Ruth Hartley's Blog: Storyteller, page 9

HORSE

HORSE


“It’s cruel! It’s wrong!”
Sarah is defiant.
She looks at Horse. Horse looks back. Two stubborn beasts with brown, black-lashed eyes. Sarah’s face is round, like her spectacles. Horse’s belly is round from lack of exercise. Ann, Sarah’s mother, can school Horse on the lunge line but she will not be able to persuade her daughter to change her mind.

“We can’t keep him if you don’t ride him.” Ann says, reasonably.
“He’s mine.” Sarah is marginally less strident, and also reasonable.“You gave him to me. I decide what happens to him.”
Adopting the impossible role of the loving realist, Ann says, “Yes Honey, but you don’t pay for food, livery or vet bills.”
Sarah is adamant.
“I don’t want him to be ridden by anyone at all - ever! It’s cruel to make any animal do the will of a human!”
Horse stands still. Ann sighs and leans harder on Horse. She leans on his left shoulder, one hand on his soft nose, her forehead against the hard curve of his muscled neck. She breathes in the animal heat of Horse, the edible vegetable smell of dung and urine on straw bedding. Herbivorous Horse smells better than carnivorous Cat and omnivorous Dog. Sarah hasn’t yet demanded that Ann doesn’t stroke Cat or walk Dog but then neither pet obeys Ann”s will. Ann averts her gaze from Cat and Dog when Sarah is at home. She feeds them in secret just in case they too have to be freed and returned to Nature which in all likelihood means the wilderness of the Village High Street.
Grungy human vegetarians don’t smell as good as Horse. They are smoked not groomed. Sarah has become a vegetarian and on Sunday nights smells of grunge instead of manure and riding boots. At first it was just hunting that was cruel but now it is riding Horse, or any horse at all. Sarah’s grungy dread-locked boyfriend doesn’t come to the stables even when Sarah is there alone. The Pony Club trophies and rosettes have gone from Sarah’s bedroom shelf to shoe boxes in her cupboard though not yet to the dustbin. Grungy Boy a.k.a. “Sky” has taken Sarah’s virginity but not yet all her pride or determination. Ann still hopes. Sky is however making successful inroads on Sarah’s mind and individuality and Ann despairs.
There is a deadly war going on. A war of morality that only the Righteous will win.
Sky the Grungy Boy is battling with Horse for the soul of Sarah.
Ann tells herself that it can’t be her battle. Her maternal relationship is mere collateral damage. She can take her injuries to the Tack Room and the brandy hidden in the First Aid Box.
Horse must fight his own battle.
It is an unequal battle and Horse will lose.
Horse will lose the battle but Ann will be a casualty too.
“Horse is your horse.” says Ann with decision. This is true but Ann loves Horse more than she can admit. Ann must not be seen by Sarah as her rival for Horse. She hands the reins to her reluctant daughter,
“If you won’t ride him and you won’t let him be ridden by anyone here – not even me – then he must be sold. Here – take him and see that he is groomed, check his shoes and feet – Jane is bringing Elspeth round – they may buy him.”
“I don’t want him to be ridden.” Sarah’s voice is smaller, her lip quivers. The pain of losing Horse is unbearable for her. Ann turns her head away at the sight. She must sit firm. Harden the heart that lost a stirrup at Sarah’s grief.
“He’s too young to be put out to grass.” Ann says, “He needs exercise or his health will suffer and he can’t run wild. Be sensible, Sarah. How can I tell someone who buys him what they can do with him? You can’t give him away – he’s too valuable!” She feels a small mean triumph, a tiny hope, some doubt at Sarah’s next materialist demand.
“You gave him to me, so the money is mine.”
“Sarah, you know how much Horse costs to keep! Remember the deal – if you were to go to university – or have a gap year - “
Sarah is not going anywhere that takes her away from Sky and says so again and then again for emphasis.
“Why don’t you listen, Mum? I will not join global capitalist exploiters!”
Ann remembers that her darling child experimented with chewing while she was being breastfed. Ann bites back.
“You won’t want the money then, will you?”
She thinks bitterly that the money would only go on a yurt or a tipi for Sky. And what would tent-dwelling, horse-riding nomads think of Sarah’s definition of riding as gratuitous and unnecessary cruelty? Ann mutters to herself then sighs. All arguments and persuasions have been tried and failed. Horse is not going to the fields of Paradise or any Happy Hunting Ground, Horse is going to be gone - no more – and finally, together with all horses that have no use and are never ridden, he will become extinct.
“What you don’t use – you lose!” She had tried to say that to Sarah. Sarah had thought that Ann meant to threaten her but it was Horse who was in danger.
“What will you do with the money?” Sarah asks aggressively.
“I suppose,” replies Ann with sadness, “that I will get rid of Donkey at the same time. He has needed to be replaced for ages.”
“Why?”, Sarah is surprised into asking.
“I could use a better quality of transport.”
In fact Ann doesn’t want technology, she likes animal. She wants her feet on the ground and her spade in horse manure.
“You, Mum! A new car - instead of Donkey!” Sarah is shocked.
“We got Donkey because of Horse and for Horse remember? I won’t need a beaten up old van with a faulty heater and a broken windscreen wiper if we don’t have to transport feed for Horse.”
“I won’t buy a new car, but I will buy as green a car as I can.” Ann adds, quickly, before Sarah can criticise.
Mother and Daughter stand between their tame animal past and an uncertain and savage technological future. Sarah holds Horse’s leather bridle, Ann holds the metal keys to Donkey.
Horse simply waits.

