Music Play List 11th August 2013.

Music play list for 11th August 2013.

1.     Ghost Song by The Doors.

2.     The Music of the Night by Michael Crawford.

3.     We’re going sailing Karen Casey Album: Seal Maiden, A Celtic Musical.

4.     The Maiden and The Selkie. By Heather Dale. Album: The Green Knight.

5.     Puff the magic dragon by The Irish Rovers.

The Radiant Boy.

 

 

The first story this week concerns the legend of

The Radiant Boy.

Within Irish folklore the ghosts of children are a common phenomenon that can be found in every part of the country.  The ghosts known as ‘Radiant Children’ have a supernatural appearance and are surrounded by a brilliant flickering glow.  They are considered warning ghosts (similar to the Banshee) and if you see one of them it means you may not have long to live.  The following story concerns one of these unusual phantoms.

In the mid 1700s Captain Robert Stewart, a British army officer stationed in Belfast was enjoying a few days hunting in County Derry.  It was a lovely day that had started off sunny but without warning the weather turned ugly and a fierce storm began.  Captain Stewart saw a light in the distance and needing shelter he rode towards it.  As he got nearer there appeared out of the gloom an old mansion, the light he had seen came from one of the windows and from within he heard the sound of merriment and laughter.

Captain Stewart dismounted and called for help, several man servants came to his assistance, they informed him that there was a party in progress and the house was full of guests.  However, the Captain was made very welcome by the master and mistress of the house who also invited him to attend the party. 

After the party many of the guests went to their beds, outside the weather had worsened, by now the rain and wind was battering the walls of the old house so Stewart’s hosts insisted that he stay the night and have a good breakfast in the morning, by which time the storm should have died out.  The master of the house called one of the old servants who was standing nearby and said to Captain Stewart

“Hamilton here will show you to your room”

Gratefully Captain Stewart accepted the offer, the room he was shown was sparsely furnished but the servants had set a large turf fire in the grate that threw out  both a great deal of heat and a sweet smell yet despite this the room had a distinct chill. Stewart lay on the bed and was soon asleep. 

He had only been asleep a short time when he was woken by the sound of a child crying in the darkness, he lit the bedside candle and looked around the room but saw nothing and the sound slowly faded away.  Thinking that it must have been a trick of the wind he blew out his candle and was soon fast asleep.  However it wasn’t long before his sleep was disturbed once more, this time it was not the sound of crying but a grey light that flooded the room. 

Half asleep Stewart jumped from his bed believing the house to be on fire, looking across the room he gasped at what he saw.  Crouched in a far corner was a naked boy, he was crying bitterly although the sounds he made seemed to come from far away.  Stewart approached the boy and asked him why he was weeping but the boy made no reply, he reached out to touch the boy on the shoulder and as he did so the boy vanished and the room was plunged into darkness.

The following morning Captain Stewart confronted his host complaining that he was the victim of some practical joke that was in extremely bad taste.  However, none of the guests knew anything about it and the whole thing seemed to be a mystery.  Summoning the old servant the master of the house asked him which room he had given to Captain Stewart, the servant replied.

“Well, sir, the house was so full with all the other guests so I had a fire made up in one of the back rooms that we never use”.

The master’s face went pale,

“You don’t mean the Boy’s Room?”

“Yes sir” the servant whispered, “I didn’t mean anything wrong, I mean it’s just an old story isn’t it?”

Captain Stewart asked,

 “To what are you referring, are you saying that what I saw last night was more than just a child?”

His host nodded,

 “Some things are beyond our understanding”

The Captain laughed for he was a military man and didn’t believe such nonsense,

“You don’t mean a ghost, you can’t be serious?”

His host shook his head slowly,

“Not exactly a ghost, more a vision. In our family there is an old tradition that the boy, we call him the Radiant Boy, appears only to those destined for great power. However, the person chosen is also destined to die a violent death”.

Captain Stewart laughed once more declaring that he had never heard the like, he then went on to spend the rest of the morning enjoying the hospitality of his hosts.  After lunch he made his farewells mounted his horse and headed back to Belfast.  He was never to see the old mansion again.

