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evon, a beautiful green county of gentle rolling hills
and woodlands. Steeped in history, and home to the Anglo Saxon tribe the
Dumnonii from which the county reputedly gained its name. Dumnonii meaning ‘deep
valley dwellers’; an apt name for this beautiful countryside. Hiding scores of small villages and hamlets
deep in the fertile valleys of the Blackdown Hills and reached by a maze of winding
single track lanes enclosed on either side by high banks and hedges which in
high summer grow together and meet overhead forming long green tunnels. Within just a few miles of the bustling towns
and roads you enter a different world where the past is so close that it could
be just around the next bend of the road.
The small village of Medbury, worthy of mention in the
Domesday book is bounded by the river Yarty to the west and the county border
of Dorset to the east, its single street winding its way along the valley and
rising gently to the slopes of Castle Hill. The street petering out at the
rambling buildings of Castle Farm, originally the last residence on that road
but with the overgrown orchard to the side of the barn recently having been
sold, a new dwelling had risen inside the old stone walls of the orchard. The
builders rubble had gone, lush green turf had been laid and a new gravel drive
led up to the front door. Orchard Cottage was finished, and deep in the soil
something stirred
Friday
There were a few early
fallers under the two remaining apple trees in the orchard behind the house, the
old neglected trees had long since stopped producing a decent crop but the
wasps had found the few apples that had dropped and were drunkenly crawling
over the rotting fruit.
One stray wasp flew in through the kitchen
door and buzzed slowly around the room until it found the empty tubs of the
Indian takeaway on the table. Kitty flicked it away with a tea towel and swept
the debris into a carrier bag.
‘Thanks for bringing the Indian.’
Gordon pushed his empty
plate away and stood up. ‘Well, I thought it would be easier for you, after
all,’ he said looking at the piles of boxes in the hall. ‘You’ve had a busy
day. So what time did the removal company finish?’
Kitty sighed and pushed
her greying hair back from her face.
‘I think we finished unpacking the van about
five, so then they had one last cup of tea and went on about five thirtyish.’
She picked up the dirty plates and piled them in the sink. ‘I’ve run out of
milk as well, they drank so much tea and coffee. I was brewing up the whole
time they were here.’
‘Oh well, at least they
worked hard for it and moving all our junk in one trip! I’m sure they deserved
all the tea they could drink for that.’
A cool breeze blew in the
door, outside dusk was falling and the last few minutes of bird song drifted
over the newly landscaped garden.
‘Thank goodness it stayed
dry, there’s nothing worse than trying to move in the rain.’
Gordon opened the fridge.
‘Yeah.. We were lucky this time, is there enough milk left for a cup of tea?’
he picked up the carton and shook it. ‘Nope, it’s dry,’ he complained. ‘It will
have to be a black coffee.’
Kitty pulled a couple of
clean mugs out of a cardboard box on the table.
‘I hope I’ve got enough
coffee left, there’s some tea, but black tea? And by the way there’s something
wrong with this door,’ she indicated the back door. ‘It won’t stay open.’
Gordon raised his eyebrows
and sighed mockingly. ‘A new house and you’re finding fault already.’
‘I’m not finding fault, it
just won’t stay open. And the front door is just as bad. It kept shutting when
we were trying to bring things in. I’m sure the men thought I was doing it for
a joke, so Greg propped it open with your armchair. He had a look at it; he
said it might be the hinges.’
Gordon rubbed a hand over
his face. ‘Okay, I’ll look at it tomorrow; have you found the coffee yet?’
‘What?’
‘The coffee,’ he said
impatiently. ‘Oh never mind I’ve got it,’ Gordon opened the jar. ‘There’s not
enough here for one cup let alone two,’ he looked at his watch. ‘I wonder if the village
shop is still open.’
Kitty looked up from the
box. ‘I shouldn’t think so, not at this time of night.’
Gordon sighed. ‘How about
a beer then?’
