In the Aftermath of Battle - Chapter One

     It had been a harsh winter; snow had carpeted the ground with an icy crispness, oft-times blocking narrow roads, lying heavy on rooftops and scattering throughout woodlands. Long bleak nights dappled the minds of many with unrelenting uncertainty; but everything in the life of Richard Trowbridge was beginning to settle into some form of orderly routine, a more peaceful existence that many of the local inhabitants would consider one of privilege.  
     With the advent of spring, fresh new growth was bursting forth around him with bright green buds on the trees. Thawed fields would soon be ready for sowing, where the seed would flourish, ripening in summer, until crops were gathered, stored for the next wintry onslaught. Days were lengthening, the sun's rays at last beginning to warm his face and body, continuing to heal wounds inflicted during the mighty battle, still fresh in his mind. 
     Richard remained standing a while longer on the old stone bridge that crossed the narrow river, close to his home. It was positioned on the edge of a large village, not far from the Welsh Marches west of Evesham, where the ferocious bloody battle had raged. He still had recurring bad dreams of that day, but somehow managed to survive, when all around him were losing limbs, their brains spilled over the battlefield, slippery with blood. Men had been knocked from their horses, trampled to death in a slow agony of pain and torture; their lives forsaken after bravely fighting on one side or another. Flesh was brutally ripped apart, muscles torn from limbs and heads sliced from bodies. Horses were felled in a torrent of blood-lusting, from a vicious sword stroke or other weapons amidst a sea of knights, warriors, men-at-arms, their voices loud with battle cries and intent.  Unguarded horse's flanks were pierced from stray arrows or a leg broken of brave destriers, as they tried desperately to avoid the amount of dead and dying - until they finally yielded, brought thumping to the blood-sodden ground, their screams still vivid in Richard's memory as they lay kicking and bleeding profusely, when their last breath escaped them, their heads lolling to one side becoming motionless amongst fallen men and a gore-splattered battlefield. 
     Simon de Montfort's eldest son Henry was first to meet his death, followed by his father, whose brutal downfall marked the baronial opposition relenting in the overwhelming strength of the English Prince Edward. Simon's unreliable Welsh support was dwindling fast, many of the baronial rebels were killed rather than taken prisoner and ransomed.
     Since that day, Richard's life had taken a turn for the better. An inherent will to survive was instilled in him from an early age. But during the Battle of Evesham in August 1265 the previous year, the charismatic Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester had been defeated, brought down and killed leading the rebellious barons. That battle was something Richard would never forget. Simon's army and supposedly loyal supporters were vastly outnumbered against the powerful Prince Edward and his seemingly incompetent father, Henry III. Simon victorious at the Battle of Lewes a year earlier, but hadn't survived the Evesham massacre, his body being viciously mutilated, witnessed by Richard.
     He kept re-living the battle in his troubled mind, but gradually his new life as lord of a small manor was slowly healing his mental and physical scars. There was plenty to fill his day, for it demanded much of him. Now while his mind re-lived the battle scenes with Simon's tragic death, he gazed deeply into the river, mesmerized by small fish swimming freely in its depths; hatched insects were skimming across its surface. He sighed deeply as a horse trotted past, bringing him to his senses once more.
     It was time he returned to the manor house as many things required his attention.
     During the battle, he'd managed to save the lives of two men of high rank, before he himself was severely injured; then been granted some land and a small manor house in lieu of his bravery and sword skills on the battlefield. How this had happened in quite the manner it did, may continue to remain a mystery to Richard. Oft-times he thought he could still smell blood and sweat as men-at-arms fought bravely, unrelenting, until overwhelmed they'd be cut to pieces, slaughtered, trodden underfoot as others took their places, with harrowing cries of pain and finally death. Thousands died on that day. 
      Richard, although having been trained to use a sword in his younger years, gaining much strength in his sword arm, his body lithe, took to his new role with ease as he had been brought up in the company of a lesser known knight, due to his fortunate birth, now finding himself alone in the world. His earlier role as page, taught him many things, among them discipline, a way of life to which he was well adapted. He knew his place and kept his eyes and ears open at all times. When necessary, disappearing into the background if his services were no longer required. He had learned fast, with an inbuilt ability to dedicate his talents to his lord.
     Richard had fought bravely on the losing side, with his unquestionable loyalty for Simon, but later in his irrevocable state, been brought badly wounded in the side and right leg from the field of battle, unbeknown to him and taken to a small monastery where herbs and ointments were applied, enough to slowly recover his strength. His wounds soon healed, enabling him to ride again, the deep scars of war remaining with him longer.
     He found himself slowly fulfilling his new role, though relentless, one that he enjoyed. Spring was well on the way to healing the soil, wounds and hearts of all who fought in the battle the previous year. There was still turmoil, confusion and uncertainty in the minds of many, but in its aftermath, marked the end of the baronial opposition and the kingdom might enter a period of unity and progress.  
     Upon return to the hall of his small manor, Richard applied his thoughts to the business requiring his attention. His small staff were under no illusions as to their lord's ability to perform his duties and deal out various orders, for they were properly treated, gave of themselves gladly and willingly. But to Richard, something was still lacking in his life, as yet he knew not what it was.
     The very next day looked promising, as he gazed from an open window in the early hours. He'd arisen from his bed, before the sun's rays fingered beyond the horizon.The night sky remained slate-grey, while in the distance illumined light broke from the passing night in softened pinks, tipped with shimmering silver, clouds whispering past, like a lady's gown as she moved elegantly across a room. It would be a day of routinely checking the accounts and other matters presenting themselves. He was beginning to feel a sense of peace, contentment still alluding him.
     Suddenly from outside, not far from the stables, Richard thought he heard screams coming from beyond the large wooden gates. He hurriedly donned sufficient clothing, pulled on his boots and finding the stairs, descended them two at a time. The noise was increasing, servants already stirring, as he quickly closed the door behind him, keeping the cold morning air from the confines of the house as he hurried across the courtyard.
     A young stable attendant approached the gates before Richard could reach them. Hugh Twyford had lived in the Welsh Marshes, his lord being killed in the battle last year. Richard found him orphaned beside a road wondering which way to turn and not able to leave him alone and hungry, taken him on. The boy appeared intelligent, willing, his face dirty, clothing torn- what little was left of it. Later it was stripped from his small body upon arrival at the manor, being replaced with a few necessary items outgrown from the son of Richard's housekeeper, Martha. 
     Richard called out before reaching the gates, his breathing heavier as he came upon the young lad. 'Did you hear a scream Hugh? Sounded like a woman's voice?'
     Hugh straightened up at the sight of his lord, his eyes lowered slightly. 'Indeed I did lord. They seemed to be coming from over there,' his face animated as he pointed beyond the large gates.
     'We'd best see to it then,' replied Richard, opening one side of the closed gates.
     'Yes lord', agreed Hugh, peering out from behind Richard.
     They both stood in the early morning light, not seeing anything in particular at first, until they heard a groan coming from a clump of trees nearby. Richard quickly went to where the moans were heard, seeing to his amazement, a young woman crumpled up on the ground at his feet.
     'Well now, what have we here, eh?' Richard bent down, examined the beautiful face that peered up at him through clear blue eyes and long fair hair, curling slightly around her face, now in somewhat disarray from her obvious fall. He peered along the narrow road noticing a loose horse, its neck bent eating grass. He immediately took control, instructing Hugh to try and catch hold of it, being careful not to frighten it any further. It soon became obvious, Hugh possessed a gentle manner with the animal, slowly approaching it, arm outstretched, making soft utterances to keep the loose animal quiet. He managed to reach the side of the bridle, with a firm hold on the reins, began walking it back along the track to its somewhat annoyed and indignant owner.
     'Well done lad!' Richard smiled at him as the horse returned to its rider being helped to her feet, brushing dirt from her skirts, frowning as she did so.
     'Yes lord', beamed Hugh, unable to disguise his pleasure at being praised, keeping a firm hold of the animal.
     Richard stood in front of the young woman, a look of concern on his face. 'Are you hurt badly... err, may I help you up?' he offered, not knowing what to say, briefly feeling shy and inadequate.  'I'm afraid I don't yet know your name.'