Years passed and Stewart did indeed rise to power eventually gaining a seat in the House of Lords with the title Lord Castlereagh. He was also a member of the British government under William Pitt serving first as Minister for War, then as Foreign Secretary during the Napoleonic Wars.  He was extremely unpopular with the Irish people especially in regard to the part he played in the 1801 Act of Union.  He became ill and just one year after becoming the Marquis of Derry his mind collapsed.  At the age of 53 he committed suicide by slashing his own throat with a razor.  The prophecy had at last been fulfilled, he had risen to power, and he had died a violent death filled with deep despair.

No one knows if the Radiant Boy ever existed as a real person so it is a matter of historical and folklore conjecture. The origin of these spirits are lost in time although they seem to appear in the folklore of many different countries, are they ghosts, spiritual remnants of a departed life, or is it a spirit emissary delivering a warning from the spirit world to those living that are destined to be touched by the far reaching hand of fate? It has even been suggested that the Radiant Boy is comparable to the Banshee in many ways and may only appear to certain families.  I’ll leave you to ponder that question.

Abhartach the Vampire.

 

The next story suggests a possible link between Irish vampire myths and Bram Stoker's Dracula.  People over the years have thought that Dracula was based upon that old Romanian prince called Vlad the Impailer who had a nasty habit of killing those who opposed him in a rather blood thirsty manner.

 

However the truth may be closer to home.

 

Abhartach the Vampire.

In the north Derry area, between the towns of Garvagh and Dungiven, in a district known as Glenuilin,  we may find a clue to Dracula's origins.

In the middle of a field in the remote townland of Slaughtaverty, is an area known locally as the 'Giant's Grave' but which may be more properly described as Abhartach's tomb.

 

On the grave itself is thorn bush under which lies a large and heavy stone. Originally there were more stones, the remnants of an old monument, but these have been removed over time by local farmers for building purposes. There is little doubt that the tomb was once an imposing place and that it has given the townland its name.

 

But who was Abhartach?

During the fifth and sixth centuries, the Glenullin area was a patchwork of petty kingdoms, each with its own local ruler or 'king'. These kings may have been Gaelic chieftains or tribal warlords and there is ample evidence of their rule, for the countryside is dotted with hill forts, ancient raths and early fortifications which marked their respective territories.

 

Abhartach, according to tradition, was one of these chieftains.

Local descriptions of him vary. Some say that he was a dwarf, others that he was deformed in some way, but most agree that he was a powerful wizard and was extremely evil. So evil, in fact, that those over whom he ruled wished to get rid of him.

However, they were so terrified of him they wouldn’t kill him themselves, so they persuaded another chieftain, Cathán, to perform the deed for them. Cathán slew Abhartach and buried him standing up in an isolated grave. However, the following day Abhartach returned, evil as ever and demanded a bowl of blood, drawn from the veins of his subjects, in order to sustain his vile corpse. In great terror, the people asked Cathán to slay him once more. This Cathán did, burying the corpse as before. However, the following day, Abhartach returned again, demanding the same gory tribute from his people.

 

Well they do say it’s hard to keep a good man down.

 

Depending upon which version of the folktale you subscribe to, Cathán was puzzled and consulted either a local druid or an early Christian saint, as to why Abhartach couldn’t be killed. There are several 'hermitages' in the area and according to tradition these were the dwellings of particularly holy men. The most notable is in Gortnamoyagh Forest on the very edge of Glenullin where local people will still point out 'The saint's track', a series of stations near to a holy well. Close by was said to have been the hermitage of a saint known as Eoghan or John who is credited with founding a place of Christian worship in the area (the site is still known as Churchtown although any related foundation has long since vanished).

 

A 'footprint' on a stony prominence in the forest is also attributed to this saint and it is said that from here he flew from Gortnamoyah to say Mass in his own little church. When I say ‘flew’ I don’t mean by plane. His name appears in several local place names, Killowen in Coleraine (about fifteen miles away) and Magilligan (about twenty miles away).

It was to this Druid or saint that Cathán is believed to have gone. The venerable old man listened long and hard to the chieftain's tale. When Cathán had finished his tale the old man said to him,

 

“Abhartach is not really alive. Through his devilish arts he has become one of the undead. He has become a drinker of human blood. He can’t actually be slain but he can be restrained.”

 

He then proceeded to give the astonished Cathán instructions as to how to 'suspend' the vampiric creature,

 

“Abhartach must be slain with a sword made from yew wood and must be buried upside down in the earth, thorns and ash twigs must be sprinkled around him and a heavy stone must be placed directly on top of him. Should the stone be lifted, however, the vampire would be free to walk the earth once more” said the old man. Could this have been the origin of a wooden stake through the heart?

