All the same only looking different

Am I pretty? Esmerelda asked of no-one in particular as she stood alone by the side of the pond. And nobody answered. Well, not that Esmerelda heard anyway.

Am I? she gazed into the brown water as if waiting for a reply.

Esmerelda sighed, quite certain there was no point in going on and beginning to feel a bit silly, talking out loud all on her own.

She sighed again and turned away to walk the long trek back across the path towards the hills.

Grasshopper clapped one leg after another over his mouth, afraid that his heart would burst right out of his thin body and shout ‘Of course you’re pretty. You’re the most beautiful creature I have ever seen in my life!’ His cheeks puffed up with the effort and to keep his words to himself, Grasshopper jumped from rock to rock after Esmerelda, all the while keeping two legs firmly over his mouth.

Two hops into his journey and he had to stop to let all the air burst out of his body.

Esmerelda! he shouted with all his might.

But Esmerelda was already far away, almost at the tree line.

Grasshopper stayed quite still and watched her disappear beneath the green canopy of the willow trees.

He gazed at the clouds and the sun in the sky and wished with all his might that he could be something else, anything except a grasshopper with long thin green legs, waving antennae and a skinny green body.

Just then he spotted Harry in the long grass by the pond.

Grasshopper blushed to think that Harry had heard him shouting after Esmerelda.

If he had heard, Harry didn’t pretend one way or the other.

Slowly, slowly, he crossed the path to join Grasshopper at the edge of the field.

Hello, Grasshopper, Harry said.

Hello, Harry, Grasshopper answered, jumping up and down, up and down on the spot.

Settle down, Grasshopper. You’ll wear yourself out with all that hopping, Harry yawned and stretched his neck out from his body.

Oh for a good scratch, he said, wriggling his shoulders inside his shell.

Harry? Grasshopper began

Mmm? Harry was deep in thought, concentrating on stretching and pulling to ease the itch that had suddenly come over him.

Did you see Esmerelda? Grasshopper asked, half hoping that Harry’s answer would be ‘no’.

Yes, Harry stopped what he was doing and waited for Grasshopper’s next question.

Did you hear her talking? Grasshopper held his breath, quivering with the effort.

Yes, Harry yawned again and stretched again.

And? Grasshopper, never known for his patience, was by now ready to jump on top of Harry and start poking him in the eye.

Well, it’s a matter of opinion, said Harry.

What do you mean, ‘it’s a matter of opinion’, Grasshopper shouted and glared all at the same time.

Harry looked steadily at Grasshopper until he had quietened down.

Grasshopper, Harry began, Esmerelda is very, very pretty.

See, I knew it! shouted Grasshopper jumping from one rock to the other with excitement.

For a giraffe, Harry added.

What do you mean, for a giraffe? Grasshopper exclaimed.

What’s that supposed to mean ‘for a giraffe’. She’s either pretty or she’s not pretty. Right?

Grasshopper, Grasshopper, Grasshopper, Harry said. Settle down. Nobody’s insulting your beloved Esmerelda.

I should hope not, growled Grasshopper, his antennae trembling at the very thought of it.

But what did you mean? he pleaded then.

Well, Harry paused, waiting to see if Grasshopper was really listening.

When we think something or someone is pretty, we are comparing. We are looking for differences.

I know that, Grasshopper said witheringly. And? Your point is?

Now, Grasshopper. Be polite. Nobody likes rude grasshoppers. Harry snuggled into his shell more comfortably, knowing that Grasshopper would be very cross now. He settled down to wait.

Sure enough, Grasshopper hopped and hopped and hopped from one stone to the next, the flash of his green skin and legs a brilliant light against the stalks and stems of wild grass and flowers.

After a few minutes, he came right back, panting from all his hopping about.

Better? Harry asked mildly.

Yes, thank you, Grasshopper said and settled onto the rock nearest to his friend.

Harry smiled to himself and looked up at the blue sky overhead.

We are different, Grasshopper stated firmly.

How? Harry asked

Well, I’m a Grasshopper, green with skinny legs and long, dangly antennae and, and Esmerelda, Grasshopper gazed again to the treeline, willing her to come back.

Yes? Harry asked, smirking at the dreamy look on Grasshopper’s face.

Esmerelda’s tall with brown bits and black bits and lovely gold-sun-coloured bits, Grasshopper offered.

Harry smiled and examined the way his toes pressed in on the sandy soil.

And she’s got long legs and a beautiful…Grasshopper continued

Yes, yes, Harry interrupted at last.

We know what she looks like. We know what you look like, what I look like, what the clouds look like but what if that’s just what we see, not what we really are? Harry waited, unsure whether his young friend would understand what he was getting at.

What we see is what we are! declared Grasshopper indignantly.

Really? Harry asked. What about the clouds in the sky? What do you see?

Big seeds, big fluffy seeds, like cotton balls, said Grasshopper.

And the stars? Harry asked

Lights, bright lights, Grasshopper said with conviction.

