Welcome, Autumn

A few days ago I was reflecting on the differing seasons in Sylvania. This chain of thought followed from a comment Chris Snow-Warren made when he was leaving after one of our work sessions. We were ambling through the garden, enjoying the late sun, when Chris nodded to a yellowed vine in the border.

"The leaves are turning, Jack. We should enjoy their colour while we can; they'll soon be dropping," he said. "Autumn has sneaked up on us this year. Haven't you noticed how the wind has changed? It is decidedly nippy."

I had to agree. Out of the sunshine it was definitely colder than of late; we had been spoiled with a spate of warm weather, so the change did seem abrupt. As I waved Chris goodbye, I thought how lucky Mellowdene was to have the protection of the mountains to the north. Other parts of the country would have moved into autumn a few weeks back. More weirdly, according to Rowan, there were some regions where the seasons were completely reversed - although I'm never quite sure how much of what he tells me is in jest... No matter. I'd never be an expert on geographical variations when it came to the climate of our country. Some places are uncomfortably hot, some unpleasantly cold, but we are nicely in the middle. The fact was - Chris had it right; we should welcome autumn, the reds, golds and russets in the trees, and be glad to be alive.

Back in the house, Brendan ran up to me, his eyes bright, a smile splitting his face so much I wondered if he'd dislocate his jaw.

"Gopher's alive!" he yelled, then he ran off again. I would later find out that he had just returned from an early Telly Party at Lucky's house, that he had gone because a new autumn television schedule heralded a new season of Flash Gopher shows - this one called Flash Gopher and the Gonks of the Emerald Planet - and the hero had survived whatever had saddened Brendan earlier in the year.

There was an appetising fruity odour from the kitchen - damsons, I thought. Cecile was singing whilst jam making. That in itself was a reason to welcome autumn.

I smiled. A productive day songwriting. A deliriously happy son. Damson jam. Time for a doze.

o 0 O 0 o

I opened my eyes to see we had visitors.

Captain Horatio Seadog was standing there, a grin on his face. He was accompanied by his crewman - young Oscar Marmalade - and another small figure wrapped up in a pale brown hooded coat. Cecile called belatedly from outside the room. "Visitors, Jack."

I swung my legs down from the sofa. "So I see. Hello, Horatio. What's new?"

"Disturbing you, eh, Jacky boy?" he smiled.

He always called me that as if he was a generation older than me. He wasn't. I knew his words were always good-natured so I treated his question as rhetorical. I gave him a smile and turned to his companions.

"Hello, Oscar. How's your family?"

"Good, thank you, Mr Butterglove."

I looked at the third visitor, barely visible beneath his hood. "And who's our friend, here?"

"That's why we're here, Jacky boy. He was a surprise passenger on the Marita May."

"I found him," said Oscar.

"That's right," said Horatio. "In the forward hold. He weresn't there when we last looked. That was somewhere between Possum Creek and the river mouth. We made a few short stops along the way so he must've come aboard at one o' them."

"Okay," I said, knowing that our grizzled captain would come to the point when he was ready.

"Well, I asked who he was, but he weresn't saying much. Once ashore we took him to the dock snack bar, gave him a drink and a bowl of soup, but he barely said a word. He said he wouldn't take off his coat but that was about it."

"Shy?"

"Maybe. Or maybe he's used to warmer climes."

"But he wouldn't tell you his name. Curious."

Oscar spoke up. "I asked who he was when I found him in the hold. He said 'Autumn', Mr Butterglove."

"Not likely to be his name, Oscar lad," said Horatio.

"We have to call him something. It will do until we know any different," I said, smiling at the hooded figure that was turning slowly to look about the room.

"Fair point," said Horatio.

"So why bring him here, Horatio?"

"Oh yeah." He rummaged in his pocket and brought out a piece of folded paper. "He showed us this when he'd finished his soup."

Unfolding it, Horatio handed it to me. It was an article torn out of a music magazine. There was mention of "the song-writing partnership of Butterglove & Snow-Warren, based in Mellowdene." My name was circled.

"You think he came to visit me?" I asked, and when Horatio shrugged, I moved to look into the depths of the hood.

"Welcome, Autumn. I'm the Butterglove in this article."

Nothing was said for a few moments, then the figure reached up and pulled back its hood. It was a young rabbit.