THE HEALTH SUITE

THE HEALTH SUITE


Her steady swim had left her disjointed and weightless, able only to lie prone on the sun-bed secured under the glass sky. She felt as clean as a dish-washed cup, unstained inside and out.


Even in their frenzied search for salt moisture and hot meat, the Dream Beasts could not penetrate the Swimming Pool building to tear her apart. The sharp echo of voices in high hard spaces exerted a force field that prevented them from entering. Heavy with soft damp in her bathrobe, anchored by exhaustion, she could stop running. The seamless walls and changeless climate of the Health Suite were unassailable. Her towel turban cushioned her ears against the baying of police cars and the yelp of fire engines as they circled among the surrounding catch-nets of particulate smog and traffic.


The soundless trees outside were late-sun yellow. Leaves fell without a whisper of regret. Last spring, she had been startled in the burrow of her bedclothes, by the foetid smell of piss and mouldy earth. A sticky brown ooze seeped from between her legs. She had felt her nipples tugged, the sting of milk in her breasts, the shove of paws at her flank. She had seen teeth and eyes glitter in the dark.
She had not slept since.
In the Steam Room, heads vanished in soft fierce clouds as bodies dissolved. Heat seared the flesh off cheekbones and exposed eyeballs while burning air scorched the inside of throats, wrinkling windpipes into pink plastic hoses. The woman could barely see her legs stretched out before her. They were slick with moisture, smooth as pearled shells.


Showering after the sauna, she scrubbed at the thought of moss matting her hair, recoiled at the memory of a ridged scar the length of her thigh. All summer she had prickled with electric fur, her senses interactive. All autumn she had felt with her eyes, smelt with her ears, seen with her nose, heard with her skin. All year she had been desperate to hide and desperate to run. Ecstasy and terror had combined in a fatal high.


Now in the bubbling Jacuzzi she floats free of the earth. A neutral space in a tepid, hygienic bath of chemical daylight. She is as safe as laundry. She no longer slinks through the secret night with blood on her tongue or searches the shadows for mysteries without answers. She no longer dances up hills, a forest in every breath, a meadow under each pad, alive to the sound of shrieks and howling. Her dark red heart no longer beats to the rhythm of hoof and horn, claw and fang. She is no longer huntress or hunted.


In the Meditation Space where synthesised ghost birds cry unanswered and water runs uphill, she rests empty as a winter nest. On the sun-bed afterwards, she lies down in a doze as deep as Astro turf. Her eyes are opaque as mirror glass, her soul an air-conditioned room. She no longer wanders in the wild moonlight. There is no wilderness. There is no death. She need not run hunting for life. The Dream Beasts sneaked up in the lift with sachets of decaffeinated coffee and sweeteners of Prozac and caught her off guard.


“Birth’s not hygienic.” they whispered as they surgically removed her womb.
“Kindness has no wrinkles.” they smiled as they glossed her new face.
“Death is defeated.” they nodded, pumping centrifuged plasma into her pale heart.
“Then there'll be no need for dreaming.” the Green Woman said and at last she slept.

THE DROUGHT WITCH by Ruth Hartley - A Children's Story set in Zambia.

