Finding a Way - Epilogue

Hello. My name is Darcy Fielding and I have a problem.

Yes, I know that sounds serious but I couldn't resist a bit of drama. And I do have a quandary to resolve. It is distracting me from my work here at the Mellowdene Examiner. Fortunately, Harry Hawthorne and Antonia Petite are more than capable of keeping things on track.

As for my quandary, it relates to the potential aftermath of Jackson's expedition to open a route to Chunglewood.

Of course I'm proud that my friend was able to succeed in finding a way for Ricardo Porcini to reunite with his family in Chunglewood but it has opened up so many more questions. 

 

First the unusual questions. Bruin Redbear said it perfectly. How did the Chunglewood people get to the middle of the forest? To the best of our knowledge the sole way in was the winding route that was so lengthy that only Ricardo was prepared to endure the journey. Four hours or so. If everyone else rejected this route, how did they get to the clearing? Even if they made that initial journey, why would they venture into Tall Tree Forest? What would prompt them?

And the route itself. How was it discovered? Given the unusual properties of the forest it must have taken many aborted searches to reach the clearing. 

I cannot explain it. You can imagine how irritating that is for someone with my reporting background. Which brings me to my real problem.

I publish the Mellowdene Examiner. It's how the people of the county find out what's going on and I have a responsibility to tell the truth. There are things I've not mentioned but I have never lied. 

I have not made the villagers aware of the vast network of tunnels beneath Sylvania that would hugely reduce journey times about the land. I am aware that there are potential dangers down there and flooding these routes with crittizens is not in anyone's interest. An omission for the public good, not a lie.

Chunglewood is different. How do I explain a new community on our doorstep? When Chunglewoodians (we really need a proper term here) wander into Mellowdene, our friendly nature will prompt greetings and questions. The paper can hardly remain silent. 

So what can I say? What stopped them visiting before? Do I attempt to explain this crystal malarkey? I'm guessing that the Treefellows, Mist Cat Tribe, the Sylvanian Research Group would prefer that the crystals - and what they represent; their functions - are not made public knowledge.

Will Mellowdenians decide to visit their Chunglewoodian neighbours?  Having read Jackson's story I gather that there may be differences in culture. Ricardo could advise, but I can't see him addressing village meetings. John Silk, as a trained mediator and advocate would be better getting involved. Maybe assisting in producing a supplement for the Mellowdene Examiner.

That is the crux of my problem. There are more questions, probably lesser ones based on Jackson's story but they have still piqued my interest. What or where is Honeysuckle Hollow? What is a Woodzeez? What does Owen Quiller hope to learn? Was Ricardo using his travel writing job as a cover to search Sylvania for a mysterious truth?

Who can I ask? Might Mulder Honey-Fox have any advice? The Treefellows? What should Mayor Nettlefield be told? The Sheriff's Department? Reverend Kelvin Waters?  

These are the thoughts I'm having. I think I need to lie down. Failing that, get involved in work. Antonia needs to work on her "People" column and Harry will need assistance in the print room. 

o 0 O 0 o

Me again. I left work early to come home but I've reached a decision. I decided to put aside the unusual questions I highlighted and concentrate purely on finding a way to suitably inform Mellowdene about Chunglewood. 

 

I was considering approaching our Sheriff, Bisto Wildwood. His department settles differences in opinions and helps to ensure we adhere to Sylvanian values. I wouldn't need to go into details about crystals. I could just say that I'd learned that the Treefellows found a new path through Tall Tree Forest and they opened a route to an unknown village. I could then say the villagers might have different customs, then ask Bisto to handle any potential clashes. I picked up the phone to arrange a meeting. 

The response was unexpected. He chuckled.

"I was about to come and see you," he said. "and you preempt me by asking for a meeting. Perhaps we can help each other. What do you want to talk about?"

"There's a place called Chunglewood..."

I broke off and stared at the phone earpiece. He was laughing.

"Darcy Fielding. I might have known you'd be ahead of me. That's why I want to talk to you. Okay if I come over to you now? You're at your office?"

"No. At home."

"Be right over." He hung up.

I was intrigued.

o 0 O 0 o

 

Bisto was in his uniform. It seems he lives in those clothes. Maybe because duty is so important to him. He wasted no time in coming to the point.

"Aristotle Treefellow requested an extraordinary meeting of the council and the mayor complied. They had it this morning. Other than Ramsey Nettlefield, Hugo Trunk and Kelvin Waters, representatives for food, transport and postal services were there. And me, of course. Really, you should have been present, but you weren't at the paper. I saw Ricardo Porcini and he thought you'd taken a day off."

"Half day. I was visiting Jackson Butterglove."

