Mistmantle

What do you think?

I'm always getting lovely e-mails from readers, usually but not always in the US, who want to read Urchin and the Rage Tide but can't get a copy unless they pay far too much on the second-hand market. I usually suggest that they contact Hyperion, the US publisher, because if enough people do that they might just bring out another print run. Perhaps Mistmantle is due for a revival. Any thoughts? Ask your friends. Ask your teachers.

Meanwhile, we finally have snow! Not a lot, but a covering, so the Mistmantle animals are all playing snowballs in the garden. Hope is rather at a disadvantage because he can't see the snowballs coming at him, so Myrtle suggested that the rest of them should be blindfolded to make it fair. All my scarves are in use. The trouble with blindfold snowball fights - I mean, one of the troubles with blindfold snowball fights - is that not only you can't see the snowballs, you can't see anything else either. Hedgehogs have landed in the mint, the mud, the rockery, and if we had a pond they'd have fallen into that, too. I am standing in front of the holly, just in case. How a blindfolded otter gets up a tree is beyond me but Fingal is up there in the branches hurling down snowballs while shouting 'For the honour of the Circle!'. Don't try this at home. They don't mind getting wet and cold, but I suspect they'll be glad to be back in the tower with hot cordials. Even Much is grinning.

Ouch! Fingal, I'll get you back.

Is anybody there?

Good heavens, Mrs Margi, are you still alive? Yes I am, and I'm here to tell you that for the last month I have been far from The House of Stories, flying on swans to and from Mistmantle and brushing through fur coats into Narnia before dashing through the December skies on the sleigh with the flying reindeer. I'd be lying, though. What with work, family stuff and church and community stuff I have been just about keeping the ducks in a row since before Christmas.

To answer the usual questions - yes, it was lovely. Yes, we got to see most of the family and had a lot of cuddles with a happy little Frodo. Shakespeare DVDs, squirrel sweater (oh, YES!) scented stuff and choccies. The party, with the house full off neighbours and children. The crib service on Christmas Eve. Mulled wine. Sprouts and chestnuts. Springs Dance Company doing Journey of the Magi. The Hely-Hutchinson Carol Symphony and 'Jesus Christ the Apple Tree'. The biggest and beautifullest Christmas tree we've had in years, and the smell of it. Carols. Finally watching 'Frozen' for the first time and completely understanding why everybody's raving about it. Even better, I watched it with the Sunshines, all of us squished up on the settee beside the Christmas tree, and we watched it in the MORNING! It feels like Christmas when you can watch a DVD in the morning.

There are things I've neglected, though, and I'm a bit sad about that. I wish I'd spent more time singing, and listening to Christmas music. I wish I'd done more watching movies, reading, and eating chocolate. I wish I'd got out for some wintery walks. I wish I'd read more seasonal poetry. However, tomorrow is the Epiphany and you can still celebrate Christmas at Epiphany. So that's all right then. Happy New Year!

In the time it has taken to write this, the ducks are out of their row again.

Narnia!

It's all go in The House of Stories, or at least I think it is. I'm hardly ever here just now, what with work, children's stuff at church, Aged Parents and I Know Not What. And on Saturday, one of my lifelong dreams happened. I went to Narnia. More than that, I was a Narnian.

It was the idea of our Education Officers. This Saturday was the Christmas Fair, which is always massive, and we always do craft activities for children. The two aforementioned ladies really did do magic. One of our rooms was transformed into a wintery forest with fir trees and a lamppost, leading to Mrs Beaver's kitchen where the craft tables were laid out with all the bits to make stars, lanterns, angels, and all manner of tree decorations. All three of us love dressing up. We had the White Witch (who had to be nice because her bad magic doesn't work in our lovely holy building) and Mrs Beaver, and I put together a grey dress and some odds and ends and floated about being a Dryad. (You might get a picture at some time, but we were all too busy to take any on the day, so I'll have to dress up again.)

From time to time I pulled up my roots and drifted about through the crowds, meeting families and telling them, 'Hello, I'm from Narnia. Did you know that Narnia has come here today...' and guiding them up the stairs where they could walk through the wardrobe into the forest and then into Mrs Beaver's cheery kitchen. The lovely thing was the response, the awe in the faces of the children and quite a few of the adults, too. We had a lot of grown-ups who just came to see Narnia.

And just in case you hadn't discovered this - every woodland is as enchanting as a Narnian woodland. The Pevensey children are humans, like us. We have our Aslan. In these senses, we never have to leave Narnia.

