The History of the Flying Broomstick

The Broom; the most necessary part of a witch’s outfit. Without a flying broomstick, a witch would not be able to get anywhere (remember, all witches have weak legs).

            But from whence did the flying broomstick come? It all began in the year 1313 when a witch named Thunderella tripped and broke both of her legs. In those days, witch’s were forced to walk everywhere or ride a dragon. As dragons are the most temperamental of all magical beings, the latter option was never wise, and as witch’s legs are weak, the former option was also foolish. How then can a witch travel from place to place?

            Thunderella, being a stupid witch, had no idea and complained to her coven mother, Hellesbane. Hellesbane was significantly smarter than Thunderella and took to studying. Her first idea was to transplant wings to the heels of all witches. This attempt sorely failed after a trial run (witches and wings DO NOT mix). The second and final attempt of Hellesbane proved a better idea, but it was nonetheless discouraged by the magical community (she hoped to enchant humans to carry witches piggyback). Hellesbane might have made another attempt except for the fact that she also tripped and broke her neck and consequently died.

            It was fifty years later that a young witch named Grimmelda stumbled upon the writings of Hellesbane. Intrigued, Grimmelda also started experimenting with witch transportation. One day, as she was carrying a book to her library she tripped over her broom. Angry, she cursed the broom to fly away and leave her alone. Immediately, the broom zoomed away of its own accord. Grimmelda flew into a happy frenzy at the discovery, and the next day enchanted a broomstick to fly. After two years of different enchantments, more broomsticks and twenty-seven broken noses, Grimmelda successfully marketed flying broomsticks. Now in the flying broomstick’s 650^th anniversary, we hope to honor the hard work of Hellesbane and Grimmelda by displaying the first flying broom at the Toadspike Museum (open mon-thu, 6am-midnight. Tickets are three thousand mushbusks each).

           

Even More Poetry

Recently I got three of my poems published in an anthology for young poets. Unfortunately, one of those poems is not on the computer, but I will get it on here soon. 

Pie

Pickle Pie and Egg Yolk Pie

And pie for grumbly men

Pansy pie and Chess-piece pie

And pie for a little wren

Wishy pie and washy pie

And pie that’s made with a penny

All this pie sounds really good

But I think I won’t have any.

Charles Dickens Rap

On February seventh

At the earliest chimes

A child was born

During very Hard Times

His name was Charles Dickens

And his father was a louse

He had a couple siblings

And he lived in a Bleak House

He worked at a factory

And it wasn’t fun

Who owned it? Who knows

Maybe Dombey and Son.

He loved a good lady

But their love had to end

Too bad, it’s sad

They had many a Mutual Friend

He soon became a clerk

And it was not the tops

He maybe could have worked

In a Curious Shop

He wrote a fun book

And in poured the dimes!

and the quarters and nickels

and he heard fortune’s Chimes!

He went to  America

He didn’t like it, what a pity

From London to New York

It’s A Tale of Two Cities!

And his love for his wife

Began to desist

For his life this was a sad

And an ‘Oliver’ Twist

He wrote Little Dorrit

And A Christmas Carol

But illness in him

Put his life in peril

He died.

He ‘d been a famous author

And went to many nations

But all he had for himself

Were many  Great Expectations.

Little Did She Know

Mrs. Helen Royce, widow of the late Pastor Royce, hung out her wash while humming a little tune. She waved to a passerby; being a citizen of Honeysuckle, Missouri for more than twenty years had given her the ability to give every face a name in their small community. She hung up her last dress and hurried inside. It was nearly time for supper, and she hadn’t even set the table. Also, she had company. She had invited several ladies, all dear friends…Except that nasty Delilah, she thought with a frown. Her next door neighbor was a young, colorless man named Robert Samuels who had been to college in Illinois and had brought a wife back with him. A beautiful woman with golden hair and green eyes, Delilah Samuels had wowed the small community, until it was revealed that the lady had so many nervous habits that she could barely sit still for thirty seconds.