     'It's Katherine', the young woman replied. 'I don't appear to be, but no doubt will have a few bruises tomorrow!' She held out her hand and Richard was a little reluctant to take it at first. She smiled slightly, gazing up at the dark handsome face in front of her. She was tall for a woman, with an exquisite figure, but not as tall as Richard. Her skin was blushed dark pink from the fall, wisps of curling fair hair floating in the gentle morning breeze across part of her forehead and eyes. Her hair had previously be bound, but due to the fall, become loose around her face, cascading down her back. Richard was tempted to brush them away, stopping himself in time, his eyes never straying from the beautiful face in his midst. He stood rooted to the spot for several moments, then heard himself saying, 'I heard your screams and was very worried that something serious had happened. Are you sure you are alright? Nothing broken I hope?'
     Katherine turned her bright blue eyes briefly to her horse and back to Richard. 'I was more annoyed at falling off than hurting myself,' she said. 'I think Cadell misjudged that fallen tree over there. His sudden change of leg surprised and threw me as he hesitated, I'm afraid.' She tried to adjust some stray curls, brushing her soiled clothing once more, becoming more self-conscious with every passing moment, still flushed from her hapless fall.
     Hugh stood a short distance behind Richard, who said, 'well you look as though you could do with something to steady you, perhaps a little food may help. May I offer my services?' still concerned about her. After all, what was she doing out alone so early, he thought. He had never seen a young woman more beautiful or elegant. She kept her eyes lowered briefly, then looked up through long lashes.
     'Well, if you're sure. I suppose I did take quite a tumble and it's shaken me up a little. But I'd best be returning home soon. I will be missed. It was never my intention to go far, as Cadell is new to me and I was anxious to try him out, certainly not this far. He is on his toes first thing in the morning and I'll know better next time!' Katherine chatted easily to Richard, then realized how outspoken she had become with this total stranger. She blushed again, lowered her eyes to him, hands clasped in front.
     'I promise to take good care of you,' smiled Richard, finding it difficult to contain his enthusiasm. 'Hugh, would you take the lady's horse and stable it for the time being?'
     'Yes lord!' Hugh had maintained a firm hold, lead the horse toward the stables, the animal calm as Hugh's apparent skill with him obvious.
     Richard turned and faced the young woman standing beside him. 'Isn't your horse's name Welsh?'
     'Yes, I believe it means 'spirit of the battle'.
     Richard was astonished momentarily. 'I thought as much,' he replied, half to himself. He couldn't help thinking this was an amazing coincidence, but said nothing further on the matter.
     'Right then, that's settled.' Richard gently steered Katherine towards the door leading to the main hall, a servant waiting as they approached.
     'Thank you Wallace'. Richard nodded slightly as he ushered Katherine to the hall where he immediately asked another staff member to bring what food was available. Soon a tray was brought with freshly made bread, some cheese and a few slices of cold meat from a meal the night before, accompanied by two glasses and a jug of wine. He indicated to Katherine to be seated, while he poured her a little wine himself. 
     'I haven't lived here very long, never had the pleasure of meeting you before. Do you live far from here?' Richard was careful to let her eat first, not being able to take his eyes from her. Katherine slowly ate a little of the cheese and daintily broke pieces off the fresh loaf in front of her. Richard held the cup of wine out and she accepted it gladly taking small sips before answering.
     'I live quite close, perhaps three miles from here.' Katherine shifted awkwardly on her seat. 'I really think I'd better return home. As it is, I'll be already missed. I wasn't meant to leave as I did, but Cadell had other ideas. He's quite strong and I'll need to learn better control.' Katherine realized she had said far too much already, She always did when nervous. She rose from her seat. 'Thank you for the food. I'm... grateful, but now it's time I left.'
     Richard was on his feet immediately, wishing his guest could stay longer. 'Please let me escort you. It's the least I can do. Besides, that horse of yours might take it upon himself to have you off again. He seems rather spirited. My groom will come as well. That will make doubly sure you will return home safely.'
     Katherine made for the door. 'Well, if' you're sure.'
     'As sure as I've ever been,' smiled Richard, opening the door for her, watching her intently as she swept past in a movement which was not only as graceful as a swan on a river, but noticing the air in her wake was softly perfumed, reminding him of a summer's day when honeysuckle bloomed and later the sun descending on a warm evening in shades of golden splendour, moon rising casting bewitching shadows across glistening dewdrops, into the depths of night.
     Richard ushered her from the house, across the small courtyard towards the stables. He found his old groom Edmund hovering nearby and called over to him. 'Would you ask Hugh to fetch the young lady's horse from the stable?' Edmund was one step ahead of him, as very soon all three horses appeared, complete with saddles and bridles. His underhanded grin was similar to that of his Lord.
     Richard personally helped Katherine mount, all three soon settled in their saddles. The two men were keen to escort their young charge safely home. Cadell appeared calm, reassuring Richard, keeping close to her in case it bolted. Although Katherine had been unfortunately thrown, she rode well and confidently, if not a little shaken. She hadn't the strength of a man. Richard was well aware that if Cadell took it upon himself to bolt, it was possible she may not be able to pull him up. He kept a close eye on them.
     The wine helped settle her nerves and she was able to cover the three miles home without further incident, much to the relief of Richard and Edmund. During the ride across fields and through a woodland, Richard managed to ask her a few questions though not of a personal nature. The weather remained spring-like.  He was most enamoured with the young lady's obvious grace as she rode on his left, Edmund a few paces behind. It appeared she was as yet unmarried. Richard wondered how unusual this was, as her beauty was breathtaking. He found it difficult to concentrate on what Katherine was saying, his thoughts dwelling on the rise and fall of her rounded breasts below her open mantel.
     'Oh! I'm sorry. Do please forgive me,' he stutted, suddenly passing from his dreamlike state.
     Katherine repeated what she said. 'Not far to go now. I live over that next hill,' she indicated with a nod to her right. As she turned her head, Richard couldn't help noticing the lovely outline of her cheeks, the morning sunlight falling softly upon them, flickering briefly between distant trees.
     Richard thought for a moment. 'Are you able to continue, or would you prefer to rest for a while?'
     Katherine assured him she was perfectly capable, thanking him. She led the remainder of the relative short distance as they descended the next hill. Richard observed another manor house similar to his own, but larger. The grounds surrounding it looked spacious. There were plenty of stables surrounding the courtyard where they finally drew rein. He quickly dismounted to help Katherine from her horse. He was taking no chances, now she was safely delivered home. As she slithered from her horse, he held her waist a little longer than was normally thought acceptable. She gazed up at him through long dark lashes, her deep blue eyes clear, the prettiest he'd ever seen. He knew at that moment he was in love with her. 
     He took a step back, colour rising to his cheeks. Katherine handed her reins to a waiting groom who heard them approaching, looking somewhat relieved she had returned home safely.
     'I'm glad to see you back safely, my lady.' His head was still half bowed, shuffling for a moment before adding, 'shall I take care of the other horses my lady?'
     Katherine looked up at Richard. 'Would you care to meet my father? My mother died several years ago and...well... I was supposed to marry last year, but at the last minute my betrothed was killed in a hunting accident...' She hesitated again, embarrassed from another unseemly outburst.
      Richard suddenly found his voice. 'Thank you. I'd very much like to, if it wouldn't be too much of an imposition. I must return home soon, for there is much to do, wishing he hadn't added that last comment. As you may be aware, I have a small staff, but we manage very well.'
     Katherine's smile dazzled him, dimples in both her cheeks, her skin glowing as she led the way, leaving Edmund to tend the horses.
     Over the next few weeks and months, Richard's life changed considerably as he spent more and more time with Katherine. He was beginning to think of a more fulfilling future, rather than dwelling on the past, which was becoming a distant memory, now Katherine had entered his life. She had made an enormous difference as their shared happiness blossomed.
     Spring turned into summer, when days were longer and warmer. Their lives became richer, gradually realizing the depth of their love for each other, until walking on a warm afternoon in late summer, the sun sparkling over the surface of the river, while insects danced fleetingly to and fro, Richard took Katherine's hands in his. He was very sure of his feelings and hoped she felt the same.
     He turned facing her. 'Katherine, would you honour me by becoming my wife?' His nervousness showed, but he'd had enough time to think. He knew something was very lacking in his life, not now he had found Katherine.  
     She paused beside him on the riverbank, her eyes shining, expression warm and tender. There was a look of love emanating from her gentle, sweet face. 'Yes Richard. I'd love to marry you.'

