FairyTale: A True Story Page #2

I'm sorry, Aunt Polly,

about my dress.

I know.

You miss her, too.

Yes, I do.

I miss her very much.

Even more seeing you.

So you believe in fairies,

do you?

I wouldn't see them

if I didn't.

Like angels.

You saw angels down the beck,

as well?

No, that's not what I mean.

You don't see angels,

you just sort of...

feel them...

watching us.

Like my mother.

And your Joseph.

He believed, didn't he?

You're still young.

When you get older,

people start to take notice

and they don't like it if you

tell stories that aren't true.

But they are true.

- Frances, I've been down

the beck a hundred times.

Why haven't I ever

seen any of them?

Grownups don't know how

to believe.

Thank you.

After the intermission,

I will present for your entertainment only

"Do the Dead Return:

An Investigation into the False

Claims of Spiritualists

and Mediums that Have Attempted

to Deceive Houdini."

Thank you. Thank you.

You're expected at

the Beechams' at 10:30.

Cancel it.

I want Collins on the stage

in five minutes.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is

here to see you as well.

Arthur! - Harry.

How good to see you. Sit.

No, I shan't stay.

I came to present an invitation for you to be

my guest at Wyndlesham next weekend.

I've arranged one or two friends

who will, I think, amuse you.

It would give me great pleasure.

Excuse me, sir? Mr. Collins

is waiting for you on stage.

Frances?

Frances, what are you doing?

- Shh!

If Mum knew...

He did know the fairies,

didn't he.

Better than anyone.

They said he wasn't to talk

about them anymore.

That it was just his imagination.

- I wish she could see them.

Who?

Your Mum.

- How can she?

I don't know.

Lancelot, Gawain,

sit up, sit up. Good boys.

Come on, man, come on!

- You want everything perfect, Mr. Green.

Sit up! Sit up! Come on, man,

before they do something on the seat!

Mordred, stay!

I don't think it's sensible.

- Then let me be foolish.

Uncle Arthur?

- Not now.

Polly, be reasonable.

No, you be reasonable.

What difference does it make to you?

Please, Uncle Arthur.

- I'm trying to talk to

your aunt, Frances.

It's just I wanted to borrow the camera.

- You'll have to wait.

I'll be really careful.

- It is not a toy. Wait.

Polly, you've said it yourself, you'd be

better off spending more time with the living.

Meaning?

- You know what I mean.

Your daughter needs you.

Instead, you're sitting

round holding on to...

Can't even say his name,

can you?

Well, I'm coming with you.

- No, thank you.

You stay with the girls.

Did he say yes?

- Well... almost.

What are we doing?

- We're going to show them the fairies.

They'd never allow it.

- I have an idea.

We can't betray them. They could

put a curse on us. They trust us.

It's for Mum.

We, of course, do not use

the term "angel" itself.

We refer to the "divines",

the "shining ones",

the agents of that creative life force

which exists all around us.

All things

are possessed of a guiding spirit.

Humans have angels, but there care

other lower levels of energy:

Salamanders,

the spirits of fire;

undines or nereids,

the spirits of water;

elves and gnomes for the earth

and the forests; and finally,

fairies, the most famous of all,

the spirits of the air.

Well, it's just if you'd waited,

I could've helped you.

And you never took a tripod,

so it'll just be a blur.

You won't see your cousin at all.

- We wanted it to be a surprise.

Next time, ask.

You understand?

There was something.

And look of all this mess.

Why didn't you tidy up

before you took it?

- Frances!

They're there on the plate.

I can see them. They're really there.

Yes!

- What's the matter with you?

- Yes! Yes! Yes!

Have you gone crazy?

- Yes! Yes! Yes!

What the...?

Ask any child who it is that

tends our gardens, and they'll answer,

quite correctly, fairies.

- Excuse me, Mr. Gardner.

John Ferret. Bradford "Argus".

Have you ever seen an angel yourself?

No, and I don't see...

- Or a fairy?

Sir, I'm not claiming to.

- Apologies for the interruption but,

the paper goes to bed in half an hour.

And so do I.

Sergeant Farmer,

would you come forward, please?

Would you please tell us

what you and members of your company

witnessed on the night of August 28, 1914?

- Yes, Sir.

I was with my battalion in the retreat

from the town of Mons in Belgium.

The Germans were about to make

a charge, and our position was bad,

so we were ordered to stand as we

were and be prepared to fight,

or it seemed likely... to die.

While waiting, an officer approached us

and asked if we'd seen anything.

Then he lead me and some others a

few yards away and showed us the sky.

Five, four, three, two, one.

Well, let's see

if this one's any better.

I could see a strange sort of light

quite distinctly outlined.

As the light became brighter,

I saw three shapes.

One in the center, having

what looked like overspread wings.

The two others, not quite so large,

but plainly different from the center one.

They were above the German line facing us.

All the men with me saw them.

And other men from other groups came up

and told us they'd seen the same things.

The enemy saw them, too,

and began to retreat in disorder,

and my battalion was able

to move back safely.

I have not the slightest doubt

that we saw what I now tell you.

I have a record

of 15 years good service,

and I should be very sorry

to make a fool of myself

by telling a story

merely to please anyone.

This is Mab.

- She's the queen.

And these are her friends.

- Is this another fairy?

- No, that's Mr. Bandylegs.

The gnome.

All right, now the game's over.

How'd you do it?

- Do what?

Elsie?

We just took the photographs, Dad.

They're for Mum.

Would you take a leaflet?

Yes, of course, I shall.

Good evening. Thank you for coming.

A leaflet?

- No, thank you.

Do you really think it's possible to see them?

- Those who have passed on?

No. I mean,

angels or... fairies?

Madam, theosophy is not a religion.

It's a science.

It is possible, though not,

I'm afraid, easy.

Oh, would you excuse me?

Madam, a leaflet?

What's the matter?

What happened?

Nothing. I'm just tired.

- No. Don't go in there.

I'm tidying up.

You go up to bed. Polly?

What have you got there?

- Nothing.

Did you do these?

- No. The girls...

They were just...

Polly... it's not

what you think.

They're real... aren't they.

Come on, men! Move it!

All aboard.

Mr. Gardner!

Mr. Gardner!

Forgive me, madam. I've a train.

- I was at your lecture.

Ah, well, perhaps when

I'm in Bradford again.

- No. Please.

Have a look of these.

- All right.

- I must know what you think.

It's probably nothing. I...

I'd just like to know what...

Good heavens! Well...

What's that?

- The postman.

Afternoon, Albert

Afternoon, ladies.

Albert!

Anything for me? I'm expecting

a very important letter from France.

From my daddy.

For Frances Griffiths. That's me.

I'm afraid there's

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