Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

It takes insight to understand the suffering of wild or strange creatures.

The hero of this tale is a boy who takes pity on a Wild Man kept in a cage in the courtyard of a castle. He risks his life to set him free, only to meet him later on, alone, in the woods.

This story has been told many times, in slightly different ways. The Brothers Grimm called their version “Iron Hans” and and Andrew Lang called his “The Hairy Man”. This is Bertie’s version, which follows the original plot, but which puts a little more emphasis on the themes – such as the indignity of the captive Wild Man, and the boy’s initial panic at the moment of success.

Read by Elizabeth. Version by Bertie. Duration 18.43.

There are many curious things in nature, and outside it. Take for example the Wild Man of this story – the scientists said he was a relic of a past age, the soothsayers that he was the creation of an evil wizard, but the peasants saw him simply as a devil. He was kept in the courtyard of the Prince’s castle. The people from the towns and villages around about came to see him. Some bad boys prodded him through the bars of his cage with sticks, but the wild man was no longer ferocious. He sat in a daze, with his back straight, and his great hairy arms hanging by his side. He did not even snarl, as he used to, he merely grunted when he was particularly bothered by flies or fleas, or the poking of sticks. One or two ladies of the court remarked how strange it was that his dark, deep-set eyes seemed almost thoughtful at times.

He had not always been held captive in a cage. He had lived in the forest, where even the wolves were wary of him. He ate berries and fish, and never harmed a human being, except when he accidentally scared the wits out of a poacher, or when he was attacked. His harmlessness did not stop the rumours about him. The villagers claimed he stole their goats and hens, and even that he took babies from their cribs. At first the Prince dismissed these reports for what they were – the superstitions of the simple-minded. But then one day a royal huntsman cornered the wild man in a cave. Instead of killing his quarry, the hunter received a terrible mauling with tooth and claw. He barely made it back to the castle alive. After that, the Prince had to believe in the Wild Man.

The Prince offered a fair reward to anyone who might capture the creature, dead or alive. Many tried to trap, shoot, or spear him, but for a long time no one met with success. Eventually, one night, the ferocious fugitive fell by chance into a bear pit. It had been dug a long time before by a circus performer, who had hoped to capture a cub and train it for his act. The wild man hurt his ankle in the fall, was caught up in the net at the bottom of the pit, and struggled in vain to climb up its steep walls. He remained there several days, while he grew weak and weary. Eventually he was found by an old peasant, who immediately called his four sons. They hurled rocks at the Wild Man to make sure that he behaved, and then they hauled him up in the net, before binding him further with rope. That was how this curious captive came to be caged in the courtyard of the prince. The old man’s family received a rich reward, though it brought them no happiness, as they quarrelled violently over how to divide it amongst themselves.

Few took pity on the Wild Man. Why should they? Most found their own lives to be hard enough, without worrying about a devil in a cage. Besides, it is not natural to pity what you fear. But a boy who worked in the palace kitchens looked into the eyes of the beast and saw sadness there. He could not read, and therefore did not understand the sign that warned “Keep back or be bitten.” He reached through the bars of the cage and held out a piece of sweet meat. The Wild Man, who had seemed almost asleep, immediately seized the l boy’s hand, and yanked his arm until his shoulder was hard up against the bars. But his grip, although firm, did not crush the boy’s bones as it could have done. And his claws did not break his fair skin. His powerful jaw swiveled, his thick black lips curled, and the boy saw his yellow teach and fat red tongue far closer than he might have wished.

And then, the Wild Man said, in a low rough voice:

“You are the only one with a heart. You are my only hope. Bring me the key to this cage.”

The boy could do barely more than nod, and was immensely relieved to receive his hand back. He ran off, not knowing what he intended to do. He had heard it said that the key to the cage was kept under the pillow of the princess. He could not imagine an opportunity to steal it from such a place, until a few days later, he was sent on an errand to the private quarters of the castle, and as he passed the royal bedroom, he decided to sneak inside. If by chance he was caught, he would say that he had a message for the chamber maid. He was in luck. Nobody was in the room. He slid his grubby hand beneath the silken pillow, and felt the key.

This is how the boy freed the captive: He walked by the cage in the courtyard with his hands behind his back tightly holding the key, and, making sure that nobody was looking, he turned round and dropped it through the bars onto the straw. In the morning, the Wild Man was gone.

The boy had not anticipated the scandal and the furore that the Wild Man’s escape would unleash. Everyone in the castle was gossiping about who might have been the thief and the traitor who had stolen the key from under the pillow of the princess. The prince announced that each and everyone of the servants would be questioned by the soothsayers, and if their magic suspected a lie, there would be a further test by torture. The boy grew greatly afraid for his life, and at the first opportunity, he ran away to the forest.

But the dark forest was hardly a less threatening place than castle. If the wolves did not make short work of the boy, then the cold and the rain would surely do for him before too long. He crawled into a hole between some boulders for shelter, and in the morning he awoke to find that entrance to his cave was being watched over and guarded by none other than the Wild Man himself.

“Friend,” said the beast, “You have helped me, and now I shall help you. I have a store of secret treasures, and I shall give freely from them. But first you must pass a test to prove that you are pure of heart.”

He led the boy to a spring, and told him that he must spend the day sitting by it. On no account, no matter how hot or thirsty he became, should he touch the water in the spring. Anything that came into contact with the liquid would turn instantly into gold. And when he had given these instructions, the Wild Man left him.

For most of the day, the boy did exactly as he was told. But towards evening, as he placed a berry in his mouth, a wasp stung him on his finger. The bite burned like fire, and the boy instinctively dipped it into the cooling water. That instant, his finger became gilded with gold. In panic, he ran his hand through his long hair, and some drops sprinkled it, and that too turned to gold.

When the beast returned, he saw instantly that the boy had broken his word.

“I am disappointed,” he said. “You must go out in the world by yourself. But if after a year has passed, you are in need of my help, you may call for me.”

The following morning, the Wild Man escorted the boy to the edge of the forest and set him on his way along the road. The boy tramped on wearily but safely until he reached another castle. There he applied for work and was granted a job in the garden.

The boy always wore a bandage on his hand, and a scarf around his head to cover his gilded affliction. One day, the daughter of the prince of this castle was passing through the garden, and said to him.

“Do you not know that you should take your hat off in my presence?’

The boy bowed and apologised to the princess, saying that he could not bear his head because it was scabbed terribly.

“Never mind,” said the Princess. “Bring me flowers to my room every morning.”

And so every day, the boy chose the most beautiful flowers from the garden and delivered them to the room of the princess. He had special dispensation not to remove his head-gear as he entered her room.

A year went by, and the princess viewed the boy with great favour, and thought it a pity that his head and hand were so afflicted that he did not dare show them to the world. And the boy with the golden hair beneath his scarf began to regret that he was too lowly to befriend this beautiful young woman.

At that time, a war broke out with the neighbouring princedom, which happened to be where the boy had come from originally. Now he saw his chance to distinguish himself, and to advance his position. One day, at sunrise, as he stood alone in the garden, he called out:

“Wild Man, if you can hear me now , help me as I once helped you.”

And in an instant the boy saw that a dark horse was champing the grass on the lawn. As he lifted his foot to walk towards it, his leg felt stiff and heavy, and he realised that he was wearing a suit of black armor.

In this guise, the boy fought with the prince’s army, and distinguished himself in battle for his conspicuous valour. When the fighting was over, the prince commanded the mysterious black knight to come forward and to receive a great reward. He had in mind the hand of his daughter, the princess, in marriage. But when the opportunity for honour arose, the boy felt shy and afraid. He could not believe that such good luck should happen to him. He felt a terrible foreboding that he would be exposed as a lowly gardener and punished, and with sudden panic in his heart, he dug his spurs into the side of his charger and rode off. He returned to his station in the garden. Only the princess noticed that he had ever been away.

The prince celebrated his victory with a great banquet for the knights who had fought for him. At the height of the feasting, he called all to order. He announced that he was about to throw a golden arrow up into the air, and any bachelor who caught it would win the the hand of his daughter. It so happened that the boy was helping the servants at the table, for they were especially busy that evening. When the prince threw the arrow, it flew over the heads of all the knights, and straight towards the boy. He caught it. He only intended to be helpful, but in doing so, he committed a grave offense. The prince bellowed:

“How dare such scum lay claim to the hand of my daughter,” and the guards came forth to seize him.

The boy called out, “Oh Wild Man, help me now as I once helped you,” and that instant he was again clothed in the black armor of the knight who had won the battle. His horse came into the the banqueting hall, and the boy climbed up onto the table, and mounted his charger. He took up the reigns and was about to clatter out of the castle and to make his escape, when the prince called out:

“Wondrous and mysterious knight, do not leave, stay and marry my daughter.”

And this time the boy did not run away from good fortune. The guards helped him down from his charger, and he knelt before the Prince and his daughter, removed his helmet, and his long, glittering hair fell down over his shoulders. The wedding was announced for the following day. But the boy did not forget his wild and strange helper. He called out to him:

“Wild Man. Come now and be a guest at my wedding, for it is to you that I owe all my happiness.”

And an hour before the wedding, a strange, hairy, and ferocious beast turned up at the gates of the castle. The boy gave orders that he was to be treated as his best man and guest of honour. And for the rest of his life, good fortune smiled upon the boy, who later became the Prince of that land, and who lived and reigned in great happiness along side his wise and fair princess.

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

The Michaelmas (Christmas) term at Waverley College has come to an end. Sally is about to go back to her family, but her neighbour, the mysterious Princess Talia, has no home to go to. At the last moment, Sally calls her mum and asks if she can bring her friend home for Christmas.

Talia proves to be an illusive guest, who comes and goes without warning, causing worry and annoyance in the O’Brien family. As ever, the explanation for Talia’s behaviour is somewhat strange and possibly supernatural.

Read by Elizabeth. Text by Bertie. Duration 20 minutes. Sponsored by CGMS

The Christmas Beauty

Sally’s first term at Westerly college had come to an end. As she stuffed the last few books into her bags, she listened to the sound of harp music filtering though the wall of her room. The clear notes rang out with a lonely and melancholy quality.

“Ugg… I can’t leave Talia here alone all Christmas like a lost puppy,” said Sally to herself.

She picked up her phone and pressed the speed dial that was labelled “Mum”.

“I’m just setting off now, darling,” said a familiar parental voice.

“Mum, I know this is a bit last minute, but can I bring a friend home for Christmas?’

“Oh, how exciting darling. You kept that quiet, what’s his name?”

“Her name, is Talia, Princess Talia. “

As soon as Sally had uttered the word “princess” she knew she had made a mistake. Her mother would go into paroxysms of anxiety about the house being far too humble to receive such an elevated person.

“Why, hasn’t she got a palace of her own to go to?” she wanted to know. And Sally had to explain at length that she was an orphan all alone in the world. Mum, as mums do, caved into her daughter’s wishes with an air of weary resignation.

Sally sprang round to her friend’s door with the invitation. The princess who opened the door had a look of innocent astonishment on her face, as if she had just woken up and seen the world for the first time. She quite often looked like that. That was when she was at her most charming. At other times she looked at you quite blankly, as if she saw you, but her mind was completely elsewhere.

“Our house isn’t exactly a palace, “ said Sally warmly, “But Christmas at home is always kind of special, and you’d be really really welcome.”

Talia reached out and hugged her friend. This was highly unusual, as she hardly ever even touched another person. Sally was almost surprised to feel that her body was warm and human. She seemed like such a ghost at times.

“Oh Sally, I’m so terribly moved by your kindness, but I couldn’t possibly impose on your family.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you must come,” assured Sally, patting her friend on the back, and then wondering if that was just a bit too familiar with a princess. Talia stepped back, and looked brighter.

“Well… it would be nice… I’ll have to make arrangements….. perhaps I’ll come in a few days time.”

Sally felt slightly disappointed that her friend wasn’t driving back home with her. For far too much of the journey home, her mother grumbled about not knowing whether to make a bed ready for her princess friend or not. Sally felt like it was she who was being ticked off, not the absent Talia. And all the feeling of grown up independence and confidence that she had acquired over the ten weeks away from her parents was left behind in Oxford.

When they arrived home, in a suburb of South East Liverpool, her front door looked eerily familiar, as if she had remembered it from a vivid dream. She hauled her suitcase up the stairs to her room. Her bed, which was only just long enough to fit her feet in, looked ludicrously childish. Her mother had placed a much loved, worn and chewed cuddly toy on the pillow. She quickly stuffed Aliosha the Bear into a cupboard. One wall was still adorned with a poster of a boy band that she had pinned up when she was twelve. While she had been at home, the poster had somehow become part of the wall. She had stopped noticing the dreamy faces, slick hair and designer stubble of the teenage idols. Now she thought: “What would Talia say if she saw the The Backstreet Boys hanging above my bed ?” and a minute later the poster lay scrunched up in her litter bin.

She heard her little brother come into the house with her Dad. They had been to Saturday football. She came down to greet them. The sight of the fourteen year old Tim reminded her how recently she had been a child. But her father’s familiar “hello love” and warm hug soon cheered her up. He whispered,

“Your mother’s not stopped fussing about you catching your death of something since you’ve been gone”.

Almost two week’, Sally’s mum answered a ring at the door. A tall, broad shouldered man in a sharp suit asked her if this was the O’ Brien residence. Instead of answering his question, she said:

“We haven’t done anything wrong have we?” The man coughed.

“No Madame. Princess Talia is in the car. She asks, is it convenient for her to come in?’

“Well, er no, I mean, yes, ah, …. Sally ! Come and look who’s here!”

Mrs. O’ Brien checked her hair in the hall mirror while the be-suited attendant returned to a long black limousine that was parked across the close. He opened a rear door of the vehicle. The elegant figure of a princess swiveled herself out, in the manner that a debutante learns to leave a car at a Swiss Finishing School. She wore a long satin dress and her shoulders were wrapped in an ermine tripped jacket. As Sally came downstairs and saw her friend’s arrival, she could feel at least a dozen pairs of eyes peeping out of windows up and down the close.

On the doorstep, Talia addressed Sally’s mum: “You must be Mrs. O’ Brien. It was so kind of you to invite me to your home for Christmas,”

Sally’s mum was so flustered that all she could say was, “Come in and have a cup of tea, dear, er, your highness.”

Princess Talia drank chamomile tea at the breakfast bar in the kitchen while her attendant carried her many suitcases up the narrow staircase. Mrs O Brien was horrified that her daughter was serving tea in the kitchen, instead of the living room, and in her embarrassment, she hovered around gesturing to Sally to use the best china.

“We thought you’d never come,” said Sally to her friend.

“I said I would come, and I am a woman of my word.” replied Talia.

“Well I hope you don’t mind the humble surroundings. The spare room is quite small, I’m afraid.”

“Your parents’ house is quite charming, Sally.”

It was difficult to see what was so charming about the perfectly ordinary kitchen from the Swedish furniture shop, Ikea, but Mrs. O’ Brien, who was now busy wiping surfaces, was pleased by the remark, until Talia added thoughtfully:

“ To speak plainly Sally, it’s a relief for me to see you so comfortably housed. Where I come from, the common people live in far humbler circumstances.”

Mrs O’Brien couldn’t suppress a gasp of astonishment, and Sally couldn’t quite hide a slight smile. She was used to Talia now, you see, and was more amused than shocked by her odd remarks.

When Talia went upstairs to her room, Mrs. O’Brien said in a low voice:

“Well we do move in elevated circles now, don’t we? Soon your parents wont’ be good enough for you.”

“Oh Mum! I wish you could see my other friends. They’re all perfectly normal. Don’t mind Talia. She’s a one -off.”

“Well what country is she’s princess of, for goodness sake?”

“She’s never quite said.” Sally knew that this sounded a bit feeble, but she really did believe that her friend was a true princess. She had learned not to mistake Talia’s mysteriousness for insincerity. Her mother said:

“It’s probably some phony continental title. They’re six a penny over there.”

It was shepherd’s pie for dinner. Talia tasted it, praised, her hostess’s cooking lavishly, and didn’t eat any more. Mrs Brien asked the Talia what her family ate for their Christmas meal at home, and the princess slipped into her astonished and just-woken up look. She spoke dreamily of oysters, and cockle st. Jacques, of smoked salmon pancakes and goblets of champagne, of partridge, cuts of venison, wild boar sausages, roast chestnuts and parsnips, followed by 13 sweet deserts to represent Christ and all the apostles.

Given that Talia was so thin, and rarely more than picked at her food, it was surprising to hear her describe a banquet with the relish of a confirmed glutton, but Sally realised that her thoughts were travelling back with nostalgia to Christmases past with her own family, in her own home.

Mrs. O’ Brien asked meekly if they ever ate turkey for Christmas. in her own country Talia was puzzled by the question. She didn’t seem to know what a turkey was, and Mrs. O’Brien seemed almost offended by her ignorance of turkeys.

Fortunately, the Princess got on with Sally’s father just fine. His hobby was Medieval history, and that was something the princess was well versed in. He lent her two of his books, and she showed him her necklace which she said was Anglo Saxon gold. He was perfectly purring with admiration, and Sally noted that the princess had made a conquest.

At 9 o’clock, the family sat on the flowery three piece suit in the immaculately tidy living room and watched a television programme in which a modern English poet retraced the haunts of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. It ended amid the mist-entwined ruins of Glastonbury Abbey where the semi-mythical king is said to be buried with Queen Guinevere.

After it was over, Talia sighed and said: “Uncle Arthur was such a dear,” and Sally could see that her father wasn’t quite sure if he had misheard the remark, or if she was referring to some other Arthur who happened to share the king’s name.

The next morning was Christmas Eve. It was almost lunch-time, and Mrs O’ Brien noted, “Evidently, princesses aren’t early-risers” – for nobody had seen Talia yet. Sally went up to knock lightly on the guest room door. There was no reply. She knocked a second time, and gently pushed it open: She saw an empty bed – and as the door opened wider – an empty room. Even the suitcases had gone.

For the rest of the day, Sally felt quite disjointed. This wasn’t at all what she had been expecting. If somebody just ups and goes without saying goodbye, it leaves you with a feeling of incompleteness. That parting well-wish, which literally means “May God go With you”, is a sacred ritual, and it’s a sacrilege not go through it, far worse than not saying “thank you”.

Besides, she had to put up with the inevitable barrage of remarks from her mother.
that the royal guest did not consider that the food, the house, or the company, was good enough for her, and that she might be a princess, but she had no manners. The commentary became so intense that Sally had to get away. She took a bus into the centre of Liverpool and walked through the crowds of last minute Christmas shoppers, but she couldn’t help wondering all the time if her friend would suddenly turn up again while she was out.

The absent Talia even cast a shadow over lunch the next day. Sally’s mother twittered on rather too much about how there was nothing like turkey and Brussels sprouts for Christmas, and when they all put paper crowns from the crackers on their heads, Sally thought how embarrassing it would have been to have done this in front of Talia.

At three o’clock, the family settled down in front of the television to watch the Queen’s Christmas speech. Sally felt crushingly bored, but unable to go and do anything else without offending her mother. Just as the National Anthem was playing, the door bell rang. Her brother sprung up and went to answer it. A minute later, Talia stepped into the living room holding a basket of beautifully wrapped presents.

“Happy Christmas ! “ she en-toned, and started distributing the gifts almost like Santa-Clause. Dad reached for the remote control and turned the Queens’ volume down. Mum moved her chair closer to the screen, straining to hear the monarch’s commentary on the year gone by.

“May we open them now?” asked Sally.

“Oh pray do, I insist,” said Talia.

The gifts were as exquisite as they were lavish – pearls for Sally, an emerald broach for Mrs. O’Brien, a golden goblet for Mr. O’Brien, and a jewel encrusted dagger for Tim. All Sally had bought for Talia was a book with Latin inscriptions from around Oxford.

But Sally had never seen Talia smile so broadly, or so beaming with obvious delight. “Oh do let’s put some music on,” she said, “Tim show me how to operate this thing I’m no good with modern technology” – she meant the CD player – and she chose a disk at random. It was the The Searchers :

“Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey
Your first Sweet Kiss, thrilled me so”

They were 1960s band from Liverpool, and Sally’s Dad rather liked them. Tallia took him by the hands and pulled him up to dance. This was not at all the Princess that Sally thought she knew.

“May I ask my driver in, he’s a bit lonely out in the car?” Talia asked when the track came to an end. Soon the driver was playing a video game with Tim, and Mr. O’Brien brought him a beer. Mrs O’Brien spoke to the princess

‘We’ve been so worried about you Love. You shouldn’t have gone off so abruptly without warning us.”

“I was called away rather suddenly,” she replied abruptly.

And then she took her friend on one side and held her by both hands. “Sally, I’m so excited. I was in Glastonbury for Midnight mass. Afterwards, as I was walking among the ruins of the Abbey, I met my uncle and Aunt…. I haven’t seen them for simply an age, I mean to say,” and she whispered the last words “Arthur and Guinevere.”

And that was the story, of the Christmas Beauty .

I do hope that you are enjoying our Awaking Beauty series. You can always let us know what you think by leaving a message on the story’s page at Storynory.com.

I’ll be back with some more stories soon. For now, from me, Elizabeth, Bye Bye !

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

The story begins with a fairytale wedding. Waiting in the wings of the celebrations, is the “Remarkable Rocket” who is making ready to go out with a spectacular display. We soon learn that he is a most egotistical firework, who loves to talk about his own superiority – much to the annoyance of the other fireworks in the box.

This children’s story by Oscar Wilde is full of sparkling dialogue, rather like his stage plays, and not quite so much like his other more spiritual fairy tales. You can enjoy some of the master’s salty whit for which he was famous, such as :

“Indeed, I have always been of opinion that hard work is simply the refuge of people who have nothing whatever to do.”

It’s a lengthy story sustained by the many voices of Elizabeth.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 35.55. By Oscar Wilde.

The King’s son was going to be married, so there were general
rejoicings. He had waited a whole year for his bride, and at last
she had arrived. She was a Russian Princess, and had driven all
the way from Finland in a sledge drawn by six reindeer. The sledge
was shaped like a great golden swan, and between the swan’s wings
lay the little Princess herself. Her long ermine-cloak reached
right down to her feet, on her head was a tiny cap of silver
tissue, and she was as pale as the Snow Palace in which she had
always lived. So pale was she that as she drove through the
streets all the people wondered. “She is like a white rose!” they
cried, and they threw down flowers on her from the balconies.

At the gate of the Castle the Prince was waiting to receive her.
He had dreamy violet eyes, and his hair was like fine gold. When
he saw her he sank upon one knee, and kissed her hand.

“Your picture was beautiful,” he murmured, “but you are more
beautiful than your picture”; and the little Princess blushed.

“She was like a white rose before,” said a young Page to his
neighbour, “but she is like a red rose now”; and the whole Court
was delighted.

For the next three days everybody went about saying, “White rose,
Red rose, Red rose, White rose”; and the King gave orders that the
Page’s salary was to be doubled. As he received no salary at all
this was not of much use to him, but it was considered a great
honour, and was duly published in the Court Gazette.

When the three days were over the marriage was celebrated. It was
a magnificent ceremony, and the bride and bridegroom walked hand in
hand under a canopy of purple velvet embroidered with little
pearls. Then there was a State Banquet, which lasted for five
hours. The Prince and Princess sat at the top of the Great Hall
and drank out of a cup of clear crystal. Only true lovers could
drink out of this cup, for if false lips touched it, it grew grey
and dull and cloudy.

“It’s quite clear that they love each other,” said the little Page,
“as clear as crystal!” and the King doubled his salary a second
time. “What an honour!” cried all the courtiers.

After the banquet there was to be a Ball. The bride and bridegroom
were to dance the Rose-dance together, and the King had promised to
play the flute. He played very badly, but no one had ever dared to
tell him so, because he was the King. Indeed, he knew only two
airs, and was never quite certain which one he was playing; but it
made no matter, for, whatever he did, everybody cried out,
“Charming! charming!”

The last item on the programme was a grand display of fireworks, to
be let off exactly at midnight. The little Princess had never seen
a firework in her life, so the King had given orders that the Royal
Pyrotechnist should be in attendance on the day of her marriage.

“What are fireworks like?” she had asked the Prince, one morning,
as she was walking on the terrace.

“They are like the Aurora Borealis,” said the King, who always
answered questions that were addressed to other people, “only much
more natural. I prefer them to stars myself, as you always know
when they are going to appear, and they are as delightful as my own
flute-playing. You must certainly see them.”

So at the end of the King’s garden a great stand had been set up,
and as soon as the Royal Pyrotechnist had put everything in its
proper place, the fireworks began to talk to each other.

“The world is certainly very beautiful,” cried a little Squib.
“Just look at those yellow tulips. Why! if they were real crackers
they could not be lovelier. I am very glad I have travelled.
Travel improves the mind wonderfully, and does away with all one’s
prejudices.”

“The King’s garden is not the world, you foolish squib,” said a big
Roman Candle; “the world is an enormous place, and it would take
you three days to see it thoroughly.”

“Any place you love is the world to you,” exclaimed a pensive
Catherine Wheel, who had been attached to an old deal box in early
life, and prided herself on her broken heart; “but love is not
fashionable any more, the poets have killed it. They wrote so much
about it that nobody believed them, and I am not surprised. True
love suffers, and is silent. I remember myself once–But it is no
matter now. Romance is a thing of the past.”

“Nonsense!” said the Roman Candle, “Romance never dies. It is like
the moon, and lives for ever. The bride and bridegroom, for
instance, love each other very dearly. I heard all about them this
morning from a brown-paper cartridge, who happened to be staying in
the same drawer as myself, and knew the latest Court news.”

But the Catherine Wheel shook her head. “Romance is dead, Romance
is dead, Romance is dead,” she murmured. She was one of those
people who think that, if you say the same thing over and over a
great many times, it becomes true in the end.

Suddenly, a sharp, dry cough was heard, and they all looked round.

It came from a tall, supercilious-looking Rocket, who was tied to
the end of a long stick. He always coughed before he made any
observation, so as to attract attention.

“Ahem! ahem!” he said, and everybody listened except the poor
Catherine Wheel, who was still shaking her head, and murmuring,
“Romance is dead.”

“Order! order!” cried out a Cracker. He was something of a
politician, and had always taken a prominent part in the local
elections, so he knew the proper Parliamentary expressions to use.

“Quite dead,” whispered the Catherine Wheel, and she went off to
sleep.

As soon as there was perfect silence, the Rocket coughed a third
time and began. He spoke with a very slow, distinct voice, as if
he was dictating his memoirs, and always looked over the shoulder
of the person to whom he was talking. In fact, he had a most
distinguished manner.

“How fortunate it is for the King’s son,” he remarked, “that he is
to be married on the very day on which I am to be let off. Really,
if it had been arranged beforehand, it could not have turned out
better for him; but, Princes are always lucky.”

“Dear me!” said the little Squib, “I thought it was quite the other
way, and that we were to be let off in the Prince’s honour.”

“It may be so with you,” he answered; “indeed, I have no doubt that
it is, but with me it is different. I am a very remarkable Rocket,
and come of remarkable parents. My mother was the most celebrated
Catherine Wheel of her day, and was renowned for her graceful
dancing. When she made her great public appearance she spun round
nineteen times before she went out, and each time that she did so
she threw into the air seven pink stars. She was three feet and a
half in diameter, and made of the very best gunpowder. My father
was a Rocket like myself, and of French extraction. He flew so
high that the people were afraid that he would never come down
again. He did, though, for he was of a kindly disposition, and he
made a most brilliant descent in a shower of golden rain. The
newspapers wrote about his performance in very flattering terms.
Indeed, the Court Gazette called him a triumph of Pylotechnic art.”

“Pyrotechnic, Pyrotechnic, you mean,” said a Bengal Light; “I know
it is Pyrotechnic, for I saw it written on my own canister.”

“Well, I said Pylotechnic,” answered the Rocket, in a severe tone
of voice, and the Bengal Light felt so crushed that he began at
once to bully the little squibs, in order to show that he was still
a person of some importance.

“I was saying,” continued the Rocket, “I was saying–What was I
saying?”

“You were talking about yourself,” replied the Roman Candle.

“Of course; I knew I was discussing some interesting subject when I
was so rudely interrupted. I hate rudeness and bad manners of
every kind, for I am extremely sensitive. No one in the whole
world is so sensitive as I am, I am quite sure of that.”

“What is a sensitive person?” said the Cracker to the Roman Candle.

“A person who, because he has corns himself, always treads on other
people’s toes,” answered the Roman Candle in a low whisper; and the
Cracker nearly exploded with laughter.

“Pray, what are you laughing at?” inquired the Rocket; “I am not
laughing.”

“I am laughing because I am happy,” replied the Cracker.

“That is a very selfish reason,” said the Rocket angrily. “What
right have you to be happy? You should be thinking about others.
In fact, you should be thinking about me. I am always thinking
about myself, and I expect everybody else to do the same. That is
what is called sympathy. It is a beautiful virtue, and I possess
it in a high degree. Suppose, for instance, anything happened to
me to-night, what a misfortune that would be for every one! The
Prince and Princess would never be happy again, their whole married
life would be spoiled; and as for the King, I know he would not get
over it. Really, when I begin to reflect on the importance of my
position, I am almost moved to tears.”

“If you want to give pleasure to others,” cried the Roman Candle,
“you had better keep yourself dry.”

“Certainly,” exclaimed the Bengal Light, who was now in better
spirits; “that is only common sense.”

“Common sense, indeed!” said the Rocket indignantly; “you forget
that I am very uncommon, and very remarkable. Why, anybody can
have common sense, provided that they have no imagination. But I
have imagination, for I never think of things as they really are; I
always think of them as being quite different. As for keeping
myself dry, there is evidently no one here who can at all
appreciate an emotional nature. Fortunately for myself, I don’t
care. The only thing that sustains one through life is the
consciousness of the immense inferiority of everybody else, and
this is a feeling that I have always cultivated. But none of you
have any hearts. Here you are laughing and making merry just as if
the Prince and Princess had not just been married.”

“Well, really,” exclaimed a small Fire-balloon, “why not? It is a
most joyful occasion, and when I soar up into the air I intend to
tell the stars all about it. You will see them twinkle when I talk
to them about the pretty bride.”

“Ah! what a trivial view of life!” said the Rocket; “but it is only
what I expected. There is nothing in you; you are hollow and
empty. Why, perhaps the Prince and Princess may go to live in a
country where there is a deep river, and perhaps they may have one
only son, a little fair-haired boy with violet eyes like the Prince
himself; and perhaps some day he may go out to walk with his nurse;
and perhaps the nurse may go to sleep under a great elder-tree; and
perhaps the little boy may fall into the deep river and be drowned.
What a terrible misfortune! Poor people, to lose their only son!
It is really too dreadful! I shall never get over it.”

“But they have not lost their only son,” said the Roman Candle; “no
misfortune has happened to them at all.”

“I never said that they had,” replied the Rocket; “I said that they
might. If they had lost their only son there would be no use in
saying anything more about the matter. I hate people who cry over
spilt milk. But when I think that they might lose their only son,
I certainly am very much affected.”

“You certainly are!” cried the Bengal Light. “In fact, you are the
most affected person I ever met.”

“You are the rudest person I ever met,” said the Rocket, “and you
cannot understand my friendship for the Prince.”

“Why, you don’t even know him,” growled the Roman Candle.

“I never said I knew him,” answered the Rocket. “I dare say that
if I knew him I should not be his friend at all. It is a very
dangerous thing to know one’s friends.”

“You had really better keep yourself dry,” said the Fire-balloon.
“That is the important thing.”

“Very important for you, I have no doubt,” answered the Rocket,
“but I shall weep if I choose”; and he actually burst into real
tears, which flowed down his stick like rain-drops, and nearly
drowned two little beetles, who were just thinking of setting up
house together, and were looking for a nice dry spot to live in.

“He must have a truly romantic nature,” said the Catherine Wheel,
“for he weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about”; and she
heaved a deep sigh, and thought about the deal box.

But the Roman Candle and the Bengal Light were quite indignant, and
kept saying, “Humbug! humbug!” at the top of their voices. They
were extremely practical, and whenever they objected to anything
they called it humbug.

Then the moon rose like a wonderful silver shield; and the stars
began to shine, and a sound of music came from the palace.

The Prince and Princess were leading the dance. They danced so
beautifully that the tall white lilies peeped in at the window and
watched them, and the great red poppies nodded their heads and beat
time.

Then ten o’clock struck, and then eleven, and then twelve, and at
the last stroke of midnight every one came out on the terrace, and
the King sent for the Royal Pyrotechnist.

“Let the fireworks begin,” said the King; and the Royal
Pyrotechnist made a low bow, and marched down to the end of the
garden. He had six attendants with him, each of whom carried a
lighted torch at the end of a long pole.

It was certainly a magnificent display.

Whizz! Whizz! went the Catherine Wheel, as she spun round and
round. Boom! Boom! went the Roman Candle. Then the Squibs danced
all over the place, and the Bengal Lights made everything look
scarlet. “Good-bye,” cried the Fire-balloon, as he soared away,
dropping tiny blue sparks. Bang! Bang! answered the Crackers, who
were enjoying themselves immensely. Every one was a great success
except the Remarkable Rocket. He was so damp with crying that he
could not go off at all. The best thing in him was the gunpowder,
and that was so wet with tears that it was of no use. All his poor
relations, to whom he would never speak, except with a sneer, shot
up into the sky like wonderful golden flowers with blossoms of
fire. Huzza! Huzza! cried the Court; and the little Princess
laughed with pleasure.

“I suppose they are reserving me for some grand occasion,” said the
Rocket; “no doubt that is what it means,” and he looked more
supercilious than ever.

The next day the workmen came to put everything tidy. “This is
evidently a deputation,” said the Rocket; “I will receive them with
becoming dignity” so he put his nose in the air, and began to frown
severely as if he were thinking about some very important subject.
But they took no notice of him at all till they were just going
away. Then one of them caught sight of him. “Hallo!” he cried,
“what a bad rocket!” and he threw him over the wall into the ditch.

“BAD Rocket? BAD Rocket?” he said, as he whirled through the air;
“impossible! GRAND Rocket, that is what the man said. BAD and
GRAND sound very much the same, indeed they often are the same”;
and he fell into the mud.

“It is not comfortable here,” he remarked, “but no doubt it is some
fashionable watering-place, and they have sent me away to recruit
my health. My nerves are certainly very much shattered, and I
require rest.”

