Alice didn’t stop running until she was sure the farmer’s wife was no longer chasing her. When she did stop, she discovered that she was on a different-looking road to the one she had arrived on. She wasn’t quite sure if it was the right road, but she remembered the Cheshire Cat having once told her that if she had no specific destination in mind, then any road would get her there.
The road wound to the right up ahead and above a tall hedge Alice could see the steeple of a distant church. That must be Banbury, thought Alice, and decided it was a far safer place than the troubled farm.
After a couple more bends, the sandy road rose gently and straddled a small stone bridge that crossed a stream, which chuckled and sparkled in the sun. On the low wall of the bridge sat a rather portly man. It was difficult to spot where his head ended and his body started. His cheeks and chins were unshaven and clothes in tatters. His short legs, tapering from thick at the top to thin at the ankles, dangled over the edge of the wall like upside down dunce’s caps. Alice guessed immediately it was Humphrey Dunfry, the child the farmer’s wife had asked to mind the hens. But this was no child. He had grown up.
“Are you hungry?” asked the man as Alice drew level with him.
“Not particularly, thank you,” replied Alice.
“I have lots of eggs. I can give you one if you want.”
Alice saw that both pockets of Humphrey’s once-white trousers were stained yellowy-green, the consequence of years of unsuccessfully carrying hen’s eggs around in his pockets. He smelled rotten. It looked as if the knocks and bruises of life had left him a broken man and nobody had helped him to pick up the pieces. Least of all Mrs M, who had sent him packing.
“Is your name Mary?” he asked.
“No.”
“Oh. You look like a Mary to me. I get so confused these days. I’m Humphrey Dunfry. What did you say your name was?”
“Alice.”
“Did you? I don’t remember you telling me. Maybe I remembered that you were about to tell me. A liar should have a good memory, you know, but as I don’t tell lies, my memory sometimes fails me. It’s all because I used to go to the mud flats. It eats your memories, you know. Do you have a good memory?”
“Yes, I believe so. Or I used to until recently.”
“Oh,” said Humphrey, in a way that implied he thought Alice told lies.
“But I don’t tell lies.”
Humphrey looked very confused. “But if you do tell lies, maybe you told me one now, when you said you don’t lie.”
“That’s a good point. But on the other hand, how do I know you weren’t lying? Perhaps you were just pretending to have a bad memory.” Was Humphrey as sharp as a knife in reality? A second look at him told Alice he wasn’t. She felt sorry for him and thought she’d better cheer him up.
“It’s a shame you couldn’t stay at the farm, Humphrey. Mrs MacDonald said that all the hens flew away, so I suppose there were no more eggs for you to collect.”
“The hens didn’t fly away. She cut off their heads. One day, she was telling me about the curse of the mud flats. I said ‘curses are like hens, they both come home to roost’. She got it into her head that her hens were cursed and that was that. Out came the carving knife. The headless hens still laid eggs for months afterwards but the eggs came out with their tops already cut off.”
“How convenient,” said Alice, again looking on the bright side. She liked boiled eggs but always found cutting the tops off very difficult.
As Humphrey conjured up images of his days at the farm, he sucked on his soiled shirt sleeves.
“I wish there was something I could do to help you,” Alice said, thinking out loud.
Humphrey gave a small but kind smile as if he appreciated her concern.
“Oh,” he said, “don’t worry about me. I’ve survived just fine so far. You need to worry more about yourself. That’s what I say. Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig.” Humphrey looked Alice straight in the eye and said in a deadly serious voice. “While you still can.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, not sure if she should take advice from a man with egg on his face.
“These days, the best way to help anyone in Wonderland is to look after yourself. Look after the chicks and the hens will look after themselves and all that. And if you’re wondering, the egg came first.”
Despite the fact that Humphrey was just a shell of a man and as crazy as a soup sandwich, something told Alice he might give her a clue as to how to return home.
“Why did you carry eggs around in your pockets?”
“Any fool knows that you never put all your eggs in one basket. And since Mrs MacDonald only had one basket, I had to use my brains.”
“Right. Have you ever thought about washing your clothes?”
“I’m not as stupid as I look, you know. Only a fool would wash his dirty laundry in public.”
