Have you ever seen a parrot in a panic? In this Astropup adventure, the Parrot Major is flapping and flustering when he learns that a team of Ninja Cat Commandos are plotting to kill him. He suspects the whole world is out to get him. He is not even sure if he can trust his friend, Astropup.

And don’t forget, you can now get three Katie Stories on Kindle.

Read by Richard Scott. Story by Bertie. Pictures by Nick Hayes.

Astropup and the Day of the Cat

Hello, This is Richard, and I’m here with our latest yarn from our dog who travels in space. But before I hand you over to the capable paws of Astropup, I’d just like to clarify a bit of linguistic difficulty. Some of you have been asking us what a “mog” is. You may not be able to find that word in the dictionary, but it is in fact, a “cat.” So I hope that helps. Now, let’s hear from Astropup.

I  have always been loyal to the humans, even though they have more than a few strange habits, not least, keeping cats. It beats me why they spend their money feeding those treacherous mogs with foul smelling fishy chunks. They even let those evil balls of fatuous fluff sit on their laps, and they try not to wince when pussy-kins digs her claws into their thighs.

The scientists who worked at the space centre were more than normally intelligent humans, and yet they too kept cats. Yes, there were shameless mogs who prowled around the corridors of Space Central looking like they owned the place.

But stroking earthly catlings is one thing, and dealing with extra-terrestrial felines is a fiendishly different kettle of fishy chunks.    I know that the humans have huge dishes on the tops of hills, like giant electronic ears,  that pick up the constant mewing of the Cat People in outer space.  Some especially clever boffins had cracked the Cat People’s codes. They understood the meaning of every meow. And one of the messages that the humans picked up held some particularly terrifying news – for my friend, the parrot.

It happened when I was on shore leave.  I was living at home in blissful comfort with my owner, Jennie.  I did not lack for biscuits, blankets or cuddles.  One morning, I was chewing on my favourite rubber bone, when I heard a tap-tapping at the French doors.  With a woof and a wag I trotted over to see if it was friend or foe.  I saw a  flustered pale green bird whom I did not recognise right away.   I should mention that my friend the parrot had an uncanny ability to change colour.  I don’t mean that he went from deep blue to bright orange, but he certainly had several shades of green. Today he was so pale that he was almost yellow.  I barked to him that the kitchen window was open and, after a little confusion, he fluttered in.  His little eyes darted from side to side.

“They’re out to get me,” he rasped.  

“No need to flap,” I said, trying to sound soothing. “Find a perch, settle down, peck a peanut,  and  explain exactly who is out to get you.”

“The cats,” he said looking wilder than ever.  “The humans..  Perhaps… even you.”

“Oh come now,” I woofed, “Why would I want to harm you?”

“It’s a conspiracy!” he squawked. “You’re man’s best friend.  You’re all in it together.  I know !”

“Well if you don’t trust me,” I said, “then, I can’t help you.”

“Hmm,” said the parrot, and at last he began to explain. He had a friend,  a budgerigar, who worked in the Intelligence Corps. This smart little fellow was a code cracker who specialised in cat meows.   His work was Top Secret, and he had  risked his job by telling the parrot major about a short meow message that he had decoded.  It read:

“Stupid humans don’t suspect a thing.”

The point was, the message came from somewhere inside the Space Centre. The Cat People had a secret agent working among the humans.  It got worse. The answer came back from outer space:

“Bravo.  Top target is pesky parrot.”

The budgie told his boss about this threat to the life of our friend.  And the boss told the important people at the space centre  that they must clear out all the cats immediately – and the Top People answered that  there was nothing that could be done without more proof. They couldn’t have one species throwing out another, just because some bird brain overheard a meow.

“So you see,” said the Parrot Major, “The humans don’t mind if an alien cat sinks his claws into me.   They’ve never cared for a smart bird.  My brilliant brain makes them feel less clever.  In fact, they want me dead.  They might even be working with the cats for all I know.”  

It was clear that all the parrot could do was to panic.  That left it  up to me to think on my four feet and come up with a clever plan.  Being smart is not part of my job description, but when needs must…

“So,” I said, “we have a traitor inside the space centre.  We know that he or she is one of the cats. That narrows the suspects down to about a 100 or so   fiendish  moggies.  All we have to do is find out which one is the betrayer.”

My feathered friend stopped flapping and put his head on one side: “Well dear dog,” he said, “that’s elementary then.”  Since I did not know what “elementary” meant, I did not reply, but I did notice that he was settling down into a brighter shade of green. His plumage was all in a mess.  He reminded me of someone or something. I knew it was important, but I could not quite catch that thought.  Like most of my best ideas, it escaped me,  like – like  a squirrel up a tree.  

