Definition
: the runic alphabet : any of several alphabets used by the Germanic peoples from about the 3rd to the 13th centuries
The word futhark refers to a writing system used by Germanic peoples, and especially by the Scandinavians and Anglo-Saxons, from about the third to the 13th centuries. Its origin is unclear, but a likely theory is that it was developed by the Goths from the Etruscan alphabet of northern Italy, with perhaps some aspects being influenced by the Latin alphabet of the first and second centuries. The word futhark itself comes from the sounds of the first six letters used in the earliest of the main runic script varieties: f, u, th, a, r, k. While eventually fully displaced by the Latin alphabet, futhark was still used occasionally for charms and memorial inscriptions in Scandinavia into the 16th and 17th centuries.
"Look." I said to the harassed pharmacist behind the counter. "My doctor wrote this out for me, as their printer wasn't working. I know I should have paid more attention to what he said it actually was, but it was such a needlessly complication bit of medical jargon that I'm afraid it went right out of my head. Can't you just decipher what he wrote?"
"I'm going to be blunt." She said, clearly gearing herself up for a fight. There had been a queue of at least eight people when I had arrived and there was easily double that behind me now. Winter was the time of the common sniffles, the tickley throat, the strange rash - it was truly the season hypochondriacs thrived in and by the pharmacist's unkempt hair, mascara smeared eyes (which helpfully just blended in with the prominent dark circles) and general air of a small, overworked, slight homicidal hamster, it was clearly getting to her. "Your doctor's handwriting is basically illegible. He could be writing in Swahili for all I know and I cannot," she held up her hand, forestalling any objection I may be about to present, "in good faith just guess what he wrote. You will have to go back to your doctor's surgery and ask them to confirm the prescription - and also write it out again in a more legible format so we can process it."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Do I look like I'm in the mood to be kidding around in any way, shape or form right now?"
"...no ma'am."
She sighed and relented a bit, my air of a kicked puppy seemingly slightly denting the callous shell all those who dealt with the general public eventually grew. "Try the chemist round the corner. They're local and have been a fixture here for years. Since they're a family run business, they might have more experience with the local doctor's handwriting than us."
She handed the prescription back to me and shouted over my shoulder, "Next!"
"Thank you very much." I said as humbly as a serf receiving benediction from the Queen and scurried out the shop.
The chemist she was speaking about was a small place, the outside painted a dingy beige (I wondered if they had actually purchased the paint in this colour - or if it had originally been cream and the shade had simply curdled over the years.) with the name written in big, toilet bleach green letters, in an outdated seventies font over the entrance. There was a dispiriting display of toilet roll, half price, no name make up, adult diapers and dentures in the window. There was also a white naked mannequin, with no indication of why it was in the window or what it was advertising. It was simply there.
The shop itself was sandwiched between a couture tobacconist (apparently a thing) and an empty shop that appeared to have been abandoned so long ago, the 'For Rent' sign above the door was faded and weathered.
With not a little amount of trepidation, I entered.
An old fashioned bell chimed out my intrusion and for a moment i stood in the doorway blinking, as my eyes adjusted to the light. It was much, much darker inside than out - very little light made it through the window, despite that fact that, from the outside, the interior had appeared to be well lit with strip lighting. I glanced up, the only lighting I could see in here were individual bulbs, dotted about the ceiling randomly and shaded by those glass art deco lampshades that little old ladies and hunting lodges seem to favour so strongly.
The walls were lined with cabinets made of dark wood and polished to a high gleam. They were full of endless array of glass bottles and jars and it reminded me of nothing so much as the chain store brand called Ye Olde Sweetie Shoppe. That chain had modeled itself on traditional sweet shops and also had dark shelves with glass jars filled with a variety of things. However, Ye Olde had clearly cut corners, using cheap stained MDF for their shelves and plastic knock off jars for their display. This chemist, however, looked like the real deal.
Interested, I drifted towards the nearest shelf. I squinted my eyes as I approached. Was something moving in that jar?
