Silence fell across the table. They all sat there staring at Pippa who was tugging at Old Mother Alice’s nose for all she was worth. Nobody dared move. Even the owls in the woods across the fields stopped hooting.
“Det doe od my node!” shouted Alice, and Pippa reluctantly let go.
“It must be really good glue.” sighed the girl in disappointment. “My friend Cynthia says flour and water make good glue but I tried it on some wooden sticks and it didn’t work at all.”
Alice stroked her nose, her eyebrows rising so steeply you could have cut paper with them. Mister Crisp was sure he could see tears in the witch’s eyes but he was most certainly not going to mention it. “Didn’t work on worms either” sighed Pippa finally. “I think they may have drowned actually.” She managed to look slightly guilty at this memory.
To the group’s great surprise Old Mother Alice continued as if nothing had happened.
“Do you know the rules of “Crumble” girl?” she enquired, and Pippa shook her head, her pigtails swinging about her.
“I am very good with rules though. I can pick it up as we play I think. My mum says…”
“Enough!” shouted the witch, and Pippa stopped instantly. Old mother Alice began dealing the cards.
“It is quite simple really.” She said. “You need a run of cards of the same type, or suit. Chimney sweeps are high, and the Mister Crumble card tops all.” The cards were dealt to all of them in turn, and slowly they began to pick them up. “There is only one Mister Crumble card though, so his appearance is quite rare.”
“Usually because it is up her sleeve.” mumbled Mister Crisp and Alice shot him a quick glare that stopped him in his tracks. The witch took five little coins from her pile and pushed them in front of Pippa. “You can lend these fenics. It’s one fenic a game, and raising by only one at a time.”
Pippa nodded, staring at her cards, and so they began.
Slowly the night wore on, midnight ever nearer though still a little while away. The weather did not improve though bats fluttered casually from tree to tree, and near to hand owls gave an occasional hoot of either triumph or anger.
Much later Pippa’s voice could be heard coming from the card table. “So my scarecrow trumped your farmer, milk maid, chimney sweep and three of clowns?” asked Pippa, her eyebrows knitting together furiously.
“Yes, yes.” said the Count, throwing his cards down in disdain. Old Mother Alice looked at the large stack of fenics in front of the little girl who smiled at them all in turn, completely oblivious to the looks of irritation that were being cast in her direction, except for the skeleton of course, who just merely stared in the same manner as usual.
Old Mother Alice had been forced to ask for her five fenics back three hands ago or she would have been permanently out of the game, and Pippa had gladly given her double the amount back.
“Because you are my friend.” she had simpered, and the witch had growled slightly in what she thought was under her breath, but was actually perfectly audible.
The previous hand Pippa had won hands down by proudly throwing onto the tombstone table top the “Mister Crumble” card, which as the witch had patiently explained was extremely rare, and should have been actually not just rare, but impossible. Impossible because it was actually up the witch’s sleeve.
Or at least she thought it was. She glared at her cloak, unable to feel the hidden card, and determined to check as soon as she got home.
“Mister Crumble!” Pippa had declared as she had cast the card down. “What a silly name!” she had giggled. Nobody of course had joined in.
Old Mother Alice was dealing out the next hand when there was a loud rustling from the bushes and Dave, Alice’s cat, wandered into the clearing. Dave resembled a tame house cat in exactly the same way that a goldfish resembled a shark. His colouring was tortoiseshell and he strode towards Alice as if he owned not just his current surroundings, but the whole graveyard and quite possibly the village and county in which it was located too.
As Dave approached the table he stared up at Pippa who had not noticed his arrival and was busy sorting out her three dealt cards into an orderly little pile. Dave began to growl loudly, a deep and resonant sound that seemed to disturb the air about it. Pippa looked up.
“Awwww….” she smiled, standing up, cards forgotten. “A cat!” she smiled broadly as she approached Dave who now bore a look of total confusion as the child approached him. “Why is he growling?” she asked as she scooped Dave from the ground and began to carry him roughly back to the tombstone she had been sitting on, carrying the cat in the awkward and no doubt highly uncomfortable manner (for the cat at least) that all small children carry cats.
“He was growling because you were in his seat.” said Alice carefully, and Mister Crisp noticed that the witch actually had her eyes closed, fully expectant of Dave the cat displaying his outrage at being picked up in his usual, violent manner.
Pippa sat down on the tombstone and propped Dave up on her knee facing her.
“Wooo woooo oooooo…” said the ghost nervously, and the Count seemed to be watching developments with great interest. In addition the skeleton’s jaw gaped as wide open as surely it possibly could.
