IN a world where philanthropic and benevolent billionaires are thin on the ground, an Abergavenny man seeks to readdress the balance by getting his hands on a never-ending supply of fairy gold and healing the world with it.

As an economical solution to the world’s financial woes, it’s a novel solution, but semi-professional paranormal investigator Johnny Turnip believes that with a pot of the mythical glittering stuff, he might just have a shot at “defeating the evil that is unregulated capitalism.”

“It all started when I learned my great ancestor was a famous cowboy named Potato Creek Johnny,” explained Turnip.

“When Nanny Annie ‘Horror-Show’ Turnip told me I had the blood of the Wild West flowing through my veins and that my great grandaddy had emigrated to the States to seek his fortune, it triggered a million and one questions, not least, ‘Do I have any legitimate claim on the famous gold nugget that my namesake had found in a creek in the Black Hills of Dakota?’

“'No!' She said. ‘He sold that a long time ago and besides which he didn’t find it prospecting in no river, he stole it off a rich man and passed it off as his own,’ She added with a fierce pride.

“‘The only thing you have any rightful claim to apart from his blood and his name, is his pot of fairy gold.’

“‘Pot of fairy gold?’ I asked, trying to sound casual but feeling the usual palpitations I get when something paranormal raises its head.’

“‘Let me tell you about the original Johnny Turnip,’ Said Nanny Annie. ‘Like a lot of the clan, he was a slave to the bottle, but he was also a musical soul and could summon up the devil when he let loose on a fiddle. He also had something of the sorcerer about him. He only had to hold out his finger and a bluebird would land upon it and sing him a song. He was also a good friend of the fey folk and that’s why they entrusted him with a pot of gold for safekeeping.’

“‘Everyone knows fairly gold is useless!” I replied. ‘It turns to leaves or dust within a day.’

“‘I thought you’d know better than that JT.’ She said shaking her head. ‘That’s just a lazy metaphor for people who don’t understand the true nature of fairy gold. Its purpose is not to make an individual grossly rich. It is not made out of coin, but dust, and its purpose is to restore balance and heal all that which is damaged.”

Turnip explained, “To be honest, at this point the old hag’s wise woman of the hill routine was beginning to get right on my nerves and so I decided to stop her dead in her tracks by shouting in her face, ‘Nice try, you old grifter. I don’t know what game you’re playing but I’m not the pawn you’re looking for! They don’t even have fairies in America, let alone fairy gold. You better not be keeping Potato Creek Johnny’s nugget from me. I want what’s mine not some make-believe crock of crap!’ I roared while idly contemplating how comfortable the rest of my life could be as a gentleman of leisure.”

Turnip added, “The old witch just stared daggers at me, spat in her cauldron and hissed, ‘Wanker! You think you know it all and you know nothing! Your great-grandaddy spent a lot of time with the fairies in the Abergavenny underworld and when he landed on American soil it wasn’t long before the fairies in that country recognised him as a true friend. The fact that he was only a little over for feet tall probably helped,’ Mused ‘Horror-Show.’

“Nevertheless, the Shoshone, the Cherokees, and the Crow were just a few of the Native American tribes who believed in the little people. And the Lakota or Teton Sioux had the Canotila, which translates as ‘little tree dweller.’ We think it was one of those that gave Potato Creek Johnny the pot of gold.’

“‘Ok ‘Horror-Show!’ I said. ‘I’ll be your huckleberry. Let’s say you’re right. I’ve got two questions for you. Why did they give him the pot of gold and why didn’t he spend it!’”

Turnip told the Chronicle, “She just sort of looked at me with her trademark milk curdling scowl and said, ‘Understand this young Turnip. By the time your ancestor left Abergavenny, magic was already fading from this world. The dragon had disappeared into its cave, the witch had put down her broomstick, and the Fair Folk were fleeing in greater and greater numbers to the remote and untouched areas of the Earth.’

“’ Those that remained amongst us, hardly anyone could see because no-one believed. And because no one believed their power was fading. Your grandaddy believed though, and seeing what was becoming of this world and everyone and everything in it, they left him a pot of gold to bequeath his ancestors to use in our darkest hour. And that time is now!’

“‘You’re not going to start banging on about Donald Trump again, are you? Because when the anti-Christ comes I doubt if he’ll be orange?’ I said grinning idiotically in a way I knew would goad the daft old bitch! .

“‘Shut your gob boy!’ She snarled, as her pet owl Cleopatra flapped at me aggressively from its perch. ‘Trump, as you well know, is but a puppet of the leprechauns.’

“Having had previous experience of those whiskey-guzzling little bastards I knew the truth of that particular statement and nodded my head thoughtfully in agreement.

“‘Horror-Show’ just looked at me earnestly for a while, or as earnest as her naturally nasty features would allow.

"As her hands took mine, I marvelled, as I have since a child, at the one which only has two fingers, and she warned, ‘We live in the era of the leprechaun when we should be living in the era of the fairy. Seek out Potato Creek Johnny’s magic pot and use it to take to the towns, drop it in the cities, sprinkle it on the forests, roll it in the rivers, scatter it on the mountaintops, and cast it out to sea. Go to America, find the pot, and use it to heal the world and bring magic back to the kingdom!’”

“‘Annie! Get your gun!’ I cried happily. ‘It’s time for the Turnips to make things right!’”

To be continued….