One Spring, in the early years of the reign of the Virgin Queen, a curious occurrence was reported in the Fenland town of Ely. The garrulous flocks of birds which arrived each year with the thawing of the snow and the lengthening of the days failed to appear. Although the frosts grew less frequent and the sun returned to smile wanly once more upon the world, the woods and fields about the town remained devoid of any birdlife...
The apples in the trees were still green and hung in bunches soaking up the late summer sun.
“Don't eat them yet, Rose”, her mother admonished, “You have to wait until they are ripe”.
“But why?”, asked Rose, her hand frozen in mid-reach.
“Why? Because otherwise they will taste bitter and give you bellyache, that's why. You have to wait until they are fat and red, when the first windfalls drop to the ground. Then you can collect and eat them”
“When will that be?”
“Oh, not for a good couple of months yet”. Her mother closed her eyes, turned her head and let the sun warm her face.
The town by the river was enjoying a time of plenty. The harvests had been bountiful and the markets full of wares from all around the world. The people wore smiles and their children were fat and happy. Towards the end of another glorious summer, a travelling circus came to the town and set up a big-top tent in the wastground where the Castle once stood...
Good King Richard rode into the town upon his white courser with his retinue in tow. Sniffing a Lancastrian plot, he forsook the comforts of the Castle and instead took lodgings in the White Boar by the High Cross. Weary from his travels the King slept and in the early evening, refreshed, he took his pick of the pretty young maidens of the town for his bedchamber...
Around Elfestone Hall the elaborately planned and planted gardens had grown wild and choked with brambles. The old Earl had lost his fortunes in the card-houses of London and could no longer afford a good many things, not least a gardener to tame the wilderness...
Once, in an age of silver and starlight, there lived a maiden so beautiful that the sun itself was too shy to look at her. So shy in fact, that he asked his friends the clouds to stand between them always lest she catch sight of him and laugh at his rotund yellow figure. Because of this, the maiden lived in a world of perpetual cloud...
Once upon a time in England there lived a little girl called Rose. Each morning, Rose would wake up in her little house on Juliet Street and greet the sunshine that blazed through her open window with a smile and a cheery wave. Every day was the same for Rose. For her it was always early summer – not too hot, but always sunny with a gentle breeze blowing that would tickle the hair on her arms and cool her brow.
