The Little Grembly Ladies’ Association Soiree

The town of Little Grembly was generally considered by the residents of the surrounding regions to be the absolutely dullest place imaginable. As a satellite suburb of Turping, it comprised housing developments and a shopping mall that had: a supermarket, a hairdresser, a liquor store that sold only mainstream brands, and half a pub – the other half being a small white-goods store that appeared to specialize in toasters and hair-straighteners. Consequently Grembly was avoided by almost anyone of taste, interest or good sense.

Mrs Prudence Consend found this situation utterly inappropriate and, as unofficial mayor of Grembly, she decided to Do something about it. Exactly what she would Do was not clear, nor in fact particularly relevant. It was the intent to Do that was important and, if anything, Mrs Consend was most definitely a doer. Generally she was a doer of the sort of insignificant thing that you could adequately do yourself, but nevertheless then had to express gratitude to Mrs Consend for having done, despite then having to fix whatever she did because it wasn’t done the way you wanted.

However on this occasion Mrs Prudence Consend decided what needed doing was a rather larger undertaking involving a dozen ladies from Grembly – of course gentlemen were welcome to join in, but really it should be ladies – and this Thing they would Do should attract to the town People of Interest. Yes, Mrs Prudence Consend thought in capitals. It made her slightly unnerving and the meeker ladies of Little Grembly tended to yield under the weight of her capital onslaught.

She chaired the First Meeting of the Little Grembly Business Tourism Interest Society. The first order of business was to change the society’s name because, once it was carefully explained to Mrs Consend what the acronym meant, she was quite certain that nobody of Little Grembly could possibly have anything to do with that sort of thing. Regina and Lucy, who house-shared at number 17 Umbril Street, and had done happily for fourteen years, both kept a carefully straight face, at least, straighter than their relationship anyway.

“Very well,” said Mrs Consend, after some discussion, “I call to order the Little Grembly Tourism Interest Taskforce Society.”

Lucy’s face remained impressively unmoved but Regina had a sudden coughing fit.

“The Taskforce’s aim is to come up with an event that will attract People of Interest, indeed the Right Sort. So, give it some thought. Let’s see what ideas we come up with.”

It’s fortunate there were no men present, otherwise pensive stroking of beards may have ensued, or prodding of chins where there was a lack of facial hair. As it was, Penelope pinched her nose in a thoughtful fashion, which was bad enough.

“What about a cake baking?” suggested Penelope.

“No,” said several ladies immediately; they were well aware Mrs Consend believed herself the country’s greatest home baker. Her refusal to accept empirical evidence to the contrary made it a touchy subject.

Several other ideas were considered and discarded: a candle show, a herb demonstration, a river dance festival, a bonfire.

Finally Amelia, the youngest and shyest of the group, spoke up.

“Why don’t we combine them all – the candles, herbs, bonfire and dancing? It’s only a month until Summer Solstice, how about a solstice festival?”

A month is not long to organize a festival, but Mrs Consend’s propensity for Doing was almost unrivalled. She had a gift for Doing just enough then leaving it so that someone else would be irritated by the incompleteness and take over. In this manner she successfully avoided mismanaging the project.

The evening of solstice was warm and muggy. Midges and crickets buzzed and chittered in the undergrowth along the creek. The newly mown stubble smelled of summer hay and lost weekends of childhood.

The stalls from the afternoon markets and games had been quickly packed away to clear space for the evening’s dancing. Mrs. Consend stood on a small podium in front of the planned bonfire, which was already stacked and ready to light, and addressed the not insignificant crowd; not much happened in Grembly so any diversion was welcome.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I would like to thank you all for coming to our inaugural solstice event. Unfortunately I’ve lost the speech I prepared earlier,” here Lucy patted Regina on the back quietly, “so let me just say, what a wonderful effort my team has made organizing the day, and please everyone feel free to join in the dancing.”

