Midsummer's Eve

Philippa Carr Midsummer's Eve

The Witch in the Woods

I was not quite nine years old on that Midsummer's Eve, but I shall never forget it because, after what happened on that memorable night, I ceased to be the innocent girl I had been up to that time.

My comfortable home, my easy life and my adored parents had given me no indication that such things could be. We lived amicably in what was more like a castle than a house. It had been the family home of the Cadorsons for generations. Cador meant "warrior" in the Cornish language, so our earliest ancestor must have been a great fighter. I could well believe that. The house stood on a cliff, so that from the windows we could look out on the sea. Built of grey stone, it looked forbidding.

It was like a fortress. It probably had been at one time. There were two turrets and a path along the battlements from one to the other. It was known simply as Cador.

My father was proud of it-my mother, too, although I sometimes thought she was a little nostalgic for her home on the other side of England-the south east corner.

We were in the south west so when we visited my grandparents, or they came to us, it meant travelling the breadth of England.

When I was younger the grandparents used to come to us fairly often. Now we had to go to them for they were getting old, particularly Grandpapa Dickon.

Cador was situated about a quarter of a mile from the little town of West Poldorey, which was divided from East Poldorey by the river which cut through the wooded hills to flow into the sea. The two towns were connected by a bridge which had stood up to the weather for five hundred years and looked as if it would last as many more. Old men liked to congregate there and lean over the stone parapets contemplating life and the river. A great number of those men were fishermen and there were always boats lying in the little harbour.

I loved to be there when the fishing boats came in and to watch all the activity on the quay, which was always accompanied by the cry of the seagulls as they flew low watching for any of the fish which would be thrown back into the river.

The Cadors had for generations been lords of the manor whose unspoken duty it was to make sure of the prosperity of the two towns and the outlying neighbourhood. Consequently my brother and I were always treated with respect by the townsfolk. It was a very happy, cosy existence until I was brought face to face with another aspect of life on that Midsummer's Eve.

There was a family house in London, too. We used to meet there for it was not so very far for the grandparents to come-though it was a long journey for us. I loved travelling. As we went along through the narrow winding lanes my father often told us stories about highwaymen who held up coaches and demanded money. My mother would cry: "Stop it, Jake. You're frightening the children." That was true; but like most children we enjoyed being frightened while we felt perfectly safe in the company of our parents.

I loved them both dearly. I was sure they were the best parents in the world; but I did have a special feeling for my father and I think he had for me. Jacco was my mother's favourite-not so much because he was a boy but because she knew I was my father's, and she felt it necessary to adjust the balance.

My father was one of the two most exciting men I knew. The other was Rolf Hanson.

My father was very tall and dark; he had very bright sparkling eyes which gave the impression that he was amused by life, although he could be serious sometimes. He had had an adventurous life and often talked about it. He had lived with the gypsies at one time; he had killed a man and been sent to Australia as a punishment and stayed there for nine years. My mother was beautiful with dark eyes and hair. It was small wonder that I was darkhaired; but I had inherited Grandmother Lottie's blue eyes which, as my mother said, turned up now and then in her family. I was on good terms with my brother Jacco though we had our differences now and then. Jacco was named after our father so he was Jake really. When he had been a baby he was known as Little Jake but it became confusing to have two Jakes in the family so he was called Jacco and that name stayed with him.