What if I said that the clouds are drops of water, clumped together in the air and the stars are distant planets? Harry asked.

Oh, I knew that, Grasshopper said hurriedly.

Honestly, Harry! My head hurts when you start with all these questions, Grasshopper sat quite still, waiting.

Imagine, said Harry, that we are all the same, just look different. I am the same as the cloud. You are the same as the grass. We are the same as Esmerelda. Harry twirled a piece of grass thoughtfully in his mouth as he waited for Grasshopper’s answer.

So, what are we, if we’re all the same only look different? Grasshopper asked, wishing somehow that he had never started this conversation.

Let me ask you another question, Harry said.

Do you have to? Grasshopper cried.

What makes the grass grow, you hop, me think? Harry continued.

I don’t know, said Grasshopper, sorry he had asked.

Energy, Harry stated matter-of-factly. Take away energy and it all stops. The grass stops growing, you stay still and I don’t think.

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea, Grasshopper said, grinning at Harry.

What? Harry said.

Oh, nothing Harry, Grasshopper said then, laughing out loud.

Harry ignored him and continued as before, warming to his theory.

We are all energy. Take away energy and we cease to exist. Everything else about us is unimportant. Unimportant whether we have black bits or brown bits or gold-coloured bits like the sun. That’s all on the outside. Inside we are all exactly the same.

With those words, Harry trundled off down the path towards the setting sun.

Night Grasshopper. Don’t stay up too late. With a small wave of his tail, Harry’s shape gradually blended with the darkening sky and Grasshopper stayed alone to watch the stars come out.

Energy, he thought to himself. Energy. Why, this could mean that Esmerelda and I…

Grasshopper rubbed his legs contentedly along his back at the thought of what he would say to Esmerelda next time he saw her. He practiced everything Harry had said, certain that Esmerelda would be astonished at Grasshopper’s intelligent mind when he repeated it all to her. Energy.

Counting the stars one by one, he slowly drifted off to sleep.

Night Harry, he said at last, a smile on his face and a dream in his heart.

Harry and Grasshopper do their sums

Once upon a time in a faraway land, Harry and Grasshopper were great friends. They couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t been friends and maybe this was just as well. Harry’s mind was a bit fuzzy on the details of how they had met and he didn’t like to think about it too much. It gave him a headache, thinking too much. Grasshopper didn’t think very much about anything and this was one of the things Harry especially liked about him. He didn’t talk very much either, which Harry liked too.

Harry looked up at his friend and thought for a moment, only a moment, about the one thing Grasshopper did that really bothered him. Grasshopper sprang off, with a great Hop! into the tall green grass and Harry sighed “There he goes again.” he thought to himself and stopped. Not that Harry was ever in a hurry. Hurry and Harry didn’t really go together. Harry chuckled at his own little joke, tucked his head inside his tortoise shell and settled down for a nap.

“Harry! Harry!” Grasshopper’s voice was filled with excitement. Harry groaned. No, it wasn’t Grasshopper’s hopping that bothered him. Hopping was in his nature. Harry knew this, knew that Grasshopper was, after all, a grasshopper and that’s what grasshoppers did. They hopped. Oh no, what really, really, really bothered Harry, he thought again to himself, almost feeling his head ache with the pain of it, was Grasshopper’s excitability. He was “so dramatic!” Harry rolled his eyes to heaven and sighed again.

“What is it this time Grasshopper?” he said, pulling a blade of grass from between his teeth, where it had somehow managed to get stuck while he slept.

“Look!” Grasshopper hopped, his antennae quivering with excitement.

“Look!” he shouted, pointing one spindly leg across the plane towards the sandstone hills in the distance.

“What now?” Harry thought to himself, moving slowly over the sun baked earth so that he could see what all the latest fuss was about. He craned his neck first this way, then that, turning to his right and then to his left. He saw hills, scrub bushes, a tree in the distance.

“What?!” Harry snapped at his friend’s jumping and hopping. “What is it now?!”

“Look Harry! Look!” Grasshopper jumped up and down, dancing and dashing so that Harry had to look away because the quick flash of grasshopper-green against the grass was making him dizzy. Harry tried again to see what all this fuss was about and then gasped. “Oh my!”

The ground began to tremble beneath his feet and he pulled his head tight to his shoulders in fright. Grasshopper, quick as a flash, hopped expertly onto Harry’s back and shouted “Come on Harry! Hurry!” Grasshopper bounced up and down on Harry’s back, eager to be off.

“I can’t hurry.” said Harry in a huff. “You hop. Fine. I can’t hurry. When, Grasshopper, are you ever going to learn that?” Still, Harry, against his better judgment, put one foot before the other and step by step moved towards the darkening sandstone hills. Slowly, as the day drew to a close, the stars showed themselves, one by one against the blackened sky and Harry paused, tired after his long walk, beside a rocky outcrop.

“How many do you think there are?” Grasshopper whispered in his ear.

