Image: – Matt Dixon
Harry the Tin Man had an idea. It was unusual and took everyone by surprise as Harry didn’t normally have ideas.
Such was his idea that he liked the notion of a light above his head signalling his new found good luck.
Mostly Harry lived a life predictable and lacking in any sort of excitement. He accepted his lot.
He had once had another idea that the girl in the weaver’s shop might fancy him but she didn’t. She called her father who grabbed Harry and threw him into the village pond. He was rusty for weeks. No amount of oil would quieten the squeak between his legs.
He didn’t like being oiled between his legs, he thought he was deserving of some dignity.
But no. The village blacksmith, the apothecary and the tinsmith all attended to his rust spot.
He then took a vow of isolation. He would approach no one and in that way, generate no animosity.
But today he had an idea and as it was a revelation to Harry he was determined to see it through.
Gladys the Scare-Crow had winked at him. It was a sign he was sure. He decided to give himself a jolly good polish and creak his way to the paddock where she stood day in and day out.
As he approached her she noticed his arrival. Her straw took on a sheen Harry had not seen before, he felt confident, he felt empowered.
Then it rained. Steady at first but then a torrential downpour.
Harry opened his mouth to say his first ever words of love but found himself once again, wet, seized up, his idea light extinguished.
He felt downcast. He stared at the ground.
Gladys, he noticed still had eyes for him.
She winked again. She smiled at him.
His tin bits stirred, the point of no return had arrived.