A day out

Have you ever stood and asked yourself, why? Why are these beautiful children so mischievous? Why can’t they just stand or sit still?  I should have known better then to take them to the Tudor House.  The term stately home should have set off alarm bells. No, stupidly I had made the sandwiches, put squash in beakers, found wellies and put the children in the car.  I had imagined a nice day admiring the home and gardens of Lady Gray.  This was not the day I had planned and I certainly did not expect to meet witches.

As we drove along the long gravel drive looking for parking, Jane hit Tim, shouting,

“Yellow car, no returns.”

“Mum, Jane hit me.”

Ignoring them and now concentrating on reversing, I needed a happy day.

Taking their hands we walked, paid entry and entered the great hall. Tim groaned,

“I’m hungry”

“Later.”

The incident

After an exhausting but long afternoon, it happened, like watching something in slow motion. I saw the face of the screaming tour guide first.  So many times, I have told the children to touch nothing, today was no exception. As I saw the wall vanish, I heard Jane and Tim laughing.

When you are alone with these two it is impossible to stop and read anything. I had taken my eyes off them for a second and now this.  Standing in the centre of the large ornate room there was a plaque. It told of a great superstition, a warning. Small children don’t read warnings.  They had picked up the huge ornamental cup between them, Tim shouting, “We won”.

Maybe this place should not have been open to the public, but people were now screaming and running.  Hysteria over a disappearing wall!

I’m not superstitious and certainly do not believe in ghosts but I now wrapped my coat around me and shivered, and the children had put the cup down.  This was no longer a fun game.

The cup

As the crying started, the tour guides were trying to get everyone out safely.  This was a first for the National Trust and no one was prepared for it.  The plaque had been considered merely a story, but the cup had always been treated extremely carefully, and no one had touched its handles, until now.

Historians had recorded an event in 1783, where it was found that if the cups handles were held at the same time by different people, it was believed that the dead will rise again.  They wrote that white witches had chanted and returned the spirits to their other realm where they needed to be.  Today there are no witches, and the crying has turned to howling.

Why am I now smelling incense?  The children are now sat watching events unfold as if we are at the theatre. The National Trust staff don’t know what to do and a stranger is now trying to take charge.  A blonde-haired guide is trying to ignore what he is saying, and he is becoming more irate.  His plea’s are urgent and being ignored. This was all our fault and running was the coward’s way out.

“Excuse me, but can I help? Seems that you know something here.”

“This cup has been here many years, and it was just a matter of time before this happened. The National Trust have ignored all my warnings but did at least install a sign. Not your fault that your children can’t read. We need a white witch.”

The White Witches

Ignoring his reading comment I now googled, ‘White Witch, Essex’.

“You don’t need to google I’ve already messaged them. They know me, I’m prepared.  Not sure if they believe me though.”

I now phoned the number and explained what had happened.  They had not taken Eric seriously; they had considered him a time waster years ago.  Now knowing there really was a problem they made their plans to leave immediately.  Looking at Eric I could see he was enjoying this. The rest of us were scared but he was wearing his ‘told you so’ smile.

Smelling the aroma of herbs and then flowers, grey smoke was filling the room.  The crying and wailing continued as clouds formed and then disappeared, then reappeared again as if they were dancing.

Hearing the screech of tyres I grabbed the children, surely this was it.  As the giant walked in the guides went quiet. Eric ran up to him but was told to leave alone. Watching his co-workers assemble their equipment this appeared to be a military operation. They had obviously performed this many times before.

Problem solved

Watching the children hold their noses as the scent of lavender filled the room I was amazed at the seamless operation happening around me. The giant, Jack, was giving commands, as a lady started to chant.

Gradually the smoke became thinner and the crying and wailing died down.  Lastly the wall reappeared. No harm done, all spirits returned to where they should be and the room now back in harmony with its surroundings.

A manager now appeared and was talking with Jack about the cup.  Maybe it really was not something that should be on display in a National Trust property.

This was a day that we will be re telling for years to come. However, I doubt people will believe us.  One of those events that if the children mention it at school they will be accused of lying. its not often you visit a National Trust property and meet real witches.

I didn’t know that white witches existed.  There is so much that we are unaware of as we go about our daily lives.  This was a day that we are never going to forget, question is though, next time will the children do as they are told? And not touch!

Written for Write the story photo prompt on Writers Unite

For more see, Sand falling into a new life