And so I consulted the one creature whom I knew would always give me good advice.  My mum.  She lived with Jenny’s aunty in a far away country called England, but we sometime woofed to each other over Skype. As luck would have it, Jenny’s mum was talking to her sister that evening.  I jumped on her lap, and woofed at the computer screen.  I could see my mum sitting on the bed behind Aunty Catherine.  

“Hey mum,” I woofed, “how do you set a trap for a cat?”

“With another cat, of course,” woofed back my mum. “Cats call to each other in spring.”

Yes, of course, I thought to myself. The cats’ chorus.  Cats make that awful caterwauling and think it is music.  It drives everyone else insane, but it’s what brings cats together in the tender season.  Now, how could we find a cat we could trust to put out the call sign?”  That was a question I put to the parrot.

“A trustworthy cat!” he scoffed. “You’d be more likely to find a ballet-dancing rhinoceros.”

And so I went back to being stumped, which is my normal state.  I was still stumped the next morning, when I followed Jenny into the toy room, hoping that she would take me for a walk.  I watched her tidy up her cupboard, and low and behold, there was the thought that had escaped me.  It was a big fluffy glove puppet in the shape of a parrot. He had messy plumage and beady eyes.  In the dark, he could pass as our own parrot.  

The next day I set out on the trail of the traitor.  I began by speaking to the code-cracking budgie. We met outside the space centre in the middle of the park where nobody could overhear us.  

“I want to set up a cat trap,” I told him, “And I need your help.
“It’s normally cats who catch budgies,” peeped the little bird,” I knew from his sly smile that I could rely on him.

That night, he fluttered into the radio room and broadcast a message in cat-speak.  It was the most appalling din, like chalk on a blackboard, or the sound of a cat’s chorus.  In translation, this is what it said.  “Catch parrot alone. Car park, south east corner, 7.30, Wednesday night.”

He perched up all night and waited for reply from the Cat People’s space command ship.  It duly came at 6 in the morning.

“Confirm rendezvous. 2 Ninja cat commandos, car park, south east corner, 7.30 Wednesday night.”

The cat trap was set. On Wednesday evening, our friend the parrot was due to give a talk in the operations room on the subject of the “The threat posed by alien birds”.  He was considered an expert on the subject, following our trip to the Ship of Birds which you might have heard about in a previous episode.  There were flyers posted up on all the noticeboards advertising his talk.  In the tea room,  I saw a trio of cats studying one of the flyers particularly closely. There was a grey cat with a black patch over his eye, a dirty white feline who looked a bit like an overgrown rat, and a common tabby.  I wondered if one of them could be the traitor.  Or perhaps even, all three?

Whoever the traitor was, he wasn’t much good at time keeping.  The orange sun was setting over the car park, when two ninja cat commandos climbed over the wall.  I could see them from where I was hidden between two parked cars.  They carried guns and backpacks.   They were sure scary enough to make a bull dog shudder.  But there was no cat there to meet and greet them in the car park. They hopped around nervously, clearly wondering if their plan had hit a snag. Then I saw a slinky, pointed eared figured jump up onto the bonnet of a car. Instantly the ninja cats trained their guns on the new arrival.

“Don’t shoot!” mewed the figure. I could see him clearly now.  He was the dirty white rat-cat – the Traitor! “This way,” he hissed. “The parrot’s giving a talk in the ops room. I’ll show you the way up onto the roof, and you can drop down onto the window cill and get a clear shot at him.  And the scoundrels bounded off, sneaking between the cars, and heading for the side of the space centre where some builder’s scaffolding gave them an easy way up onto the roof.

Fortunately,  I was not the only one who was witness to this act of treachery. A border collie from the security service had been watching it all too, from a truck.  The cat traitor had given himself away.

We both ran as fast as we could to the entrance of the space centre, and toward the lifts.  As you probably know, there is never a free elevator when you are in a hurry, and so we had to take the stares.   We both barked as we ran down the corridor to the ops room, and people and animals had to scramble out of our way.

“Hey you dogs, look where you are going,” shouted a scientist type  as I ran through his legs.  I could hear the parrot’s voice now:

“Birds rank among the most intelligent life forms in the universe.  They have the capacity to out-think humans by a factor of five to one…”

As we came through the door I could see a cat commando crouching at the window sill.

“Get down everybody!” I barked … but most of those present were humans and could not understand me. Just then a laser shot through the window and knocked the parrot off his perch.   He lay on the ground, a heap of singed feathers, smoke coming out of his head. One of the humans grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and covered him in foam.  The cat assassin sprang out of sight. Perhaps I was the only one who had spotted him.

