Welcome to the Christmas 2012

issue of PlantaPress magazine!

We have a special feature celebrating

the very first Liverpool Children's’ Liter-

ature Festival, which took place across

the weekend of 3-4th November 2012.

We’re also celebrating the recent

launch of a brand new title for children,

called Sophie and The Spider. Written

by young Liverpool playwright John

Maguire for his niece Sophie, it is a col-

lection of fun nonsense poems that

bring a smile to most adults’ faces, let

alone kids!

On page 43, resident columnist Sarah

Wallace is back to tell us how Jung and

holiday romances have a surprising

amount in common. Who’d have

thought?

Resident white witch Yvonne Moore-

Singh sheds some of her taper light up-

on a misty figure from ancient times.

Just who is John Barleycorn? Turn to

page 40 to find out!

Along with the above, we have taster

excerpts from Sophie and The Spider,

The Lazy Seagull, along with my own

books Snøfjell, and upcoming Crusade

For Bramble Wood!

Merry Christmas!

Jen xx

Jennifer M Smedley

Creative Director of

PlantaPress

PlantaPress

Pic: Jennifer age 22 with

Rocco (7th Jan 1999—22nd

December 2012)

Distributed 3 times yearly

to bookshops, libraries,

schools and anyone else

who wants a copy.

If you wish to advertise in

this magazine, or have

suggestions/complaints

please contact:

enquiries@plantapress.com

Magazine published by

PlantaPress ©2012

www.plantapress.com

SPECIAL FEATURE:

THE FIRST LIVERPOOL

CHILDREN’S LITERATURE FESTIVAL

TOP L-R: Jennifer Smedley, Joseph Reynolds, Johnny Parker, Steve Bayley,

and George Jones.

BOTTOM L-R: Joy Rutherford, Rachel Braddock, and Victoria Campbell.

Across the weekend of 3-4th November 2012, history

was made at Waterstones Liverpool One store, as lo-

cal authors gathered for the very first literature festival

in Liverpool that is especially for children...

The event had been trapped inside the imagination of Jen-

nifer Dobson, children’s manager at Waterstones (pictured be-

low with Steve and George) for some time.

The children’s department at Waterstones L1 store is very at-

tractive and she knew she wanted to do ‘something’ with it to

make the most of it. Then, in early 2012, she met Jennifer

Smedley, and together they hatched a plan to take it forward

and make her idea a reality.

Jen Smedley gathered together all the local children’s authors

she could get hold of, and they all met as a group a number

of times over the next few months. Meanwhile, Jen Dobson

was busy contacting local schools, organising cakes with the

Rainbow Trust, a charity Waterstones works very closely with,

and also managed to nab an article in the Liverpool Echo on

Monday 29th October.

Cafe barista Joseph Reynolds was spirited away for the day

too, to help entertain the children. He’s a very talented magi-

cian, when he’s not filling bookworms’ boots with lattes and

cappuccinos. Next time you’re in, ask him about his blazing

wallet, and the magic colouring book!

Bold Beasts extraordinaires Rachel Braddock and Joy Ruther-

ford, along with

Rachel’s husband

Bob, brought their

popular title Catullus

the Caterpillar, and

new offering Ariadne

Armadillo , both

aimed at the 3-7

age group. Rachel, a

retired primary

school teacher, expressed that she always particularly enjoys

reading to the children. She read to Jen Smedley’s nephew

Joel Sainsbury who loved it, and promptly insisted that Aunty

Jen buy him both books! Meanwhile Joy gave wonderfully

colourful live art demonstrations throughout the day for chil-

dren and adults alike to watch.

Above: Jennifer Smedley and Johnny Parker await the marauding hordes, on Sat-

urday morning, with less trepidation than they would have had without the support

of two cappuccinos and an Americano, respectively… Below: Johnny with Steve

and George.

Given the excellent turn out of this festival, a second one is

being planned for spring/summer 2013, with more authors

being invited to attend. A major local arts organisation has

expressed an interest in getting involved, with this one, and

the gang are looking forward to working with them!

Participant Information

Daniel M Warloch (not pictured) http://www.facebook.com/

pages/Author-Daniel-M-Warloch-Fan-Page-Strategic-Book-

Publishing/319491911397001

George Jones/Steve Bayley: www.astrobods.com

Jennifer Smedley/Johnny Parker: www.plantapress.com

Joseph Reynolds http://www.facebook.com/pages/Joseph-

Reynolds-The-Page/407288382652464?sk=info

Rachel Braddock/Joy Rutherford www.boldbeasts.com

Victoria Campbell vcampbellauthor.com

At the time of this magazine’s publication, most of the titles involved

are in stock at Waterstones Liverpool One, or can be ordered online

from major bookstores, including waterstones.

Just Launched!

But who are the people behind it?

Find out more across the next few

pages!

John Maguire, 35. Author.

The character of Sophie is based on my eight year old niece of the same name. I had an allot-ment for five years, where I grew all my own veg-etables and flowers. This is where I came up with the poems from Sophie and the Spider as I had do something to keep my niece entertained. She was my young apprentice on my days at ‘The Lost Plot’, our nickname for the small piece of paradise in the middle of Picton.

