The Tarmac Ribbon amazonaws com
The Tarmac Ribbon
As the sun dipped its head below the horizon of another mellow autumnal day, two small woodland hedgehogs left the safety of the woods in search of a juicy slug or two. Their ambling travels soon bought them to the edge of the tarmac ribbon, which reeked of hot rubber and the stench of crude oils. Despite the past warnings of their kindred and their own apprehensions in crossing this forbidden zone, the faint aroma of distant garden slugs was too much for any hedgehog to resist.
The two creatures stepped out onto the hard unwelcoming surface that stretched both ways into to the distance, but they failed to comprehend the dangers of the glaring headlights of a distant bus roaring towards them. When at last it’s thunderous howling was finally heard, the panicked two hedgehogs rolled into a ball of spines and prayed to the Thousand for deliverance. Luckily, two parental elves, Sirius and Mirzam were also passing the tarmac ribbon at the same place, having returned from a dedication of their most recent elven baby. As quickly as a flick of a dragonfly’s wing, they carefully dropped their two elven babies safely down into the sanctuary of the undergrowth and dashed to the aid of the unfortunate hedgehog duo. Sadly, although they were successful in saving the lives of both of the hedgehogs, they were unsuccessful in adverting the tragedy that befell on themselves. Suffice to say, their demise was abrupt and their suffering was brief and all that was left were two dazzled and confused prickly companions, standing alongside a pair of wicker baskets that contained two treasured and dearly loved baby elves.
The pair of woodland creatures quickly performed the required brief sacred rites of passage to the Thousand: something that only the animals of the forest have knowledge of. Then they approached and peered tentatively within the adjacent baskets. Within the sanctuary of the wicker twines, two small baby elves lay fast asleep, unaware of the tragedy that had befallen their parents or the fate that laid in store for them. There was no way that the prickly pair could abandon the pair of defenseless baby elves, after their two parents had sacrificed their own lives to rescue the hedgehogs from the perils of the tarmac ribbon. The two baskets were carefully lifted and carried into the nearby town of the leg-walkers. They knew of a quiet vegetable patch that could prove a good source of slugs and other culinary delights.
Whilst one hedgehog stood guard over the tiny elven babies, the other searched beneath every leaf and found a feast of writhing blackened delights, glistening in their shroud of damp slime. Carefully they picked a cabbage leaf and wrapped their cache of slugs, to offer these to the two young elves, later discovered to be called Maxwell and Skippy. Hungrily, the two elves devoured the leaves, discarded the wiggling slime-feast to the ground and then returned to their baskets to nap. It was then that the hedgehogs realized that they could never make satisfactory substitute parents for these infants. A nearby church bell tolled the hour and the hedgehogs looked at each other, as inspiration sparkled in their eyes. They could leave the baskets at the church of the leg-walkers, knowing that they would be well looked after there.
Carefully, they made their way to the porch of the church and gently placed the elves, in their wicker baskets, upon the bench that stood within its shelter. One of the hedgehogs clambered up upon the back of the other and reached forward to pull a small knob that was attached to a bell and, as soon as they were sure that a leg-walker was alerted, they dashed outside into the graveyard and hid behind a gravestone to watch. Within seconds they heard the familiar sounds of the calls of the leg-walkers and felt the heavy gruff vibrations of approaching footsteps from within the church. Only when they saw the warm smile upon the face of the elderly leg-walker looking down into the two wicker baskets were they assured that they had done the right thing and that the little elves would be truly cared for.
Day of Threes
“When things happen,” Cardinal Snowfield muttered to himself, “they tend to happen in threes.” Today proved to be one of those days. The first surprise of the day was when Cardinal Snowfield heard a ring at the church porch. He had been visiting a newly invested priest, Father Molesly, in the parish in which he had once served many years ago. He knew of the bell in the church porch but this was the first time he could ever recall its use. Cardinal Snowfield quickly folded the copy of “The Racing Times” into two and placed it upon the desk of the church study. Then he hobbled through the church, as quickly as his advancing years would allow, to discover who it was who could be ringing for attention at this hour. “Just a moment!” he called out three times, as he stumbled through the church, to reach the porch.
