This week I invite you to play with this nonsense word and create your own meaning and story about it.
Thanks Michael for this week’s Tale Weaver Challenge.
It was known as Ignormarte and kept in a nondescript bottle on the top shelf in the medicine cabinet for as long as I can remember.
Just one teaspoon and it would cure your headache, stomach upset, constipation, even the common cold, but you were only allowed one dose……… EVER.
It smelt like blackberries but was the colour of lemon grass.
Clear and smooth, it had the texture of honey, but tasted of nothing in particular.
Gran had sworn by it, and her husband simply swore. It was good for taming tempers too, and they were married for almost seventy years.
It wasn’t something you could buy, but a bottle handed down over generations dating back to medieval times. It was often voiced aloud that witches ran in the family, and Gran would joke that her other vehicle was a broom.
Nobody knew how it got its name and some of the clever brains in the family tried anagrams of what it could be, or the initials of ingredients, but Ignormarte it was, and Ignormarte it remained.
Because dosage was so restricted, the bottle was never empty. It would replenish itself over forty eight hours, and always be on call for the next ailment.
Great Uncle Neb was exceedingly vain and took two doses on consecutive days. His original request for a dose was to stop going bald, but he thought he could help himself for another matter and ended up going quite mad when all the young ladies in the village and those within a 100 mile radius tried to capture him for his favours. It was damn strong stuff, and his name is only mentioned as a warning to others.
I asked Gran if she had ever had a dose herself and she said no. She always felt it was taking advantage of a precious Gift for trivial matters and wanted to wait until she had something really seriously wrong before she took it. It was a shame she never thought her tiredness and weight loss were serious and thus cancer took her before she could test the age old remedy. I miss her.
Now the bottle sits on a shelf in my own bathroom, passed down to me as Gran’s inheritance because I seemed to be the only one in the family sensible enough to understand its worth, and its dangers.
To be honest, I’m afraid of it, but keep it out of harm’s way just in case I, or someone close to me has need of its magical powers.
Ignore the warning at your peril, unless you want to become as dead and barren as the red planet, aka Marte, as the Romans once said. Maybe that’s how Ignormarte got its name.