Tales from the Shadows 87-xx-xx (03) Lobster Salad and the Witch

Summary

Podcast Summary: Tales from the Shadows 87-xx-xx (03) - "Lobster Salad and the Witch"

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Introduction

In the March 2025 episode of "Tales from the Shadows" (Episode 87-xx-xx (03) titled "Lobster Salad and the Witch"), Harold's Old Time Radio transports listeners back to the Golden Age of Radio. This episode features adaptations of classic Lord Dunsany stories, masterfully brought to life with recent musical and sound effects by Ken Heller. The production team, including Eric Bowersfeld and John Whiting, ensures an authentic and immersive experience reminiscent of pre-television family gatherings around the radio.

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Segment 1: Lobster Salad

[01:14] Narrator:

"Welcome to the shadows. Old stories line the shelves of our dusty archives. Stories of dreams, mystery, horror."

The episode begins with the narrator introducing "Lobster Salad," an early radio tale by Lord Dunsany. This story delves into the subconscious fears and the thin veil between dreams and reality.

Plot Highlights:

• Dreamscape Adventure: The protagonist climbs the perilous walls of a palace in a dream, facing daunting mountain peaks and menacing tiger-like apes.
• Symbolic Salvation: In a moment of desperation, the protagonist grabs a symbolic pin from a chest, using it to save himself from the impending threat.

Notable Quote:

Narrator: "In my nightshirt and leather boots, their edges somehow held in those narrow cracks. My fingers and wrists were aching." [03:45]

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Segment 2: The Witch of the Willows

Transitioning seamlessly, the episode presents "The Witch of the Willows," another captivating story by Lord Dunsany, adapted for radio.

Main Characters:

• Mr. Jorkins: A lonely wanderer seeking magic and mystery beyond the ordinary.
• The Witch of the Willows: An enigmatic figure embodying ancient magic and mystery.

Plot Overview:

1. Arrival at Willow Wood
   [10:26] Mr. Jorkins:

   "I wandered about the country, always alone, not caring really where I went. One day I came to the Willow Wood, a haunted sort of place..."

   Mr. Jorkins arrives at the mystical Willow Wood, craving an escape from mundane reality. His encounter with the Witch sets the stage for a profound and eerie journey.

2. The Inn at Wold's End
   [13:08] Mr. Jorkins:

   "I think I'll take that warning."

   After his initial meeting, Jorkins stays at Wold's End inn, contrasting the safety of ordinary life with the lure of the supernatural woods.

3. Recurring Obsession
   [14:37] Mr. Jorkins:

   "I haunted the place till all the water hens knew me. And the rooks."

   Jorkins becomes increasingly obsessed with Willow Wood, repeatedly visiting despite warnings, illustrating his deepening entanglement with the supernatural.

4. Final Confrontation
   [24:36] The Witch:

   "Could you ever love an old old woman like me, Mr. Jorgens?"

   In a climactic encounter, Jorkins is tested on his ability to love and accept the witch unconditionally, a test that ultimately breaks the spell binding him to the woods.

5. Resolution and Reflection
   [28:14] Mr. Jorkins:

   "I couldn't distinguish whether her look was of rage or of sorrow."

   Jorkins rejects the witch's enchantment, leading to the dissipation of the magic and restoring his connection to the ordinary world, forever changed by his mystical encounters.

Key Themes:

• Isolation vs. Connection: Jorkins' solitude drives his quest for meaning beyond the ordinary.
• The Allure and Danger of the Supernatural: The woods symbolize the tempting yet perilous pursuit of magic and mystery.
• Self-Acceptance: The final test emphasizes the importance of self-love and acceptance in overcoming enchantment.

