The vicar was all of a two-and-four-pence. He'd advertised a fortune-teller, ‘Madame Zah-zah’ for the church fete, but she’d cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances.
It was Amanda’s Dad who’d dobbed in his wife, Judy, and told the vicar she was a 'reluctant palm-reader'. The vicar had to throw a dramatic sob story before she succumbed.
The hall was festooned with Christmas paraphernalia and a small red tent in the middle of the hall. Judy tapped her foot. “No turban.” However much the vicar begged, she stuck to her guns, but got her to agree to sit in the tent if she could have a footstool. The church warden was despatched to the vicarage.
Eight-year-old Amanda was mortified, her head bent over the book stall, spending her ten shillings ‘bribe money’ on books before wandering over to the cake stall.
“S’that your Mum in the tent?” asked Tim. Shame-faced, Amanda nodded. “My Ma said she’s brill. Auntie Gladys came out and said she knew about… that thing with Bill Harris, whatever that was.”
The schoolfriends turned. The queue for Madame Zah-zah, which had been ten-long, now wound around the tent and towards the door.
“Want a cake?” asked Amanda. Tim nodded.
Munching their brownies, they drew towards the queue which had now reached the door.
“Thought it was claptrap, but she knew about Jenny’s trouble at university….”
“She told me about the operation I’ve got to have. I only knew about it yesterday and she said it’d be alright…”
Fascinated, the kids listened to snatches of conversation as Madam Zah-zah was pronounced to be ‘spooky’, ‘amazing’, ‘incredible’ and a whole lot of other superlatives, as the queue extended out into the damp, Devon evening air. Stalls were closing, and church wardens were trying to persuade the queue to go home. To a man and woman, they refused, as people from the village crept up and latched themselves on the end, such was Madam Zah-zah’s fame.
In the end, a couple of wardens were stationed at the end of the straggling line to stop ‘late joiners’…
“Do you remember that day, Mum?” asked Amanda, bringing Judy a cup of tea.
“I was mortified,” admitted Judy.
“So was I, but I got ten bob out of it. What did you get?”
“A splitting headache and Reverend Thomas’ undying gratitude.”
Amanda laughed. “But why do you hate doing it?
Judy’s face clouded over. “I saw something in a reading and… I didn’t want to do it again.”
“What?”
“Do you remember my friend, Becky?”
Amanda nodded. “Didn’t she die in an accident?”
“I saw Becky in a red car, then the car flew in the air and… and I couldn't see Becky in any picture anymore. It frightened me that I ‘saw’ it so clearly.”
“Mum, you’ve got a real gift. I’d think it was bunkum if I hadn’t heard how amazing you are.”
“It’s not a gift, love, it’s a burden, her mother replied.
It was Amanda’s Dad who’d dobbed in his wife, Judy, and told the vicar she was a 'reluctant palm-reader'. The vicar had to throw a dramatic sob story before she succumbed.
The hall was festooned with Christmas paraphernalia and a small red tent in the middle of the hall. Judy tapped her foot. “No turban.” However much the vicar begged, she stuck to her guns, but got her to agree to sit in the tent if she could have a footstool. The church warden was despatched to the vicarage.
Eight-year-old Amanda was mortified, her head bent over the book stall, spending her ten shillings ‘bribe money’ on books before wandering over to the cake stall.
“S’that your Mum in the tent?” asked Tim. Shame-faced, Amanda nodded. “My Ma said she’s brill. Auntie Gladys came out and said she knew about… that thing with Bill Harris, whatever that was.”
The schoolfriends turned. The queue for Madame Zah-zah, which had been ten-long, now wound around the tent and towards the door.
“Want a cake?” asked Amanda. Tim nodded.
Munching their brownies, they drew towards the queue which had now reached the door.
“Thought it was claptrap, but she knew about Jenny’s trouble at university….”
“She told me about the operation I’ve got to have. I only knew about it yesterday and she said it’d be alright…”
Fascinated, the kids listened to snatches of conversation as Madam Zah-zah was pronounced to be ‘spooky’, ‘amazing’, ‘incredible’ and a whole lot of other superlatives, as the queue extended out into the damp, Devon evening air. Stalls were closing, and church wardens were trying to persuade the queue to go home. To a man and woman, they refused, as people from the village crept up and latched themselves on the end, such was Madam Zah-zah’s fame.
In the end, a couple of wardens were stationed at the end of the straggling line to stop ‘late joiners’…
“Do you remember that day, Mum?” asked Amanda, bringing Judy a cup of tea.
“I was mortified,” admitted Judy.
“So was I, but I got ten bob out of it. What did you get?”
“A splitting headache and Reverend Thomas’ undying gratitude.”
Amanda laughed. “But why do you hate doing it?
Judy’s face clouded over. “I saw something in a reading and… I didn’t want to do it again.”
“What?”
“Do you remember my friend, Becky?”
Amanda nodded. “Didn’t she die in an accident?”
“I saw Becky in a red car, then the car flew in the air and… and I couldn't see Becky in any picture anymore. It frightened me that I ‘saw’ it so clearly.”
“Mum, you’ve got a real gift. I’d think it was bunkum if I hadn’t heard how amazing you are.”
“It’s not a gift, love, it’s a burden, her mother replied.
