The Storyteller.

Welcome to my blog. My name is Tony Locke and I am The Storyteller.  So why not pull up a chair and sit awhile. You know you’re never too old for a story.

 

 

 

The Storyteller.

There’s turf on the fire

There’s tea in the pot

Sunday’s here again

It’s been a good week

And now is the time

To hear the tale’s again

So pull up a chair and sit awhile

The clock is has just struck three

You’re tuned in to WRFM

To join the Séanachai.

 

 

How the Wren became the King of all birds in Ireland.

But which bird is the king of all the birds?  Well here in Ireland we have a special little bird that has a story all of its own. The story is called:

 

How the Wren became the King of all birds in Ireland.

Once upon a time, somewhere in the west of Ireland there was a secret valley it was full of trees and close to the sea.  Among the animals of Ireland it was known as the Valley of the Birds because it was there that all the birds in Ireland would meet at certain times of the year to discuss matters of importance and to sort out any problems they may have had.

At one of these meetings the trees were covered with birds of all kinds.  There were little birds like the robin red breast and the tiny wren.  There were medium sized birds like the chicken and the crow and there were big birds like the sea gull and the golden eagle with his sharp claws and fierce eyes.

The golden eagle said,

“I have been watching the humans and I saw that they have a king.  I think we should have our own king”

However, which bird should it be and how do they choose a King.  The birds discussed the matter all day and late into the night.

The robin said,

“I should be King for the robin did a great favour for the Queen of the faeries and as a reward she gave us this fine red waistcoat to wear so all other birds could see how brave and loyal the robin is”

“Excuse me” said the wren in a tiny little voice that none of the other birds could hear because of all the twittering and screeching that was going on.

The crow said,

“Caw’m off it, I should be king of the birds for the crow has followed the human and knows their ways.  I also have the most beautiful black feathers, Caw Caw”

“Excuse me” said the wren.

The chicken said,

“Bu bu bu but I should be king for I lay eggs that the humans have for breakfast.  I live on their farms so I also know their ways and I have the most beautiful feathers of many different colours.  Everyone loves me, so I should be king”

“Excuse me” said the wren.

The sea gull said,

“I guide the humans when they go to sea; I show them where they can catch fish and warn them of bad weather, they trust me.  I should be king”

“Excuse me” said the wren,

The golden eagle said,

“I am bigger and fiercer than any of you.  I can see further and am stronger and braver, I can fly higher so I am your rightful king, you must choose me”

“Excuse me” said the wren.

The owl sat a little way off in the branches of a tree.  He said nothing but all the birds knew he was the wisest of all birds.

“Let us ask the owl to choose our king” cried the birds.

The owl agreed and chose two swans to help him decide and to act as referees.  They also made the rules and made sure all the other birds in the competition obeyed them. No pushing, no scratching, that sort of thing.

The owl then said,

“We have decided that as we are creatures of the air the bird that flies the highest should be our king”.

The wren said in a tiny little voice,

“Yes, yes, the bird that flies the highest should be king”

The owl looked at the wren, put his head to one side and said,

“Whooo Whoooo asked youuuuu”

The wren thought to himself,

“The owl thinks he is the wisest of all birds but I’m wiser than he is and I already know which bird will fly highest”.

The owl said,

“Now youuuu all know the rules, they are very are simple, whoooooever flies the highest will be crowned king of all the birds in Ireland.  Anyone found cheating will be immediately disqualified. Are there any questions”?

The Eagle stretched out his wings, looked at the owl and said,

“Just one, where’s my crown”?

“What do you mean” squawked the magpie.  “We haven’t had the competition yet, how do you know you are going to win”?

“Of course I’ll win” said the eagle “I am the best bird in all of Ireland”

“Well there is more to being king than being big and strong, to be a good ruler you should be wise, kind and sensitive to others” said the magpie.

“Shut yer face” said the eagle, “I’m going to win so there”.

The owl turned to all the other birds and said,

“Are youuuu all ready, flap your wings, ready, steady, GO”

They all took off in a cloud of feathers.  They flew high above the earth, but one by one they grew tired and had to come back down to their homes.  The owl and the swans watched and each thought they knew who would win, but they said nothing.  The golden eagle beat his powerful wings and rose higher and higher.  After a while he looked back and saw all the other birds far below him.