                The old woman had been to her house and invited her for supper yesterday, but their conversation was short:

                “Sorry Mrs. Royce, I… I can’t.” Delilah had said with a quiver.

                “But why?”

                “I… I just can’t!” wailed Delilah dramatically.

                “I understand,” replied the widow, but on the inside she was completely miffed. Delilah Samuels is the silliest girl I’ve ever met, she thought furiously

                But now that was ignored. The smell of burning chicken had reached her nostrils, and she snatched the meal out of the oven. Suddenly, the sound of laughing echoed from the backyard.

                Who is that man? thought the widow curiously. She edged closer to the window. The man was George Frederick, the mayor’s ne’er do well son. He and Delilah were giggling like schoolchildren when he suddenly grabbed her hand. Mrs. Royce could not hear what words were said, but she saw enough; George and Delilah were holding hands. 

                Later that night, Helen Royce and her best friend Lavinia Thomas were sipping tea and chatting. The conversation drifted to Delilah.

                “She is the most impudent girl I’ve ever met,” declared Lavinia. “And so secretive.”

                “I agree,” said Mrs. Royce fervently. “Why only yesterday…” she cut off.

                “Only yesterday what?” asked Lavinia.

                “Well,” said Mrs. Royce, feigning hesitation. “I don’t know if this is the right place to tell.”

                “Helen Royce,” said Lavinia, “what is the point of having a best friend if you never tell them anything?”

                Mrs. Royce inwardly smiled. Lavinia had taken the bait, hook, line and sinker. “Well, yesterday, I saw Delilah laughing with George Frederick.”

                Lavinia looked a bit disappointed. “He probably just told her a joke,” she said.

                “That’s what I thought too…until he kissed her hand.”

                Lavinia gasped. “He didn’t!”

                Mrs. Royce nodded triumphantly, ignoring her conscience. “He kissed her right on her hand. I saw it all through the window.”

                “That’s just awful,” exclaimed Lavinia.

                “Isn’t it though? Now remember Lavinia, this is full of implications. Let’s keep this our little secret.”

                “I won’t tell a single soul,” promised Lavinia.

                But Lavinia did tell a single soul. She told three souls, actually. The very next day, she was sharing lemonade with her neighbors when she lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “You will never believe what has happened,” she said.

                The ladies gathered closer. Lavinia smiled and continued.

                “Well, Helen Royce was making dinner last night when she saw Delilah Samuels through her kitchen window.”

                “Yes?” asked someone eagerly.

                “Delilah was laughing with George Frederick, when he pulled her to him and…kissed her full on the lips.”

                The women reeled back in shock.

                “But she’s married,” gasped one.

                “I knew she was trouble,” said another.

                “But remember, this is our little secret,” said Lavinia with a wink.

                “Oh, we won’t tell anyone,” the women chorused.

                But when the women said ‘anyone’, they didn’t count their best friends or their husbands. And their friends and husbands didn’t hesitate to tell their friends and co-workers. And their friends and co-workers didn’t flinch to tell their wives and children until the story was all over town.

                A few days later, Mrs. Royce walked into the general store to but some thyme when she overheard the storekeeper talking with Old Mrs. Belvedere.

                “I don’t want this to go any further,” whispered the storekeeper, “but I heard from Zillah Ray that Delilah Samuels and George Frederick were kissing behind the mayor’s house.”

                Old Mrs. Belvedere didn’t look surprised. “I knew that that girl was headed for trouble, ever since that fool of a man brought her here. It was only time before she would create a scandal.”

                Suddenly, Delilah Samuels walked into the store. Mrs. Belvedere quickly left the store, glaring at the young woman. When Delilah asked the storekeeper for a pound of flour, he curtly said that they were out.

                Every Saturday, John Royce came from St. Louis to have dinner with his mother. Mrs. Royce loved her son very much, and every weekend pulled out her best china to serve food with—and brought a young woman to tempt with. Her son had stayed single too long; any good mother wouldn’t ignore that.

