Once upon a time there were three bears, who lived in a cottage in a clearing at the edge of the forest. And their names were Gloriana, Rowena, and Maryanne. Gloriana was the tallest of the three, with bright red hair flaming and swirling around her head, and green eyes that flashed impatiently. She was the hunter, who went into the forest each day looking for food and fuel for the family. She would come back at dusk with arms full of small frogs, or large insects, with wild fruit and berries, or acorns and mushrooms.

        She gathered wood, dead branches that she pulled from the trees with her powerful paws, or sticks and kindling from under the elms. Sometimes she brought home honeycomb, dripping with sweet golden stickiness, gained by climbing the hollow tree and raking it out of the hive, risking the wild bees' anger.

        Rowena was shorter, with black hair and clear gray eyes that looked deep into you, or sometimes beyond. She was the gardener, growing patches of dandelion and rocket and medicinal herbs, tending the berry brambles sheıd encouraged in from the forest, the two small apple trees and the lavender bush that had survived when the cottage was abandoned. She loved to hear the bees murmuring in the lavender, to see them pollinating her fruit. Digging in the soft brown earth with her paws, she would dig up grubs and worms - the grubs, she took inside for a later meal, the worms returned to the soil.

        The third bear was Maryanne, with long golden hair and smiling blue eyes. Inside the cottage was her domain. Here she dusted and polished, cooked the apples from the garden, making apple dumplings, apple pies, apple cake, and thick sticky toffee-like fruit leather, boiled until almost dry, to last through the winter. The three bears loved anything sweet, so hedgerow jam, made from the berries collected by Gloriana & Rowena, was a lasting favourite.

        Gloriana and Rowena between them had made some furniture for their home, Jimmy Possum chairs of green branches tied together with strong grasses, and a large platform of woven boughs for their bed.

        Maryanne made pillows for the bed & cushions for the chairs from old hessian sacks she collected from the rubbish dump, filled with dried grasses, and lavender made sweetly scented comfortable furnishings. Tufts of wool gathered from barbed wire fences around the sheep farm were woven into the hessian as decoration.

        It was rumoured that Gloriana, Maryanne and Rowena were lesbians - why else would three unattached females live together? Certainly, Gloriana had a low opinion of the male of the species, describing them as testosterone-fuelled loutsı, and Maryanne was very happy to be making home for her friends, and certainly they all shared the one bed, but none of that constitutes proof of lesbianism...

        It was also rumoured that the three females were witches - why else would they be living on the fruits of the forest, mushrooms, and roots and wild berries, instead of going to the 24-hour convenience store like everyone else? Certainly they were self- sufficient, and dug up or pulled down or grew almost everything they ate, cooked on a wood stove with big iron pots, and swept with a twig broom - does that constitute proof of witchcraft? They had no black cat or bat as familiar.

        It can be seen that the people of the village had a strong desire to know more about our three heroines, and to satisfy their curiosity they hadnıt been above snooping, a bit of stickybeaking. If any of them had to go along the forest track, they would make a detour and sneak along the little side track leading to the cottage in its clearing. Not too close, didnıt want to be seen, mind, but close enough to glimpse over the wattled fence Rowenaıs chunky shape bent over the garden, digging, or the plume of smoke from the chimney and Maryanneıs fair hair, through the kitchen window as she stood by the stove, stirring something in a large iron pot.

        They seldom saw Gloriana, as she worked in the forest all day, but some of the braver village hoons had glimpsed her striding through the forest at dusk, swinging a large branch vigorously in time to her singing, a bundle of smaller branches tied across to her chest.

        They had run off terrified to their panel van, and backed it cautiously down the track before roaring off in a cloud of incompletely combusted petrol fumes and clattering beer cans. Sometimes at night, the hoons would creep closer to the cottage, daring each other to walk up to the window and look in, but no-one was brave enough, despite the number of beers theyıd had. At these times they reported hearing wild music and wailing and other unearthly sounds that set their teeth on edge and made them run hastily back to the van, and hastily drive away, before stopping at the edge of town to rip open more cans and compare observations.

