"St George's First Dragon"

P Powrie - Feb 1974

Did you ever think that George, the great Patron Saint of England, was once a little boy? No, of course you didn't, nobody ever does, but its true all the same and this is the story of how he killed his first dragon.

(I'm sure you all know the story of how he slew the dragon that made him famous and was the reason why he was accepted as a Saint and chosen to represent England. Yes, everybody knows that and how gallant he was in rescuing his "Maiden in distress" - and a fair maiden she was at that!)

Well, at the time of this story, George was just a little boy of nine -just like most other little boys of nine - and he loved a game or two of 'make-believe'.

He liked best to play these games of make-believe when he was all by himself because then he could pretend anything and there would be no-one to argue or say "No. Let's rather play another game." or "All right, but I want to be king." etc

So, what he did when he was alone, was to invent a playmate to suit the game and it might be a boy or a girl, a horse, dog or bird - or even a dragon - and sometimes all at once.

Yes, he had a great imagination and was just like other little boys even although he was born less than three hundred years after Jesus Christ and that was a long time ago, nearly one thousand and seven hundred years ago! - and people lived a little differently in those days. No motor cars, aeroplanes, bombs or machine guns or TV but horses and swords instead.

Now, no great man or woman has ever become great unless they had the seeds of greatness in them when they were still children and these seeds often show in the kinds of games they play.

What kind of games do you play? Perhaps they will give you an idea of what kind of person you would like to be when you grow up and what kind of work you would like to do. Would you like to be a doctor, engineer, soldier or perhaps a sailor? Well, little George liked to play at being a sort of soldier, fighting and killing lots of wicked people and dreadful animals. You see, he already had this great goodness and fighting spirit in him and it showed in the games he played.

He liked to escape from the rest of his family, out into the country-side, where he could be alone - and in those days the 'country-side' was just near home because even the big cities were not as big and as closely built as they are today.

It was easy to find an empty glade or copse of trees or even just a place amongst the rocks where he couldn't be seen. There he used to fight his foes and win his battles and one day he slew a dragon. Of course there weren't really such things in those days but nevertheless he'd heard stories of dragons, horrible monsters, all scaly, with long arrow-tipped tails, funny wings, claws and long forked tongues and mouths which often breathed fire!

These dragons were sometimes supposed to be guardians of treasure or of beautiful maidens, but often they were just dreadful monsters to whom lovely young people were sacrificed because the dragon wanted food and if they didn't find it easily, they would get cross, rage in and break and destroy a village, killing and eating as many people as they could catch, but if they found food easily, they would eat it and, being satisfied, would quietly return to their lair and leave the village alone. Because of this, when the look-out cried out that a dragon was coming, some fair young woman would be tied to a stake out in the dragon's path and then everyone else would run away and leave her to be eaten by the hungry, fearsome beast. (They'd never get away with that sort of thing today, would they?)

When young George heard these stories he thought they were horrible. Why should a young girl be eaten? Why didn't a strong man go out and kill the dragon and save the girl and the village? When he grew up he would show them how to do it and right now he would practise just what he would do one day!

So you see, as a child he practised the kind of thing he would do when he grew up, and thought out just what he would do if the dragon did this or the dragon did that - don't we all in our different ways?

But this is the story of how he killed his first dragon, when he hadn't yet learned all the ways of dragons and how they could twist and turn and how, sometimes, when you cut off one head another might grow in its place. (And do you know that this happens all our lives when we fight the 'dragons' of naughtiness within us, all too often when we have overcome and killed one bad habit another seems to rear up its ugly head in the first one's place.)

This day George took his little wooden sword and climbed up onto his imaginary horse and rode away from home into a secluded place - and there he saw a poor, but very beautiful, young lady (she looked something like his favourite aunt) tied to a stake, right in the path of the monster who was, at this moment, just appearing around some boulders at the other side of the clearing. With a roar, the dragon came closer, scaly feet scraping the loose stones in its path and fire breathing out of its nostrils!

He cried "A dragon, a dragon! But don't be afraid, I'll save you. I'll kill that dragon and he'll never eat anyone ever again." and he galloped forward, brandishing his sword. The dragon, seeing him, roared even more fearfully and slapped its large tail on the ground in temper, making the very earth shake with the force of it - and of course the maiden screamed with terror, greater terror now because not only was her life at stake but also her sudden hope of rescue and the life of the fine-looking young man, who was the only person who had ever thought to save her from this dreadful fate.

Oh. What if he couldn't kill the dragon? It would kill him instead and perhaps his horse too, right before her very eyes and then, oh horror of horrors, it would come to her, with blood still dripping off its teeth and claws, to kill her too. At this horrible thought she screamed even louder and struggled with the ropes that bound her to the stake.

