Ariel

On bright, crisp winter days Ivy liked to walk along the beach and watch the light play upon the waves. With no wind to stir them, they lapped lazily at one another, punctuating their greeny-blue hue with flashes of dazzling sunlight. It was after one such walk that Ivy created Ariel.

* * * * * * * *

Ariel sighed gently, forcing a small eyelash to flutter a few milimetres away from her. She was sitting in her favourite spot on the edge of the basil plant on the windowsill, gazing out to the sea.
“I wish I were a fish, Aunt Ivy,” she sighed, “Then I could swim away with the waves and have adventures across the sea. My scales would shine rainbow-bright in the sun and I would jump and swim with a whole shoal of fishy friends.”
“Why, what adventures would you have under the sea that you cannot have in the sky with those beautiful wings of yours?” asked Ivy. “And the colours of your skirt and the shimmering stones in your hair make you every bit as beautiful as a fish! Ariel, I fear you have a touch of the ‘grass is greener’s!”
Ariel turned back to the window. “Perhaps, Aunt Ivy,” she replied with another sigh.

The next day Ariel was awoken early by the sound of Ivy bustling about in the kitchen. Stretching she pulled herself out of bed and fluttered over to hover above the stove. Ivy was pouring hot camomile tea into a flask. The satchel she always took along when she went out was lying on the bench, a small greaseproof packet of sandwiches and another of raspberry brownies visible alongside an old tin inside.
“Are we going somewhere Aunt Ivy?” she yawned, settling on the wok handle.
“Good morning Ariel!” came the reply, “We are indeed! We’re going on an adventure! Would you like to ride in the pocket of my satchel, or would you be happier flying?”
“I’ll fly, I think,” chirped Ariel excitedly, “I wouldn’t want to miss anything because I was snoring in your satchel!”
And off they set.

* * * * * * * *

At the bottom of the garden path Ariel fluttered off to the left as she was used to doing, but Ivy turned away from the sea and towards the woods behind the house.
“Where are we going?” asked Ariel, “Surely not into the forest! It’s full of dead trees and dull brown wood! I’d rather go to see the sparkling blue sea and the soft yellow sand.”
“Ahhh, but today we’re going on an adventure,” replied Ivy, “There’s nothing adventurous about going somewhere you’ve been a dozen times before.” And she strode purposefully up the lane. Ariel had no choice but to follow her, sulking slightly. Before long she had given up on flying and was settled on Ivy’s shoulder, watching the branches start to thicken overhead and listening to the crunch of twigs and dried leaves beneath her feet.
“Are we there yet?” she whispered into Ivy’s ear, “When will the adventures begin?”
Just then a bird swooped low overhead and startled them both. Ivy jumped and Ariel fell off her shoulder, catching herself as she fell and righting herself mid-air.
“It’s a good job I have wings!” she cried breathlessly, “Are you ok, Aunt Ivy?”
“I’m fine, dear,” replied Ivy, “Just gave me a start, that’s all. And yes, it is a very good job you have wings! A fish would have fallen straight to the ground!”
Ariel thought she detected a slightly smug smile on Ivy’s face. “I suppose it would,” she said thoughtfully.
“Shall we stop for some lunch?” asked Ivy, “There’s a nice little clearing here.”

After Ariel had munched on corners of cheese sandwich, wolfed delicious crumbs of brownie and sipped a thimble full of elderflower water, she was ready to go. But Ivy was not.
“Just give me five minutes,” she yawmed to Ariel, “While my food goes down”.
“Don’t go to sleep Aunt Ivy! ” exclaimed Ariel, “We’re having an adventure!”.
“I’m not going to sleep,” murmered Ivy, “I’m just resting my eyes…”
Ariel sat back down with a sigh. “You always say that,” she muttered, half to herself.
Ariel was busy sulking when she heard a rustling in the leaves. Turning cautiously, she came face to face with a twitching nose.