Notable Quotes:

• Mr. Jorkins on Seeking Magic:

  "I was tired of ordinary things and ordinary people, what they said and did, the everyday things, everything lacking in wonder, surprise, magic, mystery." [10:26]

• Witch’s Warning:

  "If there's a warning put on a place, it's for folks to heed the warning, not to go bothering those that have other things to do with the way and the why and the wherefore. A warning's a warning and that's all there is to it." [12:44]

• Test of Love:

  "Could you ever love an old old woman like me, Mr. Jorgens?" [24:36]

• Final Reflection:

  "I couldn't distinguish whether her look was of rage or of sorrow. And as she and her cottage passed out of sight, I saw the last of magic that I shall ever see." [28:14]

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Production and Performance Highlights

• Voice Acting:

  • Bernard Mays as Mr. Jorkins brings depth and vulnerability to the character's internal struggle.
  • Pat Franklin as the Witch of the Willows captures the sinister yet sorrowful essence of the witch, making her both fearsome and pitiable.

• Sound Design:
  Ken Heller’s compositions and sound effects create an immersive atmosphere, effectively transporting listeners to the eerie Willow Wood and enhancing the storytelling with subtle auditory cues.

• Technical Production:
  The seamless integration of narration, dialogue, and sound effects by Eric Bowersfeld and John Whiting ensures a smooth and engaging listening experience reminiscent of classic radio dramas.

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Conclusion

"Lobster Salad and the Witch" masterfully combines Lord Dunsany's timeless narratives with the nostalgic charm of old-time radio. Through intricate storytelling, compelling performances, and atmospheric production, Harold's Old Time Radio offers listeners a rich and engaging journey into the realms of mystery and magic. This episode not only preserves the essence of Golden Age radio tales but also invites contemporary audiences to explore the enduring allure of supernatural storytelling.

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Additional Notes:

• Advertisements and Non-Content Sections:
  The episode contains sponsorship messages and advertisements for Ruff Greens and Chumba Casino, including appearances by Ryan Seacrest. These sections have been excluded from the summary to focus solely on the content-rich storytelling segments, as per the provided guidelines.

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End of Summary

Transcript

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[Narrator]

Welcome to the shadows. Old stories line the shelves of our dusty archives. Stories of dreams, mystery, horror. We would like to bring one of our early radio tales back to life during this half hour. Hmm, let's see. It says on this shelf, nightmares. They don't usually turn out the way we'd like, particularly after a late night supper of lobster salad. Here's how Lord Dunsany tells what could happen after such a meal. In a dream, I was climbing round the perilous outside walls of the palace. Far below me lay the craggy tops of the mountains so far below me that in the tranquil twilight and clear air of those lands, I could only barely see them. I was climbing on the sheer face of the wall itself, getting what foothold I could where the boulders joined. I was in my nightshirt and leather boots, their edges somehow held in those narrow cracks. My fingers and wrists were aching. But if I stopped climbing or looked down at the fearful mountain peaks there in the twilight, it would have been fatal. It was a dream, a dream. Of course, a dream. But that's beside the point. We have fallen in dreams before, but it is known that if in one of those falls you ever actually hit the ground, you die. When I looked at those menacing mountaintops, I knew well that such a fall as the one I feared must have such an end. And so I went on. I went on, holding on, stepping where I could along the side of the wall, every stone gleaming with the same white light. Each chosen to match the other. But in every boulder a different sensation. Oh, when your life depends on the edges of every stone, you come to. But each rock has its different terror. It's no avail to overcome the terror of one because the next is entirely different. Some too sharp, some too even with the wall. And those whose hold is best crumble the soonest. And then there were those things. Those things that followed behind me so I couldn't stop. At last I came to a breach made long ago by lightning or an earthquake, or some more. I should have had to go down a thousand feet to get around it. And they would reach me first, the apes. Those things that are tigerish teeth and were born and bred on that wall. It was time to drop and be done with it. Oh, stop. Stop and await those creatures. Then it was that I remembered a pin. A pin thrown carelessly down out of an equal in that other world. And now lying there, if no evil chance have removed it. On the chest. On a chest by my bed. The apes were very close and hurrying because they knew my fingers were slipping. And the cruel peaks of those infernal mountains seemed surer of me than even the apes. The pin. The pin. Yes, the pin. I. I reached out with a desper effort to where the pin lay on the chest. I reached and groped about for it. There, There, there. I found it. I clutched it. And just as the apes reached me, I ran it through my arm. Saved. Oh, saved.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Saved. Sat.

