The Secret Concert

Mack Periwinkle had told me about the summer concert a few months ago and I understood that plans were going well. Perhaps it is uncharitable to say, but one reason for the smooth running was the limited input from our mayor, Ramsey Nettlefield.  

Ramsey had decided to be less proactive with his over-ambitious ideas. He had learned this after his experience with the Melting festival a few years ago when the entertainment for the event was threatened by his mercurial proposals. Alex Periwinkle had been the one whose time had been wasted by all this and his father hadn't wanted a repeat of that situation. As one of our older residents, Mack's tactful words with the mayor had been respectfully received.

My involvement was comparatively minor too. As Mack was the keyboard player for Bear Banger and the Bunny Boys, he'd asked if it was possible for me to provide an arrangement of one of the more upbeat songs from our Sylvan River musical - one that could be performed by a small music group. I think he knew I had one almost completed as I'd started to do this for last year's Melting. This was put on hold when Lionel Grand kindly stepped in. I therefore hadn't had much work to do to finish the job and I handed it over to Mack some weeks ago. I'd not had any further involvement since, and as far as I knew the rehearsals in the chapel meeting room had been going without a hitch.

I'd put the upcoming summer concert out of my mind until I'd received an invitation to go to the meeting room a few days back. It turned out that my songwriting partner Chris Snow-Warren had been invited too.

When we arrived, there wasn't any sign of the band's instruments. Also, only two of the Bunny Boys were present - Mack Periwinkle and Winston Cottontail. Gus Timbertop, Bernard Snow-Warren and Smokey Wildwood were nowhere to be seen.

"Is my dad not here?" said Chris, looking around.

 

"Nope," said Winston. "It's not a rehearsal day. Also we're having a break before tomorrow's concert."

"He went out," said Chris. "I assumed he was coming here. I wonder where he's gone?"

"He's involved in arrangements elsewhere."

"Sounds a bit secretive. I think you should let us know what's going on," said Chris.

"That's why we've invited you here," said Mack. "We have been keeping a secret, and now it's only fair we let you in on it."

"What?" I asked.

"It's not just us playing at the summer concert. We're the support band. Now, despite it being years ago, Winston still has a contact at his old workplace in Stonehaven. We must have mentioned he worked in Bertie Freeze's music shop, surely? Never mind.. The point is that Bertie's youngest son Kennedy - he was a baby when we left - manages a band wanting somewhere to do a warm-up gig..."

"A warm-up gig?"

"Yes. They're going on tour after a long break but wanted somewhere off the circuit to perform their set. Somewhere where the press aren't pre-warned. And it had to be a secret so that they aren't deluged with their fans."

Chris and I glanced at each other. "Which band is it, Mack?" said Chris.

"Dingle Boy and his band, the Fibres from Baas."

o 0 O 0 o

Dingle Boy is my daughter's favourite pop star. Her cousins are big fans too. 

 

As a consequence, I was undecided whether or not to tell them the news about the concert in advance - or merely ensure they attended so that I could watch their surprised little faces. Cecile made the decision. "It's a secret concert. Keep the secret."

 

I've heard some of their music, and Dingle Boy apparently writes most of it. It's actually rather good. Mack had told me that Dingle Boy's set list would mainly comprise songs from "The Lamb Who Sold the Wool", "A Lamb in Skein" and their most famous long-playing album "The Rise and Fall of Piggy Sawdust and the Fibres from Baas". 

I remember Beverley trying to explain how the Piggy Sawdust record was a concept album about an old-fashioned barber's shop that specialised in shearing baa lambs. And something about how the barber made use of the wool. It was supposed to be a metaphor for something. Fair enough. Chris isn't averse to sprinkling metaphors in our songs.

In any case, the concert should be entertaining. And seeing Beverley's face...

o 0 O 0 o

The Bunny Boys sounded good. Their rehearsals had tightened up their sound and they represented Mellowdene well. 

 

 

Yet as they took their bows it occurred to me that they had chosen not to include our Sylvan River song. I assumed they had their reasons. Maybe they decided it didn't suit their style. No matter.

