and 'the storyteller' continues .....
''I was born in a small town on the coast of a a small island set on the edge of the Atlantic sea called Dazzle. Nobody really knows how it got it's name because in a way it's a 'dull' place at the best of times, more 'dull' now because most of the young people have gone to the brighter lights of far away places across other seas not many young couples move in here to start a family life. The long winter months are gray overcast, like a fog that never wants to move on, just hanging about like the bad odour of feet but the one place of interest in Dazzle is the local cemetery set on a very steep hill. Now everybody ends up in a cemetery at least once in their lifetime above ground amd then below ground and then cannot leave till the final day of judgement when there will be a mad rush for all to get out. Dazzles cemetery was the highest patch of ground above sea level and looking out to sea .. I called it, the 'dead-watch'. Anybody out at sea can see the outline of the stones in the cemetery even when the 'grayness' was hanging over the small village and I tell you this as air breaths out of my mouth that one of the local stories as to why Dazzle got it's name is that when sailors were out at sea they could see the white headstones on the hill in the cemetery, but it's only folklore because at that time there was no such place for the departed, no cemetery, and no stones. Very few people, even in this day know or have heard of Dazzle and the ones who have heard of Dazzle, it's because of it's 'dark past', that is one of many stories about Dazzle and it's name but I will tell you that one another time in more detail .... there is always time for a story but this is the very 'real McCoy' story about Dazzle I am about to tell you all now and you might only hear it being told once, for it is not written down.''
''It was September 1588 and the storm was at it's height blowing cold winds and angry waves so high that if you were out at sea you could not see the rugged coastline. Now these were very experience sea-going farers, most not happy men on dry land at the best of times but this storm was the worst they had ever had the experienced of and knew in their hearts of hearts that if they were to survive this they will have some tale to tell when they got back to port but it would need more than a miracle or a boat load of saints to come out of this storm. Their prayers were not going to be answered, not this day and not in this time. They knew their galleon was been pulled into the coastline but what they did not know was what was waiting for them if they did manage to swim to the shore. No warning was given, no alarms cried out. The two sailors who were in the crows nest were thrown out of the 'nest' just like the way the bold cuckoo makes room for her eggs in another of natures unsuspecting nest. They had no chance of survival in the fall let alone cry out the most vital and all important warning to all on board of the stricken galleon. What with the force of the wind and the sail cloth flapping around like flags on national day trying to out-do each other in maneuvers and noise, it was Hell ... and the end of the world as they knew it. They had no chance. They were in the storm that was to go into history as the storm that Satan himself made and God ignored. The Spanish galleon, violently being thrown around like a cork in water was itself giving up the fight against the 'Diablo'. It was hopeless. They were being pulled into the eye of the storm. Around and around like a leaf into an ever expanding whirlpool, pulling all into it's centre never to see the light of day again, and maybe, just maybe, it was a whirlpool created by God himself to put the fires of Hell out and drown the devil him-very-self.''
''By now most of the Spanish ships, broken and not-so-proud were slowly making their way down the coastline, but to no avail, most were wrecked on the rocky coastline off the small island, from the north tip to the south end. There were several galleons, but most of the ships were merchantmen, which had been converted to do battle and were now leaking heavily, with most of their anchors missing and with half crews not lost yet to the storm but most having been thrown overboard in the storm and lost to the sea never to be seen again. Not even to this day has the bodies being washed up on to the beaches.Those still alive now were struggling to make sail with severely damaged masts and rigging, it was a very lost cause indeed. As for the rest of the fleet, one hundred and thirty five in all that sailed from Lisbon that year only eighty four made it back in varying states of distress to their home land so it is told, but little can be depended on this information today, because that fog .. that thick soup in the air that smelled of death itself gave no chance of hope of survival to man or fish. It is estimated that five thousand members of the fleet perished off the coast of the island before getting to land. It was so hopeless, the 'Diablo' was taking souls in the great complexity that goes into making such a storm that mankind has not the power to controle and never will.''
Lifting his head slowly and surveying his audience, left to right and back again to the ground in front of him,
He speaks, with a shiver in his voice as if he came in from the cold ... and maybe he did.
Nobody dares to move from their seats when 'the storyteller' gets up from his chair limping badly with his right foot to leave the room and what's more, nobody took notice that 'the storyteller' had no limp when he arrived or that he was taller than he is now ... As for Basil, the birthday boy, 'the storyteller' had marked him for life on that day in that he will spend the rest of his living days in search for this gray place in the fog called, 'Dazzle'. It really started off as a passion that became a life time obsession with him that nothing else and nobody for that matter had a place in his life and if you want to know the truth .. he never did find that small village on the coast of any island or for that matter the 'Defender of Dazzle', nor ever saw or heard of 'the storyteller' again but it's very possible that right at this very moment in time he is still looking for Dazzle and 'the storyteller' in the after life world for Basil died in a storm at sea not unlike the one the Spanish galleons went down-in off the coast of that mystery land they called Dazzle.
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