Catching Leeches

Titch went in the water first, to show how brave he was. When he was waist-deep, he turned to face us. “Come on,” he said, beckoning with one hand while the other stayed below the water, protecting his personal parts.

Buller followed more slowly, then looked back at me.  “Are you coming in then, or what?”

I pulled off my smock and shoes, then clambered out of my trousers. I walked into the water quickly, breathing through the cold shock, not wanting to look weak in front of my mates. We all walked in further, until the water reached our chests. My feet settled into the silt, and I felt plants around my legs.

We waited for the leeches. It was OK for Titch, since he had the least skin of all of us for them to latch onto. It was all his fault, because Titch had been talking about leeches in front of Buller – about how Mr Devonshire’s new valet was hired because he was skilled at bleeding. Mr and Mrs Devonshire were bled regularly to keep them in good health, with both leeches and blades.

Buller started slapping the water to try attracting the leeches.

“Do you reckon we’ll feel them?” asked Titch. “When they bite us, I mean?”

“I reckon not,” I said. “I reckon they must sneak onto the skin. Otherwise, people would know when one was attached.”

“How many do you think we need?” asked Buller.

I didn’t know, but I suddenly felt daft. Cures like this were for the rich. Good health was for the rich. Our lives were grubbier, more like those of cattle. “It’s not going to fix her,” I said.

Buller turned and glared. For a moment I thought he was going to thump me. We’d ragged around before, and he always got the better of me. We’ve never fought in earnest, but I knew he could batter me.

The three of us stood in that pond, Buller seeming caught between rage and sorrow. I was sure that we would end up fighting. Titch broke the moment. “It might not fix her,” he said, “But we’re doing it anyway.”

“That’s for sure,” I said, and started slapping the water, determined to get my share of leeches for Buller’s mother.

Some Background

This story was inspired by a fascinating book, Folk Medicine of Sussex. I expected little from this, but ended up reading it cover to cover, learning about toadeaters, the uses of walnuts, malaria in Sussex and more. The book talked about professional leech-catchers which sounded like an awful occupation.

As I’ve written these South Downs Way stories, the character of the Devil has taken more of a part. One strand of stories I’m writing is called Satan’s Albion, which is about the Devil hanging out with local shepherds before the world wars, still dealing with his guilt at failing to rescue Jesus. The narrator of Catching Leeches will probably appear in those stories, maybe as an old man.

Recommendations

A few years ago, I got involved in a caper. It involved underground temples, magic rituals and a double decker bus. The full story is told by Ben Graham in From Cerne to CERN: A Pilgrim’s Tale. I went that adventure with 68 other people, some of whom I knew, and others who have since become friends.

Dan Sumption was one of the people I met on the pilgrimage. After the adventure, Dan moved to the middle of nowhere and set up a publishing house. Peakrill Press started out selling strange role-playing supplements - althought Mostly Harmless Meetings also works well as Oulippian literature Since then he’s published comic books, a hiking guide for Sheffield and more. He also featured my A4-page short story collection Fishscale in his recent zine Krill.

Dan has a substack, Mycoleum Mind, which produces very short emails about “philosophy, psychology, language, lifehacks, and magic”. There’s also a blog on the Peakrill website (rss).

Sign up to Mycoleum Mind here.