But of course the burnt bird was not our friend.  He was only Jenny’s glove puppet.  The real parrot major was perched in the projector room, giving his lecture through a microphone.  The cats had missed their target.  By now alarms and sirens were going off, and security guards were running willy-nilly all over the place.   The fire brigade was on its way.  But all the chaos and confusion only gave cover to the ninja cat commandos.  They slipped away to their space ship, no doubt convinced that they had taken out their target.  It was a pity they had got away – but it was more important that we had the evidence we needed to convict the traitor.

Well thank you Astropup for another action-packed episode. And by the way, we have original illustrations by Nick Hayes for this story, so do drop by at Storynory.com and see them. Also, Bertie’s asked me to mention that we have three Katie stories bundled up on Kindle – the ebook’s called Katie the Witch Who Lost Her sells, and you can buy it from Amazon.

For now, from me, Richard Scott

Goode Bye !

We are celebrating a very special person who has been in her job for 60 years. That person is, of course, Her Majesty the Queen. Here in the UK, there is an extended Bank Holiday around June 4th, 2012, to mark the occasion. Lots of people will be having street parties.

Gerald Watts has written a charming poem that we are presenting as our tribute to Her Majesty.

Marvin the Mole likes to explore, and he pops up out of the ground all over the place. Unfortunately he is not usually a welcomed warmly by the people who see him. How will the Queen react when he unexpectedly visits her garden party?

If you like this poem as much as we do, you can buy the book, with loads of lovely illustrations, from our friends at Wicked Uncle.

Read with due reverence by Elizabeth. Poem by Gerald Watts.

MARVIN THE MOLE AND THE QUEEN’S JUBILEE

This is the story of Marvin the Mole
Who would not do as he was told
And caused a scene of devastation
At a royal celebration.

Marvin was a handsome mole,
His velvet coat as black as coal,
His nose a cherry-blossom pink,
His eyes, although inclined to blink,
Were bright as beads. As for his paws,
Used for tunnelling of course,
All four were short and curved and strong,
Ideal for moving earth along,
Or for pushing stones aside
So he could burrow down and hide.

But Marvin, though small and almost blind,
Was not the shy, retiring kind.
He was determined to have fun,
To see the sky, to feel the sun
On his back and the wind in his face.
He would not believe the only place
That moles were safe was underground
Away from where the slightest sound
Brought long-nosed dogs with digging paws,
Birds with beaks and cats with claws.

His Mum and Dad, time and again,
Took the trouble to explain.
‘Down here it may be cramped and rough
But on the surface life is tough,
Especially for moles. Believe us, son,
We’re not against you having fun
But you are too curious and bold,
So you must do as you are told.’

For quite a while Marvin was good,
Playing only where a young mole should,
But one day, tunnelling along
With no thought of doing wrong,
He heard the most delightful noise,
The shouts and cheers of girls and boys.
He asked himself ‘What can it be?
I’ll just go take a look and see.’
So up he went, broke through the turf,
Emerging in a shower of earth.

It was school sports day afternoon,
The fifty metre egg and spoon,
The children racing for the line
When up popped Marvin in lane nine.
Oh, what a sight! What a surprise!
The rushing feet, the staring eyes!
Marvin panicked, dived for cover.
Two children crashed into each other.
Another tried to dodge and slipped
As one by one the runners tripped,
Got tangled up in arms and legs,
Discarded spoons and scrambled eggs.
The teacher glared into the hole.
‘One day I’m going to get that mole!’

All next week Marvin stayed home,
Minding no business but his own,
Until on Saturday afternoon
He heard a most uplifting tune.
An organ played, hymns were sung
And all the steeple bells were rung.
Corks were popping, people laughing.
‘That sounds fantastic,’ said young Marvin,
‘I’ve never heard such joyful laughter,
Such cries of ‘Happy Ever After’.
I won’t cause trouble like last week.
I’ll just go up and take a peek.’

The handsome groom and blushing bride
Stood arm in arm. On either side
Stretched row on row of their relations
Gathered for the celebrations,
Dressed up in fancy frocks and hats,
Silk scarves, lace gloves and smart cravats.
The photographer had just said ‘Please
Everyone, keep still. Big smiles. Say cheese.’
When all of a sudden Marvin appeared,
As scruffy as a pirate’s beard,
Sending grass and bits of dirt
Spattering their well-ironed shirts.
The ladies shrieked to see the messes
Made upon their lovely dresses.
The photographer stamped upon the hole.
‘One day I’m going to get that mole!’

