Tollesbury Time Forever (13 page)

“There is a witch

who lives in the woods

she lives there alone in the dark.

Nobody’s seen her,

nobody’s heard her,

except once by the edge of the park.

Somebody said

she was holding a bag

whistling a strange little tune;

that when she was seen

she returned to the trees

like a shadow kissing the moon.

There was talk in the fields

about the witch in the woods,

but go see her? No one would dare.

So I thought to myself

I’d sneak out one night

to see what I could find there.

I slipped from my straw,

jumped over the gate,

a candle alight in my hand.

I went to the woods

at the edge of the park

as the moon fell down on this land.

I walked through the trees,

so scared and alone,

though with hope in the back of my mind.

As I saw a small light

and smoke rising high

I wondered what I would find.

I walked up to a door

but before I could knock,

it opened with a creak and a squeak.

There stood a woman

all dressed in white;

I felt completely unable to speak.

I sat on a chair

by the side of a fire

whilst she looked fondly at me.

‘Are you a witch?’

I asked her at last.

And she said ‘I may possibly be.

But don’t be afraid

I just prefer it out here

Away from experienced minds.

I live with my innocent,

simple, sweet thoughts

That are pure and gentle and kind.’

I was a little confused

So I said to her now,

‘How do you even survive?’

She said to me softly

‘Just love, my young man,

It is only on love that I thrive.’

‘What can I do?’

I said to her now

‘So I can be just like you?’

‘What, wearing a dress?

Clad only in white?

I’m sure you’d look better in blue!’

‘No,’ I said, laughing,

‘To feel just like you

Where everything seems so right.’

She thought for a while,

And closed her deep eyes

As the full moon shed its fair light.

‘All I can say

Is open your mind,

The world is more than you know.

Look deeper than deep,

Be a dreamer, my boy,

And give love wherever you go.

When others hurt you,

Accept that it hurts,

Have faith in the bad and the good.

Walk with the soul

And the eyes of a child

You will always be safe in these woods.

As for the world

That lies there outside,

Remember the words that I’ve said.

Keep them inside

Your heart and your mind

And by them may you be led.

Soon others will see

There is no such thing

As being too nice or too kind.

And then one fine day,

When more are like you,

I can leave this sweet glory behind.’

So when I got home

I thought of the woman

That had entered my life that dark night.

I will walk tall forever

With the eyes of a child,

To the blackness of life I’ll bring light.”

The children clapped, nodding their little heads in agreement. The Walrus smiled and coughed, bringing his fist to his mouth as if to play an invisible trumpet; instead he just deposited a good glob of phlegm in it which he then wiped on his trousers. Mysterious ways indeed…

“G - Give love wherever you go,“ he pronounced. “Nearly half way there!”

The young boy turned over the ‘G’ bale and stood upon it. I was never great at scrabble to be honest, or any other word game; FRUG was a new one on me.

It was in the silence that followed that I heard a rhythmic pulsing sound coming from round the back of the barn where we had eaten our potatoes. It was like gock, pause, thwack, gock, pause, thwack, over and over again. Either it became louder or I was just listening to it more intently the more it went on. I could tell that The Walrus heard it too, for he looked over his shoulder in the general direction of the gock, pause, thwack and I saw him appear to smile.

The children shuffled a little in uniform manacled discomfort as they too became aware of the gock, pause, thwack. But The Walrus definitely had a twinkle about him.

And I thought of the boy who had served us our meal and of the rage that seethed from him. His absence from the proceedings gaped before me like the mouth of a great whale whose form I could not see but whose teeth created the very shadows around me.

I know, I know. This is all sounding a little too mad, but this is how it happened, and this is how it was. The children, the bales of hay with their ragged red lettering, and the gock, pause, thwack. And through it all, Zachariah Leonard lay drained of everything, clinging to such life as was his in some dank cove by the great Blackwater estuary.

All I ask of whoever reads these words I write upon the walls of my little home is that you believe me. That is all I ask.

How do you know if what you have just seen doesn’t vanish the moment your eyes are averted, that what you have just heard does not disappear into nothingness the moment you are out of range? If you could not smell, would those wonderful fragrances of this fragile land still emanate from every plant and living creature? And if you had no sense of taste, would sweet, sweet love be quite the same?

It was with such questions that I wrestled on this, the most endless of endless days.

