On a Mission

It had been early starts all round – before Bill, Joe, Henry and Dandy had set off in search of the mysterious church and the old yew, Eddie had been up. He had the idea that bird watchers always got up very early and he wanted his account to be authentic should it be challenged. Hence it was still pitch black as he picked his way through town and down towards the canal and the open country beyond. The binoculars bumped on his chest as he walked and in the darkness the damp and cool of the night still hung making him shiver.

“Bluidy daft innit “ He muttered to himself “Gering owt so earl when theres nowt to see cuz its still bluidy dark. Kent see any birds in this.”

Just then a pair of owls sounded off to his left behind the houses – call answering each other and Eddie laughed despite himself remembering flying over the allotments and delighted with hearing the owls – it seemed to herald good luck for his mission.

As the dawn broke he was beyond the canal and across the fields into the woods. He hiked along for about an hour all the time keeping his eyes open for birds and for the real reason for his clandestine trip – romanies. Bill had asked him to go and speak with Alathia again, to pump for information and especially to find out anything more he could about the black clad ones, the giant bird and their possible weaknesses.

Eddie had gone for this straight away. Gathering field intelligence he thought – reconnaissance – that's essential in any war and Eddie appreciated that. By the time the sun began to warm the air Eddie was proceeding cautiously he thought, through the great green spaces beneath ancient trees soft leaf mould beneath his feet the gold of the sun glittering green but still cool and damp in the woods. High above gulls turned spiralling in the blue sky and a buzzard soared. For a moment Eddie remembered the hideous night when the giant eagle seemed to attack them in the shed but the buzzard was wholly natural.

Rotting logs and branches made progress difficult and in some places blocked his path. Some time in the last year, Eddie realised, they had stopped maintaining the woods and its paths and as a result the wood that fell rotted where it fell. Though some was gathered for fire he guessed. The result was a profusion of life, beetles and bugs and fungus and mould. The floor of the remnant of woodland had an air of splendid decay. But there was no escaping that it was slowing him down and he felt watched – several times he seemed to hear a few notes on a pipe and catch some kinds of ruslting and scampering. He dismissed it of course as “Bluidy squirrels or summat” but his mind was still full of the great cat and he was glad to be in the sun after painfully climbing a barbed wire fence. He picked his way along the edge where the old woods gave way to farmland and there he walked along the field making swifter – and safer progress. He felt safer in the open, nothing could sneak up on him.

After a while of quiet walking he came to a stile and perched there for a while an obvious figure to any observing eyes, higher than the hedges unthinkingly attracting the attention he had been anxious to avoid. The first field had held a green wheat swaying in the gentle breeze around the edges profusely sprinkled with scarlet poppies and yellow ox daisies – he descended into a field of pasture land running gently down hill in front of him the deep dark green of the woods to his right. He could see the gypsies now where the road ran along the bottom of the slope a clutter of wagons and cars, caravans and bikes. Children and dogs running about and small fires burning. The singe of wood smoke reached him evocative and compelling. He began down the hill soft grass beneath his feet feeling confident of success.

Eddie was a gardener and not a livestock man. He never had that instinctive concern and caution about beasts of the field most country people and indeed ramblers and experienced walkers soon develop. He couldn't tell a bull from a cow and he simply ignored the huge animal ominously alone and until now munching the long grass undisturbed. Indeed if had approached from the other side he would have seen a large sign urging him to “Beware of the Bull” tacked neatly to a post as he would have had he not joined the path by climbing out of the woods, the farmer being a man of great proprietary.

Some bulls are gentle minded creatures slow to rouse – others are not. This great brown and white beast had a defensive rage about him quick to ignite. Eddies flapping coat, his bouncing binoculars and jangling rucksack and most of all his cheerful whistle were enough to light the blue touch paper and a great huff whistled from the bulls nostrils. His massive form tensed and he was off hooves thundering and quickly accelerating – tons of muscle, bone and vicious horns on the move. And hurtling with sudden breakneck speed eyes red with rage. Too late Eddie realises the danger “Oh heck!” and he turns running back towards the stile. The bull gains at monstrous speed Eddie might as well be standing still and below in the field some of the gypsies are running to help far away much to far. And at the last moment as the bull is one thunderous step behind and one moment from maiming and Eddie hears a voice in his head “Fly Eddie fly – dont die” and in a moment Eddie is up. Flying again with an ancient chorus in his heart. The razor sharp tip of one horn tears the tiniest of holes in the seat of ancient cords as he hurtles skywards 10 – 20 -30 feet - blue and sunshine all around him and bees buzzing high above the crops and then down over the stile with a gentle flop and he falls to his knees in the wheat, binoculars bumping. Safe.

By the time Alathia and the rest arrive – shielded from the maddened bull beyond the fence between the fields and the woods, Eddie has stood up dusting himself down – brushing soil from his clothes and sweat from his brow. There is a torrent of explanation – he tripped – did the long jump – was just plain lucky. But Alathia and Nemiah can see what he did. They scan the horizons hoping none of the Duchies have seen it – unaware of the spy in their own camp.

Because flying like that don't pass unobserved. One figure from the gypsy camp is on the phone talking in the accent of the low countries – talking to his friends in black and leather. The old magic has revealed something, that more than one old man has met the tree spirit that's for sure. Eddies salvation has exposed him. More than once.

And in the woods another ancient creature has spotted that trick because he can do it to. Where the odd note sounded – a pipe or a horn or just the creak of branches in the breeze ? Now an ancient tune is heard again full and loud for the first time in English woodland for what seems like an eternity. Some Gods are impressive some are frightening some can do wondrous deeds. This is not one of those. Others have hairy goats legs and are fond of dryads. Oh yes. . . He just thinks flying like that could be fun and in the glades beneath the ancient trees he gives it a go. And it is. Also its sure from that magic that a dryad is around and he's missed them sleeping in the old oak woods.

Oblivious Eddie is hastily hurried down the hill into the camp to obtain and to give his beloved field intelligence. His reconnaissance has begun.

Tree Spirit.

