The Storyteller.

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 striking three

Tune in to WRFM

And join the Séanachai.

The Elves and the Shoemaker.

The last story this week is another traditional story that is told at this time of year and is called:

The Elves and the Shoemaker.

Once upon a time there was a poor shoemaker who worked very hard and was very honest yet he could never make enough money to pay his bills and buy food for his family. Eventually he had nothing left except one small piece of leather, just enough to make one more pair of shoes. The shoemaker cut the leather ready for the next morning as he meant to get up nice and early to start work and have a new pair of shoes ready for a customer who would pick them up that day.

He was in great humour and his heart was untroubled even though he had so many financial worries and he went off to bed where he soon fell into a peaceful sleep believing all his troubles would be safe in god’s hands. As you can tell he was a very religious man and in the morning he woke up and immediately said his prayers then he went into the kitchen and had a very small breakfast. He then went into his workshop intending to start work. Imagine his wonder and surprise to find that the shoes he intended to start work on had already been made and were sitting upon his work table. He looked at the workmanship, there was not a single stitch out of place, they were neat and polished and were really a truly beautiful pair of the finest shoes he had ever seen.

Later that day the customer came to collect his new shoes and was so delighted he paid the shoemaker twice what he asked for them. With the money the shoemaker bought enough leather to make two more pairs of shoes. That evening he cut out the leather and left it on the workshop table intending to start work early in the morning. He went to bed and once again had a peaceful sleep and woke up nice and early. He said his prayers, had a small breakfast then went into his workshop to begin his days work. As before, the work was already done and upon the worktable sat two pairs of the finest shoes he had ever seen. Soon the two customers came in to collect their shoes and once again he was paid handsomely for his work. With the money he bought enough leather to make four pairs of shoes but having cut out the leather he rose early next morning only to find the work already completed just like before. This went on day after day and he soon became quite well off in fact you could even say his business was thriving.

One evening, it was around Christmas time, the shoemaker and his wife were sitting by the fire chatting to each other over a nice mug of tea.

“I think I’ll sit up tonight and see if I can catch whoever it is who does my work for me” the shoemaker said,

The wife agreed that it was a good idea and so they left a lamp burning and hid in a corner of the room behind a curtain waiting to see what would happen.  Soon it was midnight and in came two tiny little people who were naked, they were no bigger than your hand. Up they jumped onto the worktable where the shoemaker had left a load of leather just as before. The little elves for thats what they were picked up the leather and began to stitch and hammer the leather at such a speed that all the shoemaker and his wife could do was look with wonder, in fact they couldn’t take their eyes off them.  It wasn’t long before there was a long line of shoes standing ready upon the table and long before daybreak the two little elves disappeared as quickly as they had come.

The following morning the wife said to the shoemaker,

“These little elves have made us rich and I think we should return the favour. In order to show how thankful we are for their help I’m going to make each of them a shirt, a coat, a waistcoat, and a pair of trousers and I think you should make them each a pair of your finest shoes.”

The shoemaker thought this was a great idea and when they were finished they laid the shoes and clothes onto the workshop table where they normally left the pieces of leather and hid behind the curtain to watch what the little elves would do. On the stroke of midnight the little elves appeared, dancing and skipping they hopped around the room and then jumped up onto the table ready to start work. When they saw the clothes lying there they were delighted. They dressed in the twinkling of an eye and jumped around as happy and merry as two elves could be.  Clicking the heels of their new shoes together they danced out the door and away over the fields.

The shoemaker and his wife never saw them again but from that day forward everything they did went well, they continued to prosper and to this day they are doing very well and still making the finest shoes you could possibly want.

The Legend of the Christmas Rose.

Christmas, a time for giving and showing your love to each other. Now this doesn’t mean spending a load of money on the type of gifts that some people seem to think are the way to express your love. The greatest gift of love you can give to someone comes not from a shop or a wallet but from the heart. Nothing is more valuable or means more than the gift of your true love to another.

At this time of year it has been suggested that the tradition of gift giving started when the three wise men brought expensive presents to welcome Jesus into the world and ever since then people have given gifts to one another to celebrate the event. However, we should all remember that it’s the thought that counts, that single gesture should be considered more valuable than the cost of the gift itself.