"Can I help you?" A soft voice call out to me from the dark recesses of the shop. I jerked back guiltily, as if I'd been caught shoplifting. Now that I looked at it properly, of course the contents weren't moving - it must just have been a trick of the lights. I glanced down at the quaint handwritten label - 'Glamour'.
Must be some sort of make up product - they all had unusual and not actually helpful descriptive names like that. The dark contents seemed to glitter in the light. That must be why I thought I saw it move.
"Oh, yes, of course." I made my way up to the front.
A highly polished wooden counter presented itself before me, its surface so clean and shiny I could almost see my face it in. The edges were soft and curved - worn smooth after years of handling.
A man with equally soft and worn skin was standing behind said counter. He was of middling age, middling height and gentle demeanor. The second I took my eyes off of him, I could not have told you his hair or eye colour and only with some hesitation, could I recall his gender.
However, at the time, all I saw was a helpful, pleasant, chemist.
"I was wondering if you could help me." I began. "My doctor wrote out a prescription for me - but the printers were broken so he's had to hand write it and unfortunately, " I hesitated, "the handwriting is a little...rough."
"You mean illegible." The chemist said with a smile.
"Well," I started to hedge, then gave up. "Yes." I admitted.
"Well, let's have a look anyway. Which doctor's surgery are you with?"
"The one in Abby Road."
"Above or below?" He asked with a sharp look at me.
Above or below? What on earth kind of question was that? "I'm not sure. The uh, NHS one if that helps?" I said, confused.
He visibly relaxed. "I see. Well then, let us see what the mortal realm of medicine can assist you with today."
Ok, so the whole place was weird and creepy - but it was quiet, there were no queues and the man behind the counter, despite asking random questions and making cryptic statements, was actually trying to help me and not looking at me like I was yet another annoying piece of chewing gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe or, even worse, caught in their hair. I could quite happily cope with that.
I handed him the prescription and he immediately said, "Ah, Dr Hatton's work I see."
"You can tell?" I asked, surprised.
"Oh yes, I am quite familiar with his spider on steroids scrawl." He studied the paper intently. "And I can even make out what he was trying to write. Tell me, did you go to him for cramping?"
"Yes." I blinked.
"Particularly at night?"
"That's it exactly." I exclaimed, beyond amazed at this point. The chemist hadn't been kidding when he said the doctor's handwriting looked like a spider on steroids. I personally, had though the description too kind and generous when speaking of the post modernist random lines the doctor had presented me with.
"Then it does say what I think it does." He nodded to himself. "Mm, we do have that in stock so if you would wait here a moment, I'll go make that up for you. It should take a few minutes, is that alright?"
"That's perfectly fine." I said emphatically - compared to the potential forty minute wait at the other place, this was heavenly.
As he disappeared into the back through a heavily beaded curtain, I strolled about the shop. There were a few brand names I recoginsed, hay fever tablets, cough mixtures, nappy rash cream and the like, but most of the shop content's seemed to be all own brand, natural, herbal remedies - an unusual thing to see in a chemist, that temple to chemical, scientific drugs and cures.
The herbal remedies were interesting too - all in those little glass jars with hand written labels combining different herbs and spices and other plants that I had no idea existed, let alone what they did. All of the jars came with little helpful descriptive notes, to explain the effect of the medicine - such as to 'aid indigestion caused by work related issues' (everyone could do with that), 'to soothe a damaged heart', 'to aid the in the clearing of the mind for a resolute decision', 'for prophetic dreams with regards to the financial arena', 'to cleanse luck that has turned bad', 'for the eradication of memories of an unfortunate ex'.
They were completely weird and trippy and probably 100% placebos but I was utterly charmed.
A rattle of beads alerted me to the chemist reappearing.
I made my way to the counter as he rang up the medicine (on a completely normal and modern cash register I was slightly disappointed to see. I could even use contactless with my card.)
"How long have been been here?" I asked as he handed me the standard paper bag.
"Oh, you know, just about forever." He said with a smile.
After that, I never went anywhere else.
After that, I never went anywhere else.
No comments:
Post a Comment