“This is easy, they’ll never catch me, and I’m going to be crowned King of all the birds in Ireland” he thought,

Very pleased with himself he went higher and higher until he could go no further,

“I’ve won; I’m the true king of all the birds in Ireland”

He began to get ready to glide back down to earth.  Just then he felt something moving in the feathers on his back and he heard a tiny little voice say,

“Excuse me and thank you”

The golden eagle looked over his shoulder and can you guess what he saw? Yes it was the tiny little wren.  The wren jumped off his back, up into the air and flapped his wings.  He flew high above the eagle.  The eagle was angry and tried to flap his wings again but by now he was too tired.

“Come back, come back, that’s not fair, I’m the king of the birds” screeched the eagle.

But the wren flew higher and higher.  The eagle glided back down to earth and screeched in an angry voice,

“That’s not fair, tell the wren that he has cheated and it is not allowed”

The wise old owl listened to the eagle, smiled and looked up to the tiny spot high above in the sky.  The wren was coming back down to earth.  The owl whispered to the two swans.

“Well” demanded the eagle.

“We have made our decision” said the owl to all the birds,

“Being a king means not only being big and strong and powerful.  It also means being clever, thinking ahead and planning.  The wren did not cheat he simply outwitted you.  For this reason we have decided that the wren will be king of all birds”.

That is the story of how the tiny wren became the king of all birds and he has been the king of all birds in Ireland ever since As for the eagle, well he decided he wanted nothing more to do with things and went to live on a mountain top and that is where eagles live to this day.

The Vanity of the Crow.

I’m starting off this week with a story that has a little moral at the end. It’s called:

 

The vanity of the Crow.

Once upon a time long, long ago, the creator of the world said that  he or she intended to appoint a king over all the birds. A day was named when all the birds should send a representative to appear before the creator and on that day one of them would be chosen to rule as King. There was one condition though, the one selected to rule had to have the most beautiful feathers of all.

As they all wanted to look their best the birds went down to the river and began to wash, dust, and generally preen their feathers ready for the big day. The crow was there along with all the rest, he was extremely jealous of all their bright colours and thought that  with his ugly black plumage he stood no chance of being chosen so he waited until they were all gone and then he picked up the most colourful feathers the other birds had dropped and fastened them onto his own body. Now he looked better than any of them, or so he thought.

When the day arrived to appear before the creator all the birds assembled before the throne. After walking up and down and inspecting  each bird the creator decided that the crow was the most beautiful with all his coloured feathers and he should be crowned King of all the birds.  All the other birds were annoyed so they began to pull off the false feathers from the crow and eventually exposed him for the fraud he was.

So remember, it’s not only fine feathers that make fine birds. Or in other words never judge a book by its cover.

Haddock's Ghost.

Haddock’s Ghost.

One of the most famous ghost stories in Ireland is about the Haddock Ghost. It’s a tale about a ghost who returns to right a wrong.  James Haddock was a farmer who lived just outside Belfast, he died in 1657 but his spirit returned in order to demand justice to be done and the rightful heir to his property recompensed.  This story has the added interest as the ghost of James Haddock was recognised as existing by the celebrated bishop of the time Dr. Jeremy Taylor.

James Haddock had made a will in which he stipulated that his wife, Arminell should receive his manor house and the land surrounding it. His young son, John Haddock was to receive the rest of his property when he reached the age of 21. The executor of the will was a Mr Davis. Several years after James Haddock died Davis married Arminell and they had a son. Davis then altered Haddocks will and named his own son as the beneficiary of James Haddocks property instead of John Haddock, the rightful heir.

 Davis might have succeeded with his deception except for a number of unusual events. Late one night near the end of September Francis Taverner, a good friend of the late James Haddock was on his way home to Hillsborough when his horse suddenly stopped on the Drum Bridge near Brumbeg. Taverner climbed down from his horse and attempted to lead his horse forward when suddenly a figure in a white coat appeared. Taverner was shocked to see that this figure had an uncanny resemblance to his old friend James Haddock, but Haddock had died five years before.  The ghostly figure begged Francis Taverner to help his son get his rightful inheritance but the stunned Taverner refused, jumped on his horse and galloped quickly off the bridge.

Taverner was to claim later that a great wind rose up and he heard the sound of hideous screeches.