‘A beer? Well,’ she
hesitated. ‘Yes, that would be nice, I could do with getting out of here for a
while,’ she looked at the dog who was pushing his now empty bowl around the
floor. ‘And Nero could do with a walk,’ she bent down and fondled his ears.
‘You’ve been such a good dog today, haven’t you?’
Kitty straightened slowly
wincing. ‘I’m going to ache tomorrow,’ she complained rubbing her back.
‘Why didn’t you let the
men do the lifting?’
‘I had to help Gordon; I
couldn’t stand back and just watch.’
She turned away from him
to shut the back door and noticed an elderly grey cat sitting in the doorway.
‘Hey, we’ve got a visitor,
our first one. Hello puss.’ She put out a tentative hand and gently tickled it
behind its ear. ‘Now who do you belong to?’
Gordon came back in from
the hall, he had taken off his jacket and tie and had pulled on a thick jumper.
‘What?’
‘A cat,’ she turned back
to the door. ‘Oh it’s gone already.’
‘It’s probably from the
farm or a stray.’
‘It looked too plump to be
a stray.’
‘Then it’s from the
village or the farm, and no... we are not taking it in,’ he warned her.
‘I wasn’t thinking of
that,’ she muttered. ‘Anyway Nero wouldn’t like it, would you boy?’
She patted his head and
stepped over him to shut the door and caught sight of her hands, they were covered
in the black ink from the newspapers.
‘I had better wash my hands first, they are
filthy from unpacking this lot,’ she looked at the box of crockery. ‘I should have got rid of all this china
before we moved, who uses cups and saucers these days anyway?’ she said moving
the box off the table. ‘We’ve got far too much now.’
‘Didn’t you wash them
before we ate?’
‘Nope,’ she grimaced. ‘I
forgot, I was too hungry, never mind,’ she rinsed them under the tap. ‘A bit of ink won’t kill me.’
Gordon waited impatiently
as Kitty dried her hands and got the dog lead from the utility room.
‘Are you ready now?’
‘Yes I am,’ she replied
calmly. ‘Oh where’s my handbag?’
Gordon was walking to the
front door and called back over his shoulder ‘You don’t need it, I’ve got some
money, will you come on Kitty?’
Gordon pulled the door shut
behind him and followed his wife down the drive. He glanced back at the house.
‘Once we sort out the
front garden the place will look as though it has always been here.’
Kitty stopped and turned
round, she smiled contentedly. ‘It blends in nicely with the old farm buildings,
doesn’t it? And it feels like home already.’
Gordon put his arm around
her shoulder and gave her a hug as they walked out into the lane. ‘We need to plant some more apple trees in the
back garden, we can’t call it Orchard Cottage if it hasn’t got an orchard.’
‘Perhaps we ought to grow
some of the older types of apple, I wonder if Mr Beamish can remember what varieties
the original trees were.’
They turned right and
followed the old stone wall of the orchard past the farm and walked down the lane
into the village, the dog running a few paces in front of them
A bat swooped over their heads and disappeared
into the farm buildings.
‘What a lovely evening.’
The lights were still on
in the shop as the couple walked past.
‘It looks open,’ said
Kitty surprised. ‘Shall I try the door?’
An elderly woman stood
behind the counter reading a newspaper, she looked up, sensing she was being
watched and smiled when she saw Kitty peering in through the window.
Kitty opened the door
making the bell over the door tinkle madly.
‘Are you still open?’ she asked.
‘Yes dear,’ she looked at
her wrist watch. ‘Oh goodness! Is that the time? I didn’t realise it was so
late,’ she shook her head and folded the newspaper.
‘We’ve run out of milk and
coffee, are you usually open this late?’
‘No, I just lost track of
time, I don’t usually work on Friday night but my nephew had an appointment so
I volunteered.’ The woman watched as Kitty wandered around the shop picking up
the milk and coffee, she also picked up a crusty loaf of bread.
‘Freshly baked this
morning, dear.’
‘It smells lovely; I’ll
have one of these as well.’ Kitty placed it all on the counter. ‘Do you have
any eggs?’ she asked looking around the shelves.
