Para Handy Versus Wicker Man

To celebrate the 40th Anniversary of The Wicker Man, an edited version of a fan-fiction mashup. Really wish BBC Scotland would consider optioning this for Hogmanay one year...

It was coming up for harvest time, and I was reminded of something Macfarlane had said the year before, about a trip he and the crew of the Vital Spark had taken out to a strange little island on the West Coast. The autumn sun, was low in the sky, and I thought I may be able to convince him to elaborate on this particular misadventure on account of it being such a balmy evening.

'It wass not a churney I would chuse to take again, no. And not fur any o the finest Pollokshaws tea. I will grant ye, it wass indeed the verry best fruit on the Western Isles, but it wass the strange fowk growin it wass the problem. Not strange like Edinburra types, thiss wass an aaltogether more particular strangeness, more like a Galloway strangeness, like Tressock or somesuch place. I would go as far as to say they were...unnatural. That did not bother us at aal at the time, sure we'd not long come back from Dunoon and there's more than a few uncanny sorts in Greenock docks as weel. However I wud be inclined to say, that world weary and imbued with the wisdom such as I am, even I wass not expecting such an odd trip aas this.

The cargo wass apples, it being harvest time on Summerisle - there were Gleska merchants we often ferried fur keen to stock up before Galoshans. Normally, as I'm shure ye would ken, the Fital Spark is more suited for the transporting of fine china and linens, but it headin towards wunter time, we were apt to consider a few quicker runs before shuttering down.

Late September it wass, with the nights warm enough, but on the turn. There wass not a one of us who did not enjoy a jurney doon the watter and oot to sea at this team o the season, fur there are better sunsets than ye will find in the warmer climes. No' that we get much of a chance to be sailin to the warmer climes, fur Macphail had that bad time by the Cape of Good Hope and now doesn't want us sailing past Hull.

The Tar had just scorched us aal some eggs as we reached our destination. It 's a pretty little harbour at Summerisle, but it wass our furst indication that thiss wass not to be a usual run, for there was a group of lassies, nekkid as the day, bathing in the bay. Sure, even on the Milport daytrips we had to do that summer, it wass nivver quite like that.

'Are they...singin?' asks Dougie.

'They are indeed Dougie,' says The Tar, 'and that's most certainly the most peculiar thing that could be said about them.'

Macphail wass after polishing up the spyglass the better to see us into port, when we saw the smiling gentleman on the shore.

'He seems very jolly.' says The Tar.

'Small wonder.' opines Dougie.

The maidens swam to shore, climbing out, very ladylike. After a fashion. Fur a variety of reasons it wass then all the easier fur us to dock. The Tar made a fine show of tying up, making even more of a meal of it than usual. Dougie and maself had the harder of the jobs, trying hard to find where to look, fur the ladies were still stood in the altogether, and, none too shy about it.

As we stept off, the ladies, still in not a stitch, slapped us gently with twigs and rushes. It wass Dougie who first cottoned on.

'This...seems a little like weetchcraft.' he whispers, so as not to offend the ladies by caaling them weetches. Yon was a hard lesson learned.

To be truthful, I had been thinking something similar, having once known a travelling lass on the east coast who claimed to be descended from the Egyptian. She was forever givin fowk the evil eye and cursin' something terrible.

'I...eh...I think I'll be efter clearin the hold fur aw the apples,' says Dougie, takin' a rare opportunity not to go ashore. Thankfully, and it must be said, unusually, The Tar and Macphail wur fur once only too pleased to help wi the heavy liftin', and wur doon the plank quicktime fur to get skelpt wi the sticks.

The Gentleman and a wee laddie were still standin smilin', welcoming us with open arms. And as ye ken, I'm none too fond o that type o over familiarity.

'Fine views in Summerisle don't you think?' he laughed.

'Ah weel, I wouldn't be bringing my old mither here fur the day thats fur sure.'

'Nonsense sir! I make sure my own son doesn't miss a moment of the celebrations!'