There is a legend that shows you the importance of this message, it tells us that no matter what the gift, even something as simple as a single flower if given from the heart and soul is a truly wonderful way of saying “I love you”.  It is because of this that the legend of the Christmas Rose which blooms during the cold winter has become an important part of the Yuletide tradition.  Here follows the legend of:

 

The Christmas Rose.

 

Once upon a cold December night a large group of people were going to see a new born child. It was said that he had been born to be the saviour and they were bringing him all kinds of gifts and presents to welcome him into the world. There were three wise men who brought with them expensive gifts of Myrrh, Frankincense and Gold and these they laid at the feet of the new born child whose name was Jesus.

Watching all of this was a shepherdess, she had seen the three wise men passing by and she followed them to where the child had been born. To her surprise she saw it to be a stable. Reaching the door of the stable she looked in to see the child that everyone was talking about however, being very poor she had nothing to offer the child. She had tried to find something to give, she had searched all over for a flower but nothing bloomed in the cold of winter. She felt worthless and started to cry for she saw all the wonderful gifts that the wise men had given to the child.

An angel was watching over her and knew about her fruitless search and took pity on her. The angel saw her head bowed down in sorrow and decided to help her with a little miracle. Brushing aside the snow that lay at the young girl’s feet where her tears had fallen the angel showed her a bunch of waxen white winter roses with pink tipped petals. The angel gently whispered into the shepherdesses ear that these Christmas roses were far more valuable than all the myrrh, frankincense and gold in the world for they were pure and made of love. The young girl was filled with joy and happiness when she heard these words and gathered the flowers and offered them to the Holy infant. When the child saw that her gift had been reared with tears of love he smiled at her with gratitude and satisfaction. For this reason it is said that the Christmas rose symbolises hope, love and all that is wonderful at this time of year.

The Little Match Girl.

Here is a traditional story that is told at this time of year it was originally written by Hans Christian Anderson. I have slightly adapted it and it is called,

 

The Little Match Girl.

The night was terribly cold, snow fell and it was getting dark. It was December 31^st, the last evening of the year. It was on this cold, cold night that a poor lonely little girl was seen shuffling along the street.  She was in her bare feet, true when she left home she had some slippers on but they were very big slippers that had belonged to her mother. They were so big that the poor little girl had lost them as she shuffled along the street when two carriages rolled past her. They were going that fast that they forced her to jump out of the way and it was then that she lost her slippers. One had fallen off and she couldn’t see where it had gone, the other was quickly stolen by one of the street urchins, he appeared out of nowhere picked it up and was gone in a flash.

She carried on walking, her little feet turning blue from the cold. The only thing she had to her name was a pile of matches that she carried in her old apron and she held a bundle of them in her little hand. Nobody had bought any off her all day and she had no money to buy something to warm her. She crept along the street, trembling with cold and hunger. She was a sorrowful sight to all who bothered to look upon her.  The snow fell upon her bare head, it looked like a piece of lace as it covered her long fair hair but she never even noticed. She saw all the windows she passed had candles shining in them and there was a delicious smell of roast turkey in the air. Well it was New Years Eve and of course she couldn’t help noticing the smell as it made her little tummy rumble.

She found a little corner in between two walls and here she gained a little shelter from the wind and the cold. She huddled down and drew her little feet up close to her, she grew colder and colder. She didn’t dare go home because she hadn’t sold any matches and so she didn’t have as much as a single cent to give her father. He was a cruel and heartless man and she knew he would beat her and anyway it would be just as cold at home as she slept in the attic and the roof was full of holes through which the wind whistled even though she had tried to stuff them with straw and bits of old rags.

Her tiny hands were numb with the cold. Oh a match might give her a little warm and comfort if only she dare take one out of the bundle and strike it against the wall.  She drew one out and ohh how it blazed, she could feel its warmth upon her fingers. Its flame was bright and shone like a little candle and as she held her hands around it she smiled at the wonderful light it gave out. To her eyes it seemed that she was sat in front of a warm stove with shiny brass feet. She stretched out her little cold feet towards the stove but the flame of the match went out and with that the image of the lovely warm stove vanished. All she had left was the burnt out stump of a match in her cold little hand.

