1.

Gather your pigs, come hither! was the cry that rang out. Dan and I had brought ours all the way from the northern woods, a journey of some seventeen days. And a fine pig it was too. Devotees of the trotter gathered as blazing pyres threw crazy shadows on the great stone circle, the monolithic granite which looked for all the world like the stunted teeth of a yawning dragon. Nice pig, was a common comment. Cheers, I’d say. Curly tail, someone else observed. That it is, I’d reply. We are all brethren of the hog here. Does it have a name? someone asked. Dan said, Mason. People nodded, impressed. I wanted to punch him.

2.

We were allocated a yurt a short distance from the henge. As the evening drew in a-gloaming and the stars came out, a rhythmic oinking came from the neighbouring yurts. Dew clung to my bear-skin gilet. Mason?! I asked. Where the hell did that come from? We didn’t discuss any names and if you’d have asked me, then I would have come up with something much more interesting than Mason. Like what? he asked. I thought about the question for a couple of seconds. Lord Snoutface of Squealington, I said. You’re weird, Dan said, as he began to clean the pig with a clump of drizzle-soaked moss. And also, I don’t think we should be discussing such things in front of Mason, particularly with the pig parade tomorrow. I sighed, because I sensed that he was right. We had more pressing concerns.

3.

That night a breeze blew through the intertwined twigs of the yurt. The walls weren’t even lined, the whole place was cheap. I couldn’t sleep. I went out for a walk through the temporary settlement, to the henge itself, which sat cold and silent below a sky full of stars. I sat for a while on a cold rock and regarded these monoliths. Oh look at you all lah-di-dah in your bearskin gilet, came the sudden voice from behind me. I turned, twisted, and saw a witch silhouetted in their pointed hat. Nothing wrong with being lah-di-dah, I said, better than being gaga. I curse you, she said, and I curse your pig. Curse me all you like, I said, but nobody curses my pig. Neither of us said anything for a bit. I can’t hang around here all night, she said at last, I got spells to cast. And off she ambled away into the gloom.

4.

In the murk of the yurt a frosty silence did manifest, for Dan was adamant that the pig should be labelled Mason, and I was too afeared lest he discover the witch’s curse. For many months, a general malaise had been the main characteristic of our relationship to the extent that I had consulted a couple of months previously a soothsayer, who looked into the fortune-telling innards of a dead chicken and pronounced our union to be on borrowed time. And thence did I and this soothsayer have a row, yet taking her assessment to be in all likelihood correct, I eventually had to yield. I then visited the cave of a hermit mystic warlock, who brewed a special tea from twigs and shingle, one sip of which, he assured me, would restore my relationship with Dan. On returning home to our hovel that night, I had vomited profusely into his lap, and the evening was spent in a further malaise, now also marked with a stony silence, broken only by the snuffling of Mason’s snout. At least, it may be said, I had tried.

5.

Just past the midnight hour, as a full moon loomed into the star-sprung sky, a cry rang out from Dan. Hark!, quoth he, for there is a mark upon this pig! And at that moment, I realised that the witch’s curse had become manifest.

6.

No amount of scrubbing could remove the blemish from the flanks of the pig, and a harried night was passed in its contemplation. Dan saw it as a personal slight, a mark upon his conscience, for his very identity was wrapped up with that pig. As the sun rose through the henge throwing long shadows across the plains, the grinding and gnashing of Dan’s teeth accompanied the dawn chorus, and as soon as we were able to venture out from our yurt, we went in search among the gathered merrymakers and porcine aficionados, of a pig-washing service. Wash your pigs, someone was yelling, the far side of the temporary township. Wash your pigs, half a groat per pig. Fine, detailed work around the snout and the trotters. Wash your pigs! Ears a speciality. Wash your pig, sire? Half a groat per pig. Dan pointed out the blemish which, in the morning sun, did not appear quite so dramatic. That’s just a shadow, the pig-washer opined. Can you get it off? Dan asked. Sir, I can no more remove a shadow than a cockerill can remove its cock-a-doodle-doo. Might I suggest that the only blemish is upon your soul? At least give it a go, Dan implored. The pig-washer wiped three times in a circular motion with a chamois and the blemish disappeared immediately. So that was all right then, though it cost us half a groat. Yet on the way back to our yurt a concentrated frown troubled Dan’s countenance and I remarked that his silence was imbued with something other than contentment at a pig well washed. I do believe, quoth he, that you find no joy in my company and wish only to end our union. It was a fair assessment, but I batted away his words.