 

Cathán returned to Glenullin and did what the holy man told him. Abhartach was slain with a wooden sword and was buried upside down with thorns placed all around the gravesite. On top of the actual grave, Cathán built a great tomb which could be seen for miles around. This has now vanished but the stone remains and a tree, which grew from the scattered thorns, rises above it.

 

The land on which the grave is situated has acquired a rather sinister reputation over the generations. Locally it is considered to be 'bad ground' and has been the subject of a number of family disagreements over the years. In 1997, attempts were made to clear the land and if local tradition is to be believed workmen who attempted to cut down the tree found that their brand-new chain-saw stopped without reason on three occasions.

When attempting to lift the great stone, a steel chain suddenly snapped, cutting the hand of one of the labourers and, significantly, allowing blood to soak into the ground. Although legends still abound in the locality of the 'man who was buried three times' and of a fantastic treasure which was buried with him, few local people will approach the grave, especially after dark.

This, then, in essence is the legend with its folkloric additions. But is it simply an isolated tale or does it fit into a tradition of Irish vampire tales which could have influenced Bram Stoker? The spilling of blood was not uncommon amongst the ancient Irish, indeed animal blood was ritually let under Christian directive upon St Martin's Eve (11 November). The roots of this tradition undoubtedly go back into pagan times and may have a connection with the returning dead.

The horrors of the Famine considerably added to the lore. The blood of pigs and cows supplemented a meagre diet, either drunk in a raw state or made into relish cakes (a mixture of meal, vegetable tops and blood brought together in a kind of patty). Place names in many areas which were badly stricken by the Hunger (for example in parts of Clare and Galway) reflect communal blood-letting sites.

Although most cultures have vampire stories, such tales have a particular resonance in Ireland. Here, interest in and veneration of the dead seems to have played a central part in Celtic thinking.

 

However, it was the historian and folklorist Patrick Weston Joyce who actually made connections between Abhartach and the Irish vampire tradition. Joyce enthusiastically recounted the legend in his own book A History of Ireland (Dublin 1880). This was seventeen years before Dracula was published and it is believed that Stoker, then a Dublin civil servant, read Joyce's work (and presumably the Abhartach legend) with some relish.

Around the same time, manuscript copies of Geoffrey Keating's History of Ireland which made much of the Un-dead, were placed on public display in the National Museum in Dublin. They were on loan from Trinity College Library (which possessed two manuscript copies) and the display included chapter ten on the undead. Although Stoker himself couldn’t read Irish, he had many friends and acquaintances who did and he may have received at least part of the work in translation.

So there you have it. Could the legend of the vampire-king, coupled with the strong tradition of blood-drinking Irish chieftains and nobles told  to Bram Stoker as a child by his Sligo born mother and the Kerry maids who worked about his Dublin home, have eventually given him the idea of Count Dracula?

Certainly, Stoker was not writing from any great experience of Eastern Europe. He had never been there and was relying heavily on tourist accounts of the region. His experiences may have come more directly from Irish folklore.

Even the name Dracula has an Irish connection. In Irish, droc'ola means 'bad' or 'tainted blood' and whilst it is now taken to refer to 'blood feuds' between persons or families, it may have a far older meaning. So can we really consign the vampire to some remote part of Eastern Europe, where he is unlikely to do us any harm, or do we keep a clove of garlic handy? 

Selkies in Irish Folklore.

The next story is about those fairies that were said to have fallen into the sea and became creatures of the water. They were known as the:

Selkies in Irish Folklore.

In Irish folklore, there are many stories about creatures who can transform themselves from seals to humans. These beings are called selkies, silkies, selchies, roane, or simply seal people. The seals would come up onto rocks or beaches and take off their skins, revealing the humans underneath. There is no agreement among the stories of how often they could make this transformation. Some say it was every year on Midsummer’s Eve, while others say it could be every ninth night.

 Once ashore, the selkies were said to dance and sing in the moonlight. Although most mythological sea creatures were considered hostile or even evil, selkies were considered to mostly be gentle beings, perhaps because of seals’ kind-looking eyes. Selkies are also seen in Scottish, Icelandic, and Scandinavian mythologies.

