30. THE WITCH AND HER SPELL

I bring in my old character Griselda Entwhistle to help Greendale with his impotence...

It was early one Sunday morning and the Blocksleys were in bed but awake. Primrose was still asleep in the next room and the twins, being adult by then, had recently moved out, to live with relatives somewhere south of London. But the Blocksleys were slowly, remorselessly, growing apart, and it was all down to one particular problem.

“I think we married in haste,” muttered Ursula to Greendale, “I think we should have waited...”

“With you growing ever bigger with Primrose?” demanded her husband. “And it was you who agreed before we were married. It was you who wanted to carry my child before we had a chance to get wed in case the bloody war meant I’d never come back. And don’t forget, I nearly didn’t.”

“Maybe,” sighed Ursula.

“We both know what this is about,” said Greendale, more quietly, “We both know that it’s my inability to satisfy you because of that damned wound that I got… the doctors said I’d be all right, but I’m not. You can see that. I’ve not been able to … you know what …. ever since.”

“I don’t like it when you call it satisfying me,” grumbled Ursula, “you make it sound as if it’s my fault, that my demands are unreasonable when all I want is a normal married life with normal relations with a husband I find myself falling out with because there’s nothing normal left.”

“Because I can’t do it,” said Greendale bitterly, “if there was something I could do, one little thing, or even one ginormous thing, I’d do it. You can’t think I like being like this: what do they call it? Impotent? You know I’ve been to see Doctor Blegg and he said everything should be all right… he’s got the reports from the services hospital I was treated in, they said that the little wound had healed properly.”

“But everything’s not all right and I want another baby before I’m too old to have one,” Ursula told him. “Time’s ticking by, you know, I’m in my thirties and might dry up with my menopause any moment now.”

“Well, I’m sorry. What more can I do?” he replied, a little petulantly.

“There’s one thing that I mentioned,” almost whispered Ursula.

“You mean the old woman they call a witch?” demanded Greendale, “you’ve got to be joking!”

“Old? I don’t think she’s a great deal older than me and there are lots of people who say she’s better than any doctor when it comes to herbs and cures.” Ursula sounded uncertain, but knew they had to try something, and even the old Entwhistle woman would be worth a try as a last resort. Beyond that … well, she knew she was fond of Greendale, but there had been a time when she had said she loved him, and she didn’t say that any more. It was all because of the physical thing.

“I don’t want you to think it’s just because I want a baby!” she blurted out, “I want to do it with you, too. I want to feel the warmth of you so close that we’re like one person! I like the feel of it, Greendale, or think I do, though so long has passed I might have forgotten!”

“We do some things together,” he protested, “I do try...”

“I know, I know, I know … but there’s one thing my body needs, one … oh, I can’t put it into words without sounding greedy and perverse, but I do really need it somewhere closer than in a distant memory.”

“Then I’ll go and see her, just to please you,” grunted Greendale.

“And I’ll come with you,” she said, determinedly, “this afternoon.”

“How do you know she’ll be there? Hadn’t we better book a time with her?” He felt as if already, moments after agreeing to see the old woman, he might be trying to wriggle out of a meeting with someone widely regarded as a witch. And probably he was, but he was terrified of talking to anyone about his problem. Talking to the doctor had been hard enough, and he’d been another man, older, true, but understanding. Talking to an old witchy woman would be impossible, surely.

“No. We’ll go this afternoon,” insisted Ursula. “I’ll take Primrose round my mother’s and we’ll walk there. It’s not far.”

“This is going to be embarrassing,” grunted Greendale as he climbed out of bed. “I’ll go and put the kettle on, then.”

That afternoon Ursula and Greendale set out for the Entwhistle woman’s cottage. Griselda was already a force to be reckoned with in Swanspottle, though she didn’t seem to think she was anything special. But she was constantly pursued by rumours, and rumour can be a mighty powerful force. In particular it was rumoured that she was in touch with magical forces, that she could perform deeds with spells and tinctures brewed up in her cauldron that would put scientists to shame.

She lived down a lonely lane that wound its way out of the village and out into the countryside. The cottages down there were small and mean, but she loved hers and as a means of discouraging unwanted visitors she crossed two besom brooms across its tiny porch as a kind of mystical gate. Most people knew what that kind of broom indicated and went away.

Ursula knocked the door whilst Greendale hung back, wanting to be anywhere but where he was. He might even have swapped positions with his former self when he’d been shot down piloting his Spitfire during the war, but dreams and fantasies rarely come true, and he remained on Griselda Entwhistle’s doorstep, shivering.

And her door opened.

Griselda has always been one of those women of indeterminate age. She was probably born looking fortyish and by the time she passed through her teens she arrived at a physical appearance that might have been anything between twenty-five and a half and a hundred and something.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said, with what Greendale saw as an evil leer but which was in actual fact her very best and most welcoming smile.

“This is a mistake,” he stammered, grabbing Ursula by an elbow and pulling her away.

“Stop it!” hissed Ursula, who saw the old woman’s smile for what it really was, and “my husband needs your help,” she said to Griselda.

“A man needs to be a man,” observed Griselda, speaking directly to a reluctant Greendale. “A man needs to be able to procreate. A man needs strength in his armoury. A man needs life in his tiddlers!”

What is this woman waffling about? thought Greendale, perplexed.

“That’s exactly right,” smiled Ursula. “And we’ve come to see if you can help us before our marriage falls to pieces and we end up fighting for the custody of little Primrose,” she added fiercely.

“Such a sweet child,” sighed Griselda, “so innocent and young, and a shame if she becomes a battlefield! But you’ve left it rather a long time, young man! Let me see, it must be ten years since you were shot down, ten long years of wanting old Griselda’s magic in his life.”

“I saw the doctor...” stammered Greendale.

“Ah, Doctor Blegg. Such a fine gentleman and so good with measles. He did warn me you might call. Says you might benefit from a few spoonfuls of my penile tonic...”

“Your … what?” stammered Greendale.

“Come in, come in, come in,” invited Griselda. “I have just the job for you, and, mark you, it works like magic though there’s no magic involved. Just the right mixture of herbs and minerals in the right proportions. No silly ingredients like slugs’ testicles or catfish gizzards… just pure, simple ingredients that I gather from the hedgerows and back gardens. Nothing complex. Here, take a sip...”

And seeming from nowhere she produced a small bottle and wafted it under his nose. “Smell this,” she encouraged him, “Just get your nose round this! Isn’t it heavenly? Here, take a spoonful, just for the fun of it…

And he couldn’t help it. A spoon that also mysteriously appeared from nowhere, and somehow filled with part of the contents of the bottle, found its way into his mouth and within moments his face was flushed, his eyes sparkling and his trousers bulging.

“My goodness me!” he spluttered, and fainted.

“What a size,” gasped Ursula, “oh darling Greendale, love of my life, wake up and take me home!”

And he did manage to open his eyes and slowly climb to his feet.

“What happened?” he asked, blinking.

“Everything!” laughed Ursula, “now hadn’t we better thank the nice lady and ask her what we owe her … and get back home while it’s working!”

“Oh, that’s all right,” cackled Griselda, “think nothing of it! Just take it as a gift from one who might have been saved from eternity had you not shot my enemy out of the skies in 1943!”

And she pressed the bottle and mysterious spoon into his hands, and shooed the two of them out.

“You’ve got ten years of hanky panky to catch up on,” she said, “so be off with you...”

© Peter Rogerson 08.08.18