Twins

After Merlin left to take his volume of The History of Man back to the library, my thoughts flowed - like rivulets around pebbles - and pooled into the subject of the three Butterglove brothers. The differences between us.

I recalled something my mother once said.

"I love my boys. Every day I marvel how they've grown. And yet it's been there since they were tiny. If you'd given them a music box they would react to it in different ways. Merle would examine it then want to know who made it, how many different variations there were, and document its quality and place in the range of music boxes. Jack would borrow a needle and poke inside in an attempt to play different tunes. Newt would take it apart and then try and reassemble it to improve on the design."

 

I smiled. She had it right.

We were different. More noticeable when comparing Newton and me. Twins we may be, but not identical - neither biologically nor in nature. Newton is academically brilliant. He was the one to leave Mellowdene and attend university. He was the one who came back, became a Professor, taught talented villagers, engaged in research, and was head hunted by the Sylvanian Research Group, leaving the village again. 

Me? My roots are firmly in Mellowdene where I'm happy to tinker about inventing tunes. 

Yes, I know I'm being self-deprecating, but I'm not serious. If I were, there are enough family members and friends to disabuse me of that notion. 

 

My point is, twins we may be, but identical? Never.

The same can't be said about the Bonny twins.

o 0 O 0 o

The Bonny twins. Most would agree that the name is most apt; Cecile remarked upon it years ago, and indeed, they are very pretty. Seeing them together, the effect is multiplied. The first time you encounter them one wouldn't be surprised to find a mirror between them, and it can take a little time before you can distinguish which one is Audrey and which one is Athaliah.

 

You may wonder why they came into my thoughts. Don't worry - it's not their appearance! Cecile remains my number one. No. it's the similarity in their lives that struck me, and not for the first time. It was also because Trafalgar Cornflower recently brought Nugget for a play date with our little Russell.

 

You may not remember that Trafalagar and Newton live in the same house. I will explain how that came to be.

 

When the Bonny twins arrived in the village - and it only just occurs to me that I don't know from where - they made a change to two families' lives in much the same way.

Two bunnies - both giving the impression they were confirmed bachelors - were smitten. One was Trafalgar Cornflower, eldest of the Cornflower clan living at the eastern extremity of Mellowdene County. The other was Newton Butterglove.

Newton had been working away from home for some time. He was heavily involved with the Sylvanian Research Group and this was his main concern. Don't get me wrong. I love my brother. But as I have already said, we are different in many ways. He was very focused on his work, often to the exclusion of other concerns. Maybe that's how it is with such brilliant people. And yet occasionally he would realise his unintended neglect, apologise profusely and spend time with the family. It was on one such time that he first set eyes on Audrey Bonny. I don't know if the phrase "love at first sight" applied but there was definitely a connection. Also, Newton started to spend more time back in Mellowdene. Of course, we were delighted at this.

About the same time, Trafalgar Cornflower had ventured into the village on an errand. Let me tell you about the Cornflowers.

I believe they share a heritage with the Buttergloves, Dandelions and Ivory rabbits. They have the same creamy complexion, bent ears and general appearance associated with this lineage of rabbits. This particular strand of the Cornflowers are what one might call simple people. By this I do not mean stupid or intellectually challenged - far from it. They are quite astute. In the main, they choose to live an uncomplicated life. 

 

They chose to live in an area that has not yet been reached by the utilities used by the majority of Mellowdene village, having no electricity and using water pumped from a well. That isn't to say they don't make use of the village's facilities when there's a need or desire; they aren't anti-social. A few were slightly overwhelmed on their early visits, but everyone is made to feel welcome in Mellowdene.

Trafalgar is the oldest of five children. He thought he'd never get married but this thought melted away when he saw Athaliah Bonny. It may even have been the same week that Newton saw Audrey.

o 0 O 0 o

Advance a couple of years and there was a double wedding. With Audrey and Athaliah being so close, no one was too surprised at that. 

