Stay on the Path

Climbing out of the car, I stand in the field currently being used as a car park. Twinkling lights strung through the trees beckon, promising magic. We are warned by a woman with horns and a garland of flowers to beware branches that poke and roots that trip. We are warned to stay on the path. I don’t need the warning, every lover of Fairie knows that stepping off the path in a twilight wood is to risk your heart and your life. At the entrance, moons hang in the trees and books grow roses from their pages.

I have come to Tehidy Woods for the last night of Rogue Theatre’s Wild Moon summer season. I’ve never been to a Rogue Theatre production before, and I am vibrating with excitement.

I believe in fairies and always have. I believe in Selkies and Mermaids, in Giants and Pixies, in Elves and Tree Spirits. These myths and legends, these Folks of Fay, are part of our lives, part of our histories. Some of my favourite stories, be they book or film, theatre or TV, are fairy stories. I use the term broadly, for any story, old or new, that includes mystical beings and magic, from gods and goblins to talking animals and sleeping princesses.

The thing I love about fairy stories is that they tell the truth, but it is a truth that lies beneath the surface. If you look beyond the otherworldly settings, the direwolves and dragons, these stories teach us something about our lives and ourselves. They teach us about bravery and fear, honesty and honour, love and hatred. They teach us to understand humanity’s potential for good and evil. They throw light into the dark places of the world, holding up a mirror to the things we hide, bury or ignore. Coming packaged in fantasy makes these truths easier to accept and to learn from.

I pass sunbursts and hearts. A woman in white dances among the trees. The Village Hall Jam Bonanza which promises the giant is dead and bled. A witch sings of a King’s new bride. The Fairy King of Summer stands at a door and asks politely if I would like to enter Fairy. I answer “Always,” and he opens the door, beckoning me through a bower of mirrors and clocks. I have arrived. The Rogue Theatre stage stands before a ring of hay bales set out for the gathering audience as a cauldron of Woodland Stew cooks over an open fire.  

The theatre company is wonderful, a proper troupe of players, who over the next few hours tell legends from ancient Cornwall, dark comedies of obsession and boybands, and a heart-breaking tale of a Firebird and the downfall of a Kingdom. Once it is over, I find it hard to pull myself away.

I plan to spend Halloween in Rogue Theatre’s company. I cannot wait to hand myself over to them once more. Until then, I know I will carry their magic with me, pondering the stories and lessons they offered up. I will keep my eyes open and seek to keep the magic with me as I work on my own art and build my van.

For now, I will sign off. I’ve been waiting for the tool I need to start removing the van floor and it has just arrived. Remember, once you’ve found your path, don’t step off.