I also work on a number of fringe theatre pro-jects; writing, directing and producing. Recently I have staged WEAVE, the story of a Scouse Girl with a possessed hair extension, which was part of the Shiny New Fringe Festival at Liverpool’s Lantern theatre. The play will be going on to Ed-inburgh next year.

Also, my play Bruise which investigates the taboo subject of Gay Domestic Violence, was very successful at this year’s Manchester Pride. It was performed at the legendary Kings Arms The-atre, after sell out performances in Liverpool in February.

I generally divide my time between Fringe Theatre (writing and direct-ing theatre, running workshops and drama courses) and my job at LJMU, (working with arts organisations and LJMU creative students on projects that will enhance their work experience whilst they are study-ing.)

There are two further kids’ books in development at the moment - Colombus The Monkey and The Tree Story. I hope to tour and give readings, to try and encourage and inspire young people to pick up a book, to feed their minds and celebrate language and the art of story-telling.

Alex Nicholson, 22. Illustrator

I fell in love with Sophie and the characters as soon as I read the poems about them, and immediately began drawing images of them in my head. I knew there and then that this was something I wanted to be involved in. I’ve always had a creative mind and excelled in school in creative subjects such as art and textiles. I went on to study Fashion at Mid Cheshire College, and then Fashion Communication at Liverpool John Moores University.

It was at university, after a live project with an illustra-tor, that I realised I had a passion for drawing and I based all my projects around illustration. My final pro-ject was based around child-like figures and seeing the world through rose tinted glasses. As a child I loved

anything by Roald Dahl, but especially The BFG, which strangely enough is about another little girl called Sophie! I love the distinguishing sketchy style of Quentin Blake’s illustrations and how the story has never dated. The BFG is for all ages to enjoy.

Children's book illustration is a challenge for me and so different from my usual work. With fashion illustration there are very few boundaries, but children expect to see certain things and colours so detail is stripped right back. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it though, and I feel like I’ve got to know Sophie and the characters as if they were real.

I also want to continue to develop my repertoire of fringe theatre work and to let the ships sail out to seas outside the North West. I intend to stage something in New York City as its energy, people and rawness is something I feel is very similar to Liverpool, only bigger.

One day, I hope to have my own theatre/gallery/cafe space.

Jennifer Smedley, 33. Publisher

Sophie, 8. John’s niece & real

life inspiration for character.

Sophie is currently practicing her autograph, and is very excited about her uncle John’s book. She did an excellent job at the signing, encouraging all the children to join in, and there’s probably going to be a job lined up at PlantaPress for her in twenty years time if she keeps it up!

I first met John at the beginning of this year, when I was looking for students to help with some market-ing for PlantaPress. As we talked, I was amazed to find out that he was a fellow writer and I absolutely loved the fledgling Sophie and The Spider (as it was then). It’s been great fun publishing it, and I can’t wait for the whole world to get to see it too.

I completed my A-Levels back in 1997 at the usual age of 18 in English Literature, English Language and Media Studies, but then veered away from this area for many years. I did a number of things and even worked in NHS mental health care for a while. It was after PlantaPress’ inception in Decem-ber 2010, that I rediscovered what was probably the right path for me all along! So, I entered into the 2nd year of the BA (Hons) English & Creative Writ-ing course at LJMU last September and have not looked back.

I will graduate in July 2013, all being well, at the grand old age of 34! (No offence to John, who is the OAP of the group at 35, haha!)

Here are some brilliant photos (taken by photographer Nicola Vaughan) from the launch and signing day we had at Waterstones L1 store on Sunday 19th August 2012. May there be many more!

L-R John, Sophie, Jen, Alex

John and Sophie, reading together...

Lots of signing and talking for everyone...

Jen and Alex strike a pose...

The gang. Spot the difference...

Sophie’s dress was tailor made by Liverpool fashion designer Caroline Oates. Visit: Caroline Oates Couture http://carolineoates.co.uk

Excerpt

Find Out More, And Buy…

Lazy the Seagull is too idle to leave his cosy nest, and learn to fly. He

prefers to let his mum carry on feeding his tum with little silver fish... His

contentment turns to confusion, however, when a sudden gust of

wind ...picks up both Lazy, and the nest, whirling them from their idyllic

cliff top ledge to a grimy old car park.

At first, Lazy remains in the nest, sure that his mum will find him soon. A

little while later, with no sign of his mum, the local animals take pity on

him, and try to tempt him with their own favourite titbits. When not

even a cheerful, Gallic hedgehog can slide a slug into Lazy's beak, it

seems nothing can be done to halt Lazy's speedy decline into self-pity.

It is only when a scary, scavenging, fox decides that Lazy might be tasti-

er than trash, that Lazy realises his salvation is in his own hands, or in

this case, wings!

Information for Grown Ups: The Lazy Seagull is a lively, humorous,

rhyming tale on the theme of 'growing up' Alliteration, repetition, and

onomatopoeia, throughout, tickle the story taste buds of young readers,

whilst encouraging them to 'learn to fly' by making the best of their tal-

ents, trying new things and exploring the world around them. A beautiful

addition, both visually and verbally, to any little one's library.

