Away with the Fairies

I like fantasy. There is so much grim and fearful news in this world, news that cannot be easily escaped, so Rosemary's story is a welcome antidote to the bleakness of COVID

Colin Taylor                                                            

Flat 1,

2a Lewisham Street

Morley

Leeds

LS27 0LA

United Kingdom

Telephone 0113 3453136

email; the gomersaltwo@yahoo.co.uk

Title; Away with the Fairies.

Word Count: 1620 words

Away with the Fairies.

“Rose Mary, you’re away with the fairies.”

I wasn’t daft, which was what he meant, and I hated being called Rose Mary. My name is Rosemary, but my step-father Joseph was easily cruel. I knew the attic would come next. And its darkness.

So I hared off; I didn’t wait for him to lock me in, but headed across the farmyard to the field beyond. I shrugged through the hedgerow and waded the icy bog until I reached my magic bridge. It was neither magic nor a bridge, just a rotten tree fallen across the beck, but way back when I was only five, it had seemed magical. When Mum and I first found it, I loved the summer’s flowers which garlanded it with pink and purple. Mum called them honeysuckle and made me a head-band; she said the colours suited me.

The stream had become overgrown, sluggish and muddy, but the tree was still there, not yet rotted away. I shivered against its crumbling trunk, throwing bits of bark at my reflection in the water. Then I found a stone; it made my reflection disappear into violent, murky rings. Before the rings grew still, another stone made sure my misery would remain hidden in the stream’s murk.

From the other end of the trunk an angry voice protested. “Watch out, young lady. You’re splashing my best outfit.”

No one was in sight, but the voice chided me again, indignantly. “Have you no manners, girl?”

When I looked carefully, I could see an odd, stooped figure. He shook a fist at me and shouted, “Aha! Apologise. Right now. Or else.”

After Stepfather Joseph, that threat was one too many. In floods of tears, I slumped on to the tree’s bare roots. The strange little man ceased his anger and crossed over. “Girl, are you crying because of me? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It wasn’t what you said. Today’s been a horrid day and I came to escape that, not for another telling off.”

Up close he looked even odder, tiny, with an old man’s beard and wrinkles. He was dressed quite like a gnome from a’ fairy tale, the ones Mum had taught me to love; he probably lived under my bridge,

“What are you doing here?” he asked, perching next to me on the roots.

“Mum and I called this our magic bridge. She once made me a honeysuckle headband.”

 He interrupted. “So you’re that little girl? That was your Mum? I am so sorry she died.”

How did he know Mum had died?

He went on, “Your mum was right, you know. If pink and purple suited you then, they’ll suit you now.” He pointed to the frozen ground and there snaked forth first one honeysuckle vine then another and yet another, until my magic bridge was re-garlanded with pink and purple summer blossom.

Summer flowers? In February?

The strange little man coiled a flowery vine into a headband and arranged it on my hair. He commanded, “Look at yourself now.”

The stream below the magic bridge was no longer murky, but ran clear and swift and my reflection told me how lovely was my new headband, “It’s wonderful,” I marvelled. “I don’t understand how you made the muddy stream flow so clean and clear or how you made the honeysuckle grow, but today has become a lovely day. Thanks to you.”

I threw my arms round him, held him tight. He blushed.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me for a long time.” He offered a handshake, “Let’s be friends. My name’s Aelf. What’s yours?”

I rather liked Aelf, my new friend. I took his hand, feeling much better, “I’m Rosemary.”

“Well, Rosemary,” Aelf enquired, “Please tell me why you’re sad.”

I tried. It wasn’t easy telling him about my Mum. I loved her, missed her so very much, but I knew she couldn’t come back. Then I told Aelf how mean Joseph was and what he had called me. I’d somehow imagined Aelf was mild-mannered and good-tempered, but what I told him made him stamp his foot and stutter in rage, “Away with the fairies? Away with the fairies? Is that what he says? Does he live in that ramshackle farmhouse? Aha! I’ll teach him a lesson he won’t forget. Aha!”

Aelf began to spin in circles so tight I thought he’d drill himself into the ground. When he stopped, he chanted mystical rhymes and crooned a weird song which grew louder and louder, as if he was practising a magic spell. When it was perfected, Aelf raced off towards the farmhouse at such a breakneck speed he left me behind. When I reached the farmhouse, I was pleased to find Aelf waiting for me, and I understood straight off Aelf wanted me to witness Joseph’s comeuppance. Seizing my wrist, Aelf threw open the front door and tugged me inside. We made a violent swoosh of air which swirled high the curtains and made the tablecloth wave like a live thing while Joseph’s daily paper blew across the room and landed on the floor.

