.............well when I say once upon a time I actually mean last Tuesday, there was man who was so important he had his name written on his office door. The nameplate, a rich burgundy colour, was engraved with the words "George T. Saggerson BA(Hons)" in beautiful gold-leaf lettering. For all of George's status however he felt himself disliked by his colleagues. This animosity was, to a large extent, mutual for he had quite rightly concluded that they were all idiots. When I use the word " all " I include in that statement his bosses for they had attained their position not through aptitude or hard work but rather by years of grovelling to those at head office.To George these elite staff were underserving of their position; he hated their condescending cliques, their conversational trivia but above all he hated their confidence which he rightly felt was based on what he described as "refined ignorance." He winced at their grammatical incompetence, their lack of general knowledge, their appalling taste in music, their artistic failings and their over reliance on technology, the exception of course was Susan from "Sales." Susan was none of these things -her radiant beauty was a balm to George's tortured soul and a cultural oasis in a cesspit of jumped-up ignorance.
For months now George had to suffer and correct the spelling mistakes of his secretary Julia until finally he decided that the current spellchecker on the firm's network was not fit for purpose and something needed to be done. With a little help from Google and the outlay of just a few pounds of his own personal money he was able to download what he was assured was a non-American spellchecker.
On Tuesday morning George arrived at the office unaware of the fact that his purchase was to prove even more effective than he anticipated.
" Good morning Julia "
"Good morning Mr. Saggerson there is a guy to see you he does not have an appointment", replied Julia.
"Julia it's not guys or dudes we use the word "gentleman", remember? Does that not sound slightly familiar ?"
" Yes Mr. Saggerson , sorry Mr Saggerson."
"So what's his name Julia ?"
" Whose name ? Oh you mean the guy to see you, his name is Mr. Bedstraw" , answered Julia and then added "I think."
George took a cup of coffee from the machine and headed in the direction of his office. A bearded man in a rather curious checked tweed suit sat on the chair outside, in his hand he played with a yoyo. George was a little taken aback by both the man's appearance and his odd choice of behaviour.
"Mr. Bedstraw ?" enquired George.
"Why yes, yes indeed now let me guess you are probably George T. Saggerson if I am not mistaken."
Again George was a little flustered by man's manner but ushered him into the office and was surprised the man continued with a variety of tricks with the yoyo. The man sat and stared at George without saying a word until eventually George was forced to start the conversation.
" Well Mr. Bedstraw what can I do for you?" Mr. Bedstraw looked slightly puzzled.
" What do you mean George you sent for me, remember, its all paid for?"
George was now convinced the man was slightly deranged or perhaps this was an elaborate hoax perpetrated by his more juvenile colleges. However the man continued and, with a flourish, he produced a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to George. George scrutinised the printout and then things became a little clearer.
" You see," said Mr Bedstraw " you ordered a spellchecker and paid for it by PayPal, its all valid."
"Ahh yes, I see now, " said George "I was expecting just a download not someone arriving here in person to install it." Mr. Bedstraw raised his eyebrows and looked a little puzzled before he spoke again.
" Well at least that is sorted," he said " now George tell me about these spells you want checking."
George cleared his throat and looked his visitor in the eye before he spoke.
"You mean spelling ? It's the staff they seem over reliant on this American spellchecker we have ,personally I blame it on education and a lack of ......."
"Whoah just hold on a second George," interrupted Mr. Bedstraw " you ordered a spellchecker it's in the contract. I am here to check your spells not the company's spelling."
"My spells?" repeated George.
" Yes spells," said the visitor " you know frogs into princes, pumpkins into coaches you must have heard of that sort stuff."
" Yes of course I have heard of that sort of stuff but that's all fairy tales," answered George.
" There George, I knew you would have heard of it, easy wasn't it?" Mr Bedstraw smiled rolled the string around his yoyo and placed it in his jacket pocket.
" Now look Mr. Bedstraw or what ever your real name is I am not the sort of person to be as easily duped as that, I have got the development report to finish before four thirty today so if it's all the same to you I would like to finish this crazy interview now if you don't mind." Mr. Bedstraw reached into his inside jacket pocket and from within somehow produced a cup of tea on a saucer which he sipped then looked at George and grimaced .
"Ughh no sugar, have you any sugar George ?" George was somewhat taken aback to the surreal manifestation of the tea but tried to maintain a cautious sceptical approach.
"Suppose you magic spell some sugar Mr. Bedstraw after all that's what you are here for," said George sarcastically.
"But I am here to fix your spells George that's what the contract says, unless of course you would like me to conjure up some sugar with a sweet spell. Would you like that George ? It seems like a waste of a spell to me."
" Yes oh for God sake just do it. I do have that report to write."