She took out another match and struck it against the wall, it burned brightly and where the light fell on the wall the wall seemed to become transparent so that she could see beyond it and into the room behind. On a table there lay a beautiful white tablecloth and upon that a splendid porcelain service. There was a roast turkey with stuffing and roast potatoes. The turkey jumped down off the table and danced across the floor coming towards the little girl. Suddenly the match went out and the cold damp wall appeared once again.

She lit another match, now she saw a large Xmas tree, it was magnificent, covered in the most beautiful decorations she had ever seen. It was even better than the one she had seen through the glass window of the rich merchant’s house. There were thousands of lights burning upon green branches and gaily coloured pictures just like those she’d seen in the fancy shop windows. The little girl stretched out her hand to touch them when once again the match went out.

 The lights on the Xmas tree rose higher and higher, the little girl now saw them as stars in heaven and one fell down and formed a trail of fire.

“Someone has died” said the little girl, for her grandmother, the only person who had ever loved her and who was now in heaven had told her that when a star falls it was a soul returning to god.

She drew another match against the wall, once again it was light and in the light stood her old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so gentle and mild with a beautiful expression of love.

“Grandmother” cried the little girl, “Oh, take me with you, don’t disappear when the match goes out. Please don’t vanish like the warm stove or the turkey. Don’t go away like the Xmas tree”

She began to rub the whole bundle of matches against the wall because she wanted to make sure she kept her grandmother near her and the matches gave off such a brilliant light that is was even brighter than day time. Her grandmother had never looked so beautiful, so radiant, so tall. She took the little girl by the hand and they both flew off into the brightness and the joy she felt was like nothing she had ever felt before. They flew high so very high and she felt neither cold nor hunger. She just felt incredibly happy for now she was with the angels.

In the corner, at the cold dawn of the day they found the little girl. She sat with rosy cheeks and a smiling mouth. She was leaning against the corner where two walls met. She was frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and cold sat the little girl with the matches, of which one bundle had been burnt.

“She wanted to warm herself” people said.

No one knew what beautiful things she had seen, no one could ever dream of the splendour in which the little girl and her grandmother had entered heaven on the first day of that New Year.

The Bats Christmas.

This is a poem about a couple of bats. I loved reading Doctor Zeus to my children when they were young and this is a poem that I’ve written based loosely on that style. It’s called

 

The Bats Christmas.

 

The sun didn’t shine

It was too cold for flight

So we sat in the cave

All that cold winters night.

 

I sat there with Brigit

As bored as can be

No stockings to hang up

And no Xmas tree.

 

Too cold to go out

We’d just sit and stare

And twiddle our thumbs

What a sorrowful pair.

                                      

So what could we do

But Sit in our cave

And look at the walls

And try to behave.

 

Then something went bump

On the roof where we sat

That bump made us jump

We said “What was that”.

 

We looked then we saw him fly up to the cave

On a sleigh pulled by reindeer who gave us a wave

A man dressed in red, and a big floppy hat

Then he spoke and he said “Why are you sitting like that”

 

“I see that it’s cold and your nose is all runny

You’re hiding in here, until it gets sunny

But it’s Christmas Eve and it’s time to take flight

A couple of bats should be out for the night”

 

 

Well Brigit and I didn’t know what to do

So out of the cave the two of us flew

Into the dark, the snow, and the cold

We decided we’d better do as we’re told

 

We played tag all night chasing flakes made of snow

Till the sun opened her eyes and we heard the cock crow

Then back to the cave we flew in a flash

Straight through the door we went with a crash.

 

The man dressed in red had gone on his way

No sign of his reindeer, no sign of his sleigh.

But he left us two stockings upon the cave wall

And we heard “HO, HO, HO, Merry Christmas to all.

Oh Holy Night.

Here is a little story with a bit of a twist on the old tradition. Hope you like it.

Oh Holy Night.