Then a little Frog, with bright jewelled eyes, and a green mottled
coat, swam up to him.

“A new arrival, I see!” said the Frog. “Well, after all there is
nothing like mud. Give me rainy weather and a ditch, and I am
quite happy. Do you think it will be a wet afternoon? I am sure I
hope so, but the sky is quite blue and cloudless. What a pity!”

“Ahem! ahem!” said the Rocket, and he began to cough.

“What a delightful voice you have!” cried the Frog. “Really it is
quite like a croak, and croaking is of course the most musical
sound in the world. You will hear our glee-club this evening. We
sit in the old duck pond close by the farmer’s house, and as soon
as the moon rises we begin. It is so entrancing that everybody
lies awake to listen to us. In fact, it was only yesterday that I
heard the farmer’s wife say to her mother that she could not get a
wink of sleep at night on account of us. It is most gratifying to
find oneself so popular.”

“Ahem! ahem!” said the Rocket angrily. He was very much annoyed
that he could not get a word in.

“A delightful voice, certainly,” continued the Frog; “I hope you
will come over to the duck-pond. I am off to look for my
daughters. I have six beautiful daughters, and I am so afraid the
Pike may meet them. He is a perfect monster, and would have no
hesitation in breakfasting off them. Well, good-bye: I have
enjoyed our conversation very much, I assure you.”

“Conversation, indeed!” said the Rocket. “You have talked the
whole time yourself. That is not conversation.”

“Somebody must listen,” answered the Frog, “and I like to do all
the talking myself. It saves time, and prevents arguments.”

“But I like arguments,” said the Rocket.

“I hope not,” said the Frog complacently. “Arguments are extremely
vulgar, for everybody in good society holds exactly the same
opinions. Good-bye a second time; I see my daughters in the
distance and the little Frog swam away.

“You are a very irritating person,” said the Rocket, “and very ill-
bred. I hate people who talk about themselves, as you do, when one
wants to talk about oneself, as I do. It is what I call
selfishness, and selfishness is a most detestable thing, especially
to any one of my temperament, for I am well known for my
sympathetic nature. In fact, you should take example by me; you
could not possibly have a better model. Now that you have the
chance you had better avail yourself of it, for I am going back to
Court almost immediately. I am a great favourite at Court; in
fact, the Prince and Princess were married yesterday in my honour.
Of course you know nothing of these matters, for you are a
provincial.”

“There is no good talking to him,” said a Dragon-fly, who was
sitting on the top of a large brown bulrush; “no good at all, for
he has gone away.”

“Well, that is his loss, not mine,” answered the Rocket. “I am not
going to stop talking to him merely because he pays no attention.
I like hearing myself talk. It is one of my greatest pleasures. I
often have long conversations all by myself, and I am so clever
that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I am
saying.”

“Then you should certainly lecture on Philosophy,” said the Dragon-
fly; and he spread a pair of lovely gauze wings and soared away
into the sky.

“How very silly of him not to stay here!” said the Rocket. “I am
sure that he has not often got such a chance of improving his mind.
However, I don’t care a bit. Genius like mine is sure to be
appreciated some day”; and he sank down a little deeper into the
mud.

After some time a large White Duck swam up to him. She had yellow
legs, and webbed feet, and was considered a great beauty on account
of her waddle.

“Quack, quack, quack,” she said. “What a curious shape you are!
May I ask were you born like that, or is it the result of an
accident?”

“It is quite evident that you have always lived in the country,”
answered the Rocket, “otherwise you would know who I am. However,
I excuse your ignorance. It would be unfair to expect other people
to be as remarkable as oneself. You will no doubt be surprised to
hear that I can fly up into the sky, and come down in a shower of
golden rain.”

“I don’t think much of that,” said the Duck, “as I cannot see what
use it is to any one. Now, if you could plough the fields like the
ox, or draw a cart like the horse, or look after the sheep like the
collie-dog, that would be something.”

“My good creature,” cried the Rocket in a very haughty tone of
voice, “I see that you belong to the lower orders. A person of my
position is never useful. We have certain accomplishments, and
that is more than sufficient. I have no sympathy myself with
industry of any kind, least of all with such industries as you seem
to recommend. Indeed, I have always been of opinion that hard work
is simply the refuge of people who have nothing whatever to do.”

“Well, well,” said the Duck, who was of a very peaceable
disposition, and never quarrelled with any one, “everybody has
different tastes. I hope, at any rate, that you are going to take
up your residence here.”

“Oh! dear no,” cried the Rocket. “I am merely a visitor, a
distinguished visitor. The fact is that I find this place rather
tedious. There is neither society here, nor solitude. In fact, it
is essentially suburban. I shall probably go back to Court, for I
know that I am destined to make a sensation in the world.”

“I had thoughts of entering public life once myself,” remarked the
Duck; “there are so many things that need reforming. Indeed, I
took the chair at a meeting some time ago, and we passed
resolutions condemning everything that we did not like. However,
they did not seem to have much effect. Now I go in for
domesticity, and look after my family.”

“I am made for public life,” said the Rocket, “and so are all my
relations, even the humblest of them. Whenever we appear we excite
great attention. I have not actually appeared myself, but when I
do so it will be a magnificent sight. As for domesticity, it ages
one rapidly, and distracts one’s mind from higher things.”

“Ah! the higher things of life, how fine they are!” said the Duck;
“and that reminds me how hungry I feel”: and she swam away down
the stream, saying, “Quack, quack, quack.”

“Come back! come back!” screamed the Rocket, “I have a great deal
to say to you”; but the Duck paid no attention to him. “I am glad
that she has gone,” he said to himself, “she has a decidedly
middle-class mind”; and he sank a little deeper still into the mud,
and began to think about the loneliness of genius, when suddenly
two little boys in white smocks came running down the bank, with a
kettle and some faggots.

“This must be the deputation,” said the Rocket, and he tried to
look very dignified.

“Hallo!” cried one of the boys, “look at this old stick! I wonder
how it came here”; and he picked the rocket out of the ditch.

“OLD Stick!” said the Rocket, “impossible! GOLD Stick, that is
what he said. Gold Stick is very complimentary. In fact, he
mistakes me for one of the Court dignitaries!”

“Let us put it into the fire!” said the other boy, “it will help to
boil the kettle.”

So they piled the faggots together, and put the Rocket on top, and
lit the fire.

“This is magnificent,” cried the Rocket, “they are going to let me
off in broad day-light, so that every one can see me.”

“We will go to sleep now,” they said, “and when we wake up the
kettle will be boiled”; and they lay down on the grass, and shut
their eyes.

The Rocket was very damp, so he took a long time to burn. At last,
however, the fire caught him.

“Now I am going off!” he cried, and he made himself very stiff and
straight. “I know I shall go much higher than the stars, much
higher than the moon, much higher than the sun. In fact, I shall
go so high that–”

Fizz! Fizz! Fizz! and he went straight up into the air.

“Delightful!” he cried, “I shall go on like this for ever. What a
success I am!”

But nobody saw him.

Then he began to feel a curious tingling sensation all over him.

“Now I am going to explode,” he cried. “I shall set the whole
world on fire, and make such a noise that nobody will talk about
anything else for a whole year.” And he certainly did explode.
Bang! Bang! Bang! went the gunpowder. There was no doubt about it.

But nobody heard him, not even the two little boys, for they were
sound asleep.

Then all that was left of him was the stick, and this fell down on
the back of a Goose who was taking a walk by the side of the ditch.

“Good heavens!” cried the Goose. “It is going to rain sticks”; and
she rushed into the water.

“I knew I should create a great sensation,” gasped the Rocket, and
he went out.

Download the audio (Click to play, Right click to Save As).

The world’s most famous collection of magical stories originated in Persia and only later became known in the West as the “Arabian” Nights. The collection includes stories, within stories, within stories. This is the story that wraps around them all.

A terrible sultan marries a new bride every night, and in the morning he executes her. Only Sherehezade, the greatest story-teller the world has known, has a chance to soften the heart of the man with a tyrannical grudge against all women.

The backdrop is quite harsh, but the stories are wonderful.

Read by Elizabeth. Version by Bertie. Duration 15 minutes.

Praise be to Allah, the beneficent king, the creator of the universe, Lord of the three worlds, who set up the sky without pillars to hold it aloft, who stretched out the earth like a bed, and who filled the ocean like a bath. Lend me the art and the craft of she who outwitted a great king. Of she who for 1001 nights captivated the shah, while she threaded her plots around him, the woman whose stories held conquered the all-powerful man, and prevented him from carrying out his terrible intent. I speak of her, Sherehezade, the greatest storyteller the world has ever known.

She lived in a time of sorrow for the ruler of the land held in his heart an awful grudge against all women. This grudge had terrible consequences for every family in the land. But it was not always so. He began his reign with a kinder heart. His name was Shahryar, He was in the fullness of his youth and power, but as yet, without a wife. One evening he stood with his younger brother, prince Zaman, on the balcony of the palace, which overlooked the pleasure gardens. They watched a young serving girl as she stepped out to the fountain to fetch water.

Shahryar whispered: “See brother. Is she not as lovely as the moon and as graceful as a gazelle?”

But Zaman, replied: “Do not let your eyes deceive you. Although you are older than me, and more powerful, yet I am more experienced in the ways of women, for I already have a wife. I tell you no woman on earth has a pure and faithful heart. Each day I watch my queen. I see her give a visiting prince such a look that makes my blood turn angry. But it does not stop there. She gives the chief chamberlain a cheeky smile that is quite inappropriate. Why, the day before I left my palace to pay honour to you, I saw her whispering to the cook! She brings nothing but shame upon me.“

Shahryar laughed “ My younger brother, you have been looking pale and ill of late. Now I know the cause. Jealousy is eating you up because you have such a lovely wife ! “

At this Zaman became quite offended, but he replied in no more than a mutter: “My brother, you will learn for yourself in due time.”

Shahryar was ready to marry. It seemed that wherever he looked he saw a beautiful woman. But none so lovely as the one the two brothers encountered the very next day. They got up at dawn to go hunting. Just as the sun was spreading its gentle rays, they rode their horses side by side along the sea shore. Walking to towards them, along the deserted beach, they saw a girl whose loveliness brought to mind the words:

She rose like the morn, as she shone through the night.
When she unveiled her face, the sun grew bright.

As the brothers drew near to her, she gave them the sort of smile that gladdens a man’s heart and Shahryar said to his brother:

“I would not be ashamed to take her for my queen.”

But no sooner had he spoken, than a huge wave came curling into the shore, and standing on top of the wave as a great geni. His skin was orange and his eyes blazing red.

As the wave broke into white foam the genie leapt onto the beach, and seized the girl up in his hands. He turned his awful eyes on the brothers, and they were so full of fire that they feared his gaze might burn them up. Then he spoke. His voice was terrible, but his words showed that he intended them no harm:

“hear me now and learn from my troubles. When I took this girl for my bride, I set her inside a trunk, and I placed the trunk inside another trunk, and that trunk inside yet another trunk – seven boxes in all, each with its own lock. And then I placed the sevenfold container at the bottom of the sea, so as to keep her faithful to me. But still she managed to escape, to flirt with strange men on the beach, and to bring shame upon me. If I, a genie with all the power of magic at my disposal cannot keep discipline over my bride, what hope have you mere men of doing so?”

As soon as he had issued this warning, both the genie and the girl span round and round until they became whirl wind that sped away across the sea.

For the rest of the day Shahryar was pale and brooding. By evening he had cheered up somewhat. As the brothers stood on the balcony overlooking the gardens, once again, he said:

“The remarkable occurrence of this morning has made a great impression on me. I see now that you are right. The genie has confirmed what you say. There was never one faithful woman on this earth. But I have thought deeply about this problem all day long, and I have formed a plan.

It was not long before his brother and everyone in the land found out what the Shah had in mind.

As he sat on his throne the next day, giving orders to his ministers about this and that, he sent for his chief minister, a man who had served him for many years, and who had two lovely daughters whom in time, we shall meet, ishallah ! God Willing!

He commanded the minister to bring a bride to him that very evening, and in the morning to take her way to be executed. Each and every day he was to do the same, to bring another bride for him to marry, and in the morning to strike off her head. And so it came to pass for three years on end. There was not a family in the land that was not touched by this tragedy. The people cried out against their shah, and called on Allah to destroy him and his reign utterly. But his heart was relentless. By this terrible plan he made sure that none of his people would ever gather in a corner and gossip that his queen was faithless to him either in thought or deed.

Mothers wept or fled abroad with their daughters. At last there was hardly a woman left in the city who was of marriageable age. At last, one day, as the minster searched the city, he could not find a bride for the shah that night. He returned home in sorrow and anxiety, for he was afraid for his own life when he failed that evening to present a new bride to the Shah.

Now he had two daughters, Sherehezade and Dunyazad [ending is long like a= ‘ard’’]. The eldest had read all the books, legends and stories in the library of the palace. She knew a great many poems off by heart, and had studied philosophy and the arts. She was pleasant, polite, wise and witty. She saw that her father was looking sad and she quoted some lines of a poem to him;

Tell whoso hath sorrow
Grief shall never last.
Even as joy hath no morrow
so woe shall go past

When the minister heard these words from his daughter, he told her the cause of his sorrow from first to last. When she had heard it all Sherehezade exclaimed:

“Who long shall we endue this slaughter of women? I will tell you what is on my mind. Take me to the Shah this night. Let me be his bride. Either I shall live by my whits and save the daughters of this land, or I shall join those who have perished already. “

The minister heard these words, and although he greatly respected his daughter’s wisdom, he thought these words were the greatest foolishness he had ever heard. he would not hear of his beloved daughter risking her life in this way. He went to the Shah and confessed that he was unable to bring him any more brides, for there were none left in the land. Shah Shahryar sat thoughtfully on this thrown and said:

“None, but your own two daughters. Do not hide them from me, or it will cost you your head.”

And so it was, after long deliberation, and much persuasion from Sherehezade, that he brought his own daughter to the shah as his bride.

That night, when the Sherehezade lifted the veil from her lovely face, the Shah was pleased with what he saw. But there were tears in her eyes.

“What troubles you?” asked the Shah, thinking that he knew the answer. But she replied not that she was afraid of what would happen to her in the morning, but that she was missing her sister. She begged that she could bring her to sleep with them that night, so that she would not be lonely. The shah willingly agree, and all went according to the plan that the ingenious Sherehezade had formed. Her sister Dunyazad slept on a couch at the foot of the royal bed, and towards morning, as she been told to do by her sister, she awoke and said:

“Oh Sherehezade, I cannot sleep. Will you not tell me one of your wonderful stories? For there is not a soul on this earth who can spin a tale as delightful and delectable as yours?’

And Sherehezade stirred and said: “I too cannot sleep and I will tell you a tale with joy, if this great king will permit me. “

The Shah, who was also sleepless and restless, was pleased with the prospect of hearing a tale. And so Sherehezade began to relate the first story of the 1001 and one nights.

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

English fairy tales are usually gutsy and adventurous - Jack and the Beanstalk for instance. Tom Thumb is no exception. Tiny Tom has numerous death-defying escapades, which make for a very lively story.

Our thanks to our sponsor, The Center for Guided Montessori Studies

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 15.41. Lightly adapted from text by Joseph Jacobs.

In the days of the great King Arthur, a poor beggar was tramping through the countryside of England. One evening, when his feet were sore, and his bones were weary, he knocked on the door of a ploughman and begged a bite to eat.

The countryman welcomed the stranger into his humble cottage, while his wife fetched some milk in a wooden bowl, and some brown bread and cheese on a plate. Little did this this good-hearted couple realise that their humble guest was, in fact, none other than Merlin, the greatest and most skillful wizard who ever lived.

Merlin was touched by the kindness of the ploughman and his wife, and he could not help noticing that though everything was neat and comfortable in the cottage, they seemed both to be less than perfectly happy. He asked them some subtle questions about their lives, and he soon learned that they were full of regrets because they had no children.

The poor woman said, with tears in her eyes, “I should be the happiest creature in the world if I had a son; although he was no bigger than my husband’s thumb, I would be satisfied.”
Merlin was so much amused with the idea of a boy no bigger than a man’s thumb, that he decided to grant the poor woman’s wish. The following year, the ploughman’s wife had a son, who, wonderful to relate! was not a bit bigger than his father’s thumb.

Even the queen of the fairies was bursting with curiosity to see him. She came in at the window while the mother was sitting up in the bed admiring him. The queen kissed the child, gave him the name of Tom Thumb, and sent for some of the fairies, who dressed her little godson according to her orders:

“An oak-leaf hat he had for his crown;
His shirt of web by spiders spun;
With jacket wove of thistle’s down;
His trousers were of feathers done.
His stockings, of apple-rind, they tie
With eyelash from his mother’s eye
His shoes were made of mouse’s skin,
Tann’d with the downy hair within.”

Tom never grew any larger than his father’s thumb, which was only of ordinary size; but as he got older he became very cunning and full of tricks.

In those days, children used to play at rolling cherry stones like marbles.

When Tom was old enough to play with the boys, and had lost all his own cherry-stones, he used to creep into the bags of his playfellows and fill his pockets.

One day, however, as he was coming out of a bag of cherry-stones, where he had been stealing as usual, the owner of the bag spotted him: “Ah, ah! my little Tommy,” said the boy, “so I have caught you stealing my cherry-stones at last, and you shall be rewarded for your thievish tricks.” On saying this, he gave the bag such a hearty shake, that poor little Tom became so dizzy that he could hardly stand when eventually he was let out again.

A short time afterwards his mother was making a batter-pudding, and Tom, being very anxious to see how it was made, climbed up to the edge of the bowl; but his foot slipped, and he plumped over head and ears into the batter – plop ! And his mother, who did not notice this, stirred him into the pudding-mixture.

The batter filled Tom’s mouth, and prevented him from crying; but he kicked and struggled so much in the pot, that his mother thought that the pudding was bewitched and she hurled it outside the door. A poor tinker, who was passing by, lifted up the pudding, put it into his basket, and walked off. As Tom had now got his mouth cleared of the batter, he then began to cry aloud, which so frightened the tinker that he flung down the pudding and ran away. Tom crept out of the pudding covered all over with the batter, and walked home. His mother, who was very sorry to see her darling in such a woeful state, put him into a teacup, and soon washed off the batter; Then she kissed him, and put him to bed.

Soon after the adventure of the pudding, Tom’s mother went to milk her cow in the meadow, and she took him along with her. As the wind was very high she tied him to a thistle with a piece of fine thread to stop him being blown away. The cow soon saw Tom’s oak-leaf hat, and took poor Tom and the thistle at one mouthful. While the cow was chewing the thistle Tom was afraid of her great teeth, which threatened to crush him in pieces, and he roared out as loud as he could: “Mother, mother!”

“Where are you, Tommy, my dear Tommy?” said his mother.

“Here, mother,” replied he, “in the red cow’s mouth.”

His mother began to cry and wring her hands; but the cow, surprised at the odd noise in her throat, opened her mouth and let Tom drop out. Fortunately his mother caught him in her apron as he was falling to the ground, or he would have been dreadfully hurt.

One day when he was out in the fields, being very careful to avoid the cows, a raven who was flying overhead spotted him. She swooped down, picked him up in her beak, and flew away with him. Poor terrified Tom was screaming and wriggling, but the bird only let go of her captive when she was over the sea. Down down down, he tumbled, into the water. And a moment after he was in the sea, a large fish swallowed him up.

Very soon after that, the fish was caught and bought for the table of King Arthur. When cook opened the fish, every one in the kitchen was astonished to find such a little boy, and Tom was quite delighted at being free again. They carried him to the king, who made Tom his miniature jester. Very soon, he because a great favourite at court; for by his tricks and games he not only amused the king and queen, but also all the Knights of the Round Table.

It is said that when the king rode out on horseback, he often took Tom along with him, and if a shower came on, he used to creep into his majesty’s waistcoat-pocket, where he slept till the rain was over.

King Arthur one day asked Tom about his parents, wishing to know if they were as small as he was, and whether they were well off. Tom told the king that his father and mother were as tall as anybody about the court, but rather poor. On hearing this, the king carried Tom to his treasury, and told him to take as much money as he could carry home to his parents, which made the little fellow caper with joy. Tom rushed to fetch his purse, which was made out of a water-bubble, and then returned to the treasury, where he found a silver threepenny coin to put into it.

Our little hero had some difficulty in lifting the weight of his treasure, but he at last managed to pick up the purse, and he set out on his journey. In two days and two nights he reached his father’s house in safety with a huge silver-piece on his back. He was almost tired to death, when his mother ran out to meet him, and carried him into the house. But he soon returned to Court.

As Tom’s clothes had suffered much in the batter-pudding, and the inside of the fish, his majesty ordered him a new suit of clothes, and he mounted as a knight on a mouse.

Of Butterfly’s wings his shirt was made,
His boots of chicken’s hide;
And by a nimble fairy blade,
Well learned in the tailoring trade,
His clothing was supplied.
A needle dangled by his side;
A dapper mouse he used to ride,
Thus strutted Tom in stately pride!

It was certainly very amusing to see Tom in this dress and mounted on the mouse, as he rode out a-hunting with the king and nobility, who were all ready to die with laughter at Tom and his fine prancing charger.

The king was so charmed with his tiny knight that he ordered a little chair to be made, in order that Tom might sit upon his table, and also a palace of gold, a foot high, with a door an inch wide, to live in. He also gave him a coach, drawn by six small mice.

The queen was so enraged at the honours conferred on Sir Thomas that she resolved to ruin him, and told the king that the little knight had been rude to her.

The king sent for Tom, but he was fully aware of the danger of royal anger, and he crept into an empty snail-shell, where he lay for a long time until he was almost starved with hunger. At last he ventured to peep out, and he saw a fine large butterfly on the ground; he crept close to it and jumped onto its back. The Butterfly carried him up into the air and flew with him from tree to tree and from field to field, and at last returned to the court, where the the knights and ladies all did their best to catch him in a net. At last poor Tom fell from his seat into a water-pot, where he almost drowned.

When the queen saw Tom back again, she was in a rage, and said he should be beheaded; and he was again put into a mouse trap until the time of his execution. In those days a mouse trap was like a little cage. Now the cat, when he something alive in the trap, patted it about till the wires broke, and set Thomas free.

It was only then, after his many adventures, that King Arthur’s tiniest Knight returned to his rightful place at the round table, and sat down in his little chair among the likes of Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot.

Download the audio (Click to play, Right Click to Save As)

This picturesque Japanese tale has loads of charm, but is a little bit sad. It will take you to a beautiful underwater world, and back to the reality of mortality on dry land.

These days we adapt many of the traditional tales ourselves, but this one is taken more or less straight from the English text of B. H. Chamberlain who published a number of Japanese stories in the 1880s.

Read by Natasha. Duration 8.46.

Long, long ago there lived on the coast of the sea of Japan a young fisherman named Urashima, a kindly lad and clever with his rod and line.

Well, one day he went out in his boat to fish. But instead of catching any fish, what do you think he caught? Why! a great big tortoise, with a hard shell and such a funny wrinkled old face and a tiny tail. Now I must tell you something which very likely you don’t know; and that is that tortoises always live a thousand years,—at least Japanese tortoises do. So Urashima thought to himself: “A fish would do for my dinner just as well as this tortoise,—in fact better. Why should I go and kill the poor thing, and prevent it from enjoying itself for another nine hundred and ninety-nine years? No, no! I won’t be so cruel. I am sure mother wouldn’t like me to.” And with these words, he threw the tortoise back into the sea.

The next thing that happened was that Urashima went to sleep in his boat; for it was one of those hot summer days when almost everybody enjoys a nap of an afternoon. And as he slept, there came up from beneath the waves a beautiful girl, who got into the boat and said: “I am the daughter of the Sea-God, and I live with my father in the Dragon Palace beyond the waves. It was not a tortoise that you caught just now, and so kindly threw back into the water instead of killing it. It was myself. My father the Sea-God had sent me to see whether you were good or bad.

“We now know that you are a good, kind boy who doesn’t like to do cruel things; and so I have come to fetch you. You shall marry me, if you like; and we will live happily together for a thousand years in the Dragon Palace beyond the deep blue sea.”

So Urashima took one oar, and the Sea-God’s daughter took the other; and they rowed, and they rowed, and they rowed till at last they came to the Dragon Palace where the Sea-God lived and ruled as King over all the dragons and the tortoises and the fishes.

Oh dear! what a lovely place it was! The walls of the Palace were of coral, the trees had emeralds for leaves and rubies for berries, the fishes’ scales were of silver, and the dragons’ tails of solid gold. Just think of the very most beautiful, glittering things that you have ever seen, and put them all together, and then you will know what this Palace looked like. And it all belonged to Urashima; for was he not the son-in-law of the Sea-God, the husband of the lovely Dragon Princess?

Well, they lived on happily for three years, wandering about every day among the beautiful trees with emerald leaves and ruby berries. But one morning Urashima said to his wife: “I am very happy here. Still I want to go home and see my father and mother and brothers and sisters. Just let me go for a short time, and I’ll soon be back again.” “I don’t like you to go,” said she; “I am very much afraid that something dreadful will happen. However, if you will go, there is no help for it. Only you must take this box, and be very careful not to open it. If you open it, you will never be able to come back here.”

So Urashima promised to take great care of the box, and not to open it on any account; and then, getting into his boat, he rowed off, and at last landed on the shore of his own country.

But what had happened while he had been away? Where had his father’s cottage gone to? What had become of the village where he used to live? The mountains indeed were there as before; but the trees on them had been cut down. The little brook that ran close by his father’s cottage was still running; but there were no women washing clothes in it any more. It seemed very strange that everything should have changed so much in three short years. So as two men chanced to pass along the beach, Urashima went up to them and said: “Can you tell me please where Urashima’s cottage, that used to stand here, has been moved to?”—“Urashima?” said they; “why! it was four hundred years ago that he was drowned out fishing. His parents, and his brothers, and their grandchildren are all dead long ago. It is an old, old story. How can you be so foolish as to ask after his cottage? It fell to pieces hundreds of years ago.”

Then it suddenly flashed across Urashima’s mind that the Sea-God’s Palace beyond the waves, with its coral walls and its ruby fruits and its dragons with tails of solid gold, must be part of fairy-land, and that one day there was probably as long as a year in this world, so that his three years in the Sea-God’s Palace had really been hundreds of years. Of course there was no use in staying at home, now that all his friends were dead and buried, and even the village had passed away. So Urashima was in a great hurry to get back to his wife, the Dragon Princess beyond the sea. But which was the way? He couldn’t find it with no one to show it to him. “Perhaps,” thought he, “if I open the box which she gave me, I shall be able to find the way.” So he disobeyed her orders not to open the box,—or perhaps he forgot them, foolish boy that he was. Anyhow he opened the box; and what do you think came out of it? Nothing but a white cloud which floated away over the sea. Urashima shouted to the cloud to stop, rushed about and screamed with sorrow; for he remembered now what his wife had told him, and how, after opening the box, he should never be able to go to the Sea-God’s Palace again. But soon he could neither run nor shout any more.

Suddenly his hair grew as white as snow, his face got wrinkled, and his back bent like that of a very old man. Then his breath stopped short, and he fell down dead on the beach.

Poor Urashima! He died because he had been foolish and disobedient. If only he had done as he was told, he might have lived another thousand years. Wouldn’t you like to go and see the Dragon Palace beyond the waves, where the Sea-God lives and rules as King over the Dragons and the tortoises and the fishes, where the trees have emeralds for leaves and rubies for berries, where the fishes’ tails are of silver and the dragons’ tails all of solid gold?

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

This miniature fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen is so short that it’s almost an anecdote, but although it’s small, it’s perfect in it’s own way.

Three animals have pretentions to jump above their stations in life and marry a princess. They all think that they have a grand and high society manner, but only one of them really understands that a little humility can go a long way in life.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 6.30. Story by Hans Christian Andersen.

A Flea, a Grasshopper, and a Leap-frog once wanted to see which could jump highest; and they invited the whole world, and everybody else besides to come to see the festival. Three famous jumpers were they, as everyone would say, when they all met together in the room.

“I will give my daughter to him who jumps highest,” exclaimed the King; “for a competition without a prize would not be so amusing.”

The Flea was the first to step forward. He had exquisite manners, and bowed to the company on all sides; for he had noble blood, and was, moreover, accustomed to live close to human beings; and that makes a great difference.

Then came the Grasshopper. He was considerably heavier, but he was well-mannered, and wore a green uniform, which he had by right of birth; he said, moreover, that he belonged to a very ancient Egyptian family. The fact was, he had been just brought out of the fields, and put in a cardboard box.. “I sing so well,” said he, “that sixteen native grasshoppers grew thin from sheer envy when they heard me.

And that is how the Flea and the Grasshopper introduced themselves, and thought they were quite good enough to marry a Princess.

The Leap-frog said nothing; but because he said nothing, people thought he was all the cleverer. ; and when the housedog snuffed at him with his nose, he decided the Leap-frog was of good family. The old councillor asserted that the Leap-frog was a prophet; for one could see on his back, if there would be a severe or mild winter.

“I say nothing,” exclaimed the King; “but I have my own opinion, nonetheless.”

Now the contest was to take place. The Flea jumped so high that nobody could see where he went to; so they all said he had not jumped at all; and that he had cheated.

The Grasshopper jumped only half as high; but he leaped into the King’s face, and that was ill-mannered.

The Leap-frog stood still for a long time lost in thought; People began to think that he would not jump at all.

“I only hope he is not unwell,” said the house-dog; when, pop! he made a jump into the lap of the Princess, who was sitting on a little golden stool close by.

At this, the King said, “There is nothing above my daughter; therefore nobody should jump higher than her. But for this, one must possess understanding, and the Leap-frog has shown that he has understanding. He is brave and intellectual.”

And so he won the Princess.

“It’s all the same to me,” said the Flea. “She may have the old Leap-frog, for all I care. I jumped the highest; but in this world merit seldom meets its reward. Looks is what people appreciate now-a-days.”

The Flea then went to serve abroad in the army, where, it is said, he was killed.

The Grasshopper sat on a green bank, and reflected on worldly things; and he said too, “Yes, looks are everything. A fine appearance is what people care about.” And then he began chirping his peculiar melancholy song, from which we have taken this story; and which may, very possibly, be all untrue,

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

Our Awaking Beauty, Princess Talia, goes out for the evening with her fellow students at college. She becomes upset when the conversation turns to time. She tells them how she feels so lost because she has “slipped through time”. The others find it hard to understand and think that she’s stranger than ever. But then Basil has the weirdest experience that perhaps lets him know how she must feel.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 11.48. Story by Bertie.

“Hello, My name’s Mario, and I’ll be your waiter tonight.”

Sally ordered a Margarita Pizza, Basil a Florentina, and Doug an Americana. Princess Talia studied the menu closely.

“And I’d like.. Pheasant, “ she said.

The waiter looked puzzled. Talia thought again. “Oh, I can see, you don’t have that do you?… er…Dover Sole….What, no fish?… well I’ll have steak and chips for goodness sake, oh Sally, what sort of restaurant is this?”

“It’s a Pizza restaurant, “ said Sally. “You have to have pizza”

“And what else to they have?”

“Pizza.”

Basil was trying not to smirk. Sally was getting embarrassed. The waiter was hopping from one foot to the other with impatience. After a painfully long period of thought, Princess Talia finally ordered Spaghetti Bolognese, which was actually on the menu. When the food arrived, she played with her spaghetti on her folk while the others greedily attacked their plates.

It was the final day of their first term at university. In fact, it was really the last day of their first ten weeks as adults, living independent lives, away from their parents nests.

“Isn’t it odd?” said Sally, “I feel like we have all known each other for ages and ages. “

“Time is stretchy, “ said Basil, “Sometimes the months fly by, and sometimes a few days are so packed with experience that they last for an eon.”

The waiter lit a candle on the table, and Sally noticed that Talia’s eyes, which were usually quite glacial in their pale blueness and inscrutability, had a depth that she had not noticed before. The Princess was clearly paying plenty of attention to Basil and his words of wisdom. She said:

“Yes, you are so right Basil, a thousand years can slip by just like that.” And she snapped her fingers as she said so. Basil raised one eyebrow – which usually meant he was going to say something a touch ironic, but on this occasion nothing seemed to quite occur to him. He sawed away at his pizza.

The somewhat scholarly Doug filled the gap in the conversation with: “Labuntur Anni, and all that,” which in case you don’t know, is Latin for “the years slip by”. They were classics students you see. And he mentioned that some of the old boys and girls, who had been at the college way back in the 1980s, were arriving for a gaudy that weekend. A gaudy is a reunion of former students at the college.

“It’s hard to believe , but that will be us in twenty years time,” said Sally. “We’ll be fat and wrinkly, married with kids, and dead conventional and boring, but I bet we’ll just feel the same inside. And we’ll be back here, trying to recapture our past. ”

“It’s always a mistake to go back,” said Basil. “You can only go forward in time.”

It was hard to see why anyone should get upset about anything, but Talia suddenly grew quite agitated. Her emotions came over her so suddenly, that the others didn’t see this coming:

“You don’t understand, do you? Nobody can know what I’ve experienced. I’ve fallen through time. You can’t imagine what that feels like. You will all be going to back to your parents and your cosy childhood bedrooms this Christmas, but I can’t. But I can’t go back in time. I’m stuck here in the 21st Century and I”m so alone and out of place, and you all think I’m weird. “

This outburst seemed to be directly mostly at Basil. He looked totally puzzled. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked. Talia started to get up, as if to leave:

“No, no you didn’t say anything wrong,” she said, slightly more calmly now. Sally had stood up too, and was putting her hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

“It’s just that you don’t, you can’t, nobody can understand. I”m sorry I got so upset. I don’t know what came over me. Oh dear. I’m so terribly embarrassed. I’ve made an awful fool of myself “

Sally tried to reassure her that we all get upset sometimes, but it was no good. Talia sat silently for the rest of the meal and didn’t eat single strand of spaghetti. When the bill came she paid it all. They thanked her for her generosity and Basil said:

‘Well, shall we all go back to my room for a drink?,” But the Princess excused herself and went off for a late night walk on her own .

On Sunday morning, when Basil was cleaning his teeth, he thought he must be having a hallucination. The face looking back at him from the mirror was about forty years old. “Did I have a rough night?” said Basil to himself. “I don’t remember. It was just herbal tea before bed I think.”

As he pulled the belt around his waist, he noticed that his tummy was soft and flabby. “This is just peculiar,” he thought.

