When Jon and I visited this place it was after visiting Merlins Tomb. We went further into the Forest from Paimpont and found this lake. Then walking through a strange wood full of birch and silver birch we went over a bridge and found the very small lake above. It made a very deep impression on both of us and even now it sends a shiver down my spine. It was so perfect and still and magic and it inspired this story. If you get the chance to go to Morbihan it is full of the flavour of Merlin and Arthur. It is a strange and beautiful, peaceful place.
The Pool
Phil drove slowly up the drive in his VW Golf, scrunching to a halt on
the shingle. He had come back to his old home with just one intention.
*
Phil handed in the end-of- term reports and
then told his head of department he was going on an autumn holiday with his twin.
Now he was back home. Locking his car he heard the rooks arguing loudly in the wind-
blown pine trees, then suddenly, it all stopped. He became aware that he was
surrounded by a silence that was interrupted by the chak chak of startled jays.
He knew there was no such thing as complete silence, but wished he could find a
place where it did exist. He needed somewhere that would still his mind and
give him the peace he so much desired, but he realized that he would never get
that. It was too late.
Phil slowly walked to
the pool in the wood at the back of the house. Staring into the deep, dark pool
he shivered ‘this could be a reflection
of my soul’. It wasn’t a large pool, about twenty foot in diameter and
perfectly round, but it had always fascinated him. As a child he had watched
deer come here to drink, and one day even dared his sister to jump in to see
how deep it was, she never had. On hot days in summer, they had always run here
to cool off. There was always a gentle breeze, and the rustling of the trees reminded
them of the sea. They would lie here laughing. It was their magic, secret
place.
During the long hot
summer of 1976, the pool had never dried up. This bestowed it with greater
mystical powers in their young minds. Phil and his beautiful sister, Jane,
decided that Merlin had looked after it, and would one day he would appear to
them in a puff of white smoke. They thought that one day, Merlin’s sword
Excalibur would slowly arise from the depths of the dark water and appear
before them. Phil thought back to when they were about eleven years of age when
Jane had dressed up like the Lady of the Lake. She had worn a cardboard pointy
hat with a nylon scarf draped over it; she had also worn a long white dress
that eventually had been torn by brambles, and muddied by the water in the
pool. The dress had been their mother’s, last worn thirty years ago.
Phil smiled as he remembered how he once got
down on one knee to Jane, whilst wearing a knight’s outfit his mother had made.
The costume had been made of cardboard with nylon stockings - both sprayed with
silver paint. His stalwart sword was two pieces of wood nailed together like a
cross and painted silver. Holding Jane’s hand, he had said to her. ‘My lady Jane, I promise to love you and protect you
from any monsters and evil things. I will kill them with my silver sword and
protect you all your life’.
‘And I sir, in return will love you, and look after
you, and cook cookies, and tidy your bedroom, and any other thing you shall so
command.’ Jane and Phil had sworn a secret oath and taking each
other’s hand, they dipped them in the cold water. Phil shivered when he
remembered how cold, slimy and clingy the water had felt. He could feel the
freezing wetness on his hand today.
A branch cracked. It sounded like a rifle shot
snapping through the air and made Phil jump. He felt the blood drain from his
face. He shuddered. He was feeling cold and he saw that the sun was low so he
decided to head back to the house before anyone came. The house was isolated, silent, but not silent
enough for his inner peace.
Scrunching back up the
pea shingle drive - good for hiding footprints Phil registered in his mind. He wondered
where he should start first, not that there was such a mess to tidy up. He had tried to keep it to the minimum. When he entered the
front door, Phil felt that the house was still full of the warmth he had known all his life. Jane had lived here with him for
most of their adult lives, and now she
had
left him on his own for the first time. They
had
loved each other so much. Photographs around the house showed a brother and
sister, so close and always smiling. They were so similar to look at, both with
light brown hair and natural blonde highlights; blue eyes that sparkled with
fun. Some of the photos showed them on their various trips overseas to places
like the French Alps or Uluru - Ayers Rock in Australia. The pictures of them
in their swimwear in Dubai and wearing a Leis in Hawii showed them laughing, with
their arms around each other, now he had lost his soul mate, his twin, and was
desolate.