     
    
    
    

    
    
    

House on the Hill

     Positioned vaguely along a sleepy ridge on a grassy hillside, in a whimsical sort of manner, nestled a rambling three story house, thought to be early Georgian, with its quaint windows and sloping thatched roof.
     When Isabel glanced across the valley towards the end of spring, she noticed wisps of smoke drifting aimlessly from one of its chimneys. A ghost of a cloud hovered gently overhead, wrapping itself around swaying treetops high on the top of a hill, sunrays managing to finger through branches, casting golden light down across the valley. 
     The house seemed forlorn somehow, lacking the character, warmth and homeliness it exuded many years ago. Isabel's memory of it was one of sadness, a heart that ached, as she gazed at its stone walls painted white, the soft blue-grey of the front door once made of solid oak. Its windows suited its charm and grace, giving it a presence no other houses nearby possessed - or at least Isabel thought so anyway. Many happy memories remained in that house, for it was over thirty years ago that it all began.
      There was a small village not one mile away, having a pub, Norman church and what represented a village shop. Many cottages, houses and a few farms tumbled down the narrow lanes, scattering themselves across nearby hills. Cattle and a few sheep grazed the rich rain-soaked pastures.
     Several days later Isabel sighed and wandered on, her thoughts and memories dwelling on the many years spent with William, his kind face and gentle manner filling her days and nights with love and laughter. 
     The countryside surrounding the house on the hill, was vivid green for much of the year, as rain fell in abundance in this part of Devon, feeding the fertile soil. Hills were high in places, trees and hedgerows alive with birdsong, with wild flowers adorning the country lanes in spring and summer until eventually the rolling hills dipped lower reaching the sea not far away. Many trees, with the odd woodland, dotted the hills and valleys. Some of oak and cedar old and knarred, branches far reaching dipping to the ground below.
      During spring and summer, into early autumn, leaves were full and abundant clinging to trees and thick amongst the hedgerows. Wildlife lived and roamed on the edge of fields and deep within woodlands, a fox barking in the depths of night, while owls swooped low to their prey. Rabbits, foxes and badgers made their homes in banks and under hedges, were nocturnal, elusive in Devon's lush countryside. 
     The long, often bleak winters were more silent, when hardly a bird was heard twittering, as the cold snowy season set in with a vengeance. Falls could be deep, an occasional blizzard blowing down from the north east, or elsewhere, forming huge drifts that settled precariously along laneways and hedgerows. Rooftops sparkled in the early afternoon sunshine after heavy overnight falls. Everywhere fell silent when snow fluttered down softly, drifting in all directions, building up quickly against the Georgian window panes of the home Isabel had shared with William. The winters sometimes brought an iciness that carpeted everything in its path, froze water in small streams, which to Isabel, looked magical. She gloried in the winters, specially when the garden and fields turned virginal white. The beauty of it was breathtaking, for she enjoyed later sitting by a crackling log fire, William reading a book nearby with a glass of whiskey  and later they would sometimes share in long discussions over a glass of wine. They were comfortable, happy in each other's company, their two boys having grown up and moved away, far from home.

