The Bookworm (Queen)

Matilda was not your average twelve-year-old. Her attention was not to be
found in the latest iPhone or laptop, nor was it to be found in listening to the
latest pop songs. Not for her an endless search for the latest make-up or the
most fashionable clothes. No, for her world lay purely within the pages of her
beloved books; provided of course they contained knowledge of some kind. For
Matilda, seventh heaven lay in accumulatng facts. Scientific facts, historical
facts, musical facts, geographical facts, sporting facts artistic facts, ecological
facts, political facts; indeed, her world and her brain were full of… you’ve got it…
Facts. Indeed, her teachers referred to her as ‘the queen of … facts.’

Matilda’s mother Hesta despaired of her daughter. “I think I’ve given birth to an
encyclopaedia,” she lamented. “John, John, are you listening to me?”

“Of course I am Hesta,” he shrugged. “But I don’t see what we can do with our
little Einstein?” Hesta sighed and shook her head. She began pacing to and fro,
back and forth along the hallway then suddenly stopped. “I tell you what John,
why don’t we take ourselves off on a little holiday. We can go to grans place in
the Peak District. If nothing else, we can all get a breath of beautiful crystal-clear
air. A little break would do us all good and with a bit of luck we might be able to
get Matilda out walking.

Two weeks later John, Hesta and Matilda arrived in the village of Benborough. It
was a small village that boasted a mountain stream that ran along a channel that
was the length of the High Street. The stream, alongside the buildings and
houses made from the local stone, had remained unchanged for generations.
Grandma Elsa’s cottage, ‘Mountain View,’ was at the far end of the High Street,
nestled in between the local chemist and St Mary’s Manse. As the Benson family
drove passed the manse, the Rev Richard Devereau waved to them from his
garden.

“Ah! Hello Bensons all, it’s good to see you again,” he shouted. “I look forward
to seeing you in church next Sunday, when we can have a catch up chat.” Mr and
Mrs Benson waved back. “We look forward to meeting up with you again
reverend.” Yelled Hesta enthusiastically. Matilda, you will not be surprised to
hear, had her head buried in her latest book, ‘Archaeology for Beginners.’

During that first week, John and Hesta did all they could to try and lever Matilda’s
head from her books. They failed miserably. Then one morning Tom Matthews
arrived at Mountain View. He was Grandma Elsa’s gardener.

Whilst at Mountain View, he busied himself deadheading the flowers, trimming
the bushes, mowing the lawn and planting a new rose bush. Unfortunately for
Tom, he turned a little too sharply and fell over the watering can. He fell with a
loud thud and let out a deafening scream. Hesta and John rushed outside only
to find Tom, sat in the middle of a rose bush; but it was no ordinary rose bush,
but one ‘Cerise Bouquet.’ A very thick, dense bush, with devilishly sharp thorns.

The sight of Tom sat in the midst of the bush, legs akimbo and wearing a
tortuously pained face, made them cover their mouths, as they tried to stifle
their laughter. The commotion caused Matilda to look up from her book, and
glance through her bedroom window. She too found the sight uproariously funny
and let out waves of giggles and guffaws. Tears rolled down her face, as she
struggled to control herself. At first Tom was not at all pleased, but then realizing
the ridiculousness of his situation, shook his head and joined in with the hilarity.

John was the first to move and offered Tom his hand. He pulled him free of the
rose bush and the fiendish claw-like thorns. Once upright, Tom tentatively
removed the remaining thorns which were still holding resolutely onto his
trousers. Fortunately for him, his hands were protected by his gardening gloves.

Then, Matilda arrived on the scene, and also offered him a helping hand, and
before long, the four of them were engaged in animated and friendly
conversation, and of the books… there was no sign.

From that moment on, Matilda and Tom formed a close friendship. She gave him
all the facts crammed into her encyclopaedic mind, whilst he, helped her
appreciate the true beauty of what she was looking at.
He taught her to look more closely and to appreciate the beauty of her
surroundings. The delicate flower petals, their colours, hues and scent. The trees
in all their shapes and gowns of green. The intricate shapes of insect’s bodies.
The delicateness of their wings. Their slow meandering and their swia changes
of direction. The sense of wonder that is to be found when you look beyond a
silvery lake to the purple mountains beyond. The variety of bird song, the
dazzling colours of their wings, their daredevil acrobatics. Matilda was
enchanted. It was if she had been living with eyes closed but, accompanying Tom
on his tours around the Peak District, helped her to look beyond the world of
facts to the world shaped by Mother Nature, a world of endless wonder.

