The Irish Tales

Chapter Fifteen

(Goodbye to all that…..)
　
One crisp, brisk winter morning, as the sun rose over the hills and the milkman barked hello, Jay stared through the ice on her bedroom window and wondered.

She wondered what was for breakfast, she wondered if Desert Orchid * was happy in his retirement and she wondered if the Postman would ever manage to post that thick, heavy letter through the letter-box, whilst standing on his hands.

(He did.)

She also wondered where Impy was and just what was going on in the Forest of Green.

Recently, the Forest had become strangely empty and quiet.

Where once friendly monsters danced and sang and ate jam roloy-poly with cussie, now there was only the occasional sighting of them - and none at all of Impy.

And of late, her sock drawer had proved empty of anything but socks.

Later that day, she wandered down to the Forest of Green and poked about in the bushes and the copses, hoping for a familiar face or a cry of "My line, Boss!" a typical Monster call when playing pretend scaring.

But all was still and silent and, well, sort of mouldy ?

For an instant, she was thrilled by the sight of a fox, sleeping by the big oak, but as she got nearer, she realised it was simply a bundle of greenery and twigs and some stones.

Much puzzled and a little saddened, she walked home and ate her tea without any of her usual delight in all things edible.

Later, when she went up to bed, she wrenched open her sock drawer and yelled, "Aha!"
But the socks simply lay there, as silent and as harmless as pieces of wrapping paper.
(Which, when you think about it, is all they really are.)

"Hmmmmm…" said Jay and got in to bed with a scowl on her face, which is how Patsy found her when she descended from the attic that night.

"What ho, fledgling ! " she cried with her usual enthusiasm.
"Hullo, Patsy," replied Jay, quietly.

Now, Scaremonsters are not always noted for their sensitivity.

Indeed, oft has been the time when Jay has come home bruised and battered after a days riding and Patsy merely snickered and gigglieoed, (Scaremonster for "made fun of") and never for one instant gave a glimpse of her concern.

But this night, she realised at once that something was very wrong and sat down on the end of the bed, which promptly see-sawed and sent Jay tumbling to the floor.

"Hoy !" yelled Jay.
"Soz," said Patsy.

Once they had sorted themselves out and settled down again, Patsy asked quietly, "What’s the matter, old bean ?"

Jay looked gravely into the Scaremonster’s big, purple eyes.
"There’s something wrong in the Forest of Green, Patsy."
And she recounted her day’s wanderings and how all the friendly monsters seemed to have vanished and even the un-friendly ones, too.

Patsy was silent for a while, a long while. In fact, too long a while for Jay’s liking.

Eventually, the Scaremonster sighed, raised her eyes to Jay’s and said gently. "It is the holiday season, little fledgling."
Jay tossed her head in disgust.

"It is NOT the holiday season and I am NOT your little fledgling. I am a young woman in the making and…and…I’m tired now. I go sleep."

And with that she shut her eyes firmly, although one of them was not as firm as the other.

Patsy sighed and lowered her huge head for a moment. And then, with what seemed like an equally huge effort, she rose and began the weary climb into the attic, watched briefly by Jay, until sleep forced the other eye shut too.

As he reached the top, Patsy glanced back to look at Jay – and something small and white caught her eye.

Under the window, forlorn and lost, lay Jay’s raggy, the raggy she never slept without, the raggy she kept close to her heart.

A small tear leaked from the corner of Patsy’s purple eyes and she trudged onwards to bed and some sleep.

As indeed should we, my little piglets.


* Desert Orchid was a Champion steeplechaser who won the Gold Cup ; a magnificent big grey horse who had the heart of a Lion. Or a Scaremonster, if you prefer.
　
　
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