George, who had suddenly been feeling just a little afraid, heard her scream above the roaring and hissing of the dragon and felt his courage flow strongly back into his veins - just as many times in later days real young men would brandish their swords and cry "For England and St George." and gallop and gallop fearlessly into the battle, fighting for their Country and its Patron Saint and finding courage in the memory of his great deeds.

Now George galloped forward and gave a great roaring shout himself "You shall not kill the maiden or any other maidens. I am going to kill you, now, with the Grace of God to help me."

Immediately he said these words, he became, as it were, a greater person because he was now magnified by the Grace of God, that unseen power which fills us in our times of great need - but only if we ask for it nicely and only if we are doing something worthy of God's blessing.

The dragon, who had very sharp ears, heard George's shout and even though it did not understand the words he said, it felt the spirit in which they were uttered and do you know it suddenly felt a little afraid! A great big dragon afraid of a young man on a horse. Whoever heard of such a thing? But you see, it wasn't just the man and the horse but that the dragon felt the power of the spirit which sustained them - even as evil is afraid of the spirit of God to this day.

This was what gave George his chance. When the dragon hesitated, George received his opportunity to gallop in an wound the great beast in the neck - then he galloped away again out of reach of those claws. The wound in the dragon's neck began to bleed and you know, when we bleed a lot the strength quickly goes out of us. So now the dragon felt that its feet were a little heavier to lift off the ground in order to chase after George, or even to lift up to strike at him.

And of course its neck, being so painful, it did not feel quite so much like opening its mouth to bite him and George, realising this, felt even greater courage and strength rush into his heart and soul and he turned his horse into the best position to ride in and slash at the dragon again.

Now was the time, the last time, before the dragon had the chance to re-gather its strength and determination. So George, seeing his opening, galloped in again and slashed at the beast's great upraised leg - just avoiding, as if by miracle, the treacherous talons. But now a little voice seemed to whisper in his ear "That's enough. The dragon's beaten. Leave the poor beast, release the maiden and go on your way." Oh my goodness. How dreadful it would have been if he had listened to this voice and left the dragon to survive, get better and live to kill again. But no. He was a wise young man and he cried out "The only good dragon is a dead dragon " - just as the only way to get rid of anything evil in ourselves is to overcome it, and kill it by being and doing good. To replace evil with good.

So George rushed in again at this failing beast, encouraged and sustained by the lovely maiden and kept on at the dragon until it was dead!

Only then did he dismount from his weary horse, wipe a weary arm across his damp forehead. Wipe his sword upon the grassy bank and then, with a clean sword, he went and cut the ropes that bound the maiden.

So in our lives, we fight - or run away from - our dragons. We win - or loose - our battles with the evil that is within our very selves at times. We do evil - or replace evil with good - but whatever we do when we grow up, we will already have done, in our imagination, when we were children.

So prepare yourselves now, while you are yet children for the great and noble deeds and fine people you wish to do and be with when you are grown up.

Choose wisely your heroes and ideals now and you are likely to be, when you grow up, what you choose now. So, go out and kill your first - and second - dragon, just the way St George did.

"Fairies at the Bottom of our Garden"

Stories for my Grandchildren - Story 3

by P Powrie

You don't believe in fairies do you? No, of course not - neither did I when I was your age! I had discovered that they were just another thing - like Father Christmas - that grown-ups invented for the amusement of children, and to keep them quiet! So imagine how surprised I was to discover that there really were fairies "At the bottom of our garden!"

First let me tell you a little about our family of animals because it was because of them that I discovered the fairies.

We have a special-mixture kind of small hairy dog called "Tinkles" (short for Tinkerbell and don't ask me why - she was named before she came to live with us.) Tinkles' father was small and black and her mother was a brown Irish terrier type and although Tinkles is only about the height of a cat she honestly has the porky build of a pig, including short curly tail and the face of an American buffalo! She is fat, short-legged and a mixture of long black and brown fur. A really scruffy looking dog - but with several great virtues. First, she has a tracker's nose and whenever I disappear she follows my scent along the ground and soon locates me.

Secondly, perhaps her greatest virtue, is that she has acute hearing and often I just don't hear the front door bell so I always go at once to see why Tinkles is barking. (We call her our "Mobile burglar alarum" because she always warns us when anyone is about the house. Thirdly, she is a very sweet-natured loving little animal with the sweetest real smile and these virtues are far more important than her looks! (Virtues always are more important.)