Penelope signalled and the twelve ladies of the Tourism Interest Taskforce Society lit their candles and formed a ring around the bonfire. Amelia stepped forward and, with a clear beautiful voice, started singing. It was an ancient Gaelic song handed down from her grandmother. Nobody knew the words’ meaning, but it stirred within everyone a longing for simple things; working soil and timber, meeting with friends at day’s end, sitting in the shade and sharing the harvest.

The twelve women touched their candles to the oil-soaked kindling and the bonfire burst into flame. Light danced furiously, throwing long shadows that wavered and leapt. The piled herbs crackled and gave off scented smoke that billowed across the clearing, adding to the almost surreal atmosphere.

With a shout, the twelve women swept into the dance they had practiced. It wasn’t exactly River Dance. In fact an unkind person might say it wasn’t exactly dance. However the crowd, buoyed by an enjoyable afternoon, and in some cases multiple libations, were happy to join in. Gradually the music quickened and the dancers swayed and swirled until, in a very short time, most everybody was stepping, hopping or, in some cases, actually dancing around the bonfire. As they swirled and danced, Amelia felt a strange knot in her chest, that swelled and itched and rose up inexorably, until from her mouth burst a strange ululating cry and a stream of Gaelic words, chanted and sung.

In the midst of the bonfire there suddenly appeared the outline and dark shadowy image of an enormous man. It gradually solidified and strengthened and coloured and grew, and a hush and stillness fell over the crowd as they each in turn saw it and stopped.

Finally, the man stepped out of the fire. He was immensely tall and broad-shouldered, with a shaggy mane of dark hair and bronzed skin, crossed with scars, that rippled taut over his muscles. In a booming voice he cried,

“I am Lugh of the Summer. Who has called me forth?”

The crowd scattered and fell back, except the original twelve women who felt some strong compulsion to remain. They stood silent and staring. Partly they stared due to surprise, but mostly they stared because the second noticeable thing about this enormous man, was that he was very noticeably a man, and very noticeably trouserless. And shirtless too, but for ten of the twelve ladies, and Amelia in particular, who was quite young, unmarried, and rather sheltered, it was the lack of trousers that was most pertinent.

After a brief moment Mrs. Consend’s innate nature kicked in,

“Well, I suppose you could say it was all of us in the Little Grembly Business Tourism Interest Society.”

“Tourism Interest Taskforce Society,” hissed Penelope.

“Right that.”

Lugh’s brows knotted,

“All of you? Normally only one is sacrificed.”

“Sac… er… sacrificed?” squeaked Mrs. Consend.

“Indeed! For Summer must be appeased just as Winter is. An endless Summer, unwaning, ever drilling the earth with heat and parching the soil, and leaving the land wretched and barren; and with it the people. That shall be your lot if there is no sacrifice.”

Dead silence rang through the clearing.

Then Amelia, the youngest and shyest spoke,

“I will go. I will be the sacrifice.”

Lugh swung his massive, shaggy head to her, his dark eyes piercing,

“Very well child. Come hither.”

There was no brooking the command, Amelia felt utterly compelled and walked to him and knelt at his feet, her head barely reaching his knees.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, “the sacrifice, will it hurt?”

Lugh bent to her and said,

“Aye, t’will hurt. For your sacrifice is this: to become a mother of fine children, to nurture them and feel their hurts as if your own. To watch them grow to be fine men and women and, finally, see them grow beyond you.”

Amelia’s face dampened with tears, both at Lugh’s words and his overwhelming presence.

“And one last thing you shall bear: memory. You shall recall this night and none other will. Be strong, for I name you now, Amelia Lughsein!”

And with that he was gone. Amelia wept silently to herself, but around her there was a sudden bustle, and calling out. She looked up and saw all guests were joyous and content and laughter fell easy from their lips.

For many years afterwards, the people of Grembly recalled the Solstice evening, but Amelia alone, carried the full memory of that night.