What A Charmer

Ada can drive me up the wall but I thought it only right that she modelled for this mural. Ain't she a winsome sight?

I could've placed her on a pedestal, the way that lovers do...but " I will not squat on porcelain, not even, Cad, for you " said Ada in her sharpest tones, which made me think anew- so I've drawn her in a treetop crown.

"Forgive me, Ada dearest, for when you've simmered down, you'll realise I put you there 'cause you're way above the best, and will charm the birdies from the trees!" 

And there my case shall rest.

Inspired by The Mag, where Tess gave us artwork by Jeanie Tomanek to get our juices flowing.

Did She Fall Or Was She Pushed?

Caddoc arose from his bed with a scream. "Beloved, I've had a most terrible dream. O, Ada, my Ada I saw you outside the window! I thought you had gone for a ride on the wing of a bi-plane but had taken a header and fallen to Earth - you couldn't be deader as you landed below in a blood splattered heap..."

"Caddoc, you ninny, I've been fast asleep beside you for hours, not walking on wings. What makes you think up such terrible things? Must be the cheese you ate for your supper?
Now snuggle back down and don't be a duffer!"

Tess gave us more food for thought today with her Mag which featured a photo by Elena Kalis.

Olé !

We'd gone and bought tickets for some local hop to be held in our village hall - the kind of occasion where everyone goes, the long and the short and the tall; the young and the old and the fit and the lame - all welcomed, and everyone treated the same... 

But Ada and Caddoc, I'm certain you've guessed, would add their own spice to the mix- "We'll dress in our Spanish-type costumes. We can dance a wild tango, for kicks!" Caddoc cringed at the thought of the spangles and lace, but manfully plastered a grin on his face.
" Beloved, I'll follow you where'er you lead, but I beg you to keep it polite, for tango's, if danced with abandon, can be a right turn on. All right?" 

" Caddoc", cried Ada, " Just finish your drink - sometimes it's best that you don't stop to think!"

Written for the Mag 181, with thanks to Tess and apologies to Toulouse-Lautrec .

Unhand Me, You Cad!

"We've always," quoth Ada, "been drawn to each other. But sometimes I think he treats me like his mother; and some days I think I'll go out of my head unless he slopes out to lounge in his shed with his droopy sad face like a wee bloodhound pup; he’ll hide there while I wash the breakfast things up!

(And don't you agree, come now, won't you confess, his hat is a terrible, terrible mess?)

But then he'll come in and he'll creep up behind and I must pretend that I really do mind how his left and his right hands unerringly know the very two places where they should not go!

So I always pretend to be stern and severe and cry "You great Welsh lummox, less of that here!" And then he says "If not there, where then, my dear?" as he smiles his daft smile and gives me a cuddle, knowing he’ll soon throw my thoughts in a muddle till I’ll give him a kiss, and forgive him his hat. Now tell me, could you resist chat-ups like that?"

Cad's hands took a slightly different approach from Escher's... but thanks go to Tess and her Mag for the image.

Night Rider

And Tess has once again tempted us to write a tall tale for her Mag... which follows on from the previous nightmare saga which you will find  here.

Caddoc Goes Solo

 

After breakfast Caddoc said, "Dearest, I'll be in my shed, beavering, for quite a while. My new plan's sure to make you smile!" Though Ada smiled, her smile was grim. "Now what mad scheme's got into him? Last week he put me on his bike, but what came next I did not like - chasing robbers in the buff  to reclaim all our biking stuff. So what's he up to now, my Cad; something more than half-way mad?"

Caddoc had reappeared by noon with many more than one balloon blown up with gas lighter than air. Cried he, "Come see, my dearest fair! We'll lift our little car aloft - " Said she  "Now you've gone really soft!"  "Not so!" said Cad "for up so high, no robbers will be speeding by.  We'll not lose helmets, leggings, boots, and be left in our Birthday Suits! We'll paraglide to Colwyn Bay. The wind will take us all the way."

She fixed him with an Ada stare. "Your off your trolley, I declare. You're on your own! I've had enough," so Caddoc took off in a huff. "I'll ride the skies, alone and free. A wild, Welsh airman I will be."  

He should have heeded what she said. Better - he should have stayed in bed and not let air dreams fill his head,  for his landing wrecked his garden shed!

Not Quite A Moonlight Serenade

This picture by Andrew Wyeth which Tess gave us for her Mag 178,  put me in mind of a Trellis  Saga, akin to the poem by John Keats. Cad and Ada are renowned for such exploits in their long and varied relationship...

La Belle Ada Sans Culottes.
(With apologies to John Keats)

"O what can ail thee, Caddoc T
 alone and bare and pale and wan?"
"My biking kit's been nicked, look you!
And Ada's gone."

"O what can ail thee, goodly Cad?
You seemed chilled through, and woe-begone?"
"You deaf? No boots. No gloves. No wife.
I'm all undone!"

"I see the anguish on thy brow,
as if great sorrows overtook -
and on thy cheeks..." "Hands off, you swine! 
Don't push your luck!"      
       And here Caddoc launched forth into yet another                     tale of mishap by moonlight...
I thought to give Ada a spin,
(beloved wife — she's just 'the most' )
We'd hit the road for Colwyn Bay,
along the coast!