It was a cold, dark night when he went out to borrow live coals to light a fire. He went from house to house knocking on doors and as he knocked he called out,

“Dear friends help me, my wife has just given birth to our child and I must make a fire to warm the little one”

However, it was very late and all his neighbours were asleep. No one answered his desperate call.

He walked and walked and at last he saw the light of a fire far into the distance. He went towards it and when he arrived he saw that the fire was a camp fire. There were a lot of sheep sleeping around the fire and an old shepherd sat and watched over the flock.

As he got nearer he saw that there were also three very big dogs lay sleeping by the shepherd’s feet. The dogs woke up as he approached and they opened their great big powerful jaws as if they were going to start barking and growling at him but not a sound was heard. He saw the hairs on their back stand up and their long sharp fangs glistened in the firelight. They ran towards him, he felt one of the dogs bite at his legs and one grabbed his hand, the other seized him by the throat. Strangely their teeth caused him no harm.

The man wished to go near the fire to get what he needed but the sheep lay so close together that he couldn’t get past them. He stepped onto their backs and walked over them and up to the fire. Not one of the animals woke up or even moved. When he had almost reached the fire the shepherd looked up. He was a bad tempered old man, unfriendly and nasty with it. The shepherd saw the stranger going towards the fire and reaching for the long spiked staff he used to protect his sheep from wolves, he threw it at the stranger. Before the staff reached him it seemed to turn off to one side and it flew past him and landed far off into the darkness.

The stranger spoke to the shepherd,

“Good shepherd, help me. Let me take a little of your fire for my wife has just given birth to a child and I must make a fire to warm her and the little one” he said

The shepherd really wanted to say no but he began to think. If the dogs couldn’t hurt him, the sheep had not run from him and the staff failed to strike him then maybe there was more to this stranger than he first thought. He felt a little afraid and didn’t dare refuse him his little piece of fire.

“Take as much as you need” he said to the stranger.

However, the fire was nearly burnt out, there were no logs or branches left only a big heap of live coals and the stranger had no spade or shovel to carry them with. When the shepherd saw this he smiled a wicked smile for he was glad that the stranger wouldn’t be able to carry away any of his coals.

“Well go on, take what you need” he said with a surly look upon his face.

But the stranger bent down and picked up the red hot coals with his bare hands and put them in his pocket. He didn’t burn his hands nor scorch his coat. He just carried them away as if they were just nuts or apples. When the cruel and hard hearted shepherd saw this he began to wonder to himself,

“What kind of night is this, when dogs do not bite, sheep are not scared, and staffs do not kill”

He called the stranger back and said to him

“What kind of night is this and why is it that all things show you compassion”

The stranger replied,

“I cannot tell you if you yourself do not see it” and he began to walk away as he wished to get back to his wife and child.

The shepherd refused to accept his answer and so he followed the stranger until he came to the place where he lived. Then the shepherd saw that the stranger didn’t have so much as a shed or a hovel to live in. His wife and new born child were lying in a mountain grotto where there was nothing except the cold bare stone walls.

The shepherd thought that the poor innocent child might freeze to death there in the grotto and even though he was a hard man he was touched and thought he would like to help them. He carried a knapsack upon his back and from it he took a soft white sheepskin and gave it to the strange man and said that he should let the child sleep on it.

A strange thing happened, for as soon as he showed that he too could be merciful and kind his eyes were suddenly opened. He now saw what he had been unable to see before he now heard what he could not have heard before.  He saw that all around him stood a ring of little silver winged angels and that each of them held a stringed instrument. They were all singing that tonight a saviour had been born who would redeem the world. Then he understood how all things were so happy this night and how all things were possible. But it wasn’t just around the shepherd that there were angels, the shepherd saw them everywhere. They were inside the grotto, outside on the mountain side, they flew under the heavens and they came marching in great hoards and as they passed they paused and bowed to the child.

There was such happiness in their music and song and all of this the shepherd saw on this dark night where before he saw nothing. He was so happy because his eyes had been opened and he fell to his knees and gave thanks to his god.  What the shepherd saw that Holy Night you may also see for the angels fly down from heaven every Christmas Eve if only you can see them. But in order to do this you must remember that you will not see this by the light of a candle or a lamp, it will not be seen by the light of the sun or the moon. You will only see what the shepherd saw if you take the blinkers from your eyes and see the glory that is all around you.