“Don’t do that!” Harry snapped. “You know I can’t scratch my ear!”

“Sorry.” Grasshopper said happily, knowing that Harry wasn’t really cross. Just Harry, that’s all. Just Harry.

Harry thought for a moment, trying to remember his counting and adding. Lots, he decided. There were lots of them.

“Where have they come from?” Grasshopper whispered again.

Harry banged first his left foot and then his right on the ground.

“Sorry Harry.” Grasshopper jumped off and away, knowing that Harry really was cross now. That was the good thing about friends, Harry decided. They knew the signs and it was okay to be cross with them because it didn’t mean that you weren’t friends anymore. It just meant that you were cross at what they were doing. If they stopped doing it and said they were sorry, then it was okay. You could go right on back to being friends again. If they didn’t? Well, Harry didn’t like to think about that because, more than anything else, that really made his head hurt. Harry nodded off again, happy with the quiet of the evening and the cool dark air all around. His head lolled gently from side to side as he dreamed of lettuce leaves and other juicy tortoise delights.

“I counted them!” Grasshopper bounced back, suddenly.

“Mmm?” Harry muttered.

“There are one hundred and twenty-eight.” Grasshopper announced proudly.

“How can you tell?” Harry asked, his eyes wide open now, all this thinking threatening to burst his head right off his body.

“Easy.” said Grasshopper, delighted with the chance to show off. “I counted their legs.” With that announcement, Grasshopper lay back against a rock, folded his arms across his chest and grinned at the night sky.

Harry sighed. Grasshopper was young and didn’t really know much but he forgave him. A bit flashy was Grasshopper, Harry thought to himself but that was okay too because he was his friend and Harry accepted that that was just the way Grasshopper was.

“Okay.” he said patiently. “Let me get this straight.” He paused, checking whether Grasshopper was really listening. And he waited. And waited. That was one thing Harry was good at. Waiting. Grasshopper stopped his sky gazing for long enough to say “Yes?” and then settled back again, counting the stars above him.

“You counted legs.” Harry began again. And paused again. And waited again.

Grasshopper sat up and looked crossly at Harry.

“Yes. Yes. I counted legs.” He stared Harry right in the eye and then flung himself back against the rock in a huff.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” he sang to the stars. “I counted legs.”

Harry shifted his weight from one leg to another. He found it helped him to think. One, two, three, four, he counted as he moved each leg in turn.

“And you counted how many legs?” he asked sweetly

“One-hundred-and-twenty-eight!” Grasshopper shouted. “Honestly Harry, sometimes you can be so dumb. One-hundred-and-twenty-eight!”

Harry too looked up at the sky and smiled. A kind, loving, ‘well he is my friend’ smile and asked sweetly. “Grasshopper, how many legs do I have?”

“Four, Harry. What are you talking about?” Grasshopper’s words faded away and he looked at Harry for a moment, then laughed. “Of course!” he shouted, hopping off the rock and dancing up and down in front of Harry’s nose. “One-hundred-and-twenty-eight divided by four.” he said, kissing Harry squarely on the top of his head. One-hundred-and-twenty-eight divided by four.” Grasshopper said again.

“That makes…”

“Thirty-two Grasshopper.” Harry added kindly. “That makes thirty two giraffes.” slowly turning towards the open plane again. “Come on Grasshopper.” he called over his shoulder. “Tomorrow’s another day. Another day for more adventures.”

Grasshopper counted and counted and then, afraid that Harry might get too far ahead, he hurried after him. “Silly me.” he said to the stars as he hopped off. “Harry hurry? Never”.

Sea Change

Stretching his neck to the very back of his rump, Crow plucked a scrawny feather from his tail and dropped it off the roof, watching as it settled in a curving free-fall on the damp grass and moss below. It had missed the agapanthus and blown slightly towards the centre of the lawn. He cawed raucously to the feather as it lay there. Nothing happened. He cawed again. Still nothing. On the third call, which was increasingly less serene and composed, the feather sprang to attention. Quicksilver, it anchored itself to the ground, quill first and spun three times clockwise and three times anticlockwise, which by rights should have left it back where it started but did not. Within sixteen seconds of this starting it had become quite still. On the surface, at least. Still, that is if you didn’t count the surging growth spurt that made it, within ten minutes, no longer a small dark Crow feather but instead vermillion, blue, ochre, pink, yellow and brown. Inch by inch, it had transformed into a five metre tall feather tree. On a level with it now, Crow dipped his head to all angles until, satisfied, he clucked in deep appreciation and scanned the horizon for similar feats of engineering, that had been agreed during the Barn meeting, called as a matter of urgency to discuss the changed landscape and the few trees left after all the new houses had been built. After a great deal of complaint and angry shouting about how unfair life was, the meeting had finally come to the decision that at the sound of the early church bell on Monday morning, each Crow would contribute one of his or her precious balancing feathers to create this new lifeform on earth. And so, this very morning, very slowly, all over the village and beyond, tall feather trees began to show themselves, swaying gently in the early morning breeze. Crow cawed a soft satisfaction song to himself.