A fortnight passed. Marvin felt sad.
Perhaps being adventurous was bad.
But, young and full of life, he soon grew bored.
‘It’s time,’ he said, ‘that I explored
Over the hill.’ So off he went,
Digging to his heart’s content
Until, at last, all tired and hot,
He found the perfect picnic spot.
‘Here is nice. The ground is soft
And no strange noises from above.
Surely nothing can go wrong?
I’ll just look round. I won’t be long.’

A silent crowd surveyed the scene:
A golfer on the eighteenth green.
This putt to win the Player’s Cup.
This putt to lift the trophy up.
The golfer eyed the line, stood tall,
Breathed deep and gently tapped the ball.
It set off straight towards the hole
When suddenly a pink-nosed mole
Emerged from deep beneath the ground
And sent the ball the wrong way round.
The golfer knelt and thumped the hole.
‘One day I’m going to get that mole.’

This time Marvin had learnt his lesson.
He asked his Mum and Dad’s permission
And only went to quiet places:
No stamping feet, no angry faces.
But all that changed a few weeks later
When our restless little excavator
Dug beneath a flower bed
To breathe the scent and rest his head.
He made a den and settled in.
He gave his fingernails a trim.
He ate his lunch and took a nap,
Snoozing in peace, not knowing that
He slept beneath a big marquee
Where the Queen was due for tea.

The tinkle of spoons, the chink of cups,
The chatter of guests woke Marvin up.
The Prime Minister took the microphone,
Announcing in a solemn tone:
‘We salute Her Royal Majesty
On this her Diamond Jubilee.’
Marvin heard. His heart beat faster.
This might mean triumph or disaster.
Surely he could see the Queen
And sneak away without being seen?
Slowly, feeling very nervous,
Marvin came up to the surface.

A waiter with a tray of cakes
Who normally made no mistakes
Stumbled as the ground gave way.
Unfortunately this sent the tray
Spinning wildly through the air.
The cakes and buns flew everywhere.
The guests looked round, alarmed, surprised
To see a pair of blinking eyes.
The golfer was the first to speak,
Wiping icing from his cheek,
‘The mole! It’s time for my revenge.’
‘Oh, let me help you, my good friend,’
Said the photographer with glee.
The teacher shouted, ‘Yes, and me!’

One jumped, one leapt, the other pounced.
‘You dare to come here unannounced.
Making trouble. Messing up the tent.
It’s time you got your punishment.’
With that they grabbed the little mole
And shoved him in a serving bowl.

Marvin was scared. He was afraid.
O, how he wished that he had stayed
At home near to his Mum and Dad.
He felt alone. He felt so sad.
Big tears rolled down his little cheeks
Leaving damp and muddy streaks.
The Queen stepped forward gracefully.
‘What’s all the fuss? Now, let me see.’
She lifted up the serving bowl.
She saw the wretched, guilty mole.
‘In all my reign of sixty years
I’ve never seen such heartfelt tears.
Though living cautiously is fine,
Being curious is no crime.
Despite the damage to my garden,
I grant this mole a royal pardon.’

A Royal Footman dressed in black
Wiped him down and took him back,
Back to his worried Mum and Dad
Who hugged and kissed their little lad.
Marvin hugged them tight and said
Perhaps he’d like to go to bed,
And promised he’d take extra care
When playing in the open air.

Copyright Gerald Watts 2011.

The giants in this story don’t actually come romping into the playground and squash anybody. It isn’t that sort of story. Katie’s mum, who knows lots of wonderful stories, tells her about The Giants and the Gods to explain something important about life.

Which side are you on – the Giants or the Gods? When you’ve listened to the story, you can leave a comment and let us know.

And if you have a Kindle, you might like to read our ebook of three Katie stories on it. If you do get the book, please leave a nice review on Amazon as that will really help us.

Read by Natasha. Pictures by CaiJia. Story by Bertie.

Katie and the Giants

Hello, this is Natasha and this is our latest story about Katie the witch. I ought to mention that there aren’t actually any giants in this story, so I hope you aren’t too disappointed about that. After all, Katie is an ordinary school girl, and it would be quite surprising if giants suddenly appeared in the playground. But giants are important to the story. – as you will hear.

There was a new girl at school. Her name was Jazz and you might have thought that she would be quite shy until she had time to settle in. Katie thought, “Poor Jazz, starting a school is such a big thing. She must be quite scared really.” After the first lesson, she went up to her and said: “Hi, My name’s Katie. Don’t worry, we’re all pretty friendly here. Well most of us are…”

Jazz frowned and stared past Katie’s face in a strange way. She said:

“Couldn’t you find your hairbrush this morning?” Samantha laughed at this remark, and made action like a monster: “Katie’s hair is always WILD,” she exclaimed. And then she added with a toss of thumb: “She’s the weird one.”