The Wee Laddie bowed politely. Very weel turned out wee laddie he was too, but I wasn't so keen on his cheeky wee smile..

'I'm the Laird of Summerisle,' says the Gentleman, 'I always enjoy showing new visitors around the island.'

The Tar and Macphail were jist aboot on bended knee thankin the Laird for his hospitality. I'm not a rude man, as ye weel ken, but I wass not of a mind to be stayin long.

'Is that fella dressed up as a fox there?'

As I pointed, this one ducks down behind a wall.

'Indeed! All the animals are out, ready for the ladies procession.'

Ah had a feelin it wasn't likely to be a Salvation Army parade they wur waitin fur.

The Laird led us through the wee toon, where aal sorts wur stoatin aboot the streets fallin doon drunk like it wass aw the Fayre weekends come at once. At every door there stood a wee table, piled high wi fruits, nuts and leaves. Kegs of beer and cider were passed freely up and doon the street and swigged as if they were meelk churns. My well quoted modesty permits me from discussing the antics I saw at the Kirkyard, but be assured ye wud not expect to see the like even in Govan. I am, as ye ken, a very patient and understanding man, but I felt that the Laird and his boy wur huvvin some sport wi us.

'Here now,' I says, 'what's thiss aal about? We are here for the aaples, not the shows.'

'It is autumn time Master Mariner! We must thank Demeter and Nuada for our bountiful harvest.'

'And can ye no thank them wi yer clothes on?'

'All the women are cleansing before the rituals. Soon, they will walk to their sanctuary in the caves, for fasting and sacrifice.'

Here The Tar nodded as if a scholar on this particular subject.

'And eh...do they put their clothes back on at any point?'

Laughing again, The Laird slapped The Tar on the arm, very over friendly.

'Will you not stay for the feast? It's only three days hence. The women will return with slaughtered piglets and wheat cakes.'

It wass clear to me, Macphail and The Tar wud have us stayin til Christmas and aaples be damned, but there was black magic at wurk. I cud feel it.

'Weel, that does sound...verry tempting. It's chust these aaples. Y'know what these Gleska merchants can be like.'

'Oh c'mon." said Macphail, 'a few days won't spoil them.'

I elbowed Macphail none too quietly to make my feelings oan the matter all the more plain.

Lord Summerisle smiled 'I've had my dealings with cityfolk, everyone is in a terrible hurry. Oh well, if we cannot tempt you, let us at least help you aboard with your cargo.'

Small mercy that fur aw his heathen ways, he wass still a gentleman. That's gentry fur ye. That Wee Laddie though, a terruble fire in his eyes.

A troop of burly well fed sorts appeared from nowhere and started throwing of the craates to one anither as if they wur boxes o feathers. In no time, the Fital Spark wass sittin fu' and we were settled.

'Macphail and The Tar moped aboot quite put oot by oor swift departure, but Dougie and I wud not huv stayed for anither whole boat fu o apples. We left then, puttin' the Summerisle behind us, with all its heedurum and hoderum, bound for Gleska and civilisation - if you can imagine such a terror.

'If we'd stayed but one night oan that island, we'd huv been hingin aff an apple tree by dawn' I said, to try and cheer up The Tar and Macphail. But it wass to no avail.

The craates of aapples stufft the hold, sure someone had paid a terruble price for that harvest. But nivver let it be said that they weren't the best of apples.

Dougie waas especially fond of them candied.'

Macfarlane grabbed an apple from a nearby barrel and tossed it to me, nodding sagely, having felt he had once again made his point. I was not of a mind to disagree.

A full collection of arcane Para Handy stories The Strange Cargoes of Para Handy is forthcoming. For now, you can read another story in the ebook version of Tales of the Oak. Or enjoy further spooky tales in our ebook Ghost Story collection A Nip In The Air, available on amazon for kindle.

And while we are on a nautical tip...how good is this item...exclusively available from The Dutch Gable House....Ghost Ship in A Bottle...

Now here's the Medieval Baebes doing Summerisle from The Wicker Man soundtrack...