Out on the quad, he was relieved to see that the college had not changed. It never did. Same old sandy colored stones. Same old ivy. As he walked toward the dining hall, a middle aged man was coming towards him. He just assumed that he was one of the old boys, back for the reunion, but the man called out, “Basil you old devil, you haven’t changed a bit.” Basil scratched his head. “But you don’t recognise me do you,? said the man, a little forlorn. “It’s Doug. Remember me?”

“Why yes, of course,” said Basil. It’s just that I’m not feeling quite well this morning.”

The dinning hall was full of men and women in their forties, and some of them were eerily familiar. Basil began to feel really really strange, and quite agitated. He looked at his hand as he held his spoon full of cornflakes. It was wrinkly and hairy. Somebody tapped him on the shoulder. He turned round and found a smiling face waiting to be kissed on either cheek.

“Oh Basil, “ said the woman with a trace of a Liverpool accent, “It’s so lovely to see you. And where’s your gorgeous wife? I bet she doesn’t look a day older,”

“Er, she couldn’t make it,” said Basil, not knowing what else to say.

“Oh such a shame,” said the Sally-like woman, “We were all just dying to catch up with her.”

“Excuse me, I’m afraid I don’t feel well,” said Basil, and he got up and hurried back to his room. He slammed the door behind him, and wiped the sweat off his brow. Inside his pocket, his phone was ringing. He felt relieved. Perhaps it would be a call from the real world, a voice telling him that this was all some terrible prank, and the joke was on him. He fished an unfamiliar and wafer thin device from his pocket. Patterns were gently cascading over the edge-to-edge screen. It was like holding a video picture in his hand. The screen blinked and a woman’s face first appeared in two dimensions, and then morphed into 3D. She was extremely beautiful and he recognized her right away.

“Hello darling,” she said, “Have you met any of the old gang yet?” (not too Talia like, just take the edge of her posh voice to make it a little ambiguous about whether it’s her).

He threw the video-phone onto the bed and staggered into the bathroom, where he most probably fainted. In any case, he came round some time later and heaved himself to the basin to splash his face with water. For a while he did not dare look up into the mirror. When at last he did, he saw his familiar, somewhat aristocratic, and youthful reflection. The nightmare was over. Basil was back in his own time.

Download the audio (Right Click, Save As)

Most domestic or farm animals have to earn their place by the fire. Kipling’s short story (from the Just So Stories) tells us why cats can drink milk from a bowl AND live a semi-wild life by themselves. It takes us back to the time when people lived in caves. As always with Kipling (who also wrote the Jungle Books), the language is sonorous and wonderful. Bertie thinks that Richard’s reading of this tale is a classic.

Ready by Richard Scott. Duration 29.25. By Rudyard Kipling.

EAR and attend and listen; for this befell and behappened and became and was, O my Best Beloved, when the Tame animals were wild. The Dog was wild, and the Horse was wild, and the Cow was wild, and the Sheep was wild, and the Pig was wild–as wild as wild could be–and they walked in the Wet Wild Woods by their wild lones. But the wildest of all the wild animals was the Cat. He walked by himself, and all places were alike to him.

Of course the Man was wild too. He was dreadfully wild. He didn’t even begin to be tame till he met the Woman, and she told him that she did not like living in his wild ways. She picked out a nice dry Cave, instead of a heap of wet leaves, to lie down in; and she strewed clean sand on the floor; and she lit a nice fire of wood at the back of the Cave; and she hung a dried wild-horse skin, tail-down, across the opening of the Cave; and she said, ‘Wipe you feet, dear, when you come in, and now we’ll keep house.’

That night, Best Beloved, they ate wild sheep roasted on the hot stones, and flavoured with wild garlic and wild pepper; and wild duck stuffed with wild rice and wild fenugreek and wild coriander; and marrow-bones of wild oxen; and wild cherries, and wild grenadillas. Then the Man went to sleep in front of the fire ever so happy; but the Woman sat up, combing her hair. She took the bone of the shoulder of mutton–the big fat blade-bone–and she looked at the wonderful marks on it, and she threw more wood on the fire, and she made a Magic. She made the First Singing Magic in the world.

Out in the Wet Wild Woods all the wild animals gathered together where they could see the light of the fire a long way off, and they wondered what it meant.

THIS is the picture of the Cave where the Man and the Woman lived first of all. It was really a very nice Cave, and much warmer than it ]ooks. The Man had a canoe. It is on the edge of the river, being soaked in the water to make it swell up. The tattery-looking thing across the river is the Man’s salmon-net to catch salmon with. There are nice clean stones leading up from the river to the mouth of the Cave, so that the Man and the Woman could go down for water without getting sand between their toes. The things like black-beetles far down the beach are really trunks of dead trees that floated down the river from the Wet Wild Woods on the other bank. The Man and the Woman used to drag them out and dry them and cut them up for firewood. I haven’t drawn the horse-hide curtain at the mouth of the Cave, because the Woman has just taken it down to be cleaned. All those little smudges on the sand between the Cave and the river are the marks of the Woman’s feet and the Man’s feet.

The Man and the Woman are both inside the Cave eating their dinner. They went to another cosier Cave when the Baby came, because the Baby used to crawl down to the river and fall in, and the Dog had to pull him out.

Then Wild Horse stamped with his wild foot and said, ‘O my Friends and O my Enemies, why have the Man and the Woman made that great light in that great Cave, and what harm will it do us?’

Wild Dog lifted up his wild nose and smelled the smell of roast mutton, and said, ‘I will go up and see and look, and say; for I think it is good. Cat, come with me.’

‘Nenni!’ said the Cat. ‘I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me. I will not come.’

‘Then we can never be friends again,’ said Wild Dog, and he trotted off to the Cave. But when he had gone a little way the Cat said to himself, ‘All places are alike to me. Why should I not go too and see and look and come away at my own liking.’ So he slipped after Wild Dog softly, very softly, and hid himself where he could hear everything.

When Wild Dog reached the mouth of the Cave he lifted up the dried horse-skin with his nose and sniffed the beautiful smell of the roast mutton, and the Woman, looking at the blade-bone, heard him, and laughed, and said, ‘Here comes the first. Wild Thing out of the Wild Woods, what do you want?’

Wild Dog said, ‘O my Enemy and Wife of my Enemy, what is this that smells so good in the Wild Woods?’

Then the Woman picked up a roasted mutton-bone and threw it to Wild Dog, and said, ‘Wild Thing out of the Wild Woods, taste and try.’ Wild Dog gnawed the bone, and it was more delicious than anything he had ever tasted, and he said, ‘O my Enemy and Wife of my Enemy, give me another.’

The Woman said, ‘Wild Thing out of the Wild Woods, help my Man to hunt through the day and guard this Cave at night, and I will give you as many roast bones as you need.’

‘Ah!’ said the Cat, listening. ‘This is a very wise Woman, but she is not so wise as I am.’

Wild Dog crawled into the Cave and laid his head on the Woman’s lap, and said, ‘O my Friend and Wife of my Friend, I will help Your Man to hunt through the day, and at night I will guard your Cave.’

‘Ah!’ said the Cat, listening. ‘That is a very foolish Dog.’ And he went back through the Wet Wild Woods waving his wild tail, and walking by his wild lone. But he never told anybody.

When the Man waked up he said, ‘What is Wild Dog doing here?’ And the Woman said, ‘His name is not Wild Dog any more, but the First Friend, because he will be our friend for always and always and always. Take him with you when you go hunting.’

Next night the Woman cut great green armfuls of fresh grass from the water-meadows, and dried it before the fire, so that it smelt like new-mown hay, and she sat at the mouth of the Cave and plaited a halter out of horse-hide, and she looked at the shoulder of mutton-bone–at the big broad blade-bone–and she made a Magic. She made the Second Singing Magic in the world.

Out in the Wild Woods all the wild animals wondered what had happened to Wild Dog, and at last Wild Horse stamped with his foot and said, ‘I will go and see and say why Wild Dog has not returned. Cat, come with me.’

‘Nenni!’ said the Cat. ‘I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me. I will not come.’ But all the same he followed Wild Horse softly, very softly, and hid himself where he could hear everything.

When the Woman heard Wild Horse tripping and stumbling on his long mane, she laughed and said, ‘Here comes the second. Wild Thing out of the Wild Woods what do you want?’

Wild Horse said, ‘O my Enemy and Wife of my Enemy, where is Wild Dog?’

The Woman laughed, and picked up the blade-bone and looked at it, and said, ‘Wild Thing out of the Wild Woods, you did not come here for Wild Dog, but for the sake of this good grass.’

And Wild Horse, tripping and stumbling on his long mane, said, ‘That is true; give it me to eat.’

The Woman said, ‘Wild Thing out of the Wild Woods, bend your wild head and wear what I give you, and you shall eat the wonderful grass three times a day.’

‘Ah,’ said the Cat, listening, ‘this is a clever Woman, but she is not so clever as I am.’ Wild Horse bent his wild head, and the Woman slipped the plaited hide halter over it, and Wild Horse breathed on the Woman’s feet and said, ‘O my Mistress, and Wife of my Master, I will be your servant for the sake of the wonderful grass.’

‘Ah,’ said the Cat, listening, ‘that is a very foolish Horse.’ And he went back through the Wet Wild Woods, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone. But he never told anybody.

When the Man and the Dog came back from hunting, the Man said, ‘What is Wild Horse doing here?’ And the Woman said, ‘His name is not Wild Horse any more, but the First Servant, because he will carry us from place to place for always and always and always. Ride on his back when you go hunting.

Next day, holding her wild head high that her wild horns should not catch in the wild trees, Wild Cow came up to the Cave, and the Cat followed, and hid himself just the same as before; and everything happened just the same as before; and the Cat said the same things as before, and when Wild Cow had promised to give her milk to the Woman every day in exchange for the wonderful grass, the Cat went back through the Wet Wild Woods waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone, just the same as before. But he never told anybody. And when the Man and the Horse and the Dog came home from hunting and asked the same questions same as before, the Woman said, ‘Her name is not Wild Cow any more, but the Giver of Good Food. She will give us the warm white milk for always and always and always, and I will take care of her while you and the First Friend and the First Servant go hunting.

Next day the Cat waited to see if any other Wild thing would go up to the Cave, but no one moved in the Wet Wild Woods, so the Cat walked there by himself; and he saw the Woman milking the Cow, and he saw the light of the fire in the Cave, and he smelt the smell of the warm white milk.

Cat said, ‘O my Enemy and Wife of my Enemy, where did Wild Cow go?’

The Woman laughed and said, ‘Wild Thing out of the Wild Woods, go back to the Woods again, for I have braided up my hair, and I have put away the magic blade-bone, and we have no more need of either friends or servants in our Cave.

Cat said, ‘I am not a friend, and I am not a servant. I am the Cat who walks by himself, and I wish to come into your cave.’

Woman said, ‘Then why did you not come with First Friend on the first night?’

Cat grew very angry and said, ‘Has Wild Dog told tales of me?’

Then the Woman laughed and said, ‘You are the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to you. Your are neither a friend nor a servant. You have said it yourself. Go away and walk by yourself in all places alike.’

Then Cat pretended to be sorry and said, ‘Must I never come into the Cave? Must I never sit by the warm fire? Must I never drink the warm white milk? You are very wise and very beautiful. You should not be cruel even to a Cat.’

Woman said, ‘I knew I was wise, but I did not know I was beautiful. So I will make a bargain with you. If ever I say one word in your praise you may come into the Cave.’

‘And if you say two words in my praise?’ said the Cat.

‘I never shall,’ said the Woman, ‘but if I say two words in your praise, you may sit by the fire in the Cave.’

‘And if you say three words?’ said the Cat.

‘I never shall,’ said the Woman, ‘but if I say three words in your praise, you may drink the warm white milk three times a day for always and always and always.’

Then the Cat arched his back and said, ‘Now let the Curtain at the mouth of the Cave, and the Fire at the back of the Cave, and the Milk-pots that stand beside the Fire, remember what my Enemy and the Wife of my Enemy has said.’ And he went away through the Wet Wild Woods waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.

That night when the Man and the Horse and the Dog came home from hunting, the Woman did not tell them of the bargain that she had made with the Cat, because she was afraid that they might not like it.

Cat went far and far away and hid himself in the Wet Wild Woods by his wild lone for a long time till the Woman forgot all about him. Only the Bat–the little upside-down Bat–that hung inside the Cave, knew where Cat hid; and every evening Bat would fly to Cat with news of what was happening.

One evening Bat said, ‘There is a Baby in the Cave. He is new and pink and fat and small, and the Woman is very fond of him.’

‘Ah,’ said the Cat, listening, ‘but what is the Baby fond of?’

‘He is fond of things that are soft and tickle,’ said the Bat. ‘He is fond of warm things to hold in his arms when he goes to sleep. He is fond of being played with. He is fond of all those things.’

‘Ah,’ said the Cat, listening, ‘then my time has come.’

THIS is the picture of the Cat that Walked by Himself, walking by his wild lone through the Wet Wild Woods and waving his wild tail. There is nothing else in the picture except some toadstools. They had to grow there because the woods were so wet. The lumpy thing on the low branch isn’t a bird. It is moss that grew there because the Wild Woods were so wet.

Underneath the truly picture is a picture of the cozy Cave that the Man and the Woman went to after the Baby came. It was their summer Cave, and they planted wheat in front of it. The Man is riding on the Horse to find the Cow and bring her back to the Cave to be milked. He is holding up his hand to call the Dog, who has swum across to the other side of the river, looking for rabbits.

Next night Cat walked through the Wet Wild Woods and hid very near the Cave till morning-time, and Man and Dog and Horse went hunting. The Woman was busy cooking that morning, and the Baby cried and interrupted. So she carried him outside the Cave and gave him a handful of pebbles to play with. But still the Baby cried.

Then the Cat put out his paddy paw and patted the Baby on the cheek, and it cooed; and the Cat rubbed against its fat knees and tickled it under its fat chin with his tail. And the Baby laughed; and the Woman heard him and smiled.

Then the Bat–the little upside-down bat–that hung in the mouth of the Cave said, ‘O my Hostess and Wife of my Host and Mother of my Host’s Son, a Wild Thing from the Wild Woods is most beautifully playing with your Baby.’

‘A blessing on that Wild Thing whoever he may be,’ said the Woman, straightening her back, ‘for I was a busy woman this morning and he has done me a service.’

That very minute and second, Best Beloved, the dried horse-skin Curtain that was stretched tail-down at the mouth of the Cave fell down–whoosh!–because it remembered the bargain she had made with the Cat, and when the Woman went to pick it up–lo and behold!–the Cat was sitting quite comfy inside the Cave.

‘O my Enemy and Wife of my Enemy and Mother of my Enemy,’ said the Cat, ‘it is I: for you have spoken a word in my praise, and now I can sit within the Cave for always and always and always. But still I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.’

The Woman was very angry, and shut her lips tight and took up her spinning-wheel and began to spin. But the Baby cried because the Cat had gone away, and the Woman could not hush it, for it struggled and kicked and grew black in the face.

‘O my Enemy and Wife of my Enemy and Mother of my Enemy,’ said the Cat, ‘take a strand of the wire that you are spinning and tie it to your spinning-whorl and drag it along the floor, and I will show you a magic that shall make your Baby laugh as loudly as he is now crying.’

‘I will do so,’ said the Woman, ‘because I am at my wits’ end; but I will not thank you for it.’

She tied the thread to the little clay spindle whorl and drew it across the floor, and the Cat ran after it and patted it with his paws and rolled head over heels, and tossed it backward over his shoulder and chased it between his hind-legs and pretended to lose it, and pounced down upon it again, till the Baby laughed as loudly as it had been crying, and scrambled after the Cat and frolicked all over the Cave till it grew tired and settled down to sleep with the Cat in its arms.

‘Now,’ said the Cat, ‘I will sing the Baby a song that shall keep him asleep for an hour. And he began to purr, loud and low, low and loud, till the Baby fell fast asleep. The Woman smiled as she looked down upon the two of them and said, ‘That was wonderfully done. No question but you are very clever, O Cat.’

That very minute and second, Best Beloved, the smoke of the fire at the back of the Cave came down in clouds from the roof–puff!–because it remembered the bargain she had made with the Cat, and when it had cleared away–lo and behold!–the Cat was sitting quite comfy close to the fire.

‘O my Enemy and Wife of my Enemy and Mother of My Enemy,’ said the Cat, ‘it is I, for you have spoken a second word in my praise, and now I can sit by the warm fire at the back of the Cave for always and always and always. But still I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.’

Then the Woman was very very angry, and let down her hair and put more wood on the fire and brought out the broad blade-bone of the shoulder of mutton and began to make a Magic that should prevent her from saying a third word in praise of the Cat. It was not a Singing Magic, Best Beloved, it was a Still Magic; and by and by the Cave grew so still that a little wee-wee mouse crept out of a corner and ran across the floor.

‘O my Enemy and Wife of my Enemy and Mother of my Enemy,’ said the Cat, ‘is that little mouse part of your magic?’

‘Ouh! Chee! No indeed!’ said the Woman, and she dropped the blade-bone and jumped upon the footstool in front of the fire and braided up her hair very quick for fear that the mouse should run up it.

‘Ah,’ said the Cat, watching, ‘then the mouse will do me no harm if I eat it?’

‘No,’ said the Woman, braiding up her hair, ‘eat it quickly and I will ever be grateful to you.’

Cat made one jump and caught the little mouse, and the Woman said, ‘A hundred thanks. Even the First Friend is not quick enough to catch little mice as you have done. You must be very wise.’

That very moment and second, O Best Beloved, the Milk-pot that stood by the fire cracked in two pieces–ffft–because it remembered the bargain she had made with the Cat, and when the Woman jumped down from the footstool–lo and behold!–the Cat was lapping up the warm white milk that lay in one of the broken pieces.

‘O my Enemy and Wife of my Enemy and Mother of my Enemy, said the Cat, ‘it is I; for you have spoken three words in my praise, and now I can drink the warm white milk three times a day for always and always and always. But still I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.’

Then the Woman laughed and set the Cat a bowl of the warm white milk and said, ‘O Cat, you are as clever as a man, but remember that your bargain was not made with the Man or the Dog, and I do not know what they will do when they come home.’

‘What is that to me?’ said the Cat. ‘If I have my place in the Cave by the fire and my warm white milk three times a day I do not care what the Man or the Dog can do.’

That evening when the Man and the Dog came into the Cave, the Woman told them all the story of the bargain while the Cat sat by the fire and smiled. Then the Man said, ‘Yes, but he has not made a bargain with me or with all proper Men after me.’ Then he took off his two leather boots and he took up his little stone axe (that makes three) and he fetched a piece of wood and a hatchet (that is five altogether), and he set them out in a row and he said, ‘Now we will make our bargain. If you do not catch mice when you are in the Cave for always and always and always, I will throw these five things at you whenever I see you, and so shall all proper Men do after me.’

‘Ah,’ said the Woman, listening, ‘this is a very clever Cat, but he is not so clever as my Man.’

The Cat counted the five things (and they looked very knobby) and he said, ‘I will catch mice when I am in the Cave for always and always and always; but still I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.’

‘Not when I am near,’ said the Man. ‘If you had not said that last I would have put all these things away for always and always and always; but I am now going to throw my two boots and my little stone axe (that makes three) at you whenever I meet you. And so shall all proper Men do after me!’

Then the Dog said, ‘Wait a minute. He has not made a bargain with me or with all proper Dogs after me.’ And he showed his teeth and said, ‘If you are not kind to the Baby while I am in the Cave for always and always and always, I will hunt you till I catch you, and when I catch you I will bite you. And so shall all proper Dogs do after me.’

‘Ah,’ said the Woman, listening, ‘this is a very clever Cat, but he is not so clever as the Dog.’

Cat counted the Dog’s teeth (and they looked very pointed) and he said, ‘I will be kind to the Baby while I am in the Cave, as long as he does not pull my tail too hard, for always and always and always. But still I am the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.’

‘Not when I am near,’ said the Dog. ‘If you had not said that last I would have shut my mouth for always and always and always; but now I am going to hunt you up a tree whenever I meet you. And so shall all proper Dogs do after me.’

Then the Man threw his two boots and his little stone axe (that makes three) at the Cat, and the Cat ran out of the Cave and the Dog chased him up a tree; and from that day to this, Best Beloved, three proper Men out of five will always throw things at a Cat whenever they meet him, and all proper Dogs will chase him up a tree. But the Cat keeps his side of the bargain too. He will kill mice and he will be kind to Babies when he is in the house, just as long as they do not pull his tail too hard. But when he has done that, and between times, and when the moon gets up and night comes, he is the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him. Then he goes out to the Wet Wild Woods or up the Wet Wild Trees or on the Wet Wild Roofs, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

One of Japan’s oldest legends tells us how the gods invented fun and music. It all began when the Sun Goddess went into an epic sulk and hid in her cave. The gods had to find a way to cheer her up and coax her out. The story of how they did so is both beautiful and amusing.

Incidentally, the Japanese flag includes the symbol of the sun in the form of a red disk.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 7.32. Text by Bertie.

At the dawn of time, Susano-o, the spirit of the sea and storms, was making ready to leave heaven and to gush down to Earth. His sister the far-shining Sun Goddess, said:

“Oh impetuous brother of mine. Before you go, let us exchange tokens of our love and affection for one another.”

Susano-o bowed to his sister, drew his sword from his side, and presented it to her. She accepted the gift, and then chewed off pieces of the metal blade in her mouth, before spitting them out.
Instantly, the fragments of the sword sprang up as three beautiful daughters. Then the sparkling Sun Goddess took jewels from her hair and gave them to her brother. He crunched them up with his teeth and spat them out. They became five strong sons.

“They are my sons,” said the goddess, “because they were born from my jewels.”

“No, they are my sons,” said the storm god, “because you gave me those jewels,”

And thus the brother and sister began to quarrel. The stormy tempered Susano-o grew so angry that he swept through his sister’s rice fields and destroyed them. He flung manure all over her garden, and frightened her maidens so that they hurt themselves on their spinning wheels.

The bright goddess was greatly offended by the evil pranks of her brother. She fell into a most dreadful sulk, and hid herself in a cave in a remote part of the earth. There was no more light, and heaven and earth were plunged into darkness.

Amid this gloom, thousands of gods and spirits gathered in a heavenly river bed to discuss what to do. One of the oldest and wisest gods proposed that they make a mirror, to tempt the goddess to come out hiding and gaze at her beauty. Another suggested that they should sew a beautiful dress as a gift to sooth her temper. And still other gods said that they must offer her jewels and even a palace. At last they decided to make all these thing gifts, and they set to work.

When they were ready, the divine ones gathered outside the cave of the Sun Goddess. They lit bonfires so that they could see in the darkness, and they called the goddess by her name, Amaterasu, but no matter how many times they called, she remaining lurking within the shadows of her hiding place.

The gods needed to do better than if they were to gain her attention. And so they began to make music. They clashed symbols and banged wooden clappers together. The plump goddess of mirth, with dimpled cheeks and eyes full of fun, lead a dance. She performed on top of a giant drum that thundered with her every step. She held a stick in her hand with bells tied to it so that they rang out as she danced. Farm-yard cockerels joined in with crowing. You can imagine what a lovely concert they made !

The dancing goddess of mirth wore a dress that was held together with vines. As she waved her arms and pranced about, the dress became looser and looser until it fell off altogether and she had not a stitch of clothing on her. The gods found this so hilarious that they all laughed until the heavens clapped with thunder.

Only then did curiosity get the better of the far shining one, and she peeped out of her cave. She saw her bright face reflected in the mirror that had been placed just in front of the opening, and she was astonished by her own beauty. But she did not have long to gaze, because a strong-handed god seized hold of her arm and dragged her out of the cave. Then all the heavens and earth were lit, the grass became green again, the flowers blazoned with a multitude of colours, and human beings looked upon one another’s faces.

And there was another benefit from this gloomy episode in the history of creation. This was the first time that music, dance, and fun were known on the face of the earth. And these divine gifts have brightened human lives ever since.

Download the audio (Click to Play, right Click to Save As)

You will hear some history and a good yarn in this story, which is largely set on the Greek Island of Crete. The island which is now a popular holiday destination was the scene of a World War II Battle in 1941. Bertie hears the story from an old general. Then he manages to connect up the past with the present.

Prince Bertie can sometimes be rather spoilt and rude. I am sorry to say it, but it’s true. But deep down, he has a very good heart, as this touching story shows.

And we will let you into a secret – the plot about finding an old war comrade is based on a true story.

Read by Natasha. Duration 23 minutes. Story by Bertie.

Hello this is Natasha and I’m dropping by with a rather special story that I picked up from the pond where Prince Bertie the frog lives. Just recently, as I was sitting dangling my feet in the cool water, I overheard Tim the Tadpole ask Bertie if he had ever been in the army when he was a human prince.

“Oh no,” said Bertie. “I never went in for all that spit and polish, marching up and down, shouldering arms sort of stuff. In any case, I was always rather a peace-loving prince.”

Tim hung his little pin-sized head looking rather disappointed. “Oh; he said. “You see, I
was hoping that you could tell me some exciting stories about fighting in battles and stuff.”

Bertie thought hard and mused:

“My stories aren’t really about fighting. But come to think of it. I did once make friends with an old army general. Shall I tell you about him?”

“Oh yes please,” begged Tim.

And all the pond life, whether they be scaly, feathery, or just plain slimy, gathered around to hear the story of how Bertie met the General. And if you like history, then I think there’s a good chance that you will enjoy it too.

It all began one evening, when Bertie was in his room at the top of the North Tower in the palace, practicing his electric guitar. He had a small amplifier, but he turned it up to full volume so that it jumped up and down across the room as he thrashed out chords and played string bending solos.

[play up solo guitar music] .

Perhaps Bertie wasn’t the world’s finest musician, but in his imagination he was on stage before an entire stadium packed with adoring fans. It was only when he paused for breath that he heard a loud drumming on his door:

“I expect that’s Beatrice,” he thought. “She’s loving my music.”

But as it turned out, his visitor was a rather grumpy old gentleman. He wasn’t very tall, and he was slightly built – almost like a boy – but he had a straight back and piercing blue eyes. He wore a brass-buttoned blazer, trousers with perfect creases, and shiny black shoes. He said:

“Will you kindly turn that racket down? I”m at the other end of the palace and I can’t hear myself think.”

“Er sorry,” said Bertie. And he decided to unplug is guitar and sit down to write a letter to Beatrice Although he saw the princess every day, he liked to send her stories and poems.

It was only when the gentleman had gone, that Bertie thought “Funny, I’ve never seen that old geezer before. I wonder who he is and what he’s doing in the palace?”

He didn’t give the matter any more thought until the following weekend. Bertie and Princess Beatrice were roller-blading in the park. Beatrice skated like a ballet dancer, doing pretty pirouettes and weaving elegantly between paper cups placed in a row on the ground. Bertie’s style was more like a hockey player , swishing from side to side as he gathered breakneck speed and scattered walkers and their dogs out of his way. Local kids hung out with them and they exchanged moves and tricks. I don’t think any of them realised that Bertie and Beatrice were prince and princess.

Bertie was doing the return loop on one of his high speed runs when a figure stepped out waving a stick at him. Bertie had to swerve to miss the man, and he turned round to give him a piece of his mind.

“Hey you nearly caused an accident,” he called out. And then he noticed that it was the same old man who had asked him to turn down his guitar. “You again!” he exclaimed. “Are you haunting me or what?”

And the old man replied.

“Mind your lip young fellow. It’s you that nearly caused an accident with your speeding along the public footpath.”

Now sometimes Bertie can be a bit hot tempered. This was one of those occasions. His fury took control of his tongue and he said some things that he really shouldn’t have said like:

“You silly old fool. You should get out of the way of those who are younger and better, or you shouldn’t complain when you get squashed. “

The old gentleman wasn’t standing for language like this. His eye was twitching with uncontrollable emotion:

“Do you know who I am? I”m General Mike “Killer” Rogers – there you didn’t know that did you? See that ribbon. That’s a medal, boy. The king’s father pinned that on my chest in 1945 for actions beyond the call of duty in the face of the enemy. I’m not scared of a young punk like you.”

“P-punk?” stuttered Bertie. “I’ll have you know the king is my father. I’m Prince Bertie. And you might have been a solider once, but now you’re just a historical relic. You should be in a museum. That’s where you belong.”

“Well if the King’s your father, then I’m going to see him right away and tell him that his son needs to learn some manners!”

And the general marched briskly off in the direction of the palace. The other kids crowded round and said things like “cool man,” and “are you really Prince Bertie?” Only Beatrice hung back and didn’t look at all pleased. She was still wearing a frown as they sat down to unlace their roller blade boots.

“What’s up with you?” asked Bertie in tetchy voice, and the Princess replied:

“You were really rude to that old man. I was quite embarrassed. You might be a prince, Bertie, but you should still show respect to elders, especially a brave old soldier. “

And Bertie felt quite ashamed, because he realised that Beatrice was right. He had been rude because he had lost his temper.

Back at the Palace, Bertie made some enquires and found at that the old man was not only a general, but a national hero, and had been decorated not just once, but many times for bravery. He was 90 years old, and after his wife had died, the king gave him a room in the palace. It was called a ‘grace and favour’ apartment, and only those who had performed great service to their country could receive one of them.

Bertie, with some trepidation in his heart, went to knock on the general’s door. He found himself looking straight into the old man’s piercing blue gaze. It was rather scary, but Bertie worked up the courage to say:

“Sir, I’ve come to apologise. I’m sorry that I was rude, and I promise to try harder to control my temper in future.’

The general looked him up and down, like he was inspecting him on parade. Eventually he said: .

“Boy. A gracious apology deserves and gracious acceptance. Let’s be friends. Come in and sit down. Cup of tea? The kettle’s just brewing up.”

What Bertie really wanted to do, was to get away as fast as possible. He thought he would go and tell Beatrice that he had apologised and then all would be ok again with the princess. They could spend the evening swapping mp3s. But then, he felt he had to do as the old man asked, or risk being rude again. So he stepped inside..

The walls of the general’s apartment were covered with military prints of soldiers with twirly whiskers and warlike faces, wearing red jackets and tall bearskin hats. Some were standing on parade, others riding prancing horses.

“That’s my regiment, the King’s Own 7th Hussars,” said the general proudly. “We saw off Napoleon – not me personally of course – even I’m not that old. But it’s history that holds a regiment together and gives it pride. Remember that young man. Respect the past and the future will be kind to you.

“ History is my favourite subject,” said Bertie. “I expect you’ve made a bit of it yourself. Would you mind telling me how you won that medal that you mentioned?’

The general waved his hand, and blushed almost like a girl.
“Oh that was nothing really. Just a small spot of bother with a machine gun nest. “

Bertie judged that the General did not really want to talk about that incident, ‘You must have been jolly brave all the same… ‘ he said. ‘ And who might this be? ” He had picked up an old photograph in a silver frame. It showed a ferocious looking warrior dressed in somewhat Eastern clothes, with baggy trousers, a black tasseled headscarf, and a wide silk belt with various exotic and antique weapons tucked into it. He held a rifle fixed with a long bayonet. A strap of bullets was slung diagonally over his chest.

“Him? Why – that’s Aleko Costakis- the best friend I ever had,” said the general. Bertie was amazed that the general had known a man like that, because the photograph looked at least a hundred years old, and he asked him to tell the tale. This was a yarn that the old man was more than happy to spin. Bertie could see that once he had got the old man reminiscing, he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. He settled into his arm chair and dunked his biscuit into his tea. The old general began:

“It was World War Two, 1941; the battle for Crete, an island in the Mediterranean sea, south of Greece. It was , indeed, the biggest shambles I ever took part in. Our top generals got their wires completely crossed, and in a right old tangle. Thousands of German soldiers landed by parachute. For a day we fought them off. Cretan villagers piled in, attacking the enemy with pitch folks and ancient Turkish muskets. But then it was us who were on the run. Chaos was the order of the day. The allies were scrambling onto boats while being strafed from the air. Mortar shells were landing all over the place. My orders were to remain behind with my men and hold off the enemy as long as we could. Someone had to do it, to give the others a chance to get away, and my company drew the short straw. When the last boat was gone, I headed for the mountains.

“ I staggered on up a rocky ravine, heading for the snow capped peaks. The way up was steep and the sun was blistering hot. I thought I might very well die of thirst , and finally I was rewarded by the sweet gurgling of a mountain stream. I sat down and scooped up the cool water in my hands. Just as I was rejoicing in this gift of life, I heard a man’s voice behind me. Unfortunately, he was speaking in German. I turned round, and found myself looking into the barrel of a rifle. I slowly lifted my hands above my head. The German solider called for his friends, but as he was shouting, a bullet whistled between us and smacked into the ground. Luckily for me, the Jerry’s first instinct was to dive for cover behind a tree. I ran across the stream and hid myself among some boulders. The unseen sniper kept the enemy pinned down, until darkness fell, and they slipped away. It was only then that I met the man who had saved me.

“You’ve seen his picture. He looked even more exotic by the light of the moon – like something out of a poem by Lord Byron. The Turks had ruled Crete for a long while, and they had left their Eastern influence on the what passed for the local fashion. I held out my hand to shake his, and he embraced me like a long lost friend and gave me a bristly kiss on either cheek. He led me back to his village. Although it was dark, he sprang his way across the slopes like a mountain goat. I spent all the next day sleeping on the floor of his family house. Aleko’s mother boiled goat’s meat in my honour. It was probably the worst tasting food that I have ever eaten in my life – but I was truly grateful for it. It was too dangerous to remain in the village, and after dark , Aleko led me – now dressed in Cretan clothes like his own – to a cave. This hideout was my home for the next six months. Each day, Aleko brought me food and wine, gave me some words of Greek, and taught me to dance in the Cretan style. He played a shepherd’s lyre and sang ballads celebrating Crete’s greatest robbers and brigands. I think some of them had hidden out in that very same cave. He called me by the greek name Mikhalis.

“War is an ugly thing. It’s mostly about hatred and killing, but it’s also the time when you make the closest friends of your life. A soldier truly loves his comrades-in-arms, Bertie. That’s what danger does. It brings you together.”

The old general paused to wipe a tear from his blue eye before he finished his story.

“Later that year ,the Allies started to infiltrate agents back onto the island. Eventually they got me off on a boat back to Cairo.”

Bertie is a bit of a connoisseur of stories, but he had never before heard an account from an old solider who had actually taken part in a war . It was like meeting somebody out of the pages of a history book.

