The Old Lady and The Handbag

The Old Lady and The Handbag

Once Upon A Very Strange Time Ago, in a dark wood there was a crumbly cottage. In the cottage, lived an old lady, a grumpy goat and her handbag.

The handbag was made of dragon skin and had been given to the old lady when she was a girl. She loved the way its scales glistened as green as the forest and as blue as a summer sky. The handbag liked nothing better than being put in front of the fire. Grunting happily, it would puff out little jets of smoke; only growling slightly if the goat tried to nudge it out of the way.

All was peaceful.

Until.

One day.

Trouble.

In a nearby village, lived two men who wore black woolly hats and shifty expressions. Being too lazy to do an honest day’s work, they preferred to steal things and sell them on at high-as-the-sky prices. They particularly liked to sell rare things; things which had been cherished by their owners. People always paid more for the little trace of magic that love left behind. Sadly, for the old lady, they had heard of the handbag and set their black hearts on nabbing it.

One night, with the moon hidden behind clouds, the men in hats crept through the wood to the cottage. Through the kitchen window, they saw the bag dozing by the fire’s dying embers. Quietly, quietly, they prised open the window, grabbed the bag and shoved it into a sack. Quick as cats, they sped through the trees and back to the village.

The next morning, they loaded a van with piles of stolen loot and headed off to Dodgy Dave’s Dismal Deals; their favourite shop.

Dodgy Dave held the bag to the light and purred with excitement.

“Gentlemen,” he proclaimed, “this is a marvel! A wonder! And, that daft old bat’s left a pair of leather gloves inside. We’ll sell those separately. Double Bubble!”

He shoved the handbag into the shop window and wrote a notice saying,

‘Extremely rare, scaly handbag. High-as-the-sky price.

Enquire within. Matching gloves available’

In the back room, the three villains felt worn out with badness. So, they put the kettle on, opened some digestives and pulled out a pile of holiday brochures.

The handbag was not at all happy with how its day was turning out.

It remembered soaring over snowy fell-tops and wide wooded vales; drifting on summer winds and breathing red-hot jets of fiery joy. But, as it remembered the old lady and the goat, tears like tiny pearls started to roll down its side.

With a growl, it started to rock from side to side until its clasp clicked open.

Ever so slowly, the pair of gloves started to unfurl and grow. Until, at last they were a small, leathery pair of wings.

The villains had just decided on an all-inclusive tour of some hot-and-sunny islands, when there was a mighty crash and the room started to shake.

 ‘It’s the cops!’ they cried, ‘We’ve been busted! Quick, let’s grab some cash from the till before we make a daring getaway!’

But as they ran into the shop, instead of the boys in blue, they were faced with a dragon so immense that its tail had smashed through the window and its huge, leathery wings were destroying everything in its path as it lumbered round the room.

‘Boys, it’s time to relocate,’ suggested Dodgy Dave as he turned and pushed past his friends. ‘Time to upsticks!’

At that very moment, the dragon belched out a great gust of fire. The thieves managed to squeeze out of the back door just in time to avoid a very crispy end; but the tops of their woolly hats had been blasted away leaving their heads poking through like pink, sooty boiled eggs.

Now, several passers-by had wondered why a dragon was busy destroying Dodgy Dave’s Dismal Deals. They had phoned the police, the fire brigade and the dog warden. So it was, that our hapless, and still smoking, villains ran straight into the long arms of the law. After a lot of stern words and the application of several tubes of burn cream, they were bundled into police vans and taken away, never to deal dodgily again.

The emergency services then turned their attention to dealing with the huge and rather angry dragon that had caused all the ruckus.

But.

He had gone.

Flown.

Their last glimpse of him was like a star flickering, emerald and sapphire, as it danced across the beautiful, bright blue sky.

The old lady woke late that morning. She lit the fire, scratched the goat’s chin and then looked for her handbag. It was nowhere to be seen. After searching high and low, and then low and high, she and the goat felt so sad that tears like tiny pearls started to roll down their faces.

Just as the tears plopped onto the floor, they heard a small thump at the front door. The old lady opened it, slowly, and on the doorstep was her handbag, shivering with delight and grunting merrily.

‘There you are!’ she cried. ‘You smell rather sooty, dear. Have you been having adventures again? Best get warm and have a snooze.’ And with that, she lifted the bag into her arms and carried it carefully to the fire.

The handbag was back where it belonged. It growled lovingly at the goat, puffed out a small jet of smoke and then fell into deep, deep dreams of gliding over blazing red deserts and frozen winter seas; crouching over ancient citadel cities and breathing red-hot jets of fiery joy.