[Narrator]

Yes, it's always wise to keep something handy beside the bed if you eat late at night.

[Dr. Dennis Black]

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[Narrator]

Lord Dunsany wrote the story about lobster salad and Eric Bowersfeld kept close to the text. All the music and special effect was composed and performed just recently by Ken Heller. Now, going farther back in time, here is another story by Lord Dunsany, committed to tape about a gentleman who wanted something magical out of life. But the price. Yes, let's listen to the Witch of the Willows.

[Mr. Jorkins]

I wandered about the country, always alone, not caring really where I went. One day I came to the Willow Wood, a haunted sort of place, Marsh floating all through it, ideal for a lonely and aimless man. I was tired of ordinary things and ordinary people, what they said and did, the everyday things, everything lacking in wonder, surprise, magic, mystery. And there was a mystery in the woods. The sun had begun to set and the mystery was settling among the willows. Oddly enough, as I wandered deeper and deeper among the trees, the mystery didn't recede. Not a spell seemed lifted. But that ominous and immense threat of magic became overpowering. Suddenly, an old woman in a black cloak and a high black hat, carrying a black stick, she came towards me. And that mystery, that unaccountable thing that has been called magic that was haunting the willows, moved with her as she came. She approached quickly, paying no attention to me until we were almost facing. Then a quick glance of her eyes or magic and wonder in her ugliness. I fumbled for something to say. Ah. Is there. Is there no way out of these marshes?

[The Witch]

No. No, there is no way out.

[Mr. Jorkins]

I stood a while and gazed, fascinated by the mystery of her. She leaned her hands upon the stick and gazed at me, grey ringlets hanging down from under her hat. What has come over these marshes?

[The Witch]

Sunset and witchcraft.

[Mr. Jorkins]

What does the witchcraft portend, huh?

[The Witch]

Who knows that? Not even the witches know that.

[Mr. Jorkins]

And why do they make witchcrafts? Enchanting a place like this, till one can hardly Tell if one is still on earth.

[The Witch]

If there's a warning put on a place, it's for folks to heed the warning, not to go bothering those that have other things to do with the way and the why and the wherefore. A warning's a warning and that's all there is to it.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Well, the sun has set and I think I'll take that warning.

[The Witch]

Do as you will.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Now, if I come back, should I ever see you here.

[The Witch]

You might come for weeks and never find me. And then one day I'd be here.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Then I'll come again. I'll come again. I stayed at a little inn called Wold's End, a mile or so from the marshes. That evening I returned barely in time for dinner.

[The Witch]

Oh, but I.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Couldn'T put the mood of my strange adventure out of mind. And in contrast, the company. The whole interior of Wold's End was a dreary replica of life in general. Wholesome food, kindly people. We expected the safe.

[Narrator]

You haven't forgotten our cribbage this evening, Mr. Jorkin?

[Mr. Jorkins]

No, Colonel Havison, but I'm a little tired, I'm afraid.

[Narrator]

Oh, Mrs. Norris says you have been exploring the willow wood this evening.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Yes.

[Narrator]

Take care of the marshes there. Dangerous, you know. Dangerous. But a good place for Blouse. In season, of course.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Later, I stood at my window and looked down toward the woods. The moon lit the hillside and below it I could see the trees. Black, darker than the night. The mystery still there. But when I walked down next morning, it was gone. It was gone when I went back at sunset. Day after day I went. And still she did not come. I haunted the place till all the water hens knew me. And the rooks. Then one afternoon, two weeks later, no sooner had I entered the solitude of the willows and the transformation began. The shadows between the trees became heavy with portents or omens. The stillness full of whispers. The mystery gathered about me. And in the midst of it she walked with her black stick, the mystery coming with her. She nodded as she approached, with what may have been a smile at the end of her lips. Willow, witch. As you see, I have come back. You told me there was no way out of the marshes.

[The Witch]

Nor is there. You come back and back to them.

[Mr. Jorkins]

That's true. They have a hold upon me already. And it's not the marshes or the willows. When you're not here, they are nothing more than the time of day can make of any place. It's for the magic in you that I return.

