A Cantraybridge Carol
Stave 2
The clip-clopping sound of horse’s hooves on cobble followed by the magnificent Cantraybridge Court clock striking 1 o’clock was enough to startle Struan out of his slumber. A strong whiff of horse droppings wafting up from the bottom of his slippers brought him to his senses completely. Suddenly, there were two young scallywags dressed in shorts and caps zooming past him, without a care in the world, rushing giddily with buckets in hand, clearly on their way to the cowshed. Struan (despite himself) couldn’t help but smile at this idyllic picture of friendship and fun. The smaller, slighter boy turned back and grinned as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Struan froze in disbelief as he was looking at the 9-year-old version of himself.
Interrupting his train of thought, suddenly a shrill, almost mocking, high pitched voice started laughing really close to his right ear. Without thought he swiped at the vicinity of the offending sound, when, much to his amazement he heard a tiny voice shouting
“Oi you, pick on someone your own size grumpy guts!”
Struan leapt aside and earnestly searched for the source of the voice but with no success. Using his deepest voice, and trying desperately to compose himself, Struan bellowed;
“Show yourself, I don’t have time for these silly games of yours.”
The tiny voice then let out another little giggle. Struan was beginning to lose patience at the situation.
“Last chance to show yourself, before I show you what this grumpy gut can really do!”
The small voice sighed disappointedly before saying;
“Here’s one more riddle for you, surely a man of your stature has heard the phrase, sometimes what you’re looking for is right under your nose!”
Struan grimaced in pain as he felt a sharp, unpleasant tugging on a left nose hair. With a mix of horror and disbelief, he was left open mouthed as he saw a tiny fairy like creature, complete with transparent wings and a wand, crawling up the bridge of his nose.
“So I’m Angelo, the ghost of your Christmas past. By the way, do you recognise the place we’re at or anyone that’s come past Struan?”
“Bah Humbug” Struan spat at Angelo, covering him head to toe with saliva.
Angelo takes a delicate, clean, brilliant white handkerchief and wipes his face of the stinky saliva. Angelo goes from appearing peaceful and serene to squaring up to Struan in a menacing fashion. He tips his head forward towards Struan’s face so that the bright light emanating from his glowing and shiny white halo shoots straight into his eyes. Struan screams for the fairy to stop which he eventually does.
“You’ve seen yourself as a happy young scamp of a chap. Let’s go see where it all went wrong, shall we big man?!”
With silence lying as heavy as snow, tension clearly running high, without a word more being spoken, they headed for the milking parlour.
As they arrived, from a distance they could see a busy scene of young boys sat on stools, industriously milking the udders of some picture postcard butter-wouldn’t-melt pretty Jersey’s.
Struan picked out the boy that reminded him of himself before stating
“My goodness, I remember back then being pretty proficient at that, if I do say so myself.”
Angelo looked at him and rolled his eyes before retorting “It’s a shame you lost that skill of yours, what possibly would have changed your outlook so dramatically from the happy wee scamp we see here?”
As if on cue, the cow that the younger Struan was milking lifted his left back leg, bent it and launched once for the milk bucket the young boy was holding, splashing it all over him. Before he had the chance to resist, the Jersey launched its back leg a second time, ferociously unleashing a powerful kick with its heavy hoof. Upon connecting between hoof and face, the younger Struan was sent sprawling across the parlour floor, soaking up the spilt milk on his travels.
Struan instinctively touched the faded hoof print on his forehead which he’d lived with every day for sixty odd years.
When young Struan awoke he was surrounded and being laughed at by a large group of milk men and young milk boys. Utterly humiliated, embarrassed and ashamed by the situation he sprinted out of the parlour as fast as his small legs would carry him. In that moment he pledged and promised himself that he would never be treated or exposed in that manner ever again for the rest of his life.
“Those brutes, never again will I be mocked like that.” Struan remembered that he told himself that in the aftermath of the incident, before repeating it to Angelo.
Angelo once again rolled his eyes before exclaiming to Struan.
“Pot, kettle, black?!” “If only you’d given them a chance, they were about to give you first aid and kind words. Let’s face it, if the roles were reversed, you seriously can’t tell me that you wouldn’t have had a giggle at your expense then offered help?”
The clock struck two o’clock as Angelo turned to Struan.
“I’d like to say it’s been nice meeting you, but that would be a big fat white lie… maybe my esteemed colleagues, the other two ghosts will knock some common sense back in to that thick skull of yours and will have better luck than I” Angelo re adjusted his halo, before remembering to say;
“Say hi to Pud the ghost of the Christmas Present for me. One final piece of advice Struan, if you treat the other two spooks like you’ve treated me, this future of yours will be as black and full of despair as a cold lump of coal.
It’s your choice as to whether you want to change but you don’t have long to make it happen, that’s for sure!” Angelo charges halo first, straight for Struan’s eyes, blinding him for a second time.
Slowly as the light dissipated, Struan found himself in an unfamiliar room that looked all set for a cracker of a Christmas party. Struan shuddered as he felt a familiar coarse lick on his ear.
“Clearly you need more than one visit to deflate that ego of yours and for you to finally see sense as to where you’ve gone wrong in life. I wish you better luck with your second visitor. So far, we feel that you’ve learnt very little at all.”
Bob the dead cat skulks away back into the shadows.
“Bah humbug, what on earth is coming next, Isabella I so wish you were here.” Struan whispers forlornly before putting his head in his hands, defeated.
To be continued…
I hope that you have enjoyed reading the second stave of A Cantraybridge Carol as much as I enjoyed writing it! Stave three will be with you next Monday.
Many thanks