        The town hairdresser, who lived above her salon in the main street, had blonde hair set in a bouffant style that looked like a fluffy yellow showercap. Her blondness came mostly from a bottle, but in her childhood she had been such a sweetly pretty little girl with blonde ringlets that some of the older townspeople still called her Goldilocks. Maybe sardonically. but with a touch of nostalgia for the old days when the town had been a proper village, with its own bank and post-office, not just a weekend home for commuters working in the bigger town up the highway.

        Mrs Hicks (her real name) had a daughter, Maybelline, who had inherited her motherıs golden ringlets, and a pretty sharp mind, made up her mind one day to go and see the lesbian witches for herself. It was school holidays and she was bored; there was nothing on telly but chat shows and game shows and shopping, so she zapped it off and went downstairs. Her mother was busy in the salon, Beautée and the Beast (named in the optimistic, whimsical style of the 70s) and paused in her gossiping and adjusting curlers just long enough to say, donıt hang around those hoons in the panel van, you know I donıt like you talking to rubbish like that, and be back before tea- time.

        Maybelline marched off down the road, and took the track that led through the forest. Pretty soon she came to the clearing. It was early afternoon, and Rowena was working in the garden, with her back to the fence, where Maybelline was crouching, peering through the gaps. Being only eight, Maybelline didn't have a clear idea what lesbians were supposed to do, but she knew all about witches from the cartoons on tv. They wore long black cloaks and tall pointy black hats, and had crooked noses and rode on broomsticks, or else they drove around in large Daimlers, ordering their menservants to steal spotty dogs. She hadn't seen Disney's Sleeping Beauty or she'd have known that witches were also malevolently beautiful, with rich gowns and lots of jewels, powerful women who could command anything they wanted in the world, except the love of a good man.

        Certainly, this chunky female with the dark hair didnıt fit her idea of witch. With a start of fear, which she quickly quelled, Maybelline saw the kitchen door open and another figure come out. This one had fair hair and a shopping basket over her arm. She looked pretty ordinary, so she couldnıt be a witch either, Maybelline decided. The two females conferred together in quiet voices, then moved down the garden path towards her. Hastily, the girl slid backwards on hands and knees behind the nearest tree, and watched as they opened the wicket gate and walked down the track deeper into the forest.

        She clambered over the fence - why bother with the gate, and ran up the path to the cottage. Cautiously she walked around the outside looking for a way to get in. The door was locked, but the kitchen window was only loosely latched, and a little girlıs nimble fingers are just right for jiggling and twiddling until the latch works loose. Looking round quickly to make sure the others werenıt coming back, Maybelline pushed the window open and scrambled in.

        It wasnıt a big drop to the stone floor, and she only bumped her knee on the side of the bench as she fell, but it seemed to make an awful noise. She stood very still and waited, but no-one came into the kitchen to see what was happening. Laid out on the wooden table were three plates, and a bigger plate with a delicious apple cake. Maybellineıs nose twitched and her mouth watered. There was a big iron pot on the stove, like a witchıs cauldron, but the smell coming from it was scrumptious, sweet & fruity. Maybe these women were like the witch in Hansel & Gretel & made sweets and cakes to catch children with. Still, she reasoned, if I donıt eat anything they canıt catch me. Anyhow, thereıs nobody here. But the food did smell lovely!

        Feeling bolder, she pushed the kitchen door open and went through into the living room. Here she saw three chairs, funny wooden things with arms made of twisted branches. They had sacking cushions, that were surprisingly soft to lean against, and the chairs were so big she could climb right into them and curl up like a kitten. Beside the chairs were some strange musical instruments - a silver one much prettier than the yellow plastic recorder she had to learn at school, a violin, and something like a much bigger violin. (Maybelline had never seen an orchestra or even a chamber music group, so she didnıt recognise the cello.)

        She fingered the instruments idly, tooting on the recorder and plucking at the strings. She was startled by the deep sonorous notes the big violin made; it was a lovely sound and she plucked at it for a while, humming to herself.

