It is not raining in this picture, but it has been raining A LOT.
No one is sitting by the river today.
Only a blogger or photographer would be stupid enough to walk here.
It is high tide.
Long ago this would have been swamp and flood plains, but humans like to tidy things up and build barriers…
No ferry today
Someone’s enjoying the water.
Time to cross the river…
…by bridge…
…and walk home up hill!
This is the full version of last week’s tiny tale which accidentally turned into a mini serial.
Flora and Jim loved their new riverside cottage and could not believe their luck getting such an ideal spot in their price range. Even the name was quaint, Little Nile. Jim joked that it was just as well it had not been named Little Amazon.
‘People would think we were living in a warehouse!’
The little river that trickled past their tiny garden was actually called ‘The Seven’, not to be confused with The Severn, the longest river in Great Britain.
As they sat in the cosy sitting room enjoying a leisurely Sunday morning Flora sighed with delight
‘…and we did not even have to do any work on it. All newly decorated.’
‘Hmm, I don’t think I could live with that dreadful wallpaper for long’ replied Jim.
‘But it would be a waste to rip it off.’
‘What’s that mark on the wall?’
‘Just part of the pattern.’
‘No, it’s some sort of stain, bigger than yesterday. Perhaps there is a body hidden behind there, it is a very old cottage.’
‘You’re giving me the creeps.’
‘There is a corner peeling off by the ceiling, I could just have a peep…’
To their surprise the paper fell off in one strip revealing writing on the wall.
‘Oh how sweet, a height chart, we could keep that as a feature’ trilled Flora. ‘Five feet ten inches, 2024, some lanky teenager, we don’t know who was last to live here do we, the estate agent didn’t say.’
‘2022, five foot one inch, he must have had a growth spurt.’
‘2019, four foot six inches, a child back then.’
‘2010, four foot 2 inches, must have been very young then, how tall is your nephew?’
‘Doesn’t make sense, in nine years they must have grown more than that, unless that was a different child, pity they did not write their names. We must write their names when we do that with ours.’
‘Our what?’
‘Babies of course.’
‘1995 must have been a baby, two foot one inch, 1980 one foot six inches, must have been the seven dwarves living here, of course, hence the name of the river.’
‘Look down the bottom, can hardly read the writing, 1895, one foot one inch, The Great Flood. What’s that all about, look it up.’
‘I can’t find any great flood for that year and can’t imagine our tiny river flooding, what a hoot.’
‘We certainly would not want a foot of water in here.’
‘No chance after the hot dry summer we’ve had.’
The next day rain lashed the windows of their little cottage, but Flora and Jim did not mind.
‘It’s lovely being all cosy inside. What weather does your phone say Jim?’
‘Still no reception, but I don’t need to look at my phone to see what the weather is.’
‘No weather forecast, but it is rather liberating not having a television. Dad says we can have his old laptop to stream stuff.’
‘Once we’re on the internet. In the meantime we can go exploring and find a spot where we can get reception, just in case of emergency.’
‘I can’t imagine us having any emergencies, except not being able to order pizza!’
‘Come on, walking in the rain will be fun and when we get back I’ll have a go at lighting the fire.’
‘Great idea, but won’t the firewood have got wet in the rain?’
‘I’ll just pull logs out from the bottom of the pile, like Jenga.’
‘Looks like a real river now Flora, don’t get too near the edge, it must be at least two foot deep, ha ha. Let’s see how far along the river this little path goes.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coming on duty.
‘There is an amber alert coming into force at 15.00.’
‘Not like last year surely Sir, not after the dry summer we’ve had.’
‘We’re not taking any chances after what happened last year.’
‘At least the survivors moved out of that cottage down in the valley, can’t imagine they would have managed to sell it.’
‘Well it’s still standing, we hiked that way in the summer.’
‘Why are you playing with your phone Evans?’
‘Just looking it up on Rightmove Sir… Believe it or not it was bought last month, knock down price.’
‘Let’s hope they have been following the weather reports then. Right, we have got other problems to sort out in town, so let’s hope this rain eases off.’
Flora and Jim had reached a high point in the valley and looked down to see just a glimpse of the red roof of their cottage. The rain was even harder, if that was possible. They could hardly see the screens of their phones to check if they had any signal or any text messages.
‘It’s certainly exhilarating up here’ said Jim.
‘And so quiet, we haven’t seen a soul’ Flora struggled to make her voice heard above the wind and rain.
