Village News

Yesterday I was musing about these stories I write. In particular, I was mentally listing my information sources and this led to more general considerations.

Of course, the primary source is the news I get from home relating tales about my family and the people with whom I interact. Tales sometimes simply fall into my lap. 

Small example. 

 

Brendan was a little later home than expected one afternoon and I asked him why he'd been delayed. 

"Oh, I was chatting to Mister Odgen about Santa's house. He's got a job working there."  

 

My boy's imagination has caught us out before so I was non-committal in my response; sometimes his craziest utterings have a basis in fact. Other times he would be playing a game in his mind and there would be overspill into our real world. Which was this?

"Ogden Splashy? What job is that, pal?"

"Oh, him and Mrs Splashy are going to be live-in housekeepers. Santa's not going to be there all the time."

I was intrigued. "Where is this house?"

"The big house behind Cherry Blossom Avenue. I didn't know it had sold until I saw Santa in the window and Mister and Mrs Splashy were walking away."

I knew of the house, of course. It was built five or so years after those on Cherry Blossom Avenue but hadn't had many residents. The common belief was that its location kept it too separate from its neighbours. The DePembrokes had lived there but moved to be more integrated with the community. 

"You saw Santa?"

"Yep. And his elf."

I raised my brow, and Brendan laughed. "Not the real Santa, dad! It's Mister Grand's brother."

All became clear. Lionel Grand had decided he wanted a second home in Mellowdene, and his brother Lennox was sorting out the details. Lennox was an entertainer who - I'd heard - had a preoccupation with Christmas, providing all-year festivities to Sylvanian communities. (Yes, it seems unusual to me, too.) His son Lawrence usually accompanied him, his clothes also adopting the Christmas theme. Perhaps this pair would be living part-time in Mellowdene too.

Brendan continued to grin. "I got you there, didn't I, Dad?"

"As you frequently do, you little tyke."

He left the room, still enveloped in a cloud of amusement.

o 0 O 0 o

You see how familial tales can easily occur? These are but one source of stories. As for the wider community,  Darcy's suggestion to use back issues of the newspaper social column was a good one, but it occurred to me that I can spread my net further. Village news comes from all over the place.

Let me explain.

Sylvanians are naturally sociable. We work together, play together, but most of all we talk to each other. About all sorts of things. Chatting and sharing experiences binds us together. Some social groups excel at this.

Some time ago, when I was telling you of the different places Merlin and I went for snacks (*see Warm Drinks on Cool Days), I mentioned that one of our destinations was the Bear Pit Club. 

 

 

On many occasions, these snack stops are when the club isn't too busy. This gives landlord Finley Osbourne an opportunity to regale us with tales told him by other customers. Village news that rarely gets into the newspaper. 

 

Maybe some might call it gossip. Cecile did once, but after I'd made oblique references to the Cake Club and ladies' lunches at the Blackcurrant Cafe... Well, we had a good laugh, she didn't use the term again. Gossip or not, it doesn't matter. 

Returning to the Bear Pit Club: as honest as Finley is, some of these tales are - of course - hearsay, but with that caveat, they are worth sharing. Occasionally, Finley can personally vouch for the veracity. This recent one is a bit of a hybrid...

o 0 O 0 o

The Gingerbreads' Tale

Parkin Gingerbread and his family were visiting Isambard Marmalade's house.

"Sam," said Parkin, "Did we miss anything at the last Growl? Young Ethan was under the weather so you'll remember we missed the meeting."

"Is he fully recovered?" said Isambard.

Honey Gingerbread, Parkin's wife, rubbed the top of Ethan's head. "He's okay now. He overdid it eating some berries and had a poorly tummy."

"Aw, mum!" Ethan objected.

"You know you did, dear. Now let Isambard answer your dad."

Isambard laughed. "Don't worry, Ethan. You're not alone. That last crop of zingberries were particularly sour. Fortunately my Norton realised before he ate too many and decided they were better suited to a pie filling."

Ethan forced a smile, and Isambard turned back to Parkin.

"As for the Growl - yes, there were a few things discussed. We didn't want to have much hanging over to the following meeting; we wanted to have things clear for Christmas and the Winter Growl. But there wasn't anything out of the ordinary."

Honey noticed Isambard's son as he came into the room, and bent down to speak into Ethan's ear. "Go and play with Norton, love. We've got boring grown-up stuff to talk about."

Ethan nodded and skipped over to a smiling Norton Marmalade, leaving Honey to respond to Isambard.

"Sam - I'd heard that something unusual happened."

