Mrs Endhouse, as you may recall, is a very ancient witch, living in the midst of a village community that is entirely ignorant of her background and profession. She is not a naturally friendly woman, coming as she does, from the darker side of the craft. However, it did not escape her attention, during the period when she was 'fishing' for a particular class of vermin, using the old ploy of appearing frail and helpless, that certain of the villagers had been moved to great kindness towards her. As a result of these unexpected displays of compassion, she began to feel an unaccustomed sense of good will towards several of her neighbours.

One of these neighbours is a rather matronly lady, Miss Marsh, who lives a few hundred yards down the lane from Mrs Endhouse. Seeing how Mrs Endhouse struggled with her shopping, she had several times called round to see if she could do anything for her. She was so attentive at that time that she almost ruined Mrs Endhouse's plan, which would have left her and her 'cat', Tinker, with a big problem. Even so, since Mrs Endhouse's wickedness had faded to a shadow of its former strength, she found herself moved by this tender-hearted display of neighbourliness. She found, in fact, that she actually liked Miss Marsh.

Another neighbour meeting with Mrs Endhouse's approval after the 'fishing' expedition, was the shop-keeper, Mr Green. He had been extremely solicitous and anxious to help when she was laying on her lumbago with a trowel. The man would have delivered her shopping himself if she had allowed it.

It was hot outside. Midsummer. Tinker came indoors to lie on the cool kitchen flag-stones. As he entered, he wrinkled his nose and swiped his paw across his face. There was a noxious odour coming from a caldron suspended over a fire. It was hot and steamy in the kitchen. Not at all the atmosphere he was seeking. He yowled an indignant question and Mrs Endhouse. She turned to answer him, ladle in hand.

"I'm making a potion - a 'bold affection' potion for that nice old bizzum, Miss Marsh and the kindly Mr Green."

Tinker made an unpleasant sound that caused Mrs Endhouse to frown.

"You don't have to be so nasty about it. They were very nice to me when we were decoying those men in for dinner. I want to do something for them in return. The silly old beggars like each other but they're too shy to say."

Tinker set up a long, horrible caterwauling, that went on for several minutes, while Mrs Endhouse listened thoughtfully to every word.

"You don't have no master in the dark dimension who'd take a dim view of my trying to do a bit of good. If you did, he'd be nothing to me. I'm a witch. I do as I please. I'm older than that religion with its heaven and hell. So are you. I don't know where you get such ideas. You been hanging round with idiots and listening to their nonsense. My wickedness is my own. It wasn't put there by no devil. It doesn't hurt to have a bit of balance. No point being wicked just for the sake of it. That's just boring. Why shouldn't I do something nice for people who were nice to me?"

Tinker hissed and stalked off.

Mrs Endhouse 'hrumphed' and carried on stirring. It did smell awful. She'd have to add it to some strong brew to disguise the taste or they'd never take it. Sloe gin perhaps or jars of pickle might drown the smell and taste sufficiently to make it more inviting. It had taken her ages to find all the ingredients and some had had to be improvised. Modern farming, with its herbicides and pesticides had left very few of the old meadow herbs. So a job that would once have taken half an hour, now took more than half a day. It would all be worth it though, if she could just see that pair look directly at each other - eye to eye - smile boldly, even hold hands maybe.

She'd got the notion as she was walking past Miss Marsh's house the previous evening. The sense of surprise had almost rocked her back on her heels. She felt a wave of magic tingling through the night air. It was weak, amateur magic - school girl magic - but magic nonetheless. And it had come from Miss Marsh's house. Miss Marsh was doing magic. Not doing it very well or properly. But Miss Marsh - of all people to find messing with magic! Mrs Endhouse faced the house and reached out with her mind, feeling for the spell. Oh, bless her heart! It was love magic. The prim and proper lady had peeled an apple, being careful to get the whole skin off in one long strip, and thrown it over her shoulder, wishing to see it form the first letter of Mr Green's name: Sidney.

Mrs Endhouse could see all this quite clearly and she felt unexpectedly moved by it. She'd noticed Miss Marsh and Mr Green looking at each other shyly, across the counter. Miss Marsh would withdraw her hand, flustered, if Mr Green happened to touch it while counting out her change. She blushed furiously one day when he'd asked if she would like him to bring her some item that wouldn't be delivered by the wholesaler until later in the afternoon. He didn't ask again - sure that Miss Marsh was rejecting him. Mrs Endhouse was very observant. She knew all this. It was obvious that they'd never have the nerve to get together without a bit of a prod.