When he arrived home Taverner fell to his knees and asked god for his protection.  The following night just after midnight Taverner was sat by the fire with his wife when James Haddock appeared again. Taverners wife didn’t see the ghost of Haddock and it appealed to her husband for help. Haddock pleaded with Taverner to go to his widow and tell her that justice must be done for their son John. Once again Taverner refused so the ghost visited him every night for the next month.

Shaken and afraid, Taverner left his home and fled to Belfast to take refuge with a friend, but it did him no good, Haddocks ghost simply followed him. The ghost then demanded that Taverner go to Arminell and scold her in the harshest possible terms for her treatment of their young son. If Taverner continued to refuse then the ghost warned him that there would be severe consequences.

Taverner became desperate and went to his chaplain, John South, he confided in him all that had happened and begged him for guidance. The chaplain went to see the vicar of Belfast, Dr Lewis Downes and the three men then went to see Davis to tell him of the ghost’s message. Davis laughed at them and refused point blank to surrender the land, at this point the ghost of John Haddock told Taverner to take the matter to court. Francis Taverner explained to the ghost the futility of such action as he had no witness.

“Never mind” said the ghost, “I’ll be there and appear when called upon”.

The court case to return the estate to John Haddock was held in Carrickfergus. The opposing council abused Taverner and challenged him to call upon his ghostly witness if he could. He even went as far as mocking Taverner and shouting

“James Haddock, James Haddock” as his tone became even more insulting with his third summons “James Haddock” He received a rather unexpected response.

It was reported that a loud clap of thunder shook the courthouse and a ghostly hand draped in a shroud slowly appeared from the witness box and a spectral voice sounded,

“Is this enough”

The courtroom erupted and needless to say, the case was settled very quickly afterwards and Davis left the courthouse amidst the jeers and catcalls from the onlookers. Davis never made it home, as he was riding back to his house he was thrown from his horse and broke his neck. After this, Haddock’s ghost never bothered Francis Taverner again. Because the entire countryside were talking of these unusual events  Bishop Jeremy Taylor held an inquiry into the matter and after hearing all the evidence and listening to the accounts of all witnesses he deemed the case of James Haddock’s ghost to be true.

It was he said, “The only ghost who ever answered a summons in a court of law”

One final twist in the story. James Haddock was buried in Drumbeg Parish Church graveyard in the 17^th century but it is said that his tombstone will not stand upright. Even after repeated attempts to place it in an upright position it continues to fall over. It still lies flat on the ground of the family plot to this day surrounded by moss and grass. Of Arminell no more was written.

The Pooka parts 1 and 2.

And now as its November I will tell you a little about the fairy creature known as The pooka. I remember being told never to pick Blackberries after Samhain/Halloween because the Pooka was abroad at this time and he peed on the Blackberries. Not very nice is it?

 

The Pooka Part One.

November is the month of the pooka.  In Irish folklore it often appeared as a horse that galloped across the countryside knocking down fences and gates, and destroying crops. It was said that while in this form the Pooka liked to take its rider, usually a drunk, on a wild ride all night then throw them to the ground in the early morning. This person, already heavily inebriated, is also under the spell of the Pooka and has no recollection of what happened. This often accounts for the reason some people who, having gotten very drunk, report that they have no idea what happened the previous night. If you believe that then you’ll believe anything, I know my wife wouldn’t listen to that auld guff.

The only one to ever ride a pooka successfully was Brien Buru the High King of Ireland. He gained control over the creature through the use of magic. He used a special bridle which contained three hairs of the Pooka’s tail and together with his physical strength he was able to stay on its back until the exhausted pooka surrendered.  The High King then forced it to agree to two promises, first, that it would no longer torment Christian people and destroy their property and second that it would never again attack an Irishman (or woman) except those that were drunk or had evil in their heart.  The pooka agreed but very shortly afterwards reverted to its old ways. After all the Pooka’s master was The Prince of Lies., commonly called the devil.

Here in Ireland the pooka is believed to be an animal spirit and it has been suggested that the name originated from Poc which means he-goat in Irish. Another suggestion is that the name may come from the Scandinavian pook or puke, meaning nature spirit. However, whatever its origin there is no mistaking that the pooka is a changeling that can take many different forms human or animal, horse, donkey, goat, dog, cat or bull. Sometimes it has been described as a handsome young man or a beautiful young woman. When in animal form the pooka is usually jet black with fiery red or yellow eyes.