 

There was a short interval giving the small audience a time to visit the Doughty's Hamburger Wagon or get an ice cream from Violet Beaufort's van. This allowed the main act to have their equipment set up and have a brief sound check.

 

We were alerted to be ready when Winston Cottontail got back on stage and made what was, to nearly all the audience, an unexpected statement. "Most of you are under the impression that the Bunny Boys are going to do a second set. Well, that's not the case. We have a visiting band who are going to play for you, courtesy of their manager Kennedy Freeze. They are... ah, you'll recognise them!"

He paused before stepping aside, a smile on his face as the crowd politely applauded, some whispering to each other in curiosity.

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

When Dingle Boy walked onto the stage, Beverley's mouth dropped open. "It... It... It's him!" 

 

She wasn't frozen to the spot too long. She ran to her cousins. Lena Dandelion was hugging Anise Ivory. Biddie Butterglove was jumping up and down, shouting "Dingle Dingle Dingle," and Beverley joined in.

Cecile gave me a sideways glance. "Aren't you going to go 'dingle dingle' too?"

I kissed her cheek. "I'm hunky dory as I am, thank you."

She chuckled and we turned our attention to the performers. Guitarist Pigg Gruntson struck a pose and played the opening riff. Fletcher Border added a bassline and drummer Woody Brookmansey contributed a solid beat cueing Dingle Boy's opening line to "Piggy Sawdust".  

Piggy shaved, bizarre

'Cause he could, he sheared the woollies 

And the fibres from "Baas"

He said "no lesser lamb

could take things this far,"

Became the special ram

Then we were Piggy's band...

Brendan wandered up to me, Lucky Snow-Warren trailing behind.

"They aren't bad, are they Dad?"

"I think your sister seems to be of the same opinion," I smiled, pointing out the girls dancing in a circle, their eyes wide with excitement.

 

 

"Mm," acknowledged my boy. "They remind me of the baddies in 'Flash Gopher and Invasion of the Asteroid People'. Don't you think so, Lucky?"

A nod of acknowledgement. "I liked that season." The young white rabbit addressed me. "Maybe you don't know, Mister Butterglove. Flash overloaded his goodie-ray-gun and the leaders of the Asteroid people were all zapped at once. They became nice people."

"That's good of you to tell me, Lucky."

The song came to an end and we all clapped. 

 

 

I noticed the band wait for Mack Periwinkle to slip back behind his piano and then they launched into their next opus. "Life of Baas".

"It's so wonderful shorn of hair,"

says the girl who's not fleece aware

But the summer and fall will go

And we've had reports there will be snow

But depending on what she has seen

She may stick to mistaken dreams

And a sheep with this fearless view   

might be lucky with this routine

But the chill is advancing more

and she's left it too long; at core

She admits that's she's been a fool

and at last she can focus on

Tailors, waiting for the snow squall   

They ran clothes up so long ago 

It was forecasted so

And they look at the poor plans

of freezing little ovines,

Baa lambs, wonder if they'll ever know

That they are here selling clothes, 

Save the lives of Baas.

"I like this one," said Cecile, "it's a nice tune."

As the show proceeded I came to appreciate the showmanship of Dingle Boy. His band were talented musicians and he shaped their skill into a show I doubt I'd ever forget. But these things come to an end. Towards the end of the concert, Dingle Boy addressed the crowd.

"Thank you. We're happy you've enjoyed our older songs. We haven't toured for a couple of years and it's been nice to play them again. But now we're going to play something in public for the first time..."

I became aware of someone by my side. It was Winston Cottontail and he raised his arm. At the same time I saw Bernard Snow-Warren raise his arm too. He was by his son.

Dingle Boy continued. "...and I'd like to thank two people amongst you who wrote the song we're about to do. Your own Jackson Butterglove and Christian Snow-Warren."

 

The audience clapped and whooped as he extended his arms towards us. Cecile gave me a hug.

    

 

Woody Brookmansey set up a clever rhythm into which Fletcher Border added a bass pattern. Pigg Gruntson punctuated this with melodic power chords, building up the tension until there was a sudden pause, cueing Dingle Boy with the opening line from "The Artist".