The sun was now high in Albion’s sky, pouring forth its warmth in invisible droplets of pure heat, transforming the gargantuan oceans from translucent to azure blue and breaking through the ice at the very top of the world, turning it to life blood water to flow mercurial through the veins of my earth. I have learned since all these experiences that I recount that every moment is a moment of wonder, from the clicking nick nock knees of the grasshopper to the millennium breaking of the cracked old stones that hold us all together. And if it is all in the mind, then so be it. It matters not to me.

I wanted so much to investigate the gock, pause, thwack, but, as they say, the show must go on. The Walrus, now seemingly fully recovered from his exertions, wonderful though they were, addressed me thus:

“I hope you are still with us my boy. We have all waited a long time to perform for you.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “Please go on.”

The Walrus bowed. I should have asked questions but I knew I would have received no answers, not at least until all the children had finished their respective turns.

“You will see at the end of the performance what we are revealing to you - by that time you will know the truths of this life; and may you carry these truths into your own life.”

He then called out to the children:

“Isn’t that the cold hard truth, my darling young ones?”

The five children who were yet to perform uttered various yeps, yups and yesses and fell silent once more. Those who stood on top of the bales moved not a muscle. I settled into my spot upon the grass and waited for my enlightenment to continue.

A young boy, maybe no more than four or five years old, was the next to speak. I leaned forward to listen but soon realised I needn’t have done so. He had the voice of one who has spent years drinking and smoking and screaming and crying. He didn’t so much say each word as spit it out.

“A hunk a chunk

O’ burning bread;

Come on desire -

Douse my bed.

YOU’RE A

DOWN

RIGHT

LIAR

These words go through my head;

And so

I whisper

Low…

(
and he did - in a sing song murmuring lilt
)

‘how are we today sir?’

‘won’t you take a seat sir?’

‘how’d you like your hair sir?

FUCKERS…”

The boy, red raging through his cheeks and eyes, turned over his bale of hay and stood upon it, the letter ‘A’ at his tiny feet.

There was a silence in this Tollesbury day.

A hiatus.

I wasn’t sure if I was to speak or not. The Walrus eventually intervened, clearing his throat as he did so.

“A,” he pronounced.
 
“Anger Devours The Soul.”

The children applauded though in a somewhat muted fashion. It seemed this boy had affected even them.

And swiftly on.

The next child, a girl, voice loud and confident, stood behind her bale just bursting with a child-like energy. She clasped her hands behind her back and bellowed like a good old Romford Market lass:

“Come gather round people,

come look at my wares!

You’ve seen nothing like it

at your fetes and your fares!

Come here my lovely,

you know that you can;

get right up close

my number one fan!

Whatever you want,

you can have it from me;

you can have it for dinner,

you can have it for tea!

But what’s that I hear?

I’m selling fresh air?

Ah, cynical lady -

just you beware!

But on one thing

I must surely agree -

what I have to give

is not easy to see!

Keep your eyes closed

and my heart will call;

you’ve got to look deep

or not look at all.

You’ve got to look deep

or not look at all.

Pfff”

And at that, the girl turned over her bale of hay and leapt sprightly upon it.

 
“L,” proclaimed The Walrus. “Look deep or do not look at all.”

The children clapped this energetic performance and the little girl bowed in a thank you, thank you type of way. It seemed the pall cast by the ‘A’ boy had been well and truly dispersed.

It was all buzzing now, buzzing and a-whirring just like my mind when it gets into the fundamental deep down doingness of it all, away from the temperate life of drudgery and non-existence which we are led to believe is real -
 
not just real, but normal. Ah, the greatest, most dastardly deception of them all.

F-R-U-G-A-L

Well now at least that was a word I understood – or so I thought. But no time to pause now, they just kept piling it on me, with their stories and their songs and their poems.

Madness, madness, madness!

Up stood the next boy, chest out and proud, blood pumping and heart thumping - thump, thump, thumpety thump.

“I am your imagination. Simple as that mate. I whirl and swirl and break through every boundary you try so hard to put in front of me. You can’t keep me down, no way. And do you want to know why? Well I will tell you anyway. Your eyes lie. Your ears lie. Your nose lies. You have no sense of touch. In fact you have no senses at all. The only reality is me. Without me, you are just a shell, a box of bones and skin. Yes, yes, yes! I am your imagination and you don’t know how lucky you are. You see a colour and I make your eyes glow in wonder. You hear a song and I am the one that drops your jaw and brings forth the tears from your heart. And I am the one that tells you that you are in love.”