"I see. That's how you knew about Chunglewood."

"We are friends. We talk. But back to Chunglewood. Who speaks first?"

"You can."

I told him my concerns about Mellowdenians flooding to Chunglewood out of neighbourliness, overwhelming them and giving rise to inadvertent cultural clashes.

 

Bisto nodded and refrained from commenting until I'd done.

"You've essentially summarised the council meeting," he said, shaking his head in wonder. "This could be a marvellous experience so we want to handle it right. We have indeed called in John Silk and he will be going with Aristotle to speak to the Chunglewood people. He then wants to have letters sent to all Mellowdene residents, explaining how best to proceed."

"Good."

"We'd hoped that you could help with the printing..."

"Of course. That would have a greater reach than a newspaper supplement."

"Thank you. Although your idea about a supplement has benefits too; I suggest it is probably best after the letter drop. Actually, maybe a regular column with updated information would be useful."

"Including Ricardo in the communications?"

"If he's agreeable. John Silk will be speaking with him before he goes to Chunglewood."

To my relief, it seemed that everything was falling into place. Bisto's visit had put my mind at rest. Of course there still were the "unusual questions" to answer but there was no great rush to do that.

I started to think about my chum Samuel Stamp and his colleagues. The Mellowdene Post Office would be getting busy! 

o 0 O 0 o 

The History of Man - The 1960s

In an earlier blog entry I mentioned a multi-volume literary tome bequeathed to my brother Merlin by a cherished neighbour, Marcia Linnaeus (who we always called Auntie Marcia). The books - written by her father Julius Hare - were presented as a vast fantasy work with illustrations dominated by Sylvanian characters and entitled The History of Man. I still had some suspicions that the contents echoed the true history of mankind. Because of the contents, some of which might be considered contrary to Sylvanian values, one would find it difficult to find within our libraries. In a sense, I suppose I'm privileged that I can see the personal copy in Merlin's collection.

I mention this because Merlin has shown me some more pages, this time relating to an era called the 1960s. This was prompted by a conversation he overheard between our wives.

Apparently the two had visited Arabella Dante's dress shop Clobber. They had decided it was a nice place to visit because of the variety of clothing there. Yes, there are fancy outfits there, and with employees like Felicia Marlowe and Melanie Caramel catering to those who like modern clothes one might expect our wives to back away. Oh. I probably should have mentioned that Cecile is not a big fan of "fashion". She is irked by anyone having the audacity to state what one should be wearing. "Not really the Sylvanian way," she says. Thankfully, the customer service of the Clobber staff is nicely balanced.

With an age of changing attitudes and the subject of fashion in mind, Merlin decided I might like to see some photographs in his book. I remembered being a little unsettled after seeing some of the contents last time but interest and curiosity overcame that. I think that Darcy's investigative ways are affecting me!

o 0 O 0 o

I needn't have been worried. The pictures Merlin showed me indicated a time where there was a blossoming interest in the arts and music, expanding into new and exciting directions. Pastimes such as sports and drama were becoming more mainstream. There were also indications of an advance in scientific knowledge.  

With a growing peace movement, I saw echoes of Sylvania. That was indeed comforting.

As for the models the photographer & illustrator Sheridan Brock had used - they didn't disappoint. Sylvanians pretending to simulate human endeavours can be unintentionally funny.

Although maybe it isn't a real history after all. Walking on the moon? How likely is that!

o 0 O 0 o

The Writers' Guild

My darling wife Cecile had advised me that Charity Snow-Warren had telephoned, saying the family wanted to visit. As such, it wasn't too much of a surprise when there was a rhythmic knock on the door. I could have predicted that it was Hope, probably rapping out a phrase from a popular song.

Of the two Snow-Warren sisters, Hope is the more extrovert. She is fiercely protective of her elder, quieter sister Susan and the one more likely to make me want to laugh. When I opened the door, she seemed quite excited and striving to hold something back.

 

"Hi, Uncle Jack. Are Beverley and the boys free? Me and Susan want to chat to them. Oh, and Dad and the others are following."

Straight to the point, as usual. I gestured for them to come in.

"They're in their rooms. Go on up."

Hope rapidly walked down the hall, talking over her shoulder. "Thanks. I'll go and see Orton and Brendan, Suze, if you can get Beverley..."

Susan passed me, mouthing, "Sorry."

There was no need for her apology. We were used to Hope's manner and it helped make life more interesting. Besides, I could see Chris and Charity approaching the door, pushing Connor in the pram.

o 0 O 0 o

When we settled we engaged in small talk and I was getting the impression we were waiting for something. This proved to be the reappearance of the children.