Joseph looked puzzled by this sudden breeze that had so disturbed his living room. Had the window blown open? No, he discovered, it was the door that had opened, even though he’d shut it properly before starting his tea. Joseph stood up, absently chewing a charcoaled sausage, walked toward the wide-open door and toe-ended it shut. He hadn’t noticed our presence, not at all, much to Aelf’s chagrin.

“Aha! Aha!” bellowed Aelf, aggressively. “How dare you say Rosemary was away with the fairies?”

Aelf stood poised, his wand en garde like a fencer ready to duel. Joseph still hadn’t noticed Aelf, but he spotted me all right and lunged forward menacingly. I hunched up small, fearing the wrath which he’d clearly been keeping warm since I ran away.

“Come here you,” snarled Joseph as he pounced. He missed me and tripped over the stool, which had mysteriously materialised in his path. Then Aelf leapt forward, drew up his full four feet two inches tall, puffed out his chest and proclaimed himself the victor in his manly duel.

“Fiery hell,” swore Joseph, looking up at Aelf. “Who are you, Titch? What are you doing in my front room?”

 “Aha! Aha!” cried Aelf, prancing with indignation. “Call me Titch, do you? How dare you, sirrah, and you are the man who told Rosemary she was away with the fairies. Shame on you, shame.”

Aelf whizzed about in dizzying circles, moving so fast he made a whirlwind blur around the room. When Aelf’s blur was next to the curtains, they blew violently up from the window, dislodging Joseph’s prize ornaments and when Aelf’s blur was near the table, the tablecloth waved and wafted so strongly that Joseph’s dinnerplate, his second sausage and his chips, were strewn across the carpet; meanwhile his paper went flying and fluttering twice round the room before landing in the fireplace and bursting into flames.

Aelf’s whirlwind had plunged the whole room into utter chaos.

Joseph might have lost sight of Aelf, but he’d kept his eye on me. He leapt up and lurched towards me, sausagey fingers out-stretched. Aelf deblurred, stuck out his foot and tripped Joseph who tumbled among his greasy sausage and chips. For the second time, Aelf towered above the prone Joseph and shouted aloud the incantation he’d been practising. Whatever the spell was, it worked on Joseph, whose livid, angry expression melted into a grin. Still on his backside, Joseph smiled, “Hello, Rosemary. Where’ve you been? What’ve you been doing?” He stood up, dusted himself down, detached the lost sausage and tried to smile, “Would you like some tea? A sausage sandwich perhaps? With chips? Sit down and I’ll start cooking straight away.”

I didn’t like this smiling, smirking Joseph, least of all when he invited me to sit on his best armchair, “Sit here, Rosemary. In front of the fire. Where it’s warm. I don’t mind, not while I’m cooking your tea.”

Joseph’s smile oozed charm, but I didn’t trust him, not one little bit. Aelf sat down next to me. Being a blur was tiring. He leant over and whispered, “Rosemary, I must return to the bridge.”

Even as he spoke, I knew I must too. Aelf’s magic spell over Joseph would soon wear off and then smiles would become snarls, kindness would vanish and cruelty would return. I decided not to wait for that to happen. For the second time that day, I raced across the farmyard, but this time, with Aelf beside me.

An Aelf transformed.

Neither stunted nor stooping, neither grizzled nor grey, but young and lithe, Aelf, in iridescent blues and greens, took my hand and his silvered wings lifted us over the icy fields to land by my stream, its waters sylvan and bright-splashing. February still misted the fields, its rime still gripped the marsh grasses and bushes, but our magic bridge glittered not with frost, but with sparkling fairy dust. More than that, better than that, our bridge was garlanded, adorned, with the pink and purple of a honeysuckle Summer.

Aelf strode first on the bridge. He offered his hand to help me “Come, sweet Rosemary, come where you’ll be safe. And happy again.”

Without qualm, I took Aelf’s hand in mine and, as I did, the crumbling tree became elegant crystal stairs ascending towards a blue-skied future. As I climbed, throngs of gossamer-winged fairies clapped and chorused their joyful greeting, “Welcome, Princess Rosemary, welcome.”

I walked upwards with Aelf, entered Fairyland and never once looked back at my grim and grimy life with Joseph. I was going far, far away.

Away with the fairies.