 One of the most common themes found in selkie folklore is romantic tragedy. Selkie women were supposed to be so beautiful that no man could resist them. They were said to have perfect proportions and dark hair. They also made excellent wives. For this reason, one of the most common selkie stories is that of a man stealing a selkie woman’s seal skin. Without her skin, she cannot return to the sea, and so she marries the human man and has children with him. She is a good wife and mother, but because her true home is in the sea, she always longs for it. In the stories, she ends up finding her seal skin that her husband has hidden, or one of her children unwittingly finds it and brings it to her. According to legend, once a selkie find her skin again, “neither chains of steel nor chains of love can keep her from the sea”. She returns to the ocean, usually leaving her children behind with their grief-stricken father.

 Selkie men were also said to be very handsome, with almost magical power to seduce human women. They would take off their seal skins and go looking on shore for “unsatisfied women,” mainly women unhappy in their marriages. If a woman wished a selkie man to come to her, she had to shed seven tears into the sea at high tide.

 These stories may have been used as an explanation for married women who had affairs or ran away from their families. It was also said that if a woman went missing while at sea, it was because her selkie lover had taken her back to their underwater home.

 The origin of selkies is lost in time, but it is often said that they were fallen angels like the fairies, except that they had fallen into the sea and became seals. Others insist that the selkie were once human beings who, for some grave offense, were doomed to take the form of a seal and live out the rest of their days in the sea. It is also said that selkies were actually the souls of those who had drowned. One night each year these lost souls were permitted to leave the sea and return to their original human form. Another possibility is that when Ireland became Christianised, selkies came to stand for humans in purgatory, caught between two worlds.

 Stories of selkies come from Cornwall, Ireland (especially from Donegal county), and Scotland (in particular the Orkney and Shetland Islands). This is likely because people there made their living from the sea, fishing all day long. The word “selkie” means “seal” in the dialect of the Orkney Islands, “selk” or “selch” being the Scots words. Some suggest that selkie folklore comes from Norse origin, rather than Celtic. However the selkie-folk stories don't appear to have a Norse origin, only a few scattered accounts of selkie folklore are found in Norway and Iceland. Instead, the distribution of the myths from Shetland, through Orkney and down the west coast of Scotland into Ireland seems to clearly point to a Celtic origin. That is, until we remember that the tales are confined to a relatively narrow area around northern and western Britain - an area known to have been a Norse 'seaway' and an area of Norwegian settlement” (Towrie). One folklorist theory of the origin of the belief is that the selkies were actually fur-clad Finns, traveling by kayak.

 It is likely that selkies often served as a social explanation for women who did not fit in with the rest of the community. In Rosalie K. Fry’s novel, The Secret of Ron Mor Skerry, she describes the village’s reaction to a new woman (who, in the story, is in fact a selkie):

 "Well, of course there was much shaking of heads when Ian married the dark-eyed stranger. She was quite unlike the island women and some of her ways were so strange. Why, she'd go out on the rocks when the tide was low to talk to the seabirds and seals.”

 It is also possible that the legend was at least fueled by accounts of conditions we would now recognize medically. In David Thomson’s The People of the Sea, his Orkney informants tell him that when a selkie and a human reproduce, all their children have webbed fingers and toes at birth. When this webbing is clipped, to allow hand-work, a horny growth appears. Webbed toes and feet is a condition called simple syndactyly  and it appears to be hereditary.

 Sometimes children were born with seal-like faces, which could have been a rare medical condition called anencephaly while others had scaly fish-smelling skin, probably resulting from icthyosis. The selkie legend was probably attributed to these conditions that people could not explain at the time. Even within families, children who may be different than the rest of the family members were thought to take after the selkie part of the family, as shown in Fry’s novel:

 "For although most McConvilles have red hair…a child would be born from time to time with the wild black hair and strange dark eyes of Ian McConville's wife. And when this happened the islanders would remark, Ah, another child of the Ron Mor Skerry!"

 In the 1940’s and 50’s, the people of Ireland and Scotland were surveyed about selkies. When asked if they believed in selkies, it was found that some of the older people, particularly those who have lived their whole lives in isolated villages, believed in the stories told. Some younger people, particularly those who live on the mainland, admire the stories and see them as a part of their cultural heritage, but do not believe them to be literally true”.

 For many people both in the past and present, selkies represent a wild, untamed beauty. For a country surrounded by the ocean and a people who make their living off it, it is natural that its folklore reflects that beauty. There is a spiritual freedom, mystery, and gratification of magically being able to travel between the separate worlds of the sea and land, which relates to the people’s strong dependence on and bond with the unpredictable sea. As the saying goes: “The sea gives and the sea takes away.”  This is best represented in the folklore of selkies.