     Isabel brought her thoughts back to the present as she came upon the old Norman church, lying on the edge of the village. She wandered through its large oak door, remembering the day when she and William were married, on a late September morning. The sun remaining warm on their faces, while leaves had begun to change colour on the churchyard trees, the interior smelling sweetly of roses. She thought of the white ones she had carried in her bouquet and wore in her hair. Isabel smiled inwardly, thinking of the joy and blissful happiness they had both felt on their wedding day and for the many years afterwards.
     During the summer, white roses had graced the doorway of their house on the hill, its old oak door being framed by an abundance of showy blooms. They had witnessed the laughter and games played on the lawns circling the house. The children had played with balls, climbed trees and shot with bows and arrows at an imaginary enemy galloping into the garden, wearing full armour, and carrying a lance.
     Upon entering the church, Isabel felt the quiet stillness, although somewhere an organ was playing Bach she recognized had been part of their wedding ceremony. A warm feeling overcame her as she stopped to listen, smiling, remembering the beautiful happy day she had wed her dear William. How contented they had been. Their sons growing up in the countryside, boarding at a fine school where they soon settled, achieving academic levels to which both she and William had been proud. Later they had drifted off to university some distance away, returning home during holidays. Finally they had left their childhood behind in the house with oak doors, finding their way in the world. She and William had soon settled into early retirement in their absence.
     The organ had ceased and the walls echoed to the many children that had been baptized in the village church, the weddings, funerals, and friendly faces at harvest festival time, all remembered now.  
     It had been a somber but heartfelt funeral for William when he died, not too long ago. She gave a sniff as memories flooded in. Then Isabel found it necessary to move from their home, as old memories had been unbearably difficult to bear. It had become too large, so she decided to move to a smaller, more manageable place not too far away across the valley. She had always loved the seaside, with many walks undertaken by the whole family. When their boys left, it was just her and William strolling across the sand, close to the incoming tide late on summer evenings, the sun melting into the sea like a pool of molten fire. 
     Isabel walked up the aisle of the old church, as morning sunlight filtered gently through stained glass windows. She slipped quietly out through the old studded church door, with  sunshine warming her face, wondering whether to pass by her old home. She was beginning to feel hungry, thinking what she would cook for lunch.
     As a slight mist dusted the hilltops being late summer now, Isabel walked along narrow country lanes, pausing once or twice to hear the loud twittering of birds as they flitted from tree to tree, busily catching what insects were still available. Soon, a white painted house came into view, having blue-grey doors and windows nestling into its thatched roof. She immediately thought back to when she had to sell it and move to a smaller house, being alone and without her beloved William. Her feelings were still raw, heart beginning to pound as she eventually came upon the charming and somewhat rambling house. It was full of memories reminding her of how William changed her whole life. He had made it complete, happy, contented. Facing life without him was often intolerable, daunting. He had died suddenly after a short illness, leaving her bereft and lonely.
     Isabel slowed her pace as she came across the low wooden front gate she remembered so well, her eyes darting about the garden, trying not to look too conspicuous. 
     In the garden was a lady similar to her own age, bent to the chores of tidying a border. She stopped, looking up as Isabel hesitated. 'Hello', she said, an enquiring smile on her face. The lady appeared quite tall, had a pleasant face with kindly brown eyes and grey streaks running through her dark hair that partially curled about her attractive face. She removed her gardening gloves standing up, making a slight grimace straightening her back.
     Isabel smiled at her. 'Hello!' she replied. 'You must be the owner who bought this property from me some while ago.
     'Why yes,' said the lady, slightly puzzled. 'Yes, we did.'
     Isabel couldn't help casting her gaze over the garden. 'I never met you at the time, but hope you've been happy living here. It was our home for many years and our children were brought up in this house when they were very young.'
     'Oh indeed I have been,' the lady answered. 'Very much so, and I love the garden, but it can be a bit of a handful at times when you are on your own.' She walked the few steps to where Isabel stood behind the gate, extending her hand.  'My name is Susan and its nice to meet you after all this time. Do come in if you have time,' she beckoned. 'Would you like to wander through the garden with me?'
     'Thank you.' Isabel shook hands with the lady over the gate feeling pleased. 'Well, if you're sure I won't  be holding you up from your gardening. My name is Isabel by the way.'
     'Not at all, I fancy a break,' replied Susan appearing somewhat relieved. 'I've been hard at it all morning and becoming rather tired. It must feel strange seeing your garden again, but I suppose it's mine now,' she said, looking a little nonchalant.
     Isabel stood beside Susan, a feeling of loss, memories flooding back as they began to stroll side by side. She thought for a moment, then answered, trying to feel positive, leaving the past behind and going forward, no matter what it took. She drew a long breath. 'Yes, its your house and garden now, and although I'll always have happy memories living here, it's necessary to quietly close a door as others may open.'
     Susan smiled looking over at Isabel as they sauntered past some roses being rather late in blooming. 'That's a lovely way to think about it I suppose. My life has had one or two doors closing recently.'
    'Oh!' said Isabel. 'Nothing too serious I hope?' She didn't want to sound too familiar or pry, as they had only just met.
     'Well, you could call it that. I lost my husband a few months ago and finding things rather difficult on my own.'
     'I am sorry,' replied Isabel. I've been without my dear William for some time now. Not a days goes by when I don't think of him and miss him terribly. That's why I sold this house. It became necessary to live in something smaller, more manageable. Our children grew up and moved away, so it was unnecessary keeping it going by myself. And with ageing becoming more of a problem in time, I made the obvious decision to sell. But there will always be memories attached to this house and the garden.'
      'I guess there will be. I'm in the same boat now, although we never had children, but thought friends would come down from London for weekends, the house was perfect for that.'

     An hour had passed and both ladies were feeling more than hungry. Susan suddenly turned to Isabel, 'I know we don't know each other very well, but would you like to stay for a spot of lunch? It will only be a bowl of homemade chicken and vegetable soup and some seed bread to go with it. I've always loved making bread and as it happens, made some only this morning.'  
     'That sounds wonderful to me,' said Isabel smiling at the thought. 'Thank you very much. If it isn't too much trouble, I'd be pleased to.'
     'That's settled then. I can return to the gardening any old time.' Susan washed her hands under a garden tap and shook them. 'I'd best wash them properly in the kitchen. Do come in. Hope you weren't in a hurry to get home.'
     'Not at all! I wandered into the village church for a short time and will walk the extra mile or two later. One needs to keep active if possible, or the whole body would cease up, given half a chance.' Susan smiled, ushering  Isabel through the kitchen door, inviting her to take a seat beside a large farmhouse table.
     'It must seem really strange for you to walk through that doorway again?' Susan applied soap to her hands and ran them under the tap, before reaching for a towel. 'I guess the place looks much the same as when you were here. We never got round to a lot of re-decorating when we moved in. Thankfully you left the house in good order and we only needed to repaint a few rooms to freshen them up.'
     Isabel glanced quickly around the room. 'William was always good at that. He loved to be up ladders and tinkering with things. This house was very special to us both. It was the garden that was my specialty. It took a lot of care, but well worth it.' She looked over to a small vase of wild flowers. She had always loved spring and the garden bursting forth with new life after the long dark days of winter.
     They sat and chatted over soup and fresh bread. Susan finished hers, buttering another slice of bread. 'I guess that's why there wasn't a lot to do in the house when we moved in. 'Such a lovely place,' she sighed. 'But I'm not at all sure what to do now that Oliver has departed. I miss him so much.'
     Isabel was silent for a while, thinking of William and the happy marriage they had shared. The house had become a home and she felt a little uncomfortable now it was no longer theirs. She smiled gently at Susan. 'We seem to be in the same boat now. It is said that time heals, but to me, it's a long time to wait.'
     'Life is never the same after losing someone dear to you,' Susan mused, fingering the last morsel of bread on her plate. She looked up at that moment catching Isabel's eye. 'I say, would you like to have lunch with me another time soon, I've enjoyed our chat?'
     'That's kind of you to ask,' smiled Isabel. 'I'd like that. I'd better be on my way soon and thank you for the delicious lunch.'
     'Do you live very far away? I could drive you to save a long walk.'
     'No thanks Susan. I enjoy walking. It's not that far really.'
     Susan thought suddenly. 'Perhaps we should swap telephone numbers so we can be in touch again soon.'
     'An excellent idea!' replied Isabel pausing at the front door.

     Two weeks had passed when Isabel decided to phone Susan. When they had talked on first meeting, they soon  found they shared similar interests and a love of medieval history in particular.  
     Over the next few months the two ladies, having formed a firm relationship, spent many hours together discussing some of the books they had read, one in particular was a medieval mystery.