The Pooka is said to live in the hills and mountains and depending on where you live it can be helpful or menacing. It has been known to help farmers or cause havoc depending on its mood at the time. It is cunning and deceitful and because of this it has also been called the trickster. Because of its power to create or destroy it has also been looked upon as a fertility god and through its use of human speech a prophesier.

The form in which it most often appears is that of a black horse with red eyes, it roams the countryside at night tearing down fences, trampling crops and scattering livestock. In County Down it assumes the shape of a small deformed goblin who demands a share of the crop at the end of the harvest and some people in this area suggest that it is for this reason that they place a corn dolly in the field when the crop has been cut. This is known locally as The Pooka’s Share. In County Laois it takes on the shape of a huge hairy bogeyman who terrifies those abroad at night, in Counties Waterford and Wexford, it is said to appear as an eagle with a gigantic wingspan and in County Roscommon it is a large black goat with curling horns. In County Mayo the sight of the Pooka can stop hens laying or cows giving milk, and of course it stops me picking Blackberries.

The Pooka Part Two

Poulaphuca means Hole of the Pooka.

Situated at the boundary of the River Liffey between Counties Kildare and Wicklow this is the site of the hydro-electric power station. Here the river flows through a narrow gorge before plunging 150 feet in three stages. Under the second drop there is a pool and this is called the Hole of the Pooka. It gave rise to a story by an unknown Kildare man.

In November 1813 the Kildare Hunt known as the Killing Kildares were following the scent of a fox. The fox managed to evade the hunt until it was approaching Tipperkevin in County Kildare. It was here that a large fox appeared to the hounds who chased it towards the River Liffey.  At the same time a large black horse also appeared. It had no rider and none of the members of the hunt recognised it. Some suggest it was the Pooka.

The ground over which the chase took place was difficult, the fox and the hounds ran so fast that only one member of the hunt managed to keep up with them, a man named Grennan. He was followed by the black horse.  As they approached the gorge the river was in full flow following very heavy rain but the hounds were gaining on the fox and started to cross the river picking their way across the rocks. Grennan realised the danger the hounds were in and tried to call them back but to no avail, by this time the Pooka was tempting them onwards.  The fox was headed for a narrow ledge but when it saw the Pooka’s fiery red eyes it became so frightened that it attempted to jump the last few yards onto the ledge. It missed and fell into the rushing waters below. The Pooka however easily jumped the gorge and disappeared into the nearby wood but the pack of hounds hard on the scent of the fox fell headlong into the turbulent waters of the Liffey.  Grennan watched as fox and hounds desperately tried to swim to safety, some disappeared below the waters some were dashed against the rocks where they screamed in pain before dying. Grennan wept but suddenly his sorrow gave way to terror as he heard a diabolical neighing like an animal laughing from the woods on the other side of the gorge. He knew then that it was the Pooka.

In 1930, the writer of the original story described how he stood above the valley’s of the Liffey and the King’s River when a sudden sadness came over him and he wept at the site of so many homes that would soon be submerged forever by the Blessington Lakes that would be created to supply water for the power station at Poulaphuca. Between 1938 and 1940 seventy six houses were demolished and a series of bridges were blown up before the entire valley was flooded for the hydro-electric power station. The church of Saint Mark which was built in 1682 was also submerged and to this day some people claim to hear bells tolling beneath the waters of the lakes.

A Man A Boy and A Donkey.

And now for something a little bit different:

This is a story that concerns a man, a boy, and a donkey.

Once upon a time a man and his son were taking their donkey to the local market. It was a lovely warm day and as they were walking along the road a passing traveller saw them and said,

“ You’re a right couple of eejits,  why aren’t you riding the donkey instead of walking”

The man thought about it for a minute and then decided to put the boy up onto the donkey and they carried on their way to the market.

Soon they passed a group of men. One of them shouted,

“Look at that lazy child, he sits on the donkey and lets his poor old father walk”

The man thought about it for a minute and then told his son to get off the donkey and he climbed up onto the donkey himself”

They hadn’t gone far when they passed two women, one of the women said,

“Shame on that lazy man letting his poor little son walk on a hot day like this”

Well by this stage the man didn’t know what to do. He thought about it for a minute and then told his son to jump up onto the donkeys back and sit in front of him.  Eventually they reached the town and the people passing by began to point at them and shout insults at them. The man stopped and asked why they were shouting at them. One of them said,

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself overloading that poor old donkey with you and your healthy looking son?”