Just then, exactly as Oh Wise Won had predicted would happen, Scholian’s green post van spun around the corner of the cul de sac. A racing driver by nature, if not by profession, Scholian loved to whirl and glide into each driveway, bound with a spring in his step to the postbox and flit once again towards the still running engine, where he would smartly close the door and drive on to his next port of call. Although the company liked them, he himself had no time for those new fangled postboxes fixed to pillar and post, which simply spoiled the fun as far as Scholian was concerned. Here then he came, right on time past the first and Crow felt, the finest of all the new creations. Scholian, however, was busy listening to his elderly mother who, despite many years in their newly adopted country insisted on talking to him as if they were still in the heart of Europe. Against company policy and his own better judgment, Scholian’s mother also insisted every day on accompanying him, with her flask and sandwiches as he delivered the post. For himself, Scholian was full of thoughts of his next trip to France where he would spend time taking apart the Ford Mustang that he and his brother Pavel had found there on their last holiday. Inside his head, he was already there, fingers covered in grease and dust from the old engine, the steady thrumb of piston, camshaft and carburettor playing a melody that cast a warmth over the words his mother intoned, allowing Scholian to nod happily along to everything she said, without hearing a single word.

Crow watched Scholian’s routine pattern of dive into the porch, lift the flap, push the post through, snap the flap closed and dash to the still running engine for the next drop. By the time he had done three houses, Crow finally muttered his frustration before spilling off the rooftop to the pillar of the next house on Scholian’s route.

‘Morning Crow’ Scholian beamed at him, his brogue rich and pure New Irish belying the heavily accented Polish he and his mother used between them as he reversed the van at speed into the empty driveway. ‘Caw’ said Crow, strutting back and forth, his bottom cocked in the air, willing Scholian to notice his bare rump. ‘Caw’ said Crow again as Scholian drove past him with a cheery wave. ‘Stupid man’ Crow thought to himself and tried again at the next pillar. ‘What Crow, are you helping me with my rounds today?’ Scholian laughed as he sped past him, missing that house completely. ‘Nothing for number four today Crow. Sorry to disappoint you’ he said, driving as fast as he could down the small road before doing a quick handbrake turn at the end to bring him in line with the last postbox in the estate. Expertly, he flipped the lid, dropped the mail and the latch to the box at the same time and turned back the way he had come.

Crow watched the van leaving, hopping from one leg to the other and wondering how to attract Scholian’s attention. Just then, the screech of brakes curled a blue fog from the wheels and the van shivered as it came to a sudden stop before reversing back to the small edge of green between numbers twelve and two. Scholian sat in his seat, his mouth wide and his eyes wider still. Crow ahemed to himself, puffed out his chest feathers and sauntered up to the van ‘Well?’ he smirked. ‘What the?’ Scholian started and then stopped, looking from Crow to the tree and then back to Crow again. ‘Did you?’ he stopped again. Crow, for some reason Scholian did not understand had turned his back and was sticking his bottom up in the air. Scholian looked away, embarrassed. Crow wiggled his bottom and said ‘See?’ Scholian blushed and was about to ask Crow to please turn around when he suddenly noticed the bare patch on Crow’s rump. ‘What happened to you?’ he asked in surprise. Crow spun around to face Scholian once more and with a wave of his wing, bowed and pointed to the feather tree that towered above them. ‘Voila’ he said triumphantly. ‘Voila what?’ said Scholian, afraid almost to imagine what the reply might be. ‘You see before you the new species of tree. Gloria Crowcus.’ Crow announced proudly. ‘See?’ he waved his wing again towards the skyline. Scholian climbed out of his van to get a better look. Across the village and out into the countryside tall feather trees waved in a variety of sizes and shapes, each a dazzle of glorious technicolour. ‘Well I never.’ Scholian said, rubbing his hand over his face as if this would help him understand it better. ‘Well I never’ he repeated again.

The words were no sooner out of Scholian’s mouth than a great rumble was heard from the far side of the hill, down at the water’s edge. Scholian grew pale, paler even than the bare spot on Crow’s rump. A fierce thumping followed which Scholian definitely did not like the sound of one little bit. He looked from Crow to his van and then back to Crow again. With a fierce little nod to Crow, he jumped into the driver’s seat and raced towards the end of the road. There, he hesitated for just a moment, uncertain whether to continue on his rounds or to head back to the village where he could call on help if needed. Then, as if the van itself decided for him, Scholian found himself heading towards the dark and brooding sound that was coming up from the cliff. Beneath the wheels, the van trembled against the strangely vibrating road. Scholian watched a dark cloud forming ahead of him and switched on his lights to get a better view. The air had grown suddenly cold and then warm and then cold again as if a giant breathing was taking place all around him. Scholian shivered and wished that he had turned towards the village while he still had the chance. Beside him, his mother had busied herself with another layer of sandwiches and a second cup of tea, completely unaware that Scholian was more than a little perturbed at the sudden turn of events.