The little girl leaned forward and planted a big kiss on Dave’s nose. The cat’s eyes crossed as he made a careful note of exactly what it was she was doing, but he also had a look of a severe case of feline shock.
When Old Mother Alice opened her eyes Dave was purring softly on Pippa’s knee as she stroked him in what may possibly be described as a robust manner. Dave however now had his eyes closed and seemed to be fully enjoying the experience. Mister Crisp gulped and so the game continued, resulting in a rare loss for Pippa, though she did seem to be paying rather more attention to the cat than the card game.
“Woo oo Crumble!” said the ghost, and his cards fluttered down onto the gravestone table, revealing a winning hand. All across the gravestone little piles of coins began to slowly crawl towards him as if being moved by the wind.
Pippa shivered as she stroked Dave, the cat contentedly purring on her lap. Old Mother Alice made a careful mental note not to attempt the same thing when she got home. Mister Crisp could tell that Pippa was thinking, and thinking hard by the way her face screwed up and the way she kicked out her legs as she balanced on top the tombstone, her brightly coloured shoes almost tap dancing in the air.
“Something wrong child?” asked Mister Crisp as they all turned to watch her. There was no doubt that all of a sudden she looked a little sad. Pippa looked up from the cat mid-stroke and looked out wistfully across the forgotten cemetery, the broken and toppled tombstones seeming to almost glow in the moonlight.
“It is all the tombstones.” she said suddenly as if making a decision. “They look so untidy. It makes me sad.”
“You think they need dusting?” said the ghost innocently. The count smiled, pulling his cloak about him as if waiting for her to answer.
“No, silly.” smiled Pippa. “I think they need cleaning perhaps but I don’t think anyone will bother.” She gave a little gulp and the skeleton leaned a little closer. As did they all. Even Old Mother Alice. “But that’s not it.” she paused, as if looking for the right words. “It is more that I wonder who are they for. Do the bigger stone statues mean those dead people are more important than the dead people with smaller statues? It all seems a bit silly.” She screwed up her face as if finding it not just a bit silly but in fact extremely silly. “They are all dead after all. Who cares? My friend Cynthia says that one angel is the same as another angel and it doesn’t matter how big the angel is.” She paused slightly as an owl broke the silence from far away. “I think she is right.” she said, smiling again.
Surprised at the sudden turn in direction the conversation had taken the Count leaned in even closer to Pippa.
“Maybe the statues are not for ze people inside the graves but maybe the vons outside.” he smiled and nodded as Pippa's eyes went wide. Old Mother A
lice leaned back, catching the little girl’s attention.
“The count is right, child. The simple fact is the size of the statue has nothing to do with how much a person will be missed. Look at this graveyard.” she swept an arm about her, pointing down the hill through the trees. “No flowers or tokens of affection here. These graves are long forgotten. I suppose that the people who made sure their relatives statues were the biggest and most impressive have long since gone to their graves themselves.”
“I guess so.” said Pippa, thinking hard. “But it’s all a bit silly, isn’t it?” she smiled.
“Silly?” asked the ghost in surprise. Even the skeleton’s jaw dropped open a little more than was usual. Mister Crisp leaned even more forward than before, straining to listen.
“Why silly?” he asked.
“Well.” said Pippa in what presumably she considered to be her most grown up voice. “Well it seems to me that it doesn’t matter how big their angel or cross is. I think it is much more important to remember people.”
“Very wise.” said the Count, smiling in a way that revealed more of his teeth than was wise. “Very wise.”
“Yes.” smiled Pippa. I think it is much more important to remember people by how much they were loved than by some silly statue.”
“Yes.” said Old Mother Alice. “Very true. By how much they are missed perhaps?”
“I think so.” smiled Pippa and stood, carefully placing Dave the cat at her feet before pushing herself down off the tombstone and picking up her basket which lay at her feet.
“Well I must go home.” she said, smiling at them all before scooping up the pile of coins and placing them in her basket. “Before anyone misses me.” She looked rather guilty at this and made to leave.
“Thank you for the game of Crumble though.” she said.
“Same time next year?” asked the ghost and Pippa smiled.
“I hope so.” she said, and with a sad little wave disappeared into the bushes. They all strained their ears as they heard her singing a jolly little tune as she made her way down the hill, and then she was gone. Silence fell once more.
“Vell I must be on my vay too.” said the Count, unfurling his cloak. “Things to do und people to see.” he smiled almost apologetically.. “You know how it is.”