Available now, from:

PlantaPress

Chapter One of the upcoming PlantaPress title' Crusade For Bramble

Wood!' by Jennifer M Smedley is offered below for your delectation! And no,

the main action does not take place in a forest; now that would be a little too

obvious wouldn't it! Enjoy!

Thirteen year old Catherine Daulby is a mean girl and loving every

minute of it, until the day her bitchy antics go too far and change her

life forever. Suddently she finds herself in the midst of a dangerous

plot to save herself, her school and her entire town from a tyrannical

force that is even bigger than she is.... But will she be able to con-

vince the very people she has victimised in the past to join her?

Queen Bee (from Crusade for Bramble Wood!)

Summer was over. Liquid September sunlight pooled in the dents on the play-ground, and the scent of a new term hung on the cool air. At the far side of the playground, on the stone steps of the school entrance, thirteen year old Catherine Daulby was holding court, surrounded by a small group of girls.

She threw back her long, poker straight, red hair and laughed, ‘I can’t believe what Louisa wore to Sara’s party last night!’

‘I know,’ breathed Chloe Forbes, gazing adoringly at Catherine, ‘The trousers…’

‘They looked like a pair of Seventies curtains,’ giggled Rachel Elms.

Their shrieks of laughter almost drowned out the school bell.

‘Come on girls!’

Ms Iris Bower, the teacher in charge of Registration, had been on the verge of retirement for the best part of the past fifteen years. To the teenage girl (and most small children) she resembled a chintz clad, pleasantly shrivelled monkey nut with limbs, clutching a large grey book.

‘Isn’t she dead yet?’ muttered Catherine under her breath, nudging Rachel as they went inside..

‘Bmmmff!’ spluttered Rachel, trying to contain her laughter.

‘Ladies!’ Ms Bower called more sternly, ‘Go to class!’

Chloe tossed her dark curls haughtily, and gave Ms Bower a snooty look, but lagged behind Catherine and Rachel as they walked to French.

‘Ou est la Marche?’

‘Il est à cote de L’Église’

Mademoiselle Lécuyer’s class had already started, but Catherine pushed open the door without bothering to knock, and strode in.

‘Mademoiselle Daulbeee!’

Loud, Parisian indignance struck every ear-drum in the room.

‘Très désolée Mademoiselle Lécuyer,’ Catherine smiled sweetly, taking the nearest seat.

Chloe and Rachel trailed in behind her, simpered at their angry enseignante and took seats as close to Catherine as possible.

‘Non!’ exclaimed Mademoiselle Lécuyer, grabbing Chloe’s arm, ‘Go there.’

Chloe grimaced at the thought of sitting at the front next to Richard Smith – a class-mate who was not renowned for his personal hygiene.

Rachel and Catherine sniggered.

‘Silence!’ Mademoiselle Lécuyer cried, and seated Rachel one row behind Chloe, next to a slight blonde girl called Abigail.

As Rachel sat down, she paused to sneak a sly smile at Catherine. Out of natural curiosity, Abigail glanced behind her at Catherine, but turned back round just as quickly. Now, whilst Catherine Daulby could handle the ancient Ms Bower, and could even absorb the continental wrath of Mademoiselle Lécuyer, just one glance from Abigail Saunders lately, it seemed, was the teen girl equivalent of goading a hungry lioness.

Picking up the pen she had deliberately cast onto the floor near Rachel’s bag, she muttered, ‘I’m going to kill her after school. Once and for all.’

‘Who?’ Rachel hissed.

‘Her!’ Catherine widened her eyes, and nodded her head at Abigail’s back.

Rachel shook her head, wondering why Catherine disliked Abigail so much.

She was pleasant enough, and quite pretty too with clear blue eyes and high cheekbones. For a moment Rachel wondered if Catherine was jealous of Abigail. She quickly decided that had to be impossible, on account of her lovely red hair.

‘How was Richard, Chloe?’ Catherine chuckled later on, as they left French and walked to Maths.

‘Eww, horrible!’ Chloe laughed.

Catherine dug at Rachel’s elbow, ‘Oh, I thought you seemed to be getting on very well,’ she sniggered.

Chloe swung around, horrified, ‘What? No way!’

‘Hey everyone!’ Catherine shouted down the corridor, ‘Chloe is in love with Richard Smith.’

A few people laughed.

‘Catherine, stop it!’ Chloe begged, almost in tears.

‘‘Would you like me to put in a good word in for you, Chloe?’ laughed Terence Perkins, the most horrible boy in the school.

‘No!’ she cried and ran down the corridor towards the toilets.

‘‘You are so sly Catherine,’smiled Rachel, as peals of laughter echoed around the corridor.

For the rest of the day, there was no sign of Chloe. She stayed away from Maths, and Geography after that, but nobody seemed to notice. Except for Abigail…

‘Is Chloe ill, Catherine?’ she asked, as they left Geography.

‘Of course!’ Mr Black, the Geography teacher exclaimed behind them,‘Chloe

Forbes – I knew someone was missing today.’

‘She was in this morning, Sir,’ Abigail said.

Catherine and Rachel stared at each other in disbelief.

‘She’s definitely dead,’ Catherine mouthed to Rachel.

‘Thank you Abigail,’ said Mr Black, ‘Ms Bower and I will look for her. Now you girls go off and get your lunch while you still have time.’