Then there is Sheena, "Ah, another girl" you may say, but no, actually when Sheena was brought home by my daughter Jane he was just a very tiny four-week-old scrap of terrified, grey-striped fur. The people who gave him to Jane said that the kitten was a girl and so Jane called "her" Sheena. He couldn't even drink milk properly and I had to dip a piece of cotton wool in his milk and then let him suck the milk out from the wool. It was a while later, when we were used to the name Sheena that I discovered that Sheena was a boy. I tried to change his name to Shinka or something more masculine but it did not work and Sheena he still is!

Now he is a really savage grey beast and only shows love when he feels like doing so - and scratches us if he doesn't feel like being loved and petted and stroked - but this is probably because his tail has got caught in a slamming door a couple of times and was broken, right close up to his body and so is very tender. He is usually especially loving when he has just run in out of the rain! Then he likes to come and rub the water off on our legs or climb up and snuggle on my legs or jump up onto my bed at night, leaving muddy paw marks everywhere! That's Sheena. He also likes to fight with Minkie and this makes me cross!

Then there is our darling Minkie. Now she is an interesting looking cat! Perhaps the Lord took a handful of each of the colours of the cat-rainbow - black, grey, white, brown, ginger, and blond, just half mixed them and then threw them at Minkie - adding a pretty pink nose and really beautiful clear jade-green eyes an a deep Siamese "Meow" which seems so out of place from our Slinky Minkie. She starts purring when you speak to her, doesn't even wait for you to touch or stroke her!

But quite the nicest part about Minkie - apart from her exceptionally sweet and gently character - is that she has slightly bandy back legs and when she walks or runs along in front of me, with her tail hight, like a banner, I just delight in watching those speckled, all-colour, bandy back legs () sort of swaying from side to side, in front of me.

Minkie is a darling. The sweetest-natured, "purringest cat I have ever known, with sleepy, almost closed green eyes which only open wide and interested when she sees some interesting movement - of a bird, perhaps, or a grasshopper. She sits and sort of peeps at you out of almost closed eyes which open and stare intently when necessary.

She is also the "talkingest cat I ever knew and will carry on a long conversation of "Meows" in answer to being spoken to or when she wishes to call attention to herself - perhaps when I walk near her hiding place in the garden, not knowing that she is there, because her colouring makes her virtually invisible when she is curled up amongst the shrubs or plants in the garden - she just says "hello" but our cats never meow and meow for food, thank goodness. Perhaps that is because we do not eat meat and so there never is a smell of raw meat or fish in our kitchen.

As I said, when she lies down in the garden you simply cannot see her unless she moves and often I am startled, especially when I am watering the garden and she suddenly gets up and runs from the water.

I have told you all this because it was one day when I was taking a moment or two to wander around our garden that I saw Minkie sitting, still as a statue, gazing intently at something. I moved slowly nearer, following her line of vision to see what she could see - and do you know I saw a fairy!

Oh yes, Absolutely that traditional fairy! Tiny, only about three inches (about 7 1/2cm) tall. Slender, with a dress like a Fuschia flower, frilly pink skirt with darker pink bodice and over-skirt. A little green cap on her curly blond hair. Long slender legs in red stockings and wings as gauzy as those of any dragon-fly. She also had a tiny wee wand in her hand and was dancing, just like a ballerina! She spun on her little toes and swayed to and fro in the most fairy-like fashion!

I stood still, entranced and gradually my ears began to hear the music to which she was dancing. A sweet fairy-like tune, with violins and pipes and an occasional extra little accent from a drum. Minkie and I watched, not daring to move and I hardly dared breathe!

So there really are fairies, just like the stories say!

Suddenly the music changed to a livelier skipping sort of rhythm and out onto the moss-carpet skipped several more fairies, dressed in pale mauve skirts with purple bodices and they came from the two sides of the baby "moss-lawn" out of the shadow of the plants that grew there, and danced a beautiful pattern around her, weaving in and out of each other, twirling around, moving towards her and then out into a larger ring - a constantly changing pattern to lively music and movement.

Just then, Tinkles, seeing Minkie, came bounding up to play with her - they always show love for each other, Tinkles wagging her tail and sniffing and Minkie rubbing her head against Tinkles - and the fairies vanished! Yes, just vanished before my eyes. Oh, how cross I was with Tinkles!

Now you know there are fairies - who always seem to be girls - and elves - who always seem to be mischievous boys, but often are said to be helpful to people - gnomes, that are like very small men, supposed to live under the earth, and also sprites etc. and so I wondered what other fairy personages we have living in our garden?

I set out to see if I could find out so I decided to see if I could attract them by making tiny tables and chairs - oh, very tiny - and even a little swing for them to play on - one chair grander than the others in case there was a Fairy Queen! - these I placed around the moss-lawn, but I could not put any cups or glasses there because I did not know how to get ones small enough for them to use when they drank their nectar!