‘Over there by the
newspapers. They’re free range; they come from Mr Squire’s farm.’
Kitty placed a half a
dozen next her other purchases on the counter. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t bring a
bag, we weren’t expecting the shop to be open.’
The woman pulled a carrier
out from under the counter and started packing Kitty’s groceries.
‘How’s the move going?’
she asked suddenly. ‘William’s a good friend, he’s been keeping me informed,’
she smiled at Kitty’s surprised face. ‘It’s a small village dear, you’ll get
used to it.’
Kitty smiled back at her.
‘It’s lovely here, it feels like home already.’
‘I’m sure it does,’ the
woman said quietly. She passed Kitty’s shopping over. ‘That will be six pounds
fifty please.’
Kitty opened Gordon’s
wallet and handed over a ten pound note. The women’s hand closed over the money
and Kitty’s hand.
‘Sybil,’ she said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Sybil Leavenham, my
name,’ she explained. ‘I know you’re going to be happy here Kitty, and if you
need help with anything,’ she shook Kitty’s hand as if to emphasis the point.
‘Anything at all just ask.’
Kitty smiled hesitantly. ‘Thank
you, that’s very kind of you.’
Sybil smiled and released
her hand, she nodded towards Gordon standing outside, ‘He’s getting impatient
and he wants his beer.’
Kitty glanced around; her
husband was gently tapping on the window and gesturing at her to her to hurry
up.
‘I’d better go,’ she
gathered up the bag and her change. ‘Thanks, see you again.’
‘Oh you will. Goodnight.’
Kitty smiled and pulled
the shop door closed behind her. Gordon looked at the carrier bag in her hand
and smiled ruefully.
‘I thought it was just
milk and coffee you needed?’
‘Well I thought I would
pick up a few things for breakfast as well.’ Kitty handed back his wallet and
looked up, Sybil was standing in the window calmly watching the couple outside.
Kitty waved and she smiled
slightly in response.
‘She seemed very nice, she’s
a friend of Mr Beamish. She knew all about us.’
‘Really?’
‘She even knew I was
called Kitty.’
Gordon looked puzzled for
a minute. He started to say something but behind them the shop lights suddenly turned
off leaving them standing in the dark.
‘Oh, time to go I think,’ as he said this he
turned and glanced back into the darkened interior of the shop, just on the
other side of the window a dim figure stood, arms folded watching them through
the glass. Gordon shrugged off the strange feeling of unease and took Kitty’s
hand.
‘Come on; let’s get off to
the pub Kitty.’
The street was deserted,
pools of light shone out of the cottage windows lighting their way down to the
public house. They crossed the narrow lane leading to Castle Hill and walked
the few yards to the traditional square red brick building, which had a brand
new sign hanging over the front door.
‘The Witch and Broomstick,
huh! They’ve changed the name. It used to be The Red Lion,’ said Gordon.
‘I don’t remember coming
here before,’ said Kitty surprised, looking at Gordon in the dim light.
She looked up at the lurid
painted sign, a fearsome looking witch was riding across the night sky on a
broomstick.
‘What a strange thing to
call a pub.’
‘Remind you of anybody?’
Gordon said raising an eyebrow at her.
Kitty looked puzzled ‘Not
really.’
‘No? I thought it was
quite a good likeness of your mother,’ he laughed at her indignant face and
pushed open the door to the public bar and reminded her. 'I used to play darts here many years ago with the Young Farmers Club.'
‘Ah.. Your wild and woolly
past.’
‘Yes and I suppose you
still had change from a shilling or was it a farthing?’
‘Half a pig actually, so who’s
buying, you or me?’
‘You are, I left my bag at
home remember?’
‘Oh yeah,’ he said
ruefully.
Inside it was deserted except
for the landlord who was wiping down the bar; it looked a traditional pub with
horse brasses hanging from the old beams, however there were a few unusual
additions to the decor.