" Ok if you are sure." There was a crackling sound and a bowl of sugar appeared on George's desk. Mr Bedstraw took a spoonful and put it in his tea and looked quizzically across at George as if awaiting further instructions. George , for his part looked dumbfounded and a shadow of doubt crossed his mind. Could it be really true? Surely not.
" That's some trick, said George.
" Spell," corrected Mr. Bedstraw " spell,anything else you wanted me to do ?"
" Well I really would like to have this report finished, if its all the same to you, " replied George.
" Simple, " replied Mr. Bedstraw and in a flash a weighty volume of neatly bound papers appeared on the desk which he handed to George. George flipped through the document incredibly it seemed all there development assessment , diagrams, spreadsheets the lot. He glanced up in bewilderment and again Mr. Bedstraw had that quizzical look on his face.
" My God Bedstraw I don't know how you do that but it's fantastic beyond belief I just don't know how to thank you."
" Think nothing of it George it's all part of the service, you paid for it remember ? Now any thing else I can do for you ?
" Well ," said George thoughtfully "there is one thing."
The next day it was Susan from Sales that was to have that special extraordinary day. For some strange reason Susan discovered that she now found George T. Saggerson very attractive. It was as mysterious as it was inexplicable and if that wasn't enough she also discovered she somehow had a yoyo in her handbag.
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"As I was walking aal alane,
I met twa corbies makin' mane,
The tane unto the t'other did say oh
Where shall we go and dine today Oh?"
(Traditional Scottish Folksong)
....... within the time-frame of the gibbous moon she had the first dream but it wasn't until much later she decided to confide in a friend.
"What the hell is all this about?" said Roslind pouring herself a second glass and looking intently at Katovia's troubled face "your text sounded so mysterious. You OK?"
"I'm not sure, did you bring the pendant?" replied Katovia.
"Sure, you wanting it back? You know it's not the traditional way to behave with birthday presents." Roslind placed the gift box on the table, Katovia opened it and seemed genuinely relieved at the contents.
"I know I'm sorry, I'll buy you something else I promise," she said "look Ros I've been having these dreams."
"Dreams, nightmares you mean? Oh we all get those Kat," replied Roslind.
"No, not exactly nightmares more mysterious than that, weird stuff."
"Well that's what dreams are Katovia all dreams are weird, its nothing, you're probably just worried about the new job, have yourself a couple of glasses of wine at night, help you chill, got to say this stuff is pretty good."
"No you don't understand Roslind it's more than that it's a reoccurring dream."
"Ok, Kat just relax and tell me about it, but believe me it's nothing to worry about."
Katovia took another sip of wine unsure of where to start, it was couple of minutes before she looked up at her friend.
Press To Play the Song
" Well .....," Katovia paused and cleared her throat.
" Oh come on for God's sake Kat you can trust me, are you pregnant?"
"No!" she replied emphatically " it's nothing like that."
There was a frustrated anger in her reply so Roslind tempered the following words with a little more compassion.
"OK Katovia take your time-there's no rush." Katovia gave a weak, laboured smile and cleared her throat a second time.
"Well I have had three dreams all pretty much the same and in the dream I am dressed in a black silk corset and matching slip. I am barefoot and I am standing on a cold granite floor," said Katovia.
Roslind sniggered.
"Black silk corset? Barefoot ? Freud is going to have a field day with this one lady."
"Stop it Ros! I'm being serious!"
"OK, Ok , sorry carry on."
" Well, as I said I am bare foot and in the dream I get the impression I am in castle-type place and it's night time I think, but I can't be sure. I'm in a fairly wide, dark stone passageway, the floor feels damp and there are plants moss and ivy and stuff. After a while I come to a curved stone staircase leading up and at the top of the stairs are some large, sort of church candles burning in front of a heavy oak door, you know the sort -with huge ornate hinges and iron studs."
"OK go on," said Roslind.
"Well," said Katovia " I open the door and the room inside is also lit by three large candles. On the floor is a small bowl containing a red liquid it could be blood or red wine or something and, at the far end of the room, on the stone windowsill sit these two crows and I get the impression they are arguing. The next part is difficult to explain I sort of feel that I am being told to place the rune stone beneath my pillow yet I do not directly hear a voice. Then I am asked to promise this and the request is repeated until I say the words 'I promise' at which point the crows fly out the window and I wake up."
"Wow girl, you sure are an odd one Katovia. So is that why you asked me to bring the pendant?" said Roslind.
"Yes " replied Katovia "it was the only thing I could think of with a rune marking on it. So what you think?"
Roslind sipped her wine, reflected on what had been said, and chose her words carefully.
"Well Katovia I think you are probably worrying over nothing everyone gets weird dreams now and again but you are more than welcome to have the pendant back if it helps. Not sure how that's going to help."