Over the following two weeks, Tom introduced Matilda to a vast range of plants
in the garden and took her to explore Black Hill, once part of the Pennine Way
and Eyam Waterfall, where the water gently cascaded over the edge of a high
cliff, to fall onto the stones below, causing them to sparkle in the light of the Sun.
Matilda was mesmerised.

When the time came for the Benson family to return home, Matilda was a
changed girl. She became not only Queen of facts, but more importantly, a
Queen of nature.

Ann D

WRITER’S BLOCK

For the last few years Beth’s life had been dictated by a series of deadlines. Stress and
pressures were becoming overwhelming and on realising the dangers of burn out and the perils of writer’s block, which had descended, she had decided to take some time out from daily life.

Her Agent’s weekly phone calls had gone unanswered and text messages ignored which only added to the urgency of her need to complete the latest novel. She’d set the scene and built her character’s personalities and the intrigue had been building. However, her story had come to an abrupt end inside her head and blank white pages faced her each morning. There was now a gaping hole in the plot’s future which was incomplete and without direction. She was left with a suspected haunted house, mysterious noises and the disappearance of aserving wench. Beth had run out of inspiration to continue her story.

Escape was what was required. She felt that a period of solitude and a huge offering of nature would be the answer. Two whole weeks in the middle of the New Forest surrounded by trees and wildlife beckoned. She wrote herself the prescription and the dosage would be taken daily for the next 14 days.

Her parents Bill and Mary had inherited a cottage from a distant relative many years ago, which was within the New Forest close to a small village. It was a little off the beaten track and during Beth’s childhood many happy family holidays had been spent there with them and her two sisters. As each one of the girls had flown the family nest, they had endeavoured to keep the first week in July free to re-connect their growing family. It hadn’t always been possible as her nephews and nieces were now of school age, but the snug cottage in the woods held a special place in Beth’s heart and she had never missed joining her parents over the years.

It was with this particular date in mind that she decided to check in early to the cottage and give herself a fortnight before her parents arrived to re-set her brain in what she hoped would be an inspiring and creative mode. She realised that this was yet another deadline but dismissed this thought as soon as it entered her head.

After unpacking her suitcase and unloading an enormous bag of provisions she felt ready to clear her mind. She had brought with her some mindfulness ideas and You Tube links, not forgetting her yoga mat. Susan, her small corgi, had accompanied her on this occasion as there had been no places available at short notice in the kennels. She was certain that this was appreciated by her beloved pooch. The yoga would have to wait until later, however, as a pair of pleading eyes were demanding a walk outside after their long car journey.

Susan was always kept on her lead due to the forest’s restrictions, which she obeyed without question. Wild ponies roamed freely and nesting birds and fledglings were abundant at this time of year and were exactly the reason for Beth’s visit. Her Corgi’s breed was a herding dog and she loved a chase, so any curious squirrels would quickly scamper away on her approach, much to Susan’s disappointment. Beth was sure it was all part of the game however, but a tight rein was kept on Susan just in case.

And so, a relaxing pattern followed for the next few days; alarm free mornings, lazy breakfasts and adventurous dog walks. Meditation after lunch with a slow wander amongst the forest with Susan in the early evenings. She reasoned with herself that this wasn’t achieving the goal for inspiration but she was most definitely feeling much less stressed.

One week had already flown by and it was definitely time to re-stock the fridge. She’d thrown together the remains of what was left of her provisions into the wok for her evening meal, but it was certainly time to visit the village store tomorrow. She loved sampling the local produce and felt it was time to re-enter life beyond her solitary sanctuary.

The following morning found her taking the short drive into the village where one of the farmer’s barn had been converted to a small deli market shop. A basketful of artisan bread, local cheeses, wild foraged mushrooms, and a punnet of freshly picked strawberries were amongst the delights which had tempted her.