Alice thought Humphrey might like to help her rescue Pavlov, Chester and the other farm animals.
“I know you worked at the farm once upon a time. I’m sure you loved the animals. How would you like to go back there and help me rescue them?” said Alice. “They are suffering terribly.”
“You can’t help everyone, you know, Alice. Sometimes you just need to walk away, even if you fall. That’s my philosophy on life.”
“I’m not sure I should walk away. Or even want to. I feel somehow responsible for the animals. Maybe you should too.”
“No one said looking the other way is easy,” said Humphrey sadly. “I’m sure you’ve heard the saying ‘sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind’. Well that’s what you should do to children and animals to help them stand on their own two feet. Worked for me.”
Even ignoring the fact that Humphrey wasn’t standing, and that most animals had four feet, Alice was sure that being neglected had not helped him one bit.
“Spare the rod and spoil the child,” he continued. “Too much mollycoddling and I could have easily ended up a bad egg, you know.”
Alice was getting tired of people asking her to live according to proverbs and Humphrey seemed obsessed with them.
“Well, I’m sorry you’ve had a hard life. But not everyone is nasty.” Not to the degree that the farmer’s wife was at any rate. “My parents aren’t unkind, in any case. I’m sure they think everything they do and say is for my own good.”
“Which is the reason you are in the predicament you are in now. A sterner upbringing may have kept you on the straight and narrow, instead of being on this windy lane. You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs, you know. Why are you being so facetious?”
“Am I being facetious?”
“Probably not. I don’t know what the word means. I just like it because all the words are in the right order alphabetically.”
It was true that Alice had had a more sheltered upbringing than most other children she knew. She rather took it for granted that her parents were always there for her and couldn’t imagine how unbearable life would be without them. Or with a mother like Mrs MacDonald.
“Well, I very much doubt that treating other people badly does anyone any good.”
“Then I fear for you, Alice. It takes much less time to be unpleasant than to be nice to others. How will you get back home and find your way in the world if you spend all your time being nice to other people?”
“I can’t abide bad manners. It’s just so horrible that people can be so mean and unfair to each other. And stupid.”
“And silly and funny and annoying and boring. That’s what makes the world go round.”
“Your making my head spin,” said Alice.
“Good idea!”
Humphrey raised his fat legs and span his head and body round fast several times. He reminded Alice of the large globe that she liked to play with in her sitting room back home. He came to rest in the exact same position he started in. Alice was just trying to figure out whether there was something important in Humphrey’s words or not when she noticed a single tear running down his fat cheek. As it slid across his dirty skin, it seemed to take with it years of dirt and grime. He smiled at Alice as he leaned backwards and fell off the bridge.
Alice ran to the wall and peered over the edge. There was nothing there. Just the clear sparkling water of the stream, as if Humphrey Dunfry had never existed at all.
Alice continued on her way, brooding over Humphrey’s words. Should one stop to help people in need or blindly pursue one’s own ambitions to the point of selfishness? Would one be rewarded or did fate favour the self-centred? If her fate and that of the creatures here was not connected then she was free to go. But what if they were intertwined? What if she had already condemned them to a life of misery? Even if it was only partly her fault, could she walk away and live with herself? Shouldn’t she do the right thing, as her parents would say? Presumably, facing the Jabberwocky was part of that. Amidst these profound thoughts, Alice also found herself posing another question. Why was she not in the least surprised to discover that Humphrey Dunfry had simply disappeared into thin air?
A mile down the road, Alice could make out the wooden walls of the first town houses of Banbury, which stood tall on foundations of boulders, most likely gathered from the wastelands. The buzz and burr of insects (ones that had escaped the burning of the fields) was joined by the far-off hubbub of town life. Soon, Alice could make out the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer, the crunch of a heavy cartwheel, the cry of a market seller and the murmur of a hundred townsfolk going about their business. The peeling of church bells completed the picture (in Alice’s mind) of Banbury as the perfect market town.
The road began widening and hedges were replaced by the same white picket fencing that Alice had seen around Halfway House. Healthy crops of wheat, rape seed and maize grew in fields alongside the road. These were brutally sliced off by the wooden walls of the first two town houses, one either side of the road. Alice had never seen a town start (or stop, depending on how one looked at it), so suddenly. Although, she supposed, someone was bound to be living in the first house (or the last).