She was there. She was there. 

She was sitting on the river bank, an easel to her side

I was aware. I was aware.

I was aware that I was curious; that could not be denied...

It was our song. Chris's words, my melody, but it was different. Not in a bad way, though. They had taken some of the arrangement I had crafted for the Bunny Boys but it had changed, maybe to compensate for the lack of a keyboard part (Mack had left the stage). Pigg Gruntson had incorporated that part of my work into some emotionally charged guitar mastery. I relaxed and enjoyed the novel experience of hearing talented musicians interpret our work. 

 

The song continued.

But then I saw the river through her deep artistic eyes

She'd pondered, taking time to look beyond the rushing course.

I thought back to the Fisherman and it came as no surprise

she painted with a patience just as he had at his source.

The destination does not change, it has nowhere to go.

It waits upon the traveller so they can pause a while,

There's much to see along the way, there's beauty we should know

To see the art around us, take time to paint a smile. 

The refrain repeated a few times. Dingle Boy smiled as the rest of the band showed their skill.

When the song reached its end, slowing down, the closing bars reflected the introduction. A nice touch. As the cheers began I went into myself, analysing my thoughts.

 

It was a total surprise. I wasn't really in a state to pay much attention to the last couple of songs in Dingle Boy's set. I vaguely recall him playing some saxophone.

 

 

I was brought back to reality when I felt Beverley tugging at my arm. When I looked at her she stood back and I could see she was still excited. Her cousins were watching from a distance.

"He did your song, daddy! Dingle Boy did your song! Did you know he would? Why didn't you say?"

I assured her I didn't, and, like the summer concert, there were secrets that took time to be exposed. 

Brendan sidled up to me. As usual his way of thinking wasn't quite the norm. "That was alright, that, Dad. You should write their next album. Do you think they'd do a concept album about Flash Gopher?"

Biddy Butterglove disengaged herself from the others and confronted Brendan.

"Why is it always Flash Gopher with you?"

My boy smiled. "All will be revealed in the next episode of... Flash Gopher and the Eclipse of the Woolly Pop Star."

Biddy noticed Beverley smiling too. "Well? What's so funny?"

 

Beverley shrugged. "That's my brother. You should know he can be nutty sometimes. It's not a secret." 

Brendan grinned. "Flash Gopher and the Secret of the Nutty Brother. Maybe I should suggest it to Dingle Boy."

"Don't you dare!" exclaimed Biddy shortly before she realised she was being teased. She collapsed with laughter.

"Hmm," said Cecile. "Maybe the Nutty Brother will be Flash Gopher's match. He's vanquished the mighty Biddy. Another reason we'll remember this summer concert, do you think, Jack?"

"Maybe, sweet wrinkle. Maybe."

o 0 O 0 o

 

The Cornflowers of Mellowdene

It is a Cornflower tradition that, when a child reaches a particular age, they are celebrated with a siorda - a recognition of their official inclusion into the inner family. I don't fully understand it but that isn't really a concern - it is part of the travelling community's history, and although this particular branch of the Cornflower family have left the nomadic life, young Brady was due to be honoured.

Actually, he is physically a little young for the siorda - the Pause currently delaying our Sylvanian ageing - but it was considered unfair that he suffered the delay, waiting an unspecified period. His parents - Wester and Betsy Cornflower - argued that he had waited long enough and that Brady had mature outlook for his age. The current Cornflower elder - Wester's brother Trafalgar - agreed and a date was set.

Why am I telling you this? Well, putting aside that the Cornflowers are distantly related to the Buttergloves, Cecile is personally involved because she has made the celebratory siorda cake.

Wester and Betsy had arrived at Butterglove House to collect the cake, and as it was an opportunity for a minor family gathering, Trafalgar and his wife Athaliah had come from their shared home with my brother Newton. They had brought tiny Nugget so that he could play with Russell. 

 

In addition, Wester's sister Tabitha - her husband being my cousin Jonathan - had crossed the Field separating their home from ours.

 

Everyone admired Cecile's cake and then we settled down, Nugget and Russell entertaining us with the noises that - we were convinced - were their own private language. 