 

Trafalgar, Athalia, Kelvin Waters, Audrey, Newton

Newton had moved back to Mellowdene, permanently, he declared. He must have been valued at the Sylvanian Research Group - whatever his job is there - as they helped finance the building of a modern home in the village. It was big enough to include a home office, but more importantly, it was big enough for two small families. The Bonny twins and their new husbands set up house together.

 

The parallel lives of Audrey and Athaliah continued when they gave birth on the same day. Trafalgar and Athaliah named their little boy Nugget. 

 

Newton and Audrey didn't have a little boy. Maybe it was because both parents were twins, they produced twin daughters, Dinah and Donna.

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

With Tragalgar Cornflower now established as a villager, his relatives visited a little more often. Brother Boswell brought his wife Carolinda, and babies Unity and Phoenix. It was on Carolinda's first visit that she encountered Cecile. My lovely wife must have made a positive impression as the next time we saw Carolinda, she wore an identical dress!

This wasn't the most notable consequence relating to the visits of Trafalgar's siblings. When his young sister Tabitha visited, she met my cousin Jonathan. They are now married!

 

All as a consequence of the spell woven by the Bonny Twins.

o 0 O 0 o

The History of Man - Victorians

I was returning the copy of The Sylvan River to the library - or to be exact, to my brother Merlin, who'd do it on my behalf - when he made the unexpected comment.

 

"It's not my favourite book, you know."

I stared at him. Merlin Butterglove - a book fanatic as long as I remember, head librarian and amateur archivist, promoter of reading as a way of life - being less than complimentary about any book was... extraordinary. He must have noticed my reaction.

"No, Jackson. I'm not saying it's bad. It's quite clever for its age. But you have to admit it's a bit... dry."

"Dry," I said, sitting down.

 

"The style, I mean. The story the poem tells is decent. Probably why the play continues to be a success. It distils the essence of the story."

"Go on," I said, trying not to smile at the way he was scrabbling to back pedal on his comment. He needn't have bothered. I agreed. But it was fun seeing my older brother justify himself.

 

"And I'm sure your musical will be absolutely... Why are you laughing?"

I wiped my eye. "It's alright, Merle. You haven't said anything that Chris and I haven't. It's just unusual to hear you being critical about literature."

He sighed and smiled. "Well, it doesn't do for a librarian to bad mouth the very items that he should be promoting. Children need encouragement to read. Not just children either."

"True." I had a thought. "Are there books that you don't like, then?"

 

He regarded me with an old-fashioned look. "Let's just say that the range of Sylvanian experience is vast, and I'm a solitary rabbit who needs to expand his mind."

"Some really bad ones then."

He laughed. "Some better than others. Authors vary. Tastes vary. I'm more tolerant than most readers, though. If someone's gone to the trouble of writing something, it deserves reading, or at least given a fair scan."

"You've kept all this very quiet."

"Of course. But now you're old enough to know the truth, my young fellow."

We laughed. I love my brother and such moments are to cherish. Eliza popped her head around the door, smiled then withdrew.

 

Merlin was the first to resume the conversation.

"There are some unusual books, Jack. Ones where you question the author's purpose."

"Such as?"

"One comes to mind. It is a fantasy story. Long. Some might say long-winded. Amazing detail though. An epic covering centuries. Very imaginative, but it fails as a novel. It reads more like a reference book. A condensed encyclopaedia."

"You're intriguing me."

"I'm not trying to. It spreads over seven volumes. The life work of a Sylvanian called Julius Hare."

"What's it called?"

 

"The History of Man."

o 0 O 0 o

Of course I was interested. After my recent discovery that a human world really was out there, how could I be otherwise? I asked to see this book and Merlin agreed to bring one of the volumes to show me. He decided to bring the last volume "as it contained the appendices that would make his point," which was fair enough. 

 

 

He came back later and brought it to my dining room where he could place it on the table allowing us to look at the book in comfort. 

