Aslan

Tags

Aslan, C S Lewis, Lion Witch Wardrobe, Narnia

Photos by Candia Dixon-Stuart

What is the Subtext?

Tags

Blighty, Bradford on Avon, Caligula, Edward Pevensie, fauns, Laocoon, Lapland, Narnia, Queen of Narnia, sheepskin rug, Turkish Delight, White Witch

Drusilla was back in Blighty after her week in Turkey.  Now she

had to post last minute cards and mark a load of mock papers.

Thank goodness her mother was doing all the Christmas cooking

down in Bradford-on-Avon.  She was enjoying being looked after by

Diana, and her father, Augustus, would arrive for Christmas in a few

days, bringing a goose, apparently, as his festive contribution.

Added to the seasonal burden of activity, she had to make a visit to

Great-Aunt Augusta in Snodland Nursing Home for the Debased Gentry.

She had let her father off the hook, as far as accompanying her,

as he had a prostate appointment, but the demanding self-appointed

materfamilias really preferred to have a one-to-one session with her

new-found female relative, Dru suspected.

Dru telephoned the care home beforehand, to check that the old

battleaxe was still in the Land of the Living.  No use in wasting petrol.

She spoke to switchboard and was connected to her aunt’s room

straight away.

Aunt Augusta?

Yes, dear.  Did you get that money?  I never trust postmen nowadays..

Yes, thank you. I’ll be down on Tuesday afternoon.

You bought the Turkish Delight I asked you to get me?

Of course.

Good.  Edward Pevensie’s favourite!

Who is Edward..? (Maybe it was some old codger she played

at Bridge.)

Haven’t you read the Chronicles of Narnia?  her aunt broke in.

I give sweet things to the staff here.  That’s what The White Witch

did.  Good for controlling minions.

Drusilla began to have serious doubts that she should have indulged

the old bat’s whims, especially if she was going to be manipulative

with the spoils.

Like The Queen of Narnia, her great-aunt had no children of her own

and was probably making a move to adopt her grand-niece.  Great-Aunt

Augusta seemed to share the evil child enslaver’s regal propensity for

focussing on the negative aspects of others’ characters and playing

down any faults of her own.  But the aged relative was actually openly

admitting to corrupting others by creating sugar cravings.

Dru realised that she was genetically linked to a witch!

The next thing will be that she starts to blame lying fauns for her

detected wrongdoings, Dru mused, while the old fiend rattled on.

I’ve looked out all the old photos, Aunt Augusta continued.  There’s

one of your father lying naked on a sheepskin rug, aged about six

months.

Can’t wait, lied Dru.  Oh, someone’s at the door.  Must go!  See you

on Tuesday.

She wasn’t lying.  A member of the allegedly untrustworthy Guild

of Hermes was holding out a contraption on which she had to inscribe

an identifying mark.  He was standing in a veritable Laocoon of elastic

bands.

Merry Christmas, love!  he smiled, holding out a padded envelope which

should have been able to have been slipped through the letterbox. He

was lingering just a fraction too obviously, in keeping with the time of

year.  Ah no, to be fair, it required a signature.

Thanks! replied Dru.  Same to you.  And she shut the door somewhat

distractedly.

For once, the package was actually addressed to her and wasn’t for

the neighbours. It had been re-directed from the school boarding

house.  Gosh!  The office staff must still be working.

What could it be and who was it from?

At least the postperson hadn’t put one of those wretched cards

through the letterbox, necessitating a scurried trip to the office to

collect whatever it was.

She took a creased fiver from her purse and hurried out in her slippers.

He was easy to spot in his luminous waistcoat.

Merry Christmas!  She tipped him just before he chalked some esoteric

symbol on their gate post, which would have meant that their mail

would possibly have been permanently re-directed to Lapland.

Cheers! he grinned, dropping a couple more elastic bands on the path

in his adrenalin rush of greed and pushing his trolley into the lane.

Oh well, Aunt Augusta’s over-generous paper flourish had come in handy

after all. Yet, every gift seemed to be a bribe of one sort or another.

She looked at the sender label on the back of the package.  Cryptically it

only read: “Caligula” and was postmarked as having originated in Cornwall.

She ripped the padded envelope open.  A little black velvet pouch with

drawstrings was revealed.  She pulled the knotted strings and a fine gold

chain with a tiny gold harp slid into the palm of her hand.  A card

accompanied the gift and it said:

To My Angel xx

What is the subtext? she asked herself.

Dru!  Who was that?

No one, she lied.  Just something for the neighbours.

Magical Baby

Tags

Alice Through Looking Glass, doodling, Down Under, flat white, Grandad, Grandma, Grandparent, magical baby, Narnia, Picasso's napkins, Skype, toy monkey

What is this scribble,

Candia? Brassie asked,

picking up my napkin in

Costamuchamoulah must-

seen cafe.

I cannot help doodling

and I had certain things

on my mind as it neared

Christmas.

What is this Magical Baby

all about? she persisted.

Well, the first frame shows

a plan for a picture of the

baby surrounded by animals

from Down Under.  The baby

is on the other side of the

world from its grandparents,

which makes them sad.

Frame 3 shows Grandma

logging on to Skype and the

picture appearing which

illustrates MB and her

Mummy. 

MB has mush round her mouth and is sucking a toy monkey.  When she

sees Grandma, she smiles and the monkey drops out of her mouth.