‘No one else is mad enough to come out in this rain. I think we’ll have to try our phones tomorrow when the weather has cleared. Best thing we can do is go back and get that fire lit.’
‘Whaaat, I can’t hear you.’
Jim signed to Flora to head back down the narrow steep track, clinging to her as he nearly slipped. The foot path had turned into a muddy stream, but they were still in good spirits enjoying their adventure. The sound of rushing water guided them back to the river, though it was hard to recognise how far they were from their cottage as they were on a part of the river that had no path beside it. Talking was impossible with the wind and rushing water and they could not see the river properly with the rain driving in their faces. The white shape of the cottage suddenly loomed out of the gloom, nearer to the river than they recalled.
‘Have you got the key Flora?’ Jim yelled.
‘No you put it in your anorak pocket.’
Flora paddled through puddles to grab at the front door in the hope they had forgotten to lock it, then remembered putting the key in her back pack. She could hardly undo the zip with her cold wet hands.
‘Unlock the door while I start fetching the wood.’
Jim slithered round the corner to where logs were stacked against the wall and was disconcerted to see water pouring down the hillside and swirling round the bottom of the wood pile. He thought of the cosy pub in the nearest town where they had enjoyed a hearty meal after first viewing the cottage. The best thing they could do was walk along the river the other way and take the gravel track that led up to the road and the bus stop. Was it quarter to or quarter past the hour that the hourly bus came along? Well they could always hitch hike.
The rain showed no sign of easing up and they were glad to get to the road.
‘Oh that’s funny, wonder why they have barriers across the road?
‘Jim, it will be getting dark soon.’
‘When a car comes along it will have to stop at the barrier and we can ask for a lift.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coordinating with the fire brigade and the Coastguard and RAF. It was turning out to be an even worse evening that with last year’s flood.
‘As far as we know most locals heeded the red weather warnings, they are checking names at the community centre now. We can’t account for any visitors staying or hiking in the area. The coastguard helicopter was only flying for fifteen minutes before it was grounded at 17.00 hours due to dangerous flying conditions. With the poor visibility they could not be certain there were no persons clinging to roofs or needing rescuing. We got the road blocks up early, so there should be no vehicles in the flood area.’
Clarissa was having a wonderful evening. At last, as a volunteer with Seven Valley Community Support, she was getting to do something exciting and useful. With power lines down, the community centre was lit with candles and battery torches. Computers were down and all they had were clipboards and pen and paper. Clarissa was in charge of the list, or registering unhoused arrivals as she put it. Her excitement grew when a young policeman pushed his way through the throng.
‘Has anybody been reported missing yet?’
‘No, all accounted for.’
‘Not so apparently, the station got a frantic call from a mother who said she had not heard from her daughter and she is not answering her mobile. She just moved into that cottage by the river, umm Little Nile?’
‘Oh goodness, surely no one is living there after what happened last year? The name?’
‘Whose name?’
‘The daughter.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Flora Dora.’
‘Are you sure? Obviously not from around here then. Anyone else living there?’
‘Her boyfriend, Jim James.’
Clarissa clapped her hands to gain attention, unsuccessfully. The police officer moved in front of her, glad of the chance to assert his authority and put on his crowd control voice.
‘Urgent, we need to know if we have a Flora Dora and a Jim James here.’
There was no response.
‘They just moved into Little Nile cottage.
There was a collective gasp and urgent mutterings.
‘They’ll be gonners by now.’
‘Yup, cottage submerged completely.’
‘Even if they got out the river will have taken them.’
The policeman moved among them trying to get any useful information.
‘They would have heard the alerts and the red warnings.’
‘Not unless they have registered for Seven Flood Alert or got the app.’
‘Slim chance they might have made it up to the road, but that’s blocked off.’
‘The army,’ called Clarissa ‘my nephew’s out there on a training exercise with the Ukrainians.’
‘Training them?’
‘No, the Ukrainians are training our lot, they can drive tanks in the most awful conditions.’
Flora and Jim had started walking along the road, best case scenario they would meet a vehicle. Worst case scenario they would have to keep walking till they came to a house or the town. Neither of them mentioned the actual Worst Case Scneario, not that they could hear a word they said to each other, nor could they read each other’s expressions. All they could hear or see was the relentless rain. Perhaps it was fortunate they had to keep their thoughts to themselves, cosy the memories of their parents’ boring little suburban houses…
It was so dark now, no street lights, not even any distant lights. There was no distance so they did not see the solid darkness looming out of the general darkness and barely heard the shouts. When they were blinded by a bright beam they had no chance of seeing anything.