"I know," said Katovia " the problem is however there is also this."
Katovia pulled back the sleeve of her top and on her left wrist was tattooed the image of a crow flying above the same runic letter that was on the pendant.
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"Holy crap Katovia what on earth possessed you to get that done?"
"The point is Ros I didn't get it done I just woke up yesterday and it was on my wrist. I'm scared Ros I don't know what my Mum is gonna say she hates tattoos she's going to go berserk I know it."
"Oh come on Katovia people don't just wake up with tattoos. Were you out drinking? Loads of people get tattoos when they are drunk, I mean is it real?"
Roslind dipped the paper serviette into her wine and rubbed it vigorously on Katovia's wrist but the image stubbornly remained intact.
"Don't think I haven't tried that" said Katovia "I scrubbed it with the nail brush it's definitely real and no I was not out drinking the night before. Please help me Ros I'm scared."
Roslind drained her wine glass and gave Katovia a bemused look, it was some time before she eventually spoke.
"OK Kat, as you can imagine I am having trouble assimilating this stuff I want your word this is not some prank and..."
"Oh I swear to God Ros it's not a prank please believe me I feel I am going crazy, " interrupted Katovia.
"Ok OK, calm down. Well, in the absence of any alternative policy, I suggest we go along with this mumbo jumbo stuff and see how it pans out. What you think?" suggested Roslind.
"Agreed," replied Katovia.
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It was the following day that girls sat again in the same wine bar .
" Well you seem much more relaxed today," said Rosalind " but, before we discuss lunch arrangements, I'm dying to hear the news."
"Well last night ,as we agreed I placed the pendant under my pillow and the following morning the pendant was gone it had been replaced by a pale green envelope with £9.50 in it," said Katovia.
"Hmmm this is beginning to sound very suspicious Kat, sort of tooth fairy suspicious, know what I mean?" replied Roslind.
"I know, I know it sounds dubious but I can prove it. Look!" said Katovia,
Katovia pulled up the sleeve on her left arm and the tattoo which had been there and all too real the previous day, was gone.
" Wow, that's some trick Kat you could give Derren Brown a run for his money with that one, " said Roslind.
"Well if it is a trick I wish to hell I knew how it was done too, now where shall we go and dine today?" she replied.
or maybe it was "twice upon a time" perhaps even thrice, with magic you can never tell- least that's how I see it. I am going back now almost seventy years and there are those folk who may regard this as a confession, if I have broken the law then so be it, for technically it was stolen. Did I know that at the time? Probably, but then at nine years old the difference between right and wrong is considerably more fluid. I also used to think the curious events back then were coincidence, now I am not so sure.
It had been a late oppressive Summer that year , the endless holiday slipped slowly by -seaside, camp building, the Tarzan swing on the bankside oak tree, carts made from old planks and pram wheels, bows and arrows each played their part and within all this chaos we had to learn to grow up and somehow become a legitimate part of the landscape.
I cannot say we knew everyone but the village was much smaller then -we certainly knew those that mattered , those you were polite too, those you showed respect to and those to avoid. There were also the characters scary in their strangeness like Viv Morgan who slept below the bridge, drank sherry from a bottle hidden inside a brown paper bag and quoted lines from Shakespeare in a melodic Welsh accent. There was grumpy Ken the blind man who on reflection was, I suppose, justified in his assessment of his miserable lot in life. Old Mr. Tweddle at number 38 Double Row told us kids he ate dog food and occasionally would swallow pebbles if you gave him sixpence. As for the miners their faces blue flecked with coal dust scars hunker sat at street corners on Summer evenings observing life with a cynical eye.
Then there were the Price brothers who definitely fell into the "those to avoid" category. I only knew Jimmy Price by reputation he had been taken away some years previously and sent to the " naughty boys school " but Jimmy's brother Arty remained here, a thorn in the village side and a constant torment to us younger kids. For the most part we avoided him but, in truth, we were secretly envious of the motorbike, the flick-knife and , I suppose, his girlfriend Gwen.
I would never have gone to pictures that night if I had known but as I sat there engrossed in the film ,someone behind me kicked my seat.
"Hey Youngun, want to earn some money?" I knew the voice immediately and turned to see him sitting behind me with his gorgeous girlfriend nestled up close.​​
"I got a job for you Youngun, easy money."
"Don't want no job, my Mam says....."
" Oh your Mam ?" he scorned , " you always do what your Mammy says, do you? Now listen here you do what I say or you know what."
He pulled from his pocket the flick-knife and without even releasing the blade passed it casually from one hand to the other then placed in back in his pocket.
"Arty don't scare the kid," implored Gwen.
"He needs scaring don't you Youngun?"
"What you want Arty?" I replied.