"If it's what I think you're talking about, I don't know if unusual is the right word, but we can hope so. Although it actually happened after the Growl, as we were leaving."

o O 0 0 o

At this point I need to interrupt in order to provide a little background information - confirmed by Finley Osbourne. 

Although the Winter Growl has become a festive occasion that's usually attended by all ages of bears (*see Winter Celebrations in Mellowdene), the standard Growl meeting is geared towards business and other discussions that would bore younger children. When youngsters are considered sufficiently mature, they are welcomed and their initial attendance is celebrated as a special occasion. This is signified by a small party.

At the time of this tale, two young bears had been admitted a couple of months earlier. Logan Evergreen and Birch Timbertop. As such, this wasn't their first attendance; it was a normal and apparently uninteresting occasion. 

Let's continue the tale after Honey Gingerbread prompted Isambard to explain.

o 0 O 0 o

Isambard's tale

 

The ladies had left promptly after the meeting - they had booked a late afternoon tea at the Blackcurrant Café. Some of the chaps had lingered to chat but eventually we thought it was time to leave. A few of us were walking away from the temple when Forest Evergreen came to a halt and looked around. 

 

"Where's my son?" said Forest. He indicated that most of his companions should carry on walking. Taylor Timbertop was chatting with Finley Osbourne but paused when he noticed his son was missing too. I hung about to see if I could help.

"Logan?" called Forest, "Logan? Where are you?"

"Birch?" shouted Taylor, "I need you here."

 

We heard laughter and the temple door flew open. Logan and Birch spilled out into the yard.

 

They made their way unsteadily to stand before us, giggling uncharacteristically. 

"Hehhhhlo, dad," said Logan. "We were dilli..lilly-layed."

"Yup," said Birch, attempting to focus his eyes on Logan's father. Recognising him, he saluted. "Hi, High Bear. Hi, hi, hi, hi..."

 

Taylor Timbertop shouldered his way forward.

"Birch, what's up with you?", said Taylor, although the suspicion in his voice wasn't too far from the surface, "You're acting as if you're..."

"Drunk," said Forest. "But I don't know how they've managed it." 

 

Logan belched and the two youths went into peals of laughter. Birch sat down with a bump.

Finley Osbourne groaned in realisation. "I left a crate in the side chamber, meaning to take it to Basil Hazelwood after the meeting. It was some fortified wine meant for his kitchen at the Mousehole."

Taylor turned to Birch Timbertop, who showed signs of developing hiccups. "Did you drink anything from that crate, son?"

Birch's head wobbled as he switched his gaze to his father. "Hello dad, lovely to see you."

"Did. You. Drink. Anything?"

"Shh," said Birch, "Quietly. Yes. We were thirsty."

"And bored," Logan added. "Thirsty and bored."

"Mm," confirmed Birch. "We thought we'd just wet our mouths. Mowwthes. Moww, moww, mowwthes. What a funny word."  

Taylor stepped back to speak with Forest and Finley, leaving the boys to find much hilarity from the sounds of different words.

"Finn," said Taylor, "How strong was it?"

 

"Oh, it's strong alright. It had undergone secondary fermentation but I'd allowed it to go flat. It's not really meant for drinking - not that it's dangerous - but ideal as a cooking ingredient."

"We'll have to sober them up. My wife won't be happy that I've allowed our son to become intoxicated." He glanced at Forest. "I'm guessing your Honeysuckle will feel the same as my Rose."

"Any ideas, Finn?", asked Forest.

 

"Well... I've got a supply of Dry-me-out purple-bean coffee at the Bear Pit. It works quickly, although it tastes pretty bad, gives you a temporary headache and..."

 

 

 "That sounds perfect," said Forest.

 

"Ooh, poor kids," I commented as we returned our attention to the youngsters. They were oblivious to their fate, still playing with words.

 

"Poop," said Logan.

"Poop poop poop," said Birch.

 

o 0 O 0 o

"Did Honeysuckle and Rose find out?" asked Honey.

"Course they did," Isambard laughed.

"How?"

"You do know Finley Osbourne? His news invariably reaches the village once conversation starts in the Bear Pit."  

o 0 O 0 o

I couldn't have put it better myself.

 

Undoubtedly I could recall more tales but I think I've made my point. Here we have an event reported by Finley Osbourne both from his own viewpoint and that of Isambard Marmalade via Parkin Gingerbread. An informal but useful communications network! 

 

 Maybe I'll share more of Finley's village news one day. 

o 0 O 0 o