 

"If you look at these appendices, there are pages and pages detailing dates and events. The range of place names, fictional countries, heads of states, conflicts and even wars... the imagination of Julius Hare is amazing. Not an easy read though. "

I made an affirmative noise but my mind was racing. Were these real events that occurred with humans? If so, it confirmed a troubled past in the Land of Men as their civilisation grew. Merlin had assumed that it was a vast work of imagination by a Sylvanian author. The alternative, that Mister Hare had compiled this enormous work from real human histories, was equally amazing but in a different way. I leafed back to the beginning of the volume, prior to the appendices.

"Now this is an easier read," said Merlin. "The author has gone into detail about life in these imaginary eras. The beginning of the volume covers something called the Victorian age. The text is broken up with some fine illustrations. By Sheridan Brock, nonetheless. The badger artist and photographer? You've heard of him? No?"

I shook my head. The illustrations were imaginative, whichever way you looked at it. If the text was fictional, the pictures were consistent. If it was a true human history, the illustrator had followed the text but with Sylvanian models.

I decided to enjoy the artwork. The history outlined in the appendices was unthinkable to my Sylvanian sensibilities.

Merlin pointed out one particular picture. "That is Queen Victoria. The era is named after her."

"You'd think it could be Victoria Truffle," I smiled.

"Don't think I haven't noticed," said Merlin, nudging me with his elbow. He turned a few pages. "Look at this one."

"Wow. Half-close your eyes and it could be Gus Timbertop."

"You noticed, then."

"Are there any more?"

"A few."

We spent half-an-hour looking through the assorted illustrations.

Of these, there was a grubby chimney sweep who had a passing resemblance to Caspian Neptune.

We laughed when we saw a uniformed figure who looked like Bruce Springer but with uncharacteristic facial hair.

 

I continued to leaf through the book, Merlin watching me, a hint of a smile on his face. He was unaware that - despite the impressive illustrations and amusing facial similarities to people we knew - I was still unsettled by the list of conflicts at the end of the book and what they signified.

"Well, what do you think?" he said, eventually. "Can you figure out Julius Hare's way of thinking to produce all this?"

I closed the book and turned to my brother.

 

"You really want to know?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Because I'm surprised that the library service supplied this book. It's not the usual Sylvanian style."

"Granted. But it's not a library book. It's mine. I just keep it there."

"Yours? But where did you get it?"

"Auntie Marcia left it me in her will. Most of her book collection went to the library, but she bequested a few to me personally."

I nodded. Auntie Marcia.

Marcia Linnaeus wasn't our real aunt. When we were children she was an elderly neighbour who lived at number 15 Dandelion Lane. I say elderly; she probably just seemed that way to three young Buttergloves. It was natural that the young Merlin should form an attachment to the widow Linnaeus. She had an extensive book collection, and my brother had read most of the books in our house. Throughout his childhood and beyond, Merlin used to spend hours at number 15. There was a bond between these two bookworms. Even after he'd met and married Eliza, Merlin never abandoned the old woman who shared his love of books. He'd happily do errands for Auntie Marcia as she grew older, and when she died, Eliza helped my brother through his grief.

 

"When I was little I had seen the seven volumes of The History of Man on a high shelf but she'd never let me read them. She said that they were not for young impressionable eyes. I was older and working at the library before she relented."

"I can understand that."

"That's why I keep it secure at the library. I didn't want Brendan to read it, and Beverley and Orton, of course."

"Understood. The implied violence and such..."

"Yes. It needs a mature mind to interpret the meaning behind writing this. I thought that you may have an opinion as to that."

"I presume you do. Since I've not had the same time to consider, suppose you tell me - what you think?"

"Oh. Okay." He regarded me, and when he spoke I had the feeling that his words were from a long-standing analysis. "Maybe Julius Hare meant it as a warning. Progress should be tempered with care."

"Sounds reasonable. Yes, I'd go along with that." I tapped the cover of the book. "There's a lot of detail though."

"True. And you've only skimmed part of one volume. You have to appreciate his imagination."

I still wondered if it was a true account of human history but didn't share this suspicion with my brother. Instead, I returned to the subject of Marcia Linnaeus. 

"It's deep, certainly. I wonder how Auntie Marcia got her paws on it? Given the contents I can't see it being a large print run."