“And what became of Aleko?” he asked. The old man sighed.

“He sent me this picture after the war, but I’m afraid the years went by, and we lost contact. Now I’m an old man left alone with my regrets, and one of them is that I did not make more of an effort to keep in touch. I expect he’s dead now, like the best of them.”

That night when Bertie was lying in bed, he wondered what it would feel like to be a young man sent into war, chaos, and danger. He thought how precious friends were, and how important it was to keep track of them as the years went by. He played back the general’s words in his head: “he’s probably dead now”. As he did so, he remembered something that he had once read – that although the people of Crete drink, smoke, and drive more recklessly than anyone else in Europe – they also live the longest. The secret of their longevity is a mystery. Some say it’s the clean mountain air. Some say it’s the water. Still others say it’s because they eat a fish oil called omega three. But whatever the reason, it occurred to Bertie that Aleko might well live to be 100.

At the start of the long vacation, Bertie packed his rucksack and flew on a plane packed with holiday makers to Crete. He took a taxi up to Aleko’s village into the mountains. Greek music blared out on the car radio as they sped round the hairpin bends, and Bertie gazed across at the steep rocky valleys, the soaring blue skies, and the mountain goats who walked almost vertically up the cliffs to nibble at scraggy shrubbery. They passed through several half-deserted villages, each one with a war memorial, until at last, high up above a ravine, they reached Aleko’s village. It was a scorchingly hot afternoon, and nobody was on the street apart from a sleepy looking dog. The village had one shop that sold a few essentials, like Cola and sticks of chewing gum. The shop keeper spoke only Greek, but he did recognise the words ‘Aleko Costakis’.

“Rethymnon, Rethymnon,” he said. That was the name of the town where Bertie was staying. He called the taxi driver to take down an address.

Later that evening, Bertie walked up a dark stair case, and rang a rusty old door bell. A middle aged man answered. Bertie felt embarrassed.

‘Er, Aleko Costakis’, he said.

“You want to see my father?” replied the man.

“Yes, I have news of his old friend, Mike Rogers. “

“You mean Mikhalis? His old war friend? My father has spoken about him many times. Come in.”

Bertie came into the dark, cramped flat, and found an old man sitting by the chair. He didn’t look anything like as fierce as his picture, taken seventy years earlier. He had silver hair and a matching mustache. His face wore a kind smile. His great grand son was playing on the floor at his feet.

“Papa,” said the man who had opened the door. His name was Manousos. He spoke to his father in Greek. Bertie heard the word “Mikhalis” and the old man got to his feet with surprising agility. Bertie found himself engulfed in hugs and kisses, as if he himself was the long lost friend. Manousos started to send out texts on his mobile phone. Sons and and daughters, grandsons and grand-daughters, were soon round at the little flat – and of course they brought the great grandchildren too. There was lots of chopping, stirring and cooking going on in the kitchen, and pretty soon a feast appeared on the table. Aleko brought out his shepherd’s lyre and started to play it. The family stamped their feet and clapped their hands. Neighbours came to join in. Bertie sang along as best as he could to the same songs that Aleko had taught Mikhalis during the war.

All this celebration just for the messenger from a long-lost friend! Bertie wondered if they could put on any more warmth and hospitality if Mikhalis himself was there. A month later, Bertie found out that they could. He escorted the Mikhalis – now General Mike Rogers – to Crete to be reunited with the friend he had not seen since 1941.

The old comrades recognised each other instantly. The passing years had stolen their hair and dug lines into their faces. but they were the same soldiers who now hugged one another. The smiles on their old faces were the purest expressions of delight that Bertie had ever seen.

Manousos drove them up into the mountains to rediscover their old haunts. The old comrades stooped to enter the dark cave where they had hidden out when they were both young, full of vigour, and surrounded by danger. It wasn’t the most luxurious pad on earth, but it was a home full of memories.

As they came out, they stood together in the mouth of the cave for photographs, with arms over each other’s shoulders, reunited after all those years.

Download the audio to your computer (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

This, the fourth part of our Awaking Beauty series sees Princess Talia in rather a different and unexpected light. Princess Talia is now moving in her own high circles, and Sally, her first friend and Westerly College, Oxford, is rather regretting that she does not see so much of her anymore. But then Sally receives some bad news….

Read by Elizabeth Donnelly. Story by Bertie. Duration 13.02

It was Saturday night. Sally sat in her room trying to decipher a sentence of Ancient Greek written by the historian Thucydides. It went on and on and on, clause after clause, for an entire page. Just this one sentence was ten times worse than the most horrible homework assignment she had ever had to to do at school.

“This is mental torture,” protested Sally to herself, “It’s against my human rights. Only a sadist could write a sentence like that. ”

Music added to her torment. She could hear it playing from at least three different rooms around the quad. Saturday night parties going on. Parties to which she was not invited.

At 9 pm she heard a knock on the door. But it was her neighbour’s door. There were exclamations of “Princess! “ and “You look simply sumptuous darling!” Talia’s new friends had come to collect her for an evening of socialising. Sally thought:

“Not long ago I felt sorry for her because she didn’t have any friends. Now it’s me who is miss lonely-lochs.”

Sally went to bed, and she dozed fitfully. She heard Princess Talia slip back into her room at some unearthly hour like five in the morning. But even then her neighbour did not sleep. She sat at her harp playing music. The gentle, almost magical notes helped Sally to finally drift off.

In the past, Sally and Talia had enjoyed meeting for cups of tea. Or to be more precise, Sally drank tea from a mug while Talia sipped water. But it had been at least three weeks since they had exchanged more than a passing “hello” – and three weeks was almost half the time they had known each other. Talia was the strangest person that Sally had ever met, and yet for some reason she felt that she had known her all her life and now there was a hole in her life. She missed her odd remarks and strange views. But she thought it was perhaps for the best. After all, Princess Talia was entirely wrapped up in her own selfish concerns, and had little thought for others. It was hardly a solid basis for a friendship.

It was a piece of misfortune than drew them back together. Their tutor, PJ Patridge, called a meeting of all six classics undergraduates. While he was discussing their reading list, Sally’s phone rang. She blushed bright red and fumbled to turn it off. Their tutor, who did not even own a mobile phone, gave her his sternest glance of disapproval. After the meeting, Sally stood in the quad listening to her message. When she had played it, Talia came up to her and said:

“Sally, you look so upset. Have you received bad news?” Sally was surprised that the princess had even noticed her, let alone seen who she was feeling. And yes, it was true. She had received bad news. Her mother had rung to say that her father had been rushed to hospital in an ambulance. In fact Sally was in a state of shock. it was the first time it had occurred to her that her dad might not live for ever.

Talia said: “Sally, my car is at your disposal. The driver will take you to the hospital where your father is. “

“But he’s miles away, in Liverpool.” replied Sally.

“Never mind. Take it for as long as you need. I will inform Dr. Patridge what has happened. “ And while she was speaking, she removed a silver chain from around her neck. Its setting clasped a blue-green stone. Talia told Sally that her father must wear the necklace. The stone would change colour to blood red because he was ill. As his condition improved, it would turn first to pink, then gradually back to its former colour. “And what’s more, it will protect him from harm and speed his recovery,” added Talia. “Trust me Sally. No harm can come to the one who wears this stone. It was given to me by my godmother on the day of my christening, and has protected me from great evil. “

Sally was in such a state that she did not question her friend about the stone. She hugged her with thanks, and ran up to her room to pack her bag. Quarter of an hour later she sank into the leather back seat of Talia’s black limousine.

Sally spent most of her first twenty four hours at hospital sitting in the chair by her father’s bed. He made light of all the wires and tubes that were fastened to his body. She began to think that perhaps it was all just a scare after all. While he dozed, she read Thucydides with surprising clarity. Towards evening, the doctor spoke to Sally and her mother out in the corridor. He was clearly concerned. The x-rays had shown a worrying shadow Her mother cried and Sally had to be strong to comfort her. It was only the next day that she recalled the necklace that Talia had given her. She fished it out of her bag looked into the mysterious stone. The blue colour seemed to grow lighter as she held it in her hand.

“That’s because I’m feeling stressed and tiered and my mouth is dry,” she thought. And then, “Oh come off it! I’m not going to start believing this superstitious stuff am I?” and finally. “Well it can’t do him any harm, can it?”

And while her father dozed, she gently lifted his head and fastened the necklace around his neck. She tucked the stone under the collar of his hospital pajamas, seeing as she did so that it was already turning quite red. There were so many strange things attached to her dad, that when he awoke, he didn’t even notice that he was wearing one more “accessory’ .

After a week, Sally was back in college, looking far more cheerful. Her father had dumbfounded the doctors. All his vital signs had bounced back into full health, and the worrying shadow had faded away,

When Sally returned the necklace to her friend she said: “I don’t know if it’s my state of mind, but at this rate I’ll start believing in magic.”

And Talia replied:

“Why Sally. Of course you must believe in magic. Otherwise, how do you think I arrived here? There’s no other explanation, is there?”

And frankly, there was no other explanation, unless Talia was quite mad, and Sally was swiftly catching up with her insanity.

Two weeks went by, and Sally’s Dad was not only back at home, but back at work, back jogging in the mornings, and according to her mum, he looked twenty years younger.

“If that’s what a good rest and hospital food does for you, then I think I might check myself into intensive care,” said her mum on the phone.

It was the final Saturday of the first term at college, and Sally was getting ready to go out with Basil and Doug for a pizza. There was am unexpected knock on the door: her door, not her neighbour’s. She heard a familiar voice.

“Sally, May I come in?”

It was Princess Talia. Sally leapt across the room and opened the door. Talia came in and sat on the end of her rumpled bed. She rang her hands and looked quite intense, even by her usual standards. At last she said:

“Sally, you are friends with Basil, aren’t you?”

And Sally said that yes she was friends with Basil.

“Good friends?”

“Yes, I think you could say we are good friends.”

“Are you… more than just good friends.”

And Sally laughed and said.

“No we’re just good friends.”

“Ah,” said Talia, “Because you see. I’m not friends at all with Basil. In fact, I don’t think he even notices me.”

“Of course he notices you,” said Sally. “All the boys notice you. Some of them stare at you like you were a goddess or something.”

“But not Basil,” said Talia sadly.

And Sally was amazed, because at last she had found a chink in the princess’s armor of supreme indifference and serenity. She invited her to join them for dinner, and the princess thanked her from the bottom of her heart.

Sally thought:

“You look a touch overdressed for The Sunny Pizza Palace but never mind, I’m sure Basil will appreciate your charms”

Talia went back to her room to change. When they met twenty minutes later, Sally was amazed to see that the princess was wearing jeans – albeit ones with a designer label. When the boys joined them, Basil’s smile at learning of the surprise fourth member of their party gave the game away.

“He’s pretty pleased to see her, “ Sally thought, and she felt an unexpected pang of jealousy.

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click, to Save As)

This parable from the Middle East has a mysterious and spiritual tone, and is also rather intriguing. It’s about a slave who asks his master for his freedom. A series of adventures bring him great good fortune, but fortune can always be reversed again.

Read by Natasha. Adapted for Storynory by Bertie. Duration 15.41.

In ancient times, in the city of Tyre, there lived a merchant, who had amassed a great fortune trading in silks, carpets, and dyes. He owned over 150 slaves, some of whom served in his magnificent mansion, and others in his warehouses by the docks. Most of his slaves worked hard, but only if they were being watched. If the master was not there, they would laze around or steal, for there is no great incentive for a slave to make an effort unless it is to avoid punishment.

There were some exceptional slaves, of course, and one of them was called Ziad. Ziad did his best for his master no matter whether he was being watched or not. He was intelligent, and diligent, and above all honest. Over the years the merchant began to rely on Ziad to keep his accounts and to oversee the goods being loaded and unloaded onto his ships. He rewarded him with tasty food, comfortable quarters, and smart uniforms. If you had met Ziad for the first time, it is unlikely that you would have taken him for a slave.

After Ziad had served his master faithfully for twenty years of his adult life, he came to him in his office and requested his freedom.

When the merchant heard the word “freedom” on the lips of his most trusted slave, he was dismayed, because he knew how difficult it would be to find another as reliable as this one.

“Ziad! Ziad ! ” he exclaimed, “ My dear dear Ziad, have I not treated you like my own son? Are you not satisfied with your privileges? Ask me for anything, but not your freedom, for it would grieve me too greatly to lose you. What is it you require? Fine clothes? A carriage and horses? Your own house? Just say the word, and it shall be yours.”

Ziad bowed his head and replied: “No master. I do not wish for any of these things from you.”

For a moment the merchant was mystified. He pondered what more he could offer. He thought: “The follow bargains well. He’s holding out for something really costly.” And then he had an idea. He stood up from his chair, and walked round to the front of his desk where Ziad was standing. He put his arm around the slave’s shoulder and said,

“Come come. There is no need to be shy. I see now what it is that you desire. You have all that you need in my service except for your own family. But do not trouble yourself a moment longer, for there is no problem that a little money can’t solve. Come with me in the morning to the market place, and let us choose a beautiful wife for you. “

At this, the faithful slave became agitated and said:

“Master I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind treatment and generosity. But I did not come here to ask you for anything but my freedom. I lack for nothing but this one thing. I ask you for this, no more and no less. If I have served you faithfully all these years, if I have every helped your enterprises to prosper, if I have never asked for anything else from you, grant me this one request, for my life can have no meaning unless I am a free man.”

The merchant was baffled. He banged his fist on the desk and exclaimed: “Freedom? What use is freedom to you? You can’t spend it. You can’t eat it. You can’t wear it. Freedom, I tell you, will bring you nothing but struggle and stress. A free man has worries and responsibilities. Take it from me, it’s far , far better to be a slave in the service of a good master, and to have all your needs taken care of. “

But Ziad replied: “Sir, you are indeed a good master. The best a slave could hope for. You provide all my material needs and much more. But what use are possessions or a family to me, if I am not a freeman, and my children will be born into slavery? I long for the thrill of freedom, to succeed or fail in life, and either way, to be the only one who can take the credit or the blame. “

The merchant thought his slave had taken leave of his senses, and he dismissed him from his office at the top of his voice. He worried that the high standard of Ziad’s work would fall off, and when the merchant next went to the Temple, he thought he could hear the voice of the Goddess of Wealth telling him that he had had been ungrateful to his faithful slave, and would suffer accordingly. That evening he called Ziad to him, and gave him not only his freedom, but an entire ship that was already loaded with silks and merchandise. He thanked him for his good service, and told him he could set sail with the ship in the morning and keep all the proceeds of the trade.

And so it was, that Ziad’s life was transformed overnight. By noon the following day, the former slave was a free man at sea in charge of his own cargo. Bellow deck, the galley slaves leaned into their oars and pulled the ship away from the city of Tyre where he had been born and had lived all his life in the service of the merchant. The ship followed the coast northwards, and he watched the little rocky coves, the sandy beaches, the sparkling cliffs and the cyprus trees as they glided by. Eventually, when night feel, a cabin boy rolled out his bedding for him on the deck, and he slept under the stars. When he awoke the next morning, the coast had disappeared from view. All he could see was sky and blue-green water. He stood up, and went over to where the crew were eating their breakfast. He thought that the captain gave him rather a strange look, and he was right – because later that morning, as he was standing by the rail looking out to sea, three sailors came up behind him and tipped him overboard. The captain was now a rich man.

Ziad, the freeman of Tyre, was rising and falling below the waves and gulping sea water into his lungs. But the goddess of Tyre was watching over her newest merchant, and she did not wish to see him drown. She sent a smiling dolphin to his aid. Ziad clung to the dolphin’s neck, and it lifted him up on its back and carried him to an island. When they were not far from shore, some fishermen who were mending their nets on the beach, spotted the man riding on the dolphin and they came out in their boats to fetch him.

Freedom had still more surprises in store for the former slave. As the fishermen brought him to dry land, a crowd of people came down onto the beach to greet him. They lifted him up onto their shoulders and carried him to the gates of a great city, where he was met by still more people who hailed and cheered him on the way. He was placed in a carriage, and driven to a palace where slaves bathed him and dressed him in fine robes, placed a crown on his head, and led him to a throne of gold. Cymbals clashed, drums thundered, soldiers saluted, nobles and courtiers threw themselves prostrate on the ground, and priests sprinkled scented water over him.

King Ziad – because that was who he had become – served his people as faithfully as he had served his master. He passed wise laws and judgements, he made advantageous treaties, he stamped out corruption, and he upheld the island’s religion. One day at the temple, when he no longer needed an interpreter to speak to the island people, he had a confidential conversation with the High Priest. He asked him how it was that the people had chosen him, a wretched wonderer washed up on these shores, as their king.

The high priest answered, in a low voice so that nobody else could hear,

“Sire, every seven years the island spirits send a poor wandering soul to our island. It is our custom to elevate this sea-tramp to the thrown, and for him rule in splendor for seven years, and to enjoy all the luxuries of kingship. But at the end of his term, he is stripped of his royal garments, put aboard a ship, and deposited on a bare and desolate island, where he will live out the remains of his life as naked, wretched and miserable as the day that he was washed up on our shores.”

The former slave was greatly disturbed to learn that that there was a fixed term to his good fortune, and that he must end it all in misery. He was filled with thoughts of dark foreboding for the future, and his courtiers noticed that there were dark shadows under their king’s eyes, and that his forehanded was knotted with strain.

After a week of sleepless nights, King Ziad returned to the temple, and prayed to the spirits of the Island for wisdom and guidance: A voice spoke to him thus:

“ At present thou art king, and mayest do as pleaseth thee; therefore, send workmen to this island, let them build houses, till the ground, and beautify the surroundings. The barren soil will be changed into fruitful fields, people will journey thither to live, and thou wilt have established a new kingdom for thyself, with subjects to welcome thee in gladness when thou shalt have lost thy power here.”

And the king heard these words, and saw their wisdom. He decreed for people and materials to travel to the desolate island, and for its transformation to begin. And for the remaining years of his reign, he prepared for the years that would follow it. The desolate island blossomed and prospered into a veritable paradise, and gradually more and more people went to live there At last its beauty and wealth far outshone even his present kingdom.

At the end of seven years, just as the priest had warned, his own guards stripped him of his royal robes and he was led naked to a ship, and transported to the desolate island where he was deposited on the beach on the spot where all the previous tramp kings who had proceeded him had also been marooned. But in his case, people came to greet him and to clothe him, and to hail him as their prince, and Ziad lived out his days on the once desolate island in even greater comfort and splendor than he had ever known before.

And that’s the story of the Desolate island. I have been wondering what the meaning of it all is and this is what Bertie told me. He says that if you like, you can see the story this way. The former slave arrives on the first island helpless and unclothed, just like a baby is born into the world. He lives his life on the island free to do as he pleases, but there is a fixed term to his time there – just as we all must live and then die. As he is wise, he makes preparations for the next world and stores up good things to make the desolate island into a paradise. When he is forced to leave the first island, it is as if he has died, but because he has thought of the next world, he arrives in a heavenly place.

Anyway you can often read lots of different things into stories.

Text Copyright Hugh Fraser 2010

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

This is Storynory’s production of the ancient legend about the foundation of Rome. It’s a love story with plenty of tragic drama, and we think it will appeal to slightly older children and to young adults. That said, it’s pretty exciting too.

Aeneas, prince of Troy, is shipwrecked off the coast of Africa by the goddess Juno. He is taken in by Queen Dido of Carthage. He then finds himself torn between love and destiny.

The story of Dido and Aeneas was first told by the great Roman poet Virgil, and has since been retold many times. We have also drawn some inspiration from the play by the Elizabethan Christopher Marlowe.

With the voices of Natasha Gostwick and Richard Scott
Music by Purcell and Handel from Partners in Rhyme
Adapted for Storynory by Bertie.
Duration 27 Minutes.

Richard As Narrator

My story is of a man torn between love and destiny. Aeneas was his name, and he was a Prince of Troy. When that city was destroyed by the Greek Army, he fled from the flames carrying his old father on his back, and with his son at his side. He gathered a band of Trojans and set sail in a fleet of ships. But his journey was long and hard, beset by dangers and troubles.

Why should a just a man suffer so? The answer is not hard to find. All the evil and suffering in the world is wished upon us by the gods, or is the debris of their own quarrels and strife. A goddess hated Aeneas with all the fury of her immortal heart. Her name was Juno, and she was queen of heaven. Her enmity went back a long way.

It all began with a divine squabble. Three goddesses met on the island of Crete and wrangled over who was the fairest. And while the divine ones were bickering and threatening to scratch each other’s eyes out, along stumbled Paris, Prince of Troy, out hunting in the woods. The goddesses appointed him as judge of their beauty. He chose Venus, and won a great reward from her, in the fair form of a woman, Helen, who was more lovely than any other. But he earned the immortal hatred of Juno.

Paris and Helen. Their names united into the greatest scandal of the Bronze Age. He was Trojan, she was Greek, and while they lay in each others arms, their countries locked in armed combat. After ten years of war, Troy was destroyed utterly. You would think that the Goddess had taken enough revenge on Paris and all the Trojans, but still she was not satisfied. Now Juno looked down from the skies and spotted Aeneas, a near relative of Paris, sailing across the sea, escaping his burning city. And this is what she said to herself:

Natasha as Juno
Another of those pomaded Trojan lover-boys is setting out to create trouble in the world. I see his destiny all too clearly. He is leading his men to Italy, where his decedents will found a new city: Rome. And Rome shall grow into a proud ,powerful, hypocritical empire. The toga wearers shall make slaves of free peoples in the name of the law, peace and religion. They will conquer nations and utterly destroy Carthage, the city which does more honour to me than any other. But do you know what? I think I’ll do the world a favour. I’ll spare it Rome. I’ll finish off this Aeneas and his fleet of ships before they touch land. No Aeneas, no Rome. Now Blow Winds Blow !

Richard As Narrator

And Aeolus, king of the winds, heard the command from the Queen of Heaven, and boy did he blow. He sent a ship splintering storm straight at the fleet of Aeneas. Aeneas and his men thought then that they would soon be fish food. But Neptune, the lord of the waters, heard the winds, and rolled his eyes around the earth, the sea and the skies, and when he saw the storm-tossed ships he said: Hey what’s all this? I’m in charge here. Jupiter and his dysfunctional family can do what they like up in the skies, but the waters are mine, and I won’t stand for any insubordination here. If there’s sinking to be done, then I’m the one to do it. And with a wave of his Trident, he sent the winds whimpering back into their box, and the seas settled down.

The battered ship of Aeneas, with broken oars and tattered sails, made its way to the shores of Libya. The sailors jumped over the sides and swam to the beach. They were plenty glad to feel the hot sand between their toes. As for the other Trojan ships, they did not know if they were lost of saved.

Now the goddess Venus looked down on the shipwrecked Trojans with more than a casual interest. Aeneas was none other than her own son. As any good mother would, she went to the Lord of the Skies and put in a complaint about her boy’s treatment.

(Natasha as Venus)
This is too much! Is it not enough that jealous Juno burned Troy? Can’t you reign in that neurotic consort of yours before she upsets all history? My Aeneas is destined to found Rome, and now look at him, poor darling, he’s a shipwrecked wretch on the shores of Africa. And it’s Juno’s doing as usual.

(Richard As Jupiter)
And father Jupiter sighed and sent a gush of wind over the mountain tops. Venus my dear, he said, Dismiss your fears. The fates are fixed. I’ve no intention that your son should be denied his destiny. There is an African Queen who will take good care of him. Dido is her name, and she lives in Great Splenour in the city of Carthage. She is just and fair. Send Aeneas to her, and she will give him all he needs.

Richard As Narrator
Venus took the hint. Lovely Dido would put vim back in her son’s limbs. And there was a nice twist to the tale. For Carthage was Juno’s city, and if its queen fell for Aeneas, that would be one in the eye for the Queen of Heaven. She liked that.

Aeneas left his men on the beach while he climbed a cliff to see what he could see. At the top he met a being who gave him cause for hope. She was a huntress, and by her beauty, had no doubt that she was at least partly divine. He saw her sitting on a rock, and as he came up to her she said:

Natasha As Venus
Young man. Have you seen any of my sisters here about, wearing leopard skins and carrying bows?

Richard as Aeneas
No, I haven’t. Last night I was shipwrecked, and you are the first soul I have set eyes upon since I swam ashore.

Natasha As Venus
And tell me shipwrecked sailor, what is your name?

Richard as Aeneas
Aeneas, prince of Tory. Winds and war drove me here across the seas.

Natasha As Venus
Then your fortunes are changing for the better. Lucky you to be washed up on this courteous coast. Not far from here, a gracious queen is building a city that matches your famed Troy for splendor and beauty. Her name is Dido, and the city is Carthage. Seek an audience with her, and you shall receive a warm welcome. And now I must leave you, and find my errant sisters.

Richard as Aeneas

Goddess wait – I see now from the way you move that you are Venus – Oh Mother ! Why do you only ever appear to me in disguise ?

Natasha As Venus

Fair-well my son. Make speed to Carthage. I shall cloak you in an invisible cloud to protect you from danger.

Richard as Narrator

When the walls of Carthage came into view, Aeneas could not help but weep. For in every respect it was as if he was looking at his own dear home, the City of Troy at the height of its splendor, before the Greeks reduced it to ruins. As he passed through the arched gates, it was as if he was returning home. The inside of the portal was carved with pictures of the greatest of the Trojans. Here was King Priam. There was Queen Hecuba. And totally true to life, Hector, the most formidable hero in battle, the tenderest family man at home, held his son in his great hands. The little boy cried because his father’s war helmet frightened him. His mother Andromache held out her slender arms. They were all gone now. Dust. Memories. Pictures. As he gazed at the scenes from his past, Aeneas said to himself:

Richard as Aeneas

These are the tears of existence. Each drop is a world that glistens with both beauty and sadness.

Richard as Narrator

He made his way through the noisy streets, as invisible as a ghost, until he reached the palace, where he passed by the guards on the gates. Inside, in the great hall, he found a sight to gladden his sad eyes. A crowd of his men from the lost ships, those whom he had thought to be drowned in the storm, were gathered there. Venus lifted the invisible cloud from her son. He appeared among his friends and greeted them with hugs and tears. While the reunion was still going on, Queen Dido came into the hall. She was a tall, dark, striking figure. She had a face that both commanded and attracted. She wore jewels in her black hair, and her robe was sewn with gold and silver thread.

Aeneas stepped forward and begged pardon for the tattered rags that he wore.

Natasha as Dido

Never mind your clothes. Tell me who is the man within them.

Richard as Aeneas

Mighty Queen. Once I was a Trojan. But Troy is no more. It is no longer so simple to say who I am.

Natasha as Dido

But you have a name presumably?

Richard as Narrator

At this, one of Aeneas’s men spoke up: “Gracious Queen. Behold our general, Warlike Aeneas, Prince of Troy, and though he wears rags, he is a no less a great man.”

Natasha as Dido

Well then, Warlike Aeneas, be seated, and I shall send for splendid robes that befit your birth, and cover your recent misfortune. And then we shall hold a banquet in honour of our Trojan guests.

Richard as Narrator

And when the banquet took place, Dido sat with her sister Anna on her one side, and Aeneas on the other. The Queen asked her guest to describe the last days of Troy. Aeneas told how the Greek Achilles slaughtered the Trojan Hector. How Prince Paris left his chamber of love and fired a poisoned arrow into the heal of Achilles. How the Greeks boarded their ships and left behind a wooden horse. The Trojans rejoiced to see their foes depart. But the belly of the horse was hollow and full of Greek spies. They opened the gates of Troy and let in the invading army. As Aeneas escaped the burning city with his father and son, his sword saved them from death a dozen times, but the doom of Troy was done. He described to the Queen the leaping flames, the clashing bronze, and the desperate cries, Dido could not help but weep.

Natasha as Dido
“Oh stop, Aeneas, I can hear no more. I am melting with pity.”

Richard as Narrator

But Venus sent a sweet balm to heal the sorrow of the Queen and all those who had heard the dreadful tale. The young son of Aeneas lay asleep on a couch in a chamber away from the noisy feast. The Goddess willed Cupid to take on his exact likeness, and she sent him into the banqueting hall.

Natasha as Dido
“Ah, who is this sweet sleepy-eyed boy? Is he your son.

Richard as Aeneas
He is my lady. His name is Ascanius. I am sorry to say that his mother did not survive the destruction of our city.

Natasha as Dido
Come Ascanius. Sit on my lap. I shall mother you a while.

Richard as Narrator
Venus had disguised Cupid so cunningly in the form of Ascanius, that even Aeneas thought he was his own son. Nobody recognised the boy who brings love.

Cupid hung his arms around the neck of Dido, and his breath worked its charm on her. Sweetness flowed in her veins for the man who sat by her side – the shipwrecked Trojan whom the winds had blown to her shores.

While Aeneas was turned away to talk to his ship’s captain, Dido whispered into the ear of her sister Anna:

Natasha as Dido
“Our Trojan Prince speaks as well as he looks, does he not?”

Richard as Narrator

As yet, Cupid had worked just enough charm to keep things sweet between Dido and Aeneas, and to ensure that the queen gave her guest all the help that he needed. This was the way Venus liked to work things. As the goddess looked down with satisfaction on the scene, she received a visitor that she had hardly expected. Juno hailed her across the skies.

Natasha as Juno

Sister of Love. Our interests are united in Dido and Aeneas. Let them rule Carthage together as King and Queen. Their children shall build a glorious city that will surpass Troy in its beauty and fame. History will have no need for Rome. The toga-wearers shall never be born. Carthage shall not be ruined by the Romans. Your son shall be the father of a great people without touching the shores of Italy.

Richard as Narrator

And Venus saw advantage in this pact with her Sister. The following day, when Dido and Aeneas rode out hunting together, she sent Cupid to fire his arrows into the side of the Queen. They were tipped with love, and now passion for Aeneas flowed deep in the breast of Dido. Just then the weather turned suddenly. The African sun hid behind a cloud and a great storm, unusual for this time of year, broke out. The hunters were being soaked from the skies. The sharp eyes of Aeneas caught sight of a cave, and he led Dido there to shelter from the rain.

Richard as Aeneas

How are you my Queen? Your face suggests that something is troubling you. Do not fear this hurly burly in the heavens. The storm will pass soon.

Natasha as Dido

Perhaps too soon for Dido.

Richard as Aeneas

What do you mean by this strange remark?

Natasha as Dido

Only that Aeneas loves me not.

Richard as Aeneas

I would not presume to aim so high.

Natasha as Dido

I will open my heart to you, even though I fear my words shall bring shame on me. I love one who loves fame more than woman.

Richard as Aeneas

With this my hand I give you my heart. I vow on this sword which saved me from the Greek army that while Dido lives and rules in Carthage City, I will never love any but her.

Natasha as Dido

These words are like the sweet music of the gods to my ears.

Richard as Narrator

And so Aeneas, willed on by the colluding goddesses, swore a love that did not fit his destiny. The future that the fates had spun for him was to sail to Italy and found Rome. But for now he lingered in the arms of Dido, while the thread of his destiny stretched and stretched but did not yet snap.

His men mended the broken ships and gossiped and complained about their general’s new distraction. They wondered if they would ever receive the order to set sail for Italy. When they spoke of Dido and Aeneas it was almost as if they were speaking once again of Paris and Helen. It was a private love and a public scandal.

The word spread, and reached even the Father of the Skies. Jupiter sent Mercury, the messenger of the gods, to whisper in the hero’s ear while he slept in the arms of his queen. And Aeneas dreamed of the Colosseum, the forum, and the seven hills of Rome. He saw a city more beautiful than Troy, more wealthy than Carthage.

In the morning he went down to the harbour to inspect his ships, and his captain told him that he was ready to set sail. He spoke to Aeneas

Richard as Ship’s Captain

“Sail with us now my Lord. If you return to the queen her womanly wiles will make you swear to never leave. Her silver arms will coil around your neck. Her pearly tears will beg you stay. No man, though he face the fiercest foes without dread, can endure a woman’s soft tears. I speak plainly My Lord. But I say to your face what all the men say when you are not here.”

Richard as Aeneas

I appreciate your blunt frankness, but beauty calls me back. I cannot break love’s law by stealing away like a thief. Let no one call Aeneas a coward in love or in battle.

Richard as Narrator

And so Aeneas returned to Dido to give her his final fare-well. But Dido already knew that Trojan Fleet that was about to sail, and her spies had informed her that Aeneas was intending to leave with them.

Natasha as Dido

Oh cursed Trojans that would steal my love from me ! Is this how they repay my hospitality? I would look the other way if they thieved my silver or gold, but they take my very life.

Richard as Aeneas

My queen. I have come to you to give you my goodbye, although I feared that you would try to keep me here.

Natasha as Dido

False Aeneas ! You need not have feared. Be gone from my sight.

Richard as Aeneas

I cannot leave without kissing your hand one last time.

Natasha as Dido

See I take the crown from my head and place it on yours. How it becomes you. Stay by my side King Aeneas. Dido is yours. Carthage is yours. Are these prizes not a fair exchange for the Troy that you have lost? Why seek a new city when you have one here.

Richard as Aeneas

I thank you my lady, but a bronze helmet fits my destiny better than a crown of gold.

Natasha as Dido

Then you put to sea?

Richard as Aeneas

Duty calls.

Natasha as Dido

Then duty is a murderer because I shall die if it takes you away from me.

Richard as Aeneas

I unbuckle my my sword and leave it for you to remember me by. It is as much part of me as my right arm. It has saved my life several scores of times. It is my most personal possession.

Natasha as Dido

Be gone, be gone. I cannot bear to look upon your false face any longer. My sorrow is strangling me. My throat is dry. I can speak no more.

Richard as Aeneas

Fair well my queen. I will never love another as I have loved you. On the day that I die, I will think of you. I will go to the next world with your face before my eyes. Fair-well.

Natasha as Dido

Be gone with you ! It is time for Warlike Aeneas to run.

Richard as Narrator

And Aeneas went directly to his ship.

Natasha as Dido

Fair sister Anna. Command the priests to build a pyre. I will make a sacrifice to the gods. I will pray to Neptune and Juno to calm the winds and keep him here. No. Better still to send a storm and wreck him once more. Let the faithless wretch swim to Italy !

Richard as Narrator

And while the priests built a pyre in the courtyard of the temple, Dido stood on her balcony and watched the ships set sail.