 

Small talk over, Brady was the first proper subject of conversation. But it evolved.  

o 0 O 0 o

"His grandfather would have been proud of him," said Wester. "He has that curiosity of wanting to know what's around the corner."

"Aye," said Trafalgar, "he would have made an excellent scout in our travelling days."

 

"Is he still infatuated with the forest?" asked Tabitha. "I remember a couple of years ago you saying he kept disappearing into there."

 

 

"Isn't that dangerous?" said Cecile. "Tall Tree Forest has a reputation."

Trafalgar harumphed. "It's an odd place, granted. But not dangerous."

Betsy nodded. "I was a little concerned at first. The forest is so dense there was a fear he might get lost, but we soon realised that the odd aspect of the forest actually prevents that happening."

"That's right," said Wester. "Walk a number of yards and one loses all sense of direction but if you keep going, you find yourself walking out of the forest, not too far from where you entered."

 

Trafalgar smiled. "Odd, as I said. I know there are crazy tales about it being haunted, some even claiming a hint of distant voices, but branches creak in the wind, leaves rustle, and woodland creatures aren't always silent in their activities. No. The oddness is that you can't pass through it. I like to think of the forest protecting us from getting lost."

"And that's why I have no fears about Brady playing there," said Betsy. 

 

"I don't see the attraction," said Athaliah, looking up from Nugget and Russell who were entertaining each other by puffing out their cheeks and blowing air at each other. Each time they made a noise they would giggle.

 

"Well, he thinks he might be able to understand the forest if he can map out how entry and exit points relate."

I listened to this with interest. I was aware of a mild superstition of the forest. You may recall Vivienne Honeydew being a little frustrated about her son Button venturing there. Accompanied by Brady, now I think of it. I also remember Merlin's description of "The Year of the Rabbit" when Mellowdene's four founding families couldn't pass through the forest and had to circumnavigate it further inland.

"So how did the Cornflowers originally reach Mellowdene?" I asked. "Not through the forest, I'm guessing."

 

"You know our family used to live in wagons," said Wester.

 

Sylvester Cornflower with his five children

 

I nodded and he continued.

 

 "Our father drove our wagon through the pass.You probably know the one. It's an established road separating Tall Tree Forest from other, less unusual woodland."

"Right." I suspected that this would be the same route taken as the four families, now developed into a more hospitable road. A thought occurred. "What prompted your father to take that road? Do you know?"

Trafalgar raised his brows. "Have we never said? Hmm, maybe not. I suppose you need to understand our father."

 

Tabitha smiled sadly. "He was a lovely dad. After we lost mum he took care of the five of us but it became difficult as we grew, packed into one wagon."

 

"It's true," Wester added. "Sylvester Cornflower was the best dad. He had travelled all his life but he knew that he couldn't care for us properly whilst we were on the road. He'd heard of of Mellowdene and by chance we were near to a road that led here. As children we didn't fully understand his reasons at the time, but his decision to settle made sense. As newcomers we were welcomed by some lovely people. That helped the change in our lifestyle."

 

The word "newcomers" sent my mind into another direction. The Umberhounds had been referred to in those terms after their arrival into Sylvania. Some robed figures had brought them to our shores - the figures I now suspected were of the Sylvanian Order, should Mulder Honey-Fox's theory be correct. Had Sylvester Cornflower been such a newcomer? 

 

I wanted to be tactful in my questioning, and an affectionate Russell gave me time to shape my words.. 

"So - how far can you trace back the Cornflower family tree? Do you know - or would the travelling make that difficult?"

"Oh, there are many generations of Cornflowers," said Trafalfar. "I couldn't name them, but we go back to a time in the Sylvanian middle ages when we separated from the Buttergloves."

"That long ago?" Well, that scrapped the Sylvanian Order idea. In any case, how could it have been true if our two families are connected? I felt like an idiot.

 

"There's even documentary evidence of our connection, dear, distant cousin!" Trafalgar laughed. 

  

"Really?"

"It's stored in our out building. I suppose we should really donate it to the Hansel Museum. Keep it safe and consolidate our Mellowdene connection while we're at it. Merlin would have a field day. What do you think, Tabitha, Wester?"