I bought a helmet for her head,
and leathers black and biker's boots.
She flipped her helmet's visor down,
said "Cad, let's scoot!"

I sat her on my racing steed,
and nothing else felt all day long,
but Ada pressed against my back,
with sweet Welsh song.

She bought me pink Llandudno rock
and Ninety-Nines and bags of chips.
And then in language strange she said—
‘Mmmm -  tasty lips!’

She hauled me to a trysting spot,
and there she lay and sighed full sore,
and there I shut her dear Welsh eyes
with kisses four. 

And so we lulled ourselves to sleep,
and there we dreamed, but later on
we woke up in our Birthday Suits
our leathers gone!

We saw the robbers making off,
masked brigands, ugly brutes, a brace.
But then things went from bad to worse!
Ada gave chase!

And so I stand here in the gloam,
and horrid thoughts go through my mind -
If I join Ada in the chase
what will I find?

Two robbers cowering in fear
cornered by Ada without her vest?
She'll be arrested too!  I'll plead
"She did her best!"

Ciggy Saga

On  holiday in Clacton, Trell saw this awesome pair in a photo in a junk shop, and he had to stop and stare at the most uncanny likeness...
( Cad and Ada, I declare! BUT – cigarettes? Good Heavens, that surely could not be – what could be their story? We’ll have to wait and see!)
It's really very simple. They're now both clapped out wrecks.  "'Cos smoking," argues Ada, "is an antidote to sex. "
(Pass the Woodbines, pet . . . )
But Caddoc knows that Ada knows that Caddoc is no fool.  And Caddoc knows in Clacton boarding houses it's the rule to avoid unwonted loss of life when fire disaster looms -
"ALL GUESTS AT ALL TIMES MUST REFRAIN FROM SMOKING IN THEIR ROOMS!"

Many thanks for sparking this off, Tess, with your choice of Togan Gokbakar's photo for the Mag 168

All About Caddoc

Caddoc's Version

Again I've caught Caddoc playing,
straying from his work, perhaps?
A lapse in his attention
I mention here, but I must smile
the while to acknowledge he's a
wizard when it comes to art -
part of why I fell for him -
grim though he may appear from time
to time. (Just look at his hat!
That is too awful for words,
absurd in fact.) But what he did
with a fiddle of his mouse today,
I must say was appealing -
stealing part of a painting! He's no dope,
I hope you'll agree;
he could see in his mind's eye
why a version with arms missing might
have more bite...I reprint it here,
my dear reader, but urge you to go
show him how you feel
for real about his home grown
poem - which I now plagiarise
as a surprise for him...
Thin end of the wedge? Maybe.
We'll see if he thinks
mine stinks...


After many moons of not being visible on this Truce blog, I can assure you I nevertheless remained behind the scenes to keep my gimlet eye upon Cad. So when I discovered today that he had got all creative, it spurred me on. Thank you, Mag 167!

Courtship

Spring, 1935 by Kuzma Petrov-Vodin

Remember in the early days how Cad could never wrench his gaze from fairest Ada, so  demure,  and how he thought that he might lure her to his favourite garden shed?

But prim and proper Ada said

"Divest your mind of such ideas.  For, Master Caddoc, it appears to little Ada (sweet and twenty) you promise naughtiness in plenty. I sense behind your moon-calf eyes imaginings that would surprise the girls from Colwyn to Tranent who don't know that your thoughts are bent on getting into Ada's bed. Chase such malpractice from your head!"

And yet (in brackets, so to speak) our Ada thought 

"If I can tweak his urges to a fever pitch he might decide to soothe his itch by making me an honest girl. Then I’d have me a willing churl!"

 So in due time the pair were wed. Poor Cad spent more time in his shed, not less - for Ada proved a tartar and soon poor Caddoc was a martyr, prostrated by the fires of love … for Ada was no turtle dove!

Until, that is, he’d lined her nest; she found he really was the best of thoughtful lovers, sweet and kind… Then Ada slowly changed her mind; she learned to tolerate his ways. No longer were there stressful days, and life turned out to be just fine – at least for eight days out of nine!



Thanks to Mag 164 for inspiring this tale.

Winter Woes

Winter chill had gripped my heart (and other less romantic parts) for snow and ice, or days of grey had chased my sunshine’s smile away. My Ada, mostly game to grouse, crept sad and silent through the house, too struck by winter weather blues to rally round - try to amuse us.

"You two ninnies are a hindrance. Remember last weekend, for instance; I heard you chatting in the shed. Why don't you talk to me instead? You lounge around and cause a muddle and then start whispering, in a huddle. For you it must be very nice, there in your Fool's Paradise, where meals are placed upon the table like clockwork. I am never able

to take a well earned day of rest..." and so her wittering progressed.

But Trell and I had hatched a plan, long before this strife began.

"That whispering, Ada, don't you know, was us plotting how to show appreciation of your labours. We thought we could do you a favour, book you a holiday, my pet, in some suave place where you could get pampered to the N th degree- far from the likes of Trell or me!"

But look at where we’d booked a place! Their advert’s blurb was a disgrace – Ada’s face was full of woe! 

“Forget it, Caddoc! Drive! Let’s go! Foot on the gas and let’s get home; I’ve lost the urge to ever roam!"

  

Many thanks to Tess and Jacek Yerka  over at The Mag 156 for inspiring this tale of woe  from Trellisland.