I wrote this story for older children but also for people learning to read. I wanted a magical story with a positive portrayal of a girl and a boy who are heroes, comrades and friends. I wanted it to be informative about the environment and the importance of trees.
I would welcome any corrections or input and also suggestions about links to good nature sites so that the story can be interactive.
Thank you Guida Bell-Cross for your input.
    1  



THE STORY OF THE DROUGHT WITCH

THE FARM IN THE GREEN VALLEY
 
Deep in the heart of Africa, in a green fertile valley lived a strong hard-working farmer called Simon and his kind and sensible wife, Dorcas.Simon and Dorcas had a son called Adam and a daughter called Constance. Adam helped Simon herd his sleek cattle and Constance helped Dorcas weed her maize and vegetable garden. The children were good friends and would go together to fetch water from the river or hunt for firewood in the forest.One day after the first rain of summer had fallen the whole family went to the fields to prepare the earth for their crops of millet and tobacco. Before Simon could hitch his two best oxen to the plough there was a noise like the rushing and crackling of a bush-fire and a huge, dusty whirlwind swept down the valley towards them. Simon and Dorcas told the children to run for shelter but Adam and Constance hid by the Ilala palm to watch the wind blow grass and leaves high into the sky. They laughed as the whirlwind passed because it snatched a piece of red Chitenge cloth from the Boma fence where it was hung out to dry.Suddenly they saw an evil witch riding in the centre of the storm among the dust and debris. She was all bones and lizard skins with the glowing eyes of an owl. Constance and Adam were shocked and frightened but before they could do anything the witch blew sand in their faces so that they could not see what she did or where she went. 2    THE DROUGHT WITCH
When Adam and Constance managed to open their eyes again they saw that their parents were entertaining a lovely young woman. The children were surprised because they were not expecting visitors that day but they went politely to greet the new guest.‘My name is Kambili.’ the young woman said. Her round eyes blinked fast as she turned her head to stare at the children. They noticed that she was wearing a single red Chitenge around her body and it was damp as if it had just been washed.‘‘Kambili’ means ‘whirlwind’!’ whispered Constance to Adam in fear.‘She must be the witch we saw in the dust storm pretending to be a young woman!’ replied Adam.Adam and Constance tried to warn Simon that Kambili was a witch in disguise but Kambili had cast a spell on their father and he would not listen to them or to Dorcas. Each day that Simon remained under Kambili's spell the sun grew hotter and the rain refused to fall; the crops withered and the cattle grew thin. Soon the grain store was nearly empty. Simon did nothing but sit under the Tamarind tree and drink the Kachasu beer that Kambili made for him from sticks and dead rats.When Kambili realised that Adam and Constance knew her wicked secret, she decided she turn them into mice so she could catch them in a trap. She planned to cook the children and make Simon and Dorcas eat them for supper.  3   THE START OF THE JOURNEY.Dorcas was a sensible woman and a skilled herbalist. When she saw that Kambili’s eyes shone in the dark she knew that Kambili was the Witch who had brought the drought to the Valley. One day she called her children to her secretly.‘Here is some food and a gourd of herbs.’ She said, ‘Go and find the Wise Woman of the Garden. Her name is Makemba. Only she can break Kambili's spell and save us all. You will find her in the Rainforest at the source of the Great River.’That night brave Adam and Constance ran away and waited by the Baobab tree. In the morning an old Charcoal lorry bumped and rattled up to them.‘Please give us a lift to the Big City.’ the children begged.The Charcoal Burner was kind enough to let the children ride on top of his hard, knobbly load of sacks of Charcoal. They had a long uncomfortable journey without any sleep while the lorry climbed slowly out of the Valley. By the time it reached the main road the old engine was so hot that it exploded scattering bits of burning metal over the Saka-saka bush.‘I shall never be able to fix my lorry.’ said the Charcoal Burner and he sat down to wait for his brother to come to his rescue in a few weeks’ time.‘What can we do?’ asked Adam‘I’m so tired!’ said Constance.It was not long before a new and expensive car with a silver star on the bonnet drove up and stopped. The owner was a well-fed smiling man called Mr Mabenzi. Hidden in his car were the ivory tusks of poached elephants and the horns of poached rhinos.‘Children.’ he asked. ‘Would you like a lift to the Big City?’ 4     PRISONERS IN THE CITYThe Charcoal Burner shook his head at the children in warning but Adam and Constance did not stop to think why such a rich man was being kind to them. They climbed into the air-conditioned car and fell asleep at once. They were so tired that they did not wake up until they reached the Big City hundreds of miles away. When they arrived they found themselves locked inside the car in the middle of a busy market.Mr Mabenzi was sitting in the shade of a Mango tree talking to huge ugly woman called Tindi Richwoman and a shifty-looking man called Kota Badman.‘I will exchange my elephant tusks and rhino horn for your drugs." Mr Mabenzi said. ‘We want the children for slaves as well.’ said Kota Badman.Adam and Constance were terrified when they realised that they were prisoners but it was too late to run away. Constance was put to work at once cooking meat in Tindi Richwoman's tavern. Poor Adam was locked into a dark storeroom without food until a witch decided to buy him.Constance was brave and did not despair. She remembered the gourd of Dorcas’s herbs and when no one was looking, she put them in the food she was cooking. Tindi Richwoman and Kota Badman ate greedily shouting for more. After a while they seemed to go crazy. They ran outside and began to shout and scream and threaten the people in the market. None of the marketers liked Tindi or Kota at all. They called the police who arrested the angry couple and marched them off to the city prison for the weekend.  5   
ESCAPE IN A MINIBUSWithout wasting a moment, Constance let Adam out of the storeroom and the two children ran as fast as they could to the bus station. There they found a minibus that was going part of the way towards the Rainforest.The minibus passengers were generous to the children and helped them with food and advice."This minibus driver is speeding too much!’ they complained. ‘The potholes in the road are getting too bad!’Finally, as they feared, the minibus lurched out of control and crashed into a Sausage Tree. Fortunately no one was hurt though everyone shouted at the minibus driver. ‘Now we have no transport to take us to our destination.’ they said.