Tree Spirit

Old bones are stiff and are not as fast as young and it was a full ten minutes of frantic searching before Dandy was relocated. Bill had scurried back along the gravel path to the church and stuck his head inside burping and with his bladder regretting the beer, Joe and Henry had peered up and down the country lane and got as far the bus stop, Jackie barking, before the sound of a bell ringing caught their attention. They turned to head towards it. Bill heard it to drifting into the polished wooden interior of the old church. He paused between the pews where he had been searching, sniffing beeswax and the scent of flowers placed by loving hands. The smell of church. Jerked from his reverie he remembered the bell, the yew and he relaxed. Of course she was safe. How could she not be, here in this place? He straightened and walked gently in the direction of the softly ringing bell.

Joe and Henry had arrived at speed and Dandy was sat there oblivious to all of them. An ancient tree – green branches withered by age but still with shoots and buds and scarlet berries – a female tree then - like drops of blood from some ancient sacrifice. Not such a big tree – not much more than a big thick shrub, hidden behind a screen of brightly glistening silver birch and a yellow conifer. Dandy had squeezed herself into the shrubbery on the cool dry leaf mould and was staring intently at its thick reddish trunk, ignoring the panting men standing on the path a few feet away and unaware of Bills stately arrival, his head full of church calm. Bill was briefly reminded of the day he found her – under the monkey puzzle tree.

The bell was about ten feet up, dull and coppery and tolling gently driven by some unknown force, it had slowed as they stood there.

Bill placed a hand on a shoulder of each of the friends and they all stood in silence for a moment.

“Could be a long wait cuddit?” Joe shifted on his legs. “I aint as young as I used to be – all this running aabaht an' standin' up and stuff - ..” he wanted to say magic or visions or both.
Bill thought of his bladder.
“oi think'we could wait in the' pub awright?” he said and turned taking both of them with him.

Joe wanted to talk about what had happened. The strange seemingly magical experience, the woods, - the forest! - and the coincidences of the church and the Professor, now long gone. Henry was strangely silent – musing – suddenly thinking of Lisa, and the little dog panting tongue lolling. About life and death. One was dead and had stayed it, the other – Henry knew that Jackie had been dead, in his heart of hearts he knew it. Now the child had time travelled them or summat – mebbe he would see Lisa again? He was suddenly overcome and reached to rub old dogs head to cover his tear.

Joe was rattling on – full of wonder, Bill had an arm on his shoulder and Henry lagged behind letting the dog relieve himself once more as the little group headed back to the Pub. So it was that he was still outside by the big double door when the ramblers reappeared – Henry had quite forgotten their participation in the dream or time travel or whatever it was.

“Hello there” The woman spoke first her voice soft and stumbling.
“Yes Hello” said the man “We need to talk to you about what happened just then – you know – in the pub.”
Henry eyed them suspiciously. But there is a glow – a gentle warmth about them. They are friendly not foes.
“Wharra' bout it?” He pulls Jackie away who has been sniffing their walking boots with great delight squirming with pleasure at the smells of the country.
“Well – who is she? How did it happen? Is she a... a er..?” The man struggles for words and Henry relents instantly.
“Shall 'us join the uthers hay come on in the Pub hay ? – Have a beer finally or summat – was yer names an' that then?” And at the same moment Dandy arrives back as well – twigs and pine needles adorning her hair glistening in the sun. her smile radiant and giggling as well.

Inside Bill is returning from the gents, and Joe is returning from the bar with three more beers. Then seeing the two extra guests fuss is made about their drinks and who will get what and where they can sit, and in the melee they get to know each other Andrew and Joan – on a tour by bus and foot and interested for old churches and traditions of the country. Not as well informed as the missing Professor but with real joy and delight in what they see and find, and no need to understand everything. Or to lecture as they went.

Dandy is back and present now of course, and so they can't talk about her, but both of them glance shyly at her all the time. Dandy also doesn't know what to say in front of them – about the tree, and the bell and what she has learned from the ancient being. So she talks of baking and gardening and beer. And money – she is laughing – and someone is worried about who will pay for the next round. Then Dandy says between peals of laughter, “Why ole Bill o' course he has billions in his bank account!” And they all start to laugh, but Bills face stops them dead.
“Wha'?” says Joe and “Hay?” says Henry while Andrew and Joan smile nervously as Bill looks thunderous then apologetic.
She had done nothing wrong. He had – he knew that – by not mentioning it. A bit of him had sat on it like a dragon on his horde and he is ashamed.
Joe and Henry are silenced as are the ramblers.
“Aye – I'll buy a round!” Says Bill. And in a split second the atmosphere breaks and the friends all laugh together. Dandy loudest of all. The old Gods always make some mischief you know. Always.

Later the small party catch a return bus, 4 becoming six and plan to meet later back in town.

Bill is secretive though. He has to meet Eddie who has been missing today – though the others barely noticed. Eddie and Bill had hatched another plan. Certain information was needed and as a long country walk was potentially involved Bill had asked Eddie – the youngest and fittest of them to undertake it. Eddie had set out as early as the others that morning, equipped with rations for the day and Bills recently acquired binoculars – packed in a camouflaged rucksack and notepads and pens. Finally, he had added an ancient bird book – An Observers guide – to his retinue, figuring he knew enough about birds and their names to pass himself off as a birdwatcher – or whatever they were called these days – should the need arise.

And the need for disguise did arise and Eddie was glad of it, and despite missing the day out with the lads and Dandy – he was happy to be doing his bit for her cause. He hurried to meet Bill to tell him his intelligence.

St Georges Inn

>St Georges Inn

As Dandy basks waiting for their admiration the middle aged couple emerge around the corner of the Church grey hair huddled over a guidebook, and looking up join the exclamations of surprise. The men baffled, the Professor for a moment seemingly speechless and then suddenly regaining her wind and setting sail again.

“Well there is a certain superficial resemblance ..”

Bill cuts her short. “Superfishal? Shes a bloody spit. 'Ows tha possible then Prof?” Bill sounds rattled

“Well I suppose she was probably modelled on a local girl. Possibly a servant or a local peasant.” Professor Duds does not sound so sure . “Her family must be local- were you born around here dear ? - Well come on there's more to see!” And with that she scoops up the old friends and Dandy and the ramblers to, shooing them further round the church.

“We must see the butresses from the outside to understand the inner architecture – all in good time child!” she hushes Dandy.

“I see you have done your research my girl – there is a lovely late mediaeval painting of the Goddess – all in white and gold like your wonderful but impractical frock. Totally from imagination of course. Lots of girls do it. You're nothing special!”