O'Leary's Rotten Auld Cake.

The following poem that I’ve written is based upon the old Irish song Mrs Fogarty’s Christmas Cake

 

O’Leary’s rotten auld cake.

 

I was sat in the kitchen this morning

When a letter was given to me

A Christmas invitation that said

“Come to O’Leary’s for tea

I decided to go, that was a mistake

For the first thing they gave me

Was some rotten auld cake?

 

Full of raisins and cherries

Nuts and orange peel too

There was spices and cinnamon

 The icing tasted of glue.

 

There were seeds as big as brass bullets

 That gave you a right stomach ache

They could kill you twice after eating a slice of

O’Leary’s rotten auld cake.

 

I’m sorry now that I tried it

It was stuck in me teeth like cement

I tried working it loose but it wasn’t no use

No matter how hard my intent.

 

O’Malley came in with a chisel

And Moran came in with a saw

But that cake was enough to call any man’s bluff

It could break both your teeth and your jaw.

 

O’leary completely oblivious

Sat smiling and chatting away

Till Murphy tripped over the carpet

And spilt some poteen in the tay.

 

I said to Murphy “You’re not eatin

Would you share a piece of my cake?”

He looked in me eye and started to cry

And said “Have mercy for pity’s sake”

 

The whole crowd were howling and moaning

O’ Lochlainn had a pain in the head

Reilly lay down on the sofa

And O’Neil wished he were dead.

Duffy went into a coma

I thought there might be a wake

We all thought that we had been poisoned

O’Leary’s rotten auld cake.

The Iron Winter and the Raggedy Old Man.

The Iron Winter and the Raggedy Old Man.

The Russian winter of 1910 was the severest in memory. It was so cold that it was known as the ‘Iron Winter’.

Because of its location, a prosperous and popular hotel some twenty miles from Moscow, suffered particular loss of business. No one had stayed there for weeks and the owner had laid off most of his staff.

One evening, he was surprised to hear a knock on his front door. Upon opening it, he was confronted by a grey bearded, raggedy old man. The old man said that he had been out in the snow for several days. He was freezing cold and starving hungry. Could the hotelier give him a meal and a bed for the night?

“I can certainly do that”, said the hotelier, “For one night’s accommodation plus a meal, the charge is three roubles. Can you pay?”

The old man confessed that he had no money, but if he was sent away, he would surely die in the cold.

The hotelier felt sorry for the old man and told him to come inside. He took him to the kitchen where, bubbling away on the stove was a pot of beetroot soup. The hotelier ladled out a large portion of the soup, added a twist of sour cream and for good measure, gave his visitor half a loaf of brown bread. The raggedy old man was obviously very hungry and soon disposed of the bread and the soup. The hotelier laughed to see a great beetroot stain along the bottom of the old man’s moustache

The raggedy old man thanked the hotelier for the food and said, “You won’t see me leave in the morning, but although I have no money now, I will pay you the three roubles when I have it”.

The hotelier said nothing but did not expect to see either the three roubles or the old man ever again.

The snow eventually cleared and business began to pick up. In fact the hotel became busier than it had ever been.

In the spring, being a very religious man, the hotelier decided to go to the great cathedral in the city to give thanks to God for the hotel’s recovery and continued success.

Upon arrival in the capital he made straight for the cathedral. Once inside, he gazed around the interior of the ancient church. His eyes fell upon the many icons that adorned the walls. He was drawn in particular to one image in a far corner.

It was painted in the likeness of an old man with a grey beard and seemed vaguely familiar. As he drew closer, he noticed a dark, beetroot like stain upon the moustache. He looked at the name carved beneath the image. It read, “Saint Nicholas”

He reached for a candle to place in front of the icon and as he moved the loose earth into which he would fix the candle, his hand touched something small and hard. It was a coin, a rouble. Beside it were two more. He picked them up and looked again at the icon.

The beetroot stain was gone and the face was smiling.

Was this a true story or not, I don’t know. But you know what they say “Never let the truth stand in the way of a good story.