Natasha as Dido

The winds blew my love to me, and now they take him away. The nymphs of the sea carry him from me. Chains of gold could not anchor him here. What have I done to offend the gods that they separate me from happiness? If only I had the wings of Icarus I could fly out to him? Where is the friendly dolphin that will carry me on his back behind the ship of Aeneas? Or if I could swim like Neptune’s niece.

Oh how I am raving. Love has poisoned me with lunacy. See how Aeneas is rejoicing with his sailors as he crosses the waves away from me. He has forgotten his Dido already.

Ah the priests have set the fire. The flames are consuming the coals. I see in their light, a future full of destruction.

Oh Juno, protector of our city, I pray to you, let False Aeneas build his precious Rome, for Jupiter wills it so, and let the city grow to be great and powerful, but let Carthage send a general to destroy it. May an African army ride elephants across the seas and over the mountains right up to the walls of Rome, and may Rome’s dust blow on the winds and mingle with Troy’s.

And where is that sword of Aeneas? It protected his life and now it takes away mine. But there is little of me left to take away. His frown has already destroyed the Dido who all knew before she set eyes on him. The woman whose sparkling eyes drew a 100 suitors from Africa, Europe and Asia is already gone. All that is left is lunacy. I shall not go mad. Better die.

Richard as Narrator

And although Aeneas felt the wind in his hair, and the salt in his nostrils, and heard the cry of gulls above his ship – and although he felt that the chains of destiny were pulling him to freedom – he did not forget his Dido. He looked back at the walls of Carthage and saw smoke rising from the temple. He thought to himself.

Richard as Aeneas

“That is all that is left of my love.”

Text Copyright Hugh Fraser 2010.

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

“The Polite Princess” is none other than Princess Talia of our Awaking Beauty series set in a college (which is most likely part of Oxford University). Her friend Sally is a big supporter of Liverpool Football club – and Talia is drawn into watching a match on TV with other students.

Read by Elizabeth. Story by Bertie. Duration 15.57.

I have mentioned before that that Princess Talia did not often eat in the college dining hall. She did not think highly of the college’s catering, and she preferred to eat her own food in her room. One evening, for some reason – perhaps she had run out of smoked salmon or quails eggs -or perhaps she just wanted some company – she decided to visit the hall. She wore a black evening dress, a string of pearls, and her long scholar’s gown, and this combination made her look her most dark and mysterious. She almost seemed like a beautiful shadow.

She sat down at the oak table just opposite Sally. As Sally’s academic gown was open at the front you could see that underneath it, she was wearing her bright red Liverpool Football Club T-shirt. Princess Talia peered at the Football Club’s badge, which depicted a proud griffin with a leaf in its beak. It was the symbol known as the Liverbird.

“Sally, is that your family’s coat of arms?” she asked.

The student sitting next to Sally laughed, and for a moment Sally wondered if Talia was joking, but then she remembered that the Princess often said the strangest things, and rarely in jest.

“Well sort of,” said Sally, “Actually it’s not my family’s coat of arms. It’s my football team’s. But I suppose you could say that we supporters of Liverpool are like a big family and this is our coat of arms.”

“Oh,’ said Talia, somewhat puzzled. “Why would you want to support Liverpool?

“Because I’m from Liverpool, and they’re my team. But you can see for yourself. There’s a big match this evening, and we’re going to watch it in the TV room. Come along. Have a laugh. You could lighten up a bit.”

“Could I? Oh. In that case I’d better come with you, and ‘have a laugh’, as you say.”

The TV room was crowded with mostly male students. You wouldn’t really have taken them for the elite of Britain’s young minds. They bayed, growled and squawked at the television in a variety of accents ranging for public school posh to rural regional.

The players from Liverpool and AC Milan were running around a large flat paneled screen on the wall. Talia was clearly intrigued by the sight. She remarked to Sally:

“I have seen a moving picture like this once before,”

“Have you?” replied Sally, who was used to going along with Talia’s odd trains of thought.

“Yes, but only once. The Wizard Merlin himself demonstrated it to me in his cave.”

“That was nice of him,” said Sally, hoping nobody else was listening to the strange conversation.

“And I have seen village boys playing this game with a pig’s bladder.”

“Good for you.”

When the referee showed a yellow card to a Liverpool player, the scholarly supporters in the room were shaking their fists and gesturing at him. Sally screeched at the screen:

“Aww come off it ref. He tripped over a daisy!”

and Talia exclaimed:

“No Sally, the yokel in a red shirt kicked him in the shin,”

Sally’s eyes blazed with fury and she turned to Talia and blurted out:

“That yokel is Steve Gerrard and he did no such thing !”

Talia was quite taken aback. “Well if you say so, Sally, but I saw it differently.”

Later when Garrard powered the ball into the back of the net, the ref disallowed the goal as off side. The students were apoplectic.

Talia said: “I don’t see what all the fuss about? It’s only a game,”

Jonathan Miles, the English scholar, flew into a rage: “What do you mean it’s only a game? It’s football. It’s more beautiful than poetry, music and love.”

“Well I dispute that.” said Talia, “Poetry, music and love tend to elevate the human condition. This sport seems to bring out the animal spirits.”
The student of English was lost for words. Sally said: “Talia, he was just joking, sort off.”

And Talia replied. “I knew that. My fairy godmother gave me the gift of laughter. Ha Ha ! Yes, that’s a very funny remark. “

And somebody said. “ She’s quite cuckoo isn’t she? ” And somebody else said. “Perhaps she should see the doctor.”

At the end the match, AC Milan went through to the final on goal difference. When it was all over the students did not seem to mind too much that their team hadn’t done well enough, proving perhaps that Talia was right when she had said it was “only a game.” As Talia and Sally walked back to staircase where their rooms were located, the princess remarked:

“I don’t know about you, but I find that manners in this college are not quite what they could be.”

And Sally laughed because it was true of course, but then again, how did she expect students to behave? Talia went on. “You know Sally, you could help me, by using my correct title. I believe that if you called me ‘Princess’ it might set a good example and instill a bit of respect in the others.”
Sally didn’t like this idea. “But we’re friends aren’t we? Don’t friends call each other by first names?”

“Certainly you may use my first name, but titles are also useful as part of a correct form of address. You may call me “Princess Talia” out of respect for our friendship.”

And not for the first or last time, Sally was not entirely sure if her friend was joking or not. She hoped that this was just passing whim of Talia’s and would soon be forgotten. Over the next few days she continued to call her “Talia” just as before. The princess’s face did not show any sign of annoyance, but then she wore very few expressions apart from her perfectly composed, beautiful, but inscrutable look. However, Sally soon learned that Talia had not forgotten her desire to be addressed as Princess. At the next meeting of the Junior Common Room – which was a sort of student union for undergraduates at the college – Talia tabled a motion that “The JCR supports the use of titles as the correct form of personal address at all times within the college.” When Sally read the motion on the agenda for the meeting she immediately went to see Talia in her room and begged her to withdraw it.

“Don’t you realise, they’ll just laugh at you?” pleaded Sally. “Those meetings can be pretty rough. You’ll make yourself look like a stuck-up toff. They’ll rip you apart.”

But Princess Talia insisted that she would stand up for what she believed in, and she didn’t care what the rabble said about her.
“Oh dear friend, “ said Sally. “you badly need a sense of humour. You just can’t see when you are making yourself ridiculous, can you?”
“Thank you once again Sally for your commentary on the defects of my personality,” said Talia. “But as my friend you might show a little more support for a matter that is close to my heart.”

And Sally went back to her room wondering whether her friendship with Talia would last the evening.

The Junior Common Room met later on. Jay Beckham, the chair person of the JSR, called on Talia to propose her motion:

Some wag called out: “Shouldn’t that be Princess Talia?” and there was general laughter.

“Indeed it should,” said the princess as she stood up. And Sally was impressed by the way her friend used her voice to cut through the noise of the rabble without any apparent effort on her part. She also noticed that both male and female students were all looking fairly interestedly at her – her beauty undoubtedly commanded attention.

“Please forgive me if I appear somewhat nervous,” she said. “I am unused to speaking at meetings. “ And although she looked anything but nervous, this plea won her just a slightly more sympathetic hearing than you might have expected.

“Madam Chairperson. Honourable members of the Junior Common Room. Some might say that titles are old fashioned, that they are, perhaps, a touch formal for our age. And indeed they are formal. But you will also notice that they are in use every day all the time. We might call our tutor “Doctor”, we might call the person who cleans our rooms “Mrs.”, we might call the College Porter “Mr.” but we address each other as “Mic” or ‘Jim” or “Jen”. Why should I not respect my fellow students enough to use “Good Sir” or “Mr” or “Miss” or even “Miz” , although that title is strange to my ears. I suggest that this innovation would have a civilising effect on the college society and would pay dividends overnight. I foresee that if we respect ourselves and each other in speech we shall dress better, behave better, study better, and yes enjoy ourselves better too. “

After Talia sat down, three students spoke one after the other saying that Talia’s proposal was outrageously snobbish, undemocratic, and elitist. But then Dave Heathcott spoke in favour saying that a return to the age of courtesy and chivalry would indeed make the college a better place to live and study in. Dave was a popular figure, known for his whit and independent thought. He swayed a lot of people to Talia’s side. In fact, when it came to a show of hands, the JCR voted two thirds in favour of the motion – though Sally wasn’t quite sure how many people supported the motion as a joke or in full seriousness.

The news that the undergraduate of Westerly College had voted in favour of using titles soon spread around the university. A photographer from the Student newspaper came to photograph Princess Talia in her room and her picture appeared on the front page of The Cherwell with the caption
“The Polite Princess.”

It was an impressive photograph – showing Princess Talia sitting in at her golden harp looking like a classical muse.
The newspaper reported the debate in detail and quoted from students who were for and against the motion. For a few days afterwards some people did call each other “Miss” or “Mr” – or indeed Princess – but only with an ironic smile on the lips. A week later the motion was all but forgotten.

But the newspaper story had certainly put Princess Talia on the social map of the University. It wasn’t long before she started to receive callers. Chaps in blazers and girls in pearls came to her door to introduce themselves. Invitations start to stack up on her mantle piece. She started to go out at night to parties. Sally realised that Talia had joined the posh set where she probably best fitted in. She no longer felt comfortable going to knock on her neighbour’s door. She felt uneasy when she saw her former friend, and walked by on the other side of the quad to avoid her.
“Oh well, she thought. “My mother told me that I probably wouldn’t keep the friends I made in my first term. And I think that’s proving right already.”

And that was third part of our Awaking Beauty Series. If you would like to know if Talia and Sally become friends again, then look out for the next episode. In the meantime you can find loads more classic and original stories on Storynory.com. And if you feel like supporting storynory, you can find a donate button in our side, or you can buy our iPhone app from the Apple store. For now, from me, Elizabeth, Goodbye

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

Bertie, the guiding spirit of Storynory, is a frog who likes to tell stories about the time when he was a human prince. His adventures range far and wide, and this one is no exception. We learn how when Bertie was a teenage prince, the king was afraid that he was growing into a “softy”. In order to toughen him up, he packed Bertie off to a boot camp in Scotland.

We think Bertie’s back on form with this story, and we hope that you are going to enjoy it !

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie. Duration 16.40.

When Bertie was a wee small prince his father, the King, was planning to pack him off to boarding school in Scotland. The king had been to that boarding school. And the king’s father had been to it. And his grandfather. Not to mention his great grand father, and his great great grandfather and who had also been school captain. All of them had suffered terribly at that school, and had absolutely hated it, but naturally they sent their sons there because it was the family tradition.

But fortunately, Bertie’s mother was still alive in those days, and she said “Absolutely not”, and “Not on your Nelly,” and she made the King promise never to send Bertie to boarding school. And as the King kept his promises, he didn’t, even after the queen passed up to a higher kingdom.

And so Bertie went to the day school in the palace.

One afternoon, when Bertie was already a teenage prince, the king came to watch him play in a school soccer match. Bertie was in goal. It wasn’t his normal position, but the regular keeper was in hospital with frostbite, and Bertie was absolutely frozen.

The king thought: “My boy looks a bit pathetic hopping up and down like a rabbit on the goal line,”

When Prince Boris came running into the penalty box with the ball at his feet, the king shouted:

“Bertie, come out,” and Bertie dived towards the ball, but Boris “accidentally on purpose” kicked Bertie’s head and scored in the corner of the net, before doing a cartwheel while his father, the Grand Duke von Clutterbuck shouted, “Great shot Boris. Now put another one past that weedy keeper.”

There was a cut above Bertie’s eye and he was quite dazed. The teacher shouted:

“Play on, it’s just a scratch,”

Bertie was so dizzy that he tripped over a blade of grass and Boris easily scored a second goal. In fact, by the time of the final whistle, the score was five nil.

That evening, when the king was sitting by the fire with the wicked queen, he said:

“Do you know. I”m rather worried that Bertie’s turning out to be a bit of a softy.”

“So am I. So am I, “ sympathized the Wicked Step Mother, who was a very different character from Bertie’s real mother, and greatly regretted that Bertie wasn’t away at boarding school. She went on: “Did you hear my dear, that after your old school was closed down for cruelty to children, it reopened as an exclusive, five star, all-inclusive, boot camp? “

“A boot camp,” echoed the King. “ Do you mean it puts on lots of out healthy activities like obstacle courses, cold baths, cross country runs, that sort of thing?”

“Exactly,” said the Queen.

“Just the ticket for a boy whose going a bit soft,” agreed the King.

And so it was, with the best of intentions, the king booked Bertie into the boot camp, because of course it wasn’t boarding school – but it was the next worst thing.

It was summer in the highlands of Scotland, which meant that when it wasn’t raining, clouds of midges descended from sky and ate you alive. The water in the loch was so cold that if you went swimming in it, you would come out looking like the Loch Ness monster. The windows in the old school house were so drafty, that at night it sounded like a pack of ghosts was trying to get in.

In fact, it was just the perfect setting for an all inclusive boot camp.

And Prince Boris’s father, who liked to keep up with the latest trends in the palace, sent his son there too, which was doubly unfortunate, because, you see, Bertie couldn’t stand Boris.

The master of the camp was Major Tim Smily-Hook (retired). Major Tim, as everyone knew him, wore a black patch over one eye, and walked with a stick as a result of his various war wounds. As Major Tim sipped a mug of brick colored tea laced with a wee drab of whiskey, he was contemplating the rare honour of a personal letter from none other than her Majesty, The Wicked Queen. It read.

Dear Major Tim,

I commend to your care my step-son, Prince Bertie. Hitherto he has led a sheltered life within the confines of our Palace. It his Majesty the King’s fear that Bertie is turning into a softy. We require a SHORT SHARP SHOCK to straighten him out. Please provide him with your FULLEST service.

Yours

Hilda HR

P.S.

Give him HELL.

Major Tim had two sorts of clients. Some were tough kids who had been in trouble with the law, and the authorities sent them to his camp to see if a taste of the outdoors would sort them out.

Others were from rich families, and had parents like fashion designers, celebrity chefs, and retired rock stars. Normally Major Tim mixed his clients together so that they got to know people from different backgrounds. But this time he decided to do things a bit differently, as Prince Bertie discovered when he arrived the next day.

“Hi there. I’m Prince Bertie,” said our hero, as he threw his rucksack onto to a metal bunk bed.

A boy with an extremely short haircut stared at him as if he was an alien from out of space. He jabbed a finger in the direction of Bertie and said:

“Did I ken ye right? Your first name is Prince?”

“Ah actually no. My first name is Bertie. I’m a Prince. But you can call me just Bertie,”

“I’ll call you what I like. Do ye ken?”

“Ah, yes. I think I do.”

“And my name is Hans,” said a tall boy with a strong German accent. And and I will call you Prince Scum because that is a name that I like very much, HA ! “

And half a dozen voices laughed and said “Good one Hans !” because all the others in the group were tough kids, and they didn’t have a very high regard for princes.

When Bertie went out of the dorm to go to the bathroom, he wisely stopped outside the door and listened to what the boys inside were saying about him. He heard Hans’s voice.

“I have a funny joke. In the middle of the night we will tie Prince Scum to the bed with a climbing rope, and shave off all his hair.”

There was general laughter around the room, because everyone clearly thought that would be a jolly funny joke.

And so Bertie went to the store room and found a cricket bat. On his return he climbed up onto his bunk bed with the bat and let it be known that if anyone came near him in the night, they would receive a Six. And although none of the boys played cricket they understood that a Six with a cricket bat would probably hurt quite a lot, and they forgot their plan to tie him to the bed, and went to sleep.

The following morning in the dining hall, as the newcomers to the boot camp tried to eat the world’s lumpiest porridge and the coldest hardest, toast, Boris spotted his fellow prince and called out:

“Hey Bertie. I hear you didn’t sleep much last night,”.

And there was general laughter all around the hall, because the story of Bertie and the cricket bat had already got around. It was true, he hadn’t been able to sleep much, as he was on the look out for attackers all night long.

Over the following two weeks they tried all sorts of new activities such as a canoeing expedition on Loch Gorm, during which Bertie capsized dozens of times and was soaked through for two whole days; climbing, in which Bertie found that he could cling to the tiniest of pimples on the rock face of a mountain , and somehow scramble up an impossible cliff with a looping overhang at the top,; abseiling down a rope from a terrifying height; endless hikes up mountains through the drizzle and mist, during which Bertie somehow managed to appreciate the beauty of Scotland. He thought it quite remarkable that if you arrange rocks, thistles, mists and gushing streams in just the right fashion, they become stunningly attractive to the eye. It was just a pity about the rain and the biting attacks by flying insects, which the Scottish lads called “Wee beasties”.

But a greater torment than the “Wee Beasties”, the boys from Hamburg and Glasgow, still made it clear that they didn’t think much of princes whose fathers paid for them to come on all inclusive boot camps.

He shared his supply of chocolate, which softened their attitude a little bit. He stood up to Hans, who threated to punch him, and then backed off. That won him a little respect. But as they approached the end of the boot camp. Bertie had still not made any friends. He didn’t feel miserable. Two weeks of wet and cold had made him indifferent to almost everything.

Captain Tim wondered if he had given Bertie a hard enough time to satisfy the wicked queen. He concluded:

“Probably not. He’s not cracked a bit. The young prince has had it way too easy.”

And so for the grand finale to the boot camp he thought up a new activity that he was certain would sort Bertie out. It was a game of hide and seek, only with a few original twists.

Boris lead a group of seekers. Bertie lead a group of hiders. The major borrowed a pack of hunting dogs/

“Right now Boris. Here’s something I pinched from the laundry that will help the dogs get the scent.”

And he handed him a pair of Royal Blue y-fronts with royal crest embroidered on the hem. They could only have belonged to Prince Bertie.

“Why thanks major Tim,” said Boris.

“‘Oh, and when you catch anyone, chuck em in the coal hole for the night. “

“Right oh,” said Boris. The Cole Hole was a cavern beneath the school. It would make an excellent dungeon – cold, damp, dirty, and pitch black. I was said to be haunted by the ghosts of boys who had died while at the boarding school.

And Major Tim thought to himself, “Well if Bertie doesn’t go back to the Wicked Queen crying that he had the worst time of his life, then my name’s Florence Nightingale.”

As darkness fell, Bertie’s group split up and ran into the woods. Billy ran into the barn and hid in some hay stacks. Hans found a cave in some rocks. The others dug holes in the ground and covered themselves with leaves, or built shelters and disguised them with bushes. Bertie ran as far as he could. When he heard the sound of barking he thought:

“Oh oh. They’ve set the hounds on us. That’s not playing fair.”

He started to splash along a stream to put them off the scent. He thought of running across the road and hiding in the next door farm, but that was out of bounds. Then he had a better idea. He saw a branch of a tree that was overhanging the stream. He pulled himself up onto it, and started to climb upwards. He went higher and higher until he was lost among the canopies.

The dogs were all over the woods and the others were being unearthed like so many rabbits. He heard Boris shout.

“Bertie I can see you. Come out with your hands up.”

But he knew it was just a bluff because Boris was also cursing the dogs for not finding Bertie’s scent. When he had rounded up all eleven of the other group and taken them off to the coal hole, he came back again for Bertie. It was getting on for midnight. Bertie looked was growing tired clinging to a branch high up in his tree, but he listened with satisfaction as Boris led the dogs across the road and into the next door farm.

When the hunters finally gave up and went back home, Bertie climbed down from his tree. He was tempted to go back to bed by himself, but then he thought of the others lying in the dark coal hole. He didn’t care for them much, and he it might serve them right. Then he felt a sense of injustice rising up inside him.

“Nobody deserves to be treated like that,” he thought.

And so he sneaked passed the sleeping sentry, unbolted the coal hole, and released the prisoners. They came out covered in dirt and spluttering with coal dust. The sentry, who was the daughter of a TV weather man, awoke, but she was frightened by the dark figures emerging out of the coal hole, and she pretended to be still asleep. They all ran back to the showers and spent the night tucked up in bed.

In the morning, an angry farmer called to say that a pack of dogs had been running through is crops. Major Tim was not pleased with Boris.

But as for Bertie… need I say that he was a bit of a hero? Even Hans shook his hand and apologised for calling him Prince Scum. Billy patted him on the back and said,

“Now I ken that you’re a great lad, even if you are a prince.”

And Bertie invited them all to come and stay at the palace for Christmas. He knew that the Wicked Queen would hardly be pleased, but he didn’t really care about that.
He danced with the prettiest girl at the end of camp jig – but of course he didn’t forget the lovely Princess Beatrice. And Major Tim wrote to the Wicked Queen saying.

“I gave him my worst, but Prince Bertie is a tough nut and a hard case, and if he ever wants a job in the marines, I’d be glad to recommend him.

Download the audio to your computer (Right Click, Save As)

The Emperor of China has such a vivid dream of his true love, that he is able to describe her to an artist who paints her portrait. A courtier then takes the picture of the Emperor’s dream girl, and goes out in search of her in the real world.

Although this story is set in China, it actually comes from Persia. Bertie found it in a book called “Flowers from a Persian Garden and Other Papers by William Alexander Clouston” (1890) and he thought it was an exceptionally charming story. He’s rewritten his own version in modern English.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 8.57. Storynory version by Bertie.

The Emperor of China was in love with a dream, or to be more precise, with a girl whom he had seen in his dreams, but never in real life. Every night when he fell asleep, he saw her walking in a garden, wearing the most beautiful silks. He could hear her soft voice singing to herself. He could see her pick a cherry from a bowl and pop it into her delicate mouth.

He was so entranced with his dream girl that he asked the court painter to create a portrait of her. He described her elegant feet, her rounded nose, and everything about her, including the exact way she shook her head with a playful frown on her forehead – like so. And as the artist was very skilled, he turned the Emperor’s words into their perfect likeness in paint.

Although the Emperor was pleased with the picture, his courtiers understood that he would be even more delighted by a living copy of the dream, made out of flesh and blood. One of them, realizing that he would receive a rich reward for discovering this beauty in real life, swore on oath to the emperor that he would find her within a year. The emperor agreed to let this young man take the portrait with him, and he set out in search of her.

He traveled through villages and cities, along rivers and over mountains, and where-ever he went, he showed the portrait of the dream–girl to those whom he met. Often, a cunning stranger, hoping to connect his family to the Emperor, would lead him to his or her own daughter. He found several young women who indeed were very like the portrait, but none who bore an exact likeness to it. Eventually, as the year drew to a close, he began to fear the Emperor’s anger when he confessed that he had failed in his quest. He wondered if it was safe to return to the imperial court without the dream girl. But as he was riding along the bottom of a deep ravine, he met an old hermit. He showed him the picture, and the hermit immediately recognized it as the portrait as Princess Rúm.

The young man hurried as fast as he could to the palace belonging to the father of the princess. The father confirmed that the picture was the exact likeness of his daughter. The young man was allowed to glimpse her walking in the garden, and he saw that it was true. He had found the object of his quest. In great excitement, he told the prince that The Emperor wished to marry his daughter. But the prince replied:

“Unfortunately, my daughter has a great aversion to all men. On her sixteenth birthday she had a dream in which she saw a peacock and his family. He was a vein bird who liked to puff out his chest and make a great display of his plumage. All the females were greatly impressed by him. But when a polecat came into the garden, the proud peacock ran and hid behind the sheds while his wife and children were attacked and eaten. Ever since that dream, the princess has taken the view that all men are selfish and good for nothing. She has resolved never to marry.”

The young man was greatly disappointed with this news. He returned to the Emperor’s palace, expecting to be punished for failing to live up to his boastful promise to bring back the real-life likeness of the picture. He fell down before the Emperor, told him of his discovery, and begged for mercy.

But the emperor was not angry. In fact he was pleased, because it had turned out that the girl, like himself, was a great dreamer. He told the young man to return to the princess’s father, to beg an audience with the young woman, and to relate to her the following story:

One morning in spring, a family of dear were nibbling grass on the river bank when suddenly a flood of melted snow flashed down from the mountains. The fawn was carried away by the water. The doe, in terror for her life, fled away from the banks. The stag, however, jumped into the water and struggled to save the fawn, until he himself was swept away and drowned.

The young man returned to the palace of Princess Rum. He knelt before her in the garden and said:

“Your highness. One who dreams of your hand in marriage has asked me to tell you the following story…”

At the mention of “marriage”, young girl shook her head with a frown, but the messenger continued resolutely to relate the Emperor’s dream:
“One morning in spring, a family of dear were nibbling grass on the river bank when suddenly a flood of melted snow flashed down from the mountains. The fawn was carried away by the water. The doe, in terror for her life, fled away from the banks. The stag, however, jumped into the water and struggled to save the fawn, until he himself was swept away and drowned…. until he caught up with the fawn further down the stream and saved him”

The princess listened to the story and was impressed by how closely it resembled her own dream, although one could draw a very different conclusion from it. She thought how remarkable it was that life had brought an reply to a concern that had existed only in her head. She told the messenger to wait while she walked around the garden and thought things over. Eventually she came back to the anxious young man and said:
“You may return to your master, the dreamer, and tell him that I accept his proposal of marriage. “

Seven weeks later, Princess Rum was married to the Emperor of China, and the couple lived and dreamed happily together to the end of their days.

Download the audio (Right Click, Save As)

Katie is an ordinary girl, but there is one thing that is rather unusual about her. She’s a witch and can do magic spells. Her grandmother is a witch too, and she has a beautiful and very unusual umbrella. When Katie takes it to school, it is confiscated by Miss Vile. Then some unfortunate things start to happen.

Read by Natasha. Pictures by Tia. Story by Bertie. Duration 17.36.

Katie’s grandmother had all sorts of beautiful, but rather old fashioned, magical things. Many of them weren’t so useful these days, because science has caught up with magic in so many ways. For instance, before electric kettles were invented, witches had magic cauldrons that boiled the water without any need to put them on the fire. Well Katie’s grandma still used one of those to make her tea and coffee. Before phones were invented, witches used to call one another using crystal balls, and Katie’s grandma absolutely refused to get a mobile phone or a computer, so if you wanted to send her a text message, you had to use a crystal ball. And of course she still kept a witch’s broomstick, though of course these days most witches prefer to drive a car or take the bus, because broom sticks are not very comfortable, and it’s all to easy to slide off them and hurt yourself.

But one of grandma’s most beautiful possessions was her umbrella. It had a golden handle that was shaped like head of a griffin. The fabric was decorated with old fashioned magic symbols, which Katie could not understand, because these days most witches learn to do spells in modern languages like English or French. But they were very beautiful and Katie loved looking at them.

Grandma was always a little scatty, even in her younger days, but as she got older, she became more and more forgetful. One day she left her umbrella in the patisserie shop. She only realised that she no longer had it when it rained the following Wednesday. She remembered that it had been raining when she visited the patisserie, and as the shop was near to where Katie lived, Katie went to fetch it. As Katie left the shop, it began to rain, and so naturally, she opened the umbrella.

Other people on the street were turning up their collars or dodging into door ways to avoid the downpour. Katie ambled along enjoying the dryness of her umbrella. But as she was passing the mobile phone store, a man barged into her.

“Oy, you could say sorry, or ‘excuse me!” exclaimed Katie. The man turned around and stared at her blankly like she wasn’t there.

Katie continued home, but it wasn’t long before she collided with a traffic warden and then was nearly run over by a woman with a pram.

“Aren’t people rude these days? “ thought Katie, “It’s just a little bit of rain. They are all in such a hurry, you would think they were all running away from a rampaging elephant or something.”

As she stepped through the door of the house, she half closed the umbrella, meaning to leave it in the hallway to dry off. And that was when she noticed something very peculiar about it. Because, until the umbrella snapped shut, she couldn’t see it. And then when it went “click”, it appeared again.

“Ah,” thought Katie, “there’s more to Grandma’s umbrella than meets the eye – in fact, you could say that nothing of it at all meets the eye. ” And she tried standing in front of the mirror with it open above her head – and do you know what? She was looking straight through herself. But if you could have seen Katie’s face, there would have been a mischievous grin on it. She thought:

“I’m going to have fun with this.”

The next morning promised a bright and sunny day – but all the same, Katie took her umbrella with her to school. She hung it up on her peg in the cloakroom, but then she thought:

“What if somebody steals it?”

So she left it open just a little, which made it invisible.

At break time, Katie’s friends Jenny and Isis were talking about their favourite TV programme. It was one of those talent contests which are so popular these days, and they were discussing who was going to win. Suddenly the hear Katie saying.

“I think it will be Annabelle McTabith, because although she’s not beautiful like most stars, she’s got an amazing singing voice.

“Ooh, Katie, you should sneak up on people like that. It’s creepy!” exclaimed Isis. But when she looked round, Katie wasn’t there, and that really was creepy.

Outside some boys were playing football. Katie didn’t like that, because they hogged a big part of the playground, and careered all over the place, getting in people’s way. When the ball rolled past Katie’s feet, she pulled it up under her umbrella so that it became invisible like her. She laughed as she heard Steve Smart saying “Where did it go? “ and all the boys were looking round all over the place. Then she carried the ball over to near the goal posts – which were actually two bags on the ground – and kicked it through them. That really got the boys exclaiming “What the? ? and “ Where did that come from?”.

Next Katie did something she had always wanted to do. She went into the Teacher’s staff room. She saw Miss Vile and Mr. sitting very cosily together, and she heard Mrs. Jefferson saying, “That boy Darcy Thomas has so many airs and graces that you would think he was royalty,” and Miss Thomas was nodding and saying, “Well you should see the parents, they’re so stuck-up that on parents day I felt I ought to curtsy to them.” Katie snickered because Darcy really did fancy himself rather too much, and then she remembered that she had to keep quiet.

The he bell rang for lessons and Mr. Hutchinson said: “Oh no, I don’t think I can face the hooligans of Class 4 C.”

Katie hurried back to her class room. She sat down next to Isis and held the umbrella over both of them so that they were invisible together.

Miss Vile came in, and the babble of children’s voices died down. The teacher cast her steely gaze over the room and noted the empty seats where Katie and Isis normally sat. When she turned her back, Katie let down the umbrella. There were gasps from those who saw the two friends appear. Miss Vile san round and stared them. Katie put on her most innocent face, and Isis didn’t have to put on a face because she really was innocent. Miss Vile said:

“Katie. There’s no need to bring that umbrella into the class room. It’s got a sharp point on the end and it’s against health and safety.”

“But Miss Vile, it’s valuable, and I don’t want to leave it in the cloakroom.”

“Well give it to me, and I’ll look after it.” And Katie had no choice but to give it to the teacher.

And at the end of the lesson, when Katie asked for her umbrella back, Miss Vile said: “It’s confiscated Katie. You can ask me for it back at the end of term.”

It was supposed to be a secret that Katie was a witch, but of course Miss Vile had seen more than a few odd things happen during her time teaching her, and she had her suspicions. Her instinct told her that there was something pretty unusual about the umbrella, and of course, she was right.

Suddenly it seemed like Miss Vile was everywhere all at once.

Some boys who were kicking bags around the cloakroom didn’t notice that Miss Vile was watching them.

In class 4 C, when Mr. Hutchinson’s back was turned, the “hooligans” started chatting to each other. Somehow they didn’t notice that Miss Vile was in the room and noting down their names.

When Isis and Katie were trying out lipstick in the girl’s loos, they didn’t realise that Miss vile was standing behind them. Make up was banned in school and they were both in trouble.

In fact, it seemed like nobody could get away with anything anymore. No illegal snacks, no talking out of turn, no play-fights, no sneaking into out of bound places like the bike sheds, and no mucking around of any kind at all between lessons.

On Friday evening the detention class after school was the biggest than anyone had known. It had 30 people in it, and 27 of them had been put there by Miss Vile. And there are no prizes for guessing which teacher was wearing a very smug and satisfied smile on her face.

Of course Katie understood that Miss Vile was using the umbrella to make herself invisible. But there was nothing she could do about it. It was a good thing that nobody else knew, or they would have all blamed Katie for the new reign of terror that was gripping the school.

That weekend, grandmother came to visit, and Katie had to admit what had happened to her umbrella.

“I’m really, really sorry gran,” said Katie. “It’s a terrible and I don’t know what to do about it.”

At first, Gran was a little bit grumpy about her missing umbrella. All Sunday she kept on making remarks like, “I only asked you to fetch it from the patisserie, not take it to school.” and “It’s an antique not a toy, ” and “You can’t get another one like that these days for love or money.” And to mum chipped in too, telling Katie that it had been extremely silly of her to take such a valuable thing to school, and she only had herself to blame for what had happened.

But by evening, Gran had softened her tone a bit, and must as she was getting ready to fly home, she said:

“You know Katie, I’m probably a fool to do this, but I”m going to lend you my spare spectacles. And this time you do have my permission to take them to school, only you must promise to be very careful with them.”

And she rumbled in her handbag – which was always so full of many more things than could possibly be kept in there, except by magic – and finally she found the case with her spare spectacles in them.

Katie put the glasses on and looked at herself in the mirror. They were a very ornate pair, made of gold and decorated with precious stones.

“Hmm, they don’t really suit your face, do they?” said Grandma. And she said a magic spell which made them look trendy – or rather Grandma’s idea of trendy – which mean the frames were large and square and bright blue.

“Thanks grandma,” said Katie,”But why are you lending them to me?”

“You’ll see,” said Grandma. “Or rather, they will help you to see.”

On monday morning, Katie wore grandma’s glasses to school.