Catherine wasted no time. ‘Coming with us, Abigail?’ she smiled sweetly, linking arms with her.

‘Er, yes alright’ Abigail replied, a little taken aback. Catherine wasn’t usually this friendly with her. Quite the opposite in fact…

Nevertheless, she put aside her fears and lunch in the dining room passed with-

out a hitch. ‘Maybe she’s changed,’ Abigail thought.

‘Would you like to come for lattes with us after school, Abigail?’Catherine asked.

‘Rico’s on Fort Street do an amazing Frappuccino’ Rachel piped up.

‘Yes, we always go there’nodded Catherine, kicking at Rachel’s foot under the

table.

‘Erm, alright then,’ Abigail replied with a smile, inwardly telling herself to be posi-

tive.

At that moment, a glamorous young brunette in shades and high heels sauntered

into the dining room.

‘That’s Vanda Voscoff’ breathed Catherine, as the woman shook her thick dark hair out of its chignon, ‘Mr Critchet’s wife.’

‘Girlfriend,’ corrected Rachel.

‘Whatever!’ Catherine replied, ‘She’s my idol.’

‘She seems quite conceited to me,’ Abigail shrugged.

‘Conceited?’ Catherine snapped, ‘Do you know her personally, then?’

‘What, er, well no…’ Abigail faltered, ‘I just…’

Rachel glared at Catherine, trying to remind her of the game that they were playing.

‘Well, you see,’ smiled Catherine, patting Abigail’s arm, ‘I have spoken to her be-

fore, and she is the most amazing person!’

‘Oh, I’m very sorry’ Abigail replied, ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’ God she’s weird,

thought Abigail, One minute she’s nice and the next she turns into Medusa!

‘Critchet!’ Rachel breathed, interrupting them.

Their headmaster, Mr Critchet, was tall, always dressed in a suit and had the most immaculately combed black moustache. At his side was his large, black Doberman which he held on a chain lead. Many of his teachers suspected that he deliberately used the presence of the dog to intimidate the children, but few dared to speak up and those that did were never seen again.

‘Why is Thorn with him, today?’ Abigail frowned.

‘Why is he heading to our table?’ Catherine muttered.

‘Hello ladies,’ Critchet grinned.

Thorn snarled.

‘Heel!’ Critchet yanked the lead and the dog obeyed.

‘Yes, Mr Critchet?’ Catherine smiled.

‘I’m told your friend Chloe Forbes is missing,’ he said, ‘I’d like all of you to come down to my office after school so we can have a little chat.’

‘It’s alright my darling!’ Vanda called suddenly.

They all turned to see a bleary eyed, messy haired Chloe shuffling silently next to her.

Catherine feigned compassion frighteningly well, ‘Oh Chloe! We’ve been so worried about you…’

‘I found her in the girls’ toilets,’ piped up a small first year called Alyssa.

‘I felt ill,’ Chloe lied.

‘Well, you’ll feel better after a bit of lunch, Chloe,’ said Mr Critchet, ‘Rejoin your friends, and Alyssa here will bring something over for you – won’t you Alyssa?’

Alyssa nodded eagerly, and joined the lunch queue for two…

‘Were you really sick?’ Rachel asked her, making eyes at Catherine at the same time.

Chloe nodded.

‘Well, it’s great to have you back Chloe,’ said Abigail, cheerfully.

Catherine made a face, and rolled her eyes at Rachel.

It was after lunch, in English, that Catherine whispered the final plan to Rachel.

Chloe, who was sat behind them, desperately strained her ears in an effort to make out what they were saying. The frustration eventually got too much and she kicked Catherine’s chair lightly.

‘What?’ Catherine hissed, angrily.

‘What’s happening?’ Chloe whispered back

‘Nothing!’ muttered Rachel.

‘You’ll find out,’ Catherine said..

Angry tears burned Chloe’s eyes – she was sick of being left out of everything – but she bit her lip and did her best to engross herself in Oscar Wilde for the rest of the lesson. Meanwhile, on the other side of the classroom, Abigail read the lines of Lady Bracknell aloud with panache, blissfully oblivious to the sharks that were swimming ever closer around her.

Catherine had been negatively fixated on Abigail for long enough to know that she always went to the toilet straight after school, and that she always used the end cubicle next to the window.

So, once school had finished for the day, she, Rachel and Chloe accompanied Abigail to the toilets, on the pretext of going to Rico’s afterwards.

Once inside, Catherine made a beeline for Abigail’s usual cubicle. Abigail had barely pushed the door open before Catherine dragged her inside.

‘Think you’re popular do you?’ Catherine snarled, her hand over Abigail’s mouth.

Abigail shook her head frantically, her eyes wide with fear.

‘Ooh, let’s see what we have here,’ laughed Rachel, picking up Abigail’s aban-doned school bag. She climbed up onto the toilet of the cubicle next door, and began to pick out the contents. They made a splash as she tossed various items over the partition into the other toilet, in front of Abigail.

In a bid to get in on the excitement, Chloe climbed up too. Clinging awkwardly onto Rachel, she began to throw pieces of used chewing gum from her mouth into Abigail’s hair.

‘How could Catherine ever be yourfriend?’ she sniggered.

For once, somebody else was being humiliated, and Chloe was making the most of it.

