Simon (Published in Southwell u3a Newsline April 2024)
Oh, oh, colder today, could be time to leave the garden and find a place to settle in for winter.” He reflected on how the autumn dew had enhanced his fine workmanship, made his webs look like sparkling pearls, and that how autumn was now becoming winter.
He lived in the small walled garden, mostly unnoticed, occasionally buffeted by a passing small bird on a berry hunt, sometimes batted away by the old man gardening. There were few to admire his early morning shine, the glorious bejewelled creation he made together with nature.
He breakfasted on a “past its sell by date” fly and considered his options. “I need a place where I am unnoticed and therefore safe from mops and dusters” he reflected. “Me in my small corner…..” he sang huskily to himself, remembering an accidental visit to a Sunday School session last year.
“Churches aren’t for me, dark, damp, occasionally quiet and then on other occasions far too noisy,” he kept chewing the unappetising fly.
“On the other hand, a church could be just the place. I don’t think much housework goes on there, there aren’t too many hysterical children clamouring for my death and there might be others for a bit of social life”.
Over the next few days Simon constructed a plan as to how to get to the nearby church. He knew he needed some kind of transport as it was a bit of a distance even for his elegant (he thought) 8 legs. At last he knew what he had to do. It involved him being watchful, perfect timing and determination. He was pleased with his final plan and thought it sensible, but with a dash of adventure, which, he felt, entirely illustrated his approach to life.
He spent what seemed endless days listening for morning church bells, movements in the house that signified it might be Sunday. Simon had a good view of the kitchen from his spot in the garden and when one morning he saw the man eating a croissant he knew it must be Sunday because these people had routines and one of them was croissant for breakfast on Sundays. Besides that, he could hear the bells peeling.
Simon could be a fast mover when the occasion demanded it and so, without hesitation he scurried to the backdoor, climbed onto the window sill and waited. Sure enough, minutes later the man appeared wearing his smart Sunday coat. Simon leapt wildly into the air, clutched at the back of the coat and held on for dear life. ”James!” shouted the voice of the lady of the house after the departing churchgoers, “brush that spider or whatever it is, off the back of your coat.” Simon held his breath. The man didn’t hear. He didn’t hear much of what his wife said!
Down the street they went together. Simon kept his eyes shut, feeling slight motion sickness. The bells became louder and louder indicating they were nearly there. At some stage soon, Simon realised he was going to have to fling himself from the coat to the floor and make a run for cover. The man found a seat and as he started to lower himself, Simon let go, raced down to the bottom of the coat, jumped to the floor and then he was off, scuttling silently, speedily to the near wall where he stopped, caught his breath and congratulated himself on his quick reactions, and sheer brilliance. Looking around he felt he had chosen a perfect place for a winter retreat. The dinginess of the corners, the honey-coloured stone walls and pillars offered a range of residential possibilities and, hopefully an abundance of stupid, sleepy flies and other end of year insects who would find their way to him and fill his web with juicy snacks. Thinking of webs it was time to find a suitable web building spot. He established himself in a small corner near the lectern, and made a perfect web in a fold of the wood where he could not easily be seen or trampled on.
The planning and execution of his plan had exhausted Simon. The web completed he dozed off. That doze became a long sleep. Sermons came and went, hymns were superseded by carols, the Christmas tree went up and came down, wonderful concerts were relished by many and Simon saw and heard nothing. There was no insect catching and devouring. There was no interaction with the other inhabitants of the small dark places. He slept.
Weeks later Simon stirred, stretched each one of his spindly legs and peered through the web to see sunbeams filtering through the stain glass windows. He moved, groaned, felt stiff and incapable of fast movement. However, it was no use hiding the fact, he could sense that spring was on the way. It was time for him to journey back to the outside world, but how, was a conundrum for him. He disentangled himself from his winter refuge at the foot of the lectern and with the appearance of a spider who has been at the gin bottle to excess he staggered down the side aisle. Within moments he heard a loud thumping, thundering noise and equally loud voices. “Crikey, children, hoards of them, detestable creatures” he said to himself. “If there is one thing, I loathe it is children. I shall be squished and squashed to my death…”. He curled into a ball and rolled towards a pillar. “Now children. All stop here please and listen. I want you to look at this remarkable window. The kind gentleman in front of us is going to explain exactly what the window depicts, the story it tells”. Extraordinarily and to Simon’s relief the noise and the stampeding subsided and then stopped altogether.
A voice began talking. Simon unravelled himself slightly. “I know that voice” he thought, “It is the voice of my man, my transport here. I came here on his coat, whoop, whoop, whoopedy do! What a coincidence. How smart I am to recognise his voice, now I have to use my extraordinary brain and ingenuity to engineer a lift with him back to my garden”.
Simon watched, waited, aware that his chances were slim and that time would run out fast. He needed to think and act quickly. Miraculously, “Well, we are in a church” thought Simon, the man’s scarf fell off his shoulder as he moved to point out a detail in the window. “This is it” Simon realised and dashed towards it, reached it in seconds and clung to it. “You dropped your scarf Mister”, a child picked it up, a perilous moment for Simon, the man took it, put it round his neck, thanking the child profusely. Simon, master of clinging on and being inconspicuous coiled himself into a tassle and remained motionless. Time went slowly but eventually the man said his “goodbyes” and from the movement.
Simon realised they were off. Joy of joys in seconds they were out in the fresh air. He gulped with the pleasure of inhaling the open air. The man and the spider made their way up the street, the man stopping occasionally to hail an acquaintance and then they were through the green gate and Simon was back in his garden. He let go of the tassle, ran at top speed down the man’s trouser leg congratulating himself on his extraordinary capabilities and daring. “That spider that Robert the Bruce was so impressed by did not have half the courage and resourcefulness that I do”.
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