Monday's Child #15 Fever!

The child tossed and turned in her tangled sheets. She had been so grateful to slide in between the cold cotton covers and rest her aching head on the smooth pillow. Her mother had tucked her in and kissed her and told her to sleep.

She was a good child and tried to obey but her throat hurt and her skin burned and everything around her had taken on an unusual and frightening aspect. The woodland animals on the wallpaper no longer looked amiable and endearing. Their teeth would tear at her fragile flesh and their paws revealed sharp claws to rake at her hot, dry eyes. The fairies, so pretty and delicate on other days, wore malevolent expressions and prepared to dance round her, poking and pinching, pulling her hair. She shut her eyes to deny them reality then cautiously opened them again, determining not to look at them. She raised a hand to ward off the sight of them then watched in terror as her thumb grew out of all proportion. She stuffed it in her mouth to prove it was her own small digit but it seemed almost too large to fit. She drew it out and stared at it in horrified fascination.

She wanted to cry, she wanted her mummy, she wanted to be anywhere but in this bed of nightmares. Her eyes closed as she started to sob and a short while later she felt a hand on her forehead and a cool cloth dabbing her face. That felt so good. Cautiously she glanced at the wallpaper. The woodland scene was as it had ever been, fairies with gossamer wings dancing with rabbits and foxes, badgers and birds. Still wary, she peeped again at her hand and was relieved to see her little thumb returned to its normal size.

Years later, she could clearly recall the strange experiences of that time. It helped her when nursing her own feverish children and yet she was never quite sure that it had merely been delirium. It was as real to her as the belief that she really had been able to fly. Dreams and nightmares – an interpretation of actual events?

Thank you to BKM of 'Monday's Child' for organising and hosting this prompt-led exercise.

The Dog Days of My Life: #3 - Punch

One morning when I was about six I went downstairs to find a liver and white English Springer Spaniel at the foot of the stairs. Punch had arrived by train the previous evening. My sister and brother-in-law had been told of a dog needing a good home and thought of my parents.

Punch was a gentle, friendly dog and became a great favourite with our regular customers. He lay on the doorstep all day, front paws dangling over the edge, and most people stopped to pat him and have a word. At night he settled at the bottom of the stairs and we all learnt to step over him carefully.

Then one day he started to wander. He would begin the day at the shop door in his accustomed manner and then slip away unobtrusively to trot about the neighbourhood with his doggy pals. He stayed away for hours on end, coming home for his evening meal. My parents worried about him having an accident or even causing one. Eventually, one of our customers, knowing of their concern, offered to give him a home. He had a large house and garden in the Kent countryside and Punch would be safe there. My parents liked and trusted this man and knew he had always been very fond of Punch so reluctantly but with some guilty relief they said goodbye to the boy.

It felt strange not to have him around and for many months after Punch had left us we continued to step carefully over – nothing – at the foot of the stairs.

It would be a few years before I lived with a dog again, of which more anon.

The Dog Days of My Life: #2 - Sombre

Sombre was my sister's dog. She was a gorgeous Rough Collie and had a long and impressive kennel name to go with her equally long and impressive pedigree. I remember her principally because she ate a £5 note which was a very expensive snack at that time. My sister was married by the time she acquired Sombre and I saw little of either of them after they moved away.

The Dog Days of My Life: #1 - Bob the Collie

The first dog I remember was a handsome black and white Collie called Bob. As far as I recall he came into our family and my life when I was about three years old. I'm sure he arrived as a fully-grown dog for I have no recollections of a puppy in the house.

Bob was a member of the family from the start and my father used to lay a place at the table for him, complete with cutlery and a chair to sit on. I don't think he actually ate from the table; I think the exercise was meant as an entertainment for us children.

One day Bob went out of the front door and I followed him. Up the road he trotted with me close behind. At the end of our road was a junction with a main road. Bob, off the lead and having no road sense whatever, walked out into the traffic and so did I. Suddenly I was grabbed and lifted back onto the pavement – my elder sister, fifteen years older than me, had noted my disappearance from the house along with Bob's and had managed to catch up with us before either of us came to any harm. In those long-ago days there was very little traffic. Most people could not afford cars and heavy lorries and trucks were creations for the future. The cars that were being driven then were neither powerful nor fast, though equally their brakes were not as swift to act nor as reliable. I suppose that Bob and I were lucky – we surely would not have survived such an event without incident or injury in our current vehicle-laden roads.

When I was four my family moved. My father had left the Royal Navy and had no wish to spend the rest of his working life in Chatham Dockyard. He and my mother decided to buy a business and we left our large, comfortable house and moved into a small flat above the shop. Of course, Bob came with us. It was not long before he developed 'a lump' which caused him pain and soon he had travelled on to his eternal rest. As an introduction to dogdom Bob could not have been bettered. He was gentle and obedient, an example for all other dogs.

The next dog in my life belonged to my sister, of which more anon.