Now, I am a busy house-wife and mother, with very little time to sit and watch for fairies, but I tried, at first, several times a day, to creep up and see if the furniture had been used. I even took a magnifying glass to see if there were any crumbs left from their fairy cakes.

For a while nothing happened except that I found that the chairs and tables had been moved a bit and then one day I saw that the swing was still swinging by itself, so I expect that a fairy had just jumped off when she - or he - saw me coming, because there was no wind.

Then I thought of the idea of putting some fine brown face powder sprinkled on the smooth paved area around the swing to see if there would be any footprints left in it and sure enough, the next time I went I could see the marks of the shuffling of feet and a couple of clear fairy foot-prints. Now I was convinced against all reason!

Time passed and I still never caught a glimpse of them again and then I got ill. It was not a very serious illness, just something I should not have eaten, but I felt very weak and helpless the next day, so I decided to rest quietly and because it was a lovely mild to warm day, with very little wind, I took a book and my comfortable reading stretcher - a Christmas present from my husband - and went andd settled down very near and in good sight of the fairy carpet and swing.
For a while I sat quietly reading and then, feeling sleepy, I relaxed and closed my eyes, drifting off into a sort of half sleep.

Suddenly a burst of fairy laughter, added to the sound of tinkling music aroused me although I still lay with my eyes closed as if asleep, and I listened to every sound. Slowly, slowly I opened my eyes just a little bit so that they looked as if they were still closed and there, sure enough, was a happy fairy party! The Queen was sitting in the best chair and she looked so beautiful. There were her courtiers around her and they were all watching a game of fairy "Blind Man's Buff" and laughing at the antics of a couple of elves who seemed to be chasing each other around the place amongst those who were really playing the game properly.

What should I do? I lay there watching, scarcely daring to breathe! Then the "Blind man", a playful elf, managed to catch one of the two elves who had been playing "catch" amongst the others and all the company laughed and clapped their hands in applause - and this sound reached the ears of Tinkles, who lay sleeping quite near me (she is seldom far from me) and she woke with a start and gave a sharp little sort of warning pant.

Instantly the fairies vanished before my eyes, as they had done before and all that was left was my memory of the laughter, clapping and other happy sounds I had heard and witnessed.

Don't you believe in fairies? I do!

"A Visit to Insect Island"

"Stories for my Grandchildren" story 2

by P Powrie

Bobby sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily - and then opened his eyes a little wider! "Where am I?" he asked aloud, using those same, traditional words. A strange street and here he was sitting on a wagon of hay. Quickly he clambered down and, seeing no one in the street, he walked up to the nearest house and just as he was about to ring the door-bell his eyes caught a glint of sun on the brass plate at the side of the door. "Mr Mickey Mosquito Snr. A.B.X.Y.2. Nosebite Specialist."

"Oh." murmured Bobby, gently caressing his nose, "I guess this isn't the bell I should be ringing."

He turned away with a slight feeling of uneasiness and walked to the next house. Here he was amazed to see another brass plate, this time bearing the information "Jimmy Jigger-Flea. Jnr."

"I must be dreaming." said Bobby slowly. "Why?" asked a deep voice just behind him. Bobby whirled around and stood gazing in awe at a fat, merry tick, quite as large as himself and dressed in a navy-blue suit with a brown woven belt around his "rotunda" and a smart navy-blue top hat set rakishly on his head.

"B-but why are you so big?" stuttered poor Bobby. "Big?" queried Timothy Tick. "I'm not big, not much bigger than I was yesterday at any rate. Nor bigger than my father, and my son Tommy is nearly as big as I am." "Then I must have grown smaller." wailed Bobby "Oh, what am I going to do?" "Why nothing I expect, after all, what could you do?" asked Mr Tick in amazement. Bobby looked at him in growing horror "But I"m usually a million times bigger than you." he said "Oh well, then you must have shrunk, but come along to my house and have some tea - you're not too shrunk to eat and drink are you?" "I-I d-don't think so." said Bobby as he miserably allowed Mr Tick to lead the way down the street to a very pretentious looking house.

"Come in, come in." said Mr Tick. As he entered the house Bobby looked around at the furniture.
Deep comfortable chairs, shiny table and a thick carpet. "My goodness." he breathed. "You certainly live in comfort, Mr Tick." Mr Tick chuckled deep and full and rang the bell for tea. "Yes. Perhaps I do. Yes, you may say I live on the fat of the Land." "I'm sure you do." said Bobby with an inward smile - thinking of how Mr Tick lived in the world Bobby was used to living in! He sank into a large chair that almost swallowed his slim young boy's body.