‘Are you lost?’
‘Of course they’re lost corporal, not out for an evening stroll and get that torch out of their eyes.’
‘Soldiers’ stammered Flora through chartering teeth ‘are we on the firing range?’
‘No, but you must have a death wish, didn’t you heed the warnings. Names?’
They tried to say their names, but their frozen mouths did not seem to work. The soldiers got close and yelled ‘Are you Flora Dora and Jim James?’
They nodded vigorously.
‘The whole of the British army is out looking for you and half the Ukrainian army to boot.’
At the community centre Clarissa took charge of the new arrivals, she was not going to be upstaged.
‘Priority registration, have they got any rooms left at Premiere Inn, how’s the hot food coming along, we need two survivor kits over here right now, one men’s one ladies’.
She felt just like the United Nations or Medecine Sans Frontieres, though the survivor packs merely contained donated second hand clothes.
Flora and Jim soon became celebrities.
‘A good way to get to know the locals’ laughed Flora, almost restored to her normal self with hot chocolate.
‘And a free night at Premiere Inn hopefully’ added Jim.
‘Well your cottage will still be there, it’s withstood centuries of floods, though they are getting worse.’
‘Yup, it should be dried out by next August‘ added another local.
This is the fourth and final part of Flora and Jim’s story, you can see yesterday’s part here.
https://tidalscribe.com/2025/10/18/silly-saturday-serial-singing-in-the-rain/
Clarissa was having a wonderful evening. At last, as a volunteer with Seven Valley Community Support, she was getting to do something exciting and useful. With power lines down, the community centre was lit with candles and battery torches. Computers were down and all they had were clipboards and pen and paper. Clarissa was in charge of the list, or registering unhoused arrivals as she put it. Her excitement grew when a young policeman pushed his way through the throng.
‘Has anybody been reported missing yet?’
‘No, all accounted for.’
‘Not so apparently, the station got a frantic call from a mother who said she had not heard from her daughter and she is not answering her mobile. She just moved into that cottage by the river, umm Little Nile?’
‘Oh goodness, surely no one is living there after what happened last year? The name?’
‘Whose name?’
‘The daughter.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Flora Dora.’
‘Are you sure? Obviously not from around here then. Anyone else living there?’
‘Her boyfriend, Jim James.’
Clarissa clapped her hands to gain attention, unsuccessfully. The police officer moved in front of her, glad of the chance to assert his authority and put on his crowd control voice.
‘Urgent, we need to know if we have a Flora Dora and a Jim James here.’
There was no response.
‘They just moved into Little Nile cottage.’
There was a collective gasp and urgent mutterings.
‘They’ll be gonners by now.’
‘Yup, cottage submerged completely.’
‘Even if they got out the river will have taken them.’
The policeman moved among them trying to get any useful information.
‘They would have heard the alerts and the red warnings.’
‘Not unless they have registered for Seven Flood Alert or got the app.’
‘Slim chance they might have made it up to the road, but that’s blocked off.’
‘The army,’ called Clarissa ‘my nephew’s out there on a training exercise with the Ukrainians.’
‘Training them?’
‘No, the Ukrainians are training our lot, they can drive tanks in the most awful conditions.’
Flora and Jim had started walking along the road, best case scenario they would meet a vehicle. Worst case scenario they would have to keep walking till they came to a house or the town. Neither of them mentioned the actual Worst Case Scenario, not that they could hear a word they said to each other, nor could they read each other’s expressions. All they could hear or see was the relentless rain. Perhaps it was fortunate they had to keep their thoughts to themselves, cosy memories of their parents’ boring little suburban houses…
It was so dark now, no street lights, not even any distant lights. There was no distance so they did not see the solid darkness looming out of the general darkness and barely heard the shouts. When they were blinded by a bright beam they had no chance of seeing anything.
‘Are you lost?’
‘Of course they’re lost corporal, not out for an evening stroll and get that torch out of their eyes.’
‘Soldiers’ stammered Flora through chartering teeth ‘are we on the firing range?’
‘No, but you must have a death wish, didn’t you heed the warnings? Names?’
They tried to say their names, but their frozen mouths did not seem to work. The soldiers got close and yelled ‘Are you Flora Dora and Jim James?’
