Outline elephant on an ankle

The wasps have finally given up on the windfalls, so I can tell you about the elephant without them buzzing in my ear. You will remember the little grey one Dad drew on the back of the tithe receipt, the one with its trunk stuck straight up as if it were hailing a bus. He has been living in the orchard since you left. Every morning he waits by the gate post for the picking baskets, and every morning Mum tells him the Discovery trees are not for him.

On Tuesday the ladder slipped against the old Cox and young Tom Pearce went flat on his back in the grass. Nobody could reach the top basket. The elephant, who has never once been asked for help, raised his trunk, curled it round the highest branch and gave a single shake. Eleven apples dropped into the grass like hailstones, bruised but whole. Tom said it was the finest trick he had ever seen a drawing perform, and he has told the whole village since.

Mum wanted to scold him for the damage, but Dad only laughed and said a fellow who stands that tall on a scrap of paper has earned his keep. So the elephant has a new post now. He sits on the crate beside the cider press and keeps count of the baskets, scratching a mark into the wood each time one is filled. That is how we know the Bramleys are nearly done.

Come home before the frost. The top apple on the Cox is still there, and I have left it for you.

Love, Gran