Charity addressed her daughters. "Good. As promised, we've not said anything until you had everyone present."

"Uncle Merlin and Aunt Eliza aren't here," commented Brendan.

"Well, I'm sure your daddy will be able to update them," said Charity.

Orton nodded at Brendan and my son refrained from further comment.

"What's this about, Charity?" said Cecile.

 

"My husband wants additional advice. Tell them, Chris," said Charity.

My best friend and songwriting partner is sometimes painfully modest. Whilst he is more than happy to promote our joint efforts, this does  not apply to his solo works and he frequently talks down his considerable skills. If "big head" is a term that pertains to  boastful individuals, Chris has a truly small head.

"Well," he said, "It's about the Writers' Guild. For some reason - and I'm sure they've overreacted - after all they have proper writers like Fliss Robinson and Ricardo Porcini here in Mellowdene... They have famous novels and learned tomes published to be read all over Sylvania..."

"Dad!" said Hope. "Tell them."  

Chris gave an embarrassed smile. "They've invited me to be a member."

"They will give him a certificate and everything," said Hope.

"Congratulations, pal," I said, squeezing his shoulder.

"But I'm not a proper writer," said my modest friend. 

Charity sighed. "He's been like this ever since he found out. He needs advice. I've told him but he thinks I'm biased."

"Did the Writers' Guild say why they want Chris?" said Cecile. "They must have a good reason. Perhaps if that was made clearer the issue of worthiness wouldn't be a problem."

 

"Sylvan River," said Hope. "Oops. Shouldn't have said. Go on, Dad. I can't hold it in forever."

Charity raised her eyes and Chris smiled. "All right, Hope." He paused to organise his words. "Okay. You remember that the scriptwriters pressed me to include some of my lyrics in the script? And then they asked me to expand some of my ideas to help merge those lyrics into the rest of their narrative?"

"I do," I replied. "They liked your turn of phrase and appreciated the research you'd done with the source material and beyond. I remember you being uncertain when they wanted to include your name in the credits and me having to persuade you. Especially when they said how much you'd done."

"Yes. Well,  Samuel Fennec the publishers are seeking to make the script available for amateur productions. They haven't got agreement yet but it turns out they did get the authorisation to publish a book of the musical."

 

Brendan laughed and we looked at him. He explained what had tickled him.

"It's the book of the script of the musical of the play of the epic poem. I wonder what will be next? The comic of the book of the script of the musical of the play of the epic poem? Or the chocolate bar of the comic of the book of..."

 

"We get it," I said.

"I wouldn't mind a Sylvan River chocolate bar," he said.

"Brendan?" said Cecile. "Enough."

 

He smiled and nudged Orton.

"Chocolate? Is that possible?" said Hope.

"No, Hope," said Chris. "Anyway, the book has been published. And I'm down as one of the joint authors. I didn’t know anything about it until I got a letter from the Writers' Guild of Sylvania. Apparently the book is selling well and it came to their attention. They've reviewed it and want me to consider me becoming a member."

"That's marvellous!" said Cecile. "But you haven't responded yet?"

"No. Not yet. I'm still thinking."

"Why?" I said, not understanding his reticence. "What's involved? Will you be expected to do a lot of work that will be a burden?"

"No, nothing like that. Meetings aren't compulsory. There may be some social evenings. The occasional dinner..."

"Sounds good to me," said Charity, turning to look at Cecile. "All he needs to do is confirm his agreement by telling someone in the Mellowdene branch."

"I wonder why Grant Foxworth or any of the scriptwriters didn't let me know about my involvement in this book?" Chris mused.

"They can be a little lax in their communications," I said, "but they obviously value your contribution if they've made you joint author. As they should considering the extra work you put into it."

"I would have phoned them on Jackson's behalf had it been him," said Cecile. 

"Oh, I did," said Charity with a satisfied grin. "They apologised and happened to mention that the publishers will be contacting the bank to set up royalty payments."

"A professional author," I said, lightly mocking my friend. "Eminently qualified for the Writers' Guild."

A sheepish smile tugged at his mouth. "I suppose so. I'll get in touch with them. Funny how things turn out though."

"How do you mean?"

"I remember when you were first approached to provide music for the musical. If you hadn't persuaded the producers to bring me on board none of this would be happening."

"Aw. You're my best mate. And I wouldn't be a songwriter if it wasn't for you. How could I exclude you from that contract? Besides."

"Besides what?"

"You're quite a good writer."

Both of our families echoed the sentiment and then we lapsed into idle, comfortable chat. Later, a question from Hope Snow-Warren seemed worthy of Brendan.

"Can me and Susan go to these fancy dinners?"

o 0 O 0 o