Jenny said “Hello four eyes,” and Michelle thought they made her look cute. But Isis said that they were a total fashion disaster. Michael said “I didn’t know you were short sighted Katie,” and Katie replied. “Neither did I until yesterday. “

It wasn’t until the break at lunch time that Katie understood what the glasses were for. Isabelle was walking down the corridor and she sneakily took a piece of chewing gum out of her pocket and popped it into her mouth. Katie was walking towards her and was trying to signal frantically that Miss Vile was standing in a doorway and had seen the whole crime – but it was too late. Isabelle was signed up for detention.

But of course what Katie had also seen, was that Miss Vile was holding up her umbrella over her head. Now she understood that the glasses enabled her to see everything – even things and people that were invisible.

She decided to follow Miss Vile and see what she did next. She saw her go into the playground and catch a boy who climbed over the fence into the caretaker’s yard to retrieve a lost football.

Then she saw Miss Vile go into the staff room – and do you know what? She didn’t taken down her umbrella.

“That’s a naughty Miss Vile,” thought Katie, “She spying on the other teachers.”

After school, Katie saw Miss Vile standing standing by the school gate and watching them all. She was holding up her umbrella and nobody could see her except Katie.

Katie came up to her and said: “Hello Miss Vile, would you like a piece of chewing gum,” and Miss Vile.

“Katie. You know perfectly well that chewing gum is illegal.”

“But nobody will see you, will they Miss?”

And Miss Vile smiled. “No they would’t, would they? But as it happens, teachers can’t break the school rules. It would be setting a bad example and I would have to put myself in detention.”

Katie laughed and said, “That’s good, because I don’t actually have any gum. But Miss. I’ve got a question. Do you think it’s ok for teachers to use magic? “

And and a rather uneasy smile passed over Miss Vile’s face, because she knew just as well ask Katie that magic was agains the school rules. And not just a little bit against them.

I mean,” said Katie, “if Miss Hepworth was to find out that your recent success at crime detection was all down to my grandma’s magic umbrella, do you think she would be pleased?”

And as Miss Hepworth was the head teacher Miss Vile realised that something she would not like to happen at all. Not one little bit.

“Well Katie,” she said. “I heard on the radio this morning that the weather forecast is for rain. I don’t think it would be right for me to hang on to your grandmother’s umbrella anymore. Perhaps you could take it home for me,”

And of course Katie was happy about that.

“You won’t say anything about this will you? ” said Miss Vile.

Text copyright hugh fraser 2010

Download the audio (Right Click, Save As)

The crane, an elegant and beautiful bird, is considered to be auspicious in Japan. In this story, a poor farmer receives good fortune after he rescues a wounded crane. But unfortunately his curiosity gets the better of him, and his luck does not hold out. It’s a short, rather sad, but beautiful story.

Read by Richard Scott. Version by Bertie Duration 7.23

It was winter. The fields were covered with snow, and the winding river was frozen so thickly that you could walk on it. A poor farmer was returning home along the river bank, when he heard a noise from inside a frosty thicket. He understood right away that it was a wounded bird, and his first thought was that it would make an easy catch to take home and boil his pot. But when he parted the twigs and undergrowth, he found a such a beautiful bird that he did not have the heart to kill it. It was a crane, whose side had been pierced by an arrow. He pulled out the shaft and rubbed some balm into the wound. The crane spread out its wings and soared into the the sky.

The farmer returned to his hovel, ate half a bowl of rice, and went to bed as soon as it was dark, because there was nothing else to do. In the early hours of the morning he heard a tap tap tapping at his door. At first he thought it was the wind, and then he wondered if it was a ghost. At last he realised that he would not sleep until he opened up and saw who or what was there. He lifted up the latch,expecting to see a ghastly apparition in the moonlight. He was prepared for a specter from the spirit world. His hand, clasping a great knife, was ready for a robber. But he was utterly unready for the face of a beautiful girl. In fact, she was so lovely that he was quite startled. He was simply amazed that anyone could be so gorgeous, let alone standing at his door.

He let the girl in, and she slept on his bed, while he lay by the ashes of the fire. After she had stayed with him for three days and nights, he finally found the words to ask her to marry him, though he never expected her to accept. The girl replied that she had come to his door hoping that he would ask that very question, and she gladly accepted. The farmer thought to himself,

“Until just recently, I was lonely, poor and wretched. Now I am still poor, but chance or some god has brought me happiness.”

But nobody can live on love alone. The winter was long and hard, the couple ran out of rice to take the edge of their hunger. The farmer said: “What are we to? I have no food, no money, and nothing we can sell.” He himself was on the brink of tears, and he expected that his wife would either grow angry with him for failing to provide for them both, or to break down in sobs. This, he thought, was the end of their happiness. But instead she smiled and said:
“Dear Husband. Do not worry or fret. I will weave a cloth, and you shall take it to the market to sell.”

The farmer shrugged his shoulders, because they had no thread to weave. But his wife went into the one and only room of their house and as she closed the door she said:

“Whatever you do, do not come in.”

Some hours later, she came out of the room carrying a beautiful cloth. It was embroidered with flowers and birds and was so beautiful that it was fit for a princess. The next day the farmer took it to the market and sold it for a great sum. They couple had enough money to last them several winters.

But when you have money, there is a tendency to spend. You forget how careful you once were, you buy whatever you want, and you pay prices that are sometimes over the odds. In short, the money run out, and once again the couple were poor. The farmer was again on the edge of despair but his wife said.

“Do not fret. I will weave another cloth. I will go into the back room and work. But whatever you do, do not peep in until I come out.”

While his wife weaved, the farmer sat and wondered how he had been so fortunate to have found such a woman , one so lovely, one who loved him, and one who was able to weave cloth out of nothing. He recalled how she had turned up at his door on a winter’s night, and he thought about how little he knew or understood who she was, why she had come to him, or how she weaved the cloth/ He lived with her. He loved her. Yet he hardly knew her. At last his curiosity overcame him. He opened the door a crack and he peeped in.

And this is what he saw. It was his wife, but not a woman. She was the crane that he had saved from the thicket. On the floor was an intricate pattern of feathers, and as she worked, she plucked yet more feathers from her own breast. The cost to her was pain and loss of her own plumage, but she was ready to inflict this on herself for him. But then the bird looked up and saw him. She let out a cry and and shed a single tear from her eye. She flapped her wings and flew up and away, out through the hole in the roof that served as a chimney in the cottage.
And that was the last the poor farmer ever saw of the grateful crane who had become his wife, and who had plucked feathers from her own breast to keep him from poverty. He never married again, and lived to the end of his days alone.

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

The second part in our Awaking Beauty series which began here. If you heard the first part, you’ll know that Princess Talia has woken up somewhat confused. She is a student at an ancient college – but she’s not quite sure how she got there. In this episode we will find out how she fits in to her new surroundings.

Read by Elizabeth. Story by Bertie. Duration 15.37

Ancient rules governed the conversation over dinner at Westerly College. For instance, it was forbidden to discuss the paintings on the wall or women who were not present. At least one of those diktats was being thoroughly broken that night, for the gossip on all the Freshers’ lips was of the princess who slept through tutorials and who called her fellow undergraduates, “peasants”.

The Rector of the College stood up at the High Table and declared the Latin grace.

“Benedictus benedicat”

And just as the first course of watery soup was being served, a dark, beautiful woman clad in long scholar’s gown strode into the Hall. On her chest she wore a star glittering with diamonds. Nobody was in doubt about who she was. She headed for the High Table, but was directed by one of the scouts, a servant who looked as old as the college, to sit with the other undergraduates.

She picked up a bent, stainless steal spoon and stared at it with disdain. When she tried the soup she wrinkled her nose with disgust.

“This is not fit for the pigs,” she declared.

There was many a sly grin, and even a chuckle around the hall.

Sally was seated at the other end of the table from Talia. A law student asked her:

“You do Classics with the princess don’t you? Is she as snooty as she seems?”

“Not really, “ said Sally. “I think she’s just lost. She’s never had to mix with us commoners, I expect.”

But there were few people present who took so charitable view of the princess. “Who does she think she’s impressing with her diamonds?” was typical comment among the girls. And as for the boys, most were far too shy to talk to such a stunning beauty, let alone to a princess.

But Basil, who was seated opposite the Her Royal Highness, or HRH as they had already started to call her behind her back, was not afraid to speak to Talia. After all, he had already woken her with a kiss.

“Princess,” he said. “Are you feeling less sleepy now?”

Princess Talia fixed him with her blue gaze.

“Is that your idea of a joke?” she asked.

“No, it’s a polite question”

“Good, because I do not find it funny,” she replied. And then she tried another spoonful of soup and spluttered it back into the bowl. She muttered, “Will somebody please cut off the wretched cook’s head,” and she left the table, grabbing a piece of bread as she went.

At about three in the morning, harp music drifted into Sally’s consciousness. Next door, Talia began to sing, sweetly and sadly, It was hard to make out the words, as they sounded like they were in old English, but she did catch “Alas” and “Woe”.

Sally gently knocked on the Princess’s door, and heard the response from within.

“You may enter.”

“The song is sad this time,” said Sally, as she came into the richly furnished room which was lit by a candelabra of scented wax tapers. She was sure that candles must be an illegal fire risk – even toasters were banned.

“That is because I am sad,” replied the princess, now resting her head against her harp.

“Will you tell me why?” asked Sally.

“I miss my parents.”

“Where are they?”

“Dead.”

“Oh I see. I’m sorry,” said Sally. And she asked if the princess wanted to tell her more about it.

“It is not a secret,” said Talia, “I looked it up in the Library. They died of the sleeping sickness . And I myself have slept for around a thousand years. Now, strange to say, I am not tired, and so I sit and play music. I hope that I am not disturbing you.”

But Sally did feel disturbed, spookily disturbed. She shivered. “That’s not funny,” she said. “You shouldn’t joke about your parents being dead.”

“It is no joke,” said the Princess. “I read it in a story.”

And when Sally went back to her room, she could not sleep, not because of the music, but because she could not forget the creepy conversation. Next time somebody asked her what Princess Talia was really like, she replied, “Strange.”

***

Basil was Talia’s tutorial partner. He said that she wrote her essays in a beautiful manuscript hand, and when their tutor asked her a question, she replied the first time in Ancient Greek, before switching to Latin and finally English.

“PJ’s in love with her,” he joked. PJ was their tutor, and although he was not in love with her, he was in awe of his new scholar’s beauty and brilliance. In fact, he hardly paid any attention to Basil during the tutorial. Afterwards, when Basil asked her how she had learned to speak Latin and Ancient Greek fluently, she shrugged her shoulders and said “Why? I have the gift of languages. I read all of Homer when I was eight years old. ”

At the end of the first week of term, Sally received a visit in her room from her Royal neighbour. Talia’s gaze passed over the unmade bed with an old teddy lying on the pillow, the headphones, the illegal toaster, the lipstick stained teacups, the books piled on the floor, and the clothes lingering in heaps.

“I see your scout has not been to clean up,” she commented. And Sally explained that she came later in the morning, to allow her to sleep in until ten o’clock.

“I have a letter from my god-mother,” went on the princess. “She says I must use this card and a secret code to obtain money. Do you understand this thing?” And she showed her a black plastic bank-card.

“Sure,” said Sally, “You stick it in the hole in the wall.” And when Talia looked baffled, she offered to come with her to the bank and show her how to use it.

As they stepped out of the college, a bicycle shot by.

“Woh!” said Talia, quite alarmed.

“I know. They aren’t supposed to ride on this street, “ said Sally. “Look a policeman is stopping him.” The narrow street was busy, as always, with people walking up and down, their footsteps and conversations echoing around the ancient stones. At the end they turned onto the shopping street with its rumbling of traffic. Talia tugged on Sally’s sleeve.

“I can’t go on,” she said. “This quest is too frightening for me, “ and she turned back to the college. Sally wondered if the princess was suffering from something like agoraphobia.

Later n the Junior Common Room , a small group of students were discussing the subject of Princess Talia, not for the first time, while lounging with cups of coco.

‘She’s just putting on an act to seek attention,” said Jennie, who was a scraggy English Lit student. Matt, on whose shoulder Jennie was resting her head, asked: “She’s princess of where did you say?” But nobody knew where Talia was from. Jennie suggested: “In all probability she’s from Essex.”

They did not realise that Princess Talia was in the room and had overheard their conversation.

“No, I am not from Essex,” she said as she loomed over them, richly dressed and bejeweled as usual. “I am from Wessex. “

“Oh you’re a Wessex girl,” said Matt.

“I would thank you not to be so rude to your betters,” replied the Princess. “And do not gossip about me, if you do not wish your tongue to be cut out.”

“Is she for real?” asked Jennie when Talia was gone.

“I’m afraid she is,” said Matt.

Princess Talia needed money to buy food, because she couldn’t stand the stuff they served up in the hall, but she was still terrified of stepping outside onto the street. Finally, she resolved her dilemma. by entrusting her black bank card and her secret number to Sally, who withdrew £50 from the machine, and then visited the covered market to buy walnut bread, pheasant pate, Roquefort cheese, flesh plums, apricots, and other delicacies. She presented the basket of food, and the remaining money, in the form of a handful of coins and some smoothly rolled banknotes, to Talia. The princess examined the notes with great curiosity.

“This parchment is valuable?” she asked. “Are you sure?”

“Why yes,” said Sally. “It’s a twenty pound note.”

“And who is this?” asked the princess, pointing to the portrait of a lady on the note.

“Why the Queen.”

“I must meet her,” said Talia with determination. “Will you arrange it for me, sally?” Her eyes were full of such intensity that she seemed almost crazy Sally, quite bemused, replied, “Sure I’ll just text Lizzy right now. “

She too was now wondering if Talia was “for real,” and when the next day Talia met her in the quad and demanded to know if the Queen had agreed to meet her, Sally couldn’t help exclaiming that her friend must be off her head if she really thought that she could fix a tete a tete with the monarch. Talia flew into a rage and said:

“Don’t speak to me in that tone as if I am some sort of mad woman. It’s quite clear that I can’t rely on you to the smallest thing for me. I’ll ask somebody efficient to make this arrangement. In fact, I’ll ask my godmother, even though I only do that as a last resort, but this is a last retort.”

Sally was quite shaken by this outburst. If it wasn’t obvious that the princess was off her head, she would have been more angry with her. Anyway, it made an amusing story over dinner when she told Jennie and Matt that Talia expected wanted to see the Queen.

The following Friday, a sleek black car drew up into the back quad and a smart man in a suit stepped out and went to fetch Talia from her room. The limousine brought her back following afternoon.

“I met your queen,” said Talia when she saw Sally, “But I didn’t think much of her. Oh she was perfectly polite, but she didn’t seem to know who I was, and she couldn’t help me one little bit. It was a waste of time. But at least I’m not afraid of automobiles any more. In fact, now I have been inside one, I see that they are most convenient, and far better than a horse in every respect. I shall ask my godmother to make one available for me at all times.”

And after that, there was always a black car waiting in the quad for Princess Talia. She hardly ever used it, and the drivers who worked in shifts, either slept on the back seat or took walks around the college. The students thought they were quite sinister. They never took their jackets off, and Basil reckoned that they packed guns in holsters under their arms.

The black cars and the “body guards” were pretty convincing, even to the most skeptical scholars Nobody in college now doubted that Princess Talia was “for real” but who she really was, remained a mystery.

And that was the second episode in our new series, the Awaking Beauty. We’ll be following Princess Talia through her time as a student at Westerly College, and we’ll find out if the real princess managers to adjust to the real world.

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

We begin a new series that updates a very old fairytale. We follow the fortunes of Princess Talia who fell asleep sometime in the middle ages, and now wakes up in the middle of a tutorial at Oxford University.

The plot arose from asking the question: if you had slept for hundreds of years, where is the one place that might not have changed very much? Bertie thought that it would probably be an Oxford College where very little ever changes. The trick has been to write a story about college students that will appeal to a slightly younger audience. Let us know what you think !

Read by Elizabeth. Story by Bertie. Duration 13.38.

Sally was just longing for her parents to leave. It had been very kind of them to drive her up to her new college, but now she had been smothered and mothered quite enough. After 18 years, she had received all the advice she needed about hot her water bottle, her vitamin pills, and her beauty sleep.

“And just one word before we go,” said Mum as she held both her daughter’s hands tightly: “Don’t ever turn down an invitation to a party, You never know who you might meet, especially in a place like this.”

When her parents stepped out through the door of the Porter’s Lodge, and back into the real world of light, noise and pollution, Sally turned around and looked at the honey coloured stone of Westerly College. For almost 800 years, students had walked around the quadrangle, past the dining hall, the chapel, and the doors that opened onto creaky staircases. Very little had changed down the centuries. The only discernible evidence of the modern world was the faintest rumbling of traffic from the street beyond the college walls.

“It’s just like a fairy tale,” thought Sally to herself, “Like a castle in an enchanted wood, that has been asleep for centuries.”

She went back to her room and lay on her narrow, lumpy bed. Suddenly she felt restless. Was her new life to consist of these four oak paneled walls? The spirits of all the students who had lived in this room down the centuries were not much company. For a moment or two, she even missed her parents. She resolved not to be lonely. She got up, went out of her room, and tapped on her neighbour’s door.

“This is the knock of destiny,” she said to herself, “Perhaps the door will be opened by an Arabian prince, or perhaps by the daughter of a postman. Either way, I have this feeling that we will be life-long friends.”

But no reply came from within. Whoever he or she might be was out, no-doubt hob-nobbing with brilliant and fascinating friends. Sally went back to listen to The Killers on her mp3 player.

The next day, she knocked on the door of her tutor, and as it was half open already, she entered his room. She saw two boys sitting on chairs, and a girl stretched out on the sofa with her nose buried in a cushion. The boys were in jeans and t-shirts, that hardly matched the black academic gowns draped on their backs. The sleeping girl wore a purple velvet dress, embroidered with a rich pattern of leaves and exotic birds. Her auburn hair rolled down her face in ringlets. Her arm dropped limply down to the floor. A bracelet clustered with jewels dangled on her wrist. Her expression was of serene innocence.

One of the boys smiled at Sally and put his finger over his lips to say “Shshsh.”

Two more students arrived before their dome-headed, wooly-jumpered tutor appeared out of what looked like a cupboard, but was probably a door to a side room. His name was P.J. Patridge and he knew more about an Alexandrian writer called Achilles Tatius than anyone who had ever lived, unless you count Achilles Tatius’s own mother. Mr Patridge twitched his nose at a first year Classics students and asked,

“Are we all here?”

Sally judged that this would be an ideal moment for somebody to give the sleeping girl a prod, but nobody was up to the venture. If this had been school, the teacher would have woken her up pretty sharpish, in fact a mere yawn would have been worthy of a rebuke, but Mr. Patridge just ignored her. It wasn’t clear if he hadn’t noticed the girl on the couch, or he was too shy to make a fuss about anyone who cared to sleep while he was giving out his wisdom.

When the tutor had finished handing out the term’s reading list, there was a general shuffling and stirring as students slid notebooks into rucksacks and brief cases. The girl slumbered on as if she meant to snooze for another 100 years.

Sally asked nobody in particular: “Is she okay?”

“Well she can’t stay here,” said Mr. Patridge, “I’m out to lunch.” A tall youth, who would have been extremely good looking if it wasn’t for his acne scars, went over to the couch and gently put his hand on her shoulder. He tried to stir her to no effect.

Sally suggested: “Perhaps the way to wake a sleeping beauty is with a kiss?” And the boy said, “Right. I’ll plant one on her.” He knelt on one knee and pressed his lips to her pale cheek. The girl’s mouth smiled gently, lovingly.

“My prince,” she said.

“Wakie, Wakie,” said the boy.

The girl hooked her arm around his head and pulled him towards her face.

“Woooooh!” chorused three or four voices.

She sat up and stared intensely at the youthful faces, and then at the tutor’s. Her eyes were blue and glacial, and Sally thought that if she gazed at you long enough, she might freeze you into an ice sculpture.

“And who are these peasants?” she demanded to know.

There was nervous laughter among the students, and most people started to leave. Only Sally, the Sleeping Beauty, and the boy who had kissed her, lingered on. Mr. Partridge started to usher them too out of the door. The face of the recently awoken girl wore a dark, but nonetheless beautiful, frown.

“|’m Basil,” said the kisser, as they stood on the dimly lit landing.

“Prince Basil?” asked the girl. He shook his head. “Sir Basil?”

“Nope. Just Basil.”

“Oh.”

They went downstairs and out into the daylight of the quadrangle. The girl’s blue eyes searched up and down the walls and ran along the battlements as if she was looking for some detail or hidden clue.

“Is it a monastery?” she asked.

“No it’s a college,” said Basil bemused.

“Aren’t you an undergraduate here?” enquired Sally.

The girl looked like she was trying to understand the question.

“I’m not sure she replied.”

“Well let’s find out,” said Basil. And he led the way to the Porter’s lodge. “What’s your name?” he asked on the way.

“Talia, that is, Princess Talia,” said the girl. And Sally thought, “She’s bonkers. I bet she’s just making that up.” She noticed that several people were staring at Talia. She was certainly striking, and somewhat overdressed for a student on the first day of term.

Basil examined the pigeon holes. Sure enough, there was one marked Princess Talia. He reached in and pulled out a scrolled parchment with a waxen seal.

“You’ve got mail,” he said as he handed it to her. He asked the porter for Princess Talia’s address, and was directed to Room 7 on Staircase 14.

Sally offered to walk the princess to her room – because as it happened, she was her neighbour. Basil took his leave of the girls, and Talia gave him a nod that was so slight that perhaps only a true princess could have managed it.

Sally tried to make conversation on the way to staircase 14. She asked Talia where she went to school.

“I didn’t,” said Talia.

“And who are your parents?”

“Why the king and queen.”

“Of which country?”

“This one… or at least I think so. I’m not really sure about anything anymore. … Sally do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Sally blushed. “Go ahead,” she said with some trepidation.

“Don’t you feel a little bit odd here? I mean, it’s pretty unusual for a girl to be a student. At least, I always understood it was something boys did.”

Sally laughed. “No I think it’s perfectly normal. I mean, maybe in our grand-parents time it was a little more unusual, but now – why girls are smarter than boys, aren’t they?’

“Well yes,” said Talia. “I agree with you about that of course.”

She opened to the door to her room with the key that the porter had given her. If Sally had hung onto any doubts about Talia being a real princess, she lost them now. Her room was five or six times the size of her own. It was filled with the rich scent of roses. A four poster bed bed was strewn with rich coverlets and silken cushions. One wall almost looked as if it was a window onto a garden, but in fact it was draped with a tapestry depicting trees and birds. The actual window was a large bow one, with a seat looking onto the quad. The floor was covered with a flowery carpet. Sally wandered in after Talia.

“Can you play that?” she asked, as Talia ran her finger-tip over the ornate frame of a harp.

“Of course,” said Talia, “I have the gift of music.” She sat on the stool, and her fingers began to playfully pluck a tune. The music seemed to chase the frown off her face and she looked like she might be capable of being quite pleasant.

Sally picked up a jewelled ornament from the table. “May I?” she asked. And Princess Talia answered, still playing, that she had no idea what it was.

“Why it’s your mobile phone!” exclaimed Sally. It was the most ornate one she had ever seen. Talia did not seem to register the comment. She was lost in the music. Sally quietly left the room and lay on her bed next door listening to the delightful notes as they rang from the fingers of her most peculiar neighbour.

“Well,” she thought. “I’ve met a princess. Not bad for the first day of term. I wonder if we shall be friends? “ And although they came from completely different worlds, and the princess, no doubt, belonged to a glamorous set, Sally felt certain that it was no mere chance, but fate, that had brought them together.

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

We announce the winners of the Storynory Easter 2010 Writing Competition.

Which two young story-writers will will win a Sweetpea3 MP3 player? We shall find out, but first we will listen to a range of stories from the 80 + entries.

Many thanks to Sweetpea3 for providing the prizes !

We will be publishing the text of every story entered into our competition in due course. (As soon as our site re-organisation is ready).

Stories are read by Elizabeth with comments from our producer, Hugh, who has been helping Bertie pick the prizes.

This is Elizabeth, and I’m here with the results of the Storynory Easter 2010 Story Writing Competition. I’m going to be reading some stories and extracts from several of the contestants, and at the end, we’ll see which two lucky winners will be receiving a Sweatpea3 MP3 player ! And we would like to say a big thank you to Sweetpea3, for sponsoring our competition. They make a really cute and well thought out MP3 player for kids and it’s perfect for playing our stories.

And now I’m joined by our producer, Hugh, who has been helping Bertie to pick the winners. Hugh what has response been like?

Well it’s been fantastic. We received over 80 entries written by listeners of all ages, from all over the world. And it’s been extremely hard to pick out the winners. I have to say that in a competition like this there is a huge element of luck, because there were so many stories that were so good, that the results comes down to Bertie’s personal taste and his whim. Unfortunately, only two stories can win the Sweetpea3 MP3 players, but we are going to read out as many as we can.

So Hugh, which story would you like to highlight first?

Let’s start with a few from some from the younger contestants. This is a very imaginative one by Ali Ziad Lone aged 6 , and it’s all about a box of crayons.

Once upon a time there was a land of blue crayons. The sky was blue, everything was blue. All crayons lived happily, having blue fun, except for one who was orange, very very orange. His hair was red. He name was Orangy-red Blue but sometimes he was called Blue Red-orangy.

Thank you Elizabeth. that’s a lot of fun. And of course the stories by younger writers are often very concise. Let’s hear an entire story in three lines by Alexis MacKie, aged 6

Snowmen were at work when an earthquake shook snowwomen awake.  Fires burned in Snowville.  Snowwomen were running and helping snowmen.  I like snowmen and snowwomen.  I also like sliding on snow.  I like snow.

And I must ask you to read another really, really short story by a contestant who is just a little bit older, and that ‘s Emma Matheson, aged 7, and it’s called, The Story of Water.

My story started in a shower, when a drop of water landed on the glass wall of the shower my eyes followed it. It ran to the tile floor”

I like you” I whisper to the drop of water.

“noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” I said. The drop of water went into the drain. I started to cry. A drop of water landed on my hand.

“Oh” I said “I like you” I said.

Isn’t that just a perfect little story?

It’s lovely, but presumably not all the stories were so short?

No indeed we had some real epics, but the next one Bertie and I picked out is just a bit longer, and I think we should hear it in its entirety because it’s a really sweet tale. It’s called the Flower by Alainna Wigginton, aged 8

Once upon a time there was a young girl. Her name was Jessie. She lived in a big cottage with her mom and dad. She was an only child, but she wasn’t lonely because she had the biggest, most beautiful garden in the world. It was full of fruit trees that she loved to climb and in. One of the trees she had her own tree house. She loved to play in it, read in it, and watch birds. She was a very happy girl. It was there in the garden that she planted all the fruit and vegetables the garden could hold.

The garden was not just hers. It belonged to her whole family. They worked together to make it the biggest garden anyone had ever seen. Jessie enjoyed planting carrots, snap peas and cucumber. But her favorite thing to plant was the flowers. She loved all of the flowers in the garden, but there was only one flower in the garden she liked best. It was a beautiful blue flower with pink and yellow in the middle. Jessie knew that she would never want to let it die. She watered it every day and gave it flower food.

She had seen a lot of this kind of flower before, but there was something different about this one. It could talk! Jessie could not believe it when it said, “Hi there!” after it grew. She loved to talk with her new friend.

She did not tell her mom and dad that she had a flower friend. When they asked, “Where have you been, Jessie?” she would answer, “In the garden watering the plants.” And then she would go back outside.

One morning she asked, “May I go out to the garden and water the plants, Mom?”
“Yes, after you feed the dog,” Mom replied.

“O.K.” said Jessie. She put on her boots and went to the barn to feed Barker, their dog. He was just a little puppy. But Jessie loved him as much as the flower. She named him Barker because he liked to bark. Then Jessie came out of the barn and skipped to the garden.

“Flower!” she called.

 And the flower answered, “I’m here!” They loved to play cards, board games, and lots of other things.

On the last day of May, Jessie came out to the garden to see the flower all closed up in a ball. She kissed it goodnight and tip-toed  back inside.

I love that one because it’s so simple, and it seems to conjure up a little girl’s imaginative world so perfectly.

Yes it was lovely, But would you say that there were more boys or girls who sent stories in?

Oh definitely more girls. But there were some very exciting stories by boys too. This one has an unlikely hero in the form of a Funnel Web Spider, which is one of the most deadly spiders in the world, and to make it even more unusual, it’s set in the time of the dinosaurs. It’s a bit like Jurassic Park from a spider’s perspective, and it’s by Eden Smith aged 8. It’s pretty much all action. Let’s hear an extract from the middle of the story.

The raptor launched itself of the tree and grabbed Rhino and took him away.

“Rhino!” I shouted. “You’re goooooooooone!” I said to myself. I was very upset.

I jumped into the bushes and ran as fast as I could to catch up with the raptor. I was pushing through all of the weeds.

Suddenly, I bumped into a foot. I looked up and saw it was another tyrannosaurus rex. I really hoped it was nice and would help me, not chase me and eat me.

I said, “Hello”.

He said it back to me.

“Could you help me find my friend?” I said.

“Sure,” he said. “Hop on my back and tell me how he got lost.”

“Well,” I said. “There was a raptor in a tree that jumped out of the tree and grabbed my friend and ran away with him. I don’t know where the raptor took him.”

“Okay, where did the raptor first grab your friend?” he asked.

“Over at that tree,” I said.

“Anyway, what are your friend’s name and your name,” he said.

My name is Freak the Funnel Web and my friend’s name is Rhino the Red back.

When I told him my name and my friend’s name we went over to the tree that the raptor took Rhino the Red back away from me.

We followed the footprints of the raptor and we finally found the raptor.
I noticed that I couldn’t see Rhino.

I said to the tyrannosaurus rex, “Can you see Rhino the Red back?”

“No,” he said to me. “I can’t”.

We looked around and we couldn’t see him. A few seconds later the raptor tried to attack us but the tyrannosaurus rex tackled the raptor and it died. We walked past where the raptor was standing and we found Rhino laying on a rock.

“RHINO!” I yelled. “Are you okay?”

“Yep, I’m okay,” he said.

That’s a real boy’s story.

It certainly is. Anymore in that action packed vein?

Well the next one isn’t quite so fast paced, but we like dit, particularly for the ending which I must warn you is rather scary ! Particularly if you are a small fish. It’s by Tyler-jay McIntosh, aged 10

There was a little boy called Bill and he wanted a pet fish. So he begged and he begged and he begged until his mum could not take it anymore. The next day Bill and his mum went to the pet shop to buy a fish. While they were there Bill could not find a single fish that was right for him. So he asked the lady at the desk if there was anymore fish he could take a look at. “I have one more fish that I think you might like” the lady answered with a smile.

“Wow, cool that fish is amazing!” “I’ll take it,” said Bill with no objections at all, but the fish he lept up and danced around the whole store while humming a little tune “I am getting my very own fish my very own fish, my very own fish I am getting my very own fish and I can’t wait to take it!” By the look on Bill’s face you could tell that he was excited.

The sun was setting and the stars were forming as Bill and his mum set off through the night to get back home. Bill and his mum lived by the sea on top of a big hill so it took them 30-40mins. Bill was sitting at the edge of the window while he was also holding his fish in his hand the slightest bump, crack or slippery oil on the road would send his fish into the air and land in the sea. It was a really hot day so it must be a really hot night there for Bill’s mum winded down the windows in the car. At the side of the road there was speed limit saying “30mph” Bill’s mum didn’t worry about that because she was going 25mph. Bill’s mum did not see this coming there was a speed bump right in front of her and as soon as she realized, she pressed on the brake “hard” but it was not enough, soon the fish was flung into the air and landed into the sea with a big splash!

Meanwhile in the car, Bill and his mum were so sad about, you know who, a name that I can’t even repeat in the story anymore only Bill and his mum can. “I want my fish back!” cried Bill as loud as he could. “Don’t worry I’ll get you a new one and even better too.” “No I want my fish back!”

Meanwhile under the sea Bill’s fish wasn’t finding it easy as well. “Bill, Bill where are you?” Bill’s fish was scared as another fish said, “Hello young fish you look very plump and tasty” licking his lips at him “who are you and what do you want” Bill’s fish replied with a shaky voice. “I want some dinner and you look so tasty!”……………….

OOOOH… That’s scary..

And what would you say the competition tells us about Storynory listeners?

It’s hard to say if the competition entrants exactly represent our listeners, but I can say that up until about the age of eight, there seems to be a fairly even split between boys and girls .

The biggest group of entrants by far was made up of girls aged about nine or ten, and they come from all over the world, but particularly the English speaking countries and South East Asia. We have a lot of listeners in Vietnam, China and South Korea by the way. The contestants are very international in their outlook, they often write about travel, or living abroad. We had an interesting story about visiting Cambodia by Maisie Caldwell aged 8, and another one about Afghanistan. And Maya E. Knierim, for example, has a story about a sea dragon set in the South China Sea.

Another international young lady, Michelle Lee who was born in South Korea, and currently lives in Europe, writes about being at a boarding school overseas.

And what do the stories tell us about our listeners interests?

We can see a great deal of concern for animals with stories about ponies and stray dogs and cats, and quite a lot set in natural surroundings featuring something like a magic wind or a magic peach tree. And here’s a very nice example of that genre. It’s a story about being turned into a Butterfly by Grace Noonan aged .10 years old, and can you read us an Extract Elizabeth?

Have you ever wanted to fly? Well, my friend, Molly Micawits, had this experience. But no, not in a plane, but as a butterfly. Yes, a butterfly! Would you like me to tell you the story? Well, I am sure it will be great, because I’m Molly Micawits!

One day in mid June, I was wondering what I could do. My mom was getting annoyed that I kept asking her silly questions like “Mom, why does everyone HAVE to stay on the ground? Why can’t we float?” All the sudden she told me to go take a walk in the meadow. I decided that that was a pretty good idea so I went to the coat room to get my jacket. I was just starting my walk when I started to get dozy. All the sudden, I fell into the meadow. Luckily, the meadow was nice and soft. I slept for a while until I felt this tingling feeling. I woke up not to find the meadow, but a whole new world. I then realized that I had been transformed into a butterfly.

And there were lots of very good stories in this age range, and unfortunately there isn’t time to mention them all,

So we are getting more grown up now. Are the stories getting more sophisticated?

Yes, the age range of Storynory listeners is quite wide and that’s reflected in the competition entries. The stories by older writers have similar themes, but a bit more form and shape to the plot. and structure.