                This Saturday, he arrived in town and dropped by the butchers to get a leg of lamb. Mrs. Royce prepared a strong tea and invited Gladys Gooch, a giggly young filly with an attractive face. John arrived with the leg of lamb and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. Gladys giggled and John plopped down at the table with a preoccupied air.

                Gladys excused herself to the restroom and Mrs. Royce immediately turned to her son.

                “What’s the matter, John?” she asked in her most motherly voice.

                “Do you know Delilah Samuels?” he asked abruptly.

                Mrs. Royce was surprised. “Yes,” she said in a guarded tone. “Why?”

                “Well,” said John. “There was some trouble at the butchers about her.”

                “Trouble? What Kind of trouble?’

                John sighed sadly. “She walked into the butchers and asked for a ham. He then told her that he didn’t serve Negroes.”

                “What?” gasped Mrs. Royce.

                John continued. “When Delilah said she wasn’t black, the butcher said that her soul was as black as ones.”

                “What?” Mrs. Royce nearly yelled.

                John looked at her in the face. “What?” Mrs. Royce nearly yelled.

                John looked at her in the face. “Do you know anything about this, mother?”

                Mrs. Royce’s blushing face told all.

                “What did you do?” he asked.

                Wording her sentence carefully, Mrs. Royce answered, “I only say her and George Frederick laughing together.”

                “Did you tell anyone?” he questioned.

                “Well, maybe I told Lavinia Thomas,” said Mrs. Royce hesitatingly.

                “Telling that woman a secret is like writing it in the sky,” said John dryly, “and you know that. Now I don’t know why you did what you did, but Delilah Samuels is suffering for it. You know that and you should do something about it. You are a good woman, mother, but sometimes…” he let the sentence drift off.

                Gladys Gooch re-entered the room and the dinner continued quietly…if you can call Gladys’s giggles quiet.

                That night, Mrs. Royce couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in her bed, replaying everything in her mind. All she had done was stretch the truth—but why? For conversation? For fun? For revenge? Finally, Mrs. Royce decided on something. She would apologize to Delilah. She would.

                In the morning, Mrs. Royce grasped the phone and asked the operator for the Samuels household. When Delilah was on, Mrs. Royce took a deep breath.

                “Delilah,” she said. “Would you be able to come for lunch today?”

                Delilah sounded surprised. “I’m actually packing right now.”

                “Packing?”

                “Yes, I’m going to visit my sister.”

                “Oh,” said mrs. Royce. “It would only be a minute. Really, it would mean the world to me.”

                Delilah sighed and answered “sure.”

                At twelve o’clock, Mrs. Royce let Delilah in through the front door. Delilah plopped onto the sofa and looked expectantly at the older woman. Mrs. Royce cleared her throat nervously.

                “Delilah dear, I’m sure you have noticed that the people in town are treating you…unkindly,” began Mrs. Royce.

                Delilah rolled her eyes. “That’s an understatement,” she muttered.

                Mrs. Royce continued. “I…I saw you and George Frederick laughing together, and I told my friend, and she told, her friends, and…” she left off.

                Delilah was shocked. “You think that me and George? That George and I?’

                Mrs. Royce sobbed. “Yes, yes it was me! It was me! I…I’m so sorry!”

                Delilah was appalled as Mrs. Royce fell to her knees in a begging position. “Forgive me!”

                The young woman uneasily stood up and walked backwards. Mrs. Royce sobbed even harder.

                “I’ll clean up the rumors! I will!” she cried. “Just forgive me!”

                Delilah said “I forgive you” and hurried away. Mrs. Royce stood up, still sniffing. She had a lot of work to do. She learned her lesson, and from that day forward, gossip never passed the lips of Helen Royce.

                Meanwhile, Delilah packed her clothes into a small suitcase and smiled. That crazy old lady! How little did she know! Little did she know that Delilah was not packing to visit her sister. Little did she know that she would board the train that night with George Fredrick. Little did she know that the two would ride the train all the way to Idaho and marry under assumed names.

                Yes, thought Delilah. Little does she know!!!