"Ah, that's simple. Julius Hare was her father. Personal copy. There's a dedication in the first volume - to my darling daughter whose love of books makes me proud."

I smiled. "And that's probably why she left it to you."

 

Merlin's eyes glistened. "It's a nice thought, brother."

o 0 O 0 o

After Merlin had gone, taking the book back to its safekeeping, I sat for a while.

 

 

My thoughts once again drifted to the question that lingered. Fact or fiction? Who might know? Who was likely to have proper knowledge of the human world? Tara Lapine-Frost? Possibly, although her interactions were likely to be more science-based. The Mist Cat tribe? I didn't particularly want to renew that relationship. That left one person.

My twin brother, Newton Butterglove.

Although I didn't know the details, I had learned that he was quite influential in the Sylvanian Research Group. Did I want to pursue this enquiry? By now he must have discovered of my journey through the Routes of Sylvania, but he hadn't mentioned it.

Perhaps it was better to leave things alone. 

 

Treat The History of Man as a curiosity. With interesting pictures.

o 0 O 0 o

 

Fishing for Something

I am a lucky rabbit. I have a wife and children who love me at least as much as I love them. I have an extended family that anyone would be delighted to have. I have good friends. I have a job that fulfils me and - after some years of a little above "just about breaking even" - my efforts are gaining appreciation in other parts of Sylvania and our income is reflecting this.

 

Why am I telling you this? It's because I want to draw attention to someone who has been a source of strength to me. A talented bunny who deserves for my gratitude to go on record. I speak, of course, of my best friend and songwriting partner Christian Snow-Warren.

 

Although our families have always been supportive, I am not so blind as to ignore the fact that songwriting is not the most lucrative of occupations. In Sylvania that isn’t supposed to matter, but when you want to give your family all you can, it's natural for doubts to sneak in. Chris Snow-Warren has never shown any such doubts and in the past has given me a figurative kick in the bobtail to get me back on track. 

The contract to write all the music for the musical interpretation of The Sylvan River was a big thing. You may recall that all the words were originally to be taken from the original epic poem, but I pressed for Chris to be included in the project. I'd argued that there were areas of the poem that needed supplementing, areas where the narrative was rushed, and my partner could provide the necessary lyrics to even this out in a style harmonious with the original text.

This went much better than we could have hoped. So much so that the scriptwriters for the musical have insisted on incorporating some of Chris's lyrics in their storytelling, giving him written credit.

I am delighted. 

Of course, we had to start somewhere. We read the script separately and delved into the original poem before meeting up at Chris's house to compare our thoughts.

 

  

It occurs to me that you won't know anything about the original poem. It's a Sylvanian classic, but if you're not from Sylvania... Anyway, I'll summarise.

The Sylvan River is the tale of a traveller following the route of a river, and descriptions of the people and events that he encounters on his journey. The poem is thought to be an allegory, signifying the growth of the traveller's character as he progresses through life.

Based upon the poem, a play was written and this attracted even more attention. It is still very popular. It is a great honour for us to be given the opportunity to contribute to the first musical based upon it.

And yet, it wasn't all straightforward. Thankfully Chris was, as always, an inspiration.

o 0 O 0 o

 

"I think it's the Fisherman's tale that needs the most work, pal," I said as Chris put down the draft script.

"It doesn't feature strongly in the main part of the original text either," said Chris, "yet it is important towards the end."

"Agreed. You've got Anton the Woodsman signifying strength, Uri the Hermit Scribe signifying the need to learn, there's... loads of characters, but John the Fisherman doesn't get the same coverage."

"And yet his contribution proves so important."

"True."

We lapsed into silence until Chris proposed an idea.

"I think he's worthy of his own theme. Something that re-emerges as background in later encounters." 

"A musical theme?"

"Why not?"

"Okay... some lyrics too."

"Definitely, but I'll have to think about that. Shame I don't know much about actual fishing."

I watched him as he was thinking. His ears wiggled as he deliberated on something. Minutes later, his eyes sparkled. 

"I'll go and see Clay Spotter."