The man and the boy got off the donkey. They thought about it for a minute and then they decided to cut down a pole. They tied the donkey’s feet to it and raised the pole and the donkey up onto their shoulders. They started to walk off towards the market but everyone they passed started pointing and laughing at the two eejits carrying a donkey.  Soon they came to Market Bridge, when the donkey, getting one of his feet free kicked out and caused the boy to drop his end of the pole.  In the struggle the donkey fell over the bridge and because his feet were tied together, he was drowned.

“Serves you right” said an old man who had followed them.

So remember, if you try to please everyone you’ll end up pleasing no one.

The Woodcarver.

Here is a little poem about another type of person who sometimes works in a wood it’s called.

 

The Wood Carver

Willie the Wood Spirit loved to play,
He'd dance and sing and run all day.
He'd teach the newborn birds to sing,
and mend a robin's broken wing.

Until one day, while running through the wood,
an evil spirit, before him stood.
He cast a spell to make Willie sleep,
and placed him inside a tree to keep.

There he stayed for many a year,
until one day, what did he hear?
A chopping sound, some scrapes, some cuts,
Poor little Willie thought he'd gone nuts.

The sound grew louder, it was getting close,
and before he knew it, he could wiggle his nose.
And soon he felt the wind on his cheek;
dare he open his eyes and take a peek?

He summoned his courage and opened one eye,
Looked all around and up to the sky.
When what did he see when he gazed up above?
A man with a chisel, a hat and a glove.

A man with a wonderful look in his eyes,
a man who listened and heard Willie's cries.
And set Willie free from his prison of timber,
that carver of wood, he will always remember.

The Tree and The Axe.

 

Here is a little story to make you think.

The Trees and the Axe:

A man came into a wood and asked the Trees to provide him a handle for his axe. The Trees consented to his request and gave him a young ash-tree. No sooner had the man fitted a new handle to his axe, than he began to use it to quickly chop down all the other trees in the wood. An old oak, lamenting when too late the destruction of his companions, said to a neighbouring cedar,

"The first step has lost us all. If we had not given up the rights of the ash in order to protect ourselves, we would have had a future to enjoy”

So remember there may be unforeseen consequences when you sacrifice the rights of others.

The Wise Old Owl.

Keeping with the wood theme the next story has a moral at the end. It is called:

The Wise Old Owl.

Once upon a time long, long ago, a large group of owls came to settle in a wood. The wood was full of lovely green trees and they were each allowed to pick a tree of their choice to build their nests.

Each of the young owls chose a green, luscious, and healthy tree for themselves but there was an old owl in the group and the younger owls forced him to live in an old half dead looking tree. The old owl had to be satisfied with his tree and settled down for the day.

As time went by the younger owls who felt proud of their trees would tease the old owl and would shout at him saying,

“Hey, old man, what’s the matter, couldn’t you find a nice tree. Your tree is half dead and dry looking, a bit like yourself” and they all laughed at him.

The old owl would silently smile, he was very wise. At times he would reply to their insults saying,

“Who knows whether you are lucky to live in your tree or if I am lucky to live in mine”?  However, the young owls would just laugh at him and fly away.

One day a group of woodcutters came into the wood in search of timber.  The tall green luscious trees were perfect for them and they took out their sharp axes and started to chop them down.  The young owls started making loud noises when they saw their homes getting destroyed but they couldn’t do anything about it. They had to sit helplessly and watch the destruction. 

Eventually the woodcutters came to the old and half dead tree, they said,

“No point in wasting energy cutting this old thing down. It’s of no use to us” So they left it where it stood and went on their way.  The old owl’s nest was spared.

So you see, sometimes what you think is a curse can sometimes be a blessing in disguise.

• The Ghost of Barnalyra Wood

 

A ghost story that originates in County Mayo.

 

Most of the woods that once covered Barnalyra have mostly disappeared and those that are left are either stunted, twisted, or commercially useless. They stand there for the entire world looking like spectres guarding both the past and the locality of this lonely spot five miles outside Swinford in County Mayo. It seems the perfect setting for a ghost story and what follows is one such story, called simply,

The Ghost of Barnalyra Wood.