(To be continued…)

Rosehip tidies up

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One rainy afternoon Ivy was bored. Fleur had gone out to visit her friend Mo and his mouse family in the fields, and Ivy was alone in the cottage. Inspired by her vase of McRed apples, she created Rosehip.

“There!” she exclaimed, setting Rosehip on top of the vase, “Now, you stay there while I nip up to the bakers for some bread for tea.
“Can’t I come along, Aunt Ivy?” asked Rosehip, “I’d love to see the village where we live!”
“Very well,” replied Ivy, “Jump in my basket and I’ll take you with me.”

Rosehip was very excited by the village. She fluttered about inspecting everyone and everything – from the old pound to the dairy, the watering pump to Cybil, the colonel’s dog. She especially liked Cybil’s lovely red scarf!

At the top of the hill she spotted a sign. She flew over to inspect it further.

“What does this mean?” she wondered aloud, “Best Kept Village Clean Up Sunday.”
“It means that this Sunday some of our neighbours will meet at the old forge and clean up the village together,” explained Ivy. “We’re very proud of our village, Rosehip, but some people aren’t so proud. They drop litter and leave mess. So every now and then we clean up after them. That’s why the village is so lovely and tidy!”
Rosehip thought for a minute. “That seems a very good idea,” she finally decided. “And I think I’ll help.”

On Sunday the villagers congregated at the old forge. Everyone was given rubber gloves and a bag to put rubbish in, but Rosehip could fit her whole body into one glove, and couldn’t carry a bag, so she said she’d share Ivy’s and be very careful what she picked up. They all set off in different directions to start tidying.

A little way down the road Rosehip fluttered eagerly down to the ground and picked something up. “Here,” she called to Ivy, “I’ve got some rubbish for the bag.”
“Oh no, Rosehip,” replied Ivy, “That’s not rubbish! That’s just a twig! Mother Nature dropped that, not a litterbug!”
Rosehip put the twig down and carried on looking.

A little way down the road Rosehip fluttered eagerly down to the ground and hauled something heavy off the ground. “Here,” she called to Ivy, “I’ve got some rubbish for the bag.”
“Oh no, Rosehip,” replied Ivy, “That’s not rubbish! That’s just a rock! Mother Nature dropped that, not a litterbug!”
Rosehip put the rock down and carried on looking.

A little way down the road Rosehip fluttered eagerly down to the ground and picked up something light and papery. “Here,” she called to Ivy, “This time I’ve really got some rubbish for the bag.”
“Oh no, Rosehip,” replied Ivy, “That’s not rubbish! That’s just a leaf! Mother Nature dropped that, not a litterbug!”
Rosehip put the leaf down and carried on looking. Soon she was distracted by some lovely flowers, and flew ahead to smell them.

Suddenly her eye was caught by something on the ground. She fluttered dow next to it and waited for Ivy.
“Aunt Ivy,” she called cautiously, “Is this some rubbish for the bag.”

“Yes, Rosehip!” exclaimed Ivy, “That’s rubbish!”
Triumphantly, Rosehip dropped it in the bag and flew into a nearby tree for a well-earned rest.

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Fleur and the house made of straw

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The Spring sun was shining brightly through the kitchen window, warming Fleur’s face. She was sitting in her favoured spot under Ivy’s Azalea plant, reading a book and enjoying the smell of mowed grass from up the lane.
“Aunt Ivy, shall we go out this afternoon?” she said suddenly. “It’s such a lovely Spring day.”
“Alright,” replied Aunt Ivy, “I’ll get my hat and a book and we’ll go out and enjoy the sun!”
Fleur buzzed with excitement “And I’ll pack my basket!”

It was a warm day for Spring, but not having stopped to pack anything for tea Ivy didn’t want to stray too far from the cottage. They agreed to set up Ivy’s deck chair beside the rockery. The bluebells were out and, Fleur’s pink sun hat not proving quite wide enough to shade her book, she set herself up beneath them.

