From the pages of the Mellowdene Examiner (1/5)

The celebrated Sylvanian wit Oscar Wildebeest once said "There's only one thing worse than being talked about; it's being sung at by a tone deaf donkey in a locked bathroom."

Hi. As you've probably guessed, it's Darcy Fielding here. You may be wondering why I opened with that quotation. It's something I tell myself when I want cheering up - a sort of "well - things could be worse."

And now you're probably wondering why I'd want to do that. Well - sadly - Jackson has let me down.

That was my first thought today, but I now realise I was being unfair. Jackson is under no obligation to write these pieces for Life in Mellowdene. It's just that he usually gives me plenty of notice if he can't manage to complete something. This time, I heard nothing.

When time was approaching my usual publication date, I phoned Butterglove House to find out if I'd missed some prior communication. Cecile answered.

"Oh hi, Cecile," I said, "It's Darcy. Is Jackson in?"

She didn't answer immediately. In retrospect, she seemed a little unsure of herself. And then she said, "Hello, Darcy. No. I'm afraid he's away."

"Oh. Songwriting business I expect. No matter. It's just that.... did he leave me any papers, articles, anything for me like that?"

"Erm, No, Sorry Darcy. He went rather suddenly."

"Ah. Okay. Well, thanks Cecile. Maybe I can have a word with him when he gets back."

"Okay. 'Bye."

Then she put down the phone. I thought it was a little out of character, but I had other things on my mind. I had an article to write. Or did I? I had all my newspaper archives. Harry Hawthorne (my lead reporter, you may recall) had recently done one of his food reports. I could use that.

And so I have. Here it is.

o 0 O 0 o

Hawthorne's Hunger - The Doughty Hamburger Wagon

(from the Mellowdene Examiner archives)
(Reporter: Harry Hawthorne)

After last month's article on the Summer menu from the Mousehole / Seaside Restaurant, I felt I should avoid another five course meal and check out one of the smaller culinary outlets in Mellowdene. The question was, where was this place? It tends to move about. I am, of course, talking about the new mobile catering establishment that is The Hamburger Wagon.

I met up with Gordon Doughty at the edge of the village green where he had earlier been providing nourishing snacks for a family sports day event.


I asked him what had given him the idea to create a mobile kitchen. Did he think there'd been a need?

"Not a need as such," he replied. "but I believed that people would warm to the idea. It occurred to me that there must be places other than restaurants and cafés where hot food would be welcomed."

There had been queues when I first arrived so Gordon appeared to have made a correct assessment. And Sylvanians do like good food. I mentioned this.

"That's true. There are many good amateur cooks throughout the country, and Mellowdene has its fair share. I was talking to Burrell Hazelwood (of Mice & Clean) a while back and according to him even the librarian is quite talented in the culinary arts. All of which reminds us that we need to ensure we have a high quality product."

He went on.

"With events like the one here, ordinarily villagers would bring picnic food. Some might bring flasks of tea or coffee. Rarely you might find flasks of soup. So the opening for decent hot food was always there."

I asked if there had been any feedback from other catering outlets.

"Quite positive actually. We cater for different markets. The Mousehole does the high end evening meals. Marion Brighteyes at the Blackcurrant Café provides some of our pastries which boosts her business and the Watermill Bakery. And when Pickleweed's Pizza Emporium opens they will concentrate on home deliveries."

I knew that his entire family were keen chefs. I asked who was best.

"Why me, of course," he laughed. "But seriously, it's healthy competition and we learn from each other. It's not just me and my wife Delia. My brother Heston is showing an increased interest - he's cooking today, by the way - and my children are keen tasters. If something doesn't meet their approval we look seriously at the menu."

I had heard a rumour that they had some notable help from outside the family. I asked if he could confirm this.

"Ah yes, it's true. We have Sawyer Honeydew inventing some incredible finger food for us. Again, with the amount of excellent home cooks, it's good to be able to offer something different and exciting."

You may recall that I mentioned freelance master chef Sawyer Honeydew in an early Hungry Hawthorne report - he periodically meets with Basil and Betty Hazelwood at the Mousehole to design new dishes for their menus.

