The Witches Hat

Out in the children’s playground

On the wasteland, near the flat,

There once was a shiny roundabout

They called ‘The Witches Hat’,

It hung from a greasy centre pole

And would spin, just like a top,

For once that we set it spinning

It would take an hour to stop.

 

They painted the Hat in black shellac

So it gleamed beneath the sun,

But stood like an evil entity, in the dark

When the day was done,

We never ventured abroad by night

For the land, we thought, was cursed,

With the Witches Hat a reminder of

Just what had stood there first.

 

Once it had been a Magic Wood

With Elves, and Grimms and Ghosts,

Witches covens and Goblins ovens

We heard about the most,

The land was cleared for a new estate

And they called the land a park,

But nights you heard the muffled shuffle

Of dancing, in the dark.

 

It was then that they set the Witches Hat

Up on a pole to spin,

One of us ran around with it

While others sat on the brim,

We always ran with it clockwise

Then stood back to count the spins,

For Mother Malloy had warned us

Never to turn it widdershins.

 

She said it would stop the earth, and that

The sun would go back down,

The Prince of Darkness lay in wait

For the Witches Hat, his crown,

We thought that she must be bonkers

And we laughed each time she frowned,

But never would spin the Witches Hat

Not once, the other way round.

 

But then on an Autumn afternoon

When the nights were coming in,

Mother said, ‘Take your brother out,

Go take him out for a spin.’

She wanted to clean the house, she said,

‘And you’re always in the way!’

So I took young Robin out with me,

He’d just turned four that day.

 

I put him up on the Witches Hat

And I spun, and spun him round,

But Robin was a querulous child

And he cried, to put him down.

So then in a bloody-minded mood

And after a dozen spins,

I stopped the Hat and I turned it round,

And ran with it, widdershins.

 

It must have been almost dusk by then

For the sun dropped into the ground,

The Moon came up with a silver beam

And it lit the whole surround,

I ran as fast as I’d ever run

And the Hat spun like a top,

Robin sat on the opposite side

So I’d see him, once I’d stop.

 

I ran until I was out of breath

Then I stopped to watch it spin,

But no-one was on the Witches Hat

And I felt the fear begin,

I searched and scoured the land around

And I crawled beneath the Hat,

The little fellow had disappeared

So I ran back home to the flat.

 

I’ll always remember that awful day,

The day when the fates were cast,

I’d spun him into the future, or

I’d left him there in the past,

I shouldn’t have turned it widdershins

But now can’t bring him back,

At night it gleams in a pale moonbeam

That terrible Witches Hat!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Claire in VA]

This poem took me back to first grade where we had
the pleasure of playing on this same piece of playground
equipment. It also reminded me of the first real "chapter
book" that I ever read, "The Enchanted Wood" during
that same year as a six-year-old. Those are such fond
memories. As a child, I was taught not to believe such
superstitions as turning the round-about widdershins;
however, I never would have done what the big brother
did because there was always a deeply-buried fear that
evil would come of it. As a teen, my friend's mother filled
our heads with tons of superstitions. I still tip-toe around
them at age 41!! Thank you, David, for you fantastic poem
that is full of childhood delights, superstitions, and
enchantment. As always, I love your style.
Fondly, Claire

[s y e]

It's been a while David but I loved this write. :-)) You've always been a great story teller.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I love the juxtaposition of childhood dreams and superstitions that come true in the end, despite no one really believing in them. The fear of the unknown can have such control; and a momentary lapse of rebellion, can lead to the inevitable end that none desired.

This was yet another wonderfully told tale, and I can well envision that Witches' Hat spinning in the wind.

Very nice.

[Bob Sherunkle]

Incredible story telling Mr Paget,fantastic,in the true sense of the word.

[Daniel Sala]

A lovely macabre tale. A nice mix of childhood play and superstition leading up to the unfortunate ending. Another very well-written poem, fun and a pleasure to read.

[Marie]

Well, poor Robin...spinning the wrong way...

I hope he found himself in a fairyland, not in a witch's cove...

[A Soap Mess Stories]

A great tale... David... great imagination...