Jazz said: “Yes, I see that. Every class has one of those.”

Katie felt so hurt it was like Jazz had hit her. She decided to avoid her. But at lunchtime, lots of other people wanted to chat to the new girl, and she was instantly popular. Her mum was a presenter on one of those TV shows about buying a house that was a bit of a tip, and then doing it up to be a dream home. Everyone thought that was super-cool. Even Katie’s best friend Isis was impressed.

So all in all, it was quite surprising when Jazz came up to Katie the next day. Katie innocently thought that perhaps she wanted to apologise or say something kind to make up for the bad start. But she was wrong. Jazz said coolly:

“People say you’re a witch.”

“People say lots of things, said Katie, walking a little faster down the corridor towards the art class.

“I was in your mum’s magic crystal shop yesterday,” she went on. “What are those things supposed to do?”

“Magic things can make your house have good energy,” said Katie. “They can give you positive vibes.”

“Well that doesn’t do anything for me,” said Jazz. “My motto is, If you can’t see it, eat it, or spend it, then it’s no good to anyone. In fact, I don’t believe in magic. What you can’t touch, doesn’t exist.”

“Yeah, Katie’s mum is just selling fake spells,” said Samantha, who was also walking along with them: “A fake witch is worse than a real on if you ask me.”

“Well nobody is asking you,” said Katie.

“Actually, I’m asking her,” said Jenny, “Samantha, what do you think of Katie, her mum, and their shop.”

“Fake, fake fake,” said Samantha. And Jazz and Jenny thought that was hilarious.

Katie was used to being teased, but it particularly upset her when people said bad things about her mum. That evening she was still feeling glum, and she said to her mother:

“There’s a new girl at school who says that if you can’t see, spend, or eat something then it’s no good to anyone.”

“Well that’s nonsense,” said her mum who was busy mending an antique magic belt that was embroidered with all sorts of mysterious patterns. “There are lots of really important things that you can’t touch or see.”

“You mean like magic?,” asked Katie, “Because lots of people don’t believe it, so they think that we witches are fakes.”

“It’s not just magic that you can’t see,” said her mum. “And it’s not just magic that lots of folk don’t believe in. There have always been two types of people, and there always will be.”

“You mean like witches and ordinary people?”

“Not quite,” said her mother. “ Now, Katie, if you get your magic homework book, I’m going to tell you a story from Ancient Greece that explains what I am talking about. It’s a myth, so it’s not exactly true, but it has a deeper meaning…. that’s something lots of people find hard to understand too. According to the story, there are two great forces in the world. There are the giants who rule the earth, and the gods who rule the heavens. The giants are always trying to grab hold of anything that is solid, like rocks, trees, or buildings, and pull them to the ground. They want to dig up all the precious gold and silver that they can find, because they think that wealth will make them powerful. They plan to destroy the mountains that hold up the sky, so that the gods will come tumbling down to earth. But the gods are not afraid, because they don’t care about solid things. They value what you can’t touch or see. This war goes on and on, and it always will. We known this story from a wise man called Socrates, and it’s still just as true today as it was in ancient times.”

And when Katie still looked puzzled, her mum said that she was going to set some witch’s homework. By the end of the week, she had to find three important and valuable things that you can’t see, touch, spend, or eat – excluding magic. And although Katie thought that this was the strangest homework she had ever been set, she agreed to do her best.

The next day, Katie could not see anything invisible at all – which was not surprising when you come to think about it. Isis promised to help her look for something important that you can’t see, but she couldn’t find anything like that either – even though both of them kept looking hard right up until the bell for the end of school.

Her mum looked glum when she came to collect her. “Is anything the matter?” asked Katie.

“The owner of the shop is putting my the rent. I don’t think I can pay it. I’ll have to close at the end of the summer.”

“Oh that’s terrible !” said Katie giving her mother a hug, and trying not to burst into tears. As her head rested against her mother’s chest she thought, “Perhaps Jazz is right. Real things like money count for more than stuff you can’t see.”

Just as it seemed that life could not get any worse, it did. Their teacher, Miss Vile said to the class:

“This year’s school trip will be to a very special place. We are going to New York !” Everyone was super-excited because the furthest the school had ever been before was Clacton-on-Sea. But the letter they took home told their parents that the cost of the trip would be £800. Katie knew that her mother could not afford it. “Don’t worry mum,” she said. “I really don’t mind about the school trip.” But of course she felt left out. And it seemed like yet more proof that things like money really do matter most in life.

“I’m really worried,” said Katie to Isis, the next day, “because bad things always happen in threes. What awful thing can happen to me today?”

“Don’t believe that nonsense,” said Isis, “It’s only superstition.”

