Another great prompt for today’s Note, from a very dear friend of mine. This was a tough one, not only because it made me think but also because this friend is a brilliant writer too and I didn’t want to let the side down! Here is the prompt:“We were in Knaresborough today by Old Mother Shipton's cave. It is the oldest tourist attraction in the UK opened to the public in 1630. It is a petrifying cave and well. The minerals in the water form shapes very quickly. I've never been in but it's full of stalagmites and stalactites and there's a teddy that someone put there and has been turned to stone. A very magical place. Tell the story of somebody who went there and found something they never thought they'd see again.”
He was alone in the cave. The Shipton Bear, as the brochure called it, smiled unseeing at Thomas as he stood in the entrance. This used to be his favourite visiting place, but he hadn’t been here for a few years now. Hands deep in his pockets, he picked his way across the uneven stone floor and further into the cave. The Shipton Bear, solid and unmoving, sat on its venerated shelf keeping guard over the tiny cave. The only sounds were the soft incessant ‘plink’ of falling drops of water, and the scuffing of Thomas’s boots as he wandered around the cave. It was early enough in the day that he was the only visitor there, and he relished the quiet, the lack of talking, the absence of chattering children exclaiming over the Bear and the strange quirk that the old cave had. Thomas paused by the visitor sign and, more for something to do than out of interest, ran his eyes over the words he’d read so many times before.
‘As well as making traditional remedies, Mother Shipton had another gift. She could predict the future. It started off with small premonitions but as she practiced she became more confident and her powers grew. Soon she was known as Knaresborough’s Prophetess, a witch. She made…’
Thomas looked up. A couple had entered the cave, stepping in from the cool morning air into the distinctly colder cave. He nodded at them politely and continued his walk, completing his slow circuit of the cave as the couple walked, hand-in-hand, to the visitor sign he’d just read. The taller of the women starting reading to her partner in a low voice, telling her the tale of Mother Shipton and the cave which turned objects to stone.
On his first visit here, more than 5 years ago, Thomas had read the exact words to Lauren, in all likelihood pausing where the taller woman paused and making the same jokes as she. Lauren had laughed, not quite believing that the mineral-heavy water could fossilise and petrify an object so quickly, but they’d walked out to the waterfall and seen the evidence there – the teapot, the top hat and trinkets, now cold hard stone where they’d once been ceramic, fabric and wood. By the time Thomas and Lauren had returned to the cave, giggling and very much engrossed in one another, to see the Shipton Bear, they had been won over by the magic and mystery that the cave exuded. The tale of Mother Shipton and her apparent gift of prophecy just added to the fun, and Lauren had insisted on returning just weeks later, dragging a bemused Thomas by the hand, to read it all again
Lauren had loved this place, and that meant Thomas did too. Over the years, as life had happened to them, they had returned again and again to the cave. They had imagined names for the objects, built backstories for their owners, and once (during a phase where Thomas fancied himself an artist) tried to paint the scene, stopping after an hour and declaring themselves unsatisfied with the result. The café had become their café, and it was in front of the waterfall that Thomas had knelt, pulled out a ring and stammered out his love for Lauren. He had been halfway through the weighty 4-word question when she’d cried and said yes.
Thomas paused at the cave entrance. Looking out at the rest of the park, with the sun warming the trees and filtering through to the ground below, he found he was not ready to leave just yet. The soft chattering of the women in the cave, accompanied by the constant noise of the waterfall, seemed to be a soft pillow compared to the cacophony of life he must inevitably return to. In front of him, the wooden boardwalk split and meandered past the waterfall until it came to the visitor centre, where the old attendant who let him in an hour ago would be walking slowly around, setting up for the day’s footfall. The café, Thomas knew from experience, didn’t open until 10am, and that was when the tourists and open-eyed visitors would flock in, mouths all agape at the seemingly unexplainable phenomenon, and buy little stone teddy bears to take home, thus diluting the fantasy into little £15.99 versions of itself.
