... She Wrote

Hans Exposed... as Wordsmith Extraordinaire

(prompt: 'unexpected' July 2, 2021)

I opened a book I found in an ancient trunk in the attic... the one Mummy said belonged to my great-great-Grandmother. From the first moment I set eyes upon it; then the next when I stretched out my fingers; I found myself suddenly and strangely nervous as I touched it and then held it in my hands. An unexpected warmth crept through me. This precious book vibrated its longing for each and every page to be opened, and read, and savoured, and dreamt about long after its covers were closed again. The cover said it was a collection of Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales... both famous, and almost unknown.

It was as if a kind of spell enfolded me; steel bands inside softest padding and velvet casing, demanding I dress for the occasion of the Grand Opening of THE book. In another chest, not nearly so old, I found one of Gran's Red Hat Ladies' head-wear creations, a cheeky train driver's style cap (still the brightest red known to Man), with a flashy purple flower pinned to one side. And because it was a rather chill and grey day outside, I chose to pull out her favourite old ultra-soft and fluffy dressing gown; small matter that it was adult size and I was just a young girl. Even smaller matter that it had numerous worn patches. There lingered the tiniest aroma of Gran, and I loved it SO. I felt like she was still cuddling me, her warmth and love enfolding me... it was yesterday again.

Without even thinking, I found myself in what had been Gran's favourite extra-comfy chair... a delicious rocker/recliner where we could snuggle to share our favourite stories; and wonder of wonders, a huge china cup of steaming tea sat alongside, on a pile of books. A goose wrapped his neck around my stockinged legs, almost tangling in the heaps of dressing gown pooling around my Mum's shoes dwarfing my feet, but managing to poke his head through the folds. He turned his head from side to side, his beady eyes fixed on me inquisitively. Amazingly, I found we could mind-talk and understand each other's language perfectly (told you a spell was in the air... a magic one, indeed!).

"Now?" he honked in quite impatient 'goose gabble'. "Are you finally ready to let ALL those poor characters free?" And despite some hearty nodding on my part, the goose continued, "Hans didn't just make these characters up out of thin air, you know! He breathed LIFE into each and every one of them with the magic of his words." He doubled his neck over and preened his chest feathers. "I AM the original Goosey, Goosey Gander you know, born across the sea in the Motherland, near 50 years before many of Hans' stories were even a glimmer in his light-bulb brain!"

Now I REALLY couldn't wait a single moment more.

To be continued...