‘We’ll never reach the Rainforest!’ cried Constance in despair.At that moment a battered pick-up truck stopped and the driver, Miss Rosie Beetle, got out to see if anyone needed a lift.‘I’m going across the Wide Flood Plains to the edge of the Rainforest to study birds and butterflies.’ she said ‘Thank you. No.’ said the other passengers. ‘We want to get to the next town’ but Constance and Adam said ‘Yes please!’ together.Miss Rosie Beetle was very friendly and talked all the time without stopping. At last they came to the end of the road. It turned into a narrow track then into the mud of the Wide Flood Plains.Miss Rosie Beetle and the children had supper and made a camp for the night but Miss Rosie Beetle carried on talking even after the children had fallen asleep. In the morning she gave them two presents to help them on their journey.‘Here’s a plastic water bottle for you Constance, and a strong penknife for you Adam.’ she said.   6   
THE WIDE FLOOD PLAIN‘Goodbye and thank you!’ called the children.They started to walk across the muddy, treeless plain in the hot sun. At nightfall, tired out, they reached a village of reed huts on the banks of a winding river. The headman, Ikabonga made the children welcome. His five wives gave them a delicious supper of fish and maize meal. After supper they played games with Ikabonga’s forty children.Ikabonga was famous for his herd of giant cattle with horns like spreading trees. Next day Ikabonga spoke to Constance and Adam.‘Climb onto the back of my big black bull, Imbolondo. He will carry you safely across the Wide Flood Plains to the Rainforest. No wild animals or lions will dare attack you on top of Imbolondo’s back!’As promised, Imbolondo carried the children through herds of wild antelope, past dangerous lions and cheetahs. The children saw many different kinds of birds in huge flocks flying over the grassy plains. After many days and nights they came first to small bushes and then to the tall trees at the edge of the Rainforest. ‘I must turn back.’ explained Imbolondo. ‘There is no more grass for me to eat here.’‘Thank you for your friendship and your strong safe back.’ said Constance and Adam.It was cool and pleasant in the Rainforest after the hot plain. The children were tired of dried fish and pleased to find plenty of fruit to eat but there were no paths among the trees. As they wandered in the shade they forgot that they had to find the Source of the Great River and the Wise Woman, Makemba. Soon Adam and Constance were completely lost. 7     THE WISE WOMAN OF THE SOURCE OF THE GREAT RIVER.Adam and Constance might have been lost forever but they heard the bubbling song of the Rainbird and remembered that their parents were still under the spell of the Drought Witch. As soon as they stopped to listen and think, a Honey Guide called to them from a Rain Tree.‘Follow me!’ he sang. ‘I will show you the way to the Source of the Great River.’So Constance and Adam followed the bird on and on deeper into the Rainforest until they smelt honey and heard bees buzzing around a honeycomb high in a tree.Even as they looked up, they saw it was not a tree, but a tall handsome woman wearing a skirt of bark-cloth and necklaces of seeds and pods. At her feet was a spring of clear water, the source of the Great River Zambezi.Adam and Constance had found Makemba, the Wise Woman of the Garden.Makemba welcomed the children. ‘Come and bathe in the spring. I will feed you honey and fruit and let you rest until you grow strong again.’‘Please Makemba!’ begged Adam and Constance. ‘Break the Drought Witch's spell.’‘It is not in my power to do so.’ explained Makemba. ‘The Drought Witch gets her power from the greedy, careless behaviour of people who do not look after their land and their trees.’‘If you stay with me awhile I will teach you how to be good farmers. First you must learn what it is that plants need to grow strong and healthy then perhaps you can destroy the Drought Witch yourselves.’
 8   
THE DEEP CHASM
Adam and Constance spent a long time at the Source of the Great River helping Makemba look after her garden under her giant Fig Tree. When they were ready to return home Makemba a filled Constance's bottle with water from her spring and gave Adam a bag of seeds.
‘To break the spell of the Drought Witch,’ she said. ‘You must plant and water the seeds in the Once-Green-but-now-Dry-Valley on your way home.’
‘Be very careful.’ she warned. ‘Save the last drops of water to throw at the Witch to destroy her. Now go to the banks of the Great River and find Mokoro the Fisherman. He will take you some of your way home. You will recognise him by his sharp pointed teeth.’
Mokoro the Fisherman did have sharp teeth but he also had a kind smile. He was as long and thin and quiet as the pole he used to steer his dugout canoe. Mokoro made the children comfortable in the canoe and they set off down the Great River.
After they had canoed down the river for many weeks they found their way blocked by a wall of mist and spray that reached up to the clouds. With a deafening roar the Great River plunged into a vast Chasm that was so wide and so deep that the river turned to smoke and thunder as it fell.
‘What can we do now?’ Constance and Adam asked Mokoro.
Mokoro uttered some harsh, birdlike cries and threw his fishing net out onto the water. At once a flock of pelicans appeared in the sky. The pelicans picked up the fishing net with the canoe, Mokoro and the children suspended inside it and carried them all over the Chasm to the Deep Lake beyond.
 9     
THE GREAT RIVER
Mokoro paddled the canoe across the Deep Lake through fierce storms until they found the Great River again. Adam and Constance took turns fishing for their food. At night they made camp under Winter-thorn or Water-berry Trees or on rocky islands or sandy beaches. While the children slept, Mokoro stood on one leg like a heron and watched with one eye till the sun rose.
They faced many dangers and difficulties. Monkeys tried to steal the bag of seeds and baboons tried to steal the bottle of water. Often hippos tried to overturn the canoe and every day the crocodiles lay hidden, waiting to eat them all. However the Great River and its banks were very beautiful. There were so many wonderful and unusual plants, insects, birds, animals and fish that Adam and Constance were happy and interested all the time.
After many days and nights they reached the place where the Big River from the Once-Green-Now-Dry-Valley joined the Great River. The drought was by now very bad indeed and the Big River had become a river of sand with a little water in it. Here Mokoro turned his canoe against the current and paddled more slowly towards the children's home.
Soon there was not enough water for Mokoro's canoe so he silently took his leave of the children and Adam and Constance went on by foot alone.