The Selkie Bride.

The Selkie Bride.

Once upon a time long. Long ago.

 A fisherman spent all day trying to catch a few fish but those he caught were only small and wouldn’t feed the cat never mind his empty belly.  As the sky began to darken he rowed his little currach back to shore and decided to take his meagre catch back to his lonely cottage.  As he walked towards the cottage he heard the sound of singing, it was more beautiful than anything he had ever heard before and he followed the sound.

 Hidden behind a ridge of rocks he saw what very few mortals have ever seen, there near the water a group of Selkie people were laughing, playing and singing. The fisherman couldn’t believe his eyes; the Selkie had cast of their skins and had taken on human form so they could play upon the shore.  Suddenly, one of the Selkie saw him and gave a warning cry, they all ran to the sea and quickly dived in. Slipping beneath the crashing waves they disappeared.

 “Holy mother of god, I must be coming down with something for now I’m seeing things” said the fisherman,

 He turned back towards the cottage but once again stopped for something was nagging the back of his mind. He turned back to the shore and there he spotted something black and shiny lying on a large rock.  He walked over for a closer look, now he saw it for what it was a seal skin.

 "No one will ever believe I've seen the Selkies unless I show them this," he said, and so he leaned over and picked up the skin and slung it over his shoulder.

 As he walked back to his cottage he began to whistle, for he realised that what he had over his shoulder would bring him a small fortune.  Suddenly he heard something coming up behind him and fearing a thief was about to rob him of his prize he spun around ready to fight. It was no thief; it was the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen. She was crying so hard that he felt his heart melt.

 "Beautiful lady," he said, "why do you weep?"

 She looked into his eyes.

 "Kind sir," she said, choking back tears, "you have my sealskin. Kindly give it back, for I belong to the Selkies, and I cannot live under the sea without my skin."

 He stared at her and immediately knew he had fallen in love with her. He also knew that his chances of meeting another woman as beautiful as this one were highly unlikely. In fact his chances of meeting any woman were as unlikely as him winning the lotto.

 He thought to himself, “I haven’t a notion of giving it back, and I haven’t a notion of letting her go either, I’m keeping hold of this one”.

 Clutching the sealskin to his chest he said to her, "Be my wife, for I have fallen madly in love with you, and without your sealskin, you'll have to live on land. I promise I'll make you happy."

 "Please sir," she cried, "my folk will be so worried. I must go home. Never could I be happy on land."

 He smiled as sweetly as he could, bowed his head and bent down on one knee. "Now me dear, my cottage is a very cosy place. I'll keep you warm by the fire, and I'll give you all the fresh fish you could ever wish to eat. I promise you will live a happy life on land as my bride." He could lie better than an expensive rug.

 The young woman felt helpless without her skin. "All right, I’ll go to your home with you until you will return my skin, “she said,

 For many weeks the fisherman kept the sealskin with him for he feared his bride-to-be would steal it and slip away. However, after a while, she began to settle in to life on land, and when the fisherman saw she was happy, he stuffed the skin inside a crevice in the chimney.

 "She’ll never find it up there," he said to himself.

 Another month went by, and they married, and time passed very nicely indeed. They led a happy life; the fisherman was kind and generous. He truly loved his wife, and he always worked hard to make her happy. After a while the Selkie woman grew to love her fisherman, and sometimes she would sing to him. Those nights he was the happiest man in the world. As the years passed, the couple had seven children, and the Selkie woman loved those boys and girls with all her heart. Most of the time the family was very happy, though every once in a while the children would find their mother on the beach, gazing wistfully out to sea. They would circle her and ask,

 "Mother, why do you look so sad?”

 She would shake her head and kiss their foreheads. "Oh Never mind me, I’m only day dreaming" she told them.

 One day the fisherman and the three eldest children went out in their boat to catch fish. The next three walked to the village to buy some bread and milk and the mother and her youngest son stayed home alone. The mother looked out the window and watched the waves crashing onshore. Suddenly, far off in the distance she noticed, a band of seals playing and barking amongst the rocks. She sighed deeply, and her eyes filled with tears.

 Her youngest son ran to her side. "Mother, what's wrong?" he asked.  "Whenever you look out to sea, you grow so sad."

Without thinking she turned and said, "I'm sad because I was born in the sea. It's the home to which I never can return because your father hid my sealskin."

