Calming – Old things

I took a couple of prompts from the tea sachet this time, and the story fell into place immediately.


There was once a lad called Aidan and he lived at Maughold with his grandmother Margid, for his parents had both died when he was a little boy.

Now Aidan had a good bit of learning at him, for he’d been to school until he was nearly 14 and his granny thought he should be off to Douglas to work in a big shop or an office or something clean where he wouldn’t be out in the cold and rain all the time, but he was having none of it.

“Me da was a fisherman, and his da before him, and ‘tis a good job for a man so that’s what I’ve a mind to do”, he said, standing there before the fire for all the world as though he was indeed a grown man and not still a scrawny boy.

Margid was afeart for him, going out there on the big wide sea, for she was a sensible woman and knew well that a thing’s not to be conquered just for the wanting of it. But he was a stubborn lad, and so she watched him off in the small boat he’d had from his father, and said nothing against it.

And indeed, the lad took to the sea as though born to it – for hadn’t he been? He had a rare talent for finding the best fish, and soon enough he was bringing in enough for them to sell to the best fishmongers in Ramsey and to make a nice bit to put by. Or that’s what Margid wanted to do, but Aidan insisted that she spend some of the money on doing the house out nice as she’d often spoken of while he was growing up.

“’Dade Granny”, he said, “when I came to live with you I remember you’d paint me pictures with your words of what the house would be like when we’d made our fortune – all flowers in vases and a pianer and all them things you used to have when you were a girl.”

And it was true that Margid had married beneath her when she’d wed Cormac the fisherman, her that was a Miss Cannell from one of the big houses up Bowring Road in Ramsey. She’d had to give up a lot when she moved to the little thatched cottage near the shore in Maughold, and she still thought fondly of those fine things.

So she let him buy her new linen for their home, and a smart new tin to keep their stock of tea in, instead of a rough crock pot. And bright new plates to stand on the dresser in place of the old cracked ones. But when he took down the little box she’d decorated so long ago with pokerwork and looked with distaste at the fragments of knotted rope and worn wood and glass inside, she spoke up.

“That I’ll be keeping”, she said. “For I’m thinking I’ll have a use for it yet.”

“What use could there be in a bit of old rubbish like this?” asked Aidan scornfully. But when he saw she was serious he replaced it back on the shelf as careful as if it was the Crown Jewels, for Aidan was that fond of his old granny.

Well, it came about that he learned the use of that old ‘rubbish’ soon enough, for a few days later he was out at sea when a storm came up out of nowhere – a witch-called storm, sure as anything – a storm fit to topple chimneys and rip the thatch right off your house if it wasn’t tied down right. And Aidan trying to get into the beach with his catch but pushed back and towards the rocks every time.

Margid saw him struggling and turned her back and went indoors. And, sure his time had come, he wished he’d done as she suggested and taken a nice easy job in Ramsey or Douglas instead of fighting the sea.

But Margid hadn’t abandoned him – of course she had not. She’d merely gone inside to get her little box. She opened the lid and took the chain of old twine and bits of wood and glass in her hands, and then she stood there on the beach with the sea spray swirling all around her, and she spoke a few words… And suddenly, just there in that bay, in front of the shingle beach, it was if it was a different day. The storm was still all around, and the sky black as night out to sea and all the way up to North Barrule, but right in front of Margid and all the way out to where Aidan was in his boat there was a bright light like the sunniest of summer days, and the water was flat calm. Well, Aidan didn’t need telling what to do. He dug in his oars and rowed as quick as quick into shore and had the boat up on the beach before you could blink.

And then he gave his granny a big hug and they had two good big herring each for their dinner, and plenty of strong tea. And Aidan vowing over and over how he’d never again suggest they get rid of Margid’s old things.

Handwritten version of the story
Once again the protagonist wasn’t named until after I’d finished.

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