Bromfords of the Kollobita´´rtainnen - Part 25

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"Looking For Bromford"

As I drove down the road to look for Bromford
Saw two young girls but left them standing there.
They were too late to get home on the underground
And probably too drunk, too drunk to care.

Can anyone tell me the way to Bromford?
I′ll ask them there, have they a job for me.
I'm not a fussy man, I can weed and hoe.
I′ll be her Adam, she can be my Eve.

And where on earth are all those songs of Bromford.

The fairy tales, the shepherds and wise men.
Just one old dosser lurching down Oxford Street
To spend his Christmas lying in the rain.

Don't anybody know the way to Bromford.
I'm tired of living my life in free-fall.
They say it′s somewhere out on the edge of town.
Perhaps it isn′t really there at all.

Looking for Bromford.

Bored of the life in the City of Gold
He'd left and let nobody know.
Gone were the towers he had known from a child,
Alone with the dream of a life
He travelled the wide open road,
The blinkered arcade,
In search of another to share in his life.
Nowhere.
Everyone looked so strange to him.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And wept as they led him away to a cage
Beast that can talk, read the sign.
The creatures they pushed and they prodded his frame
And questioned his story again.
But soon they grew bored of their prey
Beast that can talk?
More like a freak or publicity stunt.
Oh
No.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And broke down the door of the cage and marched on out.
He grabbed a creature by the scruff of his neck, pointing out:
There, beyond the bounds of you weak imagination
Lie the noble towers of my city, bright and gold.
Let me take you there, show you a living story
Let me show you others such as me
Why did I ever leave?

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried
And wept.

And so we set out with the beast and his horns
And his crazy description of home.
After many days journey we came to a peak
Where the beast gazed abroad and cried out.
We followed his gaze and we thought that maybe we saw
A spire of gold - no, a trick of the eye that's all,
But the beast was gone and a voice was heard:

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance

Hello friend, welcome home.

🎵🎵🎵

I haven't heard that song for quite some time now. And this time it is not a little balding Englishman who is singing this song with his shrinking band in the 1970s. It is a clear woman's voice accompanied by an almost angelic choir.

»Are we in Heaven? «

Is that the hoarse voice of the llama?

»Shut up! «

That is Nigel's voice, definitely,

»We are not dead, animal. «

»But we are not in New York, either, human cub. «

»But we are in a Fairytale. «

That is a third voice that I don't recognize.

Is it time to open my eyes? Do I want to open my eyes? I am still feeling a little wet and damp. But I can also feel the warmth of the sun on my skin drying my clothes and bones. A soft hand is touching my cheek.

I open my eyes. It is Kylie. She is smiling and sitting right next to me in the grass.

»I knew you were awake. «

I sit up, leaning back on my forearms. We are at the green and sandy beach of that big island called Greenlion. From a little cove with the mouth of a silvery river I can take a look at the quiet ocean where the big fight took place yesterday - or wasn't it yesterday? - and where the two sailing ships sank. I look up and down the beach. There are other people here, and lots of flotsam and jetsam, most of it debris from the WaveEater and the Black Star. But everything is calm and quiet, no panic, no despair and no injured cries of the survivors.

Nigel, Kylie's son, and Claude Sideburns, the elderly resident of Brompton Castle, are waving at me from a little distance. The llama is showing me its big yellow teeth. Is that a smile or some kind of threating gesture? I decide and choose the first option.

Captain Ahabraham, Mr. Tummy, the cook, and Mr. Wiker, the first mate of the WaveEater are also here. They are standing in a circle silently discussing something with a lot of gestures.

As I look up and down the beach again there are more people here, keeping a greater distance to Hammock and his men, I presume. I think they are survivors of the Black Star and former members of the crew of the WaveEater.

»Come on. «

Kylie is helping me up taking my hand.

Behind my back Mr. Tumbleweed, the faun, is standing on a little green hill, facing the sun with his eyes closed. As we approach I can see a satisfied smile on his face.

»Thank you«, he says, »looks like we made it. «

Kylie is whispering in my ear, »He is looking younger, don't you think? Looks like he has lost his beard. Makes him look less goat-like, if you ask me. «

From the hill we have got a fabulous view on the landscape in the interior of Greenlion. And here they are, the promised green hills and meadows, light forests with blooming trees and flowers and in the not so far distance on the horizon, between mountains and peaks the walls and buildings and gigantic towers of the City of Gold.

On a hardly recognizable road a smaller group of people is walking and approaching, led by a tall man and a just as big woman. But are they really man and woman? They have pointed ears and are surrounded by an unhuman glow as we can tell as they come towards Mr. Tumbleweed, the faun.

»A merrier hour was never wasted there«, Tumbleweed whispers. »But room, fairy, here comes Oberon. «

The male and the female being are wearing magnificent and ornate clothes like woven from leaves and flowers, knitted from grass and trees' bark embedded with golden threads, and jewellery made of stones and fruits including crowns made of little oiled and polished twigs on their heads.

»Meet my lieges«, Mr. Tumbleweed says to us as they are standing in front of each other, all bowing in honour, »Oberon, King of the fairies, and Titania, his and our Queen. «

With melodic voices like ringing and tolling bells the fairies say, »Hello friend, welcome home. »

And for some reason Kylie is taking my arm and whispering in my ear, »And Merry Christmas to us all! «

Today is Monday, the 25th of December 2023.
Christmas Day