The Star-Crossed Swans of Newport Pagnell

An urban adaptation of the fairy-tale that the ballet “Swan Lake” is based on.

The Star-Crossed Swans of Newport Pagnell

It is a grey, overcast day in November that I find myself staring out at the River Ouzel. Bleak clouds make the light look a tinted shade of sombre. The view from Tickford Bridge can be spellbinding at times. The location itself is steeped in history as the site of one of the last, cast iron bridges to carry road traffic. I hear the drone of passing cars and lorries behind me, most headed to either the M1 or to Milton Keynes. The water below looks more green than blue with grassy embankments demarcating the wild from the urban sprawl of housing estates and factories. Leaning over a metal railing flaking with rust, I think about a story I heard on the night of Halloween a few days earlier. It had become customary for me to attend a ghost walk each year and the one in Newport Pagnell was up there with best.

On that night, I attended an invitation to meet at the side of the bridge. There is a crescent-shaped pathway of pavement with a fence of iron railings housing bushes and shrubs inside. This alcove is bordered by the road on one side and the river on the other. As you walk around it, the hedgerows are pitched at a height that means you disappear from view as you progress on foot. It’s quite a creepy atmosphere after sunset. The organisers had yet to arrive although the start time was down as 7.30pm so there were a few minutes to go yet. As ever with these events, those turning up early would invariably look at others with suspicion until it became clear that those present were there for the walk and not for nefarious purposes. It was dark, after all, with lighting thrown out in pools by old-fashioned street lamps with bulbs encased in glass cases.

As the minutes ticked down, a couple of men finally showed up, both striding confidently towards the dozen or so people that had gathered. All had paid the fiver entrance fee for the experience. One of the organisers was dressed in top hat and black cape clutching a medical bag making him look like Jack the Ripper. The other man was more contemporary looking, wearing jeans and a casual, cotton jacket. They gave everyone’s paper tickets (printed from internet bookings) a cursory check then announced the start of the evening’s entertainment.

In years gone by I have attended with my wife, Catherine. Not on this occasion as she passed away some twelve months ago. Headaches and blurred vision had eventually been diagnosed as an inoperable brain tumour. Thirty-four years of marriage brought to a halt by adverse biology. I was here as much for her as I was for myself. She truly loved the world of fantasy and legends; I truly loved her.

It was the first story that stays with me. After the evening’s itinerary was outlined, an ethereal tale began to unravel as the man dressed in Victorian garb asked everyone to close their eyes and picture themselves in the middle of a verdant forest….

….the sound of the hunt could be heard from far and wide as horses’ hooves thundered through a wood, hunting for wild boar. At the head of the party was Prince Siegfried, a dashing young man who loved the cut and thrust of life. Surrounding him were his trusted courtiers, all keen to ensure that the heir to the throne was protected. Having been riding for an hour, the Royal entourage decided to rest at the side of a lake. As the prince dismounted, his eyes were drawn to a gaggle of swans gliding serenely across the water, heading towards the bank. Staring at the approaching birds, he counted six of which five were alabaster white with a solitary swan coloured an ebony shade of black. His eyes were transfixed as they neared. As he was about to turn away, the most incredible thing happened. One of the white swans transformed into a beautiful young woman as she strolled elegantly from the lake, water dripping from her naked body.

The prince called to his courtiers to fetch a blanket to cover the maiden. Wrapping it around her shoulders, he gently whispered her name “Odette”. The newcomer had long, blonde hair that cascaded down her back all the way to her waist. Her eyes were azure blue, her nose slender, her lips full and rich.

“We should get you back to the manor house and out of the cold.” Siegfried implored. The hunting party saddled up and rode off into the distance with the curious arrival seated sideways on, in front of the future king on his horse. The journey back was through twilight. On the horizon stood a distant castle, silhouetted against the evening sky. The sun was an orange ball of fire arcing ever lower on its daily descent. The sound of wolves baying sent roe-deer sprinting for cover, bushes with branches of red berries trembling from being brushed. The air was alive with enchantment, hushed incantations murmured in isolated huts hidden away amongst bracken and foliage.