We’d like to hear one, by Katie Giffin aged 12, and she tells me that it’s based on a conversation with her dad who is a scuba diver. In fact, she’s turned the story around, and told it from the point of view of a clam, and it’s a story within a story, which is quite a sophisticated structure. It’s called USO and if you want to know what U.S.0 stands for, you’ll have to listen on.

Once upon a time in the reefs around the island of St. Thomas, a clam was coming home to his beloved family.

“Honey, I’m home!” Mr. Clam called out as he slid into his sand home. Mrs. Clam, his wife, came out from the kitchen with a green-stained apron on and his six children ran after her from the living room.

“Hi, honey! How did work go?” Mrs. Clam asked.

“Yeah, Daddy, yeah! How did work go?!” His kids surrounded him excitedly.

Mr. Clam, feeling a little claustrophobic, said, “Whoa, whoa! Please, move!” he chuckled.

“Sor-ry.” all the little clams chimed in unison, making the word two-syllables.

“Well I had an . . . interesting day . . . I’ll tell you about it at dinner.” Mr. Clam asked. “Is dinner done yet?”

“Yes, it is. I made plankton soup,” replied his wife.

“Yum! My favorite.” He nodded, seeming to agree with himself. “Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you all about my day while we eat.” The little clams jumped to sit down. Mr. and Mrs. Clam sat down after them.

As Mrs. Clam ladled out the thick, green plankton soup Mr. Clam began his tale. “Today there was a strong current. It was a bit harder for me to cling to the rock while I worked. One especially mean, hungry fish came and with one flawless sweep of his tail, he knocked me right out of my protected spot on the rock.”

At hearing this, all the kids gasped and shouted, “Oh no, Daddy!”

“Yes, he did! Well, as I was saying, the fish knocked me right off the rock! I tumbled, over and over, down to the sandy bottom. I promptly opened my shell to move, when the vicious fish swooped in to eat me! Worse yet, more fish came! There were what seemed to be hundreds of fish swimming all around me. They were flashing their teeth, trying to get at me. I shut my mouth very quickly! The fish continued to swarm all around me, when off in the distance a very strange creature swam up. It was a U.S.O!”

“An unidentified swimming object!” gasped his family in unison.

“The U.S.O’s face was barely visible. It was hidden by a strange plastic . . . thing. That’s the only way to describe it! It had two funny sections each in an oval shape. Then there was a nose shaped section too, under the ovals. That covered the upper part of his face. The lower part was covered by a hose attached to the metal cylinder on his back. The hose was actually stuck in his mouth!” All the clams snickered.

Instead of the usual tail fin that fish have, he had two long, rectangular fins. He swam up to me, shooing away the hungry fish. He gently picked me up and cradled me in his hand. Then he set me back on my work ledge. Amazing how he knew exactly where I was meant to go, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes.” agreed all the little clams.

“I am very thankful to that U.S.O. Your husband and Daddy wouldn’t be here today without him.” There was a moment of silence to think about the story Mr. Clam had told, and to silently thank that special U.S.O.

At almost that very time, in the hills of St. Thomas, a scuba diver was sitting down to dinner with his family.
“Any interesting happen at work today, Dad?” asked his expectant children.

“Well, I saved a clam . . .

That was USO by Katie Giffin.

It was very amusing. And does the age range go older still?

Yes, we also invited grown ups to enter, though we said they wouldn’t be able to win a Sweetpea3, so it’s just for the honour, so to speak ..

And any stories you liked from the grown ups?

Lots, but there was a character I found particularly endearing. His name is Percival the Dragon, and he’s the creation of Andrew Mitchell who is 35 years old, and he wrote it with Sharon Mitchell who says that she is Andrew’s mother, and so perhaps a bit older. So let’s hear a little bit of Percival of the Dragon.

When he reached a ledge overlooking a flickering mountain valley, Percival stopped.  Peering over the rim, the dragon stared down the slope at the slowly bubbling lava.  Smiling, Percival scrambled over rippling rocks that looked like weird frozen waves on a hard black ocean.  Crouched beside a small runoff pool, he lapped lava like a happy cat with a bowl of cream.  Percival sighed blissfully as the warmth spread through his body.  He stretched his neck and blew some very satisfactory smoke rings.

 The dragon turned away from the volcano.  He was feeling better, and the day seemed less depressing, but he was very hungry.  Percival thought about Sir Maldwyn’s fields, and his mouth began to water as he thought about the cabbages and other tasty food growing there.  He really liked vegetables. 

Thanks Elizabeth. That was an extract from the rather lengthy but very charming Percival The Dragon. Also from the grown up tales, I wanted to mention Tangleweed the Goblin with some very detailed, slightly old world illustrations by Steven Corps. And a special mention goes to the Magic Paisleys by By Carolyn Fay. It has really nice beginning that makes you want to read on.

Hello, my name is Arden Paisley. Yesterday, my mum and I made a special secret discovery.

Do you want to know what it was?

I’ll tell you, but you must not tell anyone, especially not Spoony Anna Gray. She would be so jealous and she’d never speak to me again.

I love the bit about don’t tell anyone, especially especially not Spoony Anna Gray. But we are running out of time, so if you want to find out what the secret is, you’ll have to read The Magic Paisleys by Carolyn Fay on the site.

So we’ve heard that our audience has some very talented writers, but what about the artists among them? Did any send us their own illustrations?

A few did, and they were really very nice indeed. I have to mention the very charming Wave Monkey by Morgan Ross, A very beautifully illustrated and hand written story about squirrels by Shutri Parthasarthy and a story by Cindy Chen with her pencil drawings of an ingenious rat called Ron who uses a needle to fight his enemy, a cat called Anya. And this is the very last extract for today.

Ron raised his needle and pointed it at Anya.

“So, you wanna fight, huh?” Anya let go of his tail.

“Well, of course, if we did, I would win, because, after all, a three year-old rat couldn’t beat an eighteen-year-old cat, could it?”??Ron threw the needle at Anya, but she was too fast and dodged it quickly. Anya picked him up, put him in the sink, stuck cotton in the plug, and turned on the water. She put a rotten banana inside, so that it stank. Then she walked away. “GET ME OUT OF HEEEEERRRRREEEEE!” Ron screamed. Finally, his sister, Felicia heard him and came to his rescue.

So Hugh, you and Bertie have had a hard job choosing the winners.

Yes we have. And in fact there were so many more stories that I would have liked you to read out for us, but the programme would go on and on for ever and ever. We find it just so hard to decide.

Ok, but you’ve got to choose. Which two writers are going to win the Sweetpea3 MP3 Players? ??Well this is really, really hard, but What do you think Bertie? Ok, we very much liked the story about the drop of water by Emma Matheson, aged 7. It’s so short. but it’s just so perfect.

Well done Emma ! And one more Hugh…

Errr Bertie…. help me here…

come on boys…

Well I do find I keep coming back to The Flower by Alainna Wigginton, aged 8. And of course we heard both those stories earlier on in the programme.

Fantastic. A lovely choice. Emma and Alainna we’ll need your addresses so that the Sweetpea3 Toy company can send you the MP3 players.

Yes we’ll be in touch. And I just want to say another big Thank You to Sweetpea3 for helping us encourage young writing. Sweetpea3 is a Canadian company and they’ve won awards for their children’s mp3 player. If you weren’t one of the two lucky winners, you can buy a player via the links on Storynory.com.

So that wraps up the Easter 2010 Story Writing Competition

Except to say that can read all the entries on the site – if you go to Storynory.com look for the You section.

( And it may be a couple of weeks before all the texts go up on the site. I’m sorry about that, but it’s got mixed up with a rather big technical update that we are doing, but they will be appearing in due course. )

So from me Elizabeth,

And from me Hugh

Goodbye.

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

A double come back ! Natasha is here with a Bertie story.

For those who are new to Bertie, we had better explain that he is the frog who presides over Storynory. Like many frogs he was once a prince and he had loads of adventures. He likes telling his new pond life friends stories about his past.

In this exotic and slightly spooky story, The King and Bertie’s stepmother visit the wonderful ruins of ancient Palmyra in the desert of Syria. The Wicked Queen brings back a souvenir that begins to haunt her.

You will also learn a little history – all about Queen Zenobia who lead Palmyra in revolt against the Roman Empire.

You can also catch up with Natasha reading Alice Through the Looking Glass as we add new chapters.

Thanks to our sponsor, Sweatpea3.

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie. Duration 14.58.

This is Natasha, and while I’ve been away doing a bit of globe-trotting, I didn’t forget about my old friends. I sent Prince Bertie the Frog a postcard from Mount Everest, but unfortunately it didn’t arrive because the postman couldn’t find the letter box by the pond. Anyway, as soon as I had unpacked my rucksack, I went out for a walk in search of pond life. I couldn’t see Bertie, but as I was wondering along the water’s edge I heard:

“EEEEEEK!”

I knew that squeak. It belonged to a tadpole called Tim.

He had spotted a shadow on the bottom of the pond that looked just like a shark opening its jaws full of jagged teeth. But in fact, the scary shadow belonged to a grumpy old carp called Colin, and he wasn’t trying to frighten anyone, he was just having a good old yawn.

Bertie must have heard Tim’s high pitched voice too, because he came hopping out from a hole in the river bank and swam over to his little friend, who was panting for breath and just getting over the fright of his life.

When Tim had recovered from his shock, he asked his Royal Green friend:

“Bertie, haven’t you ever been really really frightened?”

“Phwa! “ exclaimed Bertie. “Princes are never frightened.”

“Truthfully? Are they never ever at all, just a tiny-weeny bit scared?”

Bertie’s face turned from green to red because he could see that Colin was about to mock him for having pants on fire.

“Well there was just one time when I met a talking statue“ admitted Bertie. “I think anyone would have been frightened by that.”

And as the Pond Life loved to hear stories about Bertie when was still a human prince, all the fishes, fouls, amphibians, and insects gathered around to listen.

It was the time of year when the days are short and dark, and it seems like winter will never end. One morning, as the king – who was Bertie’s father sat frowning into his cornflakes, the Queen said to him.

“ Oh buck yourself up man ! I’m sick and tired of looking at your miserable old face. Why don’t you do something useful for once, like fix a holiday?”

Her words took a few moments to work through the king’s foggy thoughts, before he replied:

“Where would you like to go my dear?”

“Oh anywhere so long as it’s hot and sunny.”

And the King took the queen right at her word. He booked a holiday in the desert. This was not at all what she had in mind, but it cheered up the King no end, because the terrace of their hotel overlooked a wonderful site that he had always wanted to see.

The sun was setting over the Syrian sands. In the distance, an old Arabic fort guarded the oasis of Palmyra. As the king and queen sipped their evening cocktails, the top of a Corinthian column, at least 2000 years old, formed their table. Only few yards in front of them began the ruins of an ancient city, that stretched out between the fringes of the palm trees, and the site of the fort. Rows of columns marked the lines of once busy streets. Arched porticos and the roofless walls of temples and palaces indicated the magnificence of the city’s past. But these days its only inhabitants are the ghosts of the merchants who once made Palmyra a rich and splendid city.

Now if the king has a gift, it’s for telling stories. No doubt that’s where Prince Bertie gets his yarning talents from. And when it comes to Ancient History, the King is a bit of a buff. He began to tell his queen a story.

Two thousand years ago, the merchants of Palmyra grew fabulously wealthy from trade in silks and spices. The ruler of this desert city was Queen Zenobia, who claimed Cleopatra for an ancestor, and who equalled both the beauty and the reckless courage of the Egyptian Queen. They say she had large black eyes that sparkled with uncommon fire. She spoke many languages, she studied the Greek and Roman philosophers, and she made strong but just laws. But as her wealth and power grew, so did her pride and ambition. She decided to conquer all of Asia Minor, and take from the Romans who were then its rulers. But her armies were defeated. When she tried to escape on the back of a speeding camel, she was taken captive. The Romans led her back to their capital. Their Emperor celebrated his victory over Zenobia with a triumphal parade of tigers, elephants, and gladiators. But more exotic and magnificent than any of these, was the sight of the proud and beautiful queen, walking behind her chariot weighed down by chains of gold.

When the king had finished relating this brief history, his wife yawned and said:

“Well if it had been me, I wouldn’t have got myself caught like that.”

And the King nodded and said, “I have no doubt about that, my dear, but now we should turn in for the night, because tomorrow we shall rise at dawn before the heat becomes unbearable.”

Very early the next morning, the Queen sat, somewhat disgruntled, on a camel, which provided the best form of transport around the columns, the forums,, the ancient tombs, and the temples. The King, rode along side her, radiating interest and enthusiasm.

“My dear, In ancient times, the statues of wealthy merchants were placed on every column along this street. But where are they now? Their magnificence has been swept away like a brief sand storm in the desert. Doesn’t that make you think?”

And the Queen replied:

“What souvenirs do they sell in this dump?”

At the end of the tour, their guide whispered to her that he knew of some very special souvenirs, that were kept back for only the most important guests.

“Sounds interesting,” said the Queen. And while the King was taking an afternoon nap, she visited the secret souvenir shop.

“You see this statue,” said the guide pointing to a handsome stone face with large eyes, a fine mouth, and a neatly trimmed beard, “It is almost as if he is alive. He was a wealthy merchant, and he commissioned the finest statues of himself and his family so that their likenesses would live for ever.”

“A wealthy merchant you say,” repeated the Queen softly, and she thought how the statue could prove useful to her for magic spells to turn something like a metal spoon into gold. “I’ll have him!” she declared. And she arranged for it to be taken out of the country by her diplomats, who are never stopped or searched by customs.

A few weeks after the King and Queen returned home from their holiday, the statue of the merchant of Palmyra was delivered to the palace. The Queen was already working on another wicked plan, and she half-forgot about her souvenir which she stored in a crate in the cellar next to the dungeons.

It was not often that Prince Bertie went down to the dungeons, but The Wicked Queen had locked up his friend’s dad for not paying his parking fines. Bertie thought it was all a bit unfair, and so when the guard was taking a nap, he released the poor man from his cell.

As he was leaving the gaol, Bertie saw the door to the storage cellar. He thought it would be nice to look through some of his old toys and books to see if they brought back fond memories. He found his old bicycle with stabalisers on the back, and some roller blades which are now several sizes to small. Then he noticed the crate that was marked in Arabic writing. It was almost as tall as he was:

“Looks like a coffin,” he thought to himself. While he was pondering the crate, a banging noise started to emerge from it, as if somebody was trying to get out.

“Ha Ha, Funny joke. You don’t scare me,whoever you are,” said Bertie. But Bertie wasn’t really sure if he was scared or not, until the crate started to move towards him as if by magic. Then he knew. He was terrified, and he ran out of the cellar and flew up the stares and back to his room as fast as he could.

“But but…” he said to himself as he gasped for breath with the door firmly bolted behind him, “Things like that don’t happen in real life. It must have been my pesky little brother Harry playing tricks. Silly me. It’s all a bit embarrassing. I won’t say anything about this to anybody.”

The following morning, the Royal Family sat around the breakfast table. The Queen was reading the newspaper and the King was saying:

“My dear, there’s a Syrian fellow standing in the hallway. He says you kidnapped him from Palmyra and now he’s going to put a curse on you. We had a jolly interesting chat. He’s awfully knowledgeable about Ancient History. “

The Queen didn’t hear her husband because she was engrossed in the forecast for floods, plague and pestilence.

“Just been talking to a Syrian fellow in the hallway,” insisted the King, only louder.
“Says you kidnapped him…”

“He says that does he?” replied the Queen. “Have the scoundrel thrown into the dungeon for slander,” and she returned to the newspaper.

Bertie was just finishing his third piece of toast and marmalade when the king said,

“Here’s the chappy.”

Bertie looked up and saw the statue walking into the room. Princess Beatrice screamed, even louder than the time when she found a spider in her lunch box. She ran into the kitchen and shut herself in the pantry. Prince Harry hid behind the curtains. The Wicked Queen jumped out of the window. Only Bertie and the King were left at the breakfast table with the ghostly guest.

“Why, I do believe you’re crying,” said the Bertie to the statue. And it was true. A large tear was running down his stone face. He put his arm around the ancient merchant and led him to a seat.

“There, there, start from the beginning and tell us all about it,” he said. The merchant cleared his throat of some ancient sand:

“Ah hum. You see before you a statue. I am the likeness of the merchant, Oloreus, who in his time amassed a great fortune through trade along the silk route. It is my duty to watch over the tomb of Oloreus, where he lies with his faithful wife, three lovely daughters, their husbands, and his grandchildren. My duty is for all time because the love of Oloreus for his family was without end. I guarded the tomb for almost two thousand years, and then I was removed and sold as a souvenir. Does it surprise you that this stone can weep?’

“My dear chap, you’ll have me at it soon,” said the King dabbing his eye. And he was so moved by the story, that he instructed Bertie to pack up the statue and to take him back to the tomb of Oloreus in Palmyra. Bertie, of course was only to pleased to visit the fabulous city, because he shares his father’s interest in ancient history.

And to ensure that the statue was never moved again, he had a sign made up in several languages that warned all who visited the tomb that anyone who tampered with it or stole from it would suffer a curse and die within two weeks of committing the sacrilege.

And that’s the story of how Bertie returned the statue of the merchant to ancient Palmyra. Tim the tadpole found it rather frightening, especially when Beatrice found a spider in her lunchbox.

And before I go, I’d just like to say a very special thank you to everyone who has sent emails and messages asking about me while I’ve been away. It’s been very touching. I do hope that you have been enjoying the stories read by Richard and Elizabeth. I’d just like to tell you about my own plans. For the next few weeks I’m going to be finishing reading Alice Through the Looking Glass, and you will be able to hear them on our Alice in Wonderland Podcast and on Storynory.com. It’s a project that’s dear to my heart, and I’ve been meaning to finish it for ages.

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

The “Wicked Uncle” takes Jeremy and Jemima to an Easter Fair. What could possibly go wrong? Well almost anything.

Of course Uncle Jeff is not really that wicked – but he both fun and irresponsible. Mum and dad never feel comfortable when he’s around, but the children know they must expect the unexpected, and it’s probably going to be an adventure.

Dedicated to our friends, at Wicked Uncle - gifts for children.

Read by Richard Scott. Story by Bertie. Duration 15.21.

Jeremy and Jemima stood next to mum and dad holding hymn books in their hands. As the church organist began to play “ All Things Bright and Beautiful” a tall man in a smart hedge coat, with a silk scarf tucked into his collar, joined the family at the end of the pew. He said, “Hi Kids”, a little too loudly. Mum turned her head to look at the noisy intruder. Her frown was met by the cheery grin of Jeff, whom the family normally referred to as, “The Wicked Uncle”. It was a joke of course, but like all jokes, there was a drop of truth at the bottom of it.

After the service, they stood on the steps of the church in the crisp air and mellow sunlight of a beautiful April morning. It was enough to make anyone feel springy with the joy of life. But Dad was grumpy because Jeff had put a twenty pound note in the collecting box, and he felt he had to match his generosity. Mum said to her brother-in-law:

“Jeff you’re full of surprises. I didn’t have you down as the church-going type.”

“Oh you know, Christmas and Easter, weddings and funerals, the odd baptism, that’s me,” said Jeff.

‘Well you’d better come to Sunday Lunch” said Mum, hoping that he hadn’t noticed Dad shaking his head.

An hour later, Jeff was carving the roast beef and saying how a family meal was a rare treat in his bachelor existence. He offered to take the kids to the Easter Fair in return.

“Fantastic. We’d love to go to the fair !’ exclaimed Jeremy.

But this was the last thing that mum wanted. Jeff had an uncanny knack for getting into trouble, and a fair ground seemed to offer up untold opportunities for bringing the kids and calamity together. She had visions of her children flying off a ferris wheel, or being poisoned by a hot dog. She said:

“That’s sweet of you Jeff, but er, Dad doesn’t approve of the fair, does he kids?’

“Only because it’s expensive, “ said Jeremy. “But Uncle Jeff won’t mind about that because he’s loaded.”

“Jeremy! “ exclaimed mum,”What a thing to say!” and then turning to Jeff she pleaded, “Kids ! You never know what they’ll come out with next.”

But Jeff was all smiles. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I know why my brother doesn’t like the fair. It’s because he never wins a prize.”

And the children both laughed and told their Uncle that he was spot on, while Dad smiled weakly and went to clear up the dishes in the kitchen. Mum stalled for time by telling the kids to go out to the garden and hunt for Easter eggs. She hoped that in the meantime, dad would come up with a good excuse for not going to the fair. While the children were finding mini-eggs, Jeff went out to his porsche to fetch a giant Easter Egg made of swiss chocolate. Its hollow inside was filled with clockwork toys like robots and dancing fairies. Jeremy and Jemima were overjoyed when they saw it, and after that, mum and dad were almost glad to let Jeff take them to the fair.

“Don’t fret,” said Dad as they watched the kids squeeze into the tiny back seats of Jeff’s car. “He will spoil them rotten, make them dizzy on the rides, and stuff them full of candy floss, but nothing too terrible can happen at the Easter Fair.”

The fun fair was held every Easter on the town’s green. It was an old tradition, and in fact Dad and Uncle Jeff had both gone to it as kids. The amusements hadn’t changed that much, but the prices had doubled and doubled and doubled and – well that’s how things change. But the fair was as popular as ever, and the crowds queued for the old favorites like the dodge-ms, the ghost train, the roundabouts, the helter skelter and the big wheel. The cuisine still consisted of toffee apples, candy floss, hot-dogs and hamburgers with lots of smelly fried onions. The muddy ground was ankle deep in cartons and waste paper. A cacophony of conflicting disco beats and golden oldies pumped out of speakers from every stall. In short, it was heaven.

Just as dad had predicted, Jeff indulged the kids to every dangerous-looking, dizzy-making ride that their hearts desired. But he himself took a particular interest in the side-stalls that offered prizes. The fact is, that nobody ever succeeded in throwing a hoopla ring over a triangular block to win an enormous fluffy pink bear. Nobody, that is, except Uncle Jeff, who scored a prize with all three of his hoops. Jeremy and Jemima’s arms were so full of fluffy toys that they could hardly walk, let alone lick toffee apples, so Jeff gave them back to the store holder. “The kids are too old for them, “ he said apologetically. Then he moved onto strongman test. Jeremy lifted up the big hammer and brought it down with all his might. He sent the ringer about a third of the way up the stand towards the gong. Jeff picked up the hammer with one hand and rang the gong first time. Even the store holder was impressed as he handed over his best prize – a china statue of a Dalmatian dog.

“One more piece of kitsch for the collection,” said jeff as he examined it. “The prizes at this fair ground were never up to much.”

But Jeremy caught sight of something interesting and said: “Except for that one!” He was pointing towards the shooting arcade over which a sign declared “ Win a £1000.”

“A thousand pounds!” exclaimed Jemima, “That can’t be true,” but it was what the sign promised . When they got closer, they saw that to win the prize you had to shoot three plastic ducks. The only problem was that they flew across the stall at lightening speed and random intervals. It cost ten pounds just to enter, and the store holder looked like he was raking the money in, and not paying out any prizes at all. Jeff and the kids watched as three or four punters lost their money. Jeff said, “Right. I must have a crack at that.”

The gun was a fairly serious weapon – a 2.2 air rifle. A duck flashed by, and Jeff fired and missed. He had already lost the prize because you had to score three out of three shots to win. He took the two other shots just for practice, and missed both times.

“Bad luck Uncle Jeff,” said Jemima. “Shall we go home now?”

“Not yet,” said their uncle, “I need to get my eye in.” He paid up another ten pounds and shot and missed another three times.

“You’re not dad’s brother for nothing,” said Jeremy. But Jeff wasn’t listening. He was examining the line of the gun. Then he placed it between his knees and started work at the barrel with his hands.

“What are you bending it for?” asked Jemima.

“I’m not. I’m straightening it,” said Jeff.

“Hey you can’t do that!” exclaimed the stall-holder, but Jeff already had . He handed over his money and said. “Bring ‘em on.”

This time Jeff sent the first duck flying off its hook. He swiftly reloaded and shot the next target a moment later. The third duck followed very soon after but Jeff was ready his shot was true. A crowd of onlookers applauded and Jeremy and Jemima jumped up and down shouting :

“Yeah for Uncle Jeff ! “

The store holder protested that he must have cheated, but Jeremy said rather menacingly “I wouldn’t argue with Uncle Jeff if I were you.” The man slowly pulled a cheque book from his pocket, and Uncle Jeff said.

“I’ll take cash thanks.”

When Jeff had counted the notes and checked each watermark against the light, he placed the wadge into the pocket of Jeremy’s denim jacket. “Give that to your Dad,” he said. “An Easter present from the black sheep of the family.”

“Wow ! Dad will be delighted !” said Jeremy.

But Jemima wasn’t quite so sure. Perhaps dad might think that Jeff was showing off.

She asked where Uncle Jeff had learned to shoot so well. “Here and there,” he said allusively, and then said in a hushed voice, “I was in the forces before I went into business.”

They were all in the best of spirits as they walked toward the car park. As they passed the conveniences, Uncle Jeff said: “I’ll just pop in here if you don’t mind,”

Jeremy and Jemima waited outside for their uncle. They were kind of surprised about winning the big prize, but when Uncle Jeff was around, you had to expect to be surprised. Perhaps for that reason alone, they should have been more on their guard. A sea of people was coming and going from the fair all the time, and they were already used to being jostled a little by the crowd. They didn’t realise until too late that they had been surrounded by a gang of youths on all sides. One of them was holding a knife and said:

“Hand it over.”

Jemima gave him her iPod.

“Come on. Don’t make me use this ! “ threatened the boy with the knife, jabbing it towards her brother.

And Jeremy reached into his pocket and handed over the £1000 in notes. A few moments later the boys had melted away into the crowd.

When Uncle Jeff returned, he found Jemima in tears and Jeremy hugging his sister and trying not to tremble.

“What’s happened?” he asked. But he had already guessed. He considered calling the police, but on balance thought it was better to get the children home to the parents rather than keep them hanging around for some officers to arrive. It was two very pale and shaking kids that he buckled into the cramped back seat of his Porsche.

Soon after they had left the car park, Jeremy exclaimed : “There ! That’s them !”

“Are you sure?” asked Jeff.

“He’s right,” said Jemima. I’d know them anywhere. But Uncle Jeff please don’t ….. “ but his foot was on already on the accelerator and the engine was roaring. As he passed the gang, he flung open the door and knocked one of them over with it. He skidded to halt and leapt out of the car. The youths jumped over a fence into the park, but Jeff was over it and after them. Jeremy and Jemima looked round anxiously while cars hooted at them for blocking the traffic. They saw Jeff rugby tackle the one of the boys and the others turned and tried to kick and punch him. By the time a police van came speeding over the grass with its blue light flashing, Jeff had felled three of the boys and held a fourth in a head lock. Ten police officers jumped out of the van and arrested the boys, and Uncle Jeff.

At about eight pm that evening, mum heard a car’s wheels on the gravel of the drive. She looked anxiously out of the window and was almost relieved to see a police car. A woman police officer opened the back door of the car to let out Jeremy and Jemima.

“So what happened this time?” asked mum.

“Oh nothing much. Uncle Jeff got arrested,” said Jemima. “They let him go, but they are keeping a £1000 in ten pound notes as evidence. Uncle Jeff says Dad can have it after the the trial is over.”

“Arrested? Money? Trial ? I didn’t understand a word of that,” said mum as she hugged both her children somewhat tearfully. “But I can say that your Uncle Jeff is never taking you to the Easter Fair again.”

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

The Fire-Fly Princess is a glittering beauty, and numerous insects want to be her husband. She has little interest in any of them, and declares that she will only marry the one who brings her a flame. This glittering story is full of the beauty of old Japan.

And we are delighted to introduce the very talented Elizabeth Donnelly, who joins Natasha and Richard as a narrator for Storynory. And for all those who have been asking us for news of Natasha, she will be very soon reading more chapters of Alice Through the Looking Glass.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 12.32.

IN JAPAN the night-flies emit so brilliant a light and are so beautiful that ladies go out in the evenings and catch the insects for amusement. They imprison them in tiny cages made of bamboo threads, and hang them up in their rooms or suspend them from the eaves of their houses. At their picnic parties, the people love to sit on August evenings, fan in hand, looking over the lovely landscape, spangled by ten thousand brilliant spots of golden light. Each flash seems like a tiny blaze of harmless lightning.

One of the species of night-flies, the most beautiful of all, is a source of much amusement to the ladies. Hanging the cage of glittering insects on their verandahs, they sit and watch the crowd of winged visitors attracted by the fire-fly’s light. What brings them there, let this love story tell.

On the southern and sunny side of the castle, the water in the moat had long ago become shallow so that lotus lilies grew there luxuriantly. Deep in the heart of one of the great flowers whose petals were as pink as the lining of a sea-shell, lived the King of the Fire-flies, Hi-?, whose only daughter was the lovely princess Hotaru-himé. While still a child the princess was carefully kept at home within the pink petals of the lily, never going even to the edges except to see her father fly off on his journey. Dutifully she waited until of age, when the fire glowed in her own body, and shone, beautifully illuminating the lotus, and its light at night was like a lamp within a globe of coral.

Every night her light grew brighter and brighter, until at last it was as mellow as gold. Then her father said:

“My daughter is now of age to marry, she may fly abroad with me sometimes, and when the proper suitor comes she may wed whom she will.”

So Hotaru-himé flew in and out among the lotus lilies of the moat, then into rich rice fields, and at last far off to the indigo meadows.

Whenever she went a crowd of admirers followed her, for she had the singular power of attracting all the night-flying insects to herself. But she cared for none of them, and though she spoke politely to all she gave encouragement to none.

One night she said to her mother, the queen:

“I have met many admirers, but I don’t wish a single one to be my husband. Tonight I shall stay at home, and if any of them love me truly they will come and pay me court here. Then I shall give them an impossible task. . If they are wise they will not try to perform it; and if they love their lives more than they love me, I do not want any of them. Whoever succeeds may have me for his bride.”

“As you wish, my child,” said the queen mother, who dressed her daughter in her most resplendent robes, and set her on her throne in the heart of the lotus.

Then she gave orders to her body-guard to keep all suitors at a respectful distance lest some stupid bug, dazzled by the light should approach too near and hurt the princess or shake her throne.

No sooner had twilight faded away, than forth came the golden beetle, who stood on a flower and bowing said:—
“I am Lord Green-Gold, I offer my house, my fortune and my love to Princess Hotaru.”

“Go and bring me fire and I will be your bride” said Hotaru-himé.

With a bow of the head the beetle opened his wings and departed with a stately whirr.

Next came a shining bug with wings and body as black as lamp-smoke, who solemnly professed his passion.
“Bring me fire and you may have me for your wife.”

Off flew the bug with a buzz.

Pretty soon came the scarlet dragon-fly, expecting so to dazzle the princess by his gorgeous colors that she would accept him at once.

“I decline your offer” said the princess, “but if you bring me a flash of fire, I’ll become your bride.”

Swift was the flight of the dragon-fly on his errand, and in came the Beetle with a tremendous buzz, and ardently plead his suit.
“I’ll say ‘yes’ if you bring me fire” said the glittering princess.

Suitor after suitor appeared to woo the daughter of the King of the Fire-flies until every petal was dotted with them. To every one of her lovers the princess in modest voice returned the same answer:

“Bring me fire and I’ll be your bride.”

So without telling his rivals, each one thinking he had the secret alone sped away after fire.

But none ever came back to wed the princess. Alas for the poor suitors! The beetle whizzed off to a light that glimmered through the paper walls of a house.

The black bug flew into a room where a poor student was reading. His lamp was only a dish of earthenware full of rape seed oil with wick made of pith.

The dragon-fly flew to the light of a housewife who was working late at night,

Mad with love the brilliant hawk-moth, afraid of the flame yet determined to win the fire for the princess, hovered round and round a candle flame, coming nearer and nearer each time. “Now or never, the princess or death,” he buzzed, as he darted forward to snatch a flash of flame.

But none of the the lovers of Hi-?’s daughter succeeded in their quests. All met their ends in the flames or the lamp-oil.

As the priests trimmed the lamps in the shrines, and the serving maids cleaned the lanterns in the homes, each said alike:
“The Princess Hotaru must have had many suitors last night.”

The next day was one of great mourning and there were so many insect funerals going on, that Hi-mar? the Prince of the Fire-flies on the north side of the castle moat, asked after the cause .

Then he learned for the first time of the glittering princess. He fell in love with her and resolved to marry her. The princesse’s father agreed to his proposal of marriage, on condition that the Prince should obey her wish in one thing, which was to come in person bringing her fire.

Then the Prince at the head of his glittering battalions came in person and filled the lotus palace with a flood of golden light. But Hotaru-himé was so beautiful that her charms paled not, even in the blaze of the Prince’s glory. The visit ended in wooing, and the wooing in wedding. On the night appointed, in a carriage made of the white lotus-petals, amid the blazing torches of the prince’s battalions of warriors, Hotaru-himé was borne to the prince’s palace and there, prince and princess were joined in wedlock.

Many generations have passed since Hi-mar? and Hotaru-himé were married, and still it is the whim of all Fire-fly princesses that their low born admirers must bring fire as their love-offering or lose their prize. It is for this cause that each night insects hover around the lamp flame, and every morning a crowd of victims must be cleaned from the lamp. This is the reason why young ladies catch and imprison the fire-flies to watch the war of insect-love, in the hope that they may have human lovers who will dare as much, through fire and flood, as they.

Download the audio (Click to Play, Right Click to Save As)

When God sent a great flood to destroy almost all his own creation, he chose Noah to save the animals and preserve life on Earth beyond the great disaster. The story of how humans, through their own folly, bring catastrophe upon the world has always struck a deep cord. And the theme of saving of animals from mankind’s mistakes appeals greatly to children, and to everyone who cares for the natural world. Noah appears in both the Bible’s Book of Genesis and in the Quran.

This reading by Natasha is a “vintage” recording from our most secret treasure trove. We made it in 2007 and have not previously released it on Storynory. We also have another version of the story read by John Le Mesurier

Read by Natasha. Version by Bertie. Duration 6.32.

When the world was still very young, it began to fill up with people and all sorts of creatures including fury four-legged ones, birds, fish, fluttering butterflies, slithering snakes, creepy-crawly spiders, and insects.

In those days there was a man, called Noah, He was 600 years old. Noah was hard-working, honest and loved God with all his heart. However, the whole world had become very mean and evil. Everyone was lying, cheating, and stealing. People often got into fights, and sometimes they even killed each other.