They nodded vigorously.
‘The whole of the British army is out looking for you and half the Ukrainian army to boot.’
At the community centre Clarissa took charge of the new arrivals, she was not going to be upstaged.
‘Priority registration, have they got any rooms left at Premiere Inn, how’s the hot food coming along, we need two survivor kits over here right now, one men’s one ladie’s.’
She felt just like the United Nations or Medecine Sans Frontieres, though the survivor packs merely contained donated second hand clothes.
Flora and Jim soon became celebrities.
‘A good way to get to know the locals’ laughed Flora, almost restored to her normal self with hot chocolate.
‘And a free night at Premiere Inn hopefully’ added Jim.
‘Well your cottage will still be there, it’s withstood centuries of floods, though they are getting worse.’
‘Yup, it should be dried out by next August‘ added another local.
THE END
You can read the complete story tomorrow.
This is part three of Tuesday’s Tiny Tale. You can see part two in Thursday’s Tinier Tale.
https://tidalscribe.com/2025/10/16/thursday-tinier-tale-a-drop-of-rain/
Flora and Jim had reached a high point in the valley and looked down to see just a glimpse of the red roof of their cottage. The rain was even heavier, if that was possible. They could hardly see the screens of their phones to check if they had any signal or any text messages.
‘It’s certainly exhilarating up here’ said Jim.
‘And so quiet, we haven’t seen a soul’ Flora struggled to make her voice heard above the wind and rain.
‘No one else is mad enough to come out in this rain. I think we’ll have to try our phones tomorrow when the weather has cleared. Best thing we can do is go back and get that fire lit.’
‘Whaaat, I can’t hear you.’
Jim signed to Flora to head back down the narrow steep track, clinging to her as he nearly slipped. The foot path had turned into a muddy stream, but they were still in good spirits enjoying their adventure. The sound of rushing water guided them back to the river, though it was hard to recognise how far they were from their cottage as they were on a part of the river that had no path beside it. Talking was impossible with the wind and rushing water and they could not see the river properly with the rain driving in their faces. The white shape of the cottage suddenly loomed out of the gloom, nearer to the river than they recalled.
‘Have you got the key Flora?’ Jim yelled.
‘No you put it in your anorak pocket.’
Flora paddled through puddles to grab at the front door in the hope they had forgotten to lock it, then remembered putting the key in her back pack. She could hardly undo the zip with her cold wet hands.
‘Unlock the door while I start fetching the wood.’
Jim slithered round the corner to where logs were stacked against the wall and was disconcerted to see water pouring down the hillside and swirling round the bottom of the wood pile. He thought of the cosy pub in the nearest town where they had enjoyed a hearty meal after first viewing the cottage. The best thing they could do was walk along the river the other way and take the gravel track that led up to the road and the bus stop. Was it quarter to or quarter past the hour that the hourly bus came along? Well they could always hitch hike.
The rain showed no sign of easing up and they were glad to get to the road.
‘Oh that’s funny, wonder why they have barriers across the road?’
‘Jim, it will be getting dark soon.’
‘When a car comes along it will have to stop at the barrier and we can ask for a lift.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coordinating with the fire brigade and the Coastguard and RAF. It was turning out to be an even worse evening than with last year’s flood.
‘As far as we know most locals heeded the red weather warnings, they are checking names at the community centre now. We can’t account for any visitors staying or hiking in the area. The coastguard helicopter was only flying for fifteen minutes before it was grounded at 17.00 hours due to dangerous flying conditions. With the poor visibility they could not be certain there were no persons clinging to roofs or needing rescuing. We got the road blocks up early, so there should be no vehicles in the flood area.’
Tonight’s tale follows on from Tuesday’s Tiny Tale
https://tidalscribe.com/2025/10/14/tuesday-tiny-tale-the-writing-on-the-wall
Rain lashed the windows of their little cottage, but Flora and Jim did not mind.
‘It’s lovely being all cosy inside. What weather does your phone say Jim?’
‘Still no reception, but I don’t need to look at my phone to see what the weather is.’
‘No weather forecast, but it is rather liberating not having a television. Dad says we can have his old laptop to stream stuff.’
‘Once we’re on the internet. In the meantime we can go exploring and find a spot where we can get reception, just in case of emergency.’
‘I can’t imagine us having any emergencies, except not being able to order pizza!’
