“Peter! Susan!” cried Lucy, “Edmund has been to Narnia too now, and he can tell you all about it!”
“Edmund – is this true?” asked Peter.
Edmund shuffled his feet in a shifty sort of way. “Ah no, we were just playing a game about her imaginary country, Peter. We had fantasy Narnian Lions v British & Irish Lions teams.”
Lucy turned pale, and ran out of the room.
Peter was very angry with Edmund for encouraging Lucy in her apparent silliness. Susan, also concerned, scowled at Edmund. Such a scowl he had never seen before, barring seeing Peter O’Mahoney once, and he also left the room.
“Peter,” said Susan, earnestly, “I think we should speak to the Professor. Lucy is going mad.”
* * *
“Bless me, me bairns,” said the Professor, taking off his glasses and wiping them, “Whatever makes you think that Lucy is mad?”
“But … but … Professor, we have told you about her imaginary country and Lions,” gasped Susan.
“Have you ever known Lucy to tell lies before?”
“Well … no,” admitted Peter, “She’s always been particularly truthful. That’s why we fear for her sanity.”
“The young lassie seems very sane to me, and we’ve established that she doesn’t tell lies. Perhaps she is telling the truth, hmm?” answered the Professor. “There are more things in space and time than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
As soon as the children had closed his study door, the Professor took a favourite memento out of his drawer, and stroked it absently. “Thank ye, Karlus, for the Narnian Lions medal,” he whispered to himself.
* * *
Things rumbled on for another week or so, with Lucy morose, Edmund gloating in a sulky sort of way, and Peter and Susan concerned.
Another wet day ensued, and the housekeeper, Mrs Weir, was showing another lot of visitors around the house. This was really a bit naughty, but they were all doing their best to maintain social distancing, which made it even harder to dodge the party.
No matter which way the children went, there seemed to be visitors wearing face-masks heading in their direction, and they were inexorably pushed towards the dusty gym. Assembled inside, they could hear voices approaching. It was as if some magic were pressing them into a hiding-place in the gym.
“All right, Lucy,” said Peter, “Show us where to go.”
Lucy pulled open the rustiest locker with the Lions shirts, and led them inside. Soon they found themselves gazing at snow-covered conifers.
They wandered around in amazement.
“I say,” said Edmund presently, “If we’re heading for the lamp-post, we should be going that-a-way.”
Peter and Susan stopped dead in their tracks.
“So you have been here before!” said Peter. “You absolute rotter. You bounder and cad. You … you Saracens fan, you!”
“Lucy,” said Susan, “I do apologise.”
“That’s all right,” replied Lucy. “Let’s go and see Mr Iknus.”
* * *
Lucy led them towards Mr Iknus’ cave, but as they neared its entrance, she gasped in dismay. The door was wrenched off its hinges. She spotted something white, and rushed forward.
There was a note pinned to the door.
To Whom It May Concern,
The Traitor Iknus has been arrested by the order of the Queen of Narnia for fomenting rugby enthusiasm against Her Majesty’s express wishes.
Any fellow enthusiasts will also be hunted down and arrested.
Signed,
Maugrim
Chief of Her Majesty’s Very Secret Police
* * *
As Lucy stared, dumbfounded, at the notice, Peter caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Oh Peter, Susan, Edmund,” wailed Lucy, “We must help Mr Iknus! It is probably my fault that he was caught!” She explained to the others all about Daughters of Maeve.
“That’s odd,” said Susan, “My mother’s name is Maeve too. I’m not sure why, because she is from the Valleys.”
“Well, my mother’s name isn’t Maeve,” said Peter. “It’s Eve, and my Dad’s George. But he’s always called Hamish on account of being born in Glasgow.”
Edmund’s eyes boggled.
* * *
Mr Beaver burst out of the undergrowth.
“Two Daughters of Maeve and two Sons of George, upon my word!” he cried.
The children all took a step back, because they had never seen a large Talking beaver before, and were a little surprised. But they were soon reassured by his smooth patter (“Call me Clyde”), and gratefully accepted the invitation to his lodge for tea, because they were getting right peckish.
“Shh!” said Mr Beaver, putting his paw to his teeth, “We must be very quiet and careful. The Witch’s spies are everywhere.”
They all crept cautiously after him through the forest until they came to the river, and scurried into the lodge under the cover of the fallen darkness. To their delight, Mrs Beaver, who didn’t seem at all surprised to see them, was just laying out a large feast, and they all tucked in heartily, along with the three Beavlets. (The Middle One occasionally made some disturbing pronouncements, but not disturbing enough to put them off their food. They were very hungry.)
As they all pushed back from the table, replete, Mr Beaver lit a fag, which he sucked through his teeth.
“Please, Clyde,” said Lucy, “tell us what you know of Mr Iknus!”
“Ah, my dear,” sighed Mr Beaver, “That’s a very bad business.
“We last saw him being taken by the Witch’s Secret Police towards her castle. Few who enter those gates come out again. They say that the whole castle is furnished with statues – but these statues are Narnians who have been turned to stone by the Witch’s evil spells. Some of them are even Narnian Lions.