As the impromptu tour continues and Dandy spits with indignation – research, imagination? A servant - a peasant? Nothing special? - the old men slope off one by one. And a few minutes later are assembled for a 'conflab' in the comfortable interior of the St Georges Inn, the bar had been beckoning Bill and Joe and Henry for some time and in the late morning still nearly empty and the perfect spot for some hurried discussions.

Holding fresh pints they quickly make themselves at home in a corner alcove where gentle background music will help hide their words.

“S'like she were 'ere years ago – loike tha' carver made her statue there” Bill listens carefully as Henry speaks leaning forward intently voice hushed. Then its Joes turn.

“Did she loike know that statue were there? Did she wear tha' frock on purpose – as she bin doin research?” Joes face is a picture of bewilderment and doubt. The Professor had seemed so sure. Even making him doubt what he had seen with his own eyes and the experiences of the last few months. He knows his eyes are close to tears. It can't all be a trick can it? The market, the animals the fish and the rest just coincidence? Bad luck ?

Bill drinks mightily and then wipes his hand across white bristle and wet lips. His minds had also been troubled by such a thought, but he dismisses it.

“Naaa! 'coursnot. Shes lookin' for summat – a shield innit? Reckons it can 'elp us get rid of them Dutchies and the birds and tha' and mek 'erself safe.”
“Loike a magical shield or summat?”

And Bill smiles “Loike on teevee, loike Paul Daniels?” Eyes crinkled with a million tiny creases as he makes her joke.

“Well I dunnoe do I?” Henry blushes at the teasing, and takes another long pull on his beer.

“I dunnoe either. Not really”– Bill shrugs his shoulders his eyes serious again.

“I think mebbe it hides 'er – so they won't know shes there anymore?”

The landlord – tall and laid back in a white apron -who has been studying them from behind the gleaming wooden bar counter drying glasses catches their attention.

Afternoon gents..” He begins his voice friendly. “Anything I can help..” But before he can finish the old double door bangs open again and Dandy and the Professor and the ramblers are there. The Professor is still talking even as Dandy stalks into the bar, glaring at the three of them, her eyes wild.

Too perfect the Professor is thinking – must have been very good research, and her voice drones on each word dropping like a stone into the silence of the bar.

“Of course a Dryad might also be an image of a Goddess -or it might be stolen from classical legend – its hard to tell, - did I mention that there is a kind of large bark growing fungus called the Dryads Saddle dear?” She does not wait for a response before carrying on. “Because Dryads were Tree Spirits of course and the fruiting body of the fungus resembles a sort of small saddle stuck to a tree. “

Dandy is standing in front of the men with her back to the Professor – Bill has never seen her so irritated and bad tempered. Angry yes, not just plain fed up though. He starts to rise to his feet muttering apologetically and gesturing for the girl to sit with them. But Instead Dandy turns her back sharply on them, facing the still talking Professor arms spreading wide.

“Stop” Her voice is commanding cutting the Professor dead, but still she continues as though nothing will ever stop her dry expostulation of fact after meaningless fact.

“Yoy have no idea what it was like!” Dandy sounds nearly hysterical her voice rising and sharpening. All trace of the old friends country accent quite gone.

“I will show you and she snaps her arms up and claps her hands hard together over her head.

“This is what it was like!” She says simply.

And for a split second there is absolute silence and then like water falling the bar, the tables the windows the purple carpeted floor begins to flow away and bright sunshine is all around and deep quiet green, Leaves rustling on mighty trees behind and lower ones as well moving and swaying a little in a gentle breeze and the buzzing of bees and the gentle hum of insects and distant bird song. And of a Pub or a car park or a Church or farms or fields not a trace. Just an unbroken carpet of trees rolling up a distant slope.

Bill, Joe and henry stumbled back as the very chairs beneath them and the table to rippled out of existence and the Professor too, as the floor of the Pub swept away. She falls to her hands her legs still straight. Touching the soft soil and green unkempt grass she gasps. They are standing on some sort of small knoll a small sedgey stream nearby and the Professor gasps again her eyes as wide as saucers gazing at the deep green forest.

The old men watch her sat heavily on the grass only Dandy is still properly upright - she slowly lowers her arms from above her head.

“This is what it was like.” She says stressing the this like the Professor did. Her smile now very uncertain, she tosses free her long blond hair and smooths her white dress down over tanned brown knees. In that morning sun every inch a dryad.

Bill sees a brilliant orange butterfly settling onto red campion and feels a nettle sting his hand which he raises before his face in astonishment Joe watches entranced as a huge bee passes before him nearly hitting his nose – Henry gazes into the distance at the rolling vista. Birds are stirring in the tree tops, distant shapes.

Another figure has also slowly risen to his feet – the pub landlord in white apron incongrous and staring at them and then at Dandy, his face slack jawed in wonder.

“What – did – I die of?” He asks steepling his hands his voice trembling. “Is this heaven?”

Dandy sneezes and explodes into laughter and nearly doubles over when another voice rises up. “Helloo – coo-ee!” It is the middle age ramblers holding each other and also raptly watching Dandy.

The Professor slowly turns to face them. To their astonishment a smile is spreading across her normally sour face. A Child like glee.

“So its true?” her voice creaks like the shifting of time - “Do you know? I think I thought that all along – but somehow it got lost. Buried in facts and papers. I think I always knew. I hope.” and she shakes her head in wonderment.

A splashing in the stream attracts them and they all turn to look a child about five or six years old is running along the stream giggling, clad in leather from neck to ankle and a mop of blond hair. Gold glistens at her neck.

And Dandy still laughing and the childs laughter joins the sound and the two voices sound as one for a moment. Then Dandy tears in eyes pointing at the child says “And there am I!” Then suddenly excited as though spying an old friend “And that is where the Yew is to!”

With a bump like a car hitting a wall the whole party is once more in the bar of the St. Georges, where they stumble to the floor. Except for Dandy who is off out the pub door and gone. She is followed a few seconds later by the Professor and the ramblers whilst the landlord slumps onto a bar stool. “Not my time yet . He says quietly.

Professor Tyra Dudds makes her way slowly home clutching the dry bones of her facts, her books and pamphlets and histories. She lets herself into her dusty book filled house, dropping her cargo onto a seat and plumping herself next to them. One hand rubbing the spines of the books she reaches out to a nearby shelf taking down a book. She closes her eyes and and sighs pressing her hands together in silent prayer. The picking up the old leather bound tome she begins to read once familiar words now seeming antique and distant but soon regaining momentum. She sat reading for many hours starting “In the beginning God created the heaven and the Earth...” and in that time of reverence mystery, awe and wonder begin to re-enter her life.