Thomas checked his watch. He still had 2 hours before the rush, and apart from the couple holding hands and laughing softly over a private joke, he had the area to himself. He turned and started another slow lap of the cave, staring at every crack in the stone, every fissure that ran along the walls. The Bear looked back at him stoically, it’s round eyes impassable in the stone face. He stood in front of the stone toy, a streak of white across its head where the water still fell, and behind him the sun suddenly crested the treeline, shining right into the cave and onto the wall beside Thomas. He glanced at the light, falling onto the wall and the floor, and noticed something glinting there. In a small alcove of the cave, usually hidden in darkness due to a fold in the rock, was something bright. He strolled over to it, nonchalant in his curiosity, but as he got close to the object he stopped. His breath caught in his throat. With shaking hand, he reached out and picked up the object, pulling it from the light into the gloom of the cave. It was a stone ring.
It was her ring.
He had gotten the news just a few short months after their engagement. It was the hospital. Lauren had been hit by a car. The nurse on the phone was kind and caring and Thomas hated her for it. He’d gotten to the hospital just in time, but she hadn’t woken up. Everyone was lovely about it. Her parents had visited a few weeks after and sat with Thomas and cried with him. He’d sat and shaken hands and offered drinks and responded in kind and then he’d driven to Mother Shipton’s Cave and walked in with the gaggle of people and taken the ring and thrown it into the waterfall. It had seemed right at the time, it was her ring and her special place and he didn’t want any of it any more. He’d turned and walked back to his car and driven away. And that was that. He’d grieved, he’d cried until there was nothing left to cry, he’d slowly and painfully reassembled his life without her in it. He’d read books on the healing process and dismissed most of them as rubbish and although he still missed her terribly, he was All Right.
Thomas looked at the ring, sitting in his hand. It was halfway through the petrification process, the gold was burnished and the rose quartz stone in the centre was lacklustre and faded. His mind felt back to when he’d knelt and pushed it onto Lauren’s finger, tentatively exploring the memory like a tongue probing a sore tooth. He remembered her hair, the sparkle in her eyes, and above all the incessant sound of the waterfall, plink-plinking away and filling their ears with its inevitability. His vision blurred, and he quickly, reflexively, tried to think about something else; anything else other than the open wound he’d just twisted the knife in. But his memory was unrelenting, forcing the images into his head, flooding him with the sight, the smell, the feel of her. He stood for what seemed like an age, recalling and remembering Lauren. Then, with a great shuddering sigh, like a man emerging from underwater, he blinked away the wetness in his eyes and looked around him.
The couple had noticed his distress, and the smaller woman was whispering concernedly to her partner. Thomas gave them a shaky smile and shook his head softly. The sun was streaming in next to him, the sound of birdsong had joined the waterfall’s music, and the day was promising to be a beautiful one. He looked at the ring before him, then placed it back on the shelf and left Mother Shipton’s Cave.
He was alone in the cave. The Shipton Bear, as the brochure called it, smiled unseeing at Thomas as he stood in the entrance. This used to be his favourite visiting place, but he hadn’t been here for a few years now. Hands deep in his pockets, he picked his way across the uneven stone floor and further into the cave. The Shipton Bear, solid and unmoving, sat on its venerated shelf keeping guard over the tiny cave. The only sounds were the soft incessant ‘plink’ of falling drops of water, and the scuffing of Thomas’s boots as he wandered around the cave. It was early enough in the day that he was the only visitor there, and he relished the quiet, the lack of talking, the absence of chattering children exclaiming over the Bear and the strange quirk that the old cave had. Thomas paused by the visitor sign and, more for something to do than out of interest, ran his eyes over the words he’d read so many times before.
‘As well as making traditional remedies, Mother Shipton had another gift. She could predict the future. It started off with small premonitions but as she practiced she became more confident and her powers grew. Soon she was known as Knaresborough’s Prophetess, a witch. She made…’
Thomas looked up. A couple had entered the cave, stepping in from the cool morning air into the distinctly colder cave. He nodded at them politely and continued his walk, completing his slow circuit of the cave as the couple walked, hand-in-hand, to the visitor sign he’d just read. The taller of the women starting reading to her partner in a low voice, telling her the tale of Mother Shipton and the cave which turned objects to stone.