God saw all this, and was sad that men and women had become so evil. God decided to send a great flood and drown all of his creation under the waters. That way, He wouldn’t have to look down on all the wickedness that upset him so very much.

He told Noah of his plan. God told Noah, “You must build a huge boat out of gopher wood.” It was to be called an “ark’, which means a place of safety. It was to have a great door, just one window, and three floors inside, filled with clean straw and plenty of food. He was to make it water-proof by putting black tar between the planks of wood. The boat was as big as a cruise ship (but not that nice of course). Next Noah was to tell his family to come and live in the ark, and they must also bring one male and one female of every type of creature. Noah understood his job of building the ark and saving the animals, two of every kind.

And so Noah and his three sons, who were called Shem, Ham, and Japheth, set about building the Ark. Other people saw them working hard in the hot sun, and thought that they were wasting their time. They laughed at Noah and his sons and teased them. But still Noah kept believing and building,… believing and building..everyday. Till one day, the ark was completed. Noah and his sons collected the animals, two of every kind and gathered them in the ark.

They did not need to keep them apart, because the Lions understood that they must not eat the deer or the sheep on board the ark. The foxes didn’t eat the hens, and wolves left the sheep alone. They all lived on grass and leaves, and although the larger animals became a little thin, they were content to lie down and leave the other creatures unharmed. Only the insects had to look out, incase an elephant or a horse trod on them by accident, but fortunately, that didn’t happen.

Then just as God had promised Noah, it began to rain. The rain began to fall by the bucketful and the skies emptied out all their water. It rained and it rained. In fact, it never stopped raining for one second. It rained for forty days and nights. The whole world was covered in water, and everybody drowned, except for the fish and Noah’s family and the animals who were safe in the Ark.

Everyone on the Ark was dry and safe, , but the food was running out, and the people and animals began to look at each other hungrily. The wolves began to howl, and the lions prowled up and down. Noah was worried in case one of the wolves decided to have lamb for dinner, and then there would be no more lambs, ever again. But he need not have worried, because the wolves remained well behaved.

Only after 150 days did the water start to do down, and the bottom of the Ark came to rest on the top of a mountain called Ararat. Noah looked out of his window but all he could see was water.

He wondered if there was any dry land anywhere in the world, and so he released a black bird called a raven into the air. But raven could not find any land or trees, and it flew back to the ark. A week later, he sent out a white dove, but it came back with an empty beak as well. A week after that, he sent the dove again, and she flew around until she found a tree to rest on. She returned to the ark with an olive leaf in her beak, and Noah knew that there was a tree above the water. After another week, he sent the dove out yet again, and she did not return, so he knew that she had found a dry place to live. Everyone on board the ark celebrated, because they were all longing to leave the ark, which to tell you the truth, was becoming rather smelly.

And it happened that after an a year, a month and a day, Noah opened up the ark and he, his family, and all the creatures stepped out onto dry land. What a day that was ! How the animals bounded around full of joy. It was the springiest spring in the history of the world.
Stretching above the sky was a beautiful rainbow. And God said to Noah, I have placed a rainbow in the sky as a sign of a promise that I will never destroy the earth and its creatures by a flood again. So go forth, have children and fill up the earth again, and enjoy the world in all its beauty.
And that’s exactly what Noah and his family did.

Now every time a rainbow appears in the sky, it is a reminder to all of us of the promises God made and the great faith Noah had to believe.

Download the audio (click to play, Right Click to Save As)

When we last left Astropup, he was flying into the mouth of a giant space ship shaped like a bird (see Astropup for Freedom). At the centre of the space ship is a giant tree holding up the nests and families of thousands upon thousands of highly intelligent birds. Astropup’s commanding officer, the major (who is a parrot) wants to stay. So will our Space Dog hero be stranded on the Ship of Birds?

Read by Richard Scott. Story by Bertie. Duration 16.59.

Astropup here again. Last time I left the story at an exciting moment, and I could hear some of you howling at the moon saying : Tell me, do please tell me, Astropup, What happened next? Well here we go again, back to the weird and wonderful ship of birds.

I’ve given you some idea of how many different types of birds there were inside that space ship. What I haven’t described yet is the noise they made. As we opened the hatch of our craft, the sound of all that twittering and tweeting, not to mention squawking, was as deafening as it was confusing. It was like you could hear every creature who had ever lived or died all talking at once. I wanted to howl, only I knew that nobody would hear me over all that din. But it was surprising how soon I got used to it. My brain just stopped listening.

We had landed somewhere near the foot of the great tree. It was at the centre of the ship of birds. Its branches supported their nests and families. I began to sniff its roots, and the parrot said:

“Whatever you do, don’t lift your leg at that trunk.”

“I wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” I protested.

A flock of doves came to great us, carrying worms and nuts in their beaks as offerings to make us welcome. The parrot politely took a nut. I hoped nobody would be offended if I didn’t eat the wiggling worm that was dropped at my feet.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to follow the feathery ones to wherever it was that they wanted to take us, because that would involve flying. The Major went off with them. I was content to dip my tongue into a cool stream that was flowing not far away, to sniff the scent of ducks on the water, to chase a pretty butterfly, and then to fall asleep in the long grass that covered the floor of the giant space bird. This was the way to travel, I thought, once you get used to the noise. The problem with our own space craft was that it was designed by humans. They would never think of including anything so pleasant as a blade of grass let alone a single duck in one of their vehicles.

I learned what the Major had been up to when he fluttered back and hour or two later. He had been granted an audience with a most remarkable bird. He was an ancient owl – at least 250 years old – and his brain served as the ship’s computer. That’s right, they just plugged him in, and he controlled the whole caboodle. Now that’s what I call smart. He lived right at the top of the tree – as you would expect – and he was surrounded by exotic birds who tended to his every need.

“They’re the most gorgeous creatures you ever did see!” Squawked the parrot, and I could see that their plumage had impressed him. Fortunately, he had picked up a bit of interesting info too. The birds came from a planet that had been invaded by the cat people. At the time of this calamity, the owl had been leading a project to build the giant bird ship. As the computer was not yet complete, he simply plugged his brain in to the control panel, and took off with as many of his feathered friends, friends of feathered friends, and friends of friends of feathered friends, as he could gather. There were about a 1000 of them to begin with, but since then they had multiplied many times over. I asked the parrot:

“How many birds are there now?”

“I would say that there’s at least a myriad,” he replied.

I didn’t know how many a myriad was, but I had never learned to count anyhow.

Next I asked if these clever feather brains could fix our space craft.

“They already have,” he replied. And I thumped my tale on the ground with glee.

“We’ll be on our way back home then,” I said hopefully, But something told me that salvation was not going to be as simple as that. And I was right. The Major shook his head.

“Nawww,” he said, “I like it here. And besides, If I go back to Earth, the humans will court marshal me for disobeying orders. But you go back if you like. I’m not stopping you.”

That remark made me growl. He knew perfectly well that I didn’t know how to fly the ship. That was his job. Without the Major, I was going nowhere. It was all very well for him to hang out here. There were enough nuts and fancy-feathered friends to set up a parrot for life. But it’s beneath the dignity of a dog to eat worms – unless he’s really hungry that is. I could have murdered a pheasant or a wood pigeon, but even my dodgy doggy brain realised that such a diet might be bad form in a place like this.

And so I chewed on a few sticks, because there wasn’t anything better to do. I was impressed that our parrot had picked up the language of these alien birds so soon, but then he let slip that he hadn’t. They had deciphered his Earthly squawks in a matter of minutes. He was only just beginning to puzzle out their lingo. I began to realise that there is smart, and there is smarter still.

Now, I’m not normally one to be envious of cats who, as you know, are the most despicable creatures in the universe. But I began to wish that I knew how to climb trees, because I was longing to see more of this incredible bird world. I don’t know if those birds were so clever that they could read my thoughts, but they soon sent a giant swan who offered to pick me up on his back and take me for a site seeing flight around the ship.

It was quite scary up there, clinging onto the swan’s neck with my front legs but it was a flight that I shall never forget. We swooped in and out of the branches of that giant tree and saw every coloured feather from gray sparrows to electric blue kingfishers, and many others besides. I saw flocks of quick thinking birds, all plugged into the ship’s power system, and the Wise Old Owl himself, thinking deep thoughts while birds of paradise groomed his feathers. But just as I was getting used to this form of transport, the swan swooped sharply around the top of the tree and turned upside down. And then, oh dear, I was falling to the ground, and it was a long long way: …OWWWWWWWWW! MURDERRRRRRR!

As you can imagine, I thought that my number was up, but that sneaky swan assassin had miscalculated. I ended up in a huge nest of feathers that had been collected from all over the ground by worker sparrows. It was the softest landing I could have hoped for, but one that made me sneeze. Now I was under no illusions. These birds might look pretty and harmless, but they were deadly when they wanted to be. The major recked that perhaps they were frightened of me – thought I might be tempted to eat a duck or something.

“I’d lie low for a while, if I were you,” he said.

“Well thanks very much,” I woofed, and crawled off into some bushes to sleep. The food had run out, and I was pretty hungry by now. In fact I was quite tempted to try my luck at a duck.

Meanwhile, the Major applied to the senior birds for a job as a space engineer, but they wouldn’t have him. Apparently they weren’t too impressed with his efforts with soldering iron on board our own ship. They said a dog could have fixed wires together better. Now I’m the first to admit that that’s not strictly true, but the drift was that if a the Major is a brainy bird in our world, among this flock of fellows, he was just averagely smart, if not a downright a dunderhead. And when I turned this over in my canine brain, I had one of my occasional but big thoughts.

Everything is relative, you see.

Ok, now I have travelled around the universe, I admit that there are things that are absolutely true always and everywhere. Like, where ever you go, cats are mad and can’t be trusted. The only other universal I know of is that Might is Right – like whoever is in charge, they make up the rules and say what’s ok and what’s not, according to what suits them. All the rest – well it’s just different where ever you go. When you are in another world, you can’t be sure what’s wrong and what’s right. Sometimes I ask, is it always wrong to bite a postman? Probably, but GRRRR I just can’t help myself!

I don’t mean to get too deep. The fact is, our parrot was out classed by these bird brains, but he wasn’t so dim that he didn’t know it.

Both he and I were unemployed. He hopped over to my hideout in the bushes. I could see his head was hanging low. I asked him what most of the birds did for a living in this ship, and he said.

“Transcendental mathematics,”

Apparently these birds plugged their brains together and thought about circles. They had calculated the ratio of a circumference to a diameter to fifteen billion decimal points.

I haven’t a clue what that means by the way, and if you do, well you’re smarter than this old space dog, and you’re not the only one. But to put it simply: the ship of birds was powered by thoughts. All that fiendishly clever feathered thinking generated enough renewable energy to take them where ever they wanted to go, which by and large was nowhere in particular. The only job our friend the parrot could get on board this ship was as a common thinker. He would have to sit plugged into the the ship’s power system contemplating circles all day. It was what thousands of birds did around this place. And do you know what the major said when they offered him the job.

Well perhaps you can guess.

“No thank you.”

He was used to being someone rather more special you see.

And that’s why, after two week’s on board the Ship of Birds, our friend the Parrot, a Major in the Space force, finally decided to fly us back home to earth, even though he knew he would have to face a court marshal for disobeying orders.

I can’t say the birds on board were too sorry to see us go. Some kind blue tits brought us a big supply of nuts and berries to see us home. By the time we reached earth I was a much slimmed down space dog.

As the Parrot had predicted, the humans put him in a cage soon after we touched down. He was charged with disobeying orders on a critical mission, and ordered to stand trial before a court marshal of the Space Force. One day I’ll tell you what happened to him.
But I’m glad to say that the Major told the humans that I was innocent.

“Don’t bother to arrest him,” he squawked. “He’s too stupid to disobey orders.”

Well not the most flattering remark, but I wasn’t complaining, because I was off home to see my jenny.

That that was the story of Astropup and the Ship of Birds.

I do hope that you’ve enjoyed Astropup’s recently adventures – and are glad that he’s come back to us after a gap of some years. Bertie says it’s one of the biggest comebacks in the history of Storynory. Talking of which, we are still looking forward to Natasha’s return, but unfortunately can’t quite say when that will be.

Bye the way, if you are listening on our iPhone app, look out for the bonus audio that Bertie’s going to be publishing there. He’ll be bringing you a quick guide to the planets.

Download the audio (click to play, right click to save)

We bring you this sad, but we hope beautiful, story in verse. Orpheus the musician married Eurydice the shepherdess. When she was killed by a snake, he traveled down to the underworld and was granted one chance to fetch her back to life. Bertie has freely adapted this ancient tale into his own verse. And yes, we did warn you, it is sad.

Read by Richard Scott. Written by Bertie. Duration 12 minutes.

Thanks to our sponsor, Sweetpea3.

I speak of a man of sweet honeyed melody,

Whose love sick heart had no remedy

But to travel to where none before,

Save sad souls who live no more,

Have been and seen and ne’re come back:

The land of DEATH where all is black.

But where we start is under the sun,

Of ancient Greece, where legends begun.

Orpheus his name, and music he made,

Like no other who sang or played

His notes unfold upon the breeze

He woos the birds, he charms the trees,

No living thing is quite immune

When Orpheus plays his tender tune.

His skill commands the strings of the lyre

Under his orders, it sings like a choir

Of love for a woman: Eurydice.

Though his tongue was tied in speech, he,

As a man who hardly knew her,

Walked by her side and tried to woo her.

Without reply. Her pretty head

She turned away, and no word said.

She, sixteen, a sweet shepherdess,

Her heart, not hard, but I tell, you no less

Than twenty suitors she had turned away,

For she thought it too soon, to see her wedding day.

But then he sang, and his sweet voice carried

straight to her heart, and soon they were married.

Oh what a wedding! I wish you were there,

To join the feast in open air,

A thousand guests, a handful human,

The piper god Pan and his crewmen,

Nymphs and Dryads, Satyrs and Fawns,

Demi-Gods dancing all over the lawns

Horns and hairs sprout from their faces

For Ancient Greece was one of those places

Perilously populated by peculiar creatures

Who in modern times don’t often reach us,

Gods mingled with mankind

And often offspring, they left behind,

Back then, no one thought it queer,

To see a girl, with a head like a deer,

Or when out wondering some woodland track

To find a boy, with a goaty back.

Eurydice smiled and danced and charmed

All who saw her were quite disarmed,

Is she mortal, or a goddess divine?

Oh too mortal, Eurydice mine !

The sweet Cicadas in the grass

Sang their legs off, but none could surpass

The melodic magic of the man

Who outdid all nature as he sang

Orpheus played upon his lyre.

Love out-glowing the sun-set’s fire.

Darkness fell, the dryads danced on

And Eurydice sang and tripped along

The flock of girls ran down to the stream

and splashed along the waters clean.

The bride lifted up her white wedding hem

and hurried along, ahead of them,

But alack alas she did not see

The snake that struck beneath her knee.

Venom flowed deep from deadly fang

And over the hills the mourning bell rang.

When Orpheus kissed the lifeless hand

Her soul had gone to another land,

His lungs gulped air as if to cry,

But he could not cry. His eyes were dry.

The hills were silent as if for a year,

And then he sang, a song so sincere,

So sad, so simple, so straight from the gut,

That all who heard it, felt nothing but

The sweet sadness of this turning world,

where beauty must wrinkle, and grow old,

That, or in the warmth of youth, turn cold.

Men heard it, Nymphs herd it. Fawns heard it. Gods heard it.

Down in the depths of Hades, the word it,

reached the royal ear of the Lord of the Dead.

Pale faced Pluto, whom all men dread.

He spoke to Persephone, the queen of the hosts,

who inhabit the depths where all are ghosts.

“Dearest, Deathly, Queen have you heard,

The ringing music, the lovely sound,

The lament which echoes all around,

The land of the sun, and the world of the gloom,

For the girl Eurydice, who has met her doom? “

“Yes, my dear, I have heard the cry,

‘Why,’ he sings, ‘must sweet she die,

My young simple shepherdess,

Who is yet to feel, her husband’s caress?’

We doomed death so soon, for it must be so,

That the mortals feel, their share of woe,

But now I regret it. I feel it’s not fair,

That a voice of such beauty, be filled with care. “

And so it was, Orpheus sang by the river,

The Styx, it is called, it causes a shiver,

For it flows over ground, then down beneath,

To the land that’s guarded by the teeth,

Of Cerberus. The three headed dog of death,

When you breath no more, you smell his breath.

While Orpheus sang a boat came by

Propelled by a wind that sounded like a sigh.

The ferryman offered to carry him along,

To where none who lives can linger long.

So down to Hades, Orpheus went,

The first living man, who there was sent.

And when the dog who guards the gate,

Growled to him that he must wait,

Till death deals its dreadful blow,

He sang back . No no no !

Only he sang it so sweetly, so piteously, so sadly,

That the dog rolled the rock back, only too gladly,

And the music man entered the gates of Hell,

The place where we all must one day dwell.

And there Orpheus met, the ghost of his mother,

He tried to hug her, but could only recover,

A fleeting, empty, insubstantial thought,

Of she who had loved him, since he was naught.

And then he was granted, an audience before,

The Queen of Death, whom all hold in awe.

She whose heart does not beat,

Save once, when she heard a musician entreat,

A sentimental lament to reverse the law,

that has held enthrall, all before.

No ordinary musician, but Orpheus he,

Who moved to pity, Queen Persephone.

“I grant your wish, for your wedded wife,

That she should return back to life,

You may lead her up the trail to light,

But not once, must you take in the sight

Of she who follows faithfully your way.

Do not look back, or she shall stay!”

So spoke Persephone, and Orpheus heard,

And he agreed, to her every word.

He set off to the world of life,

Playing a love song for his longed-for wife,

She followed happily, twenty paces behind,

But Orpheus fell victim to his artistic mind

To be ruled by reason he was never meant,

Impulse and passion made up his temperament.

The journey was long and the way was steep,

Far to far, for Orpheus to keep

His promise to she who is queen of Always,

Who when she speaks, means what she says.

He wavered you see, he suspected a trick,

He worried himself, until he was sick.

Perhaps the queen had given her word,

Only to make him, look absurd.

What if his wife had lost the track?

He could not help it. He looked back.

‘Goodbye my sweet, adieu, adieu,

I only gave my love to you,’

So sang his wife, Eurydice,

A simple, sad, sweet melody.

And Orpheus took his beloved lyre,

And threw it upon, the furious fire.

And that was the end of the musician’s song

And though his life was painfully long,

He no more sang to human kind

For lack of the love he left behind.

Copyright Hugh Fraser 2010 (aka Bertie)
Written For Storynory.com

Download the audio: Click to Play, Right Click Save AS to Download

Since Astropup last went into space, he has started to think big thoughts about the universe. Now he is torn between the love of his owner, Jenny, and his thirst for space exploration. He returns to the launchpad for another mission with his companion the Major (who is a parrot in the Space Force). But this time the Major takes matters into his own beak.

Sponsored by Sweetpea3 (thank you !)

Read by Richard Scott. Story by Bertie. Duration 17 minutes.

Hello, my name’s Astropup, and if you are one of the pack that heard my earlier adventures, you’ll know that I have seen wonders and abominations in all four corners of the Universe. But in between my voyages through space, I lead a normal family life. I live with a little girl called Jenny who looks after me. You may recall that Jenny and her family moved to a sunny part of the world called Kuwait. Their home was in a compound surrounded by a high fence. There were other houses for the families called “expats”, and we all shared a big garden with shady palm trees and cooling fountains. Some might have called it Paradise.

Every now and then, I would come across a cat creeping through the flower beds on its fat belly. I found that I had lost the urge to chase such pathetic creatures. When you have seen all infinity, you have bigger thoughts on your mind than pesky felines. Yes, thoughts, they were what ailed me. I hadn’t had many of them before, but seeing other worlds and meeting alien life forms expands a dog’s mind. I started to wonder if pampering and love might be a sort of slavery. I had an itch for freedom, and you couldn’t scratch it. I had seen the Planet of the Cats. I longed to discover the Planet of the Dogs.

Sometimes I would put my paw in Jenny’s hand and she would gaze at me with loving eyes and say:

“Don’t worry darling Bonzo. I’m never ever going to let them shoot you up into space again. If they come to get you, I’ll hang on to you and I won’t let go. They’ll have to send me with you to the other side of the heavens, and Daddy will never let them do that.”

“Bonzo” was what she called me by the way. It was an affectionate name, but it didn’t seem to fit me anymore. By then I thought of myself as Astropup, the space explorer. My exterior was same fluffy, waggy friend that Jenny had known since puppyhood. But on the inside, I had changed.

The cruelest, most gut wrenching moment of my life took place one day in the garden of our compound. I was lying under an orange tree, when I heard an unhappy voice from within the house. It was jenny crying and saying, “No no. I won’t let them take him. He’s my dog and he belongs here down on Earth, with me, for ever.”

Jenny ran out into the garden and flung her arms around me. I licked her face to tell her that I loved her, but I felt another force tugging at my heart. I saw a man with a Parrot sitting on his shoulder. He was my old friend and comrade – the parrot I mean – and he squawked, “Hurry up old boy. The rocket’s on the launch pad”. And with a woof I bounded over and joined him.

As we drove off, I pressed my nose against the back window of the van, and I saw Jenny standing in the doorway of the house with tears in her eyes. My heart was wrenched into two.

Well I had chosen adventure over the cushy life, and boy I got it. I’ve told you before how take-off is a nasty experience, well this was a blast to remember, because as we were going up, and the g-force was pulling our stomachs down, I saw a piece of metal fly past our window. The Major – that was the parrot – saw it too. “Uh-oh,” he said, And oh, how I wished I was back in the arms of Jenny.

But eight minutes later we reached orbit safely, and all systems seemed to be A-ok. It’s so tranquil up there that it’s hard to worry. I gazed back down at the world. and thought how life goes round in circles like a pup chasing its tail. Even space travel becomes routine after you’ve done it a few times. Well the mechanics of it do, but I’ll always feel a sharp thrill at the start of an adventure: It’s more exciting than even the waft of rabbit scent on the wind. Our mission was only a small one. A quick trip to Mars. My role was to dig in an ancient river bed and bring back samples of Marsian mud. The humans thought they might contain microscopic life forms.

The Major’s job was to set the coordinates, and fire us off in the direction of the Red Planet. He was a cool -headed bird, and normally he worked calmly and methodically at the control panel. It beats me how he remembered which buttons to press, but he did. This time I noticed that his head was nodding more frantically than usual. That worried me. My worst fears were confirmed when he squawked into the microphone;

“Houston, we have a problem”.

The human chatter from the speakers grew quite intense, but the voice of the controller remained calm. He said.

“Ark 3” – that was our ship – “Remain in orbit. A rescue shuttle is standing by.”

I was pleasantly surprised. I had assumed that the humans would leave us hanging up there, rather than go to the trouble of rescuing a bird and a dog. Perhaps the ship was too expensive to dump. But the Major replied:

“Hold on. I can fix it.”

He was grasping an electric screw driver between his claws and undoing a panel. I had never seen him do anything like that. The human controller was saying.

“Major. Your orders are to stay in orbit and await assistance. Do not attempt maintenance. Repeat, do not attempt maintenance”

I added my bark to that, but something seemed to snap inside the Major’s feather breast. He jutted his beak at me:

“Shut your snout and that’s an order.” It was unusual for the parrot to be so petulant. I don’t think he liked being told what to do, even by the humans.

After he had been working for half an hour with a soldering iron, he said “Houston. I’ve patched in the emergency booster.” The human controller was saying: “Do not engage the booster. Remain in orbit and await assistance.”

I gruffed, “Better do what the humans say. It’s their show.”

But the Major replied: “Yeah, yeah yeah, I know what I’m doing. I’m not just a pretty polly you know.”

He pecked on the controls and a few seconds later we were rushing across the galaxy at four times the speed of light. The Major looked like a very pleased parrot. He had wanted to prove something to the humans, and he had done it – or so he thought. We had only been going a few hours when a red light started to flash on the control panel. I noticed it through my half closed eyelid.

“Wake up,” said the Major. “We’re almost there.” But I felt in my tail that something was wrong. I looked up at the space chart on the ceiling. Mars was marked with a red circle. Our position was marked with a green light. The two were nowhere near each other. In fact, even to a simple minded hound such as myself, it was obvious that we were heading in wrong direction. I sat staring it.

“What’s up?” asked the Major.

“We’re lost. That’s what’s up,” I said.

“Naaa!” he replied. But then he saw what I was looking at, and his face turned from yellow to bright yellow.

I couldn’t help myself. I howled and bayed:

“Aw-aw-awwwwwwwww! I should never have left my Jenny!”

The Major started to work at the computer, but I could tell that he didn’t really have a clue how to get us out of this pickle. He was a brainy bird alright, but on this occasion, too smart for his own good, and mine, unfortunately.

I curled up in my kennel and tried to sleep. Our oxygen and water could be recycled indefinitely. If were were careful not to woof our grub down all at once we could keep going for two, maybe three months : but the end result would be the same: starvation in space. I wondered if, when it came to it, I would eat the parrot. I hoped not, because he had been my friend, as well as my doom.

We didn’t hear anything from the humans. Either we were too far away, or they were fed up with us. The parrot worked continuously at the computer for a week, but we kept on heading in entirely the wrong direction. Eventually he said.

“Alright. I’m sorry. You were right. I should have obeyed orders. “

“Don’t fret your feathers” , I said. “I forgive you. At least we will go out gloriously, as creatures of freedom.” 

But how I wished I hadn’t left home. I began to think that if pampering and three meals a day is slavery, then perhaps freedom is overrated. And if it was our destiny to die in space, I would rather have gone down fighting the cat people than wasting away slowly of hunger.

The Major set the computer to beam out a Mayday signal. Actually, we broadcast “Help, Save our Skins” in all the languages that the Major knew, which included parrot, general bird language, animal speak, English, Japanese, and a bit of German. He couldn’t bark, but he could understand dog language. He spoke to me in English and I woofed back. He asked me to record an “SOS”, and added my own “OW-OW-OWWWWW! to the tape.

I can’t say either of us expected to meet anyone up there, but the Universe is so much smaller than you think, or at least that’s what I always find. After about a month of helpless wandering, the Parrot started to squawk excitedly.

“Dog. Dog. Wake up ! We’re saved. Either that or death will come quickly. In any case, our suffering is at an end.”

I rushed over to the window, and could not help letting out a series of excited yaps. A space craft was approaching us, and the nearer it came, the bigger it got. It was huge. I mean the size of an oil tanker or two – and I’ve barked at some out in the gulf off Kuwait so I know what I’m talking about. It was not shaped at all like our own ship. It was more like a bird, with great wings out of the side. It was painted all sorts of bright colours. In fact, it look liked a giant Parrot.

“Oh no. Oh no. It’s alive!” I yelped.

The beak of this ginormous bird opened and it was clear that was going to swallow us up. This was to be our end. A snack for a space monster. There was nothing we could do. Our course was set straight into its mouth. I said goodbye to the stars and saw my life flash before me. I thought of my mother, my six brothers and sisters, the first squirrel that I caught (and then let go), of the day that Jenny chose me and took me home, and of our two trips to the Planet of the Cats.

But as all but the dimmest among you will have gathered, since I am here to tell this tale, this was not the end. It was not a bird that swallowed us up, but a space craft.

When I opened my eyes I saw that the inside of the ship was filled with branches, like a giant tree. We were surrounded by thousands of birds. Some were sitting, some were flying, some were pecking, and still others were doing one of those things and pooping at the same time.

The Parrot stared in amazement through the window. Eventually he said one word.

“Civilisation!”

Download the audio, (Right Click, Save As)

This is one of the wonderful Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling. It explains why a huge mammal – the whale – can only eat the smallest things. The story is full of Kipling’s love of words and sounds, and it’s read with gusto by Richard. In case you missed last week’s story, we had better mention that Natasha is away.

If you enjoy this story, you might also like The Elephant’s Child, also from the Just So Stories.

This story is kindly sponsored by Sweetpea3 who are also giving away prizes for our writing competition.

Fancy yourself as an author? Here’s your chance to win a Sweetpea3 player and HEAR your story on Storynory. And even if you don’t win, we plan to publish the texts of all entries that we deem fit to publish. Please read the rules here.

Read by Richard Scott. Duration 12.55

ON the sea, once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a Whale, and he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel. All the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth–so! Till at last there was only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was a small ‘Stute Fish, and he swam a little behind the Whale’s right ear, so as to be out of harm’s way. Then the Whale stood up on his tail and said, ‘I’m hungry.’ And the small ‘Stute Fish said in a small ‘stute voice, ‘Noble and generous Cetacean, have you ever tasted Man?’

‘No,’ said the Whale. ‘What is it like?’

‘Nice,’ said the small ‘Stute Fish. ‘Nice but nubbly.’

‘Then fetch me some,’ said the Whale, and he made the sea froth up with his tail.

‘One at a time is enough,’ said the ‘Stute Fish. ‘If you swim to latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West (that is magic), you will find, sittingon a raft, in the middle of the sea, with nothing on but a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must not forget the suspenders, Best Beloved), and a jack-knife, one ship-wrecked Mariner, who, it is only fair to tell you, is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’

So the Whale swam and swam to latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West, as fast as he could swim, and on a raft, in the middle of the sea, with nothing to wear except a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must particularly remember the suspenders, Best Beloved), and a jack-knife, he found one single, solitary shipwrecked Mariner, trailing his toes in the water. (He had his mummy’s leave to paddle, or else he would never have done it, because he was a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.)
Then the Whale opened his mouth back and back and back till it nearly touched his tail, and he swallowed the shipwrecked Mariner, and the raft he was sitting on, and his blue canvas breeches, and the suspenders (which you must not forget), and the jack-knife–He swallowed them all down into his warm, dark, inside cup-boards, and then he smacked his lips–so, and turned round three times on his tail.

[Imagine a picture of the Whale swallowing the Mariner with his infinite-resource-and-sagacity, and the raft and the jack-knife and his suspenders, which you must not forget. The buttony-things are the Mariner's suspenders, and you can see the knife close by them. He is sitting on the raft, but it has tilted up sideways, so you don't see much of it. The whity thing by the Mariner's left hand is a piece of wood that he was trying to row the raft with when the Whale came along. The piece of wood is called the jaws-of-a-gaff. The Mariner left it outside when he went in. The Whale's name was Smiler, and the Mariner was called Mr. Henry Albert Bivvens, A.B. The little 'Stute Fish is hiding under the Whale's tummy, or else I would have drawn him. The reason that the sea looks so ooshy-skooshy is because the Whale is sucking it all into his mouth so as to suck in Mr. Henry Albert Bivvens and the raft and the jack-knife and the suspenders. You must never forget the suspenders.]

But as soon as the Mariner, who was a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, found himself truly inside the Whale’s warm, dark, inside cup-boards, he stumped and he jumped and he thumped and he bumped, and he pranced and he danced, and he banged and he clanged, and he hit and he bit, and he leaped and he creeped, and he prowled and he howled, and he hopped and he dropped, and he cried and he sighed, and he crawled and he bawled, and he stepped and he lepped, and he danced hornpipes where he shouldn’t, and the Whale felt most unhappy indeed. (Have you forgotten the suspenders?)

So he said to the ‘Stute Fish, ‘This man is very nubbly, and besides he is making me hiccough. What shall I do?’

‘Tell him to come out,’ said the ‘Stute Fish.

So the Whale called down his own throat to the shipwrecked Mariner, ‘Come out and behave yourself. I’ve got the hiccoughs.’

‘Nay, nay!’ said the Mariner. ‘Not so, but far otherwise. Take me to my natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and I’ll think about it.’ And he began to dance more than ever.

‘You had better take him home,’ said the ‘Stute Fish to the Whale. ‘I ought to have warned you that he is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’

So the Whale swam and swam and swam, with both flippers and his tail, as hard as he could for the hiccoughs; and at last he saw the Mariner’s natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and he rushed half-way up the beach, and opened his mouth wide and wide and wide, and said, ‘Change here for Winchester, Ashuelot, Nashua, Keene, and stations on the Fitchburg Road;’ and just as he said ‘Fitch’ the Mariner walked out of his mouth. But while the Whale had been swimming, the Mariner, who was indeed a person of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, had taken his jack-knife and cut up the raft into a little square grating all running criss-cross, and he had tied it firm with his suspenders (now, you know why you were not to forget the suspenders!), and he dragged that grating good and tight into the Whale’s throat, and there it stuck! Then he recited the following Sloka, which, as you have not heard it, I will now proceed to relate–

By means of a grating
I have stopped your ating.

For the Mariner he was also an Hi-ber-ni-an. And he stepped out on the shingle, and went home to his mother, who had given him leave to trail his toes in the water; and he married and lived happily ever afterward. So did the Whale. But from that day on, the grating in his throat, which he could neither cough up nor swallow down, prevented him eating anything except very, very small fish; and that is the reason why whales nowadays never eat men or boys or little girls.

The small ‘Stute Fish went and hid himself in the mud under the Door-sills of the Equator. He was afraid that the Whale might be angry with him.

HERE is the Whale looking for the little ‘Stute Fish, who is hiding under the Door-sills of the Equator. The little ‘Stute Fish’s name was Pingle. He is hiding among the roots of the big seaweed that grows in front of the Doors of the Equator. I have drawn the Doors of the Equator. They are shut. They are always kept shut, because a door aught always to be kept shut. The ropy-thing right across it is the Equator itself; and the things that look like rocks are the two giants Moar and Koar, that keep the Equator in order. They drew the shadow-pictures on the doors of the Equator, and they carved all those twisty fishes under the Doors. The beaky-fish are called beaked Dolphins, and the other fish with the queer heads are called Hammer-headed Sharks. The Whale never found the little ‘Stute Fish till he got over his temper, and then they became good friends again.

The Sailor took the jack-knife home. He was wearing the blue canvas breeches when he walked out on the shingle. The suspenders were left behind, you see, to tie the grating with; and that is the end of that tale.

Kipling added this short rhyme about a sea voyage to the story:

WHEN the cabin port-holes are dark and green
    Because of the seas outside;
When the ship goes wop (with a wiggle between)
And the steward falls into the soup-tureen,
    And the trunks begin to slide;
When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap,
And Mummy tells you to let her sleep,
And you aren’t waked or washed or dressed,
Why, then you will know (if you haven’t guessed)
You’re ‘Fifty North and Forty West!