        She started getting hungry, and the smell of that apple cake cooling on the table, and the sweet scent of the jam pan were calling her back to the kitchen. If I just eat a little bit, they might not notice, she reasoned, as she picked at the crumbs around the edges of the cake. No witch is going to catch me - or a lesbian, either, whatever that is! She picked quite a big hole in one side of the cake, and was just turning the plate around to nibble at another side when she heard voices. Help! the lesbian witches were coming back, and theyıd find her in their kitchen and eat her!

        She ran from the kitchen, through the living room, and ducked under a curtain hanging at the end of the room. Inside was the sleeping alcove with the big platform bed covered with a hessian bedspread decorated with wool tufts. Maybelline dived under the cover and pulled it up over her head. Quivering with fear, she made herself as small as possible, breathing in the dusty smell of hessian.

        Rowena, Gloriana and Maryanne walked into the kitchen, Maryanneıs basket heaped high with dark, earthy mushrooms. She saw the cake raggedly crumbly on the plate and the trail of crumbs, and let out a little shriek of horror. Gloriana pointed to the window swinging open on its hinge.

        Looks like we've had a burglar, she said grimly. Wonder what else they took, apart from the cake. We donıt really have anything to steal, said Maryanne; except our instruments, finished Rowena. They went into the living room and saw the cushions disturbed on all three chairs, but although the instruments had been put back in the wrong places, they were still there.

        Well, no harm's done, said Maryanne comfortably; letıs go and cook those mushrooms for tea. The three went back to the kitchen and Gloriana and Rowena sat round the table nibbling idly at the cake crumbs, while Maryanne fried up the mushrooms, which she served on great slabs of bread, toasted in the oven. The others washed up quickly in the stone sink, then she made them a pot of herbal tea, and cut slices of the apple cake.

        Might as well finish this before our hungry burglar comes back, she joked.

        The three carried their supper into the living room and after a few mouthfuls of tea, picked up their instruments. Rowena was cellist, Gloriana played the flute, and Maryanne led the trio on her violin. They played quite well together, rehearsing over and again a new piece Rowena had composed for them.

        Whenever they made a mistake, there was much laughter and teasing, and when they got the piece right, they played it through twice without stopping, then cheered and laughed.

        Putting down her flute, Gloriana offered to make another pot of tea, & cut some more cake. Just then, from the sleeping alcove, came the unmistakable sound of sneezes. Maybelline, woken by the sounds of music and laughter, had taken a deep breath of the hessian fibres, which set her off sneezing. The three musicians looked at one another. Seems our burglar didnıt get away after all, said Gloriana softly. He'll wish he hadnıt come snooping round our little home!

        Be gentle, Gloriana, whispered Maryanne; sometimes I think you donıt know your own strength.

        They tiptoed cautiously towards the curtain which Gloriana flung open with a flourish, a defiant look in green eyes, her hair blazing about her head. They stopped short. Instead of a burglar with a bag and maybe a cudgel or shotgun, they saw a small mound under the bedclothes.

        Rowena pulled them back gently. Look, she said, itıs the little girl I was telling you about, watching me through the fence. Whatıs your name? she asked the shaking Maybelline.
        Are you lesbian witches and are you going to eat me? quavered Maybelline. I wasnıt doing any harm!
        Witches! Lesbians? the three bears looked at each other in astonishment. Gloriana was the first to find her voice.

        Looking at the little girl sternly she said, Youıve been trespassing, coming into our home without permission, and youıve been stealing...
        It was only cake, put in Rowena hastily, and Maryanne added, I made it to be eaten.
        Well, you must be breaking the law somehow, continued Gloriana, Out this late at night on your own. Have you run away from home or something stupid like that?
        No, no! said Maybelline, then with a flash of defiance of her own, she asked, If youıre not witches or lesbians, what are you doing living in the forest?
        Where else would three bears live? asked Rowena mildly

        When Maybelline got home, Mrs Hicks was watching the late show on telly and painting her nails. Where have you been, I told you to get home before tea, the pizzaıs in the oven, itıs probably overcooked by now, and the baked beans have gone cold. Maybelline thought about telling her about the three bears, but decided, wisely, to hold her tongue.

        I suppose youıve been hanging around with those hoons in the panel van again, I told you I donıt want you going anywhere near them.

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