"There's no crossover there," Gordon assured me. "I think Sawyer enjoys the difference in the sorts of food he designs for us as compared with the food for Basil. Here, let me show you."

That was my opportunity to sample some of Gordon's menu and Heston's cooking.

As usual, I was in danger of over-indulging. Regarding the food I have one comment: 

You must try it.

As I waved goodbye to Gordon and Heston, Delia turned up in their rented car ready to move the wagon. Bartering with the car company - quality food for the sporadic loan of a car - works well for both of them. Community catering at work.

o 0 O 0 o

I've just noticed something linking Harry's piece with Jackson's last article about Horatio Seadog's birthday. This also mentioned the Hamburger Wagon. I love these weird coincidences.

So that's it for this week. Short and sweet. I am a little concerned about Cecile, though. Did I imagine it or was she unsettled? I may be an editor and publisher, but I still have my reporter's nose for a story. If I haven't heard from Jackson by tomorrow, I think I'll go and see if Cecile's okay.

o 0 O 0 o

Howlaree

I had a deja vu moment a few months ago when, having succumbed to a doze on the settee following a vigorous spate of gardening (Perry Babblebrook's horticultural endeavours must have inspired me), I opened my eyes to see a member of the Seadog family regarding me. It wasn't Horatio this time; the wry grin and whiskered face belonged to his brother Amos. And this time there wasn't an accompanying mysterious boy in a hooded coat.

 "Hello Jack. Sorry to wake you, but your boy Brendan sent me through. He's gone to fetch Cecile."

"Oh hi, Amos. Seeing you here has just given me a flashback to when Horatio brought Orton to us."

"Ha! I haven't seen the lad in a couple of months. He used to pop in to visit us at the snack bar fairly regularly when he first arrived, although I suppose he's busy with his friends these days."

"He's definitely settled, Amos." I stretched and looked at dapper dog before me. Tailed coat, shiny buttons, experience shining in his eyes, this nautical dog spent more time ashore these days, working at the docks. The moss green tinged scar on his forehead and permanent discolouration of the adjacent whiskers were evidence of his more adventurous younger days when he fell foul of a spiny grindlefish.

"Ah, that's as it should be. Deep little chap. Horatio's got a soft spot for him," he smiled before raising a paw as if to make a point, "as he has for all your family. That's why I'm here."

"Go on."

"I'll wait 'til Cecile comes through to tell you both, if that's okay. But I will say it's about his birthday. It's a special one."

o 0 O 0 o

It seemed Horatio didn't want his special birthday to be public knowledge and trusted us not to share the fact. It wasn't that he had a problem getting older. He simply didn't want the fuss that doggy traditionalists associated with certain birthdays. There were a few Mellowdenians that fit this profile. I should explain.

I suppose it's a race thing. Rabbits tend to like big families. Cats often enjoy displaying a degree of independence - Merlin highlighted that in his story of Hawkshade. Dogs... well they often like to enjoy pack activities. Doing things with other dogs. I'm not saying they're antisocial with the rest of us; far from it. It's hard to find a friendlier group when interacting with the vast range of critters here. And yet most Mellowdenian dogs don't live in the middle of the village. They visit frequently but their homes are mainly in the grasslands found downstream in the county. Plenty of space to run about, play stickball and other canine activities.

There are exceptions. Notably the Seadogs live in the village, although Horatio's voyages do take him away periodically. Also, I should mention Kelly and Millie Bassett who run the boarding house - but even they foster a range of other young dogs.

Maybe Horatio's nautical wandering is a symptom of avoiding too many pack activities? Oh, I don't know. I do know that his family had agreed to downplay the significance of his birthday and hold a quiet family dinner. At some point Horatio thought it might be nice if Cecile and I attended. This probably gave his wife Jane the idea to ask Cecile to make her husband a birthday cake - the main reason for Amos's visit - so that the event was at least marked in some way.

Every seven years (an ansept in their terminology), a dog's birthday is considered special. The reasons seem unclear but the traditionalists celebrate it with numerous activities, more extensive each time. And Horatio's birthday this year was the sixth of these anseptal events that usually culminated with a "Howlaree". The seventh ansept would be huge, but the sixth would still give rise to a significant Howlaree.

o 0 O 0 o

"What's a Howlaree?" asked Orton. He had wandered into the room without us noticing. We had sent Brendan on an errand to stop him earwigging and Beverley was working at the library, but we had forgotten Orton was due back from playing with the Clearwaters.