Phil slowly walked up the
stairs, and had reached the landing when the smell of her perfume wafted past him.
He quickly turned and grabbed the banister rail. It was only his imagination
playing tricks. He knew he had to face this final act. Taking a deep breath, he
walked into their bedroom; yes, it had been their
bedroom. They knew it was wrong, but had loved each other as man and wife.
Nobody suspected over all those years. They
had
been so clever, but now their relationship was defiled. The defilement had not
been by anyone they had known or liked, although in the past there had been a
few men Jane liked, but Phil made sure that Jane would always be his. He often threatened
to tell someone about their relationship, and used this fear over her to keep
this secret, like the secret that they had sworn to by the pool. Now she was
lying dead on the bed. Two days ago, he had removed the knife, bathed and
perfumed her body, kissed and loved her, then dressed her as his Ophelia. Now
he wept as he carefully positioned her hands so that her stiff fingers clasped daisies
like the drowning Ophelia in a Pre-Raphaelite painting by Millais the one they had
often admired in a gallery painting.
It was still light
outside but Phil wanted the funeral ceremony to be at sunset. He went to the
garden shed and pulled out an old, dirty white go- cart. Phil remembered the
happy times. The fun they had both enjoyed, hurtling at what seemed to them five
hundred miles an hour down the hills, and then there were the screams of fear
and delight when they landed in a tumbled jumble of arms and legs wrapped
around each other. That of course had been the start of their love all those
years ago. Now Phil gently carried Jane down the stairs and carefully placed
her on what was, in his child’s mind, a trusty white steed – the old white
go-cart. He guided it slowly, carefully down the well-worn path to the pool. It
was dusk and the sun was casting long, gold, shadows through the trees. It
looked like it would be a glorious sunset. The rooks were cawing noisily as they came
back home to roost. Invisible feathers ruffled somewhere. The old familiar wood
was settling for the night. Phil knew there was a time for everything.
After
lighting some scented candles and placing them around her funeral bier, he
read aloud, like a prayer, from the Lady
of the Lake in“Malory’s
Morte D’Arthur” Tears trickled down his face; he sobbed
between words and thought about what the final act would be. Now, through the
tall beech trees, the sun lit up the pool and it seemed to be a perfect golden
orb. Phil kissed his Ophelia then tipped the cart towards the pool and watched
Jane gently slide in, sinking into the cool, wet, darkness, her long white
dress billowing around her. The daisies that Phil had picked for her funeral
wreath floated out of her hand, and it looked briefly as though she was waving
goodbye. Now she was gone. He sat bereft by the pool.
This house had been
their Camelot. They had had their adventures and fought monsters here, but had
always come back here to the safety and love of the house. Now Phil was
fighting monsters of his own, on his own. He was distraught that his castle had
not protected Jane from harm. He remembered how the housebreaker had come into
their Camelot and destroyed everything he and his sister had built. Two days ago,
the man had raped and killed his sister and Phil had decided instantly that ‘he
could not be allowed to live.’ The moment Phil had arrived home and discovered his
sister with the housebreaker, a rage took over and he had killed him, then dragged
the man’s body down the stairs and left it in front of the large fireplace, but
now Phil had come back and an hour ago he’d lit the fire and, a line of
petrol-soaked paper lay in a trail around and over the body and, he had hoped
it would catch fire; creating for Jane’s murderer the hell he so deserved. The
house would soon go up in flames and leave no trace of his and Jane’s beloved fairytale.
Phil fumbled in his pocket for something and
pulled out of his jacket pocket a small brown bottle of pills. He opened the
bottle and took the pills one by one. Soon he was feeling drowsy. It was past
dusk and it was chilly. Their forest now seemed unwelcoming and threatening.
Phil knew that his end time was approaching. Carefully picking up his wooden
silver sword, he slipped silently into the cold, cold pool to join his Ophelia.
copyright of photo and story is Diana Leighton's 2013.
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