National Poetry Day - Water, Water Everywhere

by sharon with love

Near The Sea

She wore the smoke

Like a veil.

Shrouded in cloud

She waited.

Wanting me to say

I’m sure,

All the things I wanted to say.

But I was so interested 

In the litter,

Gathering in the gutter rain

And the town clock 

Barely visible through the grey,

That I forgot to tell her.

I forgot to say.

The chimes

Echoed through the weather

And the moment

Was washed away

As hopeless, as helpless

As a paper yacht at sea.

She turned

And though the rain

Had matted her hair across her face

In knots and curls

It could not hide those eyes,

Now two hollows, swallowing light,

Empty of me.

Tears fell

On cracked dry lips

That never kissed.

And that was the last boat I missed.

Alice's Wonderland Wedding

This is a wee teeny tiny bit of a Wonderland Wedding story I wrote for Sharon this year (the handmade for realsies one has some specially produced illustrations by Mhairi Robertson Armstrong - they are awesome)

‘Flower girl! Flower girl!’ exclaimed a very agitated Dowager striding towards Alice, ‘Has that cat been peppered?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Alice, adding a little curtsey to help things along.

‘Has your cat been peppered this morning? We need all the cats sneezing for the Queen.’

‘Why should the cats be sneezing?’

‘Good luck of course! The bride should always hope to see sneezing cats on the way to her wedding.’

‘Oh I see,’ said Alice, which was only partly true, ‘Is the Queen getting married?’

‘Indeed she is. Have you got all the things you were sent for?’

Alice knew she didn’t always pay quite enough attention to her elders and betters, but she felt sure that on this occasion she had not been sent anywhere for anything by anyone.

‘Excuse me please, what things do you mean?’ asked Alice.

‘What a stupid Flower Girl you are. The queen can’t get married without something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. It’s bad luck!’

‘Won’t she perhaps have enough good luck with all the sneezing cats?’ enquired Alice.

‘One can never have too much good luck where weddings are concerned,’ suggested the Dowager darkly.

Alice knew very little about weddings, except the bits with cakes, but she did know something about good luck.

‘Horseshoes!’

‘Bless you’ said the Dowager, ‘But it’s your cat that needs peppering, not you.’

‘Horsehoes are good luck,’ explained Alice, ‘we could give the Queen one of those!’

‘She already has a horseshoe.’

‘Perhaps we could give her some more?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, the horses can’t spare that many shoes, we don’t have enough slippers.’

Alice wasn’t sure this conversation was getting her anywhere, though she was starting to feel there was somewhere she ought to be.

‘Well?’ said the Dowager.

‘Well.’ Smiled Alice, assuming this was a polite pause.

‘Run along and get everything this instant! Right foot first! It’s half past eleven now and the Queen is to be married at quarter to three. Hurry along!’

Alice was so startled, that without really knowing where she was going, she hurried off to look for everything.

The story has Alice meeting new and old characters from Wonderland while exploring all sorts of strange wedding folklore. Since writing it, we've had a wee thought about maybe making special bespoke versions for people to give as gifts on Wedding Days. Dunno. If you think that's a good idea, drop me a line. Regardless, if yer after a particularly special gift for any occasion, I would recommend a wee piece of specially commissioned artwork from Mhairi.

You can read more of my literary fanfic, or skip straight to more Wonderland Wedding or Alice's Winter Wonderland....

Ten is Tin

Our 10th anniversary tattoos

Today, Sharon and I celebrate our 10th Wedding Anniversary, very much still in love.

And if you can't be self indulgent on a blog, where else can you be? Well, facebook and twitter obviously, but, I'm on here just now so...

Here is the first poem I wrote for Sharon not long after we started 'going steady', which I also read out on our wedding day, ten years ago...

All I don't say
Could fill the sky
Scrawled and scribbled
Across the heavens
For only you to see.
All I don't say
You've heard before,
Well meant and whispered
In soft light.
All I don't say,
You already know.