 Now the boy, like all children in Ireland, had heard tales of the Selkie folk, so right away he knew what his mother must be, and he ran to the fireplace, reached up and pulled the sealskin from its hiding place. He held it out to his mother.

 "How did you find it?" she asked, astonished at the sight of her skin.

 "One day I was here alone with father," said the boy, "and he took this from its hiding place and stared at it. I knew it was special, and now I understand what it is."

 The woman embraced the sealskin, and then she reached for her child and embraced him. "My darling," she whispered, "I will always love you," and then, clasping sealskin to her heart, she ran outside and down to the sea.  She slipped into her skin and dived into the bracing water.

 Soon after that moment, as they were heading home the fisherman and his children rowed past a group of seals. As they passed, the fisherman noticed a sleek young seal gazing at the boat, a strange expression on her face. As they slowly disappeared out of sight, he heard that seal cry, a plaintive sound, and then she disappeared underwater.

 When the fisherman arrived home, he learned what had happened, and he felt his heart breaking in two. But he understood his son was a loving boy. He was braver and more generous than the fisherman had ever been. Forever afterwards the fisherman and the children missed the Selkie Woman, but knowing she was happy in the world where she belonged gave them a measure of joy. Many an evening the fisherman could be seen standing on the seashore looking out to sea as if waiting for his lost love to come home. May be he is still there.

Eru the dragon (2).

 

The next story is about believing in yourself and how it may help you achieve your dreams. It’s a story that I wrote for children but then again deep inside each one of us there is a child waiting and you know if we were to admit it to ourselves maybe we could let that child run free once in a while, for we’re never too old for a story.

Believe in yourself.

Have you ever got up in the morning and felt that things aren’t the way you thought they would be? Well that’s when you have to tell yourself that things will get better.

There will be times when people may let you down or disappoint you but those are the times when you have just got to trust in your own gut instinct and believe in yourself.

All of us will wake up each day to face challenges some more than others but it is up to each one of us to decide how we are going to face them.  It may not be easy at times and there may be times when the struggle may overwhelm you. You may feel frustrated and even have to take responsibility when others fail to do so.

However, the challenges you face and the choices you make will enable you to achieve a stronger sense of who you are and who you are meant to be. So keep focused and above all keep believing in yourself.

 

Eru the dragon (2).

Once upon a time, long, long ago in fact so long ago that only the storytellers remember it.

There was a beautiful green and gold dragon called Eru.  She lived in a secret cave in the side of a mountain with her grandmother.  The cave was so secret that only the dragons knew where it was.

Eru had lovely green and gold scales, flaring nostrils, and a long spiky tail.  She had beautiful shiny wings that opened up in the rain like an umbrella and kept her dry.

All of the other little dragons looked at her and sighed.... some even wished they could be just like her because she could run fast and fly very high as well as being very beautiful.

But Eru had a secret that made her very sad.  She was a little different from other dragons. She couldn’t breathe fire.

Every day Eru sat in the back of her cave where no one except her grandmother could see her and huffed and puffed but not a single flame appeared. Not a spark, not even the tiniest puff of smoke. 

Grandmother would say to her, “Don’t worry Eru, it will happen all in good time”. 

Eru was sad because she couldn’t toast marshmallows with her friends or play Catch the Fireball all she could do was sit and watch and pretend that she really didn’t want to play and she really didn’t like toasted marshmallows.

Poor Eru, she felt that she was so different that maybe she wasn’t even a proper dragon at all. Maybe she was something else.  Grandmother dragon saw how sad she was and asked her what was wrong and Eru told her about how sad she felt and that if she couldn’t find her fire then she would never be a real dragon. Grandmother dragon listened and an idea popped into her head. She told Eru about a holy mountain where the dragon god lived, it was a place that was known only to dragons and it would be there that Eru would find her fire. The holy mountain was far away and Eru would have to go on the journey alone, it would take her a few days to get there and she would have to travel through the dark forest that surrounded the holy mountain.

The following day Eru set out and it didn’t take her long to get to the dark forest.  In the forest lived many strange looking creatures.

 Hanging upside down in one of the trees was a small animal with teeth and small wings. He looked a little bit like a mouse but of course a mouse doesn’t have wings does he?

“Who and what are you?” asked Eru.

“Well, I was trying to have a nice sleep but if you must know, my name is Ding and I am a bat”.