Yew Tree

Yew Tree

Dandy is trying to describe a place where she needs to go and Bill is trying to work out where it could be.

“Theres a massively old tree there... it stands alone” She squeezes her forehead trying to explain
“ Its green...” She trails off
“ Arent all trees?” Bill is perplexed but gentle sensing her frustration her inability to know or explain. He would wait and try to coax it from her.
“With red berries on it” She opens her eyes as if this will clarify matters.
Of course it doesn't. Eventually Bill has a brain wave and he clatters off into his bedroom rummaging to emerge an old picture book flapping in his hands.

A Yew Tree. Probably.
“Though Yew is not her name!” Dandy insists on that but pouts like a child if asked what the name is. She doesnt know
So Bill lets that pass.
“Old 'ow old then? He asks. For all he knows the could be hundreds even thousands of Yew Trees around here. He knows he has seen them all his life- in Church yards and formal gardens other places. Bill was never one for trees except fruit trees of course.
“Very old. 5,000 years old? Older...” Again her voice trails off, she knows that doesnt seem possible and Bill voices her thought.
“S'not possible. Wa' - near 'ere?”
“Since the church people came it s near them on an old grove?” She ends with a question expecting him to recognise her description any moment. Trusting old wisdom.
And Bill tries to grasp it “ Worra' new built Church? Wa' – near 'ere?”

Dandy doesnt know. Anything from the last few thousand years has been said to be recent by her. Bill hazily remembers a baffling conversation where he thought she was confused about a war story and had the idea that the NAZIs had occupied the county. But she was talking about invaders. She meant the Normans. He had been left speechless by that. She had thought that Bill and the lads had fought the Normans? Fifty years, a hundred, a thousand? All recent.

“Whats near then? 'Ow far 'a way is near then?”
“Can you see it like with magic?”
She shoots him a look and a sudden trade mark grin
“Like Paul Daniels on the TeeVee?” And Bill blushes.
“I know her she can speak to me” She relents on teasing him.
“She doesnt know about things like maps and roads only powers and feelings – I can see some things she can see. “
Then casually
“She has a Bell on her”
Bill doesnt catch that for a moment intent on exploring what the tree can see only half believing.

“Wha' can she see?”
“A building older than some which has some new bits!
An arched gate and a green seat and a path. Dead people places. A power fence.” dandy paused.
“I am guessing what she means half the toime 'n oi?” A thick rustic burr, soft as butter.
“Sounds like a Churchyard o course.”
“Its near – we could walk there in a few hours.”

Again Bill feels that could be any distance. It could be hundreds of miles. She is strong and young and as far as he knows has never been in a vehicle.
She could walk for miles.

“Its all woods and fields behind” she says. “
Farmers I think and dogs and chill'en and prob'ly sheep or cows.”
“Chill'en?”
Human chill'en. Little ones she means children explains Dandy hastily.

Bills mind has caught up at last. “She 'as a bell 'ung in the branches?” He asks. Not noticing he has called the tree 'she' again. “Now tha' does ring a bell!” He is briefly delighted with his antique joke.
But Dandy is serious again.
“Its 'ard Bill, to use your language to describe what passing time tastes like – what ringing bells feel like, what growing so slowly tha' a day is an instant – a week a moment a year a blink.” She blinks herself. “What thats like... its hard to say it out loud.
“The bell has been there a long time and been rung many times. The church has pictures in stone – carvings – of us, the sisters, the others, the Green one, the Piper..” She trails off bashful, but Bill doesnt notice.
“Griffins and mermaids,winged lions and manticoras and the Sheelas and ... “ She stops as though waiting to be asked but Bill takes no notice.

Bill knows of a Church about twenty miles away. A small square Norman Church with a large round window in a tiny village with a old church bell in the branches of a Yew tree. His parents were married there. He knows that. What he does not know is the 'why' of going there. Apart from to chat with a tree. Dandy is not worried about the sinister falconers from the low countries. But Bill can feel the power the strong young men have. They could break into his house and take her. Anytime. Dandy is happy that she is protected somehow.

“So wah' will we get from this owtin' then? How ill it 'elp then?” He shudders seeing strong arms grabbing her – crushing her light, himself powerless choked with rage. He shudders wondering if the old service revolver he has somewhere can be found and reawakened.

“She will be able to tell 'us where the shield is now – she's sure to have it somewhere. There are so many pictures there are sure to be our followers around. It will be quite nice – even though I am on my own, to meet them. They will be pleased. “
She is grinning shyly like a celebrity in the spotlight – suddenly nervous. But Bill is thinking bus routes. Have to walk out of town to catch one these days since the routes suddenly altered to terminate outside or avoid the town. Yep, he thought, there is a bus, just a little walk up the hill to the stop. He would check the times – go tomorrow, bring the others he thought, Henry and Joe along for the ride.

So it was that the next morning found all three old friends and the grinning shy but proud Dandy amongst them. Twinkling and flirty, suddenly giggling making nervous jokes. Its her first trip in a bus and her first out of town as far as Bill can see. She has dressed for the trip, a simple white dress and gold at throat, wrist and ankle. No painters trousers or found t-shirts today.

“Whas with 'er then?” Asks Joe. He has been elected to heave aboard the bus bags of food and drinks hastily prepared and is panting red faced from the exertion. Henry is fighting off dogs responding to Jackies savage response to being on a bus. A wild lunge and a nip at every other dog and there are several to close for comfort. A middle aged couple in walking boots and rucksacks have a springer for company. A pleasant animal but Jackie is convinced it is an evil being and will not stop a wide mouthed snarl.
Bill looks gloomily at Dandy still giggling and flushed from excitement.
“She thinks shes gonna be met wif her worshippers” His voice a pessimistic whisper.
“Sez theres pictures of 'er mates all over the bloody shop, an oi reckon she thinks 'erself an all.”
Joe snorts.
Finally he says “Its a Christian Church. Tha's all. Been there for years. Got some funny carving though. Shes roight about tha'. “ He rubs is chin thoughtfully old horny fingers scraping over white bristle. He watches as the hedges and trees whizz by. Like Bill and Henry it seems a long time since he was in any kind of powered transport.