And Isis was right, because nothing bad did happen that day.

“Mum, I’m so grateful nothing bad happened today,” said Katie when she got home.

“Well done darling,” said her mum. “That’s one important thing you have found that you can’t see, touch or eat.”

“Have I? What?” said Katie puzzled.

“Gratitude”, said her mum. “We must always be grateful for anything good that happens, or anything bad that doesn’t happen. In fact we must be grateful for all the happinesses and good fortunes that we have. Gratitude makes us much more content with life.”

“Oh I see,” said Katie. “Now I’m beginning to understand.

It was Friday. Katie was secretly pleased that she had managed to get to the end of such a bad week. Isis’s mum picked her up from school to come over for a sleep-over. It was going to be such fun.

“I spoke to your mum today,” she said, “And she’s agreed that you can come pony trekking again with us at the half-term.”

Katie was amazed. “But isn’t Isis going on the school trip at half-term?” she asked.

“She doesn’t want to go to New York without her best-friend,” said Isis’s mum. And Katie realised that she had found another really, really important thing that you can’t see or touch : friendship.

Katie and Isis chatted long after light’s out about all sorts of things, but mostly about the important things that you can’t see, eat or spend. “I still don’t know who is right though,” said Katie, “The giants who believe in solid things like money and riches, or the gods who believe in things like gratitude and friendship. If you could see how worried mum is about having to close the shop, you couldn’t fail to see that money is really important.”

“Perhaps they are both right,” said Isis, “But I believe that the gods are more right than the giants.
Those sorts of of invisible things like friendship and gratitude are are much more important than the solid stuff.”

“I’m not sure that you are right,” said Katie, “But I do hope that you are.”

Katie’s mum came to pick her up from Isis’s house after tea on Saturday. The girls had been out to the pony farm to ride Isis’s horse and had enjoyed a lovely day. Katie noticed that her mum’s face looked far more relaxed than last time she had seen her. In the car she said: “Tell me mum, have you got some good news?”

“I have,” replied her mum. And she explained that a woman from a TV show called “DES RES” which was short for “Desirable Residence”, had been into the shop several times, and wanted to feature it in her next series. She loved some of the wooden statues and beautifully embroidered cushions, and she thought that they would feature in a make-over of an old-run down country house, which could be turned into some sort of Aladdin’s Palace.

“Wow”, said Katie, “Her daughter is in my class at school. Her name is Jazz and she said all sorts of horrible snooty things about your shop.”

“Well her mother loves it” ! Said Katie’s mum thrilled, “And the landlord says he won’t put the rent up for another year if we are on TV, because publicity will be good for the whole street. And of course it wouldn’t look nice for him if the TV show heard that he was being mean to us and that we had to close down.”

Katie was thrilled. She thought: “This is perfect revenge on Jazz. She’ll have to eat her words.” And she realised that revenge was something you can’t see, but she also knew that her mum would not approve of it, so she did not say what she was thinking.

On Monday, she went to school with a spring in her step. As luck would have it, she and Jazz both arrived in the classroom a few minutes early. They were alone together. Jazz said: “Katie there’s something I want to say to you.”

“What’s that?” said Katie getting ready for some nasty barbed comment.

“Sorry,” said Jazz.

Katie was amazed. She was more stunned than the time Jazz had been really mean to her. And she realised that she had discovered too more really important but invisible things. Apologising, and forgiveness.

And that was the story of Katie and the Giants. I do hope that you enjoyed it. Which side are you on, The Giants or the Gods ? Or perhaps sometimes you are on one side, and other times on the other? It’s something to think about. And for those who like to know about this sort of thing, the original story of the Giants and the Gods can be found in a book called The Sophist by Plato.

Our Katie stories are one of our most popular series on Storynory.com. There are many more stories on the site too, so do drop by and listen to some soon.

And you might like to know that you can now listen to our Story, Katie and the Witch’s swap, for free on the site. But if you would can buy our iPhone and iPad app with 17 original illustrations for story that would be fantastic. And thanks too to everyone who bought the Witch’s Swap story when it was for sale, and to everyone who has made donations to Storynory.

For now, from me, Natasha

Bye Bye !

Dorothy and her friends are not out of danger yet. They leave the Emerald City to resume their travels and run into a very unusual form of danger.

Read by Natasha.

19. Attacked by the Fighting Trees

The next morning Dorothy kissed the pretty green girl good-bye, and
they all shook hands with the soldier with the green whiskers, who had
walked with them as far as the gate. When the Guardian of the Gate saw
them again he wondered greatly that they could leave the beautiful City
to get into new trouble. But he at once unlocked their spectacles,
which he put back into the green box, and gave them many good wishes to
carry with them.