     On a morning when sunshine spilled over the countryside after many rain-filled days and nights, the summer sun felt warm and enticing, spreading across hilltops, filling the valleys. Flowers were still in abundance in the winding lanes. Sweet-smelling honeysuckle wound around dog roses, through full leaf copper beech. Blue periwinkles scrambled below hedgerows, when Isabel arrived at Susan's house, soon in deep conversation about a medieval mystery that had occurred in Cambridge.
     Later they were walking in the garden when Isabel noticed something small and wooden poking out close to the house in one of the borders skirting the house. She almost pounced on it, but restrained herself. 'What on earth can that be?' she exclaimed, becoming animated. 'I've done lots of gardening here, but never have I noticed that!' she added, closely scrutinizing a piece of what looked like old timber.
     'Nor have I!' replied Susan puzzled. 'Let's take a closer look at it. I'm intrigued.' They both bent down with curious expressions on their faces, feeling strange pangs of excitement.
     'Think we had better unearth it,' added Isabel. 'What do you think Susan?'
     'Oh, of course! Indeed we must,' replied Susan, grasping the end of the small piece of old timber and giving it a slight tug. She was surprised it moved at all, but brushed away the soil around it until it became obvious to both ladies. It appeared to be a lid of some sort.
     'This is more interesting by the moment!' Isabel said, encouraging Susan to keep digging. 'I wonder if it...oh my goodness!' she exclaimed as Susan lifted an old rotting lid that revealed what looked to be a huge dark hole beneath.
     'It must lead under the house, as it certainly appears to be big enough. See the direction it goes?' Susan was pointing towards the wall of the house as Isabel stood close to her. They squinted to see in the darkness below their feet, then crouched down trying to adjust their eyes to what lay in the darkness. 'I'll go and fetch a torch. This must be investigated further,' Susan added standing up, straightening her back. 'Won't be a moment Isabel.'
     Very soon, she returned with a large torch, used during power blackouts. 'Now we'll get to the bottom of this!' she nodded, eyebrows lifting, her face twisting in an odd sort of grin.
     Together they shone the torch into the darkness. 'There seems to be a ladder in there,' said Isabel, squinting. 'Do you fancy trying it out Susan? Not sure if I'm game enough.'
     'Well one of us should!' replied Susan. 'If it has to be me, so be it.' She gamely reached out a leg and felt if the ladder appeared safe, as it could have been completely rotten, or eaten away with woodworm. Carefully she trod on one rung then the next while Isabel tried to light her descent. 'Alright so far,' she grimaced, noticing several cobwebs lining the darkened depths.
     'Take care now.' Isabel's face was screwed up, concerned, as Susan was slowly disappearing. Then suddenly she stopped, came back up and took the torch from Isabel.
     'I will need that, as its much too dark down there.' She made her way carefully back down the stairs, dodging more cobwebs. Soon she reached the bottom and shone the torch along the floor. 'Oh my goodness. Oh my...!'
     'What is it?' Isabel was on her knees looking down into the black abyss, beginning to worry. 'Are you alright Susan?'
     'I think so..!' Then silence. 'But...oh dear, I've found something I don't like the look of!' Susan's voice was husky, words more faint.
     'Susan! What's wrong?' demanded Isabel, becoming more than a little worried by now. Silence again. Then slowly, Susan's head appeared from out of the darkness, a strange look on her face, which had paled significantly.
     'For goodness sake Susan, tell me what is wrong. I can't stand the suspense any longer. You have gone quite pale and look as though you've seen a ghost.'
     'Think I might have,' replied Susan, 'well sort of. There are bones down there and I know they are human, as there is a skull attached,' she added dubiously. Her incongruous expression shocked Isabel.
     'That's serious Susan. We must phone the police immediately.'
     'I quite agree,' mumbled Susan, still in a daze with what she had just witnessed.
     'Come on then. I'll make you a nice hot cup of tea. Looks like you could do with it.' Isabel decided she must take the bull by the horns and make Susan the tea this time, even if it wasn't her kitchen. She led her friend towards the back door and into the sun-filled kitchen, which looked a good deal cheerier to Susan, than down that old, creaking ladder. She was still in a bit of a daze as Isabel put the kettle on and walked over to the phone.  

     Within about half an hour, two policemen knocked at the front door. Isabel went to open it.
     'Are you the lady who lives here?' asked a tall, burly policeman.
     'No, but I rang you a short time ago and my friend who discovered the bones, is in the kitchen. I'm just visiting, but she lives here. I owned the house many years ago and never had I found anything like this! It's been a bit of a shock to us both.'
     'Well, we can handle it from now on.' The policemen assumed a businesslike pose walking behind Isabel into the kitchen, where Susan was still drinking hot sweet tea.
     After brief introductions, the policemen naturally wanted to ask some questions and see where the bones had been discovered. Both ladies ushered them out into the garden, to where they had pulled up the trap door covering what lay below. The policemen slowly and carefully descended the old ladder, as it soon became apparent there was enough room for the two of them down there. Susan and Isabel heard some mutterings coming from the depths of the darkened hole, then the policemen reappeared, one at a time. 'We'll have to get forensics out here as soon as possible. We'd be grateful if you were to say nothing of this to anyone. That's important. Do you understand?'
     'Yes, of course!' both ladies answered together.
     'And another thing, you are not to go near here again until it's been closely examined by forensics. We don't want any further contamination than what's already been done. It appears from what we have seen, they are the bones of someone quite young. In fact, we think a murder may have been committed here a very long time ago, but we have to be sure.'
     'A murder? You cannot be serious!' Susan's face was contorted with shock and worry. Isabel's eyes were wide open, her jaw had dropped as she looked over at Susan,  frowning up at the policemen.

     Isabel spent a good deal of time with Susan after that, trying to console her friend. They had both lived there unbeknown that a murder may have been committed. From the day of the discovery, the house no longer held its usual charm, when a feverish melee broke out around it. Several forensic people examined the surroundings of the large hole, but concentrated mainly on what lay beyond the wooden trap door, hidden for many years.
     As Susan and Isabel sipped coffee one morning, gazing out onto a mist-shrouded hillside, there was a knock at the door. On the doorstep stood an illustrious looking man with greying hair, dapper and
well dressed, carrying a file of some sort. 'You'd better come in,' Susan said after the man identified himself as a detective, all the way from Scotland Yard in London. The man had a certain erudite expression about him and both ladies couldn't help feeling impressed with his presence and manner, although Susan had been forewarned of his visit. It had been necessary for him to check many details with the local constabulary, but it was also prudent to put Susan in the picture as to what they had discovered.
     The gentleman sat down, his file still perched on his knee and looked up at two expectant faces. 'Well...' he began. 'It transpires that a hundred years ago there was a murder of a young child only six years old. It was a sad case when his mother, having died of a sudden illness, his brute of a father had lost control and struck his little stepson. The child died instantly. The father must have tried to hide the child's body in the old cellar, then gone off and died himself before it was ever discovered.  The relationship he shared with his second wife was unknown to any of the locals. The poor little boy had been reported missing, but no one had followed up as to his whereabouts. All very poor policing I'm afraid. I'm sorry this had to happen and in this lovely part of the countryside. It's quite astonishing it was never discovered before now.'
     Susan intervened at this moment. 'It's all very sad, but perhaps it was never discovered because it took a lot of erosion of the garden to uncover a small section of the trapdoor. We've had masses of rain over the winter and spring. Slowly the garden soil has been washed away, enough to expose a small piece of wood my friend and I noticed one day while walking nearby. Quite by accident too.'
     'Well, it's all wrapped up now and the forensic people have been very thorough. It's taken a lot of investigation to find out the truth.' The man from Scotland Yard shifted in his seat.
     'Oh, I'm sorry,' Susan said while still in deep thought. 'Would you care for a coffee? I'm forgetting my manners, thinking about what you have told us.'
     'Thank you, yes,' nodded the man, placing his file on the coffee table with relief.
     'I'll be right back.' Susan rose immediately and went to do his bidding. In fact she thought they might all like a fresh cup of coffee and noticed some chocolate cake she thought would be a nice gesture. After all, the man had traveled a long way to relate what needed to come out in the end.
     Susan carried a large tray to the coffee table and after the man had left, looked over to her friend Isabel. 'Whew! Didn't quite expect that, did you Issy?'
     'It was a strong possibility I suppose, but very sad all the same. Do you think you can live with it?' Isabel asked dubiously.
     'I don't think I could now.' Susan gazed across to the window, where outside soft rays of sun had descended amongst the hills. The trees in the small woodland at the top of the hill were once again shrouded in a gentle mist. Birds were quiet as the sun ceased its last burst upon the countryside, its glow fading amongst the valley, warmth blotted out, the house suddenly appearing gloomy and forlorn.
     'What will you do then?' Isabel  asked feeling a chill. Autumn was not far away, the nights drawing in, days were shortening. She sat motionless watching Susan, who seemed far away, lost in another world.
     'I'm not know Issy. Think I'll sell the house. I can't go on living here anymore, not after knowing about that poor child - never having a decent burial - lying there all alone. Yes, I've made up my mind. I'm going to sell. The house has felt cold, empty lately and the garden will become too much of a chore as I get older.'
      'Susan, I've been thinking. We know each other very well now and I'd love to offer my home as your home too. It's perfectly large enough so we can have our own space, and we can share the garden, even though it's smaller than this one, but plenty big enough to accommodate us both. What do you say?'
     'Oh Issy, I'm speechless! What a lovely thought! Thank you. You're such a dear. I may take you up on your kind offer. Give me a while to think about it.'
     She walked over to the window, looked out beyond the trees on the hill, thinking for several moments. She turned, a gentle smile upon her face. 'Alright. I've thought about it and don't need any more time. The answer is yes. If you're sure. It's an excellent idea! I would never have thought of it.'
     'Good! ' said Isabel smiling, walking over to give her friend a kiss to seal their tryst.  'Well that's settled then. You can sell this enormous place as and when you like and we'll see out the last of our days together.'
     Both ladies laughed at that and drank another cup of coffee.
    