Along the street, most of the houses had coloured shutters which, like the doors, were closed. Many houses had lanterns or flowers hanging from the walls. On closer inspection, however, Alice noticed that the shutters, lanterns and flowers were painted on the walls, giving the houses an eerie two-dimensional look.
The air was still as if the weather had gone elsewhere. The street was deserted. If it hadn’t been for the cacophony brewing nearby, Alice would have thought she were walking into a ghost town. She passed by more painted houses and the noise of the bustling town grew.
Rounding the corner, she was faced with a picturesque view of town life that could have been straight out of a painting by Constable. In the middle of the square stood an octagonal shelter that Alice decided was probably an old yarn market. Dry but dusty highways led off in all directions with the odd poplar or chestnut tree giving occasional shade. Above, the sky was deep blue from one side to the other, as if painted on. Below, a hundred people or more mingled and mangled, buying and selling, working and playing, or simply passing the time of day in idle chatter.
One of them saw Alice and called out. “Hurry Alice, Banbury’s morning market is in full swing. You don’t want to miss it.”
Alice didn’t like the idea that a total stranger knew her name. On the other hand, she had heard that news of her arrival had spread, so she shouldn’t be surprised, especially if she had indeed been in Wonderland for two years already, as Colonel Pavlov had claimed. Funnily enough, she was more confused by how it could be morning when she couldn’t remember it ever being night-time. Perhaps in Wonderland they spent several nights in a row without any days and then several days together without any nights. Rather like a month of Sundays.
“Alice! Over here!”
She looked round and saw Mary a short distance away. Her long curls seemed blacker than ever and her clothes and ribbons as bright and spotless as though she had just bought them. She walked up to Alice and kissed her on the cheek.
“How are you? I’m so glad to see you. It must be at least two weeks since I met you at the cottage.”
Two days, two weeks, two years? The concept of time in Wonderland was clearly different for all who passed through it.
“I’m sorry I crept out before you woke up. You were sleeping so deeply. Anyway, I had to run as I had forgotten I was supposed to be tending to Mrs MacDonald’s sheep.”
“Yes, she was pretty cross with you. Where are the sheep now?”
“I’m not sure. I found one lamb and took it to school with me, as it was the whitest of them all and seemed to want to follow me everywhere. You should have seen the smiles on the schoolchildren’s faces! I got into trouble with the teacher for that but I hate her anyway.”
“I’m not surprised your teacher was angry. The principles at my old school said no animals in school.”
“We only have once principal out our school and she’s a dinosaur! Anyway, I’ve also seen a couple of sheep walking round the marketplace in disguise. They’re trying to avoid having to go back to the farm.”
Alice pulled a face. “I can’t blame them! It’s horrible how Mrs MacDonald treats her animals.”
“I think she must have already caught some of her sheep, as on the way here I saw some lamb’s tails nailed to the branches of a willow tree, blowing in the wind.”
“You do know that she means to have you put in the pillory, don’t you?”
“She’ll have to catch me first! I hate her.”
Mary took Alice’s hand and led her towards the yarn market, the centre of the town’s activity. Through the crowds, Alice caught sight of Marjory, the rather elegant giraffe from the train. However, now Marjory was selling her jewellery at one of the stalls and drinking from a hip flask. By her dishevelled look and grubby coat, she wasn’t getting much for her valuables.
“It’s a shame the church bells stopped ringing. They sounded so beautiful,” said Alice.
“Beautiful it may have been but it caused quite a stir. For the first time in ages, Mayor Jackson MacDonald was supposed to address the whole town in the church this morning. The bells were calling people to the meeting but when we got there, the church doors were locked. Rumour has it the Mayor was so tired from counting his money pile during the night that he overslept and none of his lackeys dared to wake him. Now the townsfolk call him Friar Jack behind his back because he didn’t wake up to the church bells.”
So Mrs MacDonald’s son, Jackson, had become Mayor of Banbury. No-one had seen him, maybe for years, and he was clearly not popular with the people. Alice was trying to piece together any link between the Mayor and the Jabberwocky.
“What does the Mayor look like?” asked Alice.
