Links to Chapter One and Chapter Two
Edmund slipped and shivered through the snow until he eventually found the Witch’s castle. It looked quite creepy, but bolstered by thoughts of Turkish Delight (oh, his Saracens – and the Scarlets were his favourite Welsh side), he crept through the imposing main gate.
He found himself in a courtyard filled with statues. They had snow settling on them, and they all looked very sad. Near the gate, there were a couple of magnificent Lions, and then he spotted a statue that looked very like Lucy’s description of Mr Iknus. There was a collection of stone rugby balls, and what looked like a few referees. (“Those referees probably deserved it,” thought Edmund.)
Suddenly, Edmund was rooted to the spot by a chilling low growl. He turned his head to find himself staring into the eyes of Maugrim, chief of the Witch’s Very Secret Police.
“Come,” said Maugrim, “Her Majesty is expecting you.”
* * *
“What!” said the Witch, not at all friendly like the last time, “Have you come alone? I told you to bring the Daughters of Maeve and the other Son of George.”
“B – b – but,” stammered Edmund, afraid of her icy stare and stern manner, “I couldn’t get them away from the Beavers. They were all talking about the return of Paulan to Narnia.”
The Queen turned even paler, if that were possible.
“Paulan!” she muttered to herself, “No, it cannot be possible. My spells are strong.”
Before Edmund knew what had happened, she had crossed the room and spear-tackled him with one strong arm. “Tell me all,” she said, preparing to drive his head into the ground.
Edmund, quaking with fear, told her all that he knew.
The Witch released him with a thump on the floor, and clapped her hands to summon her minions.
“Harness the springboks and prepare my sledge immediately! Get my dwarf! Maugrim: take the swiftest of your wolves, go to the Lodge, and kill the children and the Beavers. If they have already gone, then proceed to the Stone Stadium.”
In the twinkling of a drop goal, the sledge pulled up, driven by a dwarf who looked suspiciously like a scrum-half. Edmund was bound, and unceremoniously dumped into the bottom of the sledge. There wasn’t even any Turkish Delight.
* * *
“Susan,” said Peter, “Where’s Edmund?”
“I – I don’t know. Now that you mention it, I haven’t noticed him for a while.”
“Ah, children,” said Mr Beaver, “I’m afraid he’s gone to see the Witch. We must be on our way quickly.”
“What?”, said Lucy, “No, surely Edmund would never betray us.”
“Daughter, I’m afraid he has the look of one who is in the Witch’s favour. How long that favour lasts is another matter.
“Did anyone notice when he left? Did he hear that Paulan is on the move?”
Nobody was quite sure.
“Then we must be off at once. Mrs Beaver, please pack us up as quickly as you can.”
Mrs Beaver – for of course it’s always the females who are prepared for anything – had already got nearly everything ready for travelling. She had a pack ready for everyone, and they were off in less time than it takes to reset a scrum.
* * *
They had a long, cold and weary journey, and stopped after some hours at a safe hiding place, where they cast themselves down on the floor, covered themselves with the blankets kindly provided by Mrs Beaver, and fell asleep immediately.
They were awakened at dawn by some faint voices, which became clearer as they drew closer.
“Ho, ho ho! Go left! It’s on!”
“I’m straighter than that throw-in.”
The children rubbed the sleep from their eyes and looked in confusion at the Beavers.
“It’s Father Jiffy and Father Nige,” beamed Mr Beaver. “The Witch’s magic has kept them from Narnia for so long, but her enchantment is fading. The voices of rugby have returned to the land.” They rushed outside to find a volley of rugby balls flying through the air, and the snow at last melting.
Ovally Balls 
DCI, Branson needs your money. I saw yesterday he was selling a quarter of his stock in Virgin Intergalactic or whatever it’s called, because he’s in urgent need of readies to support his airline. Unless,of course, the government decides to bail the airline out. Which is very unlikely. Very very unlikely.
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We’ve still got a fair amount of wine left from when we made our own (proper) wine a few years back and we’ve been giving a lot to friends and family, so hoping we don’t have to go that route.
Currie Cup versus Super Rugby? The Currie Cup has always been the premier domestic competition in SA and reached its zenith in the last years of apartheid as sporting isolation meant we had nothing else, both club or international rugby, so at some levels, I’d be a little uneasy about a return to that – Super Rugby was confirmation of our return to the world arena. Also, I’d be worried that we’d revert to the type of ‘domkrag’ rugby (brute force isn’t quite it; it’s literally a jack for lifting, but refers to the limited, bash and kick approach we’ve used so much) of days gone by and lose the more open approach encouraged by Super Rugby.