Ahead, the road quivered and broke open in a jagged line, splitting in small cracks and then widening as the two parts of the crust broke away under the terrible thunderous march of whatever was coming up the hill. Scholian was very afraid now and tried to turn back but the road was narrow and his only way was forward into the terrifying sound. The sky had darkened to almost black but no stars came to light the way. This was the darkness of the underside of the stone, the darkness of the split earth below the grass and Scholian muttered under his breath about not liking the look of things at all. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Crow’s feet clamped firmly to the top of his windscreen. Just as he was making certain that it was Crow, a raucous Caw Caw was heard and Crow launched himself ahead of the small post van towards what Scholian was now sure would be certain doom. ‘Crow!’ he shouted after him through the glass, knowing in his heart that Crow would not hear him and even if he did, would not turn back either.

The dark had become thick and soupy, making Scholian cough and gasp a little for breath. Still, he kept on, his foot firmly pressed on the accelerator from habit as much as anything else. Ever since he had learned how to drive as a small boy there was only one speed that Scholian ever allowed himself, full throttle and nothing less. This would be his saving grace, even though he didn’t know it at the time. As he neared what he felt must be the source of all this terrible noise and dark foreboding, Scholian closed his eyes and pressed even harder, if that were possible, on the little engine to get him to the Cove. With a leap, the brave little van raced towards the final corner, lost all hold on the road beneath his wheels and sailed across the breach towards the far hill. Crow was ahead of him, shouting encouragement all the time and this, Scholian would assure Missus Maloney later that morning, was what most certainly saved him.

From the vantage point of their new landing place, Scholian and Crow looked back on the devastated landscape where the sea had finally crashed through all defences and torn the road to shreds. As they watched, the tide retreated, drawing with it enormous mouthfuls of black asphalt, boulders, trees and hedges, a child’s plastic ride on tractor and numerous bits of rubbish and debris including the hideous garden gnomes that Missus Quinn was so fond of. Crow watched the gnomes depart with particular delight, remembering one particularly unpleasant incident when the gnomes and a gigantic mock Persian tomcat belonging to Missus Quinn’s bedridden sister, had ganged up on him.

Later, sitting eating hot apple tart with Missus Maloney and her house guest from Australia whose name Scholian could never remember, it was all he could do not to mention Crow’s trees. Secretly, he and Crow had agreed that the trees might just have been the thing that started it all. Although, if Scholian was really honest, he didn’t believe that. The trees were one thing. The sea monster that he was sure and certain he had witnessed from inside his little brave van was another altogether. ‘Mmm!’ Scholian thought to himself, wondering if anyone would believe him.

What neither Crow nor Scholian had counted on happening in their race to the Cove, was the strange disappearance of Scholian’s grumbling, tomato sandwich eating, milky tea drinking wrinkly and bad-tempered mother. At the very moment that Scholian had closed his eyes to urge his little van across the cavernous gap that had opened in the road, the passenger door had swung wide, spitting mother, flask, sandwiches and handbag towards the foaming froth below. To his eternal shame Scholian didn’t even remember hearing the door open or close and only noticed his mother was missing when he landed safely across on what had suddenly become a far and distant shore. A double-bind Scholian said to himself. If he told the post company he would lose his job. If he told the authorities the Coast Guard would send out search parties. No more France, no more greasy fingers and old cars, no more racing around the road. 'No more mother' Scholian said firmly to himself, agreeing with Missus Maloney that the apple tart was indeed very good and yes please, he would love a second piece. He smiled sweetly at Crow and handed him the cream. In the look that passed between them as they spooned warm pastry, cooked apple and frothy cream into their mouths, Scholian and Crow silently agreed that they would finish their tart and then go out to look for Scholian’s Mammy.

Meanwhile, Missus Nakowski, as she was known to her friends, completely unaware that she had tumbled out of her son's sturdy but speeding van, as it sailed high over the broken cove road, found herself flung, with no dignity whatsoever, onto the back of a wild Irish Salmon that himself got such a fright, he leaped a clear ten feet above the waves before settling back on course for his long swim to his spawning ground. Luckily for her, Missus Nakowski, was not one bit afraid of the sea, having been a champion swimmer in the cold northern lakes of her homeland as a young girl. She fixed Salmon with a fierce gaze and sternly bade him in Polish not to jump so high in future. So saying, she tweaked each gill on either side of his head with a firm but friendly pinch, shouted out and dug her slender ankles freshly against his sides, urging him ever onwards.

Alas, this was no Salmon of Knowledge on which the good lady found herself but rather the more mundane back of the class, dunce type and he simply stopped still in the waves at her antics and refused to budge another inch. Besides, to be fair, he had never heard anyone speaking Polish before. The pause caused by Salmon’s hesitation is exactly what gave Crow the opportunity he had been waiting for. Freshly fortified by Missus Maloney’s generous helpings of apple tart, he swooped upon Scholian’s Mammy and placed his strong claws either side of the good woman’s head, ready to heave-her-ho towards her waiting son and the dry and welcoming cliff beyond the sea.

