Voice Within: A Storybook by Storytellers
This podcast narrates to you short stories, poems and letters from a collective of authors. It is a simple cup of tea in hand, or a long drive kind of moment, to truly immerse yourself in a tale or two. For the love of a good story!
Voice Within: A Storybook by Storytellers
Mother Fox
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Voice Within: a storyteller's exclusive
Subscribe to show your support for all authors, storytellers and writers.What if you died and instead of going to heaven, you became a fox in your own garden? This profound, intimate exploration of life, death, and what might lie beyond follows Iris, a recently deceased mother of seven who finds herself transformed into a fox the day after her death.
From her new vantage point in the hedge at the bottom of her garden, Iris observes her grieving family preparing for her funeral while reflecting on her own life journey. We witness her memories unfold—raising seven unique children after being widowed young when her beloved husband Len died suddenly of a brain aneurysm, her eldest daughter Sandra moving to America, family gatherings with fish fingers and chips, and the collection of ceramic birds that became tokens of love throughout her life.
The narrative gracefully weaves between past and present as Iris experiences the surreal sensation of attending her own funeral. With heart-breaking poignancy and unexpected humour, she watches her sons struggle to carry her coffin, listens to eulogies, and observes as her family divides her possessions. Most remarkably, her son-in-law John somehow recognizes her fox-self in the garden, suggesting the bonds between souls transcend physical form.
Through Iris's evolving understanding of her situation, we're invited to consider whether death might be not an ending but a transformation—a transitional state where we temporarily inhabit animal forms before moving on to whatever comes next. The story culminates in a breath-taking moment of expanded consciousness where Iris experiences profound unity with everyone she has ever loved.
What makes us who we are? Do our connections to loved ones survive death? This haunting, beautiful meditation on mortality suggests that perhaps, as in Iris's favourite song "Don't Cry for Me Argentina," the truth is we never really leave each other at all.
This story is available in the anthology Voice Within: A Storybook by Storytellers Edition II.
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Mother Fox by John Shuttleworth. I'm a fox, but yesterday I was Iris, to be precise. I am dead, iris, but a live fox. I'm not being horrible or overly sad, but when I died yesterday I expected to go straight to heaven. This can't be true. But here I am lying here, very still, in the hedge at the bottom of my own garden that I looked after for nearly 50 years, looking out through the just-before-dawn darkness. I can see my house, my home, before they put me in the nursing home, no longer able to look after myself. It wasn't too bad really. They were ever so nice there.
Speaker 1:The cancer was eating away at me. The medicine made me sick, my life was ending and I knew it, but I did not expect to die and become a bloody fox. I thought death would be a welcome release, a chance to be with my dear Len again. I miss him so much. A wonderful husband, lover, friend, father of our seven children, but sadly a short lifespan. I lost my Len 30 years ago. He dropped dead from a burst blood vessel in his head. I told him he should see a doctor about his headaches, but he said it was just because he worked nights and the aspirin took away the pain.
Speaker 1:I miss my eldest, sandra, her husband John, and my grandkids, gary and John, now living so far away. Sandra and John left for America only a month after Len's funeral. I understand that the move to America had been planned for almost a year and the new job for John was a great opportunity to advance his career, a great chance for Sandra to get away from Nottingham. She was always the one that wanted more than the Midlands could offer. So, unlike me, I suppose the most like of all my children, so strong and independent. All seven kids were different Sandra, the firstborn, always Len's favourite, although he never admitted it, the. I want more than this one one. Wendy, the quiet, determined one. And Iris was the one they called snowflake because she was so white, with blonde hair, so yellow, my namesake and the last girl before the two boys, leonard, named for his dad, and finally a boy child one, the. So that's it now, len, I can rest one, but no along comes number seven, andrew, my youngest and my favorite, although I would never admit it to anyone. So seven children in 15 years. All of them are married now and with families of their own.
Speaker 1:Happiness and sadness, sickness and health, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The years fly by, don't they? My life as Iris was hard but never boring. Left a widow while still a young woman and still with children to raise on my own. Holidays in America.
Speaker 1:Once Sandra was settled, who would have thought that I would fly to Pittsburgh many times, sometimes on my own, sometimes with the boys and sometimes with several of the family? John and Sandra sent me plane tickets and showed me so many amazing places. They even took me to Niagara Falls and I swam in the warm Atlantic Ocean off Cape May In my last years. I hardly saw some of them and saw a lot of some of the others. Saw some grandkids missed and loved them all.
Speaker 1:So how does an old widow die and change into a fox, don't know. It's getting lighter now and there's a man in my house looking out of the window staring at me and he's just lit a cigarette. Even though it's been many years since my last fag, I can almost taste that Winston light that he just lit up. Bugger me, it's John. He sees me and he's crying. Of course Sandra and him must have come over from America for my funeral.