“You are now our ruler,” he said to the Scarecrow; “so you must come
back to us as soon as possible.”

“I certainly shall if I am able,” the Scarecrow replied; “but I must
help Dorothy to get home, first.”

As Dorothy bade the good-natured Guardian a last farewell she said:

“I have been very kindly treated in your lovely City, and everyone has
been good to me. I cannot tell you how grateful I am.”

“Don’t try, my dear,” he answered. “We should like to keep you with
us, but if it is your wish to return to Kansas, I hope you will find a
way.” He then opened the gate of the outer wall, and they walked forth
and started upon their journey.

The sun shone brightly as our friends turned their faces toward the
Land of the South. They were all in the best of spirits, and laughed
and chatted together. Dorothy was once more filled with the hope of
getting home, and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were glad to be of
use to her. As for the Lion, he sniffed the fresh air with delight and
whisked his tail from side to side in pure joy at being in the country
again, while Toto ran around them and chased the moths and butterflies,
barking merrily all the time.

“City life does not agree with me at all,” remarked the Lion, as they
walked along at a brisk pace. “I have lost much flesh since I lived
there, and now I am anxious for a chance to show the other beasts how
courageous I have grown.”

They now turned and took a last look at the Emerald City. All they
could see was a mass of towers and steeples behind the green walls, and
high up above everything the spires and dome of the Palace of Oz.

“Oz was not such a bad Wizard, after all,” said the Tin Woodman, as he
felt his heart rattling around in his breast.

“He knew how to give me brains, and very good brains, too,” said the
Scarecrow.

“If Oz had taken a dose of the same courage he gave me,” added the
Lion, “he would have been a brave man.”

Dorothy said nothing. Oz had not kept the promise he made her, but he
had done his best, so she forgave him. As he said, he was a good man,
even if he was a bad Wizard.

The first day’s journey was through the green fields and bright flowers
that stretched about the Emerald City on every side. They slept that
night on the grass, with nothing but the stars over them; and they
rested very well indeed.

In the morning they traveled on until they came to a thick wood. There
was no way of going around it, for it seemed to extend to the right and
left as far as they could see; and, besides, they did not dare change
the direction of their journey for fear of getting lost. So they
looked for the place where it would be easiest to get into the forest.

The Scarecrow, who was in the lead, finally discovered a big tree with
such wide-spreading branches that there was room for the party to pass
underneath. So he walked forward to the tree, but just as he came
under the first branches they bent down and twined around him, and the
next minute he was raised from the ground and flung headlong among his
fellow travelers.

This did not hurt the Scarecrow, but it surprised him, and he looked
rather dizzy when Dorothy picked him up.

“Here is another space between the trees,” called the Lion.

“Let me try it first,” said the Scarecrow, “for it doesn’t hurt me to
get thrown about.” He walked up to another tree, as he spoke, but its
branches immediately seized him and tossed him back again.

“This is strange,” exclaimed Dorothy. “What shall we do?”

“The trees seem to have made up their minds to fight us, and stop our
journey,” remarked the Lion.

“I believe I will try it myself,” said the Woodman, and shouldering his
axe, he marched up to the first tree that had handled the Scarecrow so
roughly. When a big branch bent down to seize him the Woodman chopped
at it so fiercely that he cut it in two. At once the tree began
shaking all its branches as if in pain, and the Tin Woodman passed
safely under it.

“Come on!” he shouted to the others. “Be quick!” They all ran forward
and passed under the tree without injury, except Toto, who was caught
by a small branch and shaken until he howled. But the Woodman promptly
chopped off the branch and set the little dog free.

The other trees of the forest did nothing to keep them back, so they
made up their minds that only the first row of trees could bend down
their branches, and that probably these were the policemen of the
forest, and given this wonderful power in order to keep strangers out
of it.

The four travelers walked with ease through the trees until they came
to the farther edge of the wood. Then, to their surprise, they found
before them a high wall which seemed to be made of white china. It was
smooth, like the surface of a dish, and higher than their heads.

“What shall we do now?” asked Dorothy.

“I will make a ladder,” said the Tin Woodman, “for we certainly must
climb over the wall.”

20. The Dainty China Country

While the Woodman was making a ladder from wood which he found in the
forest Dorothy lay down and slept, for she was tired by the long walk.
The Lion also curled himself up to sleep and Toto lay beside him.

The Scarecrow watched the Woodman while he worked, and said to him:

“I cannot think why this wall is here, nor what it is made of.”

“Rest your brains and do not worry about the wall,” replied the
Woodman. “When we have climbed over it, we shall know what is on the
other side.”