The two siblings agreed, Wester saying, "It's a family decision so we should ask Boswell and Godolphin but I'm sure they'd be happy with that."

o 0 O 0 o

They were. The museum received a tapestry and some parchment documents. 

Merlin was, as expected, excited. He suspected the tapestry depicted the time when the Cornflower family separated from the Buttergloves, perhaps even recording the time they took the Cornflower name. It wasn't local history; it was beyond Mellowdene - possibly a significant medieval event.

"What about the documents?" I said, once Merlin had accepted them from Trafalgar and had given them a brief but efficient examination. "How have they survived given their age? Trafalgar said they'd been stored in an out house and before that they would have been stuck somewhere in their wagon."

"I understand your curiosity, Jack. It's a good question. Kelvin Waters has the original copy of some early Mellowdene journals that wouldn't survive handling by most paws. We have copies, but Kelvin won't release the originals from their sealed case."

"So, what about these parchments? They are much older aren't they?"

"Oh yes. But they've been kept away from sunlight and preserved in shallow boxes lined with keepmint. Have been for most of their existence. The same preservative that Kelvin now has in his case and that we use in the library. It prevents moisture damage and rot."

 

I had forgotten about the gentle fresh odour that pervaded in Mellowdene County Library. The library shelves were treated to supposedly eliminate any fusty smells from old books but I hadn't really considered that this herb had another purpose. That said, the old-fashioned name keepmint was a giveaway.

"That's fortunate, then," I said. "What about the contents? Is there lots of useful information?"

Merlin scrunched his muzzle. "Sadly, there's not a lot I can understand. Most is written in charak, a language used by some travellers. We'd need someone to translate."

"Don't any of the Cornflowers read it?"

"Not really. Sylvester Cornflower couldn't read and he only had a rudimentary knowledge of the contents. His wife was more literate, and the tradition was that she would teach charak to their children when they reached their siorda day. But that didn't happen. None of the children were old enough when their mother passed."

"That's sad," I said, thinking of our own dear mother. "Does that mean you can't learn anything about the Cornflower history until you find a translator?"

"Trafalgar knows a smattering from a few things Sylvester revealed, but by and large, the documents are a mystery - for now. Well, except for the oldest two. There is a sort of certificate and an accompanying parchment. That was before the Cornflowers fully adopted the travellers' way of life."

"And you've read them?"

"Yes. And they are interesting."

I saw a twinkle in his eyes. I suspected 'interesting' was an understatement. He continued by summarising the contents of the medieval parchment.

"There was a largeish number of Butterglove rabbits getting ready to settle in a calm strip area where a number of other critters were establishing a community. A few of the Buttergloves were uncertain about the location, hearing of nearby swamps appearing from nowhere. There followed a difference of opinion. 

"They couldn't agree on a compromise. During the discussions a caravan of 'flower travellers' passed through the area. One of those who didn't want to settle - Jolean Butterglove - realised that there would never be an agreement with those who did wish to remain, and asked to join the flower travellers. The travellers agreed, but a prerequisite was that those that joined would adopt a new surname - that of a flower - in order to show commitment. Cornflowers grew nearby, so those Buttergloves who left became known by that name."

He showed me the certificate.

I stared at my brother. Was he thinking what I was thinking? That the descendants of the Buttergloves abandoned by the Cornflowers were our direct ancestors? The ones who became some of the Mellowdene founders?

"Was... was the community... the one the Cornflowers left... was it named?"

Merlin shook his head and came out from behind his work desk. 

 

"No. And I suspect the charak documents won't name it either, being more concerned with the travelling life and traditions."

I nodded. I began to air my disappointment but stopped. Why was I bothered? I wasn't a historian. Maybe it was because evidence of Buttergloves living in a medieval era did give a feeling of satisfaction and, of course, it would have been nice to know more. But's let's not be greedy - what I'd already learned should be enough. The feeling that we were an established part of the world was something worth smiling about. I felt the corner of my mouth lifting.

Merlin grinned. 

Confirmation that it was good enough. My brother was happy.

o 0 O 0 o