Davey and the Holey Oak

By Barnaby Wilde

The Holey Oak had stood for centuries in Davey's field until it toppled in an autumn storm, revealing a stain on the internal timber that would give the Turin Shroud a run for its money. A collection of ten short stories about Davey and his attempts to scratch a living.
Nobody would ever describe Davey as a kind, old gentleman. Some folk would call him cantankerous, others would say he was a bit dodgy, and some, less generous, would even go so far as to call him a miserable, tight fisted, old bastard. He called himself an entreprenoor (his spelling).
Also includes a bonus story 'Tapestry' from the collection 'There Still be Dragons'.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barnaby Wilde
• Release date: Dec 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005931766

Barnaby Wilde

Barnaby Wilde is the pen name of Tim Fisher. Tim was born in 1947 in Hertfordshire, United Kingdom, but grew up and was educated in the West Country. He graduated with a Physics degree in 1969 and worked in manufacturing and quality control for a multinational photographic company for 30 years before taking an early retirement to pursue other interests. He has two grown up children and currently lives happily in Devon.

Book preview

Davey and the Holey Oak

(Tall Tales)

by

Barnaby Wilde

Copyright 2021 by Barnaby Wilde

Barnaby Wilde asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Published by Barnaby Wilde at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover picture: Public domain image by Bicanski from Pixnio

* Some stories in this collected edition of tales about Davey and The Holey Oak have appeared as 'stand-alone' tales in previous Barnaby Wilde collections of short stories.

Other published works by the author.

Humorous Novels

Out of Time (Time travel)

(The Tom Fletcher Stories)

I Keep Thinking It's Tuesday

A Question of Alignment

Every Which Way but East

Quirky Verse

Animalia

Life…

The Blind Philosopher and the God of Small Things

Not at all Rhinocerus

A Little Bit Elephant

Tunnel Vision

The Well Boiled Icycle

A is for Aardvark

Short Story Collections

Barnaby's Shorts (volumes 1 to 11)

Vertigo, (tales from the Vertigo Labs)

Chameleons

Love

Grow Your Own Man

The Women Furies

There Still Be Dragons (volumes 1 and 2)

Detective Fiction (The Mercedes Drew Mysteries)

Flowers for Mercedes

Free Running

Flandra

Smile for the Camera

Contents

The Steam Circus ………………… Small boys and lions don’t mix.

The Holey Oak …………………… The miracle of the Holey Oak.

Runes ……………………………... Davey spots another opportunity.

Liquid Assets …………………….. Funny stuff, water.

The Great Conjunction ………….... A Xmas eve dog walk.

Pig ………………………………… Davey’s pig takes a day out.

Emma ……………………………... Davey sheds a tear.

The Shrike Effect …………………. A bird in the hand.

Midwinter Homicides …………….. Murder in the countryside.

Yet Another Tall Story …………… It’s an ill wind.

The Sinkhole ……………………… When one door closes, another opens.

Bonus Story

Tapestry …………………. The King decides to commission a grand tapestry

About Barnaby Wilde

The Steam Circus

It was Tommy who saw it first.

Me and Kevin were just mucking about by the stream. You know, chucking sticks in and trying to get each other to fall in accidently on purpose, like. Stuff like that. We shouldn't have been there at all, of course. Our mums had told us not to go near the stream, but, … you know, … what else was there to do? It's like scissors, paper, stone. Scissors beats paper, paper beats stone, playing in the stream beats school, every time, doesn't it? Anyway, Kevin had just chucked a rock in to soak me, when we heard Tommy coming up over the bridge.

There's a circus, he said. Over in Long Meadow. Come on.

So, it was no contest really. Stone beats scissors. Circus beats stream.

I didn't see any notices, I said, as we ran up to join Tommy.

I didn’t, neither, agreed Kevin, double negative an’ all.

Well, it's there alright, said Tommy. I saw all the wagons go up the lane and into Long Meadow.

Funny that there's no notices, though I said, but no one was listening. The others had already run on.

When we got to Long Meadow it was there sure enough. It was an old-fashioned steam circus. The sort you usually only see in books. All the painted wagons were pulled by steam engines and they'd parked up in a big circle round the edge of the field. There were already men unloading stuff from the trailers and one of the steam engines was being set up as a generator.

We wandered round the wagons for a bit, generally getting in the way like small boys do. We weren't doing anything except looking, and, to begin with, the circus folk just ignored us and got on with their unloading. It wasn't long, though, before someone called us over. He was a strong looking chap with a big moustache. He was wearing big leather boots, brown corduroy trousers and a grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Here, he called. You boys. Don't just stand there, come here and get the other end of this.

He was unloading poles from the back of his trailer. They turned out to be for the main tent, the Big Top. They weren't the main poles, of course, these were just the little ones that go around the edge to hold the walls up. They were still heavy, though, and there were dozens of them. It took all three of us even to carry one pole. We had to lay them out in a big circle where the main tent was going to go.