Speaker 1:Andrew whispered just before I died that he had called Sandra and she was coming. But although I desperately wanted to see them, the damn cancer took me and turned me into a bloody fox. Maybe that's why I'm a fox, so I can stay a little longer and see them for my funeral. Maybe that's why I remember everything about being Iris, but nothing about being a fox. Maybe when you die you come back as something else. Maybe that's all there is. Maybe no heaven or hell. So many maybes. Oh, look, there's our Sam. John has called her to see the fox in the hedge and, yes, they're both crying now. They know it's me and I nod, so they know that. I know that. They know I'm warm and calm now, at peace, that they know I'm warm and calm now, at peace. Got to go now, but I'll be back tomorrow, so get up early again, john. I wasn't a fox straight away. I don't know how long it took, but for a few hours I was neither all iris or all fox. I suppose I was both.
Speaker 1:I remember dying as Iris, surrounded by my family, not in any pain, but not conscious either. Well, not conscious like usual, but conscious in the way I was aware of everything that was happening. I could hear everybody talking nurses, doctors and family. I could hear everybody talking nurses, doctors and family. Andrew, so strong. Sheila's husband, as solid as always, hiding his softer side in his strong outer shell. The girls, caring and attentive. Long after my last breath they stayed with me, not wishing to leave because there was so final thing about death. But they left one by one.
Speaker 1:Andrew is last to leave. His wife, angela, tells him let her go so the nurses can see to her. Arrangements have to be made. The lady in charge of the nursing home wants to talk with them. Both Papers to sign, death certificates to be issued. Andrew whispered into my cold ear, believing that I can hear him. He's right, I can. Sandra's coming, mum, she'll be here tomorrow.
Speaker 1:Today I'm in the funeral home viewing number two. They have four nice rooms in case they are busy. I'm laid out on a trolley and dressed in the blue suit our son gave me in America. My hair is done nice and the makeup girl did a great job. It took almost. Like me in the younger days, all the kids have been to see me. They all talk to me and I hear them so good to hear their wonderful words and feel their love.
Speaker 1:I am lucky Sandra and John come to see me. Sandra gently touches my face and talks to me, not knowing that I can hear every word. She gently tells me off, bossy, as always. Whispered. There you are. You, rascal, couldn't wait just one more day so I could be with you at the end. She places her hand over mine and I feel the warmth and the love through her fingers. You look lovely, mum, and that blue outfit still looks good on you. She steps back so that John can be by my side. I try to tell them not to cry, not to be sad. I'm a bit confused. And then John starts talking.
Speaker 1:We saw you this morning in the garden, mum. We got in late last night from America and, with jet lag and not sleeping very well, I got up before dawn to have a cigarette and there you were, staring at me. It was you, wasn't it? I called for Sandra and she saw you too. I bet you will be there tomorrow, so I'll get up early again and see you then. Love you.
Speaker 1:Then they were gone, but I was not alone. Somehow I went back to my fox self and went about the business of finding food and staying out of sight. I have two cubs to look after and I am a good mother fox. I kept my promise to John and I'm hiding in the hedge on this cold morning On the day of my funeral. I am calm but inwardly excited and scared all at the same time. I look again at John as he smokes one of his American cigarettes, winston Lights, the same brand he used to bring me every time he came to visit Nottingham Sometimes business meetings, sometimes holidays, but always 200 cigarettes and a bottle of brandy from the duty-free. No ciggies or brandy are needed this time. I gave up smoking long ago, but the kids had been giving me the occasional brandy while I was in the nursing home. One of them put a ciggy in the coffin with me. I'm looking forward to the funeral.
Speaker 1:Yes, all funerals are sad, solemn affairs, but not for us that are dead. You see, for a short time we're in transition and all the animals of the earth are where we spend that transition. I'm a fox. Don't know why you don't get to choose. It's not purgatory, as the Catholics imagine it to be. It's not heaven or hell. It's nature or physics or something like that. I don't understand it and can't explain it. It just is like electricity you put the shilling in the meter and then the TV comes back on. You live, you die, become an animal or an insect and then go on.
