Writing for Fun
May 2018
Definitely Maybe - Jeff Kebbell
I made my way upstairs to the twin’s room. April and Lottie were in bed and Joseph conducting with a ruler. They would probably have auditioned well for La Scala in Italy for volume. After some argument which I was destined to lose, I sat down on one of the chairs and looked at my family. Joseph, a carefree, good natured older brother at twelve and dominated by the ten year old twins who were pretty and self-assured. They both had pale blue eyes like their mother and it seemed to have an effect on all the boys in their class at school. They ignored the trail of boys that followed them home unless one of them had some sweets and then the girls would kindly let him give them some before shooing him off.
‘Tell us a story about a wicked witch,’ said April.
‘Not all witches were wicked’ I said. ‘Most of them were old ladies whose mind was going and they had become lost in a society that largely ignored or jeered at them. Some had powers to help people get well and I knew one who could make it rain during a dry hot spell of weather.’
When I was evacuated and a new teacher came to the school I went to, I fell madly in love with a girl whose mother was what would be known as a White Witch. The girl’s father was known to be a Cunning Man which was the male version of a white witch and when the farmer’s sheep started scratching themselves against the trees, indicating possible scrapie, they went to my girlfriend’s father who charged less than half the vet’s fees and a cure was more or less guaranteed. Her mother was a herbalist and the doctor didn’t get much business when she was around either.
Their daughter and I went home together from school and I found no-one came with us even though many had benefitted from her mother’s treatment. One day two things happened that left me very puzzled about the girl. I used to cross the road when I passed the gamekeeper’s house as his bull mastiff dog would snarl and throw himself at the gate which frightened the living daylights out of me. He had caught one or two poachers and bitten them badly – they could say nothing of course as they were trespassing. This time my friend did not cross with me but went up to the gate and stared at the beast. It started to growl but stopped, stared and turned its head sideways, then, obeying her gestures came up and laid down. She stroked its head and called me over. Reluctant to show I was frightened, I came and she got the dog, now wagging its tail, to lick my hand. ‘It’s only frightened,’ she said.
At school that day the teacher left her watch on the table and went for a cup of tea. I didn’t see it picked up by any of the children but when the teacher returned she saw it was missing and asked for it back, one of the girls said it was my friend who had it. As I had been with her, I knew it wasn’t her and said so but the girl persisted and one or two others said they had seen her pick it up. The accuser said she was a witch and other things but she sat calmly and when finally the teacher asked if she had it, she said no, but could find it for her.
She took the box of straws we used when we had our milk break. In those days the straws were made of wheat stems and will probably soon reappear to replace the unwanted plastic ones. Giving each child a straw and in quiet conference with my friend the teacher said, ‘The girl who took my watch will find her straw getting longer like Pinocchio’s nose when he didn’t tell the truth’. We all went into the playground and collected our third of a pint of milk and chatted in small groups. My friend was calm and explained an arithmetic problem I hadn’t understood. Finally the bell was rung and we all returned to our classroom and sat nervously holding out our straws. The teacher spoke. ‘I have a straw here and I want you to come up one at a time and measure yours against mine’. One by one we all went up until Iris, the girl who had accused my friend, went and found her straw was an inch or so shorter than the teacher’s. She burst into tears and gave the watch over and went home with a note for her mother.
On the way home it was explained to me. You see thinking her straw would get longer, Iris broke a piece off and this was what the teacher was looking for.
We walked past the gamekeeper’s house and stroked the dog then my friend stopped in front of me and said simply, ‘I love you.’ Looking into her beautiful pale blue eyes I knew at that moment years ago that this was the girl I would one day marry.
Lottie: ‘That was Mummy, Mummy really is a witch.’
April: ‘A white witch, Lottie, a white witch.’
Joseph: ‘But Mummy is definitely a witch.’
‘Maybe,’ I said.