She was about to reach down into Abigail’s bag for some more things to throw into she the toilet, when she felt a sharp nip on her right cheek.

She was about to reach down into Abigail’s bag for some more things to throw into she

the toilet, when she felt a sharp nip on her right cheek.

‘Oww!’ she squealed. As she raised her hand to touch her cheek, hovering before her was

a honey bee with large blue eyes, complete with fluttering lashes, and it was staring right

into her eyes.

‘Beeee!’ she squealed again, falling off the toilet seat and landing at Rachel’s feet.

Rachel shook her short blonde hair ‘Aargh! Where?’

‘It…it’s on your shoulder….’ Chloe stammered.

Rachel turned slowly, and sure enough, there was a honey bee perched on her shoulder,

staring at her with big blue eyes.

‘Aaarrgh!’ Rachel screamed, brushing it away with Abigail’s pencil case.

The two of them dropped Abigail’s half empty school bag, and fled the toilets.

‘Chloe! Rachel!’ Catherine called from the cubicle.

In her mind she was running through lots of nasty things to say to them later, when a flash

of russet across the top of the cubicle caught her attention. As she looked up, it came

down upon her with such force that she fell back against the toilet bowl. Sharp claws dug

into her arms and neck.

As Catherine passed out, the last thing she saw was a honey bee with large blue eyes

perched on the end of her nose, using its mandible for all it was worth. The last thing she

heard was the sound of Abigail unlocking the cubicle door, and fleeing to safety…

‘Catherine Daulby!’ Ms Bower’s voice echoed round the toilets.

It had been half an hour, and Catherine was still out cold. Abigail had collided with Ms

Bower on the corridor in her distraught state, and had already told her what had happened.

The good-natured teacher did her best to stifle her laughter at the sight of the school bully

hunched helplessly on the toilet floor, with an angry looking red mark on her nose.

‘Poor Abigail must have finally fought back, and not a moment too soon,’she chuckled to

herself.

She caught Catherine by the shoulders and attempted to lift her. ‘Come on now’ she said

as loudly as she could. It took a minute or two, but she eventually roused Catherine

enough to be able to escort her, albeit drowsily, to Mr Critchet’s office.

A sheepish looking Rachel and Chloe were already sat with Mr Critchet when they arrived.

Abigail had been permitted to go straight home on account of her ordeal. From the corner

of the room, Thorn glowered at the three girls menacingly, and bared his teeth every time

one of them glanced at him. Chloe shuddered. Mr Critchet’s office was a horrible place.

She was sure the deer’s head on the wall was trying to make eye contact with her, and she

tried not to look at it. And what on earth was in that jar on his desk?

Reading her mind, Critchet smiled and gave the jar a little shake.

‘It’s a cat placenta,’ he said, ‘The Vietnamese believe they bring good luck, so I thought I’d try one out.’

Chloe felt nauseous, and edged in closer to Catherine, who promptly pushed her away. Stung, Chloe wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed inwardly.

‘Now, ladies,’ Critchet grinned, smoothing hs thick, dark moustache, ‘Who wants to tell me what happened?’

‘Abigail stole Catherine’s boyfriend,’ Rachel shrugged.

‘Yeah,’ Chloe replied, ‘He was really good looking, and everything…’

‘Boyfriends? At your age?’ Critchet laughed.

‘What? Her?’ Catherine exclaimed, ‘Steal a boyfriend of mine? Don’t make me laugh!’

‘Oh, her is she?’ sneered Mr Critchet. He cupped his face in his hands, and leaned forward to face Catherine more closely, ‘So what did she do to you that was so terrible you had to lock her in a cubicle and torment her the way you did?’

Rachel and Chloe looked at each other and shook their heads, unable to save Cathe-rine from her own big mouth.

‘Such was your contempt for her, Miss Daulby, that it took Ms Bower five minutes to calm Abgail Saunders in the corridor, before she could get a clear word out of her.’ Mr Critchet added, his moustache almost bristling against her face.

Uncomfortable with Mr Critchet’s face looming in hers, Catherine leaned back in her chair, and looked down at the floor.

‘Alright, I’m sorry – can I go home now?’ she murmured.

‘Not until I say so’ Mr Critchet replied, ‘And what on earth is that red mark on your nose?’

‘Oh, so you finally want to know do you?’ Catherine exploded, ‘Nobody cares about what I had to go through in there. I was bitten by a bee with blue eyes, and attacked by a squirrel!’

Rachel and Chloe burst out laughing.

‘Attacked by a squirrel, and a bee with blue eyes? In the school toilets?’ Mr Critchet laughed, ‘Well I’ve heard it all now!’

‘Bees don’t have blue eyes!’ Chloe chuckled, deliberately omitting the fact that she too had been attacked by the same unusual bee.

‘And they don’t bite, either – they sting, and then they die.’ laughed Rachel.

‘Oh they can bite if they need to, but it’s very rare,’ said Mr Critchet, ‘They use their mouthparts, apparently.’

‘‘The squirrel pushed me down!’ Catherine exclaimed, tearfully.

‘What squirrel?’ laughed Rachel and Chloe.

‘Catherine,’ Mr Critchet smiled, ‘There was no squirrel – Abigail fought back.’