For her part, Missus Nakowski was having none of it. She clung firmly to her place on Salmon’s back and slapped Crow twice with her crocheted handbag, which she had, in its design and making forty years earlier, had the good sense to fortify with several pounds of sling shot. The thwack that resounded on poor Crow’s ears could be heard for miles around, all the way even to northern Spain and the holiday makers sunning themselves on the beach there who looked up in surprise, wondering if that was the hotel’s call to lunch already. Meanwhile, Salmon had finally grasped the notion that things were now very different to how they had been only two short minutes ago and lunged with all his might towards the bottom of the ocean, dragging Missus Nakowski, Crow, handbag and all into the depths with him.

High above on the cliff, beside the Danger Cliff Subsiding sign, young Scholian and Missus Maloney, who had insisted on coming along for the drive, watched anxiously for some signal from Crow that he had executed the rescue as planned. Instead, imagine their shock to see Crow, Scholian’s Mammy and Salmon disappear in a flash and a flick of fishtail below the foaming surf. 'Oh my!' said Missus Maloney, clutching Scholian to her bosom in fright, from where he struggled to free himself after some moments of rest in the warmth of her embrace. ‘Oh dear! Sorry!’ said Missus Maloney when he finally broke for air, his face a very dangerous looking shade of red. ‘I got a fright, that’s all, seeing your poor mother going like that’. At this point Missus Maloney burst into tears, pulled her apron up to cover her face and ran, as she thought, towards Scholian’s trusty little van which had brought them to this high spot safe above the water.

Unfortunately for Missus Maloney and as it would turn out for Scholian too, with her apron covering her face, she was not really clear about the direction she was taking, all of which resulted in her crashing into the Danger Cliff Subsiding sign and sailing clear off the edge of the land towards the rocks and waves below. Scholian would have been spared the same fate had not a button from his shirt become entangled with the ties of the apron, dragging him too, head over heels towards the lapping sea. Alas, now all hope of rescue seemed lost, with Crow and Missus Nakowski sailing in the deepest waters with their new friend, Salmon and Missus Maloney and Scholian up to their necks in surf and in danger of following them to the flat sand below.

Only Scholian’s van now remained and brave as his little heart was, he was, he assured himself a little tearfully, not made for sailing off the edge of cliffs or for floating on the ocean wave. He thought and he thought and he thought some more. He revved his little engine as loudly as he could, he honked his horn, he flashed his lights but all to no avail. ‘Doomed, doomed’ he thought to himself and hung his head, unwilling to watch what was happening any more. Time, it is true, was getting on and still there was no change. Scholian and Missus Maloney were fast heading for the dark line of the horizon. Missus Nakowski and Crow were nowhere to be seen. Overhead crows and gulls wheeled and glided, searching all around for their beloved friend.

Suddenly, a dark shape appeared at the edge of one creamy white wave, then another and then another. Dozens and dozens of them popped like corks to float in a ring around a growing circle of water. A prideful voice sounded across all the land and the sea, bouncing from cliff to cliff ‘We are here to help’ said a lobster of the brightest red-pink Crow’s friends had ever seen. Round and round in a circle the lobsters in their pots went, churning the water into a huge funnel reaching all the way to the sandy bottom. Then, with a loud splash, they stopped suddenly, becoming perfectly still, which caused the water to reverse its flow with a whoosh! Now! Up came Crow. Up came Scholian’s Mammy and up came Salmon with a mighty splash.

Crow quickly flew to one of the lobster pots, drawing Missus Nakowski with him, his claws locked in a vice-like grip, which despite all that he had endured with the sling-shot handbag, he had never once relaxed, even at the bottom of the sea. There, against the twisted cane frame, the old lady lay gasping for air and thankful to be able to breathe freely once more. Crow shouted ‘You stay there’ into her good ear and flew as fast as he could towards the two dark specks he could just see heading far out to sea.

The little van, opening his eyes to peep, could scarcely believe it when, as suddenly as Crow had gone, he was back, with Scholian grasped firmly in one claw and Missus Maloney in the other. Swooping high now to the far edge of the land, away from the cliff edge, Crow laid them gently down, checked that they were breathing and not too frightened after their big adventure and then hurried back to the water to complete his rescue mission. This time, Missus Nakowski did not swipe him with her handbag. Indeed, it was the only thing that had not resurfaced when the lobsters had stopped their dance. Most likely, she decided, the slingshot was too heavy for it and it was lost beneath the waves, forever and ever. ‘Never mind, she thought, I can buy a new one in the sales.’ and busy with ideas of what colour she might like, she relaxed as Crow once again grasped her firmly by both shoulders and hoisted her towards land. ‘Thank you’ he called as he flew away, dipping his wings in a pilot’s salute to the lobsters below, already sinking out of sight as they began their journey back to the bottom of the sea. Crow’s friends cawed and shrieked and cheered their Great Hero, their wings clapping and slapping for all they were worth.