‘Come on, walking in the rain will be fun and when we get back I’ll have a go at lighting the fire.’
‘Great idea, but won’t the firewood have got wet in the rain?’
‘I’ll just pull logs out from the bottom of the pile, like Jenga.’
‘Looks like a real river now Flora, don’t get too near the edge, it must be at least two foot deep, ha ha. Let’s see how far along the river this little path goes.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coming on duty.
‘There is an amber alert coming into force at 15.00.’
‘Not like last year surely Sir, not after the dry summer we’ve had.’
‘We’re not taking any chances after what happened last year.’
‘At least the survivors moved out of that cottage down in the valley, can’t imagine they would have managed to sell it.’
‘Well it’s still standing, we hiked that way in the summer.’
‘Why are you playing with your phone Evans?’
‘Just looking it up on Rightmove Sir… Believe it or not it was bought last month, knock down price.’
‘Let’s hope they have been following the weather reports then. Right, we have got other problems to sort out in town, so let’s hope this rain eases off.’
Flora and Jim loved their new riverside cottage and could not believe their luck getting such an ideal spot in their price range. Even the name was quaint, Little Nile. Jim joked that it was just as well it had not been named Little Amazon.
‘People would think we were living in a warehouse!’
The little river that trickled past their tiny garden was actually called ‘The Seven’, not to be confused with The Severn, the longest river in Great Britain.
As they sat in the cosy sitting room enjoying a leisurely Sunday morning Flora sighed with delight
‘…and we did not even have to do any work on it. All newly decorated.’
‘Hmm, I don’t think I could live with that dreadful wallpaper for long’ replied Jim.
‘But it would be a waste to rip it off.’
‘What’s that mark on the wall?’
‘Just part of the pattern.’
‘No, it’s some sort of stain, bigger than yesterday. Perhaps there is a body hidden behind there, it is a very old cottage.’
‘You’re giving me the creeps.’
‘There is a corner peeling off by the ceiling, I could just have a peep…’
To their surprise the paper fell off in one strip revealing writing on the wall.
‘Oh how sweet, a height chart, we could keep that as a feature’ trilled Flora. ‘Five feet ten inches, 2024, some lanky teenager, we don’t know who was last to live here do we, the estate agent didn’t say.’
‘2022, five foot one inch, he must have had a growth spurt.’
‘2019, four foot six inches, a child back then.’
‘2010, four foot 2 inches, must have been very young then, how tall is your nephew?’
‘Doesn’t make sense, in nine years they must have grown more than that, unless that was a different child, pity they did not write their names. We must write their names when we do that with ours.’
‘Our what?’
‘Babies of course.’
‘1995 must have been a baby, two foot one inch, 1980 one foot six inches, must have been the seven dwarves living here, of course, hence the name of the river.’
‘Look down the bottom, can hardly read the writing, 1895, one foot one inch, The Great Flood. What’s that all about, look it up.’
‘I can’t find any great flood for that year and can’t imagine our tiny river flooding, what a hoot.’
‘We certainly would not want a foot of water in here.’
‘No chance after the hot dry summer we’ve had.’
Florida Key stood on the quay and gazed across the river with pride. He had just taken over the ferry that crossed the river. His family had worked the crossing for generations, centuries perhaps, since the days of rowing over a few locals in a fishing boat. The Key family still held the licence, proud of their professional and safe record for the one minute crossing.
Though the crossing was short, skill was still involved, taking the tide into account, heading downstream before swinging round to tie up at the little wooden jetty. Florida could steer close enough for passengers to disembark without mooring, but passengers liked the security of seeing a rope thrown over the wooden post.
Mr and Mrs Key had thought it amusing to name their first born Florida after conceiving him on a memorable holiday in Florida Keys. Now he decided to use this to his advantage in rebranding and upgrading the ferry experience. He erected bright new signage FLORIDA QUAYS on both river banks. After a torrential downpour the nature reserve side of the river acquired a few ponds and swampy areas which gave him an idea. He acquired some model alligators to hide in the water and the undergrowth, they attracted more attention when he ordered some body parts from Amazon. Children gasped in fright when they spotted a hand or foot sticking out of an alligator’s jaws.
Florida’s next idea was heritage ferry crossings. A new display board, on the town side of the river, displayed digitalised blown up images from the tiny black and white photos in the family album of ancestors rowing humble wooden boats. Florida would row people across while his sister captained the motor boat. He had never rowed a boat before, but how hard could it be, people rowed up and down the river all the time, all he had to do was row across it. With his mates’ help they hauled a rowing boat out of the old boat house.
