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| Sunday, 25 August 2002 |
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Summer has ended and everyone is drooping around the forest. The curtain came down officially on summer on August 21 and everyone was so depressed that we decided to have an end-of-summer party in the forest. It was really beautiful here toward the end of August with the leaves already taking on autumn tints and the grass like burnished bronze. Hot, too. It had been an eventful season what with the Golden Jubilee and all that cricket from which we benefitted with the opening of our Superb Inn where cricketers visiting could stay, and all the other summer activities that make summer what it is. Now the evenings have got shorter with almost twilight by afternoon. Gone are the late sunsets and warm nights of summer. But tastes differ; some of the forest folk like it while others dont. Puck adores the summer because he can wander anywhere he pleases. Really, most of us like the summer best. Now we are waiting for the winter solstice. On June 21, the official start of summer, we all meandered down to Stonehenge for the summer solstice and Puck had the time of his life flitting in and out of the Druid columns that had gathered there as they have been doing for thousands of years to mark the summer solstice with their weird old rituals, songs and dances and what not. They have the most wild parties to mark summer and Titania and I were invited to one of their get-togethers which was out of this world. They had Cornish pasties and swan, roast venison and the most fantastic summer wine, gold in colour, to drink a toast to the solstice. The Druids really know how to celebrate. Their Solstice party went on for days and we were quite exhausted at the end of it. But it was a fun experience and quite enlightening as well. They treated us right royally, making special beds of feathers and swansdown on the grass in between the huge, monolithic stones that have been standing there for thousands of years, perhaps even more. Quince, Bottom and all the rest, including the blithe spirits of the night were also well looked after, only we all had some trouble with the language because it was not English they spoke. But Snout said he could manage because he had learnt their lingo thousands of years ago when the Druids were at the peak of their civilisation. They even had kings and queens, like us. 'But guess they had no Bottom!' That was Bottom himself with one of his droll jokes at which he was the first to laugh. 'What? The Druids had no Bottom?' That was Puck from inside a bluebell, and he giggled as his flutelike little voice pierced the quiet late summer evening. 'No, no. You've got it all wrong. Of course they had no Bottom! Not like ours, that's what Puck meant,' Quince said, and everyone laughed because whatever Quince said was taken very seriously as he was a sort of media spokesman for the forest folk. So even if they didn't find it funny, what Quince said,that is, they pretended to be amused. Bottom himself, having started the trend of talk, sat looking quite glum at the bottom of the tree. He was sad because it was the end of summer, and he just loved summer because he could loll on some mossy bank and sip mead and get a little tipsy and start asking riddles and things like that. Tit was late coming down today. She too was feeling a little under the weather. For one thing, she would have to sit down with Starveling and some others and discuss her autumn/winter wardrobe and that would take up an awful lot of time. For another, she missed the cricket and the events marking the Golden Jubilee which she simply loved. When she finally did make her appearance, floating down our tree, she looked quite glam. 'The last rose of summer.....' Bottom began to lament as he looked at Tit in her robe of old rose and gold with mother-of-pearl wings which she had worn for dinner tonight. 'Oh shut up, Bottom. Dont you know that Queen Titania hates that miserable song?' asked Snout, trembling lest Tit should have heard it and banished Bottom for the rest of the evening. Actually, 'The Last Rose of Summer' is a song composed by an English composer - name not at my fingertips - and very popular. It is played to this day. You can hear its strains coming from tinny pianos played by old ladies and hopeful young women living down little lanes in the suburbs where they like that sort of music. Again Bottom began to warble the song but this time was firmly put down by Quince and the rest just in time before Tit heard it. Bottom has a special liking for that sort of sentimental and sad song, the kind of music Tit cant bear. She would have someone clapped into prison for singing such sings within earshot of her. And especially at a depressing time like the end of summer. 'Where's Quince? Where's Bottom? Where's everyone?'Tit sang as she floated won to the ground. 'Here, your Maj,' they called, in chorus. Quince, can we have some mead cocktails, please?' Tit asked. Everyone perked up that that order. And that was how we spent our last day of summer as our thoughts meandered along the paths we had trod during that magical season. |
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