    
    
    
    
    

Summer Sunday

It's quietly summer outside
When Sunday lies still and hot
An occasional bird comes visiting
Through the bending fig tree stops
Soon everyone's gone to the beach.

A singing with flapping wings
Within a heat haze searing
Blackbird seeks rest and moisture
None to be found he's fearing
But everyone's gone to the beach.

A rogue of a fly keeps buzzing
Throughout the long day passing
Soft breeze through waving grass
Oh end this summer soon asking
When everyone's gone to the beach.

Suffer ye not the dryness
Come autumn with misty breathing
When summer gives up its hold
The seasons soon to be freezing
Not everyone's gone to the beach.

Sunday seethes sapping the ground
Till moonbeams light my way
Casting silvery softness near
Upon life's pillow end of day
Everyone's home from the beach.

Monet's Field

With hues of blue above my head
I wandered through his painted field
The dappled sky throws soft the light
Upon the ground scattered bright
Of yellow and blue and poppy red
His flowers of summer strewn.

My thoughts of brush and palette fed
He had dabbled and daubed to blend
With perfection on his canvas bear
One day filled with summer fair
My mind was distant thinking be
As I walked in Monet's field.

How sweet the night and tender day
When in that meadow I did see
Birds were fleeing from distant trees
That drifted on a summer breeze
 Wafting perfume through the air
As I walked in Monet's field.

Shadows formed upon the flowers
From blue and white scudding clouds
Floating above his poppies of red
I stooped to pick when butterflies fled
His flush of flowers they did bloom
As I walked in Monet's field.

Night drops upon the robin's breast
Shadows form as day has flown
Not yet as his intrepid hand
Still forms its perfection sound
Warm the day was long and carefree
As I walked in Monet's field.

Tread softly as the night comes nigh
Upon his flowers before me shed
For they must remain for all to see
To capture its essence of summer feel
Through half the day I did saunter
As I walked in Monet's field.

The clouds above I did follow
White tipped grey with blue behind
Becoming part of Monet's art
Drifting slowly white as wool
Sweet meadow here with flowers full
As I walked in Monet's field.

Few birds float upon the air
To glide and disappear from here
I'm lost in Monet's painting be
Don't find me where I can see
What now will those clouds behold
As I walked in Monet's field.

If I should slow and tarry here
Leave me in that painting free
A starry night above most bright
Deliver thee from this artist's light
Summer's breath upon me breathing
As I walked in Monet's field.

Into evening's slumber be 
Shadows casting ere sun has gone
Clouds hung loose above my musings
Lest I forget this tranquil blessing
Captured blues and reds so vivid
As I walked in Monet's field.

Miss Peabody's Dilemma - (for children)