“I don’t know. It’s been so long since he made an appearance that no-one can remember what he looks like. Isn’t that peculiar?”
Not necessarily, thought Alice.
There was a commotion on the other side of the yarn market and a crowd had gathered. Mary dragged Alice over there to see what was happening. Next to a large stone cross stood a magnificent white horse, astride which sat a beautiful lady. Her lavish white dress was surpassed only by the diamonds and rubies on her fingers and gold bells that decorated her shoes. As she gently goaded her horse towards the cross, the movement caused the bells to tinkle beautifully like a wind chime.
“Look at that stunning white lady on her white mount. What a wonderful sight,” said Alice.
“It looks more like a king dressed all in black to me,” said Mary. “Charles the First if I’m not mistaken. He looks so forlorn you’d think his heart was about to burst. And that horse is as black as night.”
“You’re wrong. It’s an old crone on an old nag,” said a familiar voice behind Alice. “Though not as old as I am.”
Alice turned to face Jeremiah, the tortoise. His shell had turned a light grey and pieces of it had broken off. He had apparently lost the use of his hind legs because, using his front legs, he pulled himself slowly towards Alice on a tiny wooden trolley that someone had evidently built for him.
“As you see I’m on my last legs,” he joked and rattled a small can hanging on the side of the cart. “Penny to help me buy new wheels?”
“Come on, Alice,” said Mary. “The market is full of beggars. I can’t stand poor people. Or old ones.”
Jeremiah gave Alice a hurt look. “Being a beggar I don’t get to choose my friends. You, on the other hand, Alice …”
“I’m sorry, Jeremiah. Mary doesn’t mean it.”
“Mary? I was talking about the old crone on the horse. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And not all that glitters …”
Poor Jeremiah, thought Alice. How could someone live such a long and rich life only to have their dignity stripped away like skin? Does this happen to everyone when they get old? Instinctively, she reached into the pocket of her yellow dress and found the three sweets she had taken earlier from the forest clearing. Not having anything else to give Jeremiah (a feather wasn’t going to be of much use and for some reason she didn’t want to part with it), she placed a sweet in the tin and watched in amazement as it turned into a coin. Although Jeremiah seemed to be having trouble trying to move his open jaw, Alice was sure the glint in his dark, watery eyes was his way of smiling. Alice felt good about it.
She looked around for Mary but the girl had disappeared. Alice took the opportunity to wander around on her own and perhaps learn something new that would aid her on her quest home.
There were stalls and open-air workshops everywhere Alice looked. Knife-sharpeners, cobblers, cheese-sellers, farriers and furriers, fletchers and toymakers, you name it. The strange thing was, no-one seemed to be exchanging any money. People appeared to be simply exchanging goods; a toy for a loaf of bread, five potatoes to shod a horse, a quilt for a bundle of candles.
The sound of Ring-a-ring O’ Roses floated out of an alleyway. Alice was just about to investigate when she heard a loud “Pssst!” in her ear.
Standing next to her in quite the most bizarre attire Alice had possibly ever seen was the kind old sheep from the train. The last time she’d seen her, the sheep had been dressed in a sheepskin coat and jewellery. Now her costume bordered on the ludicrous. On top of her own coat and curly white hair (which had turned a little greyer), the sheep had wrapped herself in the skin of a wolf. Alice went to give the sheep a hug but the sheep stepped away.
“I’m incognito.”
“In where?”
“In disguise,” explained the sheep, who sounded petrified. “No-one can know I’m here.”
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. But are you sure someone won’t recognise you and tell the farmer’s wife?”
The sheep pulled an even longer face than she already had and her spectacles almost slipped off her nose. “It’s the perfect camouflage. Who would suspect a sheep of dressing up as a wolf?” Her voice shook and cracked as she whispered.
“Who indeed?”
“She caught most of us you know,” said the sheep dejectedly. “The farmer’s wife.”
“Yes, I heard. I’m very sorry. You must be terribly upset. And scared.”
“They lost their tails.”
“How can people let her be so cruel to the creatures? How does she get away with it?”
“Her son’s the mayor now, that’s why. He won’t let anything happen to his family. In fact, he’s worse than his parents. He’s a monster. He put a huge levy on wool so that only the rich could afford it. Put a lot of decent wool traders out of business and pocketed the tax himself.”