Much and the Mistmantle Hedgehogs

Two things you may as well know about our Missus.

One, she's right soft about Advent calendars. Loves 'em. I don't mean the choccy ones, I mean Advent Calendars like the ones she and 'er sister 'ad when they were little, what just has pictures. In them days there weren't much in the way of Advent Calendars in this country, but 'er 'ad relations in Germany what used to send 'em. 'Er loves 'em, gives 'em to loads of folks and always 'as one or two for 'erself.

The other thing you need to know, is that 'er has a 'ole in 'er imagination. That's why this 'ouse is full of stories. Them people in 'er stories, especially them animals, they drop out of 'er 'ead and you find 'em running around the garden. We've 'ad Mistmantle 'edge'ogs 'ere this morning, eating the windfall apples. 'Ibernate, I told 'em. You 'edgies, you're supposed to 'ibernate all winter, look, er's even got a 'edge'og 'ouse for you to 'ibernate in. It's got leaves in and everything, look, I'll 'elp you find it. They're Mistmantle 'edgies, they said. We are Myrtle, Furtle and Ouch, and we don't do 'ibernating.

I took 'em for a look through the window and there's Missus opening her Advent calendar and bouncing about like a little kid because 'er got a picture of a trumpet. Them little 'edgies wanted to know what that were all about, so I told 'em. Next thing was, them little 'edgies are running round the garden saying it was their Advent calendar and all them fallen leaves are the doors, and they had to find the first one. They did all right out of it, too, they found two beetles and a woodlouse. Good news if you're a small 'ungry 'edge'og. I reckon we'll have 'em back every day until Chrsitmas Eve now. What are they going to think when there's a tree in the 'ouse?

Where's the dragon when you need it?

When my children were small we had an invisible dragon. His name was Chrysoganus, and on wild, windy, stormy or just freezing cold days, we'd climb on his back and ride him to and from school. When your school is right on the north-east coast within falling in distance of the North Sea, you really need something to hold on to.

We had a bit of a family get-together in Wales this weekend, in Cardiff. For us, it was torrential rain both ways and the sort of traffic queues where you begin to doubt whether you ever existed before this. Whenever we stopped at a service station, Tony parked as near to the door as possible without breaking the glass and we ran for it. For some of our fellow travellers it all got dramatic from the moment a coach in a train at Huddersfield caught fire. After that it was three different trains, a bus, a taxi, a lot of mutterings about the train companies and a frustratingly late arrival. The children found it quite an adventure. (Their parents didn't). Coming back wasn't easy either, as there's flooding in the South-West and nobody thought to bring a boat, a swimming cossie or a surfboard for getting up the motorway.

I'm beginning to think that these journeys are easier in the company of a small child. You can always sail an imaginary boat, and as long as you can keep warm and fed, it's exciting. And for best results, find a dragon. Off the wild Northumbrian coast on this stormy night a dragon is circling Coquet Island, hoping for another little family to carry to school.

Hilda

Now, there was an inspirational lady. She was born in the seventh century, a niece of the king of Northumbria. When he was killed she went into exile with her Auntie Ethelburgha, the queen, who founded a nunnery. This seemed like a good idea to devout, brainy, sensible Hilda, who in turn became the Abbess of Whitby.

She presided over a double monastery, ie, with monks and nuns, living simply in the Celtic, sharing way. Kings and leaders came to her for advice. She was an organiser, a motivator, a teacher and a woman of prayer, and if the legend is true she was pretty good at getting rid of snakes. She encouraged the first English poet, Caedmon. It is said that the birds flying inland dip their wings in honour of St Hilda (OK, that's a bit far-fetched, but a nice story).

This lady, who was born to privilege and used her education and influence to spread grace, love and wisdom, went to heaven on 17 November. Women's colleges are often named after her. Happy St Hilda's Day.

Sad, and what else...

I am sad this week because of what has happened in America. I can't quite believe it, to be honest. So all of us at The House of Stories, and all our visitors, let's keep living for thanksgiving and love, compassion and joy. Let's make a difference. Let's make life as good as we can for as long as we can for as many as we can.

So, what has been happy this week?

The toddler group on Wednesday morning and the lovely team I work with

Writing stuff

The dogs in the park

An afternoon at the ballet with an old friend - (Northern ballet Beauty and the Beast, very good)

The window at Fenwick's department store in Newcastle - they're doing Beatrix Potter this year

The sun still rises

Love. Love. Love.

And, as a vicar friend used to say, 'Let's Do Praying'.