“But there is a prophecy in Narnia that when two Daughters of Maeve and two Sons of George sit on the High Thrones of Cair Paravel, then we shall be freed. And lo, we hear that our true ruler – the great Narnian Lions Captain Paulan – is on the move from his long exile, and we shall meet him tomorrow at the Stone Stadium.”
Unnoticed by everyone else, Edmund had sneaked away to find the Witch’s castle.
Ovally Balls 
CMW, My greatgrandfather’s cousin was a medical missionary in China. Her story’s complex and this is only the briefest of overviews: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sally_Wolfe
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Tomp. my namesake uncles was a missionary in China in the late 20’s and 30’s. Spent time in a Japanese interment camp. While I admired his courage, I have misgivings.
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Shit. Fucked that post up. One uncle. Only one.
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So it was uncle Avfan not uncle Avsfan? All very confusing. Think we’ll use this Sally Wolfe in the next round while waiting for clarification.
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Though we may not need either if we can get him with a partcularly obscure vegetable. I’m thinking maybe a potato.
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Article on Jordan Venter, the young laddie signed by Edinburgh. He’s been through more than anyone should, at any age https://amp.rugbypass.com/news/the-unimaginable-personal-tragedy-that-nearly-ended-the-fledgling-career-of-jordan-venter/?__twitter_impression=true
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That’s a helluva story, Ticht. Good luck to the guy, whether he ends up playing for Scotland or South Africa.
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Kid’s sure got some drive
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Didn’t realise Djokovic is a plague enthusiast
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No missionaries in the family tree as far as I’m aware. Grandmother on dad’s side was a terrifying old sourpuss in the classic scottish protestant tradition. Literally everyone was scared shitless of her.
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“No missionaries in the family tree”…………………………….Pffffftt!
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mmmm……………………..Nina Simone…………………wonderful
https://www.theguardian.com/music/2020/apr/20/nina-simone-where-to-start-in-her-back-catalogue
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and the original version of Mr.Bojangles…..
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SBT
……..very good – new to me. Thanks
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Guardian article on the best toastie fillings/an advertorial for the Canton Arms gastropub in London.
Includes this filling:
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Never had a haggis toastie. Something to try
Had a haggis & tattie pizza once. Really nice.
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I had haggis pakora in Mr Singh’s India in Glasgow a couple of years ago, it was one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.
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Haggis pakora sounds very nice
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On the subject of food had some stornoway black pudding delivered last week. Delicious inna roll
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It makes me very optimistic for the future of our civilisation if somewhere on this planet you can get haggis pakora. It bodes well for us all.
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Sainsburys. At least, they (did) have it up here. Maybe not as good as the pakora Ticht had at the restaurant, but still pretty good.
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Well, the world is really going to go to hell now. Somebody closes a car door….
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-45650976/meghan-closes-a-car-door
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Hadn’t realised that was an OLD article. Just shows that Meghan breaking protocol in 2018 has obviously been the catalyst for all that’s happened since…
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Danny Dyer teaching History or Brian Cox teaching Science?
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Both.
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Although listening to Danny on the intricacies of the Corn Laws would be fun.
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You’d go for both?
What if you could only choose one?
The Corn Laws aren’t that intricate, but Danny’s more a royal expert. Like a Cockney David Starkey but with the blue blood.
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You lot just don’t know Danny like I do. Remember he went to yoga with my missus a while back. He’s more likely to be reading your horoscope.
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Plus David Starkey is a commoner and very proud of it.
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Not intricate, just bloody boring. Seemed to have that subject in about 3 different courses. Sure Danny could spice it up a bit.
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@TomP – Like the sacrificial sheepdog he is BB went for both so that you can go for neither and all you can do is throw it back in his face?
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Bollocks. I unwisely invested in oil recently. Have some barrels spare. Will pay for collection.
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Olive oil might have been a better idea….
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Very volatile market, thaum, because of Xylella fastidiosa.
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Lack of traffic, so highlights from yesterdays lock down playlist.
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I like this version of that Eric Bogle song
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Ha, Houghton Weavers eh?
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Shot, SBT, you’re doing some fine tunes there boy!
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Came on to post something of great import, but got sidetracked by the music. Ah well, another time.
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If we’s doing music, I mentioned this one recently, on the Great Bob Dylan Cover Day:
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Great Bob Dylan Cover
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Nick Knowles could actually do quite a lot with that voice, I mean that isn’t the best thing I’ve ever heard but it isn’t worthy of derision, there is nothing bombastic or “tv star does Dylan” about it.
Tell me, have I posted Mandolin Orange on here previously? I did a quick search and couldn’t find anything, but I will post something if there is nothing telling me I’ve already done so, except from Thaum obviously, since I reckon the word Mandolin will set her running for the Banhammer immediately :-)
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Mandolin Agent Orange? You’ve already posted it 20 times, mate. ;-)
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I’ll take my chances, I really like this Dylan cover, it’s sensitive to the original, but the man and woman swap the assumed places from in the narrative, which I like.
Plus, the guitar sounds awesome.
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I’m going to use this as an excuse to see if I can post a youtube with a timestamp on it, what I want to happen here is that this will link to the point in the vid at approximately 9 mins and 8 secs. That is the beginning of a great song about the South, the history of the nascent USA and slavery and hatred and bigotry, just the little things, all bound up in a little mandolin and guitar song with a neat hook.
It’s genius song writing, imo
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