The door opened and tea had arrived - with Mrs Tick following. "This is my wife, Theresa. Theresa, this is a little boy I found in the street feeling rather lonely, my dear, so we must do all we can to make him feel comfortable and welcome." "Yes certainly." said Mrs Tick "He can stay for the party this evening and make friends with all the young folk. He'll like that." "Thank you." said Bobby, gazing at Mrs Tick's resplendent gown of rose and yellow silk.

The party that evening was a great success and Bobby stood in the receiving line with his host and hostess so that he could then meet each person as they entered the room and this seemed to be a good idea except that of course he could only remember the names of the persons by their shapes, which he knew from having learned all about some of them at school. But as Bobby soon found out, they were not only 'persons' but also personalities, which was quite a new idea to Bobby.

In his past they had been good or bad, nice or nasty insects, harmful or harmless but now, all of a sudden, they also 'liked' certain foods or liquids and also perhaps preferred one chair rather than another. Bobby could not help smiling secretly at the thought that he had heard people say "Oh, mosquitoes never bite me, they don't seem to like the taste of my blood." and others that "If there is but one flea in a room it will make a bee-line for me!" (Surely that should be a flea-line - Flea-line?) Well, now he was learning that they had preferences as well, just like human people.

First to arrive were the Grasshopper Family, Mr Giddy and Mrs Limit Grasshopper and their three children, daughter Gleaner, 15, son Gasper, 13, and Gertrude, aged just nine. Bobby found their handshake a bit scratchy and was glad to get it over with.

The next arrival was the Bug Family. Basil and Betina with their son Bertram, Bertie to his friends. He quickly smiled at Bobby and said "Call me Bertie." so Bobby knew right away that they could be friends. They had driven up in an expensive looking Ford (1981 model) Basil, who did not approve of flash clothes on a man, wore a sombre brown suit with brown pin-stripes and a bowler hat. Betina dressed in the same strain, wore a necklace of blood-stones to add that extra bit of colour that a woman needs, while Bertie was dressed just as a little boy should be. Bobby found out that the Bug family inclined to long handshakes - in fact he had quite a job to shake them off!

Then came Jimmy Jigger-Flea Jnr and his wife Josephine and Bobby could not help but feel that there was an air of sort of unexpectedness about their arrival and when it came to shaking hands, his toes tingled with a queer feeling of 'pins and needles'.

On and on the guests came until Bobby felt dizzy with names and shapes. At last his host murmured gently in his ear "Only one more now and she is always late. Got a reputation for it." Bobby searched the street with his eyes wondering who "She" could be. At last a beautiful carriage, all brown, and oval, arrived and Miss Benita Butterfly emerged, looking all fresh and dewy-eyed. She fluttered up the strip of grass to the reception stand and, with a delightful little shiver that ruffled the gauzy folds of her exquisite dress, she smiled sweetly and dropped the minutest curtsey to Bobby, who suddenly felt his knees go slightly weak with the coming relaxation from the strain of the ordeal - or perhaps it was caused by the recollection and memory of the past days of butter-fly nets and green fields, or perhaps it was just the prettiness of her salute.

His host took his arm and guided him into the large reception room, gay with flowers, slightly intoxicating with their perfume. Here a merry party of pre-dinner drinks of honey, spice, dew and nectar was in progress and his host insisted that he had a glass of morning-dew wine and Bobby thought that he had never tasted anything nicer!

All of a sudden the mellow notes of the dinner-gong sounded, searching their way into every corner of the house - and even into the garden. The guests filed laughingly into the beautiful old dining hall and found their places by reading their names engraved neatly on boards which fastened onto the backs of the chairs.

Soon the dinner was in progress and Bobby, being a perfectly healthy youngster, paid more attention to his dinner than to the amusing "small-talk" that was tossed to and fro like a gay coloured ball, up and down the table.

Bobby ate until he sat back with a sigh of satisfaction and viewed the assembled company with a benevolent eye. Everyone else as just finishing off his or her desert and now the host rose to his feet, cowslip-wine glass in his hand and, smiling down at the upturned faces he said "Ladies and Gentlemen, this dinner tonight has been a welcome to our new friend Bobby. Where he comes from nobody, not even Bobby, knows. Where he goes when he leaves us is also a mystery, but, while he is here we will show him that the people of the Insect Island know how to welcome and to entertain a guest. Ladies and Gentlemen, I now propose a toast to Bobby. May his days here make happy and interesting memories. To Bobby." "To Bobby" muttered everybody, rising to their feet with glasses raised high. Bobby thrilled with pride and when the last guest had settled down again Bobby rose and said in the most important sounding voice that he could manage. "People of Insect Island, allow me to extend my most profound congratulations upon your ability to make a guest feel welcome. Believe me, I am most grateful." He sank thankfully back onto his chair again, amidst much applause.