"It's not 'Autumn'. It's Orton. Orton Butterglove."

o 0 O 0 o

I was conscious of the silence that followed but wasn't sure what I wanted to say. This young rabbit had been - it appeared - searching for me because we shared a family name. However, he still appeared a touch uncertain and I didn't want to scare him by saying something inappropriate. It was Horatio who broke the silence.

"Well, I'll be a blue-spotted haddock. You're a Butterglove like dear Jackson here! You won't want me and young Oscar hanging about when you've got private things to talk about. We'll be on our way if that's okay with you, young Orton. Ha! Autumn, Orton." He lowered his voice to ask me a question. "Do you want me to find Cecile?"

I nodded. "Kitchen."

Orton watched as Captain SeaDog and Oscar Marmalade left the room and then he turned to me.

He chewed his lip, and I had the impression he was deciding what to say - after all, he'd traveled an unknown distance to find me. I didn't have too long to wait.

"My dadda's granddad came from Mellowdene. He was called Hubert."

I had vague memories of being told about a great-uncle who left the village before I was born. I was fairly sure he was called Hubert. "So, we're related?"

"Don't know. Think so."

"Come on, take off your coat..." I began, immediately sensing that he wasn't yet ready to do that, "...or at least remove your hood so that we can talk properly."

He appeared to debate this before unbuttoning his hood, laying it carefully on the floor. He backed up to the sofa and perched on the edge.

"Where are your parents, Orton?" I ventured.

His eyes started to well up with tears, which he tried to wipe away with the back of his sleeve. He sniffed.

"My dadda and mamma are explorers. We travel about and look for special animals. Last time I had a cold so they made me stay behind for the day. But they didn't come back." His voice dwindled to nothing and his chin dropped to his chest.

Cecile entered, drying her hands on a towel.

I briefly explained the situation whilst Orton continued to sniff.

"Okay," she said in a business-like voice, giving me the towel. "Go and see Merlin and ask him to delay the meal. Explain what has happened and have him look after the children. Then bring Eliza back here."

She turned to Orton and held out her arms. "I'm your Auntie Cecile. Come here, dear."

o 0 O 0 o

It emerged that Orton's parents were scientists, documenting rare animals around Sylvania. On their expeditions they took Orton with them, home-schooling him rather than being separated from him for long periods. Three weeks ago, like Orton had said, he had been suffering from a cold and his parents had decided that he shouldn't accompany them on their brief sea journey. This was so they could check a reported sighting of some obscure reef-dwelling creature. They had prevailed upon the boarding house to keep an eye on Orton for the afternoon, but their boat never returned.

Searches were made, but these proved fruitless. There was concern for the boy's welfare, not knowing whether to make long or short term provision, as there was no record of any other family to take care of him. This resulted in a decision to have him stay at a local orphanage - which did not go down well with Orton. He didn't socialise with other residents and felt they'd given up on his parents. By chance he found an article in a magazine Sylvanian Arts and Music, and this led to his decision to seek out his relations until his mamma and dadda returned.

When Cecile told us all this, I was amazed that she had managed to extract all this information in such a short time, but the boy was still understandably sad and withdrawn. That was until Eliza left us and then re-entered with Snorker on her heels.

Orton's eyes became as round as the Marita May's portholes when he saw Eliza's adored pet.

"It's a Snodgrass-Hepple Hog!" he declared, the excitement undisguised. "Isn't he great?"

Eliza ushered Snorker towards him, and the mountain hog issued friendly kissing noises as per usual. "He's lovely isn't he?" said Eliza,  "He's called Snorker."

"Can I stroke him? Will he mind?"

"If you're gentle he will love it."

Orton fell to his knees, stroking Snorker with exaggerated care. Snorker responded happily.

Cecile picked up the hood and sniffed it. Looking at me she mouthed, "Needs a clean." To Orton she remarked, "You know - Snorker would love a cuddle, but your coat may get in the way. That's right, isn't it, Auntie Eliza?"

"It is," said Eliza, chuckling.

Coat discarded, Orton and Snorker cuddled whilst Eliza continued to smile, watching them. She inclined her head toward Cecile. "We can hope his parents are found, but in the meantime he'll need lots of support. Snorker will help,"

"We all will, Eliza."

"And we've got that spare room, you know."

"I know, Eliza."

o 0 O 0 o

And that's how our family gained another member. For how long, we wouldn't know. All we could do was welcome Orton into our hearts and, like autumn, enjoy the colour he would bring into our lives.

Merlin, Eliza and Snorker welcome Orton
as Beverley, Jackson, Russell, Cecile and Brendan watch