Bill scans the countryside bleakly, blind to its beauty right now. Searching for dark clad men, suspicious falcons or even impossibly huge birds. From time to time he seems to see a dark shape here or there, flitting between the gold and green flooding the landscape, across earthy fields and dancing crops of barley and wheat. A feline shape he thinks, its impossible that the cat could be pursuing the bus, let alone keeping up with it or speeding ahead. His mind ponders winged lions and flying serpents. Nothing seems beyond the bounds of possibility these days. The bus rises and falls along small country lanes and at one stage crosses a motorway. Dandy is thrilled by the cars and then horrified by the numbers streaming away. She is briefly tearful and anxious again – too many people sometimes overwhelm her, and the speeds of course, all moving so fast. Oast houses dot the landscape and dandy exclaims at a windmill, white against the blue sky the sun a blinding reflection its sails moving lazily and a haze of smoke.

Finally the bus reaches their destination and the three men and the girl tumble out in a flurry of bags and sticks and muffled swearing. Dandy is off before the others have collected themselves and they follow in her wake letting her choose the route. The middle aged ramblers have also left the bus and they leave them at the bus stop peering anxiously at a map, as Dandy disappears through a gate, over the trees beyond a square tower of a small Norman church is visible, a flag the red cross of St George flying on a small flag pole above.

“Aye, St Georges innit?” Joe has been struggling to keep up, indicating the flag. Bill nods in agreement trotting down the gravel path feet scrunching as they try to stay with Dandy. She has stopped by the wooden double door and is studying the surrounds, heavily carved and embossed, and they arrive behind her forming a semi-circle.

She turns tears filling her eyes once more.

“What 'appened to 'em all ? They' re so worn and faded..” Her voice has assumed something of the clipped accent she had when they first met her, ethereal, other worldly.
“Theys ole anit they?” Jackie has cocked a leg against the soft stone off the wall a dark wet patch spreading making Dandy sniff and smile through the tears.

Bill has been looking closer – “Theys here loike yer said” He points.

“Jack in th' green, there. An' some koind o monkey on an 'orse an mermaids, and...”He looks closer tracing the carvings “Monsters here, with two 'eads and a cat wiv wings, man diggin' an 'ole, and a big dragon thing.”
“A wiff'en not a dragom and he's gardenin' not just diggin an 'ole” Dandy studies them intently her accent pure country again.
“Quite right young lady!” Another voice cuts in they have been joined by a small round figure – a woman in her fifties in brown corduroy trousers and wearing a brown cardigan over a white blouse, her hair grey and cut short and sensible to her ears she regards them through black plastic rimmed glasses.
Its pronounced as you said” She continues “Wiff'en – around here, but is spelt W Y V E R N “ She spells out the letters, as the men gaze at her in fascination, even Jackie momentarily silent.
Bill who had been shocked that he didnt hear her approach speaks first.
“Well it looks loike a dragon t' me.”
“Common mistake” She suddenly holds out a small plump hand to shake which Bill does mechanically.
“Professor Tyra Duds” She introduces herself. “Expert on mediaeval matters, especially churches and author of the leading monograph on the 'pagan images' of St Georges Church.” Bill thinks they could not have found anyone better to inform them, and begins to question her closely. The flying cat? The men with two heads? Christ with a Unicorn and a Sphinx? Professor Duds has an answer for everything.
“The mediaeval mind” She pauses for effect “Was very different. To them these things we know to be impossible were absolutely real, the carvings held power to them. The Old Goddess images on the next wall..” she guides them round in a practised way not stopping for breath , “were often mistaken as gargoyles, some are hideous of course but some are quite beautiful, the images of Hag and Maiden...both images of the Goddess and witchcraft of course..”
The first of the carvings positioned at intervals along the Church side are as described – ugly angry faces, wide stretched mouths and twisted noses and eyes, faded and worn by weather and age. The third is different more finely carved and less worn somehow, a carved face of a girl not yet a young woman, long haired curling behind into the stonework, and a broad luminous smile, almost a grin, eyes knowing, almost flirting.
“Our smiling Goddess is unique you know – in the UK anyway, there is something similar in Portugal, though not as fine. A bit of a one-off – so to speak.”She stops dead.
Dandy has stood beneath the carving and now turns to face them with it directly above her, she coils her hair behind her head smiling from beneath lowered eyelids.
“See.” She says simply.

In the eye...

In the Eye

And in the aftermath of the storm, with Henry and Joe weeping over a broken small furred body and Eddie scouting angrily round the shed scuffing at the claw marks, feathers and the blood with a tattered welly, Bill stood confused but steady. He had his eye on one person, the only one still serene and unaffected by the terrible events. Dandy had a small smile and she stood up gently reaching out one hand stained with soil and beetroot , nails broken and dirty. But in that one movement she had all the grace of a Queen welcoming a foreign Prince or a deity accepting the worship of an adoring congregation. Only Bill noticed as the gleam of gold passed across her face momentarily hiding her eyes and one hand touched the limp dangling back leg of the dog. Who coughed mightily, giving a sudden jerk, muzzle wrinkling to a snarl , his legs kicking life flowing back and wriggling immediately unused to the indignity of being held aloft his fur damp with tears.
Eyes wide Henry and Joe were exclaiming, biting sadness between friends transformed to confusion and joy.
“He were only windid won 'e?” Joe is exclaiming.
“Knocked unconshious won 'e?” baffled glee and eager to explain.
But Henry had caught the girls eye and seen within an echo of what had passed and if not before there and then his heart was filled with wonder. But Joe was clapping his shoulder and calling him a “daft ole bugger” - his ancient face wrinkled into a thousand smiles and for Henry the moment passed as his stared into her grave and innocent eyes.
As their eyes meet Dandy steps carefully out the door of the shed, but Bill steps after intent. Outside in the allotment corner where the scuffles had snapped off blooms, and crushed green seedlings the blood of the attacker was mixing in the soil. A harsh metallic smell hangs in the air and the heady smell of night scented stocks and honeysuckle. Sick and sweet. In the distance Eddie is still following the claw and paw marks, he has a garden fork ready to kill. Dandy is walking down the well trodden path where old boots have worn a groove, down the allotment. Bill follows a few feet behind. She is hugging herself tight white fingers wrapped round. Head down. For a moment she thinks she is alone her feet hurrying, stumbling, towards the tree circle. Where she finds a place on the ground pulling her knees to her face like a settling faun. She is panting and gasping. Sitting like a wound.
Bill stands behind her, quiet. Keeping his council as he might say and eventually manages a sound
“There there...” he says voice rasping...”There there.” Breath heavy.
And he sits behind on the edge of the tree circle, knocking feathery headed rose bay willow herb seeds scattering and amongst tiny flowers of wild basil and coriander.
Eventually the evening draws in, the unnatural storm a memory, as blackbirds fight the coming darkness with crescendos of defiance.
“'urt that' did it ay? - bringin that' dog back an all?” Bills face and expression cannot be seen in the shadow.
Eventually a small voice is heard.
“Yesss... Part of me is gone.” Sibilant, despairing. Out of the gloom in tears.
“I had no idea it hurt so much. No idea..”
Bill seeks for an answer. He so wants to help to make her better.
“There there moi dear” he manages eventually “There there...” And she seems to grow in strength from his few trite words. Heartfelt.
But now finally Dandy wants to talk and she begins.
As she talks Bill is conscious that the others have gathered behind him straining to listen. Joe and Henry and Eddie, and brave battered Jackie still confused and on tottery legs as well. Old ears strain to listen to hear and to try to understand, the old magic and the old ways.
And in the scent of the blooms and the grass and weeds and the blood scattered nearby it does seem really magical.
“There should be all of us the sisters come to rebirth – summonsed with blood and silver and water and earth called by old Bill across the aeons – should be all the sisters for vengeance and war and for rebirth not just natures child alone” Her voice precise and clipped, high and wondering no trace of self pity. “Natures child cannot manage alone for long, theres a need for all of us, or there wouldnt be all of us. T'ats fo' sure..” Suddenly her voice shines a smile, a strong country burr evident and turning to face them for a moment. Laughing at the old men like a
“S'ept we did till now innit?” The smile a beaming grin
“S'ept we did till now - dint we?”