Alice recalled the nursery rhyme. “I thought the story goes that everyone got a bag of wool – the master, the dame and the small boy down the lane?”
“That’s what they want you to think. The true story is that the master got two, the dame got one and the boy who cried, that’s us – the poor - got absolutely nothing. It’s a cartel, as are most trades these days, run by a small circle of greedy bullies with Mayor Jackson MacDonald as their ringleader. That’s his house over there, you know.”
The sheep pointed to a large pink house that had statues of a gold lion and white unicorn painted onto the walls. For all its grandeur, the house was leaning to one side as though it may one day soon topple over. The paint was peeling off and the whole place looked neglected compared to the smaller but tidier houses either side. It was ironic that Jackson MacDonald was so rich, yet his house was in ruins.
“He’s so greedy he won’t even spend his spoils on his own house. That’s why some people call him the crooked man who lives in the crooked house. Everything about him is crooked.”
Alice was dying to see if everything inside the house really was crooked. How funny it would be to walk though a crooked hall to a crooked sitting room, sit down in a crooked chair and stroke a crooked cat.
“Why don’t the people confront him? Or select another town official as Mayor?”
“Because the Mayor has surrounded himself with cronies and bullies. Everyone’s afraid of him. Together, they have the money and the power. The rest of the town is so poor they can no longer use money to buy things. A single coin is now worth a hundred times what it was a year ago. So when he needs to, he just bribes a few thugs to keep things in order around town. Watch out for them, they’re the ones dressed in green.”
If a penny was worth so much, it was no wonder that Jeremiah’s jaw dropped open at the sight of the coin in his tin. Alice felt as though she was starting to piece things together. The cruelty to animals and the poverty of the townsfolk all led back to the Mayor and his officials. Yet how could Alice help? The world was full of poor people and just because Alice wasn’t, why did that make it her task to change things? She was just one girl. What could she do to stand up to a corrupt town council? And thugs? Not to mention the evil Jabberwocky. Perhaps the Mayor controlled the Jabberwocky. Alice was relieved she didn’t live in Banbury and was more determined than ever to escape Wonderland as fast as she could. She hoped her family was waiting for her at home.
“You’re a brave girl, Alice, but you still have a lot to learn,” said the sheep, resolutely. “Like how to conceal your feelings and opinions.”
“But I haven’t said what I’m thinking.”
“Dear girl, it’s written all over your face. But nobody survives here long by wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Talking of which, I’ve been out in the open for too long. Wolves stick to the shadows and I need to act more wolf-like. Ta ta for now.”
The sheep pulled the wool over her eyes and trotted away, trembling with fear, looking this way and that, and consoling herself by humming the tune to “Baa Baa Black Sheep”. It was hard to imagine how she could have looked less wolf-like.
Alice thought of the creatures she had met on the train. Pavlov and Chester were captives of Mrs MacDonald. Marjory was selling everything she owned at the market. Jeremiah was on his last legs. The sheep was in hiding. Had Kevin, the fruit bat, and the hedgehog survived Alice Falls? Were they also suffering at the hands of the people? Alice couldn’t help feeling that she should do something for them, even though Humphrey Dunfry had warned her against it.
All at once a large magpie flew down onto the rim of a nearby water trough and spoke to Alice.
“How many different people did you see on the horse?”
Alice realised that the magpie was talking about the white lady on horseback that she had seen over by the stone cross but wasn’t sure how to answer at first. There was something about the magpie’s shiny black feathers that reminded her of something, or someone.
“How many?” it repeated a little impatiently, tapping a claw on the metal rim.
“Well, I saw a woman in white. But Mary saw a black king and Jeremiah saw an old lady. So I suppose we saw three different people.”
“You do know three means a funeral, don’t you? One for sorrow and so on?”
“One for sorrow, yes. But I thought that two was for joy and three was for a girl.”
“No, it goes like this: One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral, four for a birth. Expect trouble, Alice. No wonder they call this the Mourning Market. Expect trouble. Trouble!”
With that the magpie flew up onto the church steeple and its words turned into caws.
A little shaken, Alice thought she may as well continue her search for clues as to where she should go next. She wandered around the stalls. On several occasions people tried to offload their wares on her.