Speaker 1:The boys carry me into the church in my coffin. They are so funny, I laugh so hard to the church in my coffin. They are so funny, I laugh so hard. Sheila's John is so tall and Sandra's boy, john, is so short. The funeral director puts them on the first two coffin handles and shows them how to put their arms around each other with the coffin on their shoulders. I'm still skinny, so don't weigh much, and the mismatch makes me almost roll to one side. Tony and Andrew are next brothers-in-law and so close like brothers and best mates. Leonard is crying and says he's not sure he can do this, but Sandra, as always, takes control and firmly tells him he's family and he would help carry his mum's coffin. He does and I'm proud of him. The funeral director shows them how to lift the coffin onto their shoulders, but they still struggle. Oh, I wish I could say careful, you silly buggers, you'll drop me. They steady themselves and we go into the chapel. The music is great. Don't cry for me, argentina, my favourite song.
Speaker 1:All the family are here Sandra, sheila, angela, wendy, iris, leonard and Andrew. They're husbands, wives and children, and even some children's children. Both Len and Leonard are here. Leonard, a pole bearer, and Len spirit was by my side holding my hand. I don't fully understand, but it feels so good and so peaceful. They all cry, but I'm not sad, it's great.
Speaker 1:Seeing them all together reminds me of when we were small and I would make fish fingers and chips for everyone Saturday lunchtime, before any of them grew up, and left home. Peeling potatoes, frying them up in the chip pan while the frozen fish fingers cook in the oven. Bread and butter, salt and vinegar, tomato sauce the cheap kind. Can't afford Heinz feeding two at a time because that's as much as the chip pan would hold. I remember Sandra bringing John home for the first time. He sat at the kitchen table almost in awe at the bedlam. That was 10 White gate veil.
Speaker 1:Len screams at the television, willing his horse to run faster so that his bet that he had sent Sandra to put on earlier would come through with at least a place. Leonard's playing with his toys Angela feeding baby Andrew, wendy and Sheila moaned about peeling potatoes and Sheila insists she wants a fried egg instead of the fish fingers. You'll get the same as the others or go hungry, is my response. A noisy home, but one full of love and laughter. Now Andrew is up on his feet in the pulpit. He's crying as he tells everyone how sorry he is that Sandra could not be with his mum at the end. Stop crying, my baby boy. She's here now and I'll be with you all forever.
Speaker 1:John's up next and he says nice things. He says he had two great mums, one he lost when he was a teenager and one he loved as much as the one he lost. That's nice. No mother-in-law jokes from John. He said many times that had he not married the daughter, he would have liked to have married the mother. Nice funeral Always liked funerals when I was Iris, much better than weddings.
Speaker 1:I like going to church as well. I like people. I like the singing. Madonna is singing now. Don't cry for me, argentina. Truth is I never left you. How true I never left you. Still haven't. I'm a fox again hiding in the hedge.
Speaker 1:The whole family come back to the White Gate Vale for after the funeral get-together. This should be good. No arguments. I hope Our Sandra has it all sorted. Who gets what. Who was promised this and that.
Speaker 1:I didn't have a lot, didn't need much. I was never one for expensive things, couldn't see the point. I didn't own a lot of jewellery but did love the family ring that came from America, a birthstone for each of the seven kids. I wish you could take that with me where I'm going. But, my beautiful yellow-haired girl, don't cry when a few years from now I will take it back. You can have it in your care for a while to help you grieve for me, but then, when you are strong enough, I will take it back in a way you will never know. Sneaky huh Sandra has a brilliant idea my pot birds.
Speaker 1:There are over 20 pot birds in my living room. Len bought me the first one many years ago and people have been buying me birds ever since. These colourful, flat-bottomed pop birds are all over my living room, not expensive but so beautiful. Like me, each one is a memory. Some were bought for Mother's Day, some for a birthday and some for no reason at all, like a surprise bunch of flowers. Silly, really, but so full of love and memories. A sparrow and robin on the fireplace, mantle, a blue tit and starling sitting together on the windowsill, a wren and a finch over the doorway. Colorful pop birds everywhere. I love every one of them, dusting them every now and again, letting the grandkids play with them, as long as they are careful. You break one of them, birds, and you'll be sorry. I always said Sandra has another wonderful idea. All of you, I want you to take home one of mum's birds to remember her by. Choose one you like or don't like, choose one you bought or one someone else bought, and so on. One by one, my dear family chose a bird to remember me by how nice.
Speaker 1:Now I'm a fox and not Iris. That's strange. What am I? Oh, I see it's clear now. I'm neither and I'm both. I'm nothing and I'm everything. I'm dead and I'm alive. I'm me and I'm you. I'm Sandra and Sheila and Angela and Wendy and Iris. I'm Leonard and Andrew. I'm all of their joy and their sadness. I'm all of their partners, their children, their children's children and even their pets. I am a fox, a wife, a mother, and now I am Leonard Charles Vickery. We are one person, one soul, one spirit. This is so good. I'm glad I'm at peace. Don't cry for me, argentina. Truth is, I never left you.