Later Bill and Dandy are back home. The mystical events of earlier both peril and revelation seemingly forgotten. Dandy is chattering about scones and jam and bread and gathering apples, and Bill makes thick sludge tea and spreads them thick with yellow butter from the corner dairy till recently a branch of some unwanted bank now put to better use. Eventually silence does settle and Bill needs to speak again.
“So will'un come agin -nor them others?” His shrug indicating both bird and sinister men.
Dandy pauses from chewing and stirs tea – eyes once more guarded.
“They will always come again – of course – they will kill me.”
Bill finds his own expression tightening in response. A fight he can mange. His mind on the weapons he can buy with his unimaginable fortune.
“No 'rif we're reddy for 'um.” Every inch the mafia Godfather.
“Ken tek owt all 'em Dutchies yer know.” Nodding with satisfaction.
“one a' a toime....”
Dandy doesnt laugh at the fearsome threat from the ancient man. Nodding in return.
“Its a bold offer and brave one and welcome. But it will not work.” She licks her lips and wipes her hands on her shirt. Butter streaks.
“They'll just come agin – more and more of them. Can't be beaten like that. No chance. Seizing her hair in one hand and pulling it back behind her neck.
“Shall we go to the pub – oi couild kill a beer!”
the two talked for hours sipping beer beneath old beams, and s the night grew long and understanding as well they hatched a plan.

Thunderclouds

Thunderclouds Gather

The gypsies had told Bill something of the leather clad falconers as well. Ominous news. For as well as excited followers and sceptical friends a 'wild one' – as they had called slight Dandy - had enemies as well. And the clever talking Netherlanders walking the town were of that ilk. Romany puritans chasing Romany witches perhaps... But looking at her – crouched amongst the plants, no one would have thought it. Just a pretty, dusty kid. Bill hadn't wanted to ask to much, just gleaned a little from what was said and what was not as well. The way a frown clouded the Gypsies eyes as he spoke and the distant look – guarded maybe fearful, as he told of their separate tradition of the wild one. A thing to hunt and hate.

Not long after – as the sun made the shadows lengthen - Henry arrived for his newly regular afternoon visit. Jackie was in fine fettle lolling his jaws in the heat showing brown gappy teeth and releasing an organic warm scent – vegetation and sweat. Sagging into the shade of the seat by Bills shed. Bill had taken to repairing a fence, bailer twine and tacks in hand. As Henry sloped in Bill joined them, also taking a seat beating dust from his legs mechanically. Dandy was still industrious, weeding amongst the beans not distracted by the old men. Scarlet geraniums, radiant nasturtiums and a sophisticated penstemon – blond and slight like Dandy quivered in the gathering heat. Honeysuckle now ripe with scent throbbed with insects scrambling into the netting, and small pools of water floated on the dust of the path beneath their feet, where black boots met. In a few moments Jackie slept – snuffled snores and legs kicking in dreams.

Eventually Henry grunting and stretching contentedly like his dog ventured. “Might be a storm then, its right 'ot, feels loike a storm..”
Bill eyed him - “Aye – could b 'n all 's' loike 'eavy an' that.” he hadn't noticed the sky begin to boil with dark threatening clouds but he did now with alarm. Huge towering and black, they piled high on the horizon, yet the allotments were still bathed in warm sun, for the moment. As the two friends watched gimlet flashes of lightning began in the coils of the clouds. Still not a sound, but the heat was oppressive recalling the feel of a Hong Kong August to both of them. Unannounced Eddie had arrived on the far side of his allotment, in shorts and wellingtons he was busy about some task, back turned to the old friends, sweat balling on his forehead above thick eyebrows. As they watched he turned eyeing the growing storm, and then flicking a look to them as he began to hurriedly pack away his tools.

The Mancombes were also making a hurried departure, in a flurry of lace, hats held tight to twin heads against the rising wrath of the storm. Mike was gathering dream catchers and chimes from posts and fences throwing them hurriedly into the door of his shed. Which he closed with a slam as the wind banged it shut and throwing a lock he sprinted for the gates and the warmth of home. Going the other way heading into the allotment he passed Joe carrying plastic bags travelling with a purpose – and both he and Eddie arrived at the corner together, as the sun diminished and dwindled, darkness falling across the rows and blooming plants of the patches and holdings. The wind was more urgent now pulling at the tendrils of climbing beans, shaking petals from the poppies and grabbing at Joe and Eddies clothes, tattered ensigns grey and brown flowing around them as they covered the last few steps to the allotment corner together. Reinforcements arriving.