"It's a grown-up thing," said Amos, then in an attempt to change the subject, "It's good to see you, Orton. We've missed you at the snack bar. Oscar Marmalade was asking how you are."

"Mm," said Orton, "Good, thanks." He fixed the Seadog brother with an open-eyed expression I was coming to recognise. He wouldn't be distracted, but he knew well enough when he wasn't going to get an answer and when to walk away from his battles. "Never mind, Mister Amos. Did you say it was going to be the Captain's birthday soon? I'd like to buy him a present. I've got some pocket money."

"That's lovely," said Cecile. "Why don't you go and see Aunt Eliza to see if she has any suggestions?"

Orton switched his gaze to Cecile. I had no doubt that the boy knew he was being dismissed. He didn't complain, though. He simply gave a happy little nod. "I'll do that. Although Uncle Merlin might have a better idea. I can ask him when he comes home from work."

After he had left, Amos inclined his head towards the door. "Definitely a deep little chap. How much do you think he heard?"

"I don't know," I said, "but he's not a blabbermouth. Now if it had been Brendan..."

Cecile laughed. "...it would be cheaper than an advert in the Mellowdene Examiner.

Amos smiled, but his eyes betrayed his wavering confidence.

I met his gaze. "Do you want me to have a word with him?"

"No Jack, it'll be alright." He stood, ready to leave, turning to Cecile. "So I'll tell Jane that you're okay doing the cake? Good. She'll telephone with the arrangements."

o 0 O 0 o

Cecile did a good job. It began with telephone discussions with Jane but given we are close neighbours they realised it was easier to chat in person. At some point both Cecile and I were officially invited to the meal. We were asked not to dress up which I took to be further confirmation that the event wasn't to draw attention.

The day arrived and it was mid afternoon we walked along the upper curve of East Dock Lane to Horatio and Jane's house. The cake had preceded us the day before so were able to amble along and enjoy the weather.

Rough map that shows Horatio's house in relation to Butterglove House

We were the only attendees other than Horatio, Jane, their daughter Suzanne, and the three brothers. Amos let us into the house and we joined the family in their dining kitchen. Irwin was joking with a giggling Suzanne and Owen was helping Jane with the last part of the dinner. Horatio was at the head of the table, a paper hat atop his head.

 He waved at us. "Cecile. Jacky boy. Glad to have you here."

"Honoured, Horatio," said Cecile, "and Happy Birthday." She addressed the busy woman by the stove. "Are we on time, Jane? And can I help?"

Jane said she didn't need additional assistance but welcomed some adult female conversation. Owen laughed, commenting, "Apparently I'm not girly enough, Cecile."

I smiled and moved towards the Captain. "Fashionable headwear, Horatio. I believe the best sailors are wearing conical hats, these days."

"Suzanne insisted. She said it wouldn't be a proper birthday otherwise. Especially since I made it clear that Fenton Barker wouldn't be providing me with a birthday cake."


I'd already been warned that Cecile's cake would be a surprise, so I didn't want to spoil the surprise by revealing that Amos had explained why Fenton hadn't been approached. I reacted accordingly. "Why is that? I would have thought that his role in the snack bar and in the ship's galley would have made him perfect."

"He's a Barker. His family - like their neighbours - like the pack traditions. I don't know if you're aware, but today is my sixth ansept. If those dog families found out my age, I'd likely be faced with a Howlaree."

"And that's not good?"

"Being taken to the grassland, dancing around a bonfire, being sung at, not to mention the body paint... no. Not for me."

Amos took a seat. "He wouldn't like it, Jack. I was lucky that we were at sea when I reached this age. Even so, Fenton insisted on howling and singing at me. No paint though. I threatened to tip him overboard."

Jane walked up and rubbed Horatio's shoulders. "So that's why we're having a more sedate celebration. A meal with good friends."

Owen tapped his nose, trying to catch my eye. "And maybe a couple of games of Jindik afterwards?"

