The WITCH GIRL
Some people (most likely witches) might not mind being called a witch – but I do.
For a start, I know nothing of spells and potions. And I certainly don’t think I look like a witch. Well, not the ones I’ve seen in books – all warts and missing teeth.
That’s not what I see in the mirror. I see a young woman of 19. Someone who tries to keep up with the latest fashions. I haven’t got a black cape or a pointy hat. It’s 1905, for goodness sake, not the Middle Ages!
I like to think I’m pretty. My mother calls me her ‘beautiful Autumn’. When I was a little girl, she would often tell me the story of the day I was born and how she came to give me that name…
‘It was a bright, breezy afternoon in October and your father had gone to market,’ she would always begin, stroking my hair as we sat by the fire in our cottage.
‘I decided to look for mushrooms in the