     Miss Peabody woke one morning, with two Labrador dogs, the colour of creamed honey, licking her face. Their tails were wagging furiously. 'Oh, you naughty dogs,' she murmured, wincing slightly while still half asleep.
     The end of summer weather outside was sultry. Dry leaves rustled as a breeze blew stronger, the loneliness of it, sighing through apple boughs in her garden. For Miss Peabody loved growing and eating apples, big red juicy ones, crisp and crunchy, that ripened in the autumn. Overhead, large puffy, dark blue clouds were gathering, as she gazed sleepily out of her bedroom window. It looked and felt like a storm was brewing. It had been quite a warm and dry summer, most of the time. She much preferred the coolness of autumn, even winter had its good points, its charm when it snowed. 
     Miss Peabody particularly loved the snow, as she would delight in watching it fall, slowly mounting up in her garden, its whiteness when the sun shone, causing it to glisten and sparkle, like jewels scattered on a lake. The snow could be fine and dry when it was very cold, but at other times, it would fall in large puffy flakes, that fluttered down slowly and sat on the end of her nose. This always made her laugh. She wore glasses and the snow would often block her vision, when she wished they were equipped with tiny windscreen wipers to brush it away.
     Miss Peabody lived alone, in a small thatched cottage, vaguely in the centre of England, apart from her two playful dogs. She was a retired schoolteacher and now wrote children's books that sold well. She had enjoyed teaching children, finding each and every one having their own imagination in some form or another. She would sometimes ask if the children wanted to share what they thought, which was great inspiration for her books. 
     From time to time during the winter, snow would fall and she, not being very old as yet, loved to walk in it, kicking it into the air, watching it scatter around her feet. It always looked pretty when the sun shone. Her two Labrador dogs, Molly and Mindy, accompanied her everywhere. The snow in winter was always a joy to them, as they bounded playfully between the trees, when it fell throughout the woodlands; and everywhere else for that matter. They would bark, chasing each other through the trees, biting at large puffy white flakes, drifting slowly to the ground from grey clouds overhead. Miss Peabody would laugh, trying in vain to call them to attention, but failing. Molly and Mindy would pretend to squabble, ending up rolling around, getting utterly covered in snow, until they suddenly stopped still, shook themselves, then continued with their game.
     She thought many times of her dilemma whenever it snowed, the temperature low, air sharp and frosty. Sometimes it was so cold, icicles would form, hanging from the thatched roof of her cottage.
     It was at those times, Miss Peabody's imagination would get the better of her, when her mind always drifted to a far off land made completely of ice. She couldn't help it! The people living there, were well able to cope with the cold, as they were not ordinary people like she was. They had no dogs like Molly and Mindy, but a type of moose with horns instead. These animals were strong, hardy and very amiable, almost pets. Instead of cars, the moose pulled a sled, gliding over ice and snow with great ease. Their houses were made of ice too, living a strange imaginary existence. Fish were caught and eaten by digging deep down into the snow and ice, where they knew underneath, fish swam freely. These people, with Miss Peabody's imagination, were very special, always kind and considerate to each other, always happy, sharing what little they had and never squabbled amongst themselves. 
     A prince ruled their kingdom. Although he lived in a tall castle built of ice, a moat filled with snow surrounding it - he was like one of them, never to judge another, never to be cross and impatient when things went wrong. A prince who often spent time with his people. Together on special occasions, they would magically light a bonfire and join in eating and making merry.
     Suddenly, a storm broke outside. Thunder boomed loudly, causing Molly and Mindy to bark briefly. 'Hush you two. It's only thunder, probably a brief storm, that's all. Nothing for you to worry yourselves about!' Miss Peabody was wide awake now. Getting out of bed, she heard rain starting to fall, but upon her roof, being built of a special thatching straw grown only in summer and very thick, it was fairly quiet. 
     She flapped her hands, so her dogs knew it was time they left they vacated her room, to join her in the kitchen for breakfast. At that moment, rain was falling heavier, splashing against some of the windows as the wind grew stronger. 
     Another crash of thunder sounded. 'Oh dear', Miss Peabody uttered to the dogs. She always fed them first, as they were more lively than ever first thing in the morning. She placed some food in each of their bowls, which was instantly gobbled up. 'That's not good for you,' she remarked, shaking her head slightly and frowning at them. 'You should eat more slowly, as it would be far better for your digestion,' she retorted, waving a finger in their direction. But they just looked up at her, wagging their tails, expectant.
     Still frowning, shaking her head and muttering to herself, Miss Peabody paced the kitchen preparing her breakfast. She continued muttering about her dogs a short while, for she loved and cared for them dearly. They were great company to her and looked after things in the house, trying to help wherever they thought necessary, but often making things far worse.
     'Oh my, oh my,' exclaimed Miss Peabody, as lightning and thunder were heard directly overhead. She never really fancied storms, nor did the dogs. They barked when they heard thunder in particular. Miss Peabody knew the storms would eventually pass though, the air often fresher and calmer afterwards, the garden receiving a good soaking, saving her the trouble when it was unusually dry. 
     Soon summer passed into autumn, when the leaves on her apple trees changed colour, turning from green to yellow and rich red, before floating down, littering the ground below. The autumn nights would grow darker, earlier in the evenings, than in summer. Sometimes there were mists shrouding the garden, causing trees to look ghostlike and mysterious in the quietness of the countryside. The days would slowly become colder, as winter was not far away. Frost appeared on the tips of plants and trees, all around her garden and beyond. Small spider webs formed and hung in the hedgerows, lace-like after a dewy night. 
     When winter arrived, her imagination would run wild once more. In fact, it was not always in winter, did she think of that far off land, but also during other seasons of the year. She often wondered why this happened - a bit of a dilemma for her, until she suddenly smiled to herself, realizing how much she loved the winters, even the ice was never a problem to her. The crisp white, newness of snow lying on everything in sight, sparkling in winter sunshine, or making everything light and bright in the middle of a long, dark, winter. It captured her imagination, exhilarated and stimulated it, until she just had to write things down in a new story. All the fresh new thoughts roaming in her active mind. Miss Peabody would think of her land of ice, a very long way away, for it was only in her imagination, and no one else's. But nonetheless, it persisted. She wondered what triggered it off, thinking perhaps it was something to do with her childhood. She had been brought up in a warm country and only experienced ice and snow in her later years. This fascinated and indulged her senses, so much so, that it almost became an obsession.
     Winter in England, was a season when a few berries still clung to holly bushes. Many plants died off or went to sleep under a snowy blanket, only to awaken when the spring arrived and days became warmer once more. The high banks or hedgerows beside English country lanes, were sometimes piled with snow, the wind causing it to drift across the roadside or fields. When you walked in it, you had to step over or through it, the drifts became so high! Piles of fluffy snow were kicked to and fro into the air. Her two dogs delighted in it, playfully barking as they bounded this way and that. In the fields, snow would lie untouched over hillocks and small valleys, ice forming beside the small stream at the bottom. 
     Then the wind would blow the powdery flakes into mounds. Miss Peabody's dogs, Molly and Mindy, loved scattering them, as they walked and played excitedly along the quiet country lanes and over fields. They all walked daily, squeezed through gaps in bare hedgerows, hopped over five bar wooden gates, crossed fields of white if it had been snowing heavily, where never a soul had been before. They always made fresh tracks in the snow, delighting if the sun shone after a good fall, causing it to glisten brightly. The thick snow would become icy on the surface after a freezing night, crunching underfoot the next day traipsing through it, boots becoming white, snow sticking to the soles. 
     Pheasants would call out as they swooped low over the fields, in a passing fog, before returning to the woodland below her cottage. At times they would wander through her garden, where the dogs would bark playfully at them. They'd flap their wings squawking, before departing to a more peaceful scene elsewhere. 
     As soon as Miss Peabody was well into experiencing a cold winter, her thoughts immediately turned to her imaginary land, ruled by its prince. It was entirely constructed of ice, magical with its castle built high upon a hill, the walls gleaming, appearing endless as they disappeared into a silvery mist in the distance. There were conical shaped rooms built on the corners of the castle, reaching to the sky, bridges crossing the snow-filled moat, that looked as if they were made of sugar crystals.
     The prince lived in a smaller room of the castle, for he wanted to appear ordinary to his people, not wanting to put on airs and graces. He was tall and quietly charming, owning a large sled pulled by a moose, often helping his people fish below the ice and only kept what he needed for his own use. He was a much liked prince.
     One very icy day in that far off land, a stranger appeared in the midst of its people. He had wandered from afar, stumbling upon this beautiful village made entirely of ice, in search of a gracious lady he had always cared for. The folk of the village had not heard nor seen the lady he spoke of. At least, they didn't think so. Instead, they all shook their heads, looking from one to another in wonderment. They thought the stranger might feel rather out of place in their icy existence and were not keen to encourage him to stay. Hoping he would soon wander off further seeking his lady friend, they turned slowly, not wanting to put their backs to him as it would appear rude and impolite, returned to what they had been doing before the stranger had appeared.
     But the stranger didn't wander off, but persisted for some time, becoming bewildered as to what to do next.
     Just at that moment the prince happened to be passing the stranger. He paused, asking the stranger the reason for his visit to their land. The stranger explained his reason, giving his name, while the prince listened thoughtfully, patiently biding his time. Then, when the stranger had finished his explanation, to his sadness, learned that the prince had once married the lady he still cared for. Gently he was told, that some time ago, after becoming lost, the lady had wandered amongst them. She had stayed, managing to exist in their land, married the prince, but unexpectedly, died suddenly one day. The last word on her lips at the moment of her death, was that of the stranger, but the prince knew not at that time, to whom she referred. 
     The stranger left saddened, but satisfied he had learned the whereabouts of this lady, her end being a happy and perhaps peaceful one as far as he was concerned.
     Many things happened in that far off land of ice, an imaginary existence that appeared only in the mind of Miss Peabody. She couldn't help it after all. It never entirely left her, but became quite a dilemma really, appearing at the oddest of times and often when it was most inconvenient!
     Although she hoped the world would always be a satisfactory place in which to live, she would sometimes revert back in her thoughts to that special place of ice, where the people were pleasant, never to anger or squabble amongst themselves, for they saw no reason in it, being very patient indeed.
     Suddenly a dog barked. Miss Peabody put down whatever she was doing, shook her head slightly, leant down and patted both Molly and Minty lovingly. Her mind had been a very long way off, where a prince lived, sharing a strange land built only of ice. 'My goodness! she exclaimed out aloud. 'What a dilemma! I must have been dreaming or something. All these thoughts about a castle so high, it reached the sky. And people living in ice houses, that caught fish under the snow, a moose animal that pulled a sled. Whatever next!' 
     She glanced out of a window at the snowy scene outside, her dogs wagging their tails, hoping for a walk. 'Oh alright then,' she smiled. 'You win!' Looking down at their expectant faces, she gathered their leads after donning her coat and scarf. Together they scampered through the front door, almost tripping over each as they went. Miss Peabody laughed as Molly and Mindy bounded past her.
     The morning sun sparkled on the snow, air sharp with  winter's frost. As they passed below the overhanging thatched roof, an icicle plopped down onto the snow at Miss Peabody's feet. She smiled again, thinking of her very special imaginary world, as the three of them wandered off down the snow-covered garden, feet making fresh tracks as they went. 