"We'll see," said Jane. "If you want to take your seats, dinner's ready."

o 0 O 0 o

The meal was lovely and tasty.  The conversation was light and humorous, ensuring that Suzanne wasn't excluded. When Cecile's cake was revealed we all cheered and I thought I saw a hint of a tear of happiness in Horatio's eye.
 

We chatted about village life and of Gordon Doughty's forays into mobile catering. Using his Hamburger Wagon was proving a success, especially since he'd established business connections with Marion Brighteyes at the Blackcurrant Café. Making use of freelance chef Sawyer Honeydew was inspired.

The relaxed company was truly enjoyable. Irwin was telling jokes - not all of them that good - but if you're in the right frame of mind and in the right company, anything can be funny. We were all laughing when the doorbell rang. Suzanne volunteered to go and see who it was.

She returned accompanied by Orton.

He walked up to Horatio, brandishing a brown parcel. "Happy birthday, Captain. It's not much but I hope you like it. It's a thank you for bringing me to my family."

Cecile turned away and wiped an eye. Horatio's brothers smiled at each other, and Jane came forward and kissed him on top of his head.

Horatio took the parcel and stared at it. "Why, thank you lad. I didn't expect..."

"Open it, dad," said Suzanne.

The Captain took a deep breath. "O' course." He carefully ripped open the wrapping paper to reveal a small blue model boat, then stared at it, speechless for a while.

"Thank you, lad. That's... grand as anything."

Orton turned to me. "Tam Tailbury had an extra one in his collection and he let me buy it."

I smiled like an idiot, touched at Orton's act of gratitude.

He next turned to Amos.

"And don't worry Mister Amos. Whilst I was at Tam's place I asked Mrs Hunter-Smyth about Howlarees. I know what they are, now."

o 0 O 0 o

Later, after returning home, we had discussed Orton's visit to the Seadog household.

"We should have told him about Howlarees straight off and asked him to keep quiet about it," Cecile had said.

"Probably," I had replied, "but maybe we're worrying about nothing, Cessie."

"Hmm," she said in her non-committal way.

The uncertainty was resolved later when we were preparing to go to bed, when I heard something. A low sound that gradually grew louder. A sound that became identifiable as many voices howling in a variety of pitches.

I went to the window, trying to look over the foliage into Dandelion Lane.

Before long, I saw a procession of torch-carrying dogs.

As they passed on their way to East Dock Lane the howls resolved into song...

Hooowwwwllll - a reason for a pack to sing
Hooowwwwllll - a reason for our ears to ring
Hooowwwwllll - a reason on this ansept day
To celebrate that we are dogs and we are on our way... to

Horatio! For he's the one we honour,
Horatio! Yes, he's the reason why, 
Horatio! That we'll be soon upon a
plot of land to mark him as the one 
that we will raise up high...

The voices dwindled.

"Are they carrying body paints?" Cecile asked.

"Can't see, love. But it doesn't matter. Either way they'll be disappointed when Jane tells them her husband took the Marita May downriver a couple of hours ago."

"So I would imagine." She patted the bedcovers.

"Come to bed, Jack."

o 0 O 0 o

The Story of Hawkshade

The boys weren't in Brendan's room. Nor were they in Orton's room or the living room. I eventually traced them to Merlin and Eliza's living room. I looked around as I entered. The children were sitting on the floor. Merlin was on the settee, periodically rubbing Snorker's back. Eliza was knitting. Lucky Snow-Warren was talking.

"...and so I got the letter yesterday. I've got a space in Kittie Camp for the first week in August."

"Brilliant!" enthused Brendan. "You'll like it, won't he, Nolly?"

Nolly nodded rapidly. "I'm a better cat for it."

Brendan poked him with his paw. "I suppose that makes me a better cat too. Miaow miaow!"

They went into peals of laughter. Merlin and Eliza looked at each other, smiling, and then my brother caught sight of me.

"Oh, hello Jackson. Looking for this lot?"

"I just wondered where they were. Don't let me interrupt."

Merlin indicated an empty chair. "Sit yourself down. Do you want a drink?"

I raised a restraining paw. "No thanks. I had a mint tea half an hour ago. As I said, I don't want to interrupt." I sat down. "What are we talking about?"