‘Thank you’ Crow shouted, mischievously pretending to drop Missus Nakowski so that they would ooh and then agh as he pretended to catch her again. The sound of clapping rang out all over the land and all over the sea, once more puzzling the Spanish holidaymakers, who had been disappointed earlier to discover that it hadn't been lunch time after all. Very soon, back at the Cove, everyone was all together again, surrounding Scholian’s little van and thanking their lucky stars for being back on dry land, laughing and shouting all together and waving towards the sea and the land and back again as they each told how really, they hadn’t been that frightened. Still, after all the excitement, Scholian felt it would be a good idea to turn the little van towards the village where they could all eat ice-cream for the rest of the day and tell the story over and over again, to anybody who would listen.

‘Phew! what a big adventure!’ Crow thought to himself, wondering if his feather had really been the start of it all. He wondered, too, for a moment if he should ask Scholian what he thought but decided that maybe it was best to let sleeping feathers lie. ‘Until the next time’ he said, with a little Crow smile to himself.

Sweet Gregory

Grandmother settled herself onto the soft pillows of the bed and opened her arms for us to gather around. It was story-time. Sam fidgeted and wriggled until Grandmother shushed him with a hug and a kiss on his head. Then, he sagged against her and waited for the story to begin. I was all attention, half-sitting away from them. Grandmother told wonderful stories, that carried us far into the evening and readied us for our own stories later, in our sleep. What I loved best though, was watching Grandmother’s face. Sam said he didn’t like to watch, he said that it was too scary. For me, the scarier the better.

Shh now, we’re ready.

Once upon a time, Grandmother began, her eyes soft and smiling, her lips gently telling the words, in a land far, far away, lived two small people, Catherine and Gregory, who were friends. Every day, they walked to school, holding hands and keeping safe. Just like me and Sam, I said. Grandmother smiled and pressed her finger to her lips for me to listen and not interrupt.

One day, she continued, teacher called both of the children to her desk just as the bell rang for the end of class. There she reached into the secret cupboard, where no boy or girl was ever allowed to go. From a small cardboard box, teacher drew out a sweet and presented it to Gregory. She looked at Catherine, paused for a moment and then gave her a sweet too. ‘Remember now, said teacher ‘sweets are for after your growing food.’

Grandmother paused. Sam and I held our breath for a moment and then she began again. In the room, the fading sunlight had gathered in a pool on the bed and everything else melted away to a misty nothingness. Sam giggled nervously. I played with my hair.

Grandmother’s eyes widened and the small brown spots on her face darkened as she brought more and more words into the room.

On the way home, she said, Gregory and the girl held their sweets in their hands. Gregory wanted to eat his but Catherine, said, no, they must wait until after lunch. That was what they were supposed to do but Gregory, who knew he was the chosen child of all who gazed on his lovely face couldn’t bear the suspense of the sweet, hot and melting in his warm hand, crying out to be taken from its wrapper and set free. Grandmother looked up to the ceiling as if hoping that he wouldn’t. She sighed and looked straight into my eyes, saying in a deep, grave voice, And so, despite Catherine’s warning, he unwrapped the sweet quickly and popped it whole into his mouth before she could stop him.

That was when the trouble started, Grandmother nodded knowingly, settling her bottom into the bed to get a better grasp of the story. Sam wriggled deeper into her side, determined this time not to lose his place and fall off the bed, like he usually did.

He could feel that the story was about to take off and he didn’t want to be left behind to face all that fear on his own. Grandmother’s face darkened further, her lips almost disappearing, her eyebrows coming down and her chin tucking into her chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs to keep my scarediness inside.

Suddenly, said Grandmother.

See, there, I told you!

Suddenly, said Grandmother again, Gregory stopped smiling. His skin changed from that of a pale, freckle-faced boy to that of a brown, fur covered creature. His shoes burst from his feet, stretching to a thin nothingness as his long nails reached forward to grasp the earth. Longer and longer his feet grew, spreading flat and high into soft brown pads to clutch the ground beneath them. Catherine’s eyes grew wider and wider at the sight. From his britches, a ripping sound announced the arrival of his long bushy tail, its feathering brushing the air in damp strands as it cooled in the early afternoon sun. All about him, Gregory’s clothes lay in rags and tatters. Gone were the short trousers, the grey socks, the white shirt and striped tie. His jacket perched on his broad shoulders like a napkin. Gregory licked his lips clean of the last morsel of chocolate and flashed a shining white smile at his young friend far below.

The sun was gone now and our bedroom was dark as night, with Grandmother’s teeth and eyes like glow-worms flashing in and out of the story, drawing the words together and cocooning them around us, binding us together in their spell.