***

An open fire roared in its hearth. Odette had since dried and changed into a gown given to her by one of the servants. Her tunic was black and white, full length with long, flaring sleeves and tied lacing across the midriff. The young woman looked every bit a princess. Siegfried himself looked magnificently regal wearing a gown, doublet, coat, and hose. Gold and purple flashed throughout his clothing signalling his high born status, his woollen cap adorned with white feathers pluming out from the front. A chain of gold around his neck completing an imposing picture of a man of nobility.

Standing in a function room with walls of wood panelling, Prince Siegfried handed a goblet of wine to his charge. Behind them stood a long dining table with benches running down either side and high-backed chairs at both ends. A double casement window with brocade curtains looked out onto a courtyard. A tapestry ran along one of the walls with the embroidered image of the royal coat of arms.

“So, pray tell, how does a swan turn into my sweetheart before my very eyes? Should I be worried about witchcraft?” The prince was direct as was his wont. He stood tall at some six feet in height, his chest barrelled, his face rugged and scarred from many fights. Siegfried shunned growing a beard unlike many of his male companions and was considered handsome due to his aquiline nose, thin mouth, blue eyes and his large build. He towered over all but a few.

Odette and Siegfried had been friends ever since childhood becoming lovers in their late teens. Everybody saw them as an ideal match; a future king and queen to rule over the land with wisdom and restraint. The princess had gone missing a few days ago along with her future ladies-in-waiting and, Odile, her close companion. This had caused consternation and upheaval but, despite lengthy searches by the King’s Guard, none could be found.

“I am no witch but I and my friends have been the victim of sorcery.” She stated clearly and with the outrage of one treated unjustly. 

“How so?” came the reply.

“The warlock Von Rothbart cast a spell on us after he was accused of performing despicable rituals. The incantation can be undone but only by a declaration of love and a promise of betrothal. This must be performed in the presence of all of the transformed swans. Odile, the black swan, must bear witness to this for she has been wronged more than most as she is the daughter of the evil wizard. These were his ruinous words to us as we were shovelled out into a deserted lane at the edge of his village.”

Siegfried recoiled at this revelation, staring quizzically at the woman in front of him. He considered the story fantastic and outlandish; yet this girl had definitely been a swan one minute and changed into a woman the next. 

“Why would a father treat his daughter so badly?” The prince looked pained at the idea.

“Nobody knows for sure. Some say that she was the victim of one too many of Rothbart’s unholy ceremonies. You do realise that she has feelings for you?” By now, Odette was visibly tiring. 

Siegfried thought more about the situation. He knew that the mystic’s daughter cared for him. He had seen it in her eyes on many occasions. He would find her staring at him with her puppy eyes. Odile was a pretty woman. She had a slender figure, her hair short and coloured black as a raven. Her cheeks were pinched, her eyes often had a look of mischief about them as they twinkled a shade of green. Reciprocation was impossible, of course. His fate was set with a future mapped out as the husband of Odette. As he thought more, a plan came to him.

“What if we were to go back to the lake, find the swans and, with them as witnesses, I declare my undying love for you and ask for your hand in marriage? Would that reverse the spell?” The prince smiled, satisfied that this was one of his more inspired ideas that deserved a bigger audience.

The beautiful girl glanced at the prince, demurely. She was taken aback by his boldness but thought that the suggestion was a good one.

“And afterwards we remain lovers and no more?” she enquired feeling a little guilty at the question but also hoping that there was more substance to the notion. She was pleased yet disappointed at the response that came next, having dreamed of a fairy-tale wedding and marriage to the prince often.

“Why not?” Siegfried exclaimed, puffing out his chest and pulling himself up to his tallest height. “But first, we eat.”