Brendan pointed at Lucky. "He's going to Kittie Camp."

Lucky twisted to look at me. "Yes, Mister Butterglove. It should be a worthwhile experience."

I tried not to smile. Lucky's continual attempts to be extra polite with his elders sometimes gave him a vocabulary that seemed at odds with his age. And yet that was part of his charm.

"I'm sure you'll benefit immensely, Lucky." There. The politeness was rubbing off on me.

"I learned lots," said Nolly. "There are cat skills I should know, things I should've known from birth if I'd lived in Catsholme."

When I was a child, there were no cats in Mellowdene other than those visiting from the hill cat community. In the ensuing years as some families moved here from Catsholme, there was an increasing generation who were unaware of their heritage. Nolly was one such kitten. It was lovely to see his excitement as he relived his experiences from last year's Kittie Camp.

"There's plenty more to learn about Catsholme and its relationship to Mellowdene. No doubt your school will teach you about it next year."

I turned to see the source of this comment. Merlin had inherited his interest in local history from our father. Although he and Eliza had been acting as surrogate parents to Orton for a few months, there were things he still needed to learn himself. And here it came.

"Can't you tell us now, uncle?" said Orton.

"I'd like to know," said Nolly.

"It might be most useful, Mister Merlin," said Lucky.

Brendan curled his lip.

"Oh I don't know about that," said Merlin. "You wouldn't want an unfair advantage over your schoolmates."

Brendan appeared to consider this, and then he smiled. "Miss Wildwood says we should always grasp the opportunity to learn."

The other three boys nodded earnestly.

Merlin looked at each of them in turn. "Well, I don't suppose it can do any harm."

He leaned forward to begin his tale.

"Catsholme wasn't always called Catsholme..."

o 0 O 0 o

Before the people of Mellowdene were even aware of any cats living in the hills, the community called itself Hawkshade. Yes, I know that's an odd name, Brendan. It's because the cats had built their homes in the shade of an odd-shaped rock. It had an overhang that stuck out like a curved beak. Against the sky, the rock looked like a hawk's head. They called it Hawkstone. Further back, a small waterfall spread out like a bird's wing, adding to the illusion. The rock provided protection from the north wind and as it was close to the water supply it was an ideal place to settle.

When Mellowdene found out about Hawkshade, a few crittizens went to introduce themselves. The cats were polite but it was clear they were not fond of visitors. As a consequence, contact was limited and remained so for years.

Then, one year, a traveller on his way back to Mellowdene from Mosswood Fells had a bad accident. What's that, Orton? Who was it? I don't believe it's fully documented. A grey rabbit I think it says. Brighteyes, Babblebrook, Cottontail - it could be any of them. The point is, the traveller was too far away from Mellowdene. It could have been bad but he was discovered by some cats from Hawkshade.

They took him back there to be treated and cared for, and when he was well enough, they helped him back to Mellowdene.

This was the first time any cats from Hawkshade had set paw in Mellowdene. They were welcomed as heroes. Ah, now I remember. It was a Cottontail. They treated the cats to a slap up meal at one of their houses and then presented them with gifts for their community. They must have given a good impression. It led to an agreement to have limited trade. A cabin was put aside in Hawkshade so that the Mellowdene traders could stay overnight if need be.

We didn't have a proper canal back then. There was a shallow ditch which people called "The Ditch"... Yes, Brendan, we know it's not very imaginative, but they didn't have you, did they? Now where was I? The Ditch. Thank you, Lucky. The Ditch had a little water, but not enough for a boat. They managed to use a raft that they could pull along using ropes from each bank. It was able to transport a few goods provided they didn't overload it.

It continued this way until after I was born. When I was about two years of age there was a terrible rainstorm. Much, much worse than today before anyone asks. It was almost winter but nobody really expected frost that early. But it came. A sudden severe frost. It probably lasted  for less than an hour - the Ditch only froze over temporarily - but that was incidental. The damage was done. Rainwater had driven deep into cracks within Hawkstone. It turned into ice and expanded. The cracks widened and Hawkstone fell.

Fell and rolled onto Hawkshade.

o 0 O 0 o

Nolly started to cry. Eliza dropped her knitting and ran to the young cat, but Brendan was already hugging him. Orton's eyes were round, staring at Merlin and Nolly by turns. Lucky's mouth was open.