The brew was fouling up the whole house. It was going to take some powerful strong condiment to disguise it. It was likely to taint anything more delicate in flavour than the hottest chilli and meanest garlic. So chilli and garlic relish it was! Mrs Endhouse presented Miss Marsh and Mr Green each with a large jar of her horrible relish.

As any person furnished with the normal quotient of taste buds and olfactory receptors might anticipate, it was inedible. Miss Marsh and Mr Green were, however, fine people. Both accepted the old lady's gift graciously.

Miss Marsh answered a knock at her door at 6.45pm and received the jar of brown goo that was brusquely thrust into her hands, with a hesitant, confused smile.

"Just wanted to say thanks for your kindness back when me back was playing me up. Made it special. It's me mum's old recipe. Goes nice with anything. It'll cure anything too! Tis all right. No need to thank me."

It took great courage to brace herself against the evil smell and try the relish, smeared thinly in a cheese sandwich. Two bites were two bites too many. Miss Marsh took the jar down the garden and emptied the contents into a small burn that ran across the bottom of it.

Mr Green received his gift at 7pm (his shop stayed open until 8.30). He thanked Mrs Endhouse politely and placed it on a shelf behind the counter. Later, he tried a bit with his pork pie. His sense of smell was very poor, so he was unprepared for the violent assault on his taste buds. It brought tears to his eyes. A prudent man, he considered emptying the jar on his compost heap but decided instead to take it and tip it into his neighbour's muck-spreader, since he was unable to judge how strong the smell might be and didn't wish to have an offensive aroma drifting from his back garden.

It didn't matter. Mrs Endhouse didn't know the strength of her own brew. They'd both had enough to do the trick - more than enough. The recipe was very very old and had not been followed to the letter. It contained substitutes for ingredients Mrs E. couldn't find. The substitutes gave it something extra. It had considerably more kick than the old witch anticipated or intended. And she'd given each of them a 2lb jar of the muck. Fortunately, since it was about to spread all round the neighbourhood, it wasn't meant to be one of those pernicious, hormone stimulators that were so popular among the young people. It was just meant to break down inhibitions and stimulate feelings of affection - the soppy, sentimental type, not the lecherous type. But, for all that it was supposed by Mrs Endhouse, to be completely innocuous, it was still a highly potent concoction. The most charitable thing a reasonable person could have said about it was: "it could have been worse".

A few days later, to her great delight, she saw a list pinned to the village green Parish Council notice board, for people to sign up for a Scottish Country Dancing class, to be held in the Village Hall on Thursday evenings. The names of Miss Marsh and Mr Green appeared side by side at the top of the list.

So she walked home with a spring in her step, singing a tuneless little ditty. As she passed Miss Marsh's place, she again felt that familiar tingle - except .... it was not so familiar. Miss Marsh seemed to be getting in to the habit of dabbling in magic. The magic was of a different order this time though. It wasn't the clumsy, ignorant sort of fumblings she'd felt last time. This was strong and alien. Not witches' magic, black or white - but a different sort of magic altogether. She reached out tentatively to get a better sense of it but it was slippery and seemed to draw away from her prying feelers. It just seemed to be a presence, sitting there, so to speak, inside the house, dormant but awake, not being performed. As she stood there puzzling, the magic became almost invisible to her, as if it was deliberately trying to hide itself.

She wondered about it for a few days, but she didn't feel it again, so as time passed, it receded to the back of her mind and received less and less attention.

When Thursday arrived, Mrs Endhouse, contrived to be passing the Village Hall just before the dancing class was due to begin. She wanted, of course, to watch Miss Marsh and Mr Green arrive for their first lesson - and bathe in the warm glow of her good deed. Mrs Endhouse was early so she purchased a magazine from the Post Office and sat on the memorial seat, pretending to read it. When they arrived, the couple looked splendid, smiling and chatting happily to each other. They didn't even notice the old lady watching with pride as they passed arm in arm.

Satisfied with a job well done, Mrs Endhouse returned home - in blissful ignorance of the trouble about to erupt around the village.