“Have anything to exchange for a fruit basket?”
Alice was getting hungry. “What kind of fruit?”
“No fruit. Just the basket.”
“Got any farm tools?”
“Wash your windows for you?”
“Two boxes of nails for some meat?”
And so it went on. Almost everyone was offering goods or asking for goods but there seemed to be precious few exchanges. On the rare occasion that two parties were satisfied their goods for exchange were of a similar value, a cheer went up from the crowd and the mundane process of bartering was momentarily forgotten as the townsfolk celebrated a deal.
Pedlars tended to group together by trade. One group of stalls specialised in metalworking, another in brushes. A wonderful aroma rose from a long line of sellers making bread. Alice smiled to herself as she named this aisle Baker Street. In the hatter’s quarter, she looked around, half-expecting to see the Mad Hatter. But this was a far different Wonderland to the one she had visited before.
Without noticing and certainly without trying, Alice had attracted a following. Every stall she stopped at, a small old woman with sharp features would also soon appear, pushing in front of Alice to see if she had found a bargain. A few more of the old woman’s fellow shoppers, also remarkably bird-like in their appearance, sometimes joined her, jostling to the front, afraid that they might miss out on the find of a lifetime. On more than one occasion, Alice could have sworn they had changed into hens. When Alice moved to another table, one of the hens would pursue Alice, followed by the others, running in single file and clucking about the price of eggs.
One youngish man saw Alice looking at his table of apples and handed one to her. She took it, reached into her pocket and produced a sweet, which instantly turned into a shiny penny. The man gasped.
“Put that away quick! Don’t you know how much that’s worth? You could buy half the market with that! There are a few shady characters here that would pick your pockets as soon as shake your hand and bid you good-day.”
Alice tried to hand back the apple but the man refused to take it.
“Keep it. It’s not often we get visitors, Alice. Especially ones your age. These are tough times but these simple people are mostly good folk at heart. We’d like to spend more time looking after each other but you can’t do that unless you look after yourself first. You’re different though. People are counting on you. You’re a breath of fresh air. A ray of hope. And a little hope goes a long way.”
One of the hens appeared and pushed Alice to one side, pecking the apples to test if they were ripe. The fruit seller gave her a clip round the ear and she left in a flurry of feathers, her fowl-mannered companions leaving with her.
“You’d better go, Alice,” said the man. “You’re attracting the wrong kind of attention.”
Alice followed his gaze to a pair of surly, muscular men dressed in dark green leather jerkins. They had both been given clothes two or three sizes too small, which accentuated their physique to absurd proportions. Perhaps this was the reason they were scowling at everyone. Nevertheless, one wouldn’t want to meet them in a dark alley. Or a lit one come to that. Alice had seen them earlier, scanning the crowds for signs of a disturbance perhaps, or a chance to create one. They were almost certainly Jackson MacDonald’s henchmen.
“That’s the Gang Green. They ran poor old Simon out of town last year,” said the apple-seller, pointing to a thin, gaunt man offering his pies in exchange for goods. “The Mayor’s bullies found some money on him. He’s a bit simple and couldn’t explain where he got it from. So they took the money off him and sent him packing. Lost his money and his pies. Then he lost his wife too. She left him for a shoemaker. Poor sole. He runs the odd errand but mostly walks around with his head in the clouds.”
“Why?”
“All his thoughts are just pie in the sky. Ruined by the Gang Green.”
Despite the absurd name of their gang, Alice knew instinctively she had to stay out of the way of anyone in a green tunic.
“Come on, Alice. Let’s go to the funfair.” Mary had appeared at Alice’s side again and was tugging at the hem of her dress.
“I can’t. I have to get back home. My parents will be worried by now and I’m still in the middle of packing.”
Mary gently took Alice’s hand. “I don’t mean to be rude, Alice, but most of the time you don’t seem to know where you are going. And if you don’t know which direction you are going …”
“I know,” interrupted Alice. “Any road will get me there.”
It was true. Alice had no idea which road to take. Or whether she should try to confront Mayor Jackson MacDonald or not. And she had to admit, the funfair sounded a thousand times more fun than dodging the Mayor’s thugs. So Alice followed Mary.