7.

There were maggots in the rafters of the yurt which further added to Dan’s ill humours, particularly that they would occasionally rain down on us, precipitating movement of the pig and a careful inspection of our morning porridge.

8.

A noise like a sack full of strangulated goats emitted from the centre of the henge. Hornet players, puffing into cow-horn trumpets, signalled the start of the pig parade. One by one the pigs were assembled accompanied by their owners in a long procession, twice around the circle of the henge, and then off into the countryside, led by a troop of Morris men decorated in colourful shells which rattled and clinked, carrying each a wooden staff. At the rear of the procession, held by six retired yeomen, was a giant approximation of a pig inflated and fashioned from the stomach of a blue whale. It was a stirring and noisy spectacle, and the assembled crowd did clap and cheer this celebration of the humble pig, this farmyard deity, while munching on sausage rolls and pork pies. Dan, Mason, and I were the sixth pig from the front. We waved to the crowd, who threw flowers and posies to the pig they considered the finest. Some of them mistimed their throw and the flowers landed on Mason, who seemed nonplussed. Having twice circumnavigated the henge, the procession set off into the hinterlands, passing hovels and cottages and settlements, then into dark woods and brambles, and thickets, and copses, and it all became rather quiet, though we were led by the Morris men who did yip and ay-ay-ay and hey nonnie nonnie and presumably knew which way they were leading us. Pigs of every hue filed into the deep dark woods. Evil reached out with talon fingers. We came to a clearing and the Morris men did halt their hey nonnie-nonnying for a while and then began arguing among themselves with much arm waving and raised voices and gesticulating, their sea shells rattling, and then it was announced that we had all gone the wrong way. Worse than that, the giant inflated pig fashioned from whale stomach had become somewhat pungent in the hot sun. Well, this is a right balls-up, Dan said to me, and I had to agree that he was correct in his assessment. One of the Morris men worked out which direction was north from studying the lichen on the sides of a rock, and this was a start. Then one of the pig-accompanying women explained that she had a sensitive nose and could smell different towns and settlements on the wind, that each district has its own peculiar odour, and would then be able to aid in navigating back to the henge because of this, and she was asked if she could stand on tiptoes with her nose in the air, and she answered that all she could smell was the stomach of a dead whale. Was this Andover? a rake enquired. As the sun began to set we worried about bears and wolves and bandits, though the only thing that troubled us, as we drew around a hastily constructed camp fire, was a particularly miffed squirrel. People began to complain of hunger. Someone suggested a hog roast. The situation became desperate and someone attempted to deprive me of my bearskin gilet. Dan went off into the woods in order that he might find somewhere peaceful to defecate, only to come back ten minutes later to say that we were probably only sixty paces from the stone henge. Why did it take him so long to come back and tell us this? I enquired. I had to finish what I was doing, he replied. We arrived back at the encampment, weary and somewhat obstreperous. Apparently, the previous month’s goat parade had not fared much better.

9.

So sure had I been that the blemish on the pig, so assuredly removed at the cost of half a groat, had been the work of the previous night’s witch, that I could barely believe that there had been no blemish at all. Either I was wrong in my assertion that the blemish had been the witch’s doing, or else her punishment had been very mild indeed. Not all witches are so vehement as to bring about lasting and permanent bad luck or physical pain, torture, and suffering. The next morning I woke at Dan’s side feeling it encumbers upon me to leave him that instant, though he slept still and quiet, and ever gently, I reached out and brushed a maggot from his forehead. This was the morning of the pig pageant, and then we would be on our seventeen day expedition back home to the northern woods. How peacefully did he slumber as the morning sun caressed his face. Perhaps, I thought, this was the witch’s curse, that I should reassess my feelings towards him and get the hots for him anew. Surely then, though, the curse would be on him?

10.