I was on my feet, ready to take the children away. Eliza hissed, "Merlin, what were you thinking? Now we know why the school were waiting until they were older..."

Nolly pulled away from Brendan, giving him a weak smile. "No, it's alright, Mrs Butterglove. It was just that I wasn't expecting... Go on Mister Butterglove. I want to know what happened."

Brendan reached out a paw and lifted Lucky's chin so that his mouth audibly closed.

Merlin looked shocked. He hadn't intended to create such a reaction. He had been telling the story with an academic approach, forgetting the age of his audience.

"Go on, please, Mister Merlin," said Lucky.

Eliza rolled her eyes. "Just think about what you're saying, Merle." She returned to her seat, but took Nolly with her.

Merlin sighed. "Okay. There's a bit more bad news but it does get better."

I sat down again as Merlin continued the story.

o 0 O 0 o

Many homes were damaged. A lot of cats were injured, and terribly, nine of them didn't survive.

The traders' cabin was separate from the rest of Hawkshade so was undamaged. There were three traders staying there and they witnessed the devast... what had happened. They decided to go to Mellowdene to get help.

They made good time. The alarm having been raised, one rabbit took charge immediately. He was only in Mellowdene because he was visiting his brother, and was in fact planning to leave the next day to rejoin his wife and child elsewhere in Sylvania. With Hawkshade in dire need, he postponed his plans and organised a rescue team of several dozen residents, including my dad and uncle. Within an hour they were following the course of The Ditch towards Hawkshade.

Once there, they provided what first aid and comfort they could, then brought back the injured to Mellowdene. The hospital, whilst not as advanced as it is today, was more capable than the facilities they used to have in the cat community.

Over the next couple of days, all the remaining cats moved to Mellowdene. People shared their houses, their food, and their friendship.

One of my earliest memories was sharing my room with baby Jackson, baby Newton and two kittens.

It was a time when Mellowdene and Hawkshade were one. I say Hawkshade. The name was no longer appropriate. And keeping the name would only hold on to bad memories. As weeks passed the decision was made to build a small cat village anew. We didn't fool ourselves. We had different cultures. Despite the friendships that had been forged, many cats wanted their old comfortable way of life in the hills. When spring came, cats and Mellowdenians worked together to build a new hill community.

Later, they would work together again to make The Ditch into a proper canal. But at the time they had but one purpose. To build Catsholme.

o 0 O 0 o

Orton sighed. "That's great. All those people caring for each other."

Merlin looked at Eliza. "I think so." He returned his attention to Orton. "And telling that story reminded me of something I'd forgotten."

I'd forgotten too, but having remembered, I watched Orton as Merlin continued.

"That bunny that led the rescue, the one that postponed leaving so that he could help? That was Hubert Butterglove."

"What? My dadda's granddad?"

"The very same."

"Wow," said Brendan.

o 0 O 0 o

Outside, the rain had abated. Cecile's voice echoed into the room.

"If Lucky and Nolly want to avoid getting wet, now might be a good time for them to go home for their lunches. Hopefully my daughter has the same idea."

Lucky scrambled up onto his feet. "Thank you most greatly, Mister Merlin. That was most educational."

Merlin smiled at the polite white rabbit. "My pleasure, young Mister Snow-Warren. I hope the story wasn't too shocking."

"Hmm," said Eliza, stroking Nolly on his head before sending him on his way.

The young cat went straight up to Merlin. "I'm sorry I cried but I'm glad you told us. Now I can be proud I'm a cat from Mellowdene."

"Thank you, Nolly. If the story did that, I needn't feel quite so bad about it."

The children moved towards the door, Brendan and Lucky leading the way. I traipsed behind them, and a glance over my shoulder showed Eliza moving towards Merlin whilst Snorker made quiet kissing noises.

Nolly leaned towards Orton and whispered. Maybe it's because of my musical leanings - I've been told I have a good ear - that I overheard.

"Mister Merlin Butterglove. A clever dad, eh?"

Orton looked at him strangely before replying.

"Yes, I suppose he is."

o 0 O 0 o