[The Witch]

The magic in me and your weariness of the things of every day pushed and pulled back and back.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Where do you live?

[The Witch]

Out of sight, out of hearing of the folks of everyday.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Where?

[The Witch]

Merlingswood. Merlingswood? By this path.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Wait. Can I come with you?

[The Witch]

Ah, if you can follow.

[Mr. Jorkins]

I can. If you wait, the light is too dim to see the path.

[The Witch]

You have to keep up, but you.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Disappear when I try to.

[The Witch]

Look.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Your gun. Wait.

[The Witch]

Lunge, Mr. Jorkins. Lunge or you'll never make it.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Wait. Wait. Wait. But she was gone.

[Narrator]

But that wasn't the first time we had trouble with the natives in that area.

[The Witch]

No.

[Narrator]

Sometime earlier that year. Here. I wanted you to try some of this. This port? Yes, for the natives during the cholera epidemic.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Curable. Unendurable.

[Narrator]

During my what?

[Mr. Jorkins]

I said it was. Was it curable?

[Narrator]

Oh. Oh, well, with the right treatment, yes.

[Mr. Jorkins]

It was.

[Narrator]

During the common.

[Mr. Jorkins]

I did something absurd, but I couldn't help it. The decanter of port, Colonel Haverson's prize port, was sitting on the end table beside me. I'd been fingering the cut glass neck, the fireplace several yards across the room, the large stone fireplace. Suddenly, quite unaccountably, I picked up the decanter and flung it against the stones.

[Narrator]

Oh, I say. Jorkins.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Jorkins. I plunged out of the house, down the road to the woods, through the marshes. The mystery was everywhere, thicker than the trees, almost suffocating. I headed as if guided through the woods, a wood remembered from one's earliest years. This strange, almost terrible feeling seemed to come from straight ahead. It was the path itself, straight ahead until it seemed to veer very slightly to the left. And from this I gathered that I should find the home of the witch. And sure enough, there it was, a cottage in the midst of strangeness and mystery. The cottage was small and roofed with a dark thatch, windows made of round panes the size and thickness of the ends of bottles. I heard my knock on the door before, or so it seemed. I quite reached it and instantly it opened and there she stood in her cloak. Magic seemed to pour out around her. Well, I have come first.

[The Witch]

And do you come in? Do you enter a witch's cottage?

[Mr. Jorkins]

Yes.

[The Witch]

Well, the door is open, Mr. Dawkins.

[Mr. Jorkins]

I entered and a swell of dark, terrible power seemed to leap at me. Then shortly, the magic substant. He withdrew to the corners and walls of the little room. A fireplace emerged, a glowing blood red flame within it, a large black cat lying before it. And the witch bent over, sweeping something.

[Narrator]

The decanter.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Colonel Haverson's decanter.

[The Witch]

There has been an accident, but maybe it will be mended by and by.

[Mr. Jorkins]

The room was difficult to see clearly. A few things stood out. A stove, a table, several chairs. All strangely carved and inset.

[The Witch]

Will you have some tea?

[Mr. Jorkins]

Ah, yes.

[The Witch]

Gossip. Dry. A rose or daffodil.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Oh, cowslip. It was a strange brewing. She boiled water in a great kettle over the fire, then threw handfuls of withered dry cowslip blooms into her teapot and added a sprinkling of herbs. She filled with it 2 earthenware cups glazed green on the outside. And instead of milk, she poured honey. All the while, a cat watched us from the fireplace. We sat watching the fire, drinking strange tea. As the shapes of the coals changed, she peered more and more intently. It seemed as though events were passing before us through the deeps of the fire.

[The Witch]

Trouble coming to the world.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Oh, what trouble?

[The Witch]

All going the wrong way.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Losing hold. Where do we want to go? Where? Where should we?

[The Witch]

Ah. That's the affair of witches.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Do you know?

[The Witch]

He knows, the old cat, the dark one. He doesn't run to town. He doesn't plan or worry. He knows what is coming. Dark one. Winter. Spring. Nothing can hasten it. Nothing stop it.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Eh, duh. Do you care about the world, witches?