The second surprise of the day was when Cardinal Snowfield glanced about and found that there was no one waiting. Indeed, he looked up to the church lynch gate, peered out of the porch and around into the graveyard but there were definitely no signs of visitors at all. Cardinal Snowfield pushed his spectacles firmly into place using the pad of his middle finger and mumbled quietly to himself. Had he not been of advancing years (and somewhat sharper in vision) he might have seen two small hedgehogs poking their eyes from behind a gravestone in nervous trepidation. However, the years had taken their toll upon his aged senses and even Cardinal Snowfield would often admit that, “I’m not as young as I used to be!” The third and final surprise came when he glanced down upon the stone bench and saw two small wicker baskets containing the slumbering bodies of two small babies. “Well, well well!” he muttered to himself, with a compassionate air. He had often read and heard of homeless mothers leaving their children in church porches but this was the first time ever, in all his years, he had ever witnessed such an event for himself. He bent forward to carefully inspect the larger of the two baskets. Within the safe confines of the wicker enclosure was a small sleeping toddler, aged about two or three, with a mass of untidy hazelnut hair. Almost instinctively (from leading countless Mothers’ Union meetings) he folded back the collar from behind the toddler’s neck, to expose a shiny beaded necklace and a small neatly sewn label declaring the toddler’s name. “Maxwell Grantly,” muttered Cardinal Snowfield with a smile, “What a mighty fine little fellow you are indeed.” He turned to the second (and smaller) wicker basket and repeated the process.
“Skippy Beresford. Such an adorable little baby,” he whispered quietly, also spying a small neatly folded maple leaf at the edge of the basket. The cardinal carefully and gently extracted the folded leaf and laid it upon the stone bench along side the two baskets. Then gently, oh so gently, he carefully prized the folds apart to reveal a second beaded
necklace and a small cylindrical branch. Other than this and the clothes that they wore, there were no other processions that the two new arrivals owned. Cardinal Snowfield carefully folded the maple leaf back again and replaced it into the wicker basket, alongside its original owner. “You are indeed two delightful little fellows,” he uttered with a compassionate glint of his eye and he carefully picked the baskets up one by one to carry them into the sanctuary of the church. Indeed, he had not noticed that they were both elves; in fact, he did not care that they were. All he knew was that they were young and vulnerable and needed a home and he and his ecclesiastical friend, the younger Father Molesly would ensure that they both had the very best upbringing possible.
The Infant Years
The following years of Maxwell and Skippy’s childhood could only be described as idyllic. They were incredibly lucky indeed to have such freedom from the rules of parents but to experience the loving and compassionate support of the different priests at St Nicholas-on-the-Dell. The priests would care for the elven duo but would also allow them both the freedom to explore and develop, as they left to attend to their other religious duties: reading the good book, praying in earnest and saving lost souls. (For your information: Reading the Good Book fell at the first fence, Praying in Earnest was a non-starter but Saving Lost Souls won at 50 to 1, odds on favourite.) The two young elves were given free reins to explore the grounds of the church (and to venture into the undergrowth beyond) and so the safe enclosed world of the church and its tranquil surroundings became their world and their home for the next fortyfive years.
Every day they would spend chasing butterflies in the graveyard, collecting wandering snails from the shadows by the gravestones or watching the dragonflies dart across the babbling brook at the far end of the churchyard. In the hot afternoons they would curl together beneath the front pew, in the coolness of the church nave, and fall asleep, to continue their shared adventures in their dreamtimes. Then, in the evening, different priests, bishops and cardinals would take turns in teaching them all the important skills
that they might need in life: how to calculate the percentage odds of probability and chance in games of gambling, the anatomy and structure of thoroughbred race horses and the geographical position of all major race courses around the world. At night time the two little elves would lay in bed and listen to thrilling stories from the Old Testament; stories that would fill their thoughts and inspire their imaginations so that they would dream of sailing the oceans in ships filled with menageries of animals, submerge safely beneath the seas in the bellies of gigantic fish or come to the rescue of lions and other large cats by removing thorns from injured paws. It would be hard to eloquently describe how idyllic and wondrous their infant years were and indeed the two of them were incredibly blissful and content, despite the lack of a traditional family upbringing. However at the back of both of their minds was the slight wondering inquisitiveness of what a normal family life might really be like. Despite being so very happy, when Maxwell reached his seventieth birthday and Skippy became thirtyfive, the two of them (hand-in-hand) approached Father Mosely (who was now in his seventies) and asked him for permission to apply for formal adoption. Although Father Mosely knew he would dearly miss the two beloved toddlers, there was no hesitation in his reply that they should follow their natural desires and find a complete and loving family. It was only right that they should experience for themselves the warm tender embrace of a mother and the caring compassionate role model of a father figure. Father Mosely was, however, concerned that their choices might be restricted if their elfish background was commonly known but it was no great hardship in allowing their hair to grow to cover their ears and conceal their elven identities. And so, the two little elven brothers were able to continue their story in the warm surrounds of a loving adopted family and soon they joined the Harvy family and met their new mummy and daddy. The next thirty-five years were as idyllic as the first forty-five. The Harvey family was everything that they could have hoped for and more. They went for weekend visits to the zoo where they had ice creams, covered with multicolored sugar sprinkles. They celebrated Guy Fawkes nights each year, with a bonanza of gaudy rockets and Roman candles. They even got the opportunity to meet Santa Claus one Christmas Eve to personally deliver their present lists. They met the most amazing array of different people and knew a deep sense of caring of love and nurture from their adopted parents it felt as if it would never end - but end it did in a most unexpected way.