Going to Mars on MAVEN

Always been a big fan of Mars, so earlier in the month myself and my son Connor wrote some haiku to be sent aboard the Maven space probe to Mars. Poetry...on mars! Get in.

Here are Connor's two...

In the red life of
Dust, there was shining water
Flowing, through the rocks.

You and your friends are
Floating in your rocket while
Reading this poem.

He decided to send the first one. You can vote for Connor's entry here

I went with

In the red silence
Old ice cracks and bursts with life.
Soon we will hear it.

Do happy tripods
Build little red sandcastles
Down by the canals?

I've sent the second one, and am now wondering if there's a gap in the market for a kids book featuring Lil HG Wells Martians frolicking across the arid landscape of Mars.

Red Weeds

It being almost Martian invasion time (HG Wells Martians invaded in the summertime), here's a wee excerpt from my War of the Worlds story Terminus, which is a collection of personal histories, poetry and banned texts detailing the truth of the Martian invasion.

“While visiting a friend in Southsea recently, I was fortunate enough to be invited to an evening dance in one of the many villas. The hostess - a charming lady renknowned for such gatherings - had arranged for a medium to be present, perhaps to give a small show during the band's intermission. At first I must confess to thinking this a terribly vulgar addition to so formal an evening - I believe such characters to be charlatans who should remain at the furthest away end of any seaside pier. My friend shared my opinion, but in the interests of etiquette, we stayed silent on this matter.

The intermission arrived, and a woman took to the stage. She introduced herself as a Mrs. Guppy and I must admit that she was not the sort of swarthy individual I had been expecting. Indeed she looked entirely at home in such company. After the traditional summoning up of various deceased family members, she looked toward my friend with a great deliberation. She asked - though it sounded very little like a request - that he should join her on stage.

Naturally my colleague complied, though I am certain he would have done almost anything to avoid this fate. She lulled my friend into a sleep, and explained that through him, she was going to 'channel' a message from the stars. I was incredulous and asked why she could not channel this message herself. Mrs. Guppy explained to myself and the crowd that there were only certain of us who could receive these messages. And while she herself could not, she was able to "sense" those who could. Such bunkum continued for a further five minutes, and I was surprised to see that the rest of the audience were enthralled by her theosophist babblings.

After a time, I began to see a change come over my friend, his complexion paled and although his eyes were now opened, he seemed to be staring into space. I was about to move toward the stage to rouse him from his trance, when all of sudden...there was the most frightful howl. It took me a few moments to realise that the source of the noise was my friend himself. Again he howled "Ulla! Ulla!". The sound was like no other I have heard before, and it was obvious that my friend could not be the true source of so inhuman a cry. I resolved to wake him from his stupor, for I had the most definite belief that he was in danger. The howling rang out again, certain of the ladies were beginning to weep and couples were making to leave. I stepped toward the stage and reached out for my colleague. Mrs. Guppy chastised me sharply. 'Do not touch him. Despite what you hear..he is not in pain. It would be more dangerous for you to wake him from this trance so suddenly. I will bring him back.'

I asked her what the noise was....where it was coming from. I still hoped -half heartedly-that there was some sort of theatrics involved. She turned from me and addressed the remnants of her audience. 'This is the sound of the dead planet Mars preparing their forces for attack. You will hear this sound again. When they arrive.'

Mrs. Guppy woke my friend gently, and then left the stage."

Terminus is part of the Stramashed ebook which, as has been previously noted, costs less than many of todays popular chocolate bars, with markedly better impacts on health.

Here's an even briefer excerpt, a wee Martian invasion haiku

Dead trees are daubed 
In gaudy red violence 
As the weed marches.

And if you would like to send actual haiku to Mars, the MAVEN spacecraft which is heading to Mars this November, is looking for your poetry. You have until July 1st to enter and potentially have your name and poem basting off towards the supposedly dead planet Mars...

Doctor Who - Schadenfreude

There are not many constants in life, Doctor Who is one of mine. Peter Davison is My Doctor, the one I enjoyed writing stories about and pretending to be when I was 8 years old. I've written some Doctor Who fan fiction before, quite indulgent, but comforting - like ferrero rocher.  