Super Rugby has suffered as much from Kiwi dominance as it has from too many teams and not enough good ones in recent years. I do enjoy it, especially getting up on weekends and being able to support an SA team, but if it fell away, then so be it. I think a lot of fans here feel the same way: either back to ten teams max, or ditch it.
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Deebee, there were a few of those places left down there when we used to visit. Lovely cafes and all. Plus, Kalky’s, a brilliant fish and chip place in Kalkbaai.
There’s also very pleasant independent bookshop there, Kalk Bay Books,and the old Quagga Books and Antiques just up the road towards Cape Town.
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A video especially for MrIks
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Province didn’t play that one-dimensional rugby in the 1980s. Some of the highlights I’ve seen are wonderful.
But as a Bulls fan, I have to day that the match in which Naas scoring 4 drop goals and 5 penalties or whatever it was to beat Transvaal in the Currie Cup final in 198? is the best game of rugby in SA history.
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@Tomp
Branson has done without my money since January, when I cancelled the club. I realise this is what probably precipitated the catastrophic decline in his credibility and subsequently, his bank balance.
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It’s good to get an admission of guilt so promptly. Right off to the mess room for a cuppa.
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In the NH, I think we’d miss the OnceAndFuture Heineken, of course, though obviously English teams won’t win it again since Saracens’ little mishap. The Premiership and Top 14 look to be on a bit more solid ground than the PRO Infinity perhaps, simply because of the lack of jet-settery. I’d look forward to the new Pro-Wales to see Hawarden play the Turks in the Play-Off final, but I’d be breaking the law by driving into Wales to do it.
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Craigs, I know Hatchards. Not really my kind of place, likewise with the Waterstones on Piccadilly, though I did like some of the glam in there. I once ordered Patrick Magee’s book about the representation of Irish Republicans in post-1970s literature from that Waterstones. Magee is also known as the Brighton Bomber and this was the write-up of his doctoral thesis*. I was worried that I was going to get nicked as I went to collect the book.
Heywood Hill in Mayfair’s really swanky as well.
Daunt Books are lovely shops – and you used to get a free tote book if you spent over 25 quid. I was in a queue at a supermarket in Pretoria when a lady saw I had one of their Notting Hill branch bags and she and I had a warm chat about the merits of the shops.
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Beautiful rugby:
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Tomp – yeah, it’s very different but worth going to at least once. Mrs Craig’s used to work nearby so we used to pop in occasionally.
There’s a book shop in Falmouth which is an absolute maze over a couple of floors and a mezzanine.
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amazing
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Been a while since I’ve been to a bookshop, there used to be a good one near the pubic triangle on the way down to the Grassmarket in Edinburgh
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Naas Botha was a machine
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Can’t see the pro-woo resuming any time soon in it’s 14 or even 12-form.
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Province were a stunning side in the 80s. I was at Youngfield, the anti-aircraft unit located between Wynberg and Ottery in the unfashionable suburbs of Cape Town. Sportsmen were treated like royalty and we had the likes of Carel and Michael du Plessis, Freddie Ferreira and Faffa Knoetze from the WP backs and giant prop Balie Swart amongst the forwards at Youngsfield. Swart was my lieutenant and one of the most mischievous buggers I’ve ever known. Supporting Transvaal in the final at the pub on the base was as close to being a blindfolded matador as I’ve ever been. Out of interest, B&I Lion John Robbie was the Transvaal 9 that day.
The daylight robbery you’re talking about was ’87, when Botha kicked four penalties and four drops to beat Transvaal. It was the season when Transvaal hammered Northerns in the Lion Cup final (a lesser trophy) and Botha remarked afterwards that “the Currie Cup isn’t won in May.” So right he was. Prick.
To follow on from my post to Brookter, those were massive games. The atmosphere, intensity and rivalry were test-match level. in 1981 (I think), Province captain Morne du Plessis had to have a police escort off the pitch in Pretoria after flattening Naas with a perfectly timed, perfectly legitimate* tackle that so incensed the crowd they wanted to lynch du Plessis.
* Possibly not in today’s game. Here it is:
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Turns out it was 1977 and ‘only’ a semi-final.
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TomP – sorry, I’ve removed your post as I don’t think anyone’s real name should be published without their express permission.
If anyone is in touch with FD and he’s okay with it, I’ll reinstate it.
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Thaum – sorry, that was my fault.
