1. THE COTTAGE IN THE WOODS. Part 1

Two teenagers stumble upon a cottage seemingly trapped in a past age

    THE COTTAGE IN THE WOODS 

1 A Summer Walk.

Enid Scratchpole had always been a loving child, and as time passed she grew into a loving teenager, which was one thing that appealed to Anthony Bluesdale when she entered his world because Anthony had never been exposed to much real love. He was one of seven children, all of them accidents due to parents that loved spending far too much time in bed together when they weren’t actually tired enough to enter slumberland. And being one of seven was no piece of cake and Anthony had to turn elsewhere to find out what life was really all about.

So he found Enid Scratchpole, who had been the youngest one of two, not that it was at all important where she was in the family because she had a singularly loveable personality anyway. And she smiled a lot, and it was that smile that first attracted Anthony to her.

For the first few weeks they got to know each other, she because he was the lad next door, her hormones had started to influence her opinions of lads, and their paths crossed with almost indecent frequency; and he because she was the girl next door and despite a personal pledge of celibacy he’d made when it crossed his mind that he was one of seven unwanted offspring and there just might be a way of preventing the pattern continuing in a second generation, he still found her addictive, probably to do with his own hormones. Not that reproduction was on his mind just yet, but the subject had been covered at school in embarrassing detail, the sort that had made him squirm inside.

The two youngsters loved quite a few activities that they shared, like his computer and her computer. His was quite old and hers was brand new, so both had access to different games, though it wasn’t just games that they played together because he liked writing little stories and she said she liked reading them. But a second shared joy was Brumpton Woods. They were young, enjoyed each other’s company, and liked being on their own rather than in crowds. So Brumpton woods was just about perfect when the summer sun was shining because they were extensive and took an awful lot of exploring.

And one particular day was right for exploring because it was the first time that she kissed him and despite his vowed of celibacy he kissed her back, aware that kissing wasn’t supposed to make a girl, pretty or otherwise, pregnant, though his teacher had warned the class with a knowing smile that they must always remember that one thing can always lead to another.

Brumpton Woods stretched for wonderful miles, following the course of the River Grentle, and was rarely explored by anyone once the buildings of the town were left behind, and this particular day Enid and Anthony were particularly careless of distance as they mooched along, hand in hand for most of the time, and so it was they came upon the cottage.

It was old, of that there could be no doubt, and equally certainly was in pretty poor condition, with evidence to the naked eye that the roof might be likely to fall in at any time.

“I never knew that was here,” said Enid, “isn’t it charming?”

“Some might think that,” replied Anthony who was of a more practical opinion, his eyes on its roof.

“Llet’s explore it,” suggested Enid, and because she could do or suggest no wrong he reluctantly agreed.

“Get off my land!” screeched a voice from somewhere inside that cottage, “and take your jack boots back to where you came from!”

A grizzly woman with tangled grey hair and enough wrinkls to be obvious even at the distance they were from her appeared at what must have been a kitchen window.

“Er, sorry, we didn’t know anyone lived here,” replied Enid in what, for her, was her sweetest voice, which made it sugary indeed.

“And be a dear, won’t you? A real dear?” the scratchy old voice added, “don’t tell the commandant as you found me?” There was a suggestion of desperation in that request, one that made both teenagers feel uncomfortable.

“Commandant? What commandant?” asked Anthony, equalling Enid in the sweetness of his voice.

“The Kraut, ‘im as does ‘is bosses orders round ‘ere,” the creaking voice told him. The words made no sense to him.

“Er… sorry,” he ventured.

“Anyway, what you kids doin’ round ‘ere? You wanna get away afore the commandant or any of ‘is thugs gets ya!” she almost squawked, then went on to add, “at least you don’ speak German, so’s that’s summat.”

“I do German at school,” Enid told her, “and French,” she aded for no better reason than the words filled a void.

As they’d been talking the two teenagers had moved slowly, unconsciously, closer to the open window where the woman glared at them.

“Bah!” she spat at them, “I never went to no school. My ma said as I shouldn’t or I’d be fed wi’ nowt but lies about how great an’ glorious the krauts are an’ ‘ow we’re well off bein’ marched around by them.”

“What century do you live in?” Enid couldn’t help asking.

“I’m English! You go an’ tell ‘em that!” snapped the woman, bristling as if the declaration was the most important thing in her world. Then: “they sent a spy round last week, or mebbe the week before, I don’ really know weeks, an’ the devil was on about phones an’ wiring me up. I ask you? Who do they think I am, what sort of lily-livered poltroon do they take me for?”

“You mean, you haven’t even got a phone?” asked Antony, and he pulled his mobile from his shorts pocket. “One of these?” he asked.

“Get you and that Nazi thing away from me!” screamed the woman.

“It’s only a phone!” explained Enid, shocked by the fear on the elderly woman’s face, “everyone’s got one!”

“The filthy beasts, they’ve got you tamed, ‘aven’t they? Controlling you wiv that evil, aren’t they?”

“What filthy beasts?” asked Enid.

“Our German masters, that’s who…” almost whispered the woman.

“Come on, Anthony, she isn’t making much sense,” urged Enid.

“Just a mo, Enid,” replied Anthony and he smiled at jer, “I think I know what’s up with her. That war, the one we did in history a few weeks back, that ended nearly a hundred years ago, she reckons it’s still on! Or rather, she believes we lost it.”

“They’ve got you, all right,” hissed the woman, “in your brains, they are. My mother warned me, she did, afore she died, she warned me that the German’s had got into the heads o’ decent folk…”

“Can we talk to you?” asked Anthony, and when Enid pulled him back he turned and whispered to her, “she’s trapped in the past, love, the poor soul’s living as if the past had never become the present…”

“Then let’s go and tell someone, but let’s leave her to her past!”

“Don’t you do tellin’ no Germans as you saw me”” squawked the woman, “my ma warned me of traitors like you, how they are like spies sent to deceive us innocents!”

“Miss, I don’t know your name, but Miss or Mrs, there are no Germans anywhere near here! Or if there are, they’ll be on holiday over here! And there’s nothing wrong with knowing them if you do. They’re good people, like us.”

“Pah!” she snapped, and shut the window with a bang that Anthony thought might break its ancient hinges. Then she appeared at the door, which opened with an almighty creak, revealing a dirty old woman carrying a threatening gun and waving it in their direction.

“Come here!” she hissed, “I’ll show you who wins this war! Come round here! Now! Quickly, or I’ll shoot!”

“You’re right, Enid,” whispered Anthony, “come on now. Quick!”

And pulling her by one hand he turned and ran as quickly as he could back onto the verge of Brumpton Wood and where he believed they’d be safe.

There was a click, but the gun didn’t fire though they heard the sound as she pulled its trigger, but he didn’t stop until he thought they were safe, far enough awayfrom the eccentric old woman anyway.

They heard the screech of “I’ll get you, wait and see if I don’t! My mum told me, afore she died, bleeding Nazis…”

© Peter Rogerson 06/01/23

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