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

Clayton Spotter is the most skilful fisherman in Mellowdene. Despite being brother to the socially active Harry Spotter he was a bit of a loner as a young meerkat, and it took his marriage to Annemarie van den Diere to bring him out of his shell.

The time he spent in self isolation gave him the opportunity to hone his fishing skills. Even now, with Annemarie working odd hours at the hospital, he still can spend hours awaiting his catch.

Chris Snow-Warren arranged to speak to him at the Mellowdene Dock snack bar after Clayton had returned from a meeting at the canal. He explained to the curious meerkat how he wanted to know the attributes of a typical fisherman.

Clay regarded him. "Well, I don't know if I'm typical."

"Humour me." 

"Alright. Fairly obvious I would have thought. Patience. Knowing the water. Not having an issue with being alone."

He continued to list attributes that Chris had already considered, pausing when Fenton Barker brought their drinks.

 

 

"I'm sure there must be more than that. You used to personally supply a lot of fish but I understand that's different now."

"That's right. I used to fish in bulk, but that was no challenge. At sea, nets, and all that."

"But not now?"

Clay shook his head. "I prefer fresh water fishing these days. I have an arrangement with the hill cats. They provide me with sea fish for the village, and I give them the special stuff in return."

"What's that?"

"Green finned smiler fish," said Clay, smiling himself.

"I've never heard of them," Chris responded, noting the meerkat's apparent joy.

 

"Few have. They're not easy to catch. They are a speciality food supplement that the Catsholme kitties adore. You need to understand your fishes to catch them."

"And you do?"

"I always have. I remember trying to explain it to Annemarie, but it was obvious she didn't get it. I've not found anyone who does, but I'd hoped she would. I ended up by telling her that I must be a weirdo. She simply laughed, kissed me and said that she loved her weirdo."

 

Chris laughed. "I won't comment on that."  

"Fair enough," said Clay, "but that way of thinking saves me a lot of work. I can go to the relevant stretch of water - which varies by season and weather - and locate the smiler fish. Four or five hours, no rushing around or hauling on nets. Half a dozen caught on a good day."

 

"And that satisfies the hill cats? It doesn't sound a lot for the amount of fish they provide the village."

"They are happy. The flavour is so intense, they only need the tiniest amount to supplement other food."

"Right."

"I probably wouldn't do any sea fishing at all if it wasn't for the Sylvanian Research Group."

That throwaway remark caught Chris by surprise. "What's their involvement?"

 

Clay looked at Chris, assessing him it seemed, before replying.

"I don't suppose it's a secret. They have a department assigned to the ocean."

 

"Go on."

 

 

The fisherman sipped his drink before continuing."Well, I used to fish close to the reef that borders the Ring of Sylvania. Large hauls. But I went beyond. Just a little way."

"Is that safe?"

"As I say, it was just a little way beyond. And safety at sea should be second nature to any fisherman worth his salt."

"Okay."

 

"The Research Group became interested one time when some unusual stuff came up in my net."

"What?"

"No idea. Something."

 

"You have to give me more than that."

"Well, I went because the fish tend to be bigger, but this wasn't that. I found a sort of box. Sealed, in pitted metal. Beyond that, I can't describe it. That's why I said 'something'."

"What did the Research Group say?"

 

"Not much, though that's nothing new. They did engage me to go out there again periodically. To see if I could catch anything else."

"Fishing for something."

Clay smiled again, leaning forward confidentially. "Sounds about right.  That is my job."

 

o 0 O 0 o

The meeting with the meerkat fisherman gave Chris the inspiration he sought. When he told me, we had our direction.

The narrative in The Sylvan River had the traveller meeting people, learning,  effectively searching for knowledge. John the Fisherman taught him patience, resilience, self-reliance. Attributes that were essential for the remainder of the journey.

Following that meeting with the Fisherman, the recurring music/lyrical theme was established. From that point, the traveller was "fishing for something".

The river twists, and each new bend 

brings mysteries; is there no end?

There's more that's worth accomplishing 

He thought how John had gone fishing... 

... for something. 

o 0 O 0 o