Sir Oswald of Kettering History

Oswald's Family

“Once upon a time in a land far away lived a family who were gifted word-smiths. They travelled the lands of Avalon collecting stories about legends of olden days as well as crafting newer stories along the way.

It came to pass that the family camped in an old forest one stormy night and sought shelter beneath the branches of a large yew tree. As the gales and lashing winds tried time and again to overcome the shelter of the tree, three strange figures appeared. One was of a woman in a pale blue dress that rippled as if submerged beneath the waves. She had a fair and cold beauty that pleased the eye but left the heart feeling cold.

Next to her stood a tall creature all made of bristling fur and angled teeth whose breath steamed in the cold night air. Its mismatched clothes might once have been a fine suit but as the creature lent on its gnarled knuckles the seams by the shoulders tore asunder with more coarse hair spilling forth.

Finally standing between the two strange creatures was a young girl with hair like spun silver. Her drowsy eyes were half-closed and she clutched a terrified sprite to her chest. Beneath her heavy eyelids stared out two piercing amber eyes filled with hate and malevolence.

'Will you shelter us on this stormy night?' asked the hairy brute.

The father of the family nodded his head numbly in terror and made room for the three strangers to shelter beneath the branches of the great tree.

The hairy man and beautiful woman walked beneath the tree but the girl remained standing in the storm.

'Come here child,' the mother of the family beckoned kindly. 'Why stay in the storm when it is dry and comfortable beneath the tree?'

The girl did not respond and stared hatefully at all those standing beneath the branches of the tree. The father of the family was moved by pity for the poor child and stepped out in to the raging storm to carry the child to safety.

Knowing that he was risking his life and dealing with things that he did not understand, he was never the less moved to help the strange girl. Just as he reached her a ball of lighting spat down from the clouds and landed on the girl. The father cried out, staggering backwards and clutched at his sightless eyes.

His wife ran out from beneath the protective branches to the aid of her husband. Just as she reached him she felt a small hand slip in to her and look down in horror to see the strange girl smiling cruelly at her.

'What has my husband done to deserve such ill fate?' she cried in heart-filled anguish. Turning to the two strangers under the tree, she fell to her knees still clutching her husband’s hand. 'Why must you play with a poor word-smith and his family? Please can't you leave our lives untouched?'

Another flash of lighting landed by the tree and the husband and wife fell to the ground.

'Our child is not whole,' the hairy man growled. 'You will put words in to her mouth'.

The rain continued to fall and the wind whistled through the branches of the forest with a howling moan but neither husband nor wife moved. After some time the oldest son rose unsteadily to his feet and staggered out towards where his father and mother lay.

'They're dead,' he stated in a hollow voice. Choking back tears of anger and despair he faced the strangers standing next to what was left of his family. 'My parents are no more, but the light of their lives will live on. That I swear to you.'

The young man advanced upon the silver-haired girl and bore down upon her with a righteous fury that caused the girl to take a few steps back.

'To whom death again did wed,
This grave's the second marriage-bed.
'For though the hand of Fey could force
'Twixt soul and body a divorce,
It could not sever man and wife,
Because they both lived but one life.'

The boy took a step forward as he spat the words and the girl gave way before his advance. The look of glee-filled hatred flowed form her face and was swiftly replaced by a tear-filled face of hurt and regret. The boy grimaced, shook his head and took forward another step. His voice breaking with sorrow he continued speaking softly.

'Peace, fair child, do not weep;
Peace, the lovers are asleep.
They sweet turtles, folded lie
In the last knot that love could tie.'

The coarse haired figure and shimmering woman rushed from beneath the tree and gathered the silver haired child in to their arms. But before they could flee the young man held up his hand and spoke in a loud and stern voice that stopped them in their tracks.

'Let them sleep, let them sleep on,
Till the stormy night be gone.
And the eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn
And they wake into a light
Whose day shall never die in night.'

As soon as he finished speaking the storm abated, the rain dried up and wind died down. The hairy man clutched the weeping child close to his chest and the fair woman walked towards the mourning son.

'Peace child, your words have given our daughter a heart.' The woman smiled, but it gave no warmth. She spun the air swiftly with her hand and formed a short blade of silver that landed at the feet of the boy, but he did not stir. She waved her arms as if swaying in the wind and the clearing dried up with the sudden appearance of a large cottage.

'What moves your heart?' the woman asked. 'What do you want?'

The boy looked at her and stated simply:

'I want my parent back.'

The woman lowered her head and shook it from side to side. Her lover joined her at her side and passed the sleeping silver-haired child in to her arms.

'Such a deed is not meant to be,' the coarse haired man said quietly. 'Peace child, take the sword, home and good-will offered to you. Our daughter is indebted to you and she will replay you and your children in good time'.

__________________________________________

Time passed and the family of word-smiths prospered. Their poems, songs and ballads roamed the lands carried on the lips of heralds and bards who sought to ear a living by the pleasure of words.

Each generation was visited by strangers who brought favour and sometimes woe. The silver sword hung on the mantle piece in the cottage and the home grew from a small holding to a town all of its own.

One fine morning as a boy from the word-smith family played with the son of a renowned knight, they came across an old man sitting on the stump of a tree in the forest. The man was entirely hairless, with no eyebrows, eyelashes of hair on his head.

The son of the knight approached and asked if the man was well, but the stranger did not reply. The son of the word-smith urged his friend to leave the old man in peace but his friend would not relent. Moved by pity for the old man the would-be knight brought water and fruits to revive the strange hairless old man.

Finally the old man roused when a tall beautiful woman with ankle-length silver hair walked in to the clearing. Both boys stared at her with wide-eyed wonder; their wits absconded leaving them mute and senseless.

'You've no right to rouse me!' the old man shouted. 'They've stolen my sweet dreams.' The strange old man grabbed the would-be knight by the wrist and howled like a wolf.

The boy came to his sense immediately and sprang at his friend with fists flying and teeth flashing. The son of the word-smiths was roused by his friend’s assault and fought with very once of his being. After an age of struggling the son of the knight ran off in to the forest with his friend in hot pursuit.

'Come back,' the boy shouted to his maddened friend. 'Stand firm and I'll aid you any way that I can.'

But the other boy heard him not and ran with renewed strength. He slew a cow, terrified a flock of sheep and was about to do away with a farmer and his wife before his friend caught him up.

'Come back, stand firm.' The boy cried to his friend.

'The world has become dark,' said the son of the knight. 'Despair will be sown and death will be reaped. I have seen it in my waking sleep. Dreams of darkness that is to come.'

The would-be knight leapt at his friend once again and they strove against each other. As the battle waged back and forth the silver-haired woman led her ailing father in to their sight. She smiled sadly at their plight and the old man's eyes burned with a hate-filled light.

'But men loved darkness rather than light,' said the old man stated.

'The world's light shines, shines as it will,' said the boy as he struggled for his life.

'The world will love its darkness still,' the woman whispered sadly.

'I doubt though when the world's in hell, it will love its darkness half so well.' The son of the word-smith rose slowly to his feet having vanquished his friend a second time.

Slowly the anger faded from both the hairless old man and the would-be knight. To be replaced by vacant looks as if they were each staring in to the sun. The silver haired woman placed a white bow in the hands of the word-smith's son, kissed him on the brow.

'Good hunting, truest friend,' she whispered as she led the old man away.