Over two hundred years ago a poor woodsman and his wife lived in the woods. Their cottage was located in a clearing on what was once the main road from Sligo to Galway. It was also the route used by the Bianconi mail coach and even though the cottage was small the couple kept a room spare to rent out to passing travellers as money was very hard to come by

The woodsman and his wife had a daughter she was an only child who grew up to be a truly beautiful girl who was the main attraction at every dance that was held at the local crossroads. The only problem was the woodsman and his wife had no money to put towards a dowry if the daughter met a suitable young man. Life was cruel.

This became an obsession for the girl’s parents as they were worried that she would end up marrying some poor shepherd and spend her life in poverty. One fine summer evening fortune seemed to smile upon them as there was a knock on the door of their little cottage.

It was a passing stranger who asked for a meal and if possible a bed for the night and he promised to pay well. He explained that he had been at sea for some years and having left his ship at Sligo he was on the way to pay a surprise visit to his parents in south Mayo. The woodsman and his wife gladly agreed to his request.  The sailor said that as he was feeling very tired and his feet were aching from his long walk he would like to be shown to his room. The couple pointed out the little room that they had for rent.

Sometime later the woodsman looked through a crack in the door and saw his visitor counting a pile of golden coins, he went into the kitchen and told his wife what he had seen. They decided that this was the opportunity they had been waiting for, This gold would provide the dowry for their daughter so she would be able to marry someone of substance and she would have a better life than they had been able to provide for her. They decided to send the daughter to stay overnight with her aunty who lived a mile away and when night fell they silently entered the room of the sailor and killed him as he slept.

They buried his body in the nearby wood and just to be sure that he would never be identified they chopped off his head and buried that in the nearby Curragh Bui Bog. However, within a few days stories began to circulate about a headless man seen on the road by Barnalyra wood after nightfall. At first only a few people claimed to have seen the headless ghost but over time more and more people admitted to having seen it. Even though the ghost was headless it was heard to scream and it became known as The Screamer.

As the story began to spread the drivers of the Bianconi coach began to stay clear of Barnalyra wood only travelling through it during daylight and never at night when darkness fell and the only other source of income open to the woodsman and his wife began to dry up. According to legend, the woodsman and his wife met untimely deaths. The woodsman was killed by a tree he was cutting down and his wife’s body was found in the stream that flows parallel with the road through the wood. It was about a year after her husband’s death, they say there was a flood and she must have fell into the stream that had become a raging river.

It is said that she told the terrible secret of the sailor’s murder to her daughter sometime before her watery death and that her daughter lost her mind with the guilt of it. She slowly pined away and died a short time after her mother. As for the sailor, well if you’re walking through Barnalyra wood and it starts to get dark, walk a little faster.

The Fox and The Cat.

And now a little story about:

                                          The Fox and The Cat.

 Once upon a time Mrs Cat met Mr Fox in the woods. She thought he is the most intelligent of all the woodland creatures and very highly thought of so I’d better say hello

“Good day my dear Mr Fox, how’s it going, how are you this fine day” she said in her most friendly manner

The fox, who was very arrogant, looked the cat up and down for quite a long time and eventually said,

“Oh you poor beard licker, you feline fool, you gormless mouse hunter. What are you thinking, how dare you speak to me. I know everything, I am well known for having hundreds of clever tricks but how many do you know” replied the fox.

“I only know one trick” answered the cat in a quiet voice,

“What kind of trick” asked the fox

“When the dogs are chasing me I can jump into a tree and save myself” said the cat

“Is that all” said the arrogant fox, “Well I am the master of a hundred tricks and I also have a large sack of cunning. I really do feel sorry for you. Come with me and I will teach you the right way to escape from dogs”

Just then a hunter came riding by with four dogs, the cat jumped nimbly up a tree and sat down on a high branch where the dogs couldn’t see her.

“Untie your sack of cunning Mr Fox” the cat shouted but it was too late, the dogs had already caught him.

“Oh Mr Fox” shouted the cat, “You and your hundred tricks have let you down, if only you had been able to climb a tree like me you would not have lost your life”

So you see, sometimes it is better to master one trade than to be the jack of all trades

The Moon.

This is a story called,

The Moon. By The Brothers Grimm.

In days gone by there was a land where the nights were always dark, and the sky spread over it like a black cloth, in that land the moon never rose, and no star shone in the sky. At the creation of the world, the light at night had been sufficient. Three young men once went out of this country on a travelling expedition, and arrived in another kingdom, where, in the evening when the sun had disappeared behind the mountains, a shining globe was placed on an oak-tree, which shed a soft light far and wide.

