Dorothy Milnes Gilmore, 1952, this was one of the first longish stories I ever wrote, when I was eight years old. I thought Wilma when she was changed looked just like my Grandma.
Wilma's WishesWilma was fed up.
She was fed up with being ugly. She was fed up of traveling everywhere by broomstick and no one caring whether she got splinters inher bottom or not.
Wilma was fed up.
She had somehow managed to change her cat Tabitha into a weasel and no matter how she tried she couldn't change her back again, and now every time she tried to pick her up to give her a cuddle, all she got was bitten or scratched.
Wilma sat at her table, her breakfast before her, her favourite cold porridge with plenty of lumps in it and a cup of hot blackberry tea, she sighed deeply.
Only last month she had flown seventeen miles on her broomstick Spike, tovisit the dragons. She desperately needed some dragons’ blood for one of her spells. But when she arrived at their cave, there was only one dragon there, old grandpa Dragonfire who told her that all the young ones had gone skiing in the alps and they had taken all their spare blood with them incase of accidents.
Wilma was fed up, she sighed again, how was a witch supposed to earn any money for food with no spells to sell and as if that wasn’t bad enough the other day she decided to go and visit the bats that lived beyond the Petrified Forest. To begin with she was almost knocked off her broomstick by some silly Trolls who were playing hoggy in the middle with a live hedgehog. Poor little hedgehog, he was not at all happy.
Then when she finally arrived at the bat cave all she found was a note pinned to the door of their cave, it looked like it had been written in blood.
It read:
В В В В В В And that was it, Wilma stood looking at the small message for ages, they hadn’t even said goodbye, or even thanks for all your custom, why they could have added "We'll bring you backВ a piece of African rock, IF we return," at least that would have shown that they were going to miss her just a little.
“It's just not fair” Wilma said again while she added more lumps to her porridge.
“It's not right Spike, why can't I be a normal old lady instead of a witch, I am so tired of making spells and potions"
Wilma sat staring into the bowl, she let dollops of porridge drop off the spoon. It looked really dreadful which was usually how Wilma liked it, but not this morning.
She picked up the spoon and scooped out a big green dollop of gooseberry jam from the pot, she let it drop into the porridge and began to stir it round and round.
“Oh dear Spike, what am I going to do?” she groaned.
Wilma pushed the bowl away.
“Oh come on Wilma, stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something positive." she moaned as she sat there for a while looking at the pictures on the walls of her little cottage.
"Now that is what I would do if I had the chance Spike? I would have a lovely cottage like these pictures, with flowers and herbs growing all around.
"What else mistress?" Spike said, brushing up the few crumbs off the parlour floor.
" I really don't know Spike, but I'll tell you what I do know. I'm going for a nice, long walk in the woods." She got up from the chair, took off her pinny, collected her walking stick out of the kitchen and was ready to leave.
Spike started to follow her, he really loved going for a walk with his mistress instead of carrying the old lady everywhere on his handle, so he was a bit surprised when she picked him up and put him back in his corner.
“No, not today Spike, today you can stay here and mind the cottage while I'm gone.” Wilma said more cheerfully as she walked through the door. "oh yes and do try and keep an eye on Tabitha, we don't want her eating all our food. There's a good broom?” she added, patting Spike on his bristles.
Wilma smiled to herself, she really must try to change poor Tabitha back soon it can't be very nice being a weasel, especially as she still meowed like a cat.
Wilma closed the door behind her and made her way down the path and into the woods.
“Now that’s very funny” she said, “I've never noticed this here before, I wonder where it came from?”
It wasn't a very big well, yet it wasn't very small either. But it was a very pretty well, as though it had not been used for very much, pretty flowers decorated the sides. Maybe it wasn’t a well for water after all.
Wilma leant over the edge and looked inside, oh my, it really was very dark down there.
She bent down and picked up a stone off the path, then leaning back over the edge she threw the stone into the darkness. Not a sound for ages then crack,В crunch, plop the stone landed with a splash.
"HOI, what do you think you're doing up there?” a voice bellowed from somewhere deep within the well.
Wilma jumped back almost hitting her head on the roof over the well. She was standing her arms over her mouth, her hair she was sure was standing on end.
Then the well spoke again; “Oh that’s nice, that really is very nice, you tell me if you would like it, if someone came along and threw half a brick down on your head?”
Wilma took a step towards the well all the colour had drained from her face, “phew, I don't believe it” she said straining her neck forward to try and see who was down there, it was probably a grumpy old Genie, who was certain to be the well's spirit.
She crept a little closer then leaning over the edge she whispered. “I'm terribly sorry
Mr. er, mm Well, but how was I to know someone was down there.”
A faint light appeared inside the well, Wilma peered over the edge and into the water below; all she could see was the faint outline of what looked like a little old man and her own reflection and nothing else at all.
"O my goodness me I thought it was a lady I was talking too," the well said with a slight laugh in it's voice,В В "but now I’m not so sure, I mean you are a bit strange looking, aren’t you?”
Poor Wilma stood there open-mouthed she didn’t know what to say she just continued to look into the well. Then when she got herself together she spoke quite harshly at him.
“I really don’t know what to say to that remark, whoever you are, but I do think it’s time you learnt some manners”.
В Wilma heard a chuckle coming up through the dim light. “Ok then,” he said, “I take it you are a witch by the look of you, I’ve heard there are quite a few in this part of Wales?”
“I wish there were, there is only me left now, well this side of Cefn Meiriadog. All the others have left and gone to England. The caves are also empty now the bats have gone to Florida or somewhere like that and the dragons have all up and left to go skiing in the Alps. No Point in anyone staying here any more."
An expression of sadness crossed her face; What the well had said was really hurtful.
She knew she wasn't the prettiest witch around but she wasn't that ugly, more plain and unfussy really.
She wiped away the hair that had fallen over her face, a small tear glistened in the corner of her eye.
“Hey if you carry on sitting up there with that sad look upon your face your going to frighten all my customers away.”
“What customers, I don’t see anyone else but me and I’m not going to pay for your mucky water?”
“Mucky water, I'll have you know Witchy Babe that this, here water, is magic water, not just any old muck that you get from the tap.”
“Oh yea, and my Tabitha is still a cat,” Wilma sneered. “You'll be telling me next that you're a Wishing Well."
Wilma began to laugh, she liked the sound of laughter, she hadn’t laughed for ages.
“And what may I ask is wrong with being a Wishing Well? Why its better than being a grumpy old witch and that's for sure.”
“Old witch?” Said Wilma. “I’m not that old and you’d be grumpy if you had had to go through all the troubles I’ve had these last few weeks.
 “The thing is witchy, troubles or no troubles, who these days wants a witch when they can have wishes instead?
Wow that has a rather a nice ring to it, don't you think?”
“That is what I mean,” Wilma said. "Who needs a witch any more? Almost no one! I was fed up before I left the cottage and now I am almost past caring. I might as well just throw myself into you and end it all.”
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