‘But I could feel its claws!’ Catherine protested.

‘Maybe Abigail has very long nails’ sniggered Chloe.

‘Or a secret double life in the forest’ Rachel smirked.

‘Alright, that’s enough’ said Mr Critchet.

He waved his hand at Rachel and Chloe.

‘You two are free to go,’ he said, ‘But you are on detention next week for two hours on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday night.’

The two girls couldn’t get up fast enough, and Catherine glared at them in horror as they left her alone with Mr Critchet.

‘What about me?’ she whined.

‘You’re the ring leader!’ laughed Mr Critchet, ‘I have very special plans for you…’

Chloe briefly placed her hand on Catherine’s shoulder, as she passed, in an attempt to

show her support, but Catherine stared straight ahead, stony faced. Rebuffed once more,

Chloe shook her head, and followed Rachel outside.

‘So, Miss Daulby,’ Mr Critchet began, once they were alone,’I think you need to learn how

to get along.’

Catherine shifted nervously in her seat. The dog, Thorn, was curled up on the floor next to

Mr Critchet. He had his head resting on his paws, and had been watching and listening

intently to everything, the whole time. His bark startled her, as Mr Critchet fed him a piece

of ham by hand.

‘Starting from tomorrow, Wednesday’ he grinned, his moustache edging into his cheeks,

‘Until, and including, next Wednesday you will spend two hours each evening with Abigail

Saunders. You can socialise, shop, or do your homework – your choice!’

‘Oh, you’ve got to be joking!’ Catherine laughed, and rose from her chair.

Thorn immediately sat up, and growled at her.

‘Sit down Catherine,’ Mr Critchet sighed, ‘You don’t want to get on the wrong side of

Thorn, do you?’

‘My mother is a solicitor’ she said angrily, ‘I’m going to tell her everything.’

‘No need!’ smiled Mr Critchet, as a familiar looking well-dressed young woman emerged

from a side room clutching a telephone handset, ‘Vanda already has!’

*******

Scheduled for release in 2013!

From ‘The Curious Visitor ‘

Winter turned into spring, and we found ourselves berry picking

in in the forest every other day. The snow in the garden had giv-

en way to bright green grass, and rows of colourful flowers, while

the fir trees revealed their rich, deep, evergreen colour for the first

time in months. The birds were singing, and the sky was growing

more blue every day, or so it seemed.

Rita would send Espen and I to the forest, with one of the adults,

to collect either blackberries, or special multebaer which are also

called 'Norwegian Cloudberries'. She would then make the most

lovely cakes, pies, and preserves with them. She would also send

us out to my grandfather’s strawberry patch quite regularly.

Spring in Norway was lovely and warm, and we saw many wild

animals in the forest. Sometimes we would see arctic foxes who

would skulk past us behind the trees. We were very amused, on

one occasion, when a squirrel ran up a tree, above a berry bush

we were picking from, and peered down at us indignantly from

among the branches, as we worked.

‘Perhaps they're his berries!’ Espen laughed.

‘Maybe he wants to make a pie!’ said my grandfather,

who was accompanying us that day.

That certainly made us fall about laughing! We were so happy

that spring that, when my father called from the Navy to say that

they would want him for a few more months, even though I missed

him tremendously, I was pleased to be able to stay in Norway for

a bit longer.

We enjoyed a pleasant spring, and summer, and often went for

walks in the forest with my grandparents, Ella, Rita and Rebekah.

That is the Norwegian way, you see - they love the outdoors. My

father said, when I finally returned to England, that I seemed

healthier and had a new glow to my cheeks.

It was the Scandinavian air, you see. That was why I returned to

work as a teacher, when I was thirty five years old, and I have been

here, in Norway, ever since I married my husband Frederik Båten,

who was one of Espen’s friends. My time in Norway has been most-

ly filled with great happiness, and, of course, in particular when I

lived with my grandparents!

It was early in the September of 1927, several months after Espen

had first arrived, that the truly strange things began to occur...

We were getting ready for another winter in Norway when we de-

cided to spend some time in the library, one particularly cold au-

tumn day. Espen was looking out of the window, and I was choos-

ing a book from the history section when something he said made

me freeze.

‘Harriet,’ he said, ‘What is the name of that lovely big white house,

very high up in the mountains? I've never noticed that before!’

I knew I had turned whiter than the snow that capped those dis-

tant mountains. I stood up, my knees shaking, and went over to the

window.

Sure enough, there it was again; shining bright among the firs, as

beautiful as it had been when I first saw it. Espen, noticing how pale I

was, asked me if I was quite well.

‘Espen,’ I replied quietly, ‘I saw that building back in February,

when I was looking out of this very same window. Rita was here

with me, and when I asked her about it, she came over to the

window to have a look but said that she couldn't see anything.

When I looked out again, myself, I could see she was telling the

truth – it was not there!’

Espen grew almost as pale as I was!

‘Harriet,’ he stammered, ‘Do you think this is some-

thing...unearthly?’

‘Quite possibly,’ I answered shakily, ‘But is it good or evil?’

He was about to reply, when a male voice behind us startled us

both.

‘It is good, children,’ it said.