You must remember that Maxwell and Skippy were two elves and elves age roughly ten times slower than humans. Although, during their adopted time with the Harveys they had aged some three and a half years in appearance, a lengthy thirty-five years had in fact passed. Maxwell looked ten and a half and Skippy seemed just seven but their family had aged some thirty-five years and were now very elderly and frail. The family had, of course, by this time realized that both Maxwell and Skippy were elves (it was impossible to disguise the fact for very long at all) but this did not matter to them for, when a child is loved as a child, it does not matter if they are boy or girl, abled-body or disabled, elven or human, true parental love is not skin deep but it penetrates deep down right into the soul. Maxwell and Skippy were simply loved for being themselves. And of course, it was the ageing of their parents that lead to their ultimate demise, whilst Maxwell and Skippy were still in their childhood. Even still, the elven pair had experienced a loving family relationship that was rich and full and so it is only right to dwell on the positives of their experiences and not upon the ultimate sadness of its demise. They had experienced something that some human children may sadly never know and, for that, the two of them were truly grateful.
As the sun dipped its head below the horizon of another mellow autumnal day, two small woodland hedgehogs left the safety of the woods in search of a juicy slug or two. Their ambling travels soon bought them to the edge of the tarmac ribbon, which reeked of hot rubber and the stench of crude oils. Despite the past warnings of their kindred and their own apprehensions in crossing this forbidden zone, the faint aroma of distant garden slugs was too much for any hedgehog to resist.
The two creatures stepped out onto the hard unwelcoming surface that stretched both ways into to the distance, but they failed to comprehend the dangers of the glaring headlights of a distant bus roaring towards them. When at last it’s thunderous howling was finally heard, the panicked two hedgehogs rolled into a ball of spines and prayed to the Thousand for deliverance. Luckily, two parental elves, Sirius and Mirzam were also passing the tarmac ribbon at the same place, having returned from a dedication of their most recent elven baby. As quickly as a flick of a dragonfly’s wing, they carefully dropped their two elven babies safely down into the sanctuary of the undergrowth and dashed to the aid of the unfortunate hedgehog duo. Sadly, although they were successful in saving the lives of both of the hedgehogs, they were unsuccessful in adverting the tragedy that befell on themselves. Suffice to say, their demise was abrupt and their suffering was brief and all that was left were two dazzled and confused prickly companions, standing alongside a pair of wicker baskets that contained two treasured and dearly loved baby elves.
The pair of woodland creatures quickly performed the required brief sacred rites of passage to the Thousand: something that only the animals of the forest have knowledge of. Then they approached and peered tentatively within the adjacent baskets. Within the sanctuary of the wicker twines, two small baby elves lay fast asleep, unaware of the tragedy that had befallen their parents or the fate that laid in store for them. There was no way that the prickly pair could abandon the pair of defenseless baby elves, after their two parents had sacrificed their own lives to rescue the hedgehogs from the perils of the tarmac ribbon. The two baskets were carefully lifted and carried into the nearby town of the leg-walkers. They knew of a quiet vegetable patch that could prove a good source of slugs and other culinary delights.
