conscience.
The Hughes’s were all about the money and they didn’t care how they got it, and like many rich people once they got it they hung onto to it.
One day in June they finished at the Courts much earlier than anticipated, having got the case of attempted murder against a local gangster dismissed on a technicality.
They declined a celebratory lunch with their client because they liked his money but not the man or his entourage and certainly didn’t want to socialize with any of them.
The Lawyers were feeling very pleased with themselves at the early resolution of the case against their guilty client, not for him, they had no empathy for his kind of scum or indeed any sympathy for his victim, the Hughes’s were despicable people.
What Marc and Sarah were happy about, as a result of the early resolution, was that they had finished work for the day so they could take their brand new Canary Yellow Porsche 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet out for a spin.
“Where shall we go?” Sarah asked
“How about somewhere out in the sticks where we can avoid the great unwashed hordes and have a picnic” he replied “just you me and the Porsche”
“Great idea, let’s go and frighten the country bumpkins” she retorted
Before they left Abbottsford they stopped at Labuschagne’s, the Supermarket for the obscenely wealthy and those with more money than sense and bought their picnic lunch before leaving for the country.
They drove south out of the city a headed towards the Trotwood’s and ten miles beyond Little Trotwood they arrived at the village of Black Acres and parked the car in front of a pub called The Witch Burners Arms.
“This will do, there’s bound to be somewhere close by where we can picnic” he said
“We can ask in here for directions”
“Ok but I’m not eating or drinking in this hovel” she replied snobbishly “and I’m not sitting on the furniture”
The landlord of the “Witch” was Bob Clement and as the outsiders walked through the door he smiled and said
“Good afternoon, what can I get you?”
“We‘re looking for somewhere to picnic” he said matter of factly as his wife looked down her nose at the regulars who viewed the outsiders as curiosities.
“Ah well I have a little map here” Bob said “which will help you, there are a good deal of wonderful walks, idyllic scenery and beautiful meadows and any number of picturesque picnic spots”
“Ok” Marc said and took the map from him without thanks and then turned to leave
“But don’t go anywhere near Honey Badger Wood” Bob added
“There’s nothing worth seeing in there”
Even if they hadn’t been ridiculously minted, being townies and having been born into the “entitled” generation, they were not going to be told where they could or could not go, especially by a country bumkin so they headed straight for Honey Badger Wood.
As soon as they saw the wood they were entranced, it was so beautiful.
“No wonder the yokels warned us off, it’s gorgeous” Sarah said “they obviously wanted to keep it to themselves”
They entered the wood and walked the woodland path that meandered its way in the dappled sunlight until they came upon a large open glade with the most wondrous flower meadow at its heart, full of wild flowers, whose sweet scent filled the air.
“Well I think we have found the perfect place for our picnic” he said
“I agree” she said as they walked through the meadow grass until they reached the center where Sarah spread the picnic rug.
After they had feasted on quails eggs, game pie, smoked Salmon, Foie Gras, Caviar and Champagne, they lay back to digest their lunch and with the combination of Champagne, the warm June sunshine and the sweetly scented air they fell into a sleep from which they never awoke, because while they digested their picnic lunch the Carnivorous Meadow digested them.
The next morning Bob the landlord looked outside and saw the yellow Porsche still parked in the pub carpark so he picked up the phone and called Angel’s garage
“Angels Automotive” the voice answered
“Hi Terry” Bob said “Another pair of stupid townies failed to heed my warning about Honey Badger Wood”
“Not very bright of them” Terry said “So what did the leave at the pub?”
“A Canary Yellow Porsche 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet” Bob replied
“Nice, that will keep the hospice going for another year on its own” Terry said “I’ll come and get it now”
No one in Black Acres profited personally from the sale of goods left behind, the proceeds did however support local establishments, like the Hospice and the Care Home and donations were made to other local good causes.
However it may have seemed to the casual observer that the inhabitants of Black Acres were a callous bunch in regards to the loss of human life but no one wasted any pity on the arrogant pair of townies because the Carnivorous Meadow in Honey Badger Wood fed only on corruption and had Marc or Sarah Hughes had even an ounce of goodness in them they would have survived.
But they didn’t, so as they slept the eternal sleep the meadow consumed every last cell of them.