The chap who'd called us over was carrying rolls of canvas and putting them down inside the circle, in the spaces between our poles. There was another group of men who were laying out big triangular canvas panels in the middle of the circle and lacing them up to make the roof of the main tent. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they had to do, like they'd done it hundreds of times before. Except us, of course.

To begin with, it was quite fun, but those poles were heavy and we soon got tired. Tommy said we should explore a bit more, so we sneaked away when the big guy went back for another roll of canvas and scuttled round the back of the trailers.

Most of them seemed to be for living in and there were women doing laundry and cleaning and stuff. They didn't take much notice of us and we drifted down towards the end of the long field, where there was a smaller circle of wagons, which, unmistakably from the noises and the smells, contained animals.

There were half a dozen white horses tied loosely to the side of one wagon. They had a load of hay hanging in net bundles on the side of the trailer and were happily munching away. It seemed a bit odd to me that they weren't eating the grass at their feet, but then I'm not a horse, so maybe the hay tasted better. There were a couple of llamas, too, which were also eating hay from net bags. Most of the wagons were closed up though and we had no idea what animals were inside, but we could hear things moving about and some of them sounded quite large.

What caught our attention, though, was a wagon at the far side of the circle with its side folded down to reveal a barred cage within.

Can you see what I see? shouted Tommy.

It's a lion, I said, in surprise.

C'mon, said Kevin, heading over towards the big cat.

We watched it for a bit, through the bars, keeping a respectful distance between ourselves and the cage.

It's not doing much, said Tommy, after a while. Do you think it's dead?

Could be, I agreed.

Nah. It's just asleep, said Kevin. Look. You can see it breathing.

We stood for a couple of minutes longer, watching the comatose lion. If it was breathing, it was taking very shallow breaths.

I reckon it's dead, said Tommy.

Nah. I can see it's chest moving, said Kevin. It's just asleep.

I dare you to prod it, said Tommy.

Don't get too close, I said.

I'm not scared, said Tommy. If I had a stick, I'd poke it.

Bet you wouldn't, I said.

Would, too. 'cept I haven't got a stick.

I'll get you a stick, said Kevin, running off towards the hedge.

He returned a moment later with a hazel wand about two feet long.

It's a bit short, said Tommy.

You're just scared, taunted Kevin. I agreed with Tommy, though. I thought the stick looked a bit short, too, but I didn't say anything in case Kevin said I was scared, too. Actually, I was scared.

Tommy took the stick, reluctantly, and made a step towards the cage. All this time the lion had shown no interest at all. It did seem to be asleep, or maybe it really was dead.

Go on, then, said Kevin.

Alright, said Tommy. Keep your hair on. I don't want to scare it, do I?

He took another step towards the cage and very carefully pushed the hazel twig between the bars. It's too short, he said. I can't reach him.

No, it's not, said Kevin. Put your arm through the bars.

I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. I just hoped that Tommy would back off.

Go on, then, prompted Kevin. Unless you're scared, of course.

Tommy took a step closer to the cage and gingerly pushed his arm through the bars. The end of the stick wavered close to the lion's rump, but it remained tantalisingly out of reach. He leaned forward marginally and the stick touched the lion's leg lightly. Its tail flicked lazily at the irritation as though it were flicking off a troublesome fly, but, otherwise, the beast didn't move at all.

Tommy withdrew his arm, triumphantly, and turned to face his provocateur. See, he said. Nothin' to it.

Huh! sniffed Kevin. Call that a prod? Looked to me like you didn't even touch it.

Did too. You saw it. Tim, you saw it, didn't you?

I nodded, without saying anything.

Well I didn't see it, taunted Kevin. I bet you're too scared to do it again.

Tommy looked him in the eye and then turned back to the cage and thrust his arm between the bars for the second time. Kevin took a step forward and shoved him in the back so that he overbalanced and fell against the bars of the cage. The stick, still firmly grasped in his hand, jabbed into the lion's leg and it sprang to its feet instantly, with a roar.

Tommy was unbalanced, with his left hand grabbing at the nearest bar and his right hand, still holding the stick, thrust between the bars. The lion leapt towards the source of its irritation.

To our shame, Kevin and I just turned and ran, leaving Tommy to his fate. We didn't stop running until we were well beyond the circle of the domestic trailers.

Hey, came a cry from the men erecting the tent. Where are you two going?

I stopped and was about to explain, but Kevin grabbed my arm and kept going. Come on, he said.

What about Tommy? I asked.

He'll be alright, said Kevin. But I didn't think he sounded entirely sure.

We ran right through Long Meadow into the lane beyond. No one followed us.

We can't leave him there, I said.

"Are