“Indeed.” sniffed Mother Alice.
One by one they all left the clearing to attend to their All Hallow’s Eve business. Soon she stood in the moonlight alone.
“Come on Dave.” she said, picking up her broom. “A nice piece of cheese is waiting at home. I think you deserve a slice of it tonight.”
Dave the cat approached the broom and hopped onto it. “Time to go.” said the witch, and the broom and its two passengers began to slowly rise into the air.
***
Pippa made her way along the path between the dilapidated and moss covered uneven tombstones, skipping as she went. Her pigtails flew out behind her as moved down the hill. It really had been a very exciting evening! Her new friend’s costumes were wonderful! She skipped further down the path in the moonlight and then veered off amongst the tombstones off to her right. She picked her way quickly between the stones, almost as if she knew the way. She slowed down as she passed a large leaning angel, one of its wings broken and smashed into moss covered rubble on the ground. Weeds grew all around and a cold wind blew across the exposed side of the hill.
“Here lies Cynthia Paskell” she could just about make out written on the gravestone, the letters worn by time until they were nearly indistinguishable. “Gone to be an angel.” it concluded and Pippa giggled a little.
Pippa thought that it was very likely that angels were actually really, really boring, what with all of those harps and all the singing. She would rather play “Crumble” any day of the week, even though it was quite a challenging game. Well, so her new found friends had said, but she had actually found it really, really easy and she was already looking forward to another game next year.
Slowly she came to stop at the next grave. There was no angel here or flowers or gifts on the small headstone that was now just a lump of tired and black looking rock. It looked very old but it also somehow at the same time looked very forgotten too. She stood looking at it for a while and then sighed deeply before another broad smile crossed her face as she remembered her new found friends.
She had told a few white lies of course. The candy canes for a start were not real, though the story of going out with her parents was true but it did happen a very long time ago.
“White lies and candy canes.” She said out loud to herself and giggled at the thought. It sounded so much like the title of a story!
A slight breeze blew across the hill, fog rising from the ground and Pippa smiled as she slipped through the earth as if she were made of mist herself. Once back inside the grave and her nice warm coffin she thought of as home she pulled her pillow about her head and went quickly back to sleep.
***
Old Mother Alice rose into the air, her and Dave seated comfortably on her broom. Slowly they began to cross the graveyard now below them, the broken monuments and statues slowly moving past as they turned east and began to make their way home. It had been the strangest night of Crumble for many a year, that was for sure. Her aching nose certainly bore testimony to that. She was flying over the bottom of the hill when she had a sudden feeling deep in the base of her stomach, and the broom slowed. Behind her Dave the cat rested a paw on her back and meowed loudly.
“You sentimental old fool.” said Old Mother Alice to the cat as the broom came to a stop in mid-air. “You are making me just as bad.” she tutted and Dave meowed again and then slowly the broom began to descend. Soon they were on what was once obviously a path, but was now overgrown with weeds and broken stone. The cat jumped down from the broom and walked over to one of the graves and began to meow loudly.
“I know. I know.” said Old Mother Alice irritably as she examined the grave next to where the cat now sat. This one bore the name Cynthia on it. When she moved along the path and approached the cat she was not surprised to just be able to make out the word, “Pippa” on what was just a stump of cracked stone. It was barely legible, eroded by time and the weather, in fact had she not been squinting at it she would not have seen the name at all.
Old Mother Alice muttered a few old but well-chosen words under her breath and made her way back to her broom.
“Come on, Dave.” she said, but seeing that the cat just looked at her, added, “Cheese?” but still the cat did not move. Alice sighed deeply and picked the broom up, overturning it. She pulled at the straw surrounding the bottom of the handle and pulled a handful of it off. Placing the broom back on the ground she sat on the path and set to work, winding the hay this way and then that, twisting the strands together, humming tunelessly as she worked.
Finally she was done. She stood and crossed over to Dave the cat who meowed loudly as Old Mother Alice approached. The witch paused at what was left of the headstone and then she carefully leaned forward, gently laying the straw dolly she had made on the grave before her. She stood back and stood in silence for a moment and then she heard Dave meowing loudly behind her, now seated on the broom.
She made her way back past the headstones and mounted the broom.
“Cheese?” she said again to Dave the cat who meowed loudly and licked his lips.
Old Mother Alice laughed and then the broom began to rise again, gathering speed until she rose higher and higher until from the ground she was visible only as a silhouette against the full moon and then they were gone.
filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
A Challenging Game of Crumble Page 2