This weeks words were: Cadence Maverick Nimble Turf Initials Pathology Waxen March Eel Vise Goad Hew
It was the cadence of her voice that drew my attention. The sort of shrill that made you think she lived most of her life in a constant state of hysteria.
Around her was what I then thought of as a horde of children, each vying for her attention as they crossed the park, a constant rabble and how she understood any of what they said was beyond my comprehension.
Being the social snob that I am I was amused by the thought that the pathology of such a woman would fascinate any psychiatrist and have most sociologists foaming at the mouth in anticipation of sociological discovery.
Being March the weather was still relatively warm and they stopped as one and settled onto a patch of turf that I was sure would never be the same again.
The eldest was a brash young man who immediately took out his pocketknife and began scratching, I assumed, his initials into the bark of the tree beside him.
Whilst he was busy occupying himself with a bit of useful vandalism the waxen faced woman proceeded to place the baby she held in her arms onto the grass in front of her and change its nappy.
The other children nimbly went about exploring the park, riding the rides and generally as far as I could tell enjoyed the break their mother afforded them away from the hum drum that I was sure was their day to day lives.
I thought they were a surprisingly coherent group, playing together so well until I noticed the eldest boy had left his craving to go to the large pond in the park, wade into it and then return with a very large eel, which he proceeded to wave about terrifying his younger siblings.
The boy appeared to me to be a bit of a maverick for despite his mothers pleadings he continued to goad his brothers and sisters by dangling the eel in front of them the result being a cacophony of screams that served to reinforce my by now developing opinion of them as a family of potential banshees.
In due course as with most children with short attention spans, the boy discarded the eel and went off to locate some further mischief.
Some moments later the police arrived with the boy in tow, his mother was on her feet, demanding they release her son. The police handed back the boy, gladly I would think, with the news that they were well aware of the boys latest vice and had as a result removed his pocket knife from his person after they had observed him hewing his initials into the oldest most loved tree in the park.
I went home that afternoon happy in the thought that I didn’t have children, that all my friends spoke with cultured and educated cadences in their voices, that the only Maverick I knew was the excellent country band and that I could spend my evenings contend with the thought that I was a pretty nimble with my thimble.