We span around to find a small figure, with pointed

ears, big eyes, and a rather long nose, standing behind us in the

middle of the library floor. Terrified out of our wits, we screamed

and ran out of the library! We could hear whatever it was trying

to call us back, but we took no notice!

Instead, we ran into Espen’s room, and slammed the door shut.

We sat on the bed, threw our arms around each other, and hud-

dled together in fright. We were shaking all over.

‘What on God’s earth was that?’ Espen cried.

‘I…I don’t know,’ I said.

There was a knock at the door. It was my grandfather.

‘Harriet, Espen - are you alright?’ he asked.

‘Come in grandpa,’ I shouted.

‘What's wrong, you two?’ he asked. ‘You're both shaking!’

I decided I had to tell him.

‘Grandpa’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Remember when I told

you about that strange white building, in the mountains, that I saw

from the library?’

I do remember, yes,’ he answered.

‘Well,’ I went on, ‘Espen has just seen it too, from the same

window, and then a moment later a strange little man, with pointed

ears, appeared behind us and said the building was a good place.

We were so afraid that we ran out of the library, into here, and we

haven’t moved since’

My grandfather looked at me intently, for a moment, and then

he smiled.

‘I know who he was,’ he murmured gently.

Well, to say we were shocked at this is an understatement!

‘What?!’ I exclaimed.

‘I know who he was,’ he repeated, ‘Let him talk to you.

Don't worry, he won’t harm you. I told you they’d come for

you, didn't I ?!’ he winked.

Comforted slightly by my grandfather’s certainty that the little

man meant us no harm, I replied quietly, ‘Yes you did, but what do

they want?’

‘He'll tell you,’ answered my grandfather, ‘If you let him. They

came to me once too. Don’t be afraid - they won’t hurt you, ok?’

With that, my grandfather left the room.

***

Want to read more?

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Mystery & Magic

Who Is John Barleycorn?

As pagans, our lives are inter-linked with the changing seasons, and also to the Wheel of the Year. Now that we are in summer the wheel has turn to ‘Lughnasadh’ or Lammas. Lammas be-gins around 1st-2nd August, and is the festival of the first fruits and first corn harvest of the year. As a result of the un-ion between the Goddess and God, the land is giving up its bounty to its people. Lammas, the Sun God or the Father, as he is now, must give way to his Son.

We have charted the cycle of fertility and birth throughout the wheel of the year. The apples on the trees have rip-

ened, the corn in the fields grown ready for the harvest and the Sun God’s energy is dying as summer comes to its end. It is a time of change and renewal and, as the warm weather wanes, the new, young God (the Son) must take his place as the Winter King.

For pagans this festival sees the Sun God, often in the form of John Barleycorn or the Wicker Man, making a sacrifice for the sake of the harvest, and to make way for the next generation. John Bar-leycorn is the living spirit/god of the corn and is often also referred to as the The Harvest King. As the corn is cut, John Barleycorn

be reborn in spring when the next seeds are sown on the land.

Bringing In The Harvest...

There are many customs to the cutting of the corn, barley, and rye. The first cut was be done at dawn, and then ground and baked into the harvest bread for anyone to share,. The first barley was made into beer, and the first cut is symbolic in that it guaran-tees the seed and thus the continuity of life.

When the last sheaf was cut it was often made into a corn dolly, carried through the village and became the cen-tre of the harvest supper. Often the corn dolly would be dressed with ribbons. Afterwards the corn dolly would live about the fireplace until it was ready to

be mixed with the seed for the next year’s sow-ing. In so doing, it could return to the earth and fertilize the spirit of John Barleycorn ena-bling his spirit to pass from harvest to harvest.

The highpoint of many Lammas festivals is the lighting of a bonfire in honour of the fading powers of the Sun, during which effigies like the Wicker Man would be burned in an emblematic sacrifice of the Corn King. They would finish the celebrations by taking a large wagon wheel to the top of a hill, covered with tar, set alight, then ritualistically rolled down the hill to symbolise the waning of the Sun into the autumn of its year. This wheel ritual is the origin of the Catherine Wheel. The remains of the bonfire would later be taken home and kept throughout the winter as pro-tection against storms and fires caused by lightning.

Creating Your Own Lammas Altar

Use green ribbons or yellow flowers to show the renewal and growth for the next harvest,. You could also place apples, bread on it, along with a corn dolly if you can make or find one. Also use, rich colours like red candles to show the coming autumn.

Article References:

Moon Shadows Realm http://www.moonshadows-realm.co.uk/sab-lammas.htm

West, K. (2002) The Real Witches Kitchen Thorsons

Yvonne Moore-Singh is a white witch, and the proprietor of

Pagan Charms Online Shop at www.pagan-charms.co.uk

In Brief... with Sarah Wallace

Jung Love...

The Holiday Romance

Summer romances have long held the reputation of being

short-lived affairs. We fling ourselves into them, become deeply infatuated, the holiday ends and so does the relation-ship. We lounge about eating ice cream and crying into our pillow for a few days, and then bounce back relatively un-scathed. It’s all a bit of fun and nothing very deep, right?

Wrong!

The intense feelings a short-lived holiday romance can bring

about in us, and the speed with which those feelings can dissi-pate, can leave us somewhat bemused. The fact that such a whirlwind of emotions can hit us, seemingly out of a clear blue sky, only to unceremoniously drop us right back into the daily grind as if nothing had happened suggests, perhaps, that our holiday romances are prompted by half-submerged needs that exist deep within us. And these needs are not just sexual ones...