On his first visit here, more than 5 years ago, Thomas had read the exact words to Lauren, in all likelihood pausing where the taller woman paused and making the same jokes as she. Lauren had laughed, not quite believing that the mineral-heavy water could fossilise and petrify an object so quickly, but they’d walked out to the waterfall and seen the evidence there – the teapot, the top hat and trinkets, now cold hard stone where they’d once been ceramic, fabric and wood. By the time Thomas and Lauren had returned to the cave, giggling and very much engrossed in one another, to see the Shipton Bear, they had been won over by the magic and mystery that the cave exuded. The tale of Mother Shipton and her apparent gift of prophecy just added to the fun, and Lauren had insisted on returning just weeks later, dragging a bemused Thomas by the hand, to read it all again
Lauren had loved this place, and that meant Thomas did too. Over the years, as life had happened to them, they had returned again and again to the cave. They had imagined names for the objects, built backstories for their owners, and once (during a phase where Thomas fancied himself an artist) tried to paint the scene, stopping after an hour and declaring themselves unsatisfied with the result. The café had become their café, and it was in front of the waterfall that Thomas had knelt, pulled out a ring and stammered out his love for Lauren. He had been halfway through the weighty 4-word question when she’d cried and said yes.
Thomas paused at the cave entrance. Looking out at the rest of the park, with the sun warming the trees and filtering through to the ground below, he found he was not ready to leave just yet. The soft chattering of the women in the cave, accompanied by the constant noise of the waterfall, seemed to be a soft pillow compared to the cacophony of life he must inevitably return to. In front of him, the wooden boardwalk split and meandered past the waterfall until it came to the visitor centre, where the old attendant who let him in an hour ago would be walking slowly around, setting up for the day’s footfall. The café, Thomas knew from experience, didn’t open until 10am, and that was when the tourists and open-eyed visitors would flock in, mouths all agape at the seemingly unexplainable phenomenon, and buy little stone teddy bears to take home, thus diluting the fantasy into little £15.99 versions of itself.
Thomas checked his watch. He still had 2 hours before the rush, and apart from the couple holding hands and laughing softly over a private joke, he had the area to himself. He turned and started another slow lap of the cave, staring at every crack in the stone, every fissure that ran along the walls. The Bear looked back at him stoically, it’s round eyes impassable in the stone face. He stood in front of the stone toy, a streak of white across its head where the water still fell, and behind him the sun suddenly crested the treeline, shining right into the cave and onto the wall beside Thomas. He glanced at the light, falling onto the wall and the floor, and noticed something glinting there. In a small alcove of the cave, usually hidden in darkness due to a fold in the rock, was something bright. He strolled over to it, nonchalant in his curiosity, but as he got close to the object he stopped. His breath caught in his throat. With shaking hand, he reached out and picked up the object, pulling it from the light into the gloom of the cave. It was a stone ring.
It was her ring.
He had gotten the news just a few short months after their engagement. It was the hospital. Lauren had been hit by a car. The nurse on the phone was kind and caring and Thomas hated her for it. He’d gotten to the hospital just in time, but she hadn’t woken up. Everyone was lovely about it. Her parents had visited a few weeks after and sat with Thomas and cried with him. He’d sat and shaken hands and offered drinks and responded in kind and then he’d driven to Mother Shipton’s Cave and walked in with the gaggle of people and taken the ring and thrown it into the waterfall. It had seemed right at the time, it was her ring and her special place and he didn’t want any of it any more. He’d turned and walked back to his car and driven away. And that was that. He’d grieved, he’d cried until there was nothing left to cry, he’d slowly and painfully reassembled his life without her in it. He’d read books on the healing process and dismissed most of them as rubbish and although he still missed her terribly, he was All Right.
Thomas looked at the ring, sitting in his hand. It was halfway through the petrification process, the gold was burnished and the rose quartz stone in the centre was lacklustre and faded. His mind felt back to when he’d knelt and pushed it onto Lauren’s finger, tentatively exploring the memory like a tongue probing a sore tooth. He remembered her hair, the sparkle in her eyes, and above all the incessant sound of the waterfall, plink-plinking away and filling their ears with its inevitability. His vision blurred, and he quickly, reflexively, tried to think about something else; anything else other than the open wound he’d just twisted the knife in. But his memory was unrelenting, forcing the images into his head, flooding him with the sight, the smell, the feel of her. He stood for what seemed like an age, recalling and remembering Lauren. Then, with a great shuddering sigh, like a man emerging from underwater, he blinked away the wetness in his eyes and looked around him.
The couple had noticed his distress, and the smaller woman was whispering concernedly to her partner. Thomas gave them a shaky smile and shook his head softly. The sun was streaming in next to him, the sound of birdsong had joined the waterfall’s music, and the day was promising to be a beautiful one. He looked at the ring before him, then placed it back on the shelf and left Mother Shipton’s Cave.