Eru thought to herself

“I’ve got teeth and wings just like Ding.  Maybe I could stay here”.

Eru and Ding played together all morning and by lunch time they were a little hungry. After lunch they felt a little sleepy so Ding hung upside down on a branch but when Eru tried it the branch bent down because she was too heavy and she bumped her head on the ground.

“Ouch” she said.

“You’re a lovely friend Eru, but you’re not really a bat are you?” said Ding,

“No” said Eru, “I’m a dragon”, and she gave a little sigh.

Out of her mouth came a small puff of smoke. Eru told Ding about her search for fire.

“I’ll have to be on my way” said Eru, “I won’t forget you”, and she gave Ding a kiss on his nose. She felt a little warm inside but still no flame came out.

The next day Eru woke under a big tree,

“Hello” said a voice.

Eru looked up and saw a strange looking creature with beautiful colours and sharp claws.

“Hello” said Eru, “Who and what are you?”

“Squawk, My name is Tom and I’m a parrot” said the colourful creature.

Eru thought to herself,

“I’ve got beautiful colours and sharp claws just like Tom. Maybe I could stay here?”

All day they played together chasing each other around the forest but by dinner time they were hungry. When they had finished their dinner Tom said,

“You know Eru you are a wonderful friend and I’ve enjoyed playing with you but you’re not really a parrot. What are you doing in the forest?”

“No” said Eru, “I’m a dragon”, and she gave a little sigh.

Out of her mouth came a small puff of smoke. Eru told Tom about her search for fire.

Tom listened and then he said

“Eru, your fire is inside you, all you have to do is believe in yourself and in time it will come”

“I’ll have to be on my way” said Eru, “I won’t forget you”, and she gave Tom a kiss on his beak. She felt a little warm inside but still no flame came out.

The next day Eru woke up in a clearing in the forest. She looked up and saw the holy mountain a short distance away. She thought of her new friends Ding and Tom and suddenly felt a great heat building up inside her. She flew to the bottom of the mountain, she felt all alone and a little bit frightened but then she remembered Tom’s words.

“All you have to do is believe in yourself”,

She thought of all her friends back in dragon land and she thought of her grandmother. Up the mountain she climbed, higher and higher. As she climbed she looked up and saw smoke coming from the top of the mountain. It seemed to shine in the sunlight and it looked as if the whole mountain was on fire.

She reached the top of the mountain expecting to see the dragon god, she was shaking all over, but there was no one there, no dragon just a big black hole.

“It’s a volcano” said Eru, “It’s just a volcano but there’s no fire, it’s gone out”

Eru began to cry. Now as we all know dragon tears are the most magical things in the world, Eru’s teardrops fell into the dark hole and a tiny flame appeared from the hole.  Eru gave a huge sob and before she knew what had happened she sucked the flame into her mouth and swallowed it. Oh dear.

Eru gave a little burp and out her mouth came a puff of smoke followed by... a bright orange flame.

Eru nearly fell into the big black hole, “What was THAT”, she said.

She tried to burp again, nothing happened, she coughed, she sneezed, she jumped up and down, but nothing happened. She was just about to give up when she remembered her grandmother’s words.

“Don’t worry Eru; it will happen all in good time”

“Well grandma, this is my time” shouted Eru and she gave a huge blow and from out of her mouth shot a bright orange flame.

“Fire” she cried, “I’ve found my fire”

Eru jumped up and down in excitement and the more she jumped the brighter the flame shone.  She stayed on the mountain top all night practicing and in the morning when the sun came up she flapped her wings and headed back to dragon land. She flew over the dark forest and looking down she gave a little puff of smoke and blew a little flame just in case Ding and Tom saw her.

She arrived back to dragon land where her grandmother and friends were waiting together with all the other dragons.

“There you are Eru” said the dragons, “Where have you been? We were worried about you; the dragon god has been blowing fire all night”

“That was me” shouted Eru in excitement.

“No it wasn’t Eru, everyone knows you have no fire” replied the chief dragon

Grandmother looked out from the door of their cave and smiled,

“All in good time” she thought.

“Was it like this” said Eru and she blew out a bright orange flame,

Eru’s friends clapped their wings and shouted “Dragon Fire”,

“No” said Eru, “Its Eru fire”

And that is a true story, although it might never have happened.

So if you’re a little different just remember the words of Eru’s grandma and friends.

“Believe in yourself and one day your time will come”.