Nyssa tried very hard not to smile as The Doctor wandered crestfallen from the cricket field.
"Bad luck."
He glared at her politely and stomped off towards the Pavillion.
"Or not."
"Did you see that?" he asked "Did you see what he did? Totally inappropriate!"
"Totally." agreed Nyssa.
"Celebrating like that…"
"Entirely unsporting." she shook her head, "Can we go to the fete now? I thought that's why we were here. 'The best church fete and custard scones in the galaxy' you said."
"Well I'm certainly not going to dignify the rest of this match by watching it. Disgraceful."
The Doctor grumbled off to get changed.

"I was expecting it to be a bit more…picturesque?" said Nyssa.
The Doctor looked at the rows of vandalised cottages; here and there, dustbins burned gently. In the short half mile walk of the village main street, they had passed two ambulances and three police cars attending various incidents, including the rescue of a man who had become trapped under a grand piano he was trying to lift up some stairs.
"Yes. It has been a few years since I've visited…but all the same…"
"Look out!"
Nyssa jumped into the road, pulling an elderly lady back onto the pavement, out of the way of an out of control ice cream van.
"Oh! Thank you dear!"
"Are you alright?" asked The Doctor.
"Getting so you can't go out your front door this week."
"It's been like this all week?"
"Yes dear. At first it actually seemed rather funny, that local councillor slipped on a banana peel and fell down an open manhole, but then the really bizarre things started happening - raining frogs at rush hour or houses being hit by meteors and frozen…toilet stuff…from planes."
"So…a very unfortunate place to be then Mrs..?"
"…Pepperton."
"Delighted to meet you Mrs Pepperton. I'm The Doctor and this is Nyssa. Now, before all this started happening…was there any unusual activity, lights in the sky, that sort of thing?"
"Oh no. Nothing like that round here. Only thing that's happened in Shepley recently is them starting to build that new supermarket no one wants."
"Nothing unusual there I'm afraid Mrs Pepperton."
"They've had to stop though…since they discovered that time capsule."

Mrs Pepperton showed them into the museum.
"And it's been on show in here for the last week?" asked The Doctor.
"Yes…not much to see really. There was a big hole in it when they dug it up. A couple of little straw soldier dollies inside..."
The rusting capsule and the accompanying dolls were in a glass case in the corner of the room. The Doctor started searching through his pockets, eventually producing his sonic screwdriver. He began examining the capsule.
"A few folk think that one looks like Hitler, but I'm not convinced..." said Mrs Pepperton.
"There is definitely a malignant energy," he said.
"That's probably just the community council meeting upstairs…" said Mrs Pepperton.
Nyssa looked at the box.
"It doesn't look very old."
"It isn't," said the Doctor, "mid 1940s I'd say. There!"
"What?"
"I think I've isolated the source. Let's get back to the TARDIS and follow it back along the timeline. Back soon Mrs Pepperton."
"Be careful!" suggested Nyssa.