    

Summer Storm

     The air was thick with summer. Day after day oppressive heat had raged, consumed, overwhelmed, frazzled the mind, sapped the body of energy, while inland countryside seared in a shimmering heat haze, bone-dry, devoid of any moisture. 
     Men sweated profusely inside their yellow suits, felt themselves almost melt as they dedicated themselves to fight out-of-control rampaging bush fires. They struggled against the confronting glow with its all consuming flames and radiant heat, unbearable as the fire front travelled fast and furious, threatening, devastating all in its path. Smoke rose high into the air, as trees, land and homes disappeared in thick choking clouds, billowing into the heavens.
     Roadsides appeared molten, paths of bitumen and concrete cracked, opened up. Beside the park, tall seedy grasses waved back and forth in the heat of a hot north wind. Birds fled to escape the dryness, heat that was intolerable, the atmosphere feeling like a furnace burning wildly, furiously, uncontrollably. 
     Beside the sea, people fried their skin t0 dark pink and red in the intense heat of the day, before sizzling in the cool green sea. Soft golden sand was too hot to walk upon, so the beach people hurried to the water's edge and dipped toes and feet into incoming waves that felt cool. Young boys dived off the end of the pier into water that was a deep green.
     Tess, a black Labrador dog, whimpered close to old George as he sat back in his worn chair and fanned himself. The heat was getting to him and he was not used to discarding many of his clothes, but the last few days he was forced to make an exception. He sat back with his face wet with sweat and uncomfortable.
     There was a sudden rumbling sound in the distance.
     'I know old girl,' he said, a wrinkled, weathered hand reaching down to soft furry ears.  'I think you heard that thunder in the distance as I did. Let's hope a storm is on its way, eh Tess?'
     Inside George's house, darkness was gradually filling the room in the late afternoon. The long hot summer had made its presence known, as everything around them felt hot, the furniture, inside the cupboards, the floors even. Hot water flowed from the cold tap when old George tried to fill Tess's bowl with water. 'The air is so heavy, you could cut it with a knife, George muttered and mumbled to himself, extricating himself from the chair, shuffling to the kitchen sink. 
     Outside, clouds were grey, building up and becoming darker, thick with promising rain. The sun became obscured, its penetrating rays momentarily extinguished, having an immediate effect with the temperature, causing it to drop slightly. On a wall the barometer needle pointed to change, slowly moving toward rain.
     A bright light forked the sky in the distance, lightning danced through the oncoming storm, darker, more threatening. Loud claps of thunder were heard as birds scattered to safety, screeching from the garden, trees swaying with the increasing wind, tossing their heads as dry leaves were torn from the branches.
     'Looks like there'll be a storm alright Tess!' The black Labrador wagged her tail slowly, looking up at George through large brown eyes. She whimpered again, got up, stretched and settled back to try and sleep. 'It's getting closer too, by the sounds of it!' George continued. 'We'd better check a few things and batten down the hatches.'
     George had been a tugboat captain in his day, now retired. He and Tess lived in a cottage style home close to the sea. His wife had died two years earlier and he was alone now with only Tess for company.  George rose from his chair and went to the back door overlooking the small back garden. The black labrador followed close behind thinking they were going out walking. Her tail wagged in expectation.
     'No Tess, not this time. Think its going to rain soon!' George turned and patted the disappointed Tess.
     At that moment a large drop of rain fell on the path near the patio, followed by several more. His small garden was in desperate need of water. It had wilted and drooped in places, looking half dead.
     'Ah, I was right then Tess. Long may it continue,' smiled George, as the rain started in earnest. Suddenly another boom of thunder sounded and old George reached down to comfort Tess.
     'It's alright my Tess, don't you go worrying yourself. We'll be safe inside, but just look at that lovely rain falling!' George was delighted and signaled to Tess to stay put while he wandered out into the path of the rain. He looked up, smiling. 'God bless you,' he said to the rain, for he loved his garden and the plants had been suffering from the heat, which saddened George. Watering sometimes with the hose, was a losing battle, but this rain was heaven-sent. He put his face up to greet the cool drops splashing around him, soaking everything in its path as the heaven's descended, wetting his face, arms and body. It felt good.
     Tess had followed George to the door and sat watching him getting wetter by the moment. She barked and stood wagging her tail as George laughed. With the storm, the wind had changed direction causing the temperature to drop considerably. The cloud burst had dumped plenty of cool rain on dry ground, eucalyptus trees lapping up moisture, the remaining leaves smelling fragrant, as did everything else in its path. Rain had sheeted down in torrents, glistening now on every wilted leaf, glad of its moisture. Thunder and lightning had crackled in the hot windless air. 
     Slowly the storm started to abate, the sun reappeared from the tips of passing clouds, sending fingers of sunlight streaking across the nearby park, a soft glow flickering through branches. The garden became drenched in the aftermath, the half dead plants of George's garden perking up, refreshed. George too, felt cool and refreshed as he ran his well worn fingers through thinning grey hair. The wind was dying as the rain ceased to a gentle pattering upon the roof of the house. He thought he heard the garden signing with satisfaction.
     The air felt clean, cool, rain had soaked, splashed and puddled the ground as birds flew back to an old oak tree, chirping loudly. The wind became quiet as the sun filtered through remaining clouds far to the west. George wandered over to a seat on the small patio, called Tess to him and sat for a while in the early evening sun. The heat had disappeared with the storm and the tranquility of the moment was blissful to both. Summer was coming to an end and with the autumn, came cool nights and warm days, filling the air with coloured beauty that fluttered down, littering the ground. Mists would descend from the hills, summer becoming but a memory, as George would walk with Tess along the sea front, dreaming of tugboats and tall ships.