10   
SEEDS AND WATER
Now began the hardest part of the journey for Adam and Constance.
The sun was scorching and bright and the Mupane trees were burnt and leafless. Most of the birds and animals were dead and the children only found white bones and grey sticks. There was no water in the river only hot round stones. Adam and Constance were hungry and thirsty all the time. The children walked on and on, day after day, following the sandy banks of the river. The only sound they heard was the crackle of dry leaves underfoot.
Every night they had to keep watch for hyenas and every night before they rested they had to plant and water Makemba’s seeds. Adam made holes in the ground with his penknife, and then Constance carefully put in some seeds and a few drops of water. Makemba had told them that if they destroyed the Drought Witch then all the seeds they planted would grow into trees to replace those that had died in the Drought.
Last of all Adam and Constance had a few sips of water each. They tried not to think how afraid they were of the evil Drought Witch and how hard it would be to get close enough to kill her with a splash of water.
Every day they got a little nearer to their home. Every day they became more exhausted and fearful. Constance began to get more and more tired and ill. At last she could not go one step further and lay down on the ground.
‘I think I am going to die Adam.’ she whispered.  11   
 
THE END OF THE DROUGHT WITCH
Adam decided to help his brave sister though he knew there would not be one drop of water left to destroy the Drought Witch if he gave her a drink. Gently he lifted Constance in his arms and laid her in a small patch of shade under a bare Mulunguti tree. With great care he dripped the last drops of water into Constance’s mouth.
As he did so, there was a terrible commotion. Adam saw Kambili hurrying towards him in a great fury. Kambili had grown so enormous from feeding on the drought in the valley that she had to be pulled on a sledge by magic Goats made from skeletons.
In her rage, Kambili grabbed Adam in her overgrown fists and began to squeeze the life out of him.
At the sound of Kambili's shouts and Adam s screams, Constance struggled to her feet. With the last remains of her strength, Constance spat the water straight from her mouth into Kambili's face.
With a hideous shriek, Kambili the Drought Witch exploded in a storm of dust, dried skin and bones and was blown away by a sudden, unexpected breeze from the Rainforest.