His host arose again and said "It is the custom for the ladies to leave now but tonight perhaps they would like to stay and hear the over-the-table stories I am sure everyone is dying to tell." The suggestion was greeted with much enthusiasm.

"Well" said Mickey Mosquito "I shall start the ball rolling and tell of something that happened a while back. Cedric Centipede arrived in a handsome cab drawn by two beautiful white worker ants. He clambered down, not missing one step with any of his feet. It was a magnificent accomplishment. He was wearing a pastel shade jacket and striped trousers - one leg for each leg, if you see what I mean - and the socks his wife, Celia had painstakingly knitted for him. (It is not an easy job to knit socks for one hundred feet at a time!) When his turn came to shake hands with Mr Centipede, Bobby had a momentary attack of hesitation - I mean, when a centipede shakes hands which foot does he use? But Cedric must have thought of that because on one of his hundred feet he was wearing a mitten."

This story was greeted with much laughter and witty comments. Next came another Mickey Mosquito story.

"The concert was all over in Wild Town. The guests were all on tour from the city. I heard about them and thought it would be a good chance to find out what noses from the big city tasted like, so I went along. I arrived there early and had a look around, chose the quietest looking bedroom, and settled down to wait. When my victim was asleep I flew down and alighted gently on his rather long nose but what a shock I got. I bit and bit but could make no impression. Then I heard someone coming and quickly flew back to my resting place. Three people burst in and did they laugh. "Look" cried one "Felix got so tight at out party that he forgot to take his false nose off." The Island Insects laughed and Bobby laughed and laughed. Bobby could just see Mickey trying to bite the false nose with an expression of amazement on his face.

Mr Timothy Tick sat forward as Mickey Mosquito relaxed and sat back on his chair. This is Mr Tick's story. "My friend Thomas Tick and I were together when we heard someone say that a lady in Wild Town had bought a calf. We both wanted to have a taste of him and didn't know how to get there before each other, to stake our claim. Thomas thought more quickly than I and said "I've heard that the calf is fed with medicine that makes his blood poisonous to ticks so I'll not try him. I value my life." I thought it out and decided that my life was also too precious and so I went home and forgot the calf. Two days later Theresa came to me and said "Have you heard? Isn't it awful? Tabbitha came and told me that Thomas went after that new calf and the calf was sent away again because that woman found a tick on it and Thomas has never been heard of since."

After a silence that lasted a few minutes while the assembled Insect People thought their own thoughts Mr Jimmy Jigger-Flea cleared his throat and said "Well, I guess it's my turn now. I went adventuring up to the Wild Town three days ago and took a funny tasting bite out of Mr Samson's big toe - I specialise in big toes you know - but after a few mouthfuls I was very, very sick. I heard afterwards that Mr Samson is having his feet treated for corns and poor I had eaten corn plaster instead of toe!" After the laughter had died down each insect had his or her turn to tell their stories, to the enjoyment of everyone.

Last but not least came Miss Bonita Butterfly. She leant forward and said "I have been wondering just where I had seen Bobby before. I was on the village green. I was sipping nectar from a primrose when all of a sudden I found myself fluttering helplessly in a net. Three boys laughed gaily over my capture but then a fourth boy came up to them, saw my plight and said "No boys. Not that one. She's too pretty." The others laughed at him and then they started to fight over which one of them should have me for their collection. The boy who was holding the net threw it down after he had received a punch, so that he could use his arms to fight back. Now they all turned on the fourth boy, Bobby, and while he got quite a spanking I managed to wriggle free and flew off home. Bobby, I thank you from the tips of my wings."

Everyone clapped their hands and laughed while poor Bobby grew very red in the face. Then Mr Tick looked at his watch and said "Well folks, all good things must come to an end. Good night to you all." and everyone echoed "Good night." Bobby went off to bed in Mr and Mrs Tick's spare room saying over and over "I'll never catch butterflies ever again. They're too pretty."

When Bobby awoke again he started up with the sound of Mother's laughter. She said "Very well Bobby dear, you must have had a sweet dream - and butterflies are rather sweet but have you ever seen what funny babies they have? Funny little worms." The next thing Bobby found was two big tears running down his cheeks. "Not Bonnita." he said loyally. "She's too pretty."

"The Golden Coronet"

My mother compiled several stories she had written earlier into a book which she had photocopied and then gave to her grandchildren.

I think the grandchildren were too young to appreciate them at the time!

