Jonty Claypole

Full of airs and graces, pulling wry faces, demure grimaces, cat-like and rat-like, rattle and wombat-like, snail-paced in a hurry, parrot-voiced and whistler, helter-skelter, hurry-scurry, chattering like magpies, fluttering like pigeons, gliding like fishes.

Hugged and kissed her, squeezed and caressed her, stretched up their dishes, panniers and plates.

Look at our apples, russet and dun, bob at our cherries, bite at our peaches, citrons and dates.

Grapes for the asking, pears red with basking, out in the sun, plumbed on their twigs, plucked them and sucked them, pomegranates, figs.

I love that passage because you can see where T.S.

Eliot gets the language of the old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.

Very influential passage of these kind of nonsensical words and adjectives being flung out with this exuberance and joy.

We should say that what Lizzie does is the goblins try and force the fruit on her.

And there's a scene where she's got her mouth clumped shut and the goblins are squashing the fruit all over her face.

But she's managing not to take any in.

It's a truly bizarre scene.

And Laura licks her sister's face.

And this is the antidote that is needed.

And from that moment, they are both freed of the goblin curse.

And then we have the conventional Victorian ending.

So here's how the poem ends.

The two sisters have grown up.

They've embarked on their heteronormative traditional lives.

They're wives.

They have children of their own.