All the while, Grandmother continued, poor Catherine had kept Gregory’s hand firmly locked inside hers and now her arm ached from the effort. She let go and fell free, landing on the ground with a soft thump.

In our bedroom, somewhere out there in the dark, I heard a thump. I did. I know I did.

Grandmother pretended not to hear it and went on telling the story.

Gregory sniffed, his nose hooked high to the sky, in search of he knew not what. Then remembering his friend, he looked down at her lying there in a crumpled heap and threw back his head to laugh. The howl that arose shook the trees, sent cats and dogs running for their masters and scattered the birds, bees and all wild things to the air.

Outside, a cat howled in the night and we all jumped in fright. Grandmother laughed.

Gregory bent his knees and hopped forward, then shouted loudly with every jump as he bounded down the road, each leap breaking new spaces in the ground beneath him. The trees shook and trembled in fright.

Little Catherine covered her ears with her hands and shouted his name. Gregory jumped this way, then that. Each pounding hop smashing open more and more of the footpath that was their way home. Catherine tried again. Gregory laughed and clapped his paws in her face shouting, I’m free. I’m free. Look at me!

Gregory continued towards home, crashing and banging his way along. It was all Catherine could do to keep up. At last, she lost sight of him as he topped the first hill and headed down the other side. Catherine knew she had to act fast. She put her fingers between her teeth and let out a piercing whistle.

Grandmother put her fingers between her teeth and pulled them out of her mouth, from which she now made a ‘whoof, whoof’ sound. See, she said, that’s what happens when you don’t take care of your teeth. She cackled just like Gregory and put them back in again, pulling Sam close and patting me on the knee before going on with the story.

From the sky, darkened with all the creatures fleeing for the heavens, She-Eagle came, swooping and gliding on the currents, all the while looking this way and that at the chaos beneath her. She stretched her legs forward and her wings back coming gracefully to land at Catherine’s feet. Neither said a word, having long practised these moves together. Catherine climbed onto the space between She-Eagle’s shoulders and wrapped her small legs around the strong neck. Up they flew, gathering force and speed faster than a jet engine. Up and up and up. There, Catherine pointed. There he is. That Bold Boy.

Grandmother paused, waiting for the story to catch us up.

Together, Catherine and She-Eagle flew on, over the next hill and the one after that until finally, satisfied that they had gone far enough to head off Master Gregory before he got home, they gently set to earth in the middle of the road. Together, Catherine and She-Eagle waited as the ground started to shake and tremble beneath their feet. He was coming. They could feel it. They could hear it. They could smell it. All the air was filled with the smell of chocolate and sugar and brown fur.

Gregory crested the last hill and stopped still. He could see them there, waiting for him below at the place where the road turned towards home. He stopped and drew a hot, sticky breath deep into his lungs. He knew he was in trouble. Knew it from the look on Catherine’s face. Knew it as soon as he saw She-Eagle. Gregory slowly placed one foot in front of the other, letting it feel the energy come up from the ground below. He pushed forward, heel to toe, feeling every muscle in his leg ready for action and then, with a screech of wild energy, he charged straight for them. This time, this time, he was sure he would defeat them. He could taste it in his mouth, the sweet smell of victory and freedom.

Down the hill he raced, his tail whipping long circular arcs behind him, whirling dust and broken pavement into fragments that flew out in a trail of destruction as he went, trees toppling to one side, their roots and branches all atangle. Then, with one mighty leap, he cast caution to the wind and soared over Catherine and over She-Eagle, high above their heads as they stood waiting for him, there, in the middle of the road.

Grandmother took a deep breath, pulled Sam tighter still and went on.

Fixing her eyes firmly on the dark figure flying above her, Catherine gathered all of her power and aimed towards that soft space between the pads of his left paw. Coiled, she launched herself with a giant spring upwards, her own momentum shooting her through the thin flesh where she wedged herself tight, holding on with all her might.

Below, She-Eagle snatched the flailing tail in her fierce beak, as it thrashed a wild maelstrom across the earth and dragged it to ground, heaving Gregory backwards with every ounce of strength she could muster. The skin on the land broke open to the depth of an elephant’s trunk, splitting in two, its soft brown core now, at last, the resting place for the small boy who lay shivering and crying on the leaves and twigs beneath him.

Grandmother smiled sweetly.

Slowly, the frightened creatures returned to their resting places. The birds to the trees, the butterflies to their flowers, the cats and dogs to their backdoor steps. The trees stood up straight and the broken pavement settled itself back onto the land, with just a few little cracks here and there reminding everyone of what had almost happened. She-Eagle nodded goodbye to Catherine and quickly disappeared into the clear blue sky.

I told you not to eat that before your lunch Gregory. Catherine said sternly. Good boy indeed. Whatever would Teacher say!

Dusting off his knees and pulling up his socks, first one and then the other, Catherine patted him on the head and smiled. Better luck next time, she said, taking Gregory's soft hand once again in hers and continuing towards home.

See, I told you Grandmother told great stories! J