Beyond Blue And Bronze
Chapter 1
The Old Man on the Beach
A sheet of sand blew across the empty beach. Empty apart from one hut which yet remained, crooked and cracked. In places, pale blue paint still clung to the weathered woodwork. And on the porch sat a wiry old man. He sat motionless with a walking stick in his hand and a pair of goggles over his eyes, staring straight ahead, looking through the sand as it drifted directly towards him.
A group of children tumbled onto the beach, as they tended to do on summers’ mornings. They loved to visit the old storyteller. His tales of adventure, curious creatures and magic, meant that they always came back to visit, even though their parents had told them to, “Leave the old man on the beach alone.”
The children, three boys and two girls, argued amongst themselves, all talking over each other.
“Well, it’s your fault you shouldn’t have kicked it over!”
“It’s not my fault that you’re a snail and can’t get to the ball!”
“Really? Too scared to climb over into an old lady’s garden?”
“I didn’t see you volunteering.”
The children all came and sat down on the porch in front of the old man. Without even acknowledging him they carried on, absorbed in their argument.
“I think Miss Corvonero is a mean old lady. I bet she has every football that kids have ever kicked over, pressed down on the spikes of her fence.”
“I’m glad you didn’t climb over. It would be your head on the spike!”
The tallest boy sneered at the shortest one. “She’d probably put you in a jar, Snail. I heard she’s a witch!”
The old man stood up. “A witch?”
He slowly lifted the goggles on to his forehead, leant forward on his stick and flashed an accusatory glance at each child, who in turn dropped their eyes to the floor.
“Well of course she’s a witch!” Yelled the old man, waving his stick which just grazed the hair of the tallest child. “And the finest damn witch I ever met too.” A wrinkled smile broke on the old man’s face as he sat back down into his wicker chair. A girl lifted her head, “Did you know her, Sir?” Then the other added, “Was she very terrible?” He laughed at their questions and waved for them to come closer. “I suppose it is time for a story… Come on then.” The children sat on the sandy porch in a semi-circle around their bony story teller, who adjusted his goggles and began.
“We first met when we were 11 years old, in Diagon Alley. The sights, smells and tastes of wizarding shops never leave you from the first time you set foot on the cobbles, and of course, the moment that your wand chooses you.”
One of the girls put her hand up, but the old man had a distant look in his eyes and continued, “From the day my acceptance letter arrived, the only thing that excited me more than the prospect of actually attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was the thought of visiting the world’s greatest wand-maker, Ollivander. I told myself… This is where everything truly begins!”