If the crossings were a success, he might do short pleasure trips down the river to the beach beside the narrow channel where sea worthy boats made their way out. The larger ferries that took passengers up and down the river were owned by a rival company.
The first couple of crossings went well on an incoming tide. The passengers enjoyed the occasional splash from the oars, which made the experience more realistic and several said it was a shame the trip was so short, though it was slower and longer than the motorboat.
In the afternoon a strong wind had blown up and the tide was outgoing. His sister suggested they just stick with the motor boat, but children waiting on the town quay were eager to get to the other side to see the alligators and to get splashed in the rowing boat.
As Florida rowed out there was more of a drag on the oars and the wooden jetty looked further away than usual.
‘Are we going on an adventure?’ squealed one excited boy.
‘No, not today, we’re going to swing round and head for the jetty now.’
But somehow Florida could not turn the boat and the further they drifted downstream the more he forgot which way you did the oars to turn round. When they swept round the bend and the beach hove into view, Florida had an idea, or rather a desperate plan. He just needed to run aground on the sand before reaching the sign on the beach that warned against swimming because of the fast currents in the channel.
‘Okay, we’ll have a little adventure and land on the beach.’
The children cheered while a mother felt under the narrow seat for non existent life jackets and an uncle started tapping into his phone with the vague memory that 999 could also summon the coastguard.
The river current became stronger and took Florida by surprise. His efforts to hang onto the right oar caused him to wrench the ageing oarlock off.
The uncle was unused to making 999 calls and the stress of wondering if they might also need police, fire brigade and ambulance caused him to get confused as to their location. The operator wanted more information than ‘in a boat’ – they were on holiday, so it was not surprising he had no idea what the river was called. The operator thus had no idea that there was an RNLI inshore lifeboat station a short distance away. Fortunately they were doing an exercise and could not avoid noticing an old wooden boat being swept along the channel and out to sea.
When Florida’s sister returned from getting a takeaway coffee, she was surprised to see the motorboat still moored and no sign of her brother or the rowing boat. She wondered if it was wasting the time of the emergency services to dial 999.
When the lifeboat landed all the passengers at the life boat station there was great excitement among the children.
‘Can we go round again, that was fun.’
Florida wondered if it would be okay to ask if they could go back out and rescue his rowing boat, but before he could ask, the coxswain beckoned him into a small, but impressive coms room.
‘Now Sir, I am obliged to offer you some seafaring advice, which I shall do while we wait for the police to arrive.’
Charlotte is trying to get on with writing her new novel and hoping for inspiration for strange situations to get Lottie Lincoln into, but it is Charlotte who faces a strange situation.
‘Have you visited the tree yet?’ asked Myrtle.
Charlotte had been invited in for a cup of tea by her elderly next door neighbour. She had seen plenty of trees on her walks by the River Ham. Late spring and they were at their best, fresh green leaves bursting with new life. Among the people she had met living by or enjoying the river, none had mentioned a particular tree.
‘What tree?’
‘The Hambourne Oak of course, hmm, perhaps I should not have spoken out of turn, only locals know about it and newcomers are not told unless they are worthy.’
Charlotte was not sure whether to be honoured Myrtle had told her or disconcerted that Myrtle thought she should not have revealed the secret.
‘I won’t tell a soul Myrtle, your secret is safe with me. I have been reading all the local books about Hambourne, so interesting, but never any reference to the oak tree.’
‘You won’t read about the Hambourne Oak anywhere. No one knows how old she is, the important thing is that you must introduce yourself politely to her then she will protect you.’
Charlotte had not imagined Myrtle to be a tree hugger and though she was an older lady, she surely she had not been brought up in a time of myths. Still, her curiosity was aroused and this sounded like inspiration for the next Lottie Lincoln adventure in her WIP, work in progress, though she was making little progress…
‘Protection against what?’
‘Who knows, anything can happen in Hambourne, strange things have always happened here.’
‘Well when Robert Falstaff from the writers’ group I had joined was found murdered with his hands chopped off, that was certainly strange!’
‘Exactly and he was not a local, nor was he liked much so I imagine he had never been told to meet the tree.’
‘So where is this oak tree.’
‘I can’t tell you that dear, the whole point is to find it for yourself, which you will if she wants you to find her.’