I wandered among the early morning encampment, intent on the purchase of breakfast, for I was still in two minds whether to abandon Dan to his pig and start my life anew. A fair number of stalls in the centre of the camp were frying bacon, and there seemed to be much fewer pigs around than there had been the day before. I lingered in this makeshift marketplace, pondering on which stall I might aptly purchase a bap, when I heard a familiar voice upbraiding a stall holder for the quality and pricing of his wares. I demand to speak to your manager, quoth she. Then your wishes have been granted, for you do so right at this moment, the stall holder replied. I curse you, she said, and I curse the legs of your table, that one might give way and spill bacon baps asunder in the mud. Go on, then, the stall holder said, do your worst. The witch (for it was she) took a deep breath and said, eye of newt, skin or frog . . . And then she began bashing at the legs of his table with her walking stick. Bang bang bang bang bang. It did not give way. I’ll come back to you later, she said. She turned, and our eyes met. Oh if it isn’t mister lah-di-dah and his bearskin gilet, she said. Please, I said to her, I beg of you, call off the curse that you have placed upon me and my pig. For it has plagued me these last two days. First, there was a blemish, which cost us a whole half groat to remove. Then maggots rained from the ceiling. Then we got lost in bandit country with the innards of a dead whale. And our relationship is surely on its last legs. Please, call off your curse. Fine, she replied. Pass me your bearskin gilet. Well, now, hang on, I said, let’s not be too hasty. The bearskin gilet, she repeated. I sighed, and shrugged out of it, and held it for her to take. The funny thing is, she said, as she put it on, I didn’t actually get round to actually cursing you. I knew there was something I’d forgotten. She stood with her hands on her hips in the gilet, her face a-beam. ʼTis a pleasant fit, she said. The curse is lifted. But you didn’t deliver a curse, I said. No matter, for it is lifted, she replied. There was no curse, I said. Hey, she said, don’t make me put a curse on you. We were then interrupted by the clatter and crash as the stall-holder’s table collapsed, spilling bacon baps left, right and centre, which caused him to let out a string of inventive and vexatious expletives.

11.

Never before could those assembled remember a more successful or finer pig pageant than that which took place later that morning. A wispy summer breeze brought with it the scent of roses and jasmine. One by one the pigs were brought to a raised stage in the centre of the henge, pigs in all their finery gleaming in the midday sun, the tradition being that the Maiden of the Pigs herself should, on inspection of each, marry the one she coveted the most. A chain of daisies around her neck and wearing a crown of interwoven dandelions, the Pig Maiden could have stolen the heart of any man, but she was particularly drawn to a Staffordshire Saddleback called Brutus, and once the nuptials were concluded by the High Priestess, Brutus was cooked and eaten and a merry time was had by all.

12.

At the conclusion of these revelries, Dan and I bade a fond farewell to our friends and we began the journey back to the northern woods. Dan, I said, as we forded a stream, passing the pig from one to the other, any doubt I may have harboured as to the potential longevity of our relationship has been dissipated by certain events this weekend. For it was true, and my fickle mind had given up any ideas it might have had to abandon both Dan and Mason. To which he replied, love me, love my pig, and I retorted that I loved that pig with all my heart. Dan then enquired as to what could possibly have brought about such a startling revelation in my thinking. And also, what had become of my bearskin gilet? We clambered up the bank away from the stream. Such matters, I said, are best left as if mysteries of the past, which I shall never again revisit, suffice to say that our union remains as strong as ever. We neither of us then said anything for a while, for what more could possibly have been said at such a moment? From the top of the bank came into view the stone henge and the assembled temporary township, scene of so much merriment and intrigue. The northern woods waited, a perilous journey indeed. A colleague of ours, Aiden, had undertaken such an expedition the previous year with his pig, Mavis, and within ten miles of home his leg had fallen off. There is something I need to confess, I said, for I at some point these last few days upset the humours of a witch, and she laid upon us a curse, the manifestation of which I assumed were the blemish upon Mason’s flank, the maggots in our yurt, and other trifling matters. Dan was silent upon my saying this. Very mild the curse may have been, he said at last, but you should have told me. As it was, I said, I managed to sway the effects of the curse, by furnishing the witch with my bearskin gilet, which she felt suited her more. Only to discover that no such curse existed. Again, Dan was subdued as we walked away from the stream, into the bracken and common land on the other side. So we are at least free, I said, of such a curse, and we may live our lives unhindered. Dan then let out the mightiest belch. I ate too much at the pageant today, he said. And none of these matters were ever mentioned again.