Whilst one hedgehog stood guard over the tiny elven babies, the other searched beneath every leaf and found a feast of writhing blackened delights, glistening in their shroud of damp slime. Carefully they picked a cabbage leaf and wrapped their cache of slugs, to offer these to the two young elves, later discovered to be called Maxwell and Skippy. Hungrily, the two elves devoured the leaves, discarded the wiggling slime-feast to the ground and then returned to their baskets to nap. It was then that the hedgehogs realized that they could never make satisfactory substitute parents for these infants. A nearby church bell tolled the hour and the hedgehogs looked at each other, as inspiration sparkled in their eyes. They could leave the baskets at the church of the leg-walkers, knowing that they would be well looked after there.
Carefully, they made their way to the porch of the church and gently placed the elves, in their wicker baskets, upon the bench that stood within its shelter. One of the hedgehogs clambered up upon the back of the other and reached forward to pull a small knob that was attached to a bell and, as soon as they were sure that a leg-walker was alerted, they dashed outside into the graveyard and hid behind a gravestone to watch. Within seconds they heard the familiar sounds of the calls of the leg-walkers and felt the heavy gruff vibrations of approaching footsteps from within the church. Only when they saw the warm smile upon the face of the elderly leg-walker looking down into the two wicker baskets were they assured that they had done the right thing and that the little elves would be truly cared for.
Day of Threes
“When things happen,” Cardinal Snowfield muttered to himself, “they tend to happen in threes.” Today proved to be one of those days. The first surprise of the day was when Cardinal Snowfield heard a ring at the church porch. He had been visiting a newly invested priest, Father Molesly, in the parish in which he had once served many years ago. He knew of the bell in the church porch but this was the first time he could ever recall its use. Cardinal Snowfield quickly folded the copy of “The Racing Times” into two and placed it upon the desk of the church study. Then he hobbled through the church, as quickly as his advancing years would allow, to discover who it was who could be ringing for attention at this hour. “Just a moment!” he called out three times, as he stumbled through the church, to reach the porch.
The second surprise of the day was when Cardinal Snowfield glanced about and found that there was no one waiting. Indeed, he looked up to the church lynch gate, peered out of the porch and around into the graveyard but there were definitely no signs of visitors at all. Cardinal Snowfield pushed his spectacles firmly into place using the pad of his middle finger and mumbled quietly to himself. Had he not been of advancing years (and somewhat sharper in vision) he might have seen two small hedgehogs poking their eyes from behind a gravestone in nervous trepidation. However, the years had taken their toll upon his aged senses and even Cardinal Snowfield would often admit that, “I’m not as young as I used to be!” The third and final surprise came when he glanced down upon the stone bench and saw two small wicker baskets containing the slumbering bodies of two small babies. “Well, well well!” he muttered to himself, with a compassionate air. He had often read and heard of homeless mothers leaving their children in church porches but this was the first time ever, in all his years, he had ever witnessed such an event for himself. He bent forward to carefully inspect the larger of the two baskets. Within the safe confines of the wicker enclosure was a small sleeping toddler, aged about two or three, with a mass of untidy hazelnut hair. Almost instinctively (from leading countless Mothers’ Union meetings) he folded back the collar from behind the toddler’s neck, to expose a shiny beaded necklace and a small neatly sewn label declaring the toddler’s name. “Maxwell Grantly,” muttered Cardinal Snowfield with a smile, “What a mighty fine little fellow you are indeed.” He turned to the second (and smaller) wicker basket and repeated the process.
“Skippy Beresford. Such an adorable little baby,” he whispered quietly, also spying a small neatly folded maple leaf at the edge of the basket. The cardinal carefully and gently extracted the folded leaf and laid it upon the stone bench along side the two baskets. Then gently, oh so gently, he carefully prized the folds apart to reveal a second beaded
necklace and a small cylindrical branch. Other than this and the clothes that they wore, there were no other processions that the two new arrivals owned. Cardinal Snowfield carefully folded the maple leaf back again and replaced it into the wicker basket, alongside its original owner. “You are indeed two delightful little fellows,” he uttered with a compassionate glint of his eye and he carefully picked the baskets up one by one to carry them into the sanctuary of the church. Indeed, he had not noticed that they were both elves; in fact, he did not care that they were. All he knew was that they were young and vulnerable and needed a home and he and his ecclesiastical friend, the younger Father Molesly would ensure that they both had the very best upbringing possible.