Here is the first of them again for you Douglas, Angela, Dianne and Gillian; Nicola, Jennifer, David, Jonathan and Susan; Michael; Shelly, Colleen, Andrew, Cindy and Richard; and Shawn - and all the spouses of these grandchildren:

By P Powrie - 1974

The Golden Coronet

Once upon a time there lived a pretty little princess named Gloriana -so named because of her beautiful golden hair - whom everyone called Princess Glory for short.

Gloriana's Mother died when she was but a small girl and her Father, the King, married again, a woman who had been sweet enough before the wedding, you may be sure, but afterwards showed her true colours of greediness, selfishness, pride and jealousy.

When the new Queen's first baby was born she was a funny wizened little person with dark hair and did not look at all beautiful, like Gloriana with her lovely face and long golden hair, and so the new Queen turned even more against poor Glory and sought to find every opportunity to rebuke and punish her.

Glory's Father, the King, was always so busy with his Kingly duties of State - and the other friends he had made to help him forget his new, shrewish Queen - that he very seldom even saw Glory and therefore did not know that she was so unhappy.

This sad state of affairs carried on for what seemed to Glory such a long, long time that she felt that she would never be happy ever again. Then one day, when her step-mother, the Queen, was in a particularly unpleasant mood and was walking in the garden, snapping off the heads of some beautiful flowers - just because they were beautiful and so she hated them for that - she, followed by her ladies-in-waiting, who were walking behind her, silent for fear they might say the wrong thing and get the sharp edge of the cross Queen's tongue, they rounded the curve in the tall hedge of the "Creeper Walk" - a long grassy path guarded by a trellis of every different kind of flowering or variegated creeper that the royal gardener had been able to find in his travels around the world in search of creepers for this walk, which was to be the first lovely Queen's delight and which she had so loved during her seven years as the Queen of Varieland.

The King and his first Queen had been married a year when Gloriana was born but when Glory was seven years old her poor Mother died, taking Gloriana's little brother with her.

The King had married his second Queen, Morena, when Glory was eight years old and now, after three years of sadness Glory was a slender, elfin beautiful child of eleven, with a lovely face, dark blue eyes and her long golden wavy hair which, when it was not braided, reached down almost to her waist.

Well, as I was saying, Queen Morena was walking along snapping off flowers as she and her ladies rounded a curve in the Creeper Walk, when they came upon the little Princess Glory, sitting sadly by herself (although her attendant lady-in-waiting sat, sewing, on a bench a little way along the path) upon the grassy floor of the Walk, talking quietly to herself as she plaited strands of long grass and creepers together and fastened a flower into the plait every now and then so that she had a very pretty green plait dangling in her lap. As she worked, she talked sadly but quietly to her own Mother, telling her how much she missed her and how much she wished that she had her own little brothers and sisters to play games and romp with her!

Well, the Queen and her ladies had been silent as they walked on the soft grass. The Princess and her maid-in-waiting had been silent too -or almost silent, because Glory spoke so very softly - and now the Queen stopped and looked down at Glory with hatred in her eyes and Glory, feeling the venom of this gaze, looked up, saw the Queen and scrambled hastily to her feet to make the curtsy her new Mama demanded of her.

The sun was shining, the birds were making their sweet noises but the palace peacock chose that moment to make one of his horrible screeches, away off on the front lawns of the palace.
Glory, whose legs might have been a little stiff from the way she had been sitting, made a rather clumsy curtsy, stumbling a little and, putting her hand out to steady herself, she caught hold of a strand of creeper, which promptly broke off under the strain.

This was enough cause for her step-mother to fly into a worse rage and rant at the child for her clumsiness, her lack of respect and the fact that she was destroying the palace property by breaking pieces off the hedge!

The new Queen always insisted that Glory make her the deepest of curtsies in order to show her deference for her new Mama and now she said that if Glory could not do better than that then she must be locked away in the bare tower room, with nothing else to occupy her time so that she would have time to practice her curtsy and think more upon her good manners.

Poor Glory. Her Father was away on a State visit and so there was nobody to help her - but even if her Father had been there it is doubtful that he would have known what befell the little Princess.

(Ah. How lucky are all children who have loving Fathers and Mothers!)

So, Glory was banished to the tower room and there she sat upon the floor and cried - even 'though princes and princesses are not supposed to cry - because she was so very lonely and sad.
After a little while she, having nothing else to do, carefully pulled out one and then another strand of her long golden hair until she had enough to make a plait as slender as her little finger. These she put with all the ends together, tied a knot in the one end, held the knot between her teeth, divided the hairs into three strands and proceeded to plait them together into a long slender gleaming gold braid. When this was finished she again knotted it and found that it was quite long enough to encircle her head and fasten the two knots together with some more strands. She placed them on her head like a golden crown and said aloud "Oh, if only I were Queen I would be so happy and sweet, I would never punish anyone with such loneliness and unkindness as this."