[The Witch]

We are abandoned and sought. Abandoned and sought. Draw and whisper. Withdraw and whisper.

[Mr. Jorkins]

What do you whisper? What do you say?

[The Witch]

Oh, we provide.

[Mr. Jorkins]

What?

[The Witch]

What you've come for. What not to know about the world?

[Mr. Jorkins]

Is that what you provide?

[The Witch]

That's what you seek, Mr. Jorgens? You do not find the things of every day in my cottage. Yet you come back and back.

[Narrator]

Mystery and magic.

[The Witch]

The end of your world, Mr. Jorkins. Beyond.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Will I find it here? When will you help me?

[The Witch]

Help you?

[Mr. Jorkins]

Show me, will you?

[The Witch]

Are you afraid, Mr. Jorkins?

[Mr. Jorkins]

Is it dangerous?

[Narrator]

Healing.

[The Witch]

Surrounding the house. Give me power. It could crush you to the size of a pebble. Look, Mr. Jawkins. Handful of pebbles.

[Mr. Jorkins]

You.

[The Witch]

You.

[Narrator]

You.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Why is it dangerous?

[The Witch]

Why and wherefore? How and where to stakes and witches? Gallows.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Is there a test?

[The Witch]

A wall? A blade? A fire. The things of every day. Mr. Jawkins. I'm not here to help you.

[Mr. Jorkins]

What danger then? What am I to do?

[The Witch]

Look into the fire.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Fire? It isn't a fire.

[The Witch]

Listen.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Oh. It isn't a wind.

[The Witch]

My dark one. Paint my dark one. See me, Mr. Jorkins. Could you ever love an old old woman like me? Could you ever love an old old woman like me, Mr. Jackins?

[Mr. Jorkins]

That is the test.

[The Witch]

Could you ever love an old old.

[Mr. Jorkins]

An enchanted witch. I can break the spell by saying. Saying yes. Then all will be well. You'll emerge far lovelier than any creature.

[The Witch]

Or a spider or a goat or a death thing. Voice is ugly. Ah, the look in your eyes, Mr. Dawkins. Seeking magic and mystery on your own terms and prices. Sleight of hand, do you think? No, Clay. Mystery laid upon you there. No. There's the abyss there aflame here. The incense, the ugly. Could you ever love an old, old woman like. No.

[Mr. Jorkins]

Don't. Stay away from me. It is hideous. Then at the very words, there came a look in her eyes like flaming stars in the. The cat appeared to increase in size to an enormous horror. The room became darker. There was nothing I could say to explain my refusal except that all the magic and mystery that at first intrigued me was now horrifying and deadly. It was a wave that seemed to threaten all, a wave that began to fade away without breaking. I had rushed out of the cottage but had not gone many yards from the angry witch when her house and the whole forest became, section by section, disenchanted. When I last saw her, she was standing there in her open door looking after me. Something of mystery still surrounding her. I couldn't distinguish whether her look was of rage or of sorrow. And as she and her cottage passed out of sight, I saw the last of magic that I shall ever see. Soon again I was back at Wall's End. Yes, the last of it. I searched again and again, but I never found the cottage. The witch never came back again. To the willow wood I finger Colonel Habersam's decanter of fine portraits, not the least scar on it. For years after that, whenever twilight or sunset gave a queer look to a field or a distant hill, whenever anything strange seemed haunting birches or willows, I would set out at once, however far the walk and in any weather or hour to see if the magic that I have known had ever come back. No, it never came back. It never came back.

[Narrator]

But would Mr. Jorkins have been happy ever after in the woods with the Witch of the Willows? Lord Dunsany doesn't speculate farther than the story goes. You heard Bernard Mays as Mr. Jorkins and Pat Franklin as the witch. The story was adapted and produced a long time ago by Eric Bowersfeld with technical production by John Whiting. Special production for this series was by Jim McKee. Well, that's all for now. Come and visit our archives again for another tale from the shadows real soon.

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[The Witch]

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[Mr. Jorkins]

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[Ryan Seacrest]

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