The Infant Years
The following years of Maxwell and Skippy’s childhood could only be described as idyllic. They were incredibly lucky indeed to have such freedom from the rules of parents but to experience the loving and compassionate support of the different priests at St Nicholas-on-the-Dell. The priests would care for the elven duo but would also allow them both the freedom to explore and develop, as they left to attend to their other religious duties: reading the good book, praying in earnest and saving lost souls. (For your information: Reading the Good Book fell at the first fence, Praying in Earnest was a non-starter but Saving Lost Souls won at 50 to 1, odds on favourite.) The two young elves were given free reins to explore the grounds of the church (and to venture into the undergrowth beyond) and so the safe enclosed world of the church and its tranquil surroundings became their world and their home for the next fortyfive years.
Every day they would spend chasing butterflies in the graveyard, collecting wandering snails from the shadows by the gravestones or watching the dragonflies dart across the babbling brook at the far end of the churchyard. In the hot afternoons they would curl together beneath the front pew, in the coolness of the church nave, and fall asleep, to continue their shared adventures in their dreamtimes. Then, in the evening, different priests, bishops and cardinals would take turns in teaching them all the important skills
that they might need in life: how to calculate the percentage odds of probability and chance in games of gambling, the anatomy and structure of thoroughbred race horses and the geographical position of all major race courses around the world. At night time the two little elves would lay in bed and listen to thrilling stories from the Old Testament; stories that would fill their thoughts and inspire their imaginations so that they would dream of sailing the oceans in ships filled with menageries of animals, submerge safely beneath the seas in the bellies of gigantic fish or come to the rescue of lions and other large cats by removing thorns from injured paws. It would be hard to eloquently describe how idyllic and wondrous their infant years were and indeed the two of them were incredibly blissful and content, despite the lack of a traditional family upbringing. However at the back of both of their minds was the slight wondering inquisitiveness of what a normal family life might really be like. Despite being so very happy, when Maxwell reached his seventieth birthday and Skippy became thirtyfive, the two of them (hand-in-hand) approached Father Mosely (who was now in his seventies) and asked him for permission to apply for formal adoption. Although Father Mosely knew he would dearly miss the two beloved toddlers, there was no hesitation in his reply that they should follow their natural desires and find a complete and loving family. It was only right that they should experience for themselves the warm tender embrace of a mother and the caring compassionate role model of a father figure. Father Mosely was, however, concerned that their choices might be restricted if their elfish background was commonly known but it was no great hardship in allowing their hair to grow to cover their ears and conceal their elven identities. And so, the two little elven brothers were able to continue their story in the warm surrounds of a loving adopted family and soon they joined the Harvy family and met their new mummy and daddy. The next thirty-five years were as idyllic as the first forty-five. The Harvey family was everything that they could have hoped for and more. They went for weekend visits to the zoo where they had ice creams, covered with multicolored sugar sprinkles. They celebrated Guy Fawkes nights each year, with a bonanza of gaudy rockets and Roman candles. They even got the opportunity to meet Santa Claus one Christmas Eve to personally deliver their present lists. They met the most amazing array of different people and knew a deep sense of caring of love and nurture from their adopted parents it felt as if it would never end - but end it did in a most unexpected way.
You must remember that Maxwell and Skippy were two elves and elves age roughly ten times slower than humans. Although, during their adopted time with the Harveys they had aged some three and a half years in appearance, a lengthy thirty-five years had in fact passed. Maxwell looked ten and a half and Skippy seemed just seven but their family had aged some thirty-five years and were now very elderly and frail. The family had, of course, by this time realized that both Maxwell and Skippy were elves (it was impossible to disguise the fact for very long at all) but this did not matter to them for, when a child is loved as a child, it does not matter if they are boy or girl, abled-body or disabled, elven or human, true parental love is not skin deep but it penetrates deep down right into the soul. Maxwell and Skippy were simply loved for being themselves. And of course, it was the ageing of their parents that lead to their ultimate demise, whilst Maxwell and Skippy were still in their childhood. Even still, the elven pair had experienced a loving family relationship that was rich and full and so it is only right to dwell on the positives of their experiences and not upon the ultimate sadness of its demise. They had experienced something that some human children may sadly never know and, for that, the two of them were truly grateful.