"You know old Gledson's pigeon cree at the allotments?" "Yeah think so what about it? I am not stealing pigeons." I answered.
" Now Youngun did I ever ask you to steal anything? Just want you get something for me that's all, and I'll pay you."
"How much ? I asked.
"Five bob, I'll give you half a crown now and the rest when you have done the job."
"What is it I have got to get? " I asked
"Well crawl under the pigeon shed and you will find an old sack with something in get that,"
"Do I bring it to you to get the rest of the money or what ?" I enquired.
"No , here's the thing kid I don't want it, you have got to get rid of it permanently, I don't want to know about where it is and don't you even think about keeping it or selling it , you just get rid of it for good, understand?"
I nodded. Arty reached into his pocket and handed me a half crown.
"Not a word to anyone understood?" He tapped the pocket that contained the knife and gave a slight nod of the head.
It took me two days to summon up the courage to crawl beneath the pigeon loft and retrieve the sack. It was obvious from the shape what the contents were, I took it to our shed rather than home as explaining to Mam what I was doing with a sword could have been somewhat tricky.​
Within the safety of the shed however I undid the sacking, the sword lay on the bench mysterious, forbidden yet wildly exciting. The temptation to keep it almost overwhelming but on reflection it had almost certainly been stolen and anyway there was still Arty and that knife. I had to dispose of the blade the pressing question was where and how. If I hid it in the woods or at the beach someone was sure to find it then troubling thoughts crossed my mind "Why did Arty want rid of it ? Had he used it to kill someone ? Were the police looking for a murder weapon? Should I go to the police, tell them everything?"
I mulled the bleak options over none offered a glimmer of hope for I realised by accepting the money that had labelled me as a willing accomplice. If I told Mam she'd probably give me a good hiding, she was always telling me to keep away from the Price boys. Reluctantly I realised the only way out of this mess was to do exactly what Arty had told me.​​​​
The question now became where and when. It took me two sleepless nights before the solution came - The Pit Pond. This was surely as safe a place as any. I considered asking Arty but then I remembered I had been told not to divulge where I had disposed of it. So I alone had to consider the Pit Pond option. I was sure it was suitable the brown rusted water was stagnant and so polluted that no one ever ventured in. It was an area us kids were told never to go, a health hazard and a place of danger. Years ago signs were put up at the water's edge warning of all manner of potential danger but these had long since sank into the toxic sludge. Of course us kids did go there occasionally but throwing stones in the water was limited in its lasting appeal.​​​​
And so it was the venue was chosen and I crept out at dusk with the sword once again loosely wrapped in the sacking.
Perhaps it was the clandestine nature of the task or the soft grey swirls of smog that now nestled in the hollows that gave the pit-pond a tense almost electric atmosphere. I fumbled with the string around the sacking and pulled the blade from its cover. All temptation to keep the thing was now gone I just wanted the deed done. I bundled up the sacking and stood at the water's edge and flung the sword towards a clump of bull-rushes.
It is here that things become confusing but I know what I saw and to this day it scares the hell out of me. A hand came out from the water and grasped wildly at the empty air , the sword's trajectory fell almost within the hand's grasp but then fell beneath the water's surface. Ripples radiated out towards the bull rushes and the hand gave one final grasp of the empty air then it too disappeared into the depths. What the hell had I witnessed ? This had not been in the contract, I turned and ran for home.​​​​​
Perhaps it is wise not to dwell too much on those events but somehow the past can seem to have a will of its own. In the early nineties Shirelaw pit closed for the last time by then the village had changed beyond all recognition. It was almost a decade later however that the last of the colliery buildings were finally demolished. The local council proclaimed a nature reserve was to replace the once dominant industrial site and the old pit pond was to drained of its toxic contents and an eco-friendly wildlife replacement to take pride of place in the new park.​​​​​
It was the draining of the pond however that was to tarnish the council's spin on the new project. So unexpected were the events that the local paper featured the event as its headlines , I can do no better than to quote from the article itself .
Human Remains Found In Local Pond
Human remains uncovered in the draining of Shirelaw Pit Pond during reclamation work have been identified through the use of DNA. The body is that of Vivian Morgan, a local woman who disappeared in 1958. It's understood that a nephew currently living in Beddgelert provided a DNA match to that of the deceased. Ms. Morgan, a former actress, had been well known to some of the older members of the village and sadly was said to have suffered from alcohol dependency for much of her adult life. Police say they are keeping an open mind about the cause of the death but are currently not regarding it as suspicious. News of the discovery comes after last week's dramatic find of an Anglo Saxon Sword in the lake. Bizarrely this has since been identified as an item stolen from the Newcastle Museum of Antiquities also in 1958. Police have not commented on any coincidental connections between the two incidences.