After a short while Ivy announced she was thirsty. She disappeared into the cottage to fetch some lemonade and left Fleur in the sun. Engrossed in her book, when she first felt something tickling her feet she just brushed it away, but when she began to feel a persistent tickle to her calf she had to turn around to see what it was. Imagine her surprise when she came face to face with a mouse!
“What are you” he asked, “Some sort of fancy butterfly? I ‘aven’t seen a butterfly lookin’ like you before!”
“Actually, I’m a fairy,” replied Fleur. “And you are….?”
“A fairy, eh?” The mouse snorted. “Don’t see many of your sort about these days! Of course, my Dad used to tell us fairytales when I was a little’un, but as far as I was aware you was all gone now. Or make-believe to begin with. Though you’ve gone and proved against that now…” He would have continued had Fleur not held her hand out to him, pointedly. “Oh, yeah, sorry – I do get to talkin’ rather, don’t I? I’m Morris. Fieldmouse. Morris Fieldmouse.” Morris took Fleur’s hand in his paw and shook it. “Folks call me Mo.”
“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Mo.” smiled Fleur, and she turned back to her book.
“Oh, yeah, lovely to meet you too,” muttered Mo, “It’s just that, well, ummm…”
Fleur turned back to face him. “Can I help you with something, Mo?” she smiled.
“Well, I was wonderin’. I mean, I’ve gathered a lovely pile of straw for my house, but it’s just so heavy. And my left paw, well, I got a thorn in it last week, and it’s still sore now, and what with you havin’ wings an’ all…”
“Of course I’ll help!” said Fleur brightly, “You really should just have asked!” And she emptied her basket onto the rock. “Now, where’s this pile of straw?”

The pile of straw was quite large (by mouse standards, of course), but with Fleur’s basket to help they were able to take several bundles at once, and with Mo directing from the ground they had soon stacked all the straw neatly next to his half-built home. Fleur was flushed wit the exercise but pleased to feel of use. She shook the grateful mouse’s hand and fluttered back to her spot on the rockery.

By the time Ivy returned and handed Fleur a cool thimble of homemade lemonade she was settled back into her book. Ivy watched her drink her lemonade greedily.
“Goodness, but you’re thirsty Fleur!” she commented, refilling her thimble, “Anyone would think you’d done an afternoon’s hard labour in this sun, not lazed about with a novel!”
Fleur smiled to herself. “They would, wouldn’t they?” she thought, “And they’d be right.”

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In a cottage by the sea…

…there lived a lady named Ivy. Ivy loved nothing more than to walk along the seafront or in the woods behind her house. But she often got lonely. One lonely day Ivy pulled her old sewing and bric-a-brac boxes out and began to play.

First, she found some pipe-cleaners and made a rough body shape. Then she added beads for hands, feet and a head, and wound the pipe-cleaners in wool and tapestry silks. She added hair and painted on a face, then finally a beautiful skirt of wools, silks, ribbons and other old ends.

“Well, aren’t you beautiful?” she commented, partly to herself, “But there’s something missing…” Raking through her box she found a bag full of gauzy wide ribbon. “Ahh,” she muttered, “Wings. Of course.” She skillfully clipped the wings and attached them to her creation. By now the light was fading, and Ivy was tired, so she put aside her glasses and took herself to bed.

The next morning, Ivy awoke early and wandered through to the kitchen to fetch her morning cup of tea. Glancing over at the work bench she was surprised to see her sewing box neatly ordered, ribbons and laces rolled and pinned, spools of cotton in neat rows and piles of fabric folded in neat squares.
“That’s odd,” she thought aloud, “I don’t remember doing that at all!”
“That’s because you didn’t!” came the reply. “I did.”
Ivy had never been a jumpy girl and age had not changed that. She had lived through the air raids of the Blitz, afterall, and if that hadn’t made her jumpy nothing would! Nevertheless, her teacup clattered in its saucer. Ivy fumbled for her glasses as the fairy settled on the saucer.
“I’m Fleur,” she explained, trying to right the teacup. “Pleased to meet you.”