‘How will I know, trees all look much the same to me, I mean I know what an oak tree looks like, but how would I recognise a special one?’
‘You will know when you see it, but on no account carve your name upon her, only Hambourne born may do that.’
Charlotte was intrigued with that information, a tree trunk with names carved for generations should be easy to spot.
‘Just tie ribbons in your colours.’
‘I don’t think I have my own colours.’
‘You must have, everyone has a colour of their own.’
The next day, Charlotte walked down the lane to the river and set off along the river bank in the opposite direction to the Ham Way. After a night of strange dreams about trees she was uncertain whether to believe Myrtle, a rational person would just laugh. She told herself all she was doing was investigating the other side of the river and enjoying fresh air and exercise before getting down to writing. In her pocket was the pound coin for the Ham ferry. She soon spotted a green flag and a few people standing on a wooden jetty. A small motor boat was making its way towards the jetty. As she drew closer she could see the flag bore the motif of an oak tree, was that a clue?
The captain or boatman, whatever one called him, deftly flung a rope loop over a wooden post and pulled in close enough for his passengers to climb out, without securing the other end of the boat.
‘See you later’ he waved them on their way. Charlotte guessed they were from the village of Little Hambourne, off to enjoy the comprehensive attractions of the town of Hambourne.
The boatman turned his attention to those waiting on the jetty.
‘Any news yet?’
‘No, nothing’ they shook their heads.
‘Sorry to hear that, if there’s anything me and Cis can do…’
Charlotte felt herself a real outsider. The few minutes it took to cross the river were spent in silence, she was intrigued to know whatever was happening, but unlikely to find out. She perched awkwardly on the narrow bench feeling her presence an intrusion. Remarks about the nice day or the pleasure of being on the river, would be out of place.
At the other side the rope was slipped over a rickety post and the boatman motioned for her to get off first. She would have to clamber unsteadily out under the watchful eyes of everyone.
As she turned to thank him and hand her coin over he said ‘Be sure not to miss the last ferry at five thirty and don’t get lost in the woods.’
He smiled for the first time and she was sure the other passengers caught his eye and smirked.
Charlotte chose the path along the bank, she was not letting the river out of her sight and resisted the temptation to turn and see if the others were following. She hoped she was setting a confident pace and after ten minutes stopped to take a sip of her water and admire the view, while glancing back to see if she was being followed. Not a soul in sight and soon it was obvious why no one else had taken this path as it petered out. At some stage the river bank had collapsed into the river, she would either have to turn back or follow the narrow track into the woods. She determined to wander a little way to see where it went then return. Birds were singing, though she could not see them in the thick foliage and the woodland floor littered with centuries of leaves had a unique scent. Though she had only ventured a few yards she felt she was in the depth of the woods. She must relax and enjoy the moment, forest bathing, she closed her eyes.
When she opened them she was standing under the oak tree. Was this really the Hambourne Oak? It was festooned with ribbons and dangling ornaments and a closer look revealed many names carved and various symbols, though nothing as common as a heart to link names.
‘Good Day, I’m Charlotte from Hounslow.’
Did she say that out loud? The tree looked down at her with a dignified stillness, there was no breeze to ruffle her leaves. She touched the ancient bark with one hand then both, not a tree hugger yet. The mighty oak was much too vast to hug.
A crackle of twigs startled her, then she detected movement on the other side of the trunk. Her first instinct was to run back to the river, but she pictured herself tripping over a tree root and lying helpless… she paused and a man stepped out, scruffy appearance but familiar.
‘Sorry, I thought I was alone.’
‘Danny, Daniel Worth?’
He did not seem to recognise her.
‘Charlotte from Hambourne Creative Writers…’
He looked more nervous than she was so she felt emboldened to speak again.
‘You have been reported missing.’
‘Do I look like I’m missing? I came to talk to the tree. Don’t look so scared, I’m not a murderer.’
Any illusion Charlotte had that she was handling this cool and calmly, like those heroines on TV dramas, were shattered.
‘I did not kill Robert Falstaff’ he said in a strong voice that did scare her.
This was turning into a plot she had not even imagined for Lottie Lincoln, what would Lottie say or do?
‘Nor did I, so the only way to prove our innocence is to find out who did.’
The Ham Hub writers had decided to have something new to focus on, an exercise for fun, creating a fictional community. Each writer to bring along two or three characters and let them interact with each other. The setting to be remote and rural, between the wars so they would have no mobile phones or ready means of communicating with the outside world.
