Worzel here, whilst felled by flu, I received an odd message from a “Lonewolf”, old friend of Godfrey’s, that the sharp eyed city roamer had, quite possibly, located Godfrey’s long lost, knitted dragon hat. Could it be? Alice reportedly wore it at his wake, but it was probably her own, he lost his wooly hat long ago. I spent some time, dreaming out the window, wondering what may have become that hat…
It was I, embroidered on it, inside the brim on an itchy strip of burlap- Godfrey’s Wooly Hat- if found, please set it back on it’s journey world round. Only interested in the practical was Godfrey, if we were out about the city, he would often “feh” and “snet” when I paused to look at shoes, he wore a red bandanna in summer sun, wooly hat rest of the year, his knitted dragon one.
I call this type of impish, mild winter day,”Godfrey Weather”. He would escape, off river ratting,” find a stream, and up it I rat, far as I can wade or hike, but somewhere today, have lost my dragon hat,”he lamented.
“Ma knitted it for me before I left home, thought the bell she sewed on the tail gave it laughter, like a clot, I never properly thanked her”. “I had it when I left, via the burnt fire escape, ladder hanging down, wore it on the #50 bus out of town, dabbed my chin with the tail as I breakfasted on ice-cream, did not lose my hat to the cold upstream”.
“I used my hat for a pillow, as always midday nap, it is plaid, with one purple, and one green ear flap”. As he set out to trace his lost hat’s path, I imagined it’s journey as I soaked in a hot bath….
“On the Chilliwack River, that wide bend near the highway, strange place indeed to hook a wadded up old tea cozy, he never thought it was a hat, did not look inside the brim, he was a fly fisherman. A simple fisher, he believed, as Godfrey did, time spent fishing waited for him. As it does, but not forever, and when all was over, we found the dragon hat still on his tea-pot now gone cold, it was biffed into a box, sent off where used goods are bought and sold.
At the Charity Shop,” Cranky Pat”, sorted bags of “Tat”, turning out trouser pockets, shaking purses, seeking money. She found the wooly hat, read “Please set me back on my journey”. Pat knew good knitting, learned it at her own ma’s knee, knew whimsy and character, end of day she took the dragon hat home with her.
Pat put a new string neath the wool dragon’s chin, sewed a new bell good and tight, she took donuts, warm clothes and the hat, to the city park where oft hobos spent the night. The box was welcomed, and ransacked thoroughly, the wooly hat was left, hanging in a tree. Waiting next stage of it’s journey…was spring of the year, the hat rinsed by snow and sun, before it moved on with anyone.
She was a street musician, used the hat to catch coins and notes on the corner where she sat. Happy to play, until the cops took her away, dragon hat left behind for the next kind soul to find. Who just so happened, not long after to be, little Debbie- Marie, five years old. “Do not pick up rubbish on the street”, mother would scold.
The child scooped up the hat, with the long tail of plaid, just like the scary movie she watched with her dad. Debbie-Marie, sensitive and aware, for one so young, figured the old hat may hold a story to share. She hid it when they got home, on the head of her stuffed teddy-bear. And there it stayed, until Debbie-Marie was old enough to understand, the words embroidered still on the old hat’s headband. She to, one day, would set her sights on the poet’s road, pen in hand, and strong of will, with her hat’s tail wrapped about, long enough to keep out any chill.
Yes, I like to imagine, that the wooly dragon hat is out there still….