BEST IN SHOW, Evelyn J. Steward [historical books to read txt] 📗

The Leaf Dragons' Legacy.

A dank mist swirled around the mountain. Many of the dragons resting within the bowl of the valley shivered as stringers of cloud wound around each waiting body. Aura, (her flanks covered in splodges of colour that from a distance, looked for all the world as if something had painted flowers on her skin,) cleared her throat. She needed to be heard by everyone in the Nesting.
"My friends, my family," she spoke with a croaking voice that had once more to be cleared before she could go on. "Our numbers have been reduced by famine, sickness and old age. We must see that our numbers proliferate, and if that is not possible," here she gazed pointedly at the young males and females that had not yet produced offspring, "then we must make sure that we are remembered."
Bayman, the leader of the leaf dragons, nodded his head in agreement. "But what are we to do, Aura?" he answered as he too stared with concern at the females, all of whom had lowered their in shame or desolation
Many heads leaned forward to hear as Aura put forth her erudite plans. Millennia passed and very few new dragons were born, many others died. The population decreased so much that the last few knew they must carry out the long-held strategy laid down by the long-dead Aura. They were capable of such action, though it meant their extinction as a race.

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'BEST IN SHOW'


"Allo there Fred. Ow're yer doin'?"
"Don't you be 'ow're yer doin' with me, Harry."
"Why Fred, it just be a friendly greetin', is all."
"Yerse, I know, but soon it'll be ''ow are yer marrow's gettin' along, an' them peas an' beans o' yours. Well, oi'll 'ave none o' it, d'yer 'ear?"
"Sorry I'm sure, Fred. I'll bid yer good day."
"An I don't want none o' your 'Good days' neither."
Harry Eckleston walked away from Fred Dunn's gate. As he got further down the lane, his wrinkled face slipped into a knowing smile. He had rattled old Fred who now would be looking furtively at his retreating back.
This was a game they played. In fact, many of the people in Much Mooring played the same game at this time of year. Late Summer! It was like an Agatha Christie play, without the murder. Mind you, murder could have been on the cards (in minds if not in actuality) if they thought their precious 'lovelies' were in danger.
The thought was in Fred Dunn's mind right now as he watched old Harry's shambling gait disappear at the bottom of Pinchot's Lane. "Up t' no good!" he mumbled to himself as he inspected the 'boxed' roses in the front garden of his small Elizabethan cottage. All seemed to be well. He would give them the 'once over' several times a day from now on. Didn't do to take chances so close to the event. The same care and attention would be lavished on all his flowers and vegetables.
The Annual Show was due in two weeks time and all throughout the village was a fervour of people tending gardens in a secretive manner and paranoia about their proposed entries, was rampant. Every man and woman intending to enter some exhibit category or other, viewed every other villager with suspicion.
No less so was Gladys Allsop, Leader of the Brownie Troop, who, with her Pack, was doing a floral display. The Town Hall Works Dept. had donated chicken wire and would be sending trays of moss and plants the day before the Show. Both Gladys and her Brownies (with the help of a few older Guides) would put together this wealth of Summer profusion, working all day and into the night to complete the special exhibit. If it all worked to plan, the floral creature would be sent around the area on display and as entry into other local Fetes around Much Mooring. The other villages would in turn, send their own offering to the Much Mooring Show. There was fierce competition and local Government pride was at stake.
On consultation with the Town Council, Gladys was to fashion a dragon made out of chicken wire, filled with moss, plants and flowers. A bold venture but one she and her troop were up to, she felt. The shape had already been completed. It stood bare and brooding behind locked doors (her garage). Villagers had quizzed her on this years' theme. Gladys had repelled all boarders. Her troop were no trouble as she had not discussed with them exactly what there were going to build. The moss was delivered two days before the Show and Gladys alone filled the frame with the greenery, ready for the flowering plants the following day when she and her Brownies would be incarcerated in the garage until the creature was completed.

The day of the Show, all secrets were out. People travelling from other towns could smell the baking as they entered the narrow streets and were 'funnelled' to Hall Farm field at the far end of the village. Women had tried their best to outdo each other with lemon sponges, fruit cake , Victoria sponges filled with home-made raspberry preserve and covered lightly with a dusting of castor or icing sugar, just enough to tempt the judges, not enough to hide the surface of the cake - a no no as far as judging was concerned.
Many other types of cakes such as rich chocolate gateaux, cherry Genoa and a favourite tricky one - Battenberg with its squares of pink and white like a draughtboard - covered in marzipan (home made of course) and crunchy biscuits all of whose aromas mingled with the all-pervading rich odour of raspberry, strawberry, plum, gooseberry and blackberry jams in the home made section. The strongly flavoured lemon curd entries, whose citrus scent added a sharp note were prevalent. Everyone had a curd recipe, and most had entered this category.
Fred Dunn had prepared a fine crop of onions. Six of equal size on a plate, their tops tied down tight with white string. The judges carried ring sizers and an onion had to just sit on the top with almost half its girth below the rim. Larger than that and the vegetable would fall through and be deemed too large for that category. Each of the six were tested to make sure all fit the size decreed.
Fred's other vegetables had been carefully prepared for the Show, including his monster leek (which he felt was what old Harry had been interested in two weeks ago). His roses were a sight to behold. The little 'boxes' that had covered each garden bloom had kept out flies and creatures that love to eat rose petals. His efforts had rewarded him. A winning entry there for sure, he thought, as he arranged them in the show pot. Harry Eckleston's entries he felt, were just a bit short of standard. But that was only his view.
Gladys and her Troop had completed their exhibit around two in the morning. They were tired but happy. Now the 'Floral Dragon' was being gently loaded onto a flatbed by the Clerk of the Works and his team, and was magnificent in all its glory. The colour scheme was gentle. Hues ranged from grey/green foliage plants to soft pinks, salmons and lilacs, all except for the eyes and the mouth which were emblazoned in brilliant scarlet Salvias.
The Clerk felt the Mayor of Much Mooring would be very pleased at the result. Special 'out of town' judges would review all entries in this category so that no one could say any town or village cheated by having their own judges decide on the winner.
As they unloaded the floral dragon in the field next to the Fruit, Flower and Vegetable marquee, Gladys' miniature china dragon which had lots of pretty flower pattern painted on its sides, on which she had based the large creation, had a smug look on its face. Dragons now were either written about or made into tiny effigies of pewter, pottery, glass or wood - the Leaf Dragons' legacy.
Gladys stood in front of the entry holding the little china dragon in her hand. Would they win? Its satisfied smile seemed to think so.

© Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. July 2002.

Words. 1385

Publication Date: 02-07-2012

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