Midsummer's Eve

When I wanted to learn something I asked my father. He and I often went riding together.

He was proud of my skill on a horse and I was constantly trying to impress him with my excellence. The manner in which he always treated me as an adult endeared him to me, for he always listened to what I had to say and gave me a sensible answer.

It was autumn, I remember, and the leaves were just beginning to turn bronze. Many of them had already fallen and made a rich carpet beneath us. There was a dampness in the air, and mist, although it was midmorning, touched the trees with a greyish blue which made them look very mysterious.

We came to the beaten track which led to Mother Ginny's cottage and I said: "Papa, why are people afraid of Mother Ginny?”

He answered at once: "Because she is different from themselves. Many people would like us all to be made in the same mould. They tear what they do not understand.”

"Why don't they understand Mother Ginny?”

"Because she dabbles in mysteries.”

"Do you know what they are?”

He shook his head.

"Are you afraid of her?”

He burst out laughing. "I am not one of those people who wish everyone to conform.

I think variety makes life more interesting. Besides, I'm rather odd myself. Do you know anyone else who is like me?”

"No," I said. "I certainly do not. There is only one of you. But that is different from being Mother Ginny.”

"Why?”

"Because you are rich and important.”

"Oh, there you have hit the nail right on the head. I can afford to be eccentric.

I can do the strangest things and people dare not question.”

"They would be afraid to.”

"Because their well-being depends on me to some extent. That is why they respect me. They do not depend on Mother Ginny in that way but they think she has powers which come from the unknown and they are afraid of her.”

"It is a good thing to have people afraid of you.”

"If you are strong, perhaps. But the poor and the humble ... they must beware.”

I continued to think of Mother Ginny. I was fascinated by everything connected with her-and that included Digory. I used to lie in wait for him and talk to him. We would sit on the banks of the river throwing stones into the water-a favourite occupation of his-listening to the plop as they dropped and seeing who could throw the farthest.

He asked me questions about the Big House, "That Cador" he called it. I described it in detail: the hall with its refectory table set with pewter plates and goblets; the coat of arms on the wall among the weaponry; helmets and halberds; the Elizabethan pole-arm, swords and shields; the drawing room with its tapestries depicting the Wars of the Roses; the fine linen-fold panelling; the punch room where the men took their punch and port wine; the chairs with their backs exquisitely embroidered in Queen Anne's tatting; the room where King Charles had slept when he was fleeing from the Roundheaded a very special room this, which must never be altered. I told him how I used to climb onto the bed in which the King had lain listening for the approach of his enemies and wondering how long it would be before they hunted him out.

Digory would listen intently. He used to call out: "Go on. Go on. Tell me some more.”

And I would romance a little, making up stories of how the great Cador-the Warrior-had saved the King from capture; but reverence for the history learned from my governess, Miss Caster, made me add hastily: "But he was caught in the end.”

I told him about the solarium, the old kitchens and the chapel with its stone floor and squint through which the lepers used to look because, on account of their disease, they were not allowed to come in where ordinary folks were.

He was fascinated by the squint. I told him that there were two other peepholes in the house. These we called peeps. One of them looked down on the hall so that people could see who their visitors were without being seen themselves. This was in the solarium; the other was in another room. This looked down on the chapel. It was in an alcove where ladies could sit and enjoy the service from above on those occasions when there were guests in the house with whom it would be unseemly for them to mix.

In exchange he told me a little about his home which he was at pains to make me believe was more impressive than my own. In a way it was because it was so strangely mysterious.

Cador was a magnificent house but there were many such houses in England; and according to Digory there were no cottages in the world like Mother Ginny's.

Digory had a natural eloquence which even a lack of conventional education could not stem. He made me see the room which was like a cavern from another world. Jars and bottles stood on the shelves-all containing some mysterious brew. Drying herbs hung on the rafters; a fire always burned in the grate and it was like no other fire; the flames were blue and red and pictures formed in them. Battles were fought; the Devil himself appeared once with red eyes and a red coat and black horns in his head.