Immediately the room seemed to brighten and looking up little Glory saw a bright shaft of light shining through the little tower window and in the light she saw, first faintly and then clearly, her own loving, lovely Mother. Yet now, it wasn't her Mother as she had known her but the spirit form of her Mother, now made visible to her earthly eyes.

Her Mother spoke softly "My poor baby," she said "Just a little longer and your unhappiness will end and you will come and live with me in this new lovely country where all of us who were good kindly people on earth have gathered to make such happy homes for ourselves and just wait for our loved ones to come to us in their own due time. Now just so that you will remember my promise, and to be a constant reminder of it, I shall turn your coronet into pure gold so that you will know that you did not dream only that you saw me. So be of good cheer and keep a happy heart and soon you will be with us, in happiness."

So saying, her Mother stretched out her hand and touched the little circlet on her daughter's head and instantly the hair turned into real, fine, spun gold, heavier than hair, but not too heavy for the little Princess' head to bear.

The tower room was cold and damp as well as bare and as the hours passed little Glory began to shiver more and more and then to feel hot and then cold again. At last there were footsteps on the stone steps and a key turning in the lock. The door opened and a lady-in-waiting said kindly, waking the sleeping feverish child. "Come your Highness, your supper awaits you in your warm nursery." and little Princess Gloriana awoke and once more stumbled to her feet and, feeling dazed, was guided back down to her rooms by a very concerned lady-in-waiting.

She could eat but little and the next day the fever was worse and Glory constantly spoke of her Mother and the Land of Happiness to which she was soon to depart.

The ladies-in-waiting hovered anxiously over her, the doctor hummed and hawed and tried his best. Her Father was summoned hastily home and the wicked Queen smiled to herself. Now perhaps her little girl would be the next Queen instead of Glory!

Then, on the third day, Glory suddenly sat up and cried out "Mother, Darling, you have come for me at last. Oh how happy I am." and she stretched out her arms and then quietly fell back on her pillows, the smile still on her lovely peaceful face.

By the time the King reached home again, later that day, all that Princess Gloriana's lady-in-waiting had to give him was a slender circlet of pure shining gold strands with the words "This is a miracle Sire, but in the tower room her braid of hair turned into pure gold and her Royal Highness said Her Majesty her Mother had given it to her as a token of her visit. More than this we do not know."

When the whole story came out the King banished the wicked Queen to another Land and some years later he took another Queen and had three little princes and another little princess from her and she was almost as sweet as princess Gloriana's own Mother had been - and do you know that in a glass case in the beautiful palace with-drawing room, lies a slender coronet of pure golden hair as a reminder that Glory and her Mother had once been here but that now they were in the Land of Happiness where all good, kindly people go and where you and I may also go, one day, if we are sweet enough.

Garden Diary

1960:


"I have decided to try to keep a record of all work and events in the garden from now, 15th July 1960, to use for reference and interest in the years to come..."



Pages 272/3 - near the end

And the last entry 22nd June 1987 on page 285.

There are newspaper clippings, pressed leaves, diagrams and discourses.

16th July 1960: "Ronald is really trying to walk at last, though he first walked, unwillingly, at least a month ago!"

19 September 1971: "Jane had a very serious motor accident 23/6/71 and nearly lost her life, but she is better now."

12th November 1975: "I wonder if anyone will ever read this diary? I think, if you do, whoever you are, if you will sign your names in this margin as a matter of interest to those who come after you.

I have tried to make it interesting as well as, now what is the word I want? illustrative, factual, topical and a chronological record of family and historical events as well as reporting on progress in the garden."

I see I need to read this more carefully... I will do so an make more posts.

Delight

This morning I had a lovely phone call from my brother Tim.

He talked about how lovely it is to just stop and absorb the beauty of wherever he is. He talked of going to the Namib and being in the silence. "You don't know the meaning of "The Sound of Silence" until you have been in the desert and felt and heard the silence there. He spoke of sitting down and examining a Welwitchia plant, thousands of years old, and seeing the little bugs on it and the form, texture and colour.

I said "We are cut from the same cloth! We are so similar we must have learnt it from our parents."

"Mom" he promptly responded.

She taught her children well.

Quotes

My Mom loved quotes.

These are a few I find myself remembering often:

"In time, take time while time doth last;
For time is no time when time is past."

"There, but for the grace of God, go I"

"Helping, when you meet them, lame dogs over stiles."

"A job worth doing, is a worth doing well."

"The King is dead. Long live the King!"

"Remember who you are."