Even though this soft light was not as brilliant as the sun it still enabled the people of that land to see everything at night. The travellers stopped and asked a man who was driving past with his cart, what kind of a light it was.

"That’s the moon," answered the man,” our mayor bought it for three Euros, and fastened it to the oak-tree. He has to keep it clean and pour oil into it daily, so that it continues to burn clearly. We pay him a generous wage for doing it and everyone is happy."

When the countryman had driven away, one of travellers said,

 "We could make some use of this lamp, we have an oak-tree at home, which is just as big as this, and we could hang it on that. What a pleasure it would be not to have to feel about at night in the darkness!"

 "I'll tell you what we'll do," said the second; "we will fetch a cart and horses and carry away the moon. The people here can always  buy themselves another lamp."

"I'm a good climber," said the third, "I will bring it down."

The second traveller brought a cart and horses, and the third climbed the tree, bored a hole in the moon, passed a rope through it, and let it down. When the shining ball lay in the cart, they covered it over with a cloth, so it was hidden from view and no one would see that they had stolen it.  They carried it safely back to their own country, and placed it on a high oak tree.

All the people of their land were overjoyed when the new lamp cast its light over the whole land, and bed-rooms and sitting-rooms were filled with it. The dwarfs came forth from their caves in the rocks, and the tiny elves in their little red coats danced in rings on the meadows.

The travellers took care that the moon was provided with oil, cleaned the wick, and received their weekly wages which had been agreed with the people of their land. All went well for a number of years but eventually with the passing of time the three travellers became old men, and when one of them grew ill, and saw that he was about to die, he gave orders that as he owned one third of the moon, then this should  be laid in his grave with him. When he died, the mayor climbed up the tree, and cut off a third with a big pair of scissors, and this was placed in his coffin according to his orders. The light of the moon decreased, but by very little, in fact you would hardly notice it.

When the second traveller died, a third of the moon was buried with him, and the light of the moon grew weaker.  It grew weaker still after the death of the third traveller who had the last piece of the moon buried with him, so weak in fact that the old state of darkness returned, and whenever the people went out at night without their lanterns they knocked their heads together.

When, however, the pieces of the moon had united themselves together again in the world below, where darkness had always prevailed, it came to pass that the dead became restless and awoke from their sleep. They were astonished when they were able to see again; the moonlight was quite sufficient for them, for their eyes had become so weak that they could not have borne the brilliance of the sun. They rose up and were merry, and fell into their former ways of living. Some of them went to the theatre and to dances, others went to the pub, where they asked for wine or beer, got drunk, started fighting, arguing, and beating each other over the head with branches and stones. They made such a noise that it even reached heaven.

Saint Peter who guards the gates of heaven thought the lower world had broken out in revolt and gathered together the heavenly troops, which are always kept ready to do battle against the Evil One when he and his demons stormed the gates of heaven.  The Evil One and his demons, however, did not come, so Saint Peter got on his horse and rode through the gates of heaven, down into the world below. When he saw what had happened he ordered the dead to get back in their graves and wait until he called them. He then took the moon away with him and hung it up in heaven and that is where it is till this day and all people of the world can share its light.

The Tortoise and the Elephant.

 

This is a traditional African story about strength. If you had to decide who you thought was stronger, an Elephant or a Tortoise which one would you choose?  The answer may surprise you, then again maybe not.

Many African stories are told in the voice of a bird or animal, can you guess which bird is telling this story?  The story not surprisingly is called:

The Tortoise and the Elephant.

I consider myself as the smartest bird alive, I am also the most modest as you can probably tell. I never get my wings dirty with work which I look upon as a nasty habit better left to others and I stay well away from danger. I just sit on the branch of my favourite tree and occasionally flap my beautiful wings so I may fly over the African plains looking for a bite to eat.

Sometimes I will see a lion eating its kill and I will wait for it to finish then I will fly down and pick the bones clean. It’s a lot easier to eat leftovers and they are very tasty. As a Vulture I live an easy life, I let others do all the work and I take life nice and easy, isn’t that the cleverest way to live?