Charlotte enjoyed the task, a break from writing her novel about Lottie. She tried not to make it anything like Hambourne, though she couldn’t resist adding water. When it was suggested she go first she thought that would be easy, her plot could not clash with anyone else’s if they had not been revealed.
Ellie decided to take the towpath back to the farm, relishing the peace and freedom before returning to all her chores at home. Ellie was happy to volunteer to take newly laid eggs and milk to old Widow Brown in her tumbledown cottage. Mother said they had to be nice to her as she had lost both her sons in the war. It had been a busy morning as she had also taken a hearty breakfast to Tommy One Arm in the barn. Her father took pity on any tramps who had been soldiers in the war, especially those maimed or disfigured and unlikely to find work. Father called them all Tommy; there had been One-Eyed Tommy, he was a bit scary till you got used to him. Tommy One Leg had been a joker and popular locally as he could fix anything. Tommy One Arm was very quiet except when he was having a funny turn, which Father said was shell shock. He wore a hat and scarf all the time, only Mother and Father had seen his face properly as Tommy was very good at reading the difficult dusty old books that had been great grandfather’s. He read to their parents after the children were all in bed. Ellie hoped this Tommy would stay. Father never made them move on, but they often got restless and there would come a morning when the barn was empty. Ellie felt sorry for this Tommy, he wouldn’t be able to get married if he had to keep his face covered all the time and he didn’t seem to have any relatives to go and live with.
It was such a lovely morning Ellie skipped along the tow path…
‘Hang on, is that by the river or a canal?’
I don’t know, that’s why I just put tow path.
…thinking how good it was to be fourteen and never have to go to school again. She had not thought beyond leaving, though of course her parents had. Going to work as a maid at a big house far away
‘Hang on, in mine, it’s The Big House nearby so the characters can be tenant farmers.’
‘and have somewhere to work’ added someone else.
Okay, no problem, at the Big House nearby or to be a shop girl in town…
‘What town, thought they were isolated.’
That’s why she doesn’t want to work in town, too far away.
…were suggested, but she did not want to leave home and why should she when her big brother stayed on the farm. She had quickly found out that working at home was a lot harder than school. Helping her mother with the endless cooking and looking after the little ones, feeding the pigs and hens and milking the cows. But Father had promised her she could take the pony and trap to market. She loved Lucky the best in the family. He was called Lucky because he had been a colt when the war came and was not taken away to go to France. Ellie and Lucky had grown up together.
As Ellie wandered along picking spring flowers and watching out for the Kingfisher she was startled to hear a man’s voice.
‘I thought we were setting it in winter?’
‘No, it was autumn.’
‘It was definitely spring as it is spring now, we’ll be in the right mood’ Charlotte decided to be a bit assertive for a change.
‘Morning Miss.’
She looked up to see a young man standing on the bow of a colourful narrow boat. A new boat at the old mooring that hadn’t been used for years. Ellie knew all the river folk and he was definitely a stranger, so she was not sure if she should talk to him.
‘Thought you didn’t know if it was a river or canal?’
Well spotted, easy to change and we have to hear everyone’s story before we set details.
His smile crinkled up to his dark eyes and he had gleaming white teeth. If her father saw that mop of curly black hair he would have him sent off to the barbers or got her mother to get her clippers out, like she did with her brothers. He was taller than her big brother.
‘Oh I like him, watch out Ellie, my girl will be after him.’
‘This is a pretty sight on a spring morning.’
Ellie looked around to see what the pretty sight was.
‘Oh yes, this is the prettiest part of the river.’
‘That’s why I decided to moor up here yesterday evening and what a surprise to meet a pretty local girl so soon.’
Ellie looked around to see if a pretty girl had appeared
‘May I ask your name? I’m Jack, Jack of all trades.’
‘Hey, I’ve got a Jack.’
‘So have I, head gardener at the big house.’
‘And I’ve got a Tommy, who seduces the scullery maid.’
‘How long since the First World War War then, still got old soldiers wandering? ‘
‘Great War, they didn’t know there was going to be a second one.’
‘1928 I thought we said last week.‘
‘No, it’s going to be in the middle of the Great Depression’
‘When was that then?’
Do you go to a writing group? Do you enjoy doing exercises?
Feeling under the weather?
Lost your get up and go?
Life a bit dull?
Bring some colour into your life.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 