swansong

Swan Song

Nymphs and Shepherds come away. .
There was a terrible scratching noise as William Harding dropped the needle back onto the record. It wasn't quite a gramophone player, just slightly newer, capable of playing 33 1/3 (LPs) as well as 78s.

Miss Glover's under 6's (the shepherdesses) dropped their satin ribbons and dodged under the ropes to proud parents (well, mothers). Miss Glover took a stiff bow, grieving over the scratched record and dirtied ribbons. Really was it worth it, this performance every year?

When the day began the grass of Merriman's Orchard had smelled of summer and promise, fresh cut, but now it was bruised and trodden. The pathways were quite bald with awful sticky messes here and there from dropped hot dogs and lollies. Despite the scout's best efforts several unaccompanied dogs had got in and were running in excited packs chasing the lost balloons, crepe paper and sweet papers which drifted on the breeze.

Miss Glover felt sweat sliding down her back beneath her corset and clenched her teeth into a smile. The 8 - 10 year olds were on next, flower fairies.

At the far side of the enclosure Adele Glover noticed Mr White, newsagent and sweet shop proprietor. He was looking at her. She slid her finger beneath her 'pearls' and eased them around her thin throat. She felt a hot blush starting somewhere unmentionable beneath her corset and rising right to her hair line. Men did not normally look at her like that.

The sun had coloured his bull neck a deep tan, his hair was still dark and plentiful. He must be quite well off, she thought. His shop was ideally situated, beside the station. He had a big car. She did not know the names of cars though it looked expensive. His wife had been dead just a year she supposed. The idea of him as a bull swelled up in her mind, recalling a dark secret fantasy, long quiet. Mr White, purveyor of newspapers and humbugs was no god, or gift of a god. Adele's thoughts went blank as hot and trembling she tried to dispel the guilty feelings. She felt as though the monstrous thought could be read in her expression.

Eros

Thanatos

Erotica
Repression

Bestiality

Leda
Denial

Infanticide

Betrayal

Nymphs and Shepherds come away. . There was a terrible scratching noise as William Harding dropped the needle back onto the record. It wasn't quite a gramophone player, just slightly newer, capable of playing 33 1/3 (LPs) as well as 78s.
	Miss Glover's under 6's (the shepherdesses) dropped their satin ribbons and dodged under the ropes to proud parents (well, mothers). Miss Glover took a stiff bow, grieving over the scratched record and dirtied ribbons. Really was it worth it, this performance every year?