Funny thing is the other day I saw an animal pull of a trick that even impressed me and that’s not an easy thing to do. He wasn’t much to look at, stumpy little legs, dozy eyed, wrinkly and useless looking. Not exactly the sign of a quick thinker. However, don’t let his looks fool you, his slow steps hide a quick mind and his hard shell hides a cunning brain.  He was sleeping in the grass, when an elephant came marching along with his big fat heavy feet. The ground was shaking but it didn’t wake up the tortoise as he lay in his shell.

“Get out of my way or I’ll step on you” cried the elephant.

“That’s a fair warning” I thought. “He’d better get out of the way unless he wants to be squashed” But the tortoise didn’t move, instead he poked his head out of his shell and said.

“Oh do what you like Jumbo, it doesn’t bother me. I’m stronger than you are”

“Rubbish, no one is stronger than me” trumpeted the elephant,

“Well I’m too sleepy to move for you or anyone else and I don’t care if you tread on me so do your worse” replied the tortoise.

“Right then you asked for it” said the elephant.

He stepped onto the tortoise and brought his full weight of six tons down onto the shell of the tortoise. Even I closed one eye and winced. Then I thought “I wonder what squashed tortoise tastes like” I suppose it’s not that tender but I don’t complain when a free meal presents itself. Much to my surprise the tortoise wasn’t squashed, his shell could hold up even an elephant. Well that was some roof to have over you.

“Humph” said the elephant. “You’re not strong you’re just not squishy, that’s different”

“And you’re just a bad loser” said the tortoise and with a big yawn he went back to sleep.

Well as you can imagine this story soon got around and it caused a big stir on the African plain and soon all the animals were talking about how the tortoise got the better of the elephant. Little did they realise there was more to come. One evening just as the sun was preparing to go to bed the tortoise slowly walked down to the river for a drink of water before bedtime. There on the river bank he met a hippopotamus. The hippo smiled when he saw the tortoise and said.

“I heard how you got the better of that stupid, fat old elephant. I must warn you though. Don’t try to make a fool out of me because I’ll turn you over onto your back and squash you. So don’t get ideas above your station”.

“Oh you think so do you, well I bet I’m stronger than you” said the tortoise.

Now I was sat high up on a branch listening in to their conversation and this time I thought that the tortoise was beginning to believe in his own publicity. It seemed that he was full of his own self importance and that his triumph over the elephant had gone to his head. Well he was boasting too much and you know what they say “Pride goes before a fall”. You can’t go round taking on the biggest and heaviest animals and expect to live to tell the tale, or so I thought.  The hippo clearly thought the same thing.

“That’s a bet I’d like to take” said the hippo.

“Well you see that rope left by the boatman after the crocodile invited him for lunch. How about we use it for a tug of war” said the tortoise.

“You’re on” replied the hippo.

“What does he think he’s playing at” I wondered. “How can that geriatric, stumpy legged shell dweller hope to win a trial of strength with Mr Tubby river beast?”

The hippo picked up one end of the rope and the tortoise picked up the other.  There was plenty of slack in it and it only seemed fair that the tortoise should take his end up the river bank and over the other side.

“Don’t start pulling until I shout ready” said the tortoise.

From my seat high up on a branch of a nearby tree I saw what the tortoise was up to. On the other side of the river bank who should he meet but the elephant.

“Hoy Fatty” shouted the tortoise, “I’ll give you one last chance for a rematch. How about a tug of war”.

The elephant, still upset from his earlier embarrassment was only too willing to agree.

The tortoise gave his end of the rope to the elephant and told him that he would go to the other end when he shouted “Ready” the elephant should start to pull. The tortoise ran off (Very slowly) and hid in a hollow near the top of the river bank then called out “Ready”.

Both the big fat and rather stupid animals began to pull on the rope, neither knowing who was on the other end. First the hippo gave way a few steps then he pulled the elephant back then the elephant gave way a few steps and the hippo pulled back. This went on for a while, neither winning until eventually the rope snapped in the middle. The reputation of the tortoise was sealed; all the other animals thought that the little tortoise was invincible. A rumour began to go round that he could do witchcraft. Only I knew the truth for I had seen the whole thing from my branch high up in the tree.

I thought I’d seen it all but I have to say that the tortoise could teach me a thing or two about using the strength of others. He let those two mighty beasts fight each other and drain their force while he sat in his shell. He was the strongest of all animals, but it was his brain, not his muscles that brought him victory.