Daily Archives: November 1, 2018

The Marsh King’s Daughter II…



‘…The Earth will see you on through this time…’


…There always is.

The Marsh King sinks back beneath the waters with the unnamed Egyptian Princess in his thrall.

Some time later a green shoot with a water-lily bud appears above the slime.

The bud unfurls to reveal a small girl-child.

The child is spotted by a watching Stork and is taken to a barren Viking couple who, quite naturally, are enthralled with the gift and immediately besotted with the child.

Children normally display both the physical and temperamental characteristics of their ancestors, predominantly their parents, and usually in more or less equal measure.

Here, these tendencies are pronounced.

Helga, for this is the name the Viking couple choose for her, is a beautiful girl-child during the day, albeit displaying a strong blood-thirsty streak, whilst as the sun sets she turns into a compassionate, toad-like monster!

Is the name significant?

How important is it that Helga is the only named character in the story?

Could any device be better chosen to make us consider the diurnal polarity of Day and Night and their profound affects upon our consciousness and its natural tendencies?

Cold mountain…

Warm earth…

If we are in any doubt as to what we are to make of these devices we are introduced to the somnambulistic nature of both Denmark and the nether regions of Marsh-Land later in the tale.

To make matters worse, Helga’s apparent beauty beguiles all those who gaze upon her and blinds them to the reality of her brutish day-time nature.

It is only her adoptive Viking mother who witnesses and begins to see and realise the true nature of the problem presented to both her, and by extension us, in the form and expressions displayed via the mysterious Marsh King’s Daughter.

There is more…


Songs of the Stone: incipit…

France & Vincent


The Red, the White, the Green…

Some things have to be believed

Before they can be seen…


…Even allowing for the earliness of the hour, there were far fewer students than he expected.

By long habit his steps found a familiar corridor and the worn stone rang underfoot.

It would not harm to hazard it.

How would the Old Devil be, he wondered.

‘Dr S. Eaves’

The name plate appeared unaltered.

He always read it as ‘sheaves’.

Before thought had a chance the polished oak door sounded a triple retort to knuckle-bone…

No reply.

Probably an oversight to leave the plate there, afterall.

But then, a barely audible, “Hum!”

The door swung open…

“Humus… Humour… Humble…”

“Three words that ‘Hum’,” grinned a now grey-haired, bespectacled, Seamus.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

“Not possible.”

“And your ‘lupine’ friend.”

“Oh, him!”

“He should have a name you know…”

“How about Koo…

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