She dribbles and drools and then she screams.

Grandma instinctively holds out her arms and MB steps right through

the screen and into her arms.  Now Grandma can pat her big nappy and

cuddle her.

Mummy wonders how MB did that amazing feat!

Grandma smells her head and tickles her and MB blows bubbles and

gives Grandma one of her BEST smiles.

Grandad is looking over Grandma’s shoulder.

Suddenly MB’s face changes colour.  She grows redder and redder,

more and more purple and madder and madder.

Grandma hands her back through the monitor to Mummy and

monkey.

In the 15th frame Mummy asks again how MB managed to do that.

Grandma tells her that all babies are magical and in the 16th she adds

that all mummies and daddies are too.

Finally, she asserts that all Grandmas and Grandads are also magical.

That’s really sweet, Candia.  Most unlike you.  I think it’s a great idea,

especially for a book which grandparents could send to their distant

grandchildren.  It would express their longing to hold and touch their

loved ones.  Why don’t you approach a publisher?  It looks as if you could

practically illustrate it yourself.

No, it was just an idea.  But maybe if I put it on my posting, someone will

be interested and might approach me about it.  It kind of fits in with Alice

through the Looking Glass, or going through the wardrobe to Narnia sort of

thing.

Next you’ll be selling your doodled napkins, like Picasso!  Hey, maybe you

will be able to offer the proprietors of Costamuchamoulah a drawing in

exchange for a couple of Flat Whites and a Florentine or two! over-enthused

Brassie.

And maybe not! I replied, scrunching up my drawings and stuffing them in

my bag.

 

(copyright Candia Dixon-Stewart- except for the name ‘Magical Baby’, which I have since discovered has been used by someone else commercially, although I thought of it independently.  I suppose if a publisher was interested, I could think of an alternative title.)

Travels To Their Aunt 1

Tags

Alastair Sim, Grade 8 music exam, Graham Greene, Grayson Perry, Lemon Drizzle cake, Macduff, Marisa Robles, Maxime de Paris, Narnia, Snodland, The Importance of Being Earnest, Wilde

Drusilla Fotheringay-Syylk had dispensed with the second part of her

double-barrelled surname, since discovering that Syylk was not her

biological father.  She was whole-heartedly embracing a new relationship

with her real pater, Mr Augustus Snodbury.  Teaching was clearly in her

genes.

Her mother, Diana, was attempting to clear out her spare room, in order to

create more room for her computer and printer and so she had the inspired

idea of arranging for Drusilla’s harp, on which she had gained Grade 8 once

upon a time, to be transported to St Vitus’ Boarding House, where her

daughter just might take up her musical passion once more.

Diana came across a box file of cuttings and she had to blink back a tear

as she read the faded headline in the local newspaper: Fingers of an Angel-

pluck-y pupil pulls all the heartstrings at local festival.  And there was the

young Drusilla receiving her certificate of commendation from no other than

the famous harpist, Marisa Robles, who had actually played the theme tune

to Narnia on Dru’s instrument.

While her mother valiantly made progress, Dru and her father were heading

towards Kent, to a nursing home in Snodland, to be precise, where Aunt

Augusta, or Great-Aunt Augusta was counting out her days in Premium Bonds.

She has checked herself into a hydro hotel in the first years of her widowhood,

but hadn’t been too keen on taking water in any form, so had decamped to a

gracious mansion with care staff.

Dru was curious to meet this relative after whom her father derived his

forename. She wondered if she would be anything like the Aunt Augusta

in Wilde’s play, or Graham Greene’s novel.  She studied the black and

white photograph of this newly- to-be-introduced relative which Gus had

produced and she could clearly see the family jowls.  In fact, she thought

that  Augusta looked incredibly like Claire, Grayson Perry’s alter-ego.  She

would have made an incredible headmistress, in Dru’s opinion- somewhat

in the style of Alastair Sim, in drag.

Gus explained that she had been richly left, as Portia had been, but although

the well-endowed widow had helpfully paid for his school fees, thus creating

obligation- there was no such thing as a free uniform-his parents had come

under a degree of emotional blackmail over the years. Indeed, she continued

to exert control even now, as she was always threatening to cut him out of

her will, if he did not visit every half term.

Gus had written his aged relative a letter to explain Drusilla and to express

her wish to meet her great-aunt.  He didn’t want to give Augusta a heart

attack. Or did he?  No, he really didn’t.  Not really.

Dru had furnished herself with a box of Maxime de Paris choccies and a bottle

of Dewlap Gin for the Discerning Grandmother.  She thought the authorities

might just let the old lady have a nip or two at aperitif time.  The proprietor of

Pop My Cork! , the Suttonford wine merchant, had assured her- most

unprofessionally thought Dru-, that a female nonagenarian neighbour in High

Street adored the tipple and practically derived her entire nutritional input from

the potent brew and small, but regular, helpings of Lemon Drizzle cake.

Here we are, sighed Gus, putting on the handbrake and girding up his loins.

Oh, is this it?  It’s very grand, isn’t it?

Dru refreshed her nude lip salve and powdered her nose.  She wanted to

make a good impression.

Right! Lead on, Macduff! she said.

Lay on , Drusilla.  Don’t they teach anything correctly any more?

She hoped this wouldn’t be a bad omen.  She so wanted to get it right.

The importance of being earnest and all that..

But unfortunately she had left the bottle in the boot.