Gordon bumped his head on
one as he approached the bar.
‘Good evening, what can I
get you?’
‘Evening, it’s quiet in
here,’ said Gordon looking around the small room. ‘Well now let’s see, what
local beers have you got?’
The landlord smiled. ‘It’s
a bit early for the regulars yet, they’ll be in later. Now,’ he said turning to the pumps. ‘We
have Plymouth Pilgrim, Hunters Gold, or there’s Palmers IPA, and I’ve just put
on a fresh barrel of Otter.’
‘I’ll try a pint of the
Otter thanks, what will you have Kitty?’
‘I think I’ll have the
same but just a half.’
Kitty stared at the toy
witches hanging from the beams.
‘Why all the witches?’
‘That’s all to do with our
famous local witch, The Witch of Medbury.’
‘Who? I’ve never heard of
her,’ said Kitty puzzled.
‘Oh well you can’t be
local then if you’ve never heard of Hannah.’
‘Well my family are local,
from Axmouth, they used to run The Ship Inn,’ said Kitty.
‘Really? Here you are sir,’
and placed a foaming beer glass in front of Gordon who took a mouthful.
‘Ahh... that’s good... that
doesn’t sound like a Devon accent, where are you from?’
‘My partner and I are from
Woking, in Surrey that is. We think it’s important to keep the local traditions
alive. It’s surprising that so few people around here know about her.’
‘Hmm, really,’ Gordon said
drily.
‘Rumour has it that she
was an evil old woman, terrorised the village, it’s even said that she killed
several people. She was snatched away by old Nick himself at the end.’
‘Where did you find out
about all this? It sounds like nonsense to me,’ said Gordon disparagingly.
‘Well Sheena is very
interested in the occult, she has been researching the witch and thought it would
be great to try and bring local history alive. She was even thinking of having
a séance here.’
‘A séance! Wow,’ said
Kitty.
‘Perhaps you’d be
interested in attending?’
Nero plodded over to the
smouldering fire and sat down on the hearth with his nose just inches from the
burning embers. Kitty hooked a finger through his collar and pulled him away
from the fire.
‘Move you silly dog,
you’ll burn,’ and pushed him under the table. ‘Now sit there, I hope they don’t
mind the dog coming in but the landlord didn’t say anything did he?’
Gordon placed the glasses
down on the table and sat down.
‘The dog is fine Kitty,
stop fussing.’ He put a glass in front of her. ‘There you are.’
‘Thanks,’ she picked up a
beer mat off the table. ‘Look, the witch is on here as well.’
Kitty handed it to Gordon
for him to read and while he searched for his glasses in his coat pocket she
took the opportunity to gaze around the pub. Her examination of the many obligatory
horse brasses hanging around the fireplace was cut short by the sound of Gordon
laughing as he read out the text on the mat.
‘The Witch of Medbury
In the early 1800’s at Castle Hill near the village of
Medbury lived a witch called Hannah who was reputed to possess great powers.
She was the most famous witch in East Devon and could change into a hare,
bewitch animals and it is said her powers caused the death of several residents
of the village. Hannah died a horrible death dragged out of her cottage on
Castle Hill by the Devil and left hanging in a tree.’
‘For God’s sake where did they
dig this nonsense up from?’
‘Perhaps they’re going to
turn this into a theme pub with a hologram of a hags head coming out of the
wall.’
‘They could hire your mother
to sit in the corner of the bar, an authentic witch. Can she cackle?
‘Oh how cruel!’ she
laughed. ‘Anyway she would scare all the trade away.’
‘Very true....well here’s
to the first day in our new home,’ Gordon raised his glass to his wife. ‘Here’s
to our new home, at last!’
Gordon settled back in his chair and closed
his eyes and sighed. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this for months, no
maintenance, no painting windows, no worrying about guttering or dodgy drains,
great!’
‘The old house wasn’t that
bad.’
‘I was tired of having to
continually patch things up and we don’t need all that space, not now.’