12 
 THE FAMILY MEALThis story is for my grandson, Stephen Kupakweshe but also for the children of Zambia.My thanks to Dr Bradford Strickland for his advice on names.The children's journey takes place in Zambia. They journey from the Luangwa Valley in the east through the central city of Lusaka, across the western Barotse Plains to the Rainforest of North-Western Province, then back down the Zambezi River past the Mosi-O-Tunya (the Smoke that Thunders) and Kariba Lake to the Luangwa River and home again.I have altered the names to try and make the story a little more universal and to keep pronunciation simpler.Mabenzi is the term for people who own a Mercedes Benz.Ikabonga is a common name for a chief in Barotseland and Imbolondo is a common name for his black bull.A Mokoro is a dugout canoe.Inswa is the name for the termites that people love to eat.Makemba is a Congolese goddess...All the trees in the story are in their right place and have their uses for the people of Zambia.
SYNOPSIS OF THE DROUGHT WITCH WITH NOTES ON THE TREES.
THE FARM IN THE GREEN VALLEY In Africa the earth is baked so hard during the dry season that farmers have to wait for the first rain to soften the ground before they can plough the earth with their light hand-held ploughs pulled by a team of oxen. Farmers often plant a cash crop like tobacco to sell and a food crop like maize to store for themselves to eat.Whirlwinds and dust devils are common at the end of the dry season. People believe that evil spirits ride inside them and think it is bad luck to get in the way of one. In order to fly through the air, witches must wear no clothes.The most common and useful garment worn by women is a two-metre length of fabric known as a Chitenge. It can be wrapped around the body. It is also used to carry a baby or hold a bundle of other possessions.The enclosure inside which people live is called a Boma.The Ilala Palm or Vegetable Ivory(Hyphaene natalensis)is common in the Luangwa Valley. The fruit has a hard white kernel like an ivory ball that children like to play with.
THE DROUGHT WITCH At the end of the dry season when there is little food and farmers are burning grass to prepare the ground for crops people sometimes set traps for mice in order to roast and eat them. A dangerously strong alcoholic drink called Kachasuis occasionally distilled in the villages. All kinds of unpleasant ingredients may be added to it to make it ferment quickly.The Tamarind Tree (Tamarindus indica.) is a very beautiful tree that grows on anthills. Elephants love to eat the pods and they have a sharp refreshing taste that is good for quenching thirst. They are also used to flavour food.
THE START OF THE JOURNEY The Baobab (Adansonia digitata) is a very large and bulky tree. People in the country identify routes and locations by distinctive trees nearby that can be seen from a distance. The Baobab has greenish pods with a white seed that tastes like cream of tartar and is thirst-quenching and pleasant to suck.The most common fuel in Zambia is charcoal made from the non-replenishable source of forest trees. Charcoal is very heavy and bulky to transport and the lorries that carry it over bad roads are over-loaded and frequently break down.
PRISONERS IN THE CITY The trees most often planted in the city and shanty-towns are mangoes, cassava and bananas. They are regarded as the common property of all residents in the vicinity. Dorcas would have provided Constance with various herbs or mutifrom the leaves, bark or seeds of trees or shrubs. Those that Constance put into the food must have been hallucinogenic like Daturaor Cannabis Sativa.
ESCAPE IN A MINIBUS The Sausage Tree(Kigelia africana)gets its name from the huge heavy sausage-shaped fruit that grows on it. Hippo and rhino and elephant like to eat the fruit and ointment from it is reputed to cure skin ailments. The large purple flowers are eaten by monkeys and fruit-bats. Legend has it that your breasts and genitals will become pendulous if you sleep under a Sausage Tree. You will certainly be hurt if a fruit falls onto your head.