***

The sun shone brightly as dawn gave way to morning. In the woods, a fox made its way stealthily along a wooded path, a robin tweeted its sweet song and a blackbird foraged in the dirt for worms. The royal hunting party found themselves, one again, galloping through the forest. There was no time to hunt with a more pressing matter to attend to.

As the lake neared, there was no sign of swans anywhere to be seen. Siegfried and Odette looked at each other, the latter now riding her own steed. Stopping at the water’s edge, the Prince put a hand to his forehead, cupping his eyes and looking out into the distance. There they all remained for hours. As the light faded and night drew close, the entourage readied themselves to leave and try again the next day. Before the riders were able to remount, a honking noise could be heard. The gaggle of swans had finally appeared and was approaching the bank.

Siegfried and Odette stood together, the birds mounting the shallow strip of shoreline that was pebbles and reeds. They waddled towards the waiting group, quietly surrounding the prince and his lady. For a few moments, nothing was said. The silence was broken by the future king, lowering himself onto one knee, taking his maiden’s hand and declaring:

“I love thee with all my heart, dear Odette. Whilst thou take my hand in marriage and be my wife?”

Siegfried’s gaze was returned by a tender look from his make-believe, future wife. As he raised himself from the ground, the black swan let out an almighty shriek. Suddenly the air was full of billowing, blue smoke covering the area in a thick shroud of fog. By the time it had cleared, where the black swan had been there was now a skinny rake of a woman, glaring at them. In her hand she held a thin wand of ash. Glowering at the couple, she swirled the magic baton in the air, declaring:

“If I cannot have you then none shall!”

For a few seconds nothing happened and then the ground started to tremble and a loud roaring could be heard. Siegfried and Odette stared in disbelief at the crazed woman in front of them. Her eyes were bulging, every sinew exerted in an effort to execute a spell. It worked as the two lovers faded away and reappeared as two white swans. The rest of the entourage looked in on horror, unable to move quickly enough to stop Odile from committing this abomination. It was only after the event that a strapping courtier pounced, snatching the wand from the villainous woman’s hand sending a tendril of mist streaming into the atmosphere. Having scuffled briefly, it seemed that natural justice was at hand after all. Odile dropped to the ground, wrapping her arms around herself, hugging and rocking back and forward. Those present watched on as, she too, dissipated into the ether and reformed as a swan. Once again, she was a noble beast coloured the blackest of coal.

The two white swans that had been Siegfried and Odette sidled off towards the water’s edge. They simply glided away into the sunset, a black swan following in their slipstream. All three condemned to an eternity of roaming these waters, never to age, never to be human again….

…..the storyteller was finishing now, the audience rapt with his every word. He concluded with the fact that spectral swans could be seen each Halloween floating along the river. Disappointingly, there were no such birds to be seen this particular night and the throng moved on to the next location on the tour.

As I recount the tale now, the version we got from the man dressed as a Victorian was an abridged, briefer one than the story I have told here. It is my over-active imagination that has filled in the missing details so how much of this is faithful to the original fairy-tale is open to debate. Looking out from my vantage point now, days later, I can see rain drops falling on the river, splashes bouncing gently off the water. I often find myself meandering along the riverside, remembering what life had been like with Catherine. Staring into the distance, I can see two white swans drifting away from me, heading downstream along the mighty Ouzel. I think about what life still holds for me and how I would like that to me and the love of my life one day. Just drifting along, locked together in perpetuity. She would like that, I’m sure.

Turning to leave, I notice in the corner of my eye a blurred shape sitting under the bridge, perched on a sandbank. Looking closer, I can see it’s a rare, black swan preening its feathers under its wing. I can’t recall seeing one that colour in the wild before. As I glance again, it sets off in the same direction as the star-crossed swans of Newport Pagnell. Perhaps all three have been pursuing each other for centuries. Maybe we are all just heading in the same direction, our fates intertwined. Forever.

Image free to use via WikiCommons at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swan#/media/File:Cygnus_olor_2_(Marek_Szczepanek).jpg