Psychoanalyst Carl Gustav Jung (1875-

1961) had a lot to say on the nature of…well, admittedly, not holiday romances as such. He never had a chance to ‘ave it large in Ibi-za, or catch crabs on the beach in Benidorm. He lived and died in the Swiss town of Zur-ich; a city associated more with Oompah bands and lederhosen, than debauchery.

However, despite never having had much in the way of

summer lovin’, Jung did have a lot to say on relationships. His primary concern, however, was not what we experience with others, but with the relationship we have with our-selves.

Our Persona And Our Shadow Self

Jung believed that we all have a part of us that is our con-

sciously or unconsciously assumed ‘public face’ He called this the ‘persona’. This is the social mask we adopt to im-press others, and conceal our ‘shadow’ – the parts of our personality we find difficult to acknowledge. The persona usually takes on a form dictated by social expectations and conditioning.

Circle In The Sand...

According to Jung, as people we uncon-

sciously strive towards wholeness through the reconciliation of many inner opposites to be found within us. We attempt to unify these inner opposites at all times, and at every opportunity.

Similar in concept to the spiritual yin/yang symbol, the oppo-site gendered aspect is complementary, so they generally con-tain all the opposite gendered characteristics missing from the dominant gendered persona.

When we become infatuated, Jung believed that this is as a

result of projecting all the positive stuff in our shadow, onto our partner, but when we fall in love we project all of the pos-itive stuff in our anima/animus.

Cliches

Think of all the relationship clichés you can recall- ‘good

girls’ falling for ‘bad boys’, the high school nerd yearning for the college cheerleader, outwardly respectable civil servants visiting dominatrices in their spare time, and Victorian cler-gymen seeking to ‘reform’ fallen women. The list goes on and on and, cliché’s though they may be, each contain more than just a grain of truth. So, there are a number of Jung’s ‘opposites’ that come into play in connection with our holiday romances.

Holiday Freedom

When we’re on holiday, the rel-

ative freedom from social expec-tations and judgement allows us to give freer rein to our shadow . However, we don’t usually con-sciously realise that, in the quest for the greater unity of our per-sonality, we are giving our shad-ow a good airing.

We’re generally only aware that we suddenly really feel like partying. Hard. Inhibitions fly out the window, we see things in a different light, and we frequently do things we wouldn’t necessarily do at home.

Loved Up?

So. psychology aside, what do you do if you’re in the middle

of a holiday romance? Well, for a start, remember that in this free and easy holiday atmosphere, people aren’t necessarily who or what they seem to be. The shadow comes out to play and will go safely back in the box on returning home.

If the person who seemed so

into you at the beginning of the holiday seems to be drawing away, it could be because they realise that should you meet up on home turf, they’ll be revealed as someone entirely different

than the person you fell in love with in that heady two weeks in Marbella. It’s important to be realistic.

Although you may feel as though you have met the love of

your life, the chances are it’s merely lust at first sight. If the love of your life hasn’t made contact within a few days of get-ting home, then the chances are they probably won’t.

Time to crack open the ice-cream, shed a few tears and start

planning next year’s holiday!

Sarah Wallace is a qualified CBT Therapist .

Editor’s Special Feature

Coping with Loss at Christmas For a while I had no idea how to fill this spare page,

and then it dawned on me. You see, on 22nd Decem-

ber we lost our family dog, Rocco. He was due to turn

fourteen in January, and he’d been a member of our

family since we got him as a tiny pup in February 1999.

Now, when I say tiny, I mean tiny—you could fit him

into the palm of your hand!

Rocco’s loss has got me thinking about how special

animals are, and the meaning our pets bring into our lives. Their healing, playful

presence is something we take for granted until they’re no longer with us. I keep

going to pick him up for a cuddle, then remember I can’t. Making a late night

snack in the kitchen, I feel him behind me expecting titbits, only to turn around

and realise he is not there. Feeling playful, I wonder where in the house he is,

glance at his toy, then I remember that there can be no game of tug or fetch to-

day, or any other day. I was still just nineteen years old when we got him, and he

was in my life through all its ups and downs, right up to the age of thirty-three.

When I endured a brief but debilitating illness at twenty-one, it was Rocco who

taught me how to relax, have fun and gave me the confidence and excuse to take

long healing walks in the park. We’d stumble our way through trees, dirty our feet

in thick mud, and I’d let him off the leash when the coast was clear for some brief

moments of freedom. He was a typical Shih-Tzu, able to look at you one minute

with the innocence of a child, and the wisdom of an old man the next.

At this time of year, those who abandon animals are missing out on one of the

most rewarding experiences in life, far beyond the fluffiness of puppyhood. As

they grow, you grow. They bring joy, healing, and quietly cheer you on through

the tests and triumphs of life. Let’s cherish all the special beings in our lives,

though, animal or human, as if this Christmas with them will be our last. *We re-

member those who have passed on, and know that they remain in our hearts and

memories—something death can never take away.

With love, Jen x

*If you are feeling bereaved this Christmas, try Cruse: www.cruse.org.uk