Kitty looked a bit glum. ‘Will
we have room for all the children at Christmas?’
He stared at her over the
top of his glass. ‘They’re not children any more, they have all got their own
homes and families. We can go to them for Christmas, let the kids wait on us
for a change.’
Gordon took a few
mouthfuls of beer and sighed contentedly. ‘They don’t need to stay, they only
live a few miles away. I’m looking forward to a nice peaceful retirement, no
kids, no decorating, just fishing!’
Kitty shook her head. ‘I’m
sure you don’t mean that and anyway you’re not retired yet.’
She sipped her beer slowly
and stared at her husband.
Gordon put down his glass.
‘Just one more year and that will be it.’
The landlord came over and
gave the smouldering fire a vigorous poke and then placed a fresh log on the
rekindled flames.
‘It’s a bit early for a
fire but it gives the place a welcoming feel, don’t you think?’ he asked, addressing
Kitty.
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Well
it’s getting chillier in the evenings now; I think our Indian summer is over.’
He nodded in agreement. ‘Are
you here on holiday?’
‘No, we’ve just moved into
Orchard Cottage, at the top of the village.’
The landlord looked blank.
‘I don’t think I know that one.’
‘It’s the new house at
Castle Farm,’ explained Kitty. ‘We
bought the orchard off of Mr Beamish.’
‘Oh Castle Farm, I know
the one you mean. We walked up the lane a few weeks ago, it’s those lovely old
buildings at the top isn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ said
Kitty.
‘We haven’t seen Mr Beamish in the pub yet.’
Kitty looked at him in amusement.
‘I don’t think you will, he
is rather elderly.’
‘Did you say you were from
Axmouth?’ he went on. ‘That’s a busy little village isn’t it? Right on the
holiday route. There is a nice pub there; I can’t remember what it’s called.’
‘It’s The Ship,’ put in
Kitty.
‘No, no, I’m sure it was
The Admiral. We stayed there while we were viewing different properties. Very
busy little pub and it is a nice area. W e didn’t realise how quiet this village
was when we leased this pub.’
‘Medbury is off the beaten track,’ agreed Kitty.
‘Yes, but,’ he brightened.
‘We do have plans, we’re going to concentrate on food and try and get a regular
clientele and give it a bit of atmosphere. Sheena is working on the menu this
morning. She’s going to experiment with a Caribbean theme; she wants to get away
from the usual pub grub. Gastro pub I think she calls it.’
‘Good food will attract
customers, even out here,’ said Kitty. ‘Well, we’ll look forward to seeing how
you get on.’
Kitty glanced at Gordon
uncertainly. ‘Yes I’m sure we will be able to make it, won’t we?’
‘Wonderful, I’ll be able
to tell Sheena that we have had positive feedback already.’
Kitty nodded and smiled
faintly at him as he hurried back to the bar.
‘Caribbean?’
‘Hmm... He’s going to have
a table reserved for you now.’
‘Oh well, it might be
okay, I not sure how that is going to go down with the locals though, I’m sure
they would rather have good cooked English food.’
Kitty yawned and rubbed
the back of her neck.
‘I’m so tired and stiff,
everything is aching and I’m really looking forward to a long soak in the tub
tonight. It seems a long time since the removal van came this morning,’ she
hesitated. ‘It’s a shame you couldn’t get the day off to help, it would have
made it a bit easier.’
‘That’s why I hired that
removal company, so they could do the work, not you.’
‘Yes but even so...’
‘I told you that we are
really busy at the moment and I couldn’t spare the time Kitty. Now would you
like another drink?’
‘No I’ve had enough.’
‘Okay let’s get on back
then as you’re tired, we can have an early night. We can finish unpacking in
the morning.’
Gordon picked up the empty
glasses and took them back to the bar.
‘Thanks,’ he said, ducking
his head to avoid the witches.
‘Thank you, hope to see
you again,’ called the landlord from behind the bar.
‘I’m sure we will be back
and we’ll give your regards to the witch if we see her on the way home.’
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