Henry had been regaling Bill with tales of rain oblivious to the growing danger and Bill had been listening wholly aware of it.
“Well 'n they say it rained three toimes then that' noight. It started loike about midnight – then I stopped. Thn 'it started about two-ish, then it starrped and then it starrted about four wan it? Then it starpped..”
Henry sounded distant to Bill – but insistent like tanks growling behind the next sand dune. But the arrival of Eddie and Joe signalled the end of the familiar monologue on long forgotten weather – and heavy rain started, echoing like gunfire from the tin roofs and corrugated iron structures and spattering the ash dry earth. Bill and Henry were rising in wonder and both Joe and Eddie turned simultaneously following their shocked stares.

A patch of sunshine and dry earth remained. For no darkness nor rain had touched Dandy, a pool of golden sunshine bathed her cutting like a finger through the gloom from on high sparkly, impossible between the rushing clouds and for a moment she seemed oblivious to the chaos as the wind gathered further strength and rain fell in earnest as the first boom of thunder shattered the silence.

And in a moment the the unnatural light was gone and Dandy turned and scampered gleefully childlike in new puddles, grinning at the four of them. Bill and Henry disappeared inside the shed, Joe and Eddie followed and Dandy ran in behind soaked in a few seconds. The rain pounded down on the feeble structure and the roof suddenly moaned and creaked. Joe was busy with a kerosene lamp smokey and pungent and turning his hand to tea. Henry had found a few bottles of Nut Brown and popped the tops using a trowel passing round the earthy bottles to those who wanted them. Boxes were made into seats and the five of them packed thigh to thigh little Jackie not forgotten growling and shivering against natures assault beneath their feet. And as they made themselves comfortable with each moment the storm seemed to grow in fury- as if angry with their traditional ways and small familiar domesticities and determined to stop them. The thin wood of the walls bent and strained and with each new wave the wood twisted in. Ancient tools, swathed in cobwebs and dust began to fall from long forgotten lodgings in the sheds spider filled roof. A leather handled bulb planter, never used and an ancient trowel – broken handle a veteran of times long gone fell scattering dust and cobwebs and then a dibber swathed in twine, handles and canes, and as it seemed the whole lot might fall the door – only loosely locked – crashed in.

The men saw it all at once, as did the decrepit dog, rising blood in its throat matching the blood in their eyes. And it was the dog Jackie darting forward teeth bared for a final battle who got their first– gleeful for the conflict. Framed in the door – a huge bird bowed by the wind and illuminated by another massive burst of lightning – behind a voice shouting. The dogs teeth sank into a impossibly huge scaly leg and the shed filled with the pained shriek of the creature. In a moment an almost effortless spasm shook the dog free spinning in the air, face of foam and spattering blood pink against his fur his face still lit with joy. Jackie crunched with a heavy thud against the wood, planks splintering. The huge head of the bird thrust forward seeking prey. Henry was on his feet silent in his anger punching its beak, Bill had grabbed a tiny fork by accident and now had to lunge forward skewering the creature while Eddie had picked up the kerosene burner holding the flames towards the door. Joe was on his feet, but Dandy sat silent, then in a moment the bird was gone. With a terrible scream, it broke open horribly. The black cat had arrived and in a second dispatched the feathered aggressor, smashing it in a grotesque pulverising attack. For another moment they saw it black and now crimson and feathers fluttering – its green eyes meeting theirs and it was gone, towing a bedraggled shapeless corpse. Instantly the storm began to fall the clouds diminishing, the rain stopped and the sun began to shine once more. In the trees a mistle thrush was singing – lonely and desperate, but not hopeless. Bill and Joe staggered outside, mud squelching on the path. Around them the familiar stench of blood, but from inside voices one loud the other quiet – Eddie and Dandy crowding Henry bent like a reed, who is clutching a small white shape to his chest – his whole body heaving.

The Way of the Romany

Bill had taken an unaccustomed walk along the beach and eventually puffing and heaving had lowered himself down taking a perch in the bright early morning sun. Fussing with his blanket and his bag and eventually settling with a hot coffee in his hand poured from an ancient tartan pattern flask into a white plastic mug. He had made up his flask and some cold bacon sandwiches and sneaked out into the street and away half an hour earlier when the sun was just starting to gleam its presence over the mossy roof tops and craggy peaks of the town. Startling starlings and pigeons and up as early as you house sparrows he had quietly closed the door behind him, leaving Dandy alone in her bed with her sensuous dreams of silks and gold. He had tripped as quick as he could out into the day, along the High Street spotted only by a group of chocolate brown cattle feasting on dark green cow nuts spilled for them in the garden of the medical centre, the fence carefully removed to allow them entrance. For a few moments Bill had watched them, their fat pink lips glistening with saliva munching rhythmically and wondered once more at what had come over the town. No vehicle moved of course, they hardly ever did these days.

Sparrows fart they always said in the army – up at sparrows fart – and the birds were moving. Bill passed the allotments and set off down the canal tow path, from where he would take the footpath down to the beach. Long tailed tits and goldfinches pattered through the tree branches and in the water mallards, coots and moorhens were up at first light, dabbling in the reeds. Bill watched them with a cold eye thinking of pies and stews long ago, and eels and hedgehogs too. And of how birds had stopped the hedge clearers at the allotments, and Ollie – good hearted Ollie and his townie ways, and Wendy bending her head like a bear with a cub next to Dandy on the night the Mancombes had melted to her charms. A rare victory that had been, but the money, now that was another matter.

Bill hadn't even thought of it as he headed for the beach. Resisting the problem, concentrating on his surroundings, the cattle, the birds and the beauty of the sun bursting through the trees and new light on a new day. Maybe a new light would give some clarity to his thinking, the girls and the magic and his gigantic bank account. Maybe in the light of a new day he would find an answer.

Now this part of the beach is mostly shingle which makes an easy seat and Bill settled himself very easy like. Eventually, he rolled a cigarette and sat for a while sometimes gazing out to sea and sometimes over the trees towards the downs beyond. Thinking to himself and watching the waves rolling gently across the shingle patterning and retreating edging closer towards him. The bank, he thought “Mst'a noticed musn't they? No 'ornery bloke like 'im could jus' 'ave so much money and the bank not notice could they?” After a while when the sun had cleared the wave tops, he opened his sandwich stubbing his rollup into the stones of the beach no closer to a solution in his head. As he ate he spotted a figure approaching from the west walking along the sea edge. Dressed in black and curiously shapeless – Bill couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman. He was irritated – he hadn't wanted company and hadn't anticipated any – it must be the towns new found spirit driving someone out along the beach this early. He swallowed the last of his sandwich and rose slowly to his feet, and as he did so the figure suddenly slipped and fell, sharp flat on the deck.

