Well, there's so many here who are finding life hard without Lisette, so I'd better make a start on Elf-Bride's other, much shorter, story. My impression is that she probably wrote it before 'Girl with no Name', it introduced some themes that were developed further in that tale, but this one is delightful too. Here's just a first taste:
Mary on the Cross
© Elf-Bride
We were on our graduation trip, and as not even a graduation trip could be made a pleasure for students just about to leave school, we were still being overfed with historical information. Today we stood looking at old walls. The data being transferred into our poor overworked brains was audible in the form of annual statistics and enumerations of all possible wars in a given place and period, and visually in the form of bored contemplation of collections of old stones in the various areas of our beautiful country, in other words, we traipsed from one ruin to another. Some were badly decayed, others almost new – castles, for example, or the monastery where we were based for three days to explore the historic environment.
At least I’d been assigned to a rather quiet group of girls. I didn’t think much of drinking alcohol all night long or smoking joints secretly. My group was rather quiet, and keen on sport. It could be very cosy in our bedroom, there were six of us housed in the spacious room. The abbot personally showed us to our accommodation.
"Here’s where you’ll be sleeping," he said with an unctuous voice, "You’ll wake up rested and refreshed and eager to hike around all the castles and palaces, young ladies."
The Man of God drew our attention to a special feature of our dormitory. On the side with the window there was a kind of large alcove - you couldn’t see it from the entrance door, a small, secret room, so to speak. We couldn’t use it though, it was occupied by a large wooden cross, the thing was standing in a kind of support-frame that looked like an overgrown Christmas-tree stand, so that it couldn’t tip over. A pair of stools stood nearby.
Some folded blankets were piled beside it, with some coiled ropes. The abbot told us that the cross had been freshly restored, they had sanded and freshly stained it and it was here to dry. In fact, I’d noticed a slight whiff of fresh paint. The plaster-of-paris body, we learnt, was still in the workshop.
"We haven’t got round to setting up the cross in the chapel yet, although it's dry," said the abbot. "We’ll have to fix it up to the ceiling and secure it with the ropes." He smiled: "We don’t want such a valuable piece to get dents and scratches straightaway, while it’s being transported. Well, I'll leave you alone now, we'll see you at dinner." The hooded gentleman hurried away.
The six of us girls put our bags in the lockers and went to take a shower, then we lounged around the room. For this afternoon, no visit was programmed, we were glad of that, gradually history was beginning to bug us – bloody ruins ...
Sophie stood with Maria and Daniela in the niche and looked at the large wooden cross. They were speculating about how the monks could have got the clumsy thing through the door of the room.
"It’s way too big," she reckoned.
"If they manoeuvred it around, it would have fitted," Daniela said, " After all, they’ve got it into here, it fits this space.”
We three other girls went and looked at the Cross. It was a monstrous thing, made of oak. The wood was stained dark. Near the outside ends of the cross-beam, and above the foot-support were holes in wood.
"That’s where the retaining screws come through, to hold the body of Christ on the wood," Sophie said. "This cross is so big, it must be a life-size figure."
She moved one of the stools in front of the cross and stood up on it. She was wearing a saffron-coloured T-shirt and blue jeans, and was barefoot. On the stool, she turned with her back to the cross and spread out her arms, "See? My wrists reach the holes in the transom exactly, and my feet are just on the foot-rest."
Daniela brought a chair over and looked round, "Hey girls! We’ll get Sophie fixed! We’ll test her theory."
Mary on the Cross
© Elf-Bride
We were on our graduation trip, and as not even a graduation trip could be made a pleasure for students just about to leave school, we were still being overfed with historical information. Today we stood looking at old walls. The data being transferred into our poor overworked brains was audible in the form of annual statistics and enumerations of all possible wars in a given place and period, and visually in the form of bored contemplation of collections of old stones in the various areas of our beautiful country, in other words, we traipsed from one ruin to another. Some were badly decayed, others almost new – castles, for example, or the monastery where we were based for three days to explore the historic environment.
At least I’d been assigned to a rather quiet group of girls. I didn’t think much of drinking alcohol all night long or smoking joints secretly. My group was rather quiet, and keen on sport. It could be very cosy in our bedroom, there were six of us housed in the spacious room. The abbot personally showed us to our accommodation.
"Here’s where you’ll be sleeping," he said with an unctuous voice, "You’ll wake up rested and refreshed and eager to hike around all the castles and palaces, young ladies."
The Man of God drew our attention to a special feature of our dormitory. On the side with the window there was a kind of large alcove - you couldn’t see it from the entrance door, a small, secret room, so to speak. We couldn’t use it though, it was occupied by a large wooden cross, the thing was standing in a kind of support-frame that looked like an overgrown Christmas-tree stand, so that it couldn’t tip over. A pair of stools stood nearby.
Some folded blankets were piled beside it, with some coiled ropes. The abbot told us that the cross had been freshly restored, they had sanded and freshly stained it and it was here to dry. In fact, I’d noticed a slight whiff of fresh paint. The plaster-of-paris body, we learnt, was still in the workshop.
"We haven’t got round to setting up the cross in the chapel yet, although it's dry," said the abbot. "We’ll have to fix it up to the ceiling and secure it with the ropes." He smiled: "We don’t want such a valuable piece to get dents and scratches straightaway, while it’s being transported. Well, I'll leave you alone now, we'll see you at dinner." The hooded gentleman hurried away.
The six of us girls put our bags in the lockers and went to take a shower, then we lounged around the room. For this afternoon, no visit was programmed, we were glad of that, gradually history was beginning to bug us – bloody ruins ...
Sophie stood with Maria and Daniela in the niche and looked at the large wooden cross. They were speculating about how the monks could have got the clumsy thing through the door of the room.
"It’s way too big," she reckoned.
"If they manoeuvred it around, it would have fitted," Daniela said, " After all, they’ve got it into here, it fits this space.”
We three other girls went and looked at the Cross. It was a monstrous thing, made of oak. The wood was stained dark. Near the outside ends of the cross-beam, and above the foot-support were holes in wood.
"That’s where the retaining screws come through, to hold the body of Christ on the wood," Sophie said. "This cross is so big, it must be a life-size figure."
She moved one of the stools in front of the cross and stood up on it. She was wearing a saffron-coloured T-shirt and blue jeans, and was barefoot. On the stool, she turned with her back to the cross and spread out her arms, "See? My wrists reach the holes in the transom exactly, and my feet are just on the foot-rest."
Daniela brought a chair over and looked round, "Hey girls! We’ll get Sophie fixed! We’ll test her theory."