THE WIDE FLOOD PLAIN The Flood Plain is treeless but its grasses provide food for huge herds of antelope like Puku, Impala, and Lechwe, as well as Wildebeest, and Zebra. Predators like lion and leopard and cheetah hunt the antelope and the meandering rivers and pans attract great numbers of birds. Hippo, crocodile and fish abound. The people who live on the Flood Plain have to make low houses from reeds and grass as there is no wood to frame larger structures.
THE WISE WOMAN OF THE SOURCE OF THE GREAT RIVER The Fig Tree. There are many different varieties of Ficus in the forests of Zambia. Ficus sycomorus hasa sweet and juicy fruit that people, birds, insects and animals love.Makemba is wearing a skirt made by flattening and beating the bark of the Raffia Palm ()until it is as soft and flexible as cotton fabric. The Rainbird (Centropus superciliosus)calls in the rainy season before a rainstorm.The Honey Guide (Indicator indicator)will lead humans to beehives knowing that they will break them open for the honey allowing the bird to help itself to the bee grubs and wax comb.
THE DEEP CHASM The children and Mokoro come to the impassable Victoria Falls or the ‘Mosi-o-Tunya’the ‘Smoke-that-thunders’. Mokoro has a dugout canoe or makoromade by burning and carving out the hollow trunk of a single tree. He uses a pole to punt it down shallow stretches of river and a paddle to go over deep water.Flocks of Pelicans (Pelecanus onocrotalus)in flight are a most beautiful sight.
THE GREAT RIVER The children sleep under Water-berry trees (Syzygium cordatum) along the river banks and under Winter-thorn trees (Acacia albida)on the flood plains of the middle Zambezi. The water-berry has a small juicy fruit that children and monkeys like. The winter-thorn has a curly pink pod that baboons and cattle eat.
SEEDS AND WATER The Mopani(Colophospermum mopane) is the most common tree is this part of Africa. It is drought resistant and its butterfly shaped leaves close up and give very little shade. Elephants love to eat it. The wood smells of cedar when it burns.. THE END OF THE DROUGHT WITCH The thorny Mulunguti tree(Erythina abysinica)has red flower spikes and its pretty scarlet and black seeds can be made into necklaces.
THE FAMILY MEAL There are many different kinds of Termites but Macrotermes michaelseniis one of the largest and most common sub-species. Thousands of young queens and males fly away from the termite mounds at the start of the rainy season to begin new colonies. Because they are weak flyers, they are easy to catch and people collect baskets of them for food.

MORIBUND AND FARAGE ELIMINATE CAMERON AND CLEGG TO RULE LITTLE ENGLAND.

Thursday night I was shocked
Friday I was depressed
Today I am disentangling my thoughts about the parliamentary decision not to take any action in regard to Syria.
I am a cynic about intervention. I know that human costs and collateral damage can never be calculated or avoided. Nevertheless I dreamed that an adventurous, pro-active solution might be found to prevent a little of the suffering in Syria. I do think doing nothing has its dangers.


Leaving aside Syria for the moment . . .


I found what happened to Britain on Thursday night far more disturbing and worrying. There is a shift in our democratic government. Oppositional parties no longer work as they once did. Voters are increasingly sophisticated about being manipulated. They want economic and technical competence from a government not vote-teasing promises. Britain has a hung parliament and probably will have for the foreseeable future. We are governed by committees, quangos, reviews, inquiries, planners and bureaucratic technocrats. We are governed by the middlemen and on the whole by agreement.


A government of a committee of different parties cannot however, make a decision to go to war or to intervene militarily. It is not in the nature of such a government.
It is difficult enough for the United Nations.
Is this a danger?
Yes, as Tony Blair found. He made the right decision to go to war in Iraq which we had been bombing since the first Gulf War anyway. He knew the public would never agree so he and Bush fudged the evidence.
Unforgivable?
Necessary?
Ed Miliband was determined to show how different he is to Blair. He even suggested that Cameron was acting like Blair.


Leaving this aside for the moment . . .


It is true that the nature of a British public constituted of well-fed, educated, comfortable and secure people, is anti-war. We largely agree that we need a defence force. We are not sure how it should be used. Once we leave Afghanistan we will for the first time in 70 years not be engaged in any war except for the deadly serious war in cyberspace that we are not informed about and never get to vote for or to debate in parliament. Some of us don't know if it is more important to be protected from Trolls on the Internet than to have the right to privacy, freedom of the press and the freedom of information. It is a dilemma.


Leaving this aside for the moment . . .


Britain and America are blamed as Imperialists and the policemen of the world. Sadly history has made us and the power its gave can't be magicked away. It has its uses. It may perhaps be used well. South Africa is in the same situation with regard to Africa and so now is China. The Syrian situation is extraordinarily complicated and dangerous. It is not impossible that events in the Middle East could force back the boundaries of human rights and liberties for us all especially as some rights are so frail and recently recognised. There are no answers, no ways to proceed in Syria that are sure to make the world safer. Protecting women and children and civilians from nerve gas attacks may be very difficult but on Thursday night I thought it was morally essential for Britain to take a stand.