“That's a right cropper” he thought, dropping his picnic all worries about the money gone from his head and he covered the ground to where the person was lying as fast as he could. She – he could see now it was a woman – was also rising, awkward and slow to her feet, grey hair and dark skinned – a gypsy he thought. He held out one hand which she grasped in her own frail one decorated with a single engraved gold ring, emerging from a thick luxuriant shawl.

”Thers you go luv, alls well.”

“Thanks, oh thank you..” she started. Then froze. Brown eyes suddenly wide in her olive face – not fear, more like excitement or surprise.

“But you know her?” her accent faintly foreign, precise “I can tell it.”

“Knoe 'who?” Bill is suddenly acutely aware that his voice sounds rough and hoarse next to this lady. On her feet now she winces in pain raising one leg clad in leather from the stones.

“I think I twisted my bloody foot” No more mention of 'her' – though Bill can guess who she might mean.

Bill lends her his shoulder and together they make their way up the beach to the grassy footpath beyond. Bill leaves her on the bench there – and retrieves his belongings, glancing anxiously at her as she casts a cool assessing look over him, her eyes however, full of interest.

“Can you give me a hand a little further please? I have friends just up there.”

They set off the short distance along the path towards the trees, where wood smoke is rising, and Bill can smell bacon cooking, she leaning on him and taking short steps and and thanking him for the help. Where the footpath ends and horned poppy and sea kale give way to tufty grass, plantains and tiny field pansies, a dark path cuts between the trees. After a few moments the darkness and green of the path once more explodes with light, a large clearing used as a picnic area and populated with rustic style benches and litter bins. Bill knew the spot well. A sign that says no ball games and another threatening what Bill once thought of as huge fines for allowing dogs to drop their waste on one side. On the other a map showing the outlines of the 'picnic area' where barbecues would be tolerated. Now both sets of rules were obviously violated. Several motor homes and caravans were parked, doors open in the sunshine. A group of children running in circles pursuing small rascally looking dogs. At least two open fires, wood crackling, and fluming smoke. Bill helped his burden sit down as men and women and several children all similarly sombrely garbed clustered about, fussing anxiously. Athalia, as was the woman's name, sat serenely as they scampered around – the pain of her twisted ankle seemingly forgotten.

“Thanks again for the help – and I am glad you could visit us, please have a drink – tea, coffee- a little rum?”

One of the men, short stockily built and curly haired eyed Bill with alacrity.

“Best you sit down, being as you helped Atahlia, she important to us – she's leading this gathering, and theres hundreds of us on the way, hundreds already here. “

Athalia smiled -”And this one Nemiah, knows her – I have felt it” Again that odd turn of phrase, and Bill stood mystified instincts telling him to make his apologies and leave, but wanting to hear what the lady had to say.

“Does he indeed?” The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Best listen to what he has to say.”

A chair for Bill appeared and the children quickly lost interest now it was clear their leader was not hurt. After more fussing with tea and bread eventually just the three of them were left chatting. Bill struggled to divert the conversation – delaying the question and fearing his answer, not knowing how to proceed. Talking of gardening, and lighting fires outdoors and dogs and wild paths. Both men were interested and liked it and each other. Old blue eyes – cynical and tired, meeting brown and enigmatic and finding them true and honest. Bill asked about the ways they had come and from where and going where? From all- over apparently, and coming here – a gathering and a sign. A wild one was loose, Nemiah said, and the gypsies had come to see her. Mostly out of curiosity – and to find out if she was real of course – a lot of the travellers were just treating it as a big holiday with a nice superstitious proper Romany feel.

Like the old days. If she existed was another matter.

Bill had a heavy heart – but here he seemed to have found allies and he had resolved to speak something of the truth.

He began to tell about Dandy, and Athalia let him. Not questioning, just watching, listening. She nodded and smiled – as did Nemiah who, truth be told, was surprised to find anything like this actually happening. About the tree where she first appeared, and the visits and the allotments – and the ghosts in the Pill box, as well. And then they both looked more and more serious when he told about the songs on karaoke night, the animals and the street market, the fish and the money. And the wine of course and the big black cat. Something made him reserve the other stories – about the pump and the water, and the long forgotten wishing well. And the gold of course and the tree circle. The circle was definitely private. Dandy had made that clear to him in a thousand small ways. She would not want any strangers there without her say so.

“Well she is a kind magic aint she? – an' she aint as well. She's like lovely an' that and just like ornery an all, - like with cream kekks and chocs an that - like a little kid – really greedy -, an' dresses an all, like a kid dressin' up. “ Smiling with tears in his eyes.

As Bill had spoken about Dandy he had felt her whole story in his heart becoming more and more real. Not a cloud of questions and weird suspicions, but an actual truth – of everyday magic and extraordinary magic as well. As real as that rock, or the bench over there dedicated to some bloke “Much Missed Who Loved this Spot” - a real life. As real as rain as real as the trees, and the sun and his beating heart and the trees swaying in the wind, golden and green. And just as magical.

Eventually they sat in silence with Alathia round eyed and Nemiah struck dumb in wonder.

Towards noon after they had finished talking Bill set off back towards the town, the gyspy camp behind was growing by the minute as more caravans and mobile homes arrived, in a carnival atmosphere. Two of the local farmers had also arrived – on horseback of course, and were speaking with Alathia when Bill had left, discussing water and land. Despite the knowledge that the two Romanies now had they had not seemed particularly keen on meeting their inspiration just yet. And Bill had found the source of all this trouble down the allotment not unexpectedly. Bent over a furrow of rich earth dribbling seeds, straw brown in her palm , her hair scraped back flashing him a welcoming grin like a sunbeam skin scorched brown and an ancient white t-shirt and the builders track suit bottoms.

“I am planting edulis radix!” Smiling still sweat on her brow and in the hairs at the nape of her neck.

“Wha...? Oh, aye – er radishes?”

“Yes” as the world spun and changed “Planting radishes!”