As she was paying for her produce Beth spotted a poster behind the till which advertised a folk music evening in the local pub the following evening.

Beth recalled many a happy evening spent with her parents and sisters Vicky and Ann in the Queen’s Head pub, a 17th Century coaching inn which had originally been a Blacksmith’s workshop. She discovered that the pub had been recently re-furbished and this was the launch evening with a taster menu on offer and she made a mental note to attend.

Whilst sitting in the pretty cottage garden that evening with a glass of local cider and having her curiosity piqued about the upcoming folk evening Beth thought it timely to see if she could research the history of the village and in particular about the transition from Blacksmith’s shop to Coaching Inn.

On the following morning’s walk with Susan she decided to call into the pub for a coffee before heading home. She was immediately drawn to two booklets on the bar with intriguing titles of “Smuggling and the Secret Cellar” and “Legends of The Witch Village”. They had been compiled by the village’s local history group and she immediately bought both copies to read after lunch.

“Enjoy your reads and the rest of your day” the friendly barman called to her as she left, with Susan trotting alongside.

After lunch and settling down in her favourite chair overlooking the picture window to the garden, she was eager to begin reading her booklets. She learned that the old blacksmith’s shop had been built in 1685, but by the late 1700’s had transitioned into an Inn offering shelter and ale to travellers on their way through the dense forest wilderness and had been named The Queen’s Head. Her curiosity was aroused upon reading that the village had been a notorious haven for smugglers in the 18th and 19th centuries.

It was during the recent renovations that builders had uncovered a secret cellar beneath the floorboards. Now this is getting very interesting Beth thought.

The hidden room had apparently contained a huge cache of old coins, rusted pistols and forgotten contraband. This had confirmed the local legends about nightly smuggling operations. A hidden tunnel had been discovered which was currently still blocked off and had yet to be excavated. It was rumoured that this had led to a safe house just beyond the village boundary. Now this was exciting and very intriguing.

The second booklet researched the history of rumours which had been kept alive by the locals. The legend concerned King William II, who was also known as Rufus. He’d been warned by a local Monk that he would die on his next hunt in the forest and sadly the prophecy came true when he was struck by an arrow. The ghost of Rufus was said to haunt the site of his death which led to a hotbed of gossip about unexplained noises, footsteps and murmurs.

A footnote at the end of the booklet talked about a Coven of Witches shop and the haunting by a phantom cat. Tales of Highwaymen and disappearing children were being researched for further reading in an upcoming booklet. Beth’s imagination was now beginning to go into overdrive. A dwelling on the outskirts of the village? Mysterious happenings, disappearing people, What if, what if?

She was mulling over all of these local legends and discoveries when she was interrupted by yet another email and text message notification on her phone from her Agent, pleading with her for a reply and update.

To Beth’s great surprise she realised that the booklets had given her a germ of an idea and the locked door in her mind had suddenly swung open. Quickly replying to her Agent, she reassured him that the Mystery suspense novel was coming along quite nicely and explained to him she had needed an escape to complete it. He was not to worry as all that she had required was a quick visit to the Pub!

Footnote ICYMI:
Queen References:

Beth (Elizabeth)
Susan was the first of the Queen’s Corgi’s from which all of her dogs were descended
Parents: Bill (William) and Mary
Sisters: Vicky (Victoria) and Ann

THE GOLDEN HEARTBEAT

As the spring sunshine touches the earth
You rise from the hive’s shadowy chambers into the light
Warmth touches your gossamer wings
As you ascend into the blue skies

Virgin Queen, enjoy your first and only freedom
Responsibility will come too soon
You will become a prisoner of your own fate

There above the orchard where the pink blossoms grow
The drones approach, not as lovers but as servants
One by one you dance the solemn dance
Ordained by nature you gather the jewels, the seeds of what is to come

When your duty is done, you solemnly return to your dwelling
Loyal soldiers and workers receive you in adoration
With reverence they guide you through the golden honeycomb
To the warmth of the amber walled chamber
Where you will stay forevermore

In this sacred kingdom you will become mother of thousands
Queen of the hive