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Craigs – assume you took note of it, so can now go and buy it!
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Thaum – I did but will probably wait till it comes out in paperback.
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You’re taking away my freedoms, thaum. I’ll get on to Toby Young and the Free Speech Union.
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Ah, shit. Just used the Cat’s real name now. Please delete.
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Brutal. Totally unnecessary. Like it.
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Cat isn’t Toby Young. That’s CJ.
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Deebee, Poor old Naas, a child at the time, and that thug du Plessis attacking him.
Must be something they teach at Grey cos Bismarck du Plessis did the same to the sainted Dan Carter and rightly got his marching orders.
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I once posted a video of PewDeePie playing a game that Cat was into and said it was him
He pretty much exploded.
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Snowflake, int hje.
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TomP, if you have a fascination with old playfair annuals and Twickenham match programmes, my Dad has been trying to find a home for his pile going back to the fifties. Couldn’t even convince anyone to sell them for him on ebay. Suspect he would love to find a good home for them for cost of postage ( which could be a fair bit, mind).
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int he.
I know CJ’s real name. It’s not Toby Young. If it was, he’d be TY. To accuse CJ of being Toby Young is close to libellous.
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I do, SBT. We could try to arrange something.
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I remember when CJ posted his personal email address on AoD on purpose, poor naive lamb.
Bit like when Clarkson put his personal bank details into an article he was writing to prove that all this security business was pointless.
By the time he wrote the next article he had to close the account.
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OT – again, I was involved in that although I didn’t specifically ask him to.
Maybe I should become a professional trickster.
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BTW accountant =/= professional trickster
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Pro blog killa
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Must be something they teach at Grey cos Bismarck du Plessis did the same to the sainted Dan Carter and rightly got his marching orders.
Was gonna mention this travesty as well, but didn’t want to upset the snowflake Kiwis on here.
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Thought Pro was banned?
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Think I may spend the evening watching old Currie Cup finals.
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Not banned. In pre-mod.
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Deebee, try this first:
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I’ve been watching old Currie Cup finals from the 1973 to 1992, Deebs.
I think you’ll particularly enjoy these finals: 1974, 1986, 1991 and 1992.
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Yes, that’s the term. Sorry, don’t want to be overly dramatic. So we went to Mrs Deebee’s twin today to drop off illegal cigarettes (yes, that’s it’s come to) and had a large glass of homebrew pineapple beer (yes, ditto). Shit is powerful. Feel stoned more than drunk. Will be going back for more! As soon as I can feel my toes.
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I didn’t know where Youngsfield was so had a look on the map. The railway line and even more the highway through the Southern Suburbs are clear demarcation lines. At least you had a short walk to have a bet on the gee-gees.
By the way, Michael K is treated in a camp hospital at a fictional Kenilworth Racecourse in the JM Coetzee book.
Cape Town is a fascinating place. Not sure if you’ve been to the District 6 museum but Joe Schaffers, one of the main guys there, we met him and he was endlessly informative and open to our dumb questions, is about to get a honorary degree from Edinburgh University. This is a nice piece about him:
https://blogs.ed.ac.uk/tomslater/joeschaffersdoctorate/
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Thanks TomP. All Transvaal losses. That Ray Mordt try where he bounces off two defenders was something else. I was there with my dad, in that corner. Think it was the season after he’d taken the 30 pieces of silver and crossed the Jukskei. Watch him up against Bernie Fraser in the 81 Bok tour to New Zealand – a frightening guy to mark.
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Illegal cigarettes?
Powerful shit?
Pineapple express?
I think the all expenses lunches will consist of crisps and dips whilst watching old Dr Who episodes round Deebee’s house for the foreseeable future!!
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How much did you pay for the fags? They were about 40 bucks a packet when I was there (but I had ways and means to get them for about 28).
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When I worked in the prison, the ladz used to make their own homebrew from fruit. Now it’s all Spice and heroin. Simpler times, simpler times.
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Tomp – ahhhh, prison toilet hooch. Sounds fucking rank. But if I had to, I’d make some.
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Whetton train station ran along the border of the camp. I spent many nights in the guard tower there, right where the ‘Coloured’ section was. Depending on the time of night, you’d either be able to buy bankies of dope or be ducking the bottles being thrown from the train. Mostly we just sat and got stoned in the guard towers and ignored the officer on duty when he pitched up in the lovely winter rain.
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These are illegal smokes. Normally sell for R200 a carton, but are going for R550 and upwards. Never heard of any of the brands.
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