The TARDIS had materialised near a small forest at dusk. The Doctor and Nyssa quietly walked towards the small fire visible through the trees. Two figures moved around the flames, chanting.
"What are they doing?" asked Nyssa.
"Well...it looks like a really rather traditional black magic ritual."
"Does that require them to be naked?"
"Generally that depends on the ritual. Or the coven. Or the weather actually. We’re near midsummer. Midwinter magic usually involves a lot more robes and jumpers."
"And this dancing and chanting is actually magic?"
"Well...they certainly think it is. That’s half the battle. Come on, if we get a little closer maybe we can make out what’s really going on."
As they drew nearer, it became clear that it was two rather elderly gentlemen that were standing in the clearing.
"Hill.Ash. Land. Flesh. Baals fire ever burns. Flesh. Stone. Tree. Bone. Baals fire ever burns!"
"Oh great ones! From beyond our ken...listen to our supplication and....join us!"
There was a slightly awkward silence while nothing happened. One of the old men coughed.
"Did you bring that flask of tea Jack? My knackers are going to drop right off if I don't warm up here."
"Wilf! We’re in the middle of the summoning. And it said in the book we had to be 'skyclad' for it to work properly."
"Well its no wonder Irene didn’t come when you told her that. You’re very lucky not to have got a black eye for your trouble."
"Yes. She was a bit upset about that wasn’t she?"
"I'm not in the best of moods myself Jack! We’re supposed to be Home Guard not up in the forest playing Merlin and Mandrake with voodoo dolls."
"This is Home Guard. If we get this ritual right the war could be over by September."
The air fizzed and crackled, there was a low gurgling laugh.
"What’s that? What’s happening?"
"It’s working. It’s working! Focus on the box."
The trees shook and splintered as the laughter gave way to a manic giggling.
"It’s coming through the trees!"
"The box Wilf!"
Nyssa looked worried.
"Doctor?
"Interesting!"
"I thought magic wasn’t real. It seems to have worked."
"In a manner of speaking. Look out! Its coming."
"What is it?"
"It’s a Ghanfelik! And it looks terribly hungry!"
"A what?!"
"Ghanfelik. A sort of trans-dimensional imp. It creates bad luck and feeds on the resultant negative energy. Usually more inconvenient than evil."
There was a shriek and a muffled crunch as the huge creature stood on Jack.
"Though this one may be the exception to the rule."
Wilf ran towards them screaming, still holding the box.
"Drop the box!" shouted the Doctor "It's being dragged towards the power in the..."
Wilf was squashed nosily underfoot. The Ghanfelik glared briefly and ravenously at the Doctor and Nyssa before disappearing. The box rattled angrily, and then was still.
"Those poor men." said Nyssa.
"Yes. Well…misguided, but brave. Still, we know what we're dealing with now. So, let's get back to Shepley and sort it out."

Things had not improved in Shepley, the fire station had caught fire. Mrs Pepperton was trying to help put it out with increasingly leaky buckets of water.
"So how do we get rid of it?" asked Nyssa, dodging a randomly tossed custard pie.
"What we need is a concentration of negative energy to lure it…Mrs Pepperton, I need you to go and speak to the people in charge of the fete, I think I know how to catch it."

There were stories told about the last Shepley Fete for many years; how you couldn't win the bottle stalls, that the fortune tellers all overcharged and then gave you bad news and that the prizes in the fixed raffle were all awful. But mostly people remembered when a big green monster rampaged through the car park and squashed the local radio roadshow truck upon which the Old Folks Home display team had just started their zumba demonstration. It was chasing a man dressed in his cricket whites and a girl in a very plummy jumpsuit.
"Run…into the tarot reading tent!" shouted the Doctor.
The Ghanfelik ran after them both, disappearing into the tent, which promptly started wheezing and then collapsed entirely as the TARDIS inside disappeared.

By the time the Doctor and Nyssa returned for some of the famous Shepley Custard Scones, the town was already on the mend.
"It wasn't keen on leaving the TARDIS was it?"
"Yes, a real shame, we had to jettison so many rooms. I was very fond of that swimming pool. Still, can always build another."
"Could it really have caused all that bad luck Doctor?"
"Hmmm. Most of it. Though it would have required the folk of Shepley to give it a foothold. Mind you, I suppose it could explain my performance at the cricket match earlier. That was very unlucky."
"Hmmm. Very." said Nyssa. "Speaking of which, there's the Captain of the other team."
"Really? Being rude to someone is he?"
Nyssa pointed across the street to where the man was walking past some of the rebuilding work that was already underway on the main street of the village. As he passed a scaffold, a pot of paint toppled off, hitting him squarely on the head and covering him in light pink paint.
Nyssa silenced The Doctor's laughter with a very stern look. He gave an embarrassed cough.
"Yes. Well. Probably just some residual energy. Let's just get back to the TARDIS shall we?"
"Yes lets. Carefully."