Britain did not.


How can our government decide to go to war or to intervene? I suggest that it can't be done by parliamentary debate and MPs being whipped to attend. For us to be properly defended we would need a Defence Committee to take such decisions. Inevitably the public would not be and could not be, and never will be, completely informed of all the facts and all the dangers.


Leaving aside the dangers to Civil liberties and Freedom of Press that this would bring . . .


Lets go back to what was for me the truly depressing outcome of Thursday night. It wasn't that Cameron lost and we haven't decided to bash Bashir. It was that we voted to be 'Little England' as defined by Nigel Farage's clownish absurdities.


Poor, poor Little England what are you going to do?
All your assets and banks and industries are owned or shared by global interests. Most of what you eat and drink is outsourced. You may only be the poodle of America and the rest of the world but now you are biting all the fingers that feed you.
Poor, poor Little England where in the world of the Global Village are you going to hide yourself?


Leaving aside for the moment the mean-spirited, narrow-minded and self-centred nature of Farage's Little England . . .


What shocked me most about Thursday night was the cold, calculated, political opportunism of Ed Miliband. He appeared to see his own advancement as the only important result to be achieved that day. He used Parliament to destroy Cameron's credibility by betraying his own agreement with Cameron – that may be politics and Cameron is his opponent – but the cost of what he did will diminish the world standing of Britain – it is also to the detriment of those Syrians who need help most – women and children and civilians.


Ed Miliband is not a likeable or charismatic leader. He does not generate an air of trustworthiness. I was ready to give him a chance in case he did turn out to be a man of the people. What I saw in Ed's attack on Cameron was the steel of an assassin's knife and I remembered that I had seen it glint behind his brother David's shoulder at the Labour leadership elections.

About a river - Apropos d'un fleuve

This 'painting' began as a response to a request to participate for a third time in the 'Reveillez vos Talents' in the village hall during the last weekend in April. This 'expo' consisted of amateur painting groups - this time three separate and different ones, patchwork, mosaics, knitting, horn carving and the school also organised a plant sale and a 'vide-grenier' (boot sale).I don't exhibit as part of a group and I don't try to sell and anyway mostly village people are bemused by my 'art'.I do however, try to engage somehow with people who come to look at the expo. Last year I tried to get kids - or people to draw - but failed. People have very conventional ideas about what art 'should' be. Anyhow this is the local environment in which I try and make my experiments in art.

The idea of painting a river is something I have played with before. I will illustrate my other ideas in a future blog. This was a mix of ideas from a previous painting called 'Dance' about balancing good and evil which like this had 'moving' parts and played with the way colour works.
At its heart is a simple and very complex philosophical idea from Heraclitus that you 'can't step into the same river twice' because both you and the river are always changing. I wanted to challenge the static capture that a representation of a river is in a 2D painting and I wanted to make something that demanded that the viewer engage with the painting differently by giving it time.

Monsanto 1998

The earth was all of a piece this afternoon in
the tender caresses of early November sunlight.
Green winter glowed like velvet peach fuzz on
the softly curving slopes all the way up to
Harston and all the way down to Grantchester.


The first flinching frosts had cleaned the
undergrowth from the upright trees.
The fences that chop and saw at the fields made
no divisive stand against the spilling of light into
the hollows that the river knows as home.


The earth was all one,
all joined,
all belonging to itself,
all alight,
all green,
all of a piece,
all at peace.


The contesting bitter traffic fumes
and transgenic pollen dust that is Trumpington
were set aside this afternoon.
I almost liked Cambridge.
November 6th1998

The start of this blog is false and untrue. I doubt it wi...

The start of this blog is false and untrue. I doubt it will improve.
I am not the will o' whisp - the Ignis fatuus - that is John  -or us as we roamed around Europe.
I am noname and sought to start my own blog but days of struggling to set up my own blog has driven me back to this site where I sit alongside Epicblogue.
I want to use this site for discussion about the process of making art and stories and coming to terms with the endings of stories and the closing of librairies and the shutting of book covers and the picking up of pens and brushes - so starting over - again -  

I have become late autumn.Detaching leaves steal the resi...

I have become late autumn.
Detaching leaves steal the residue of golden days.
A cold mist of heavy grey dew soaks me to the core.
Its common the doctor says - spring time is the cure,
The sun may caress me next year and again
but autumn is my season and leaves never return.