After a time the ladder was finished. It looked clumsy, but the Tin
Woodman was sure it was strong and would answer their purpose. The
Scarecrow waked Dorothy and the Lion and Toto, and told them that the
ladder was ready. The Scarecrow climbed up the ladder first, but he
was so awkward that Dorothy had to follow close behind and keep him
from falling off. When he got his head over the top of the wall the
Scarecrow said, “Oh, my!”

“Go on,” exclaimed Dorothy.

So the Scarecrow climbed farther up and sat down on the top of the
wall, and Dorothy put her head over and cried, “Oh, my!” just as the
Scarecrow had done.

Then Toto came up, and immediately began to bark, but Dorothy made him
be still.

The Lion climbed the ladder next, and the Tin Woodman came last; but
both of them cried, “Oh, my!” as soon as they looked over the wall.
When they were all sitting in a row on the top of the wall, they looked
down and saw a strange sight.

Before them was a great stretch of country having a floor as smooth and
shining and white as the bottom of a big platter. Scattered around
were many houses made entirely of china and painted in the brightest
colors. These houses were quite small, the biggest of them reaching
only as high as Dorothy’s waist. There were also pretty little barns,
with china fences around them; and many cows and sheep and horses and
pigs and chickens, all made of china, were standing about in groups.

But the strangest of all were the people who lived in this queer
country. There were milkmaids and shepherdesses, with brightly colored
bodices and golden spots all over their gowns; and princesses with most
gorgeous frocks of silver and gold and purple; and shepherds dressed in
knee breeches with pink and yellow and blue stripes down them, and
golden buckles on their shoes; and princes with jeweled crowns upon
their heads, wearing ermine robes and satin doublets; and funny clowns
in ruffled gowns, with round red spots upon their cheeks and tall,
pointed caps. And, strangest of all, these people were all made of
china, even to their clothes, and were so small that the tallest of
them was no higher than Dorothy’s knee.

No one did so much as look at the travelers at first, except one little
purple china dog with an extra-large head, which came to the wall and
barked at them in a tiny voice, afterwards running away again.

“How shall we get down?” asked Dorothy.

They found the ladder so heavy they could not pull it up, so the
Scarecrow fell off the wall and the others jumped down upon him so that
the hard floor would not hurt their feet. Of course they took pains
not to light on his head and get the pins in their feet. When all were
safely down they picked up the Scarecrow, whose body was quite
flattened out, and patted his straw into shape again.

“We must cross this strange place in order to get to the other side,”
said Dorothy, “for it would be unwise for us to go any other way except
due South.”

They began walking through the country of the china people, and the
first thing they came to was a china milkmaid milking a china cow. As
they drew near, the cow suddenly gave a kick and kicked over the stool,
the pail, and even the milkmaid herself, and all fell on the china
ground with a great clatter.

Dorothy was shocked to see that the cow had broken her leg off, and
that the pail was lying in several small pieces, while the poor
milkmaid had a nick in her left elbow.

“There!” cried the milkmaid angrily. “See what you have done! My cow
has broken her leg, and I must take her to the mender’s shop and have
it glued on again. What do you mean by coming here and frightening my
cow?”

“I’m very sorry,” returned Dorothy. “Please forgive us.”

But the pretty milkmaid was much too vexed to make any answer. She
picked up the leg sulkily and led her cow away, the poor animal limping
on three legs. As she left them the milkmaid cast many reproachful
glances over her shoulder at the clumsy strangers, holding her nicked
elbow close to her side.

Dorothy was quite grieved at this mishap.

“We must be very careful here,” said the kind-hearted Woodman, “or we
may hurt these pretty little people so they will never get over it.”

A little farther on Dorothy met a most beautifully dressed young
Princess, who stopped short as she saw the strangers and started to run
away.

Dorothy wanted to see more of the Princess, so she ran after her. But
the china girl cried out:

“Don’t chase me! Don’t chase me!”

She had such a frightened little voice that Dorothy stopped and said,
“Why not?”

“Because,” answered the Princess, also stopping, a safe distance away,
“if I run I may fall down and break myself.”

“But could you not be mended?” asked the girl.

“Oh, yes; but one is never so pretty after being mended, you know,”
replied the Princess.

“I suppose not,” said Dorothy.

“Now there is Mr. Joker, one of our clowns,” continued the china lady,
“who is always trying to stand upon his head. He has broken himself so
often that he is mended in a hundred places, and doesn’t look at all
pretty. Here he comes now, so you can see for yourself.”

Indeed, a jolly little clown came walking toward them, and Dorothy
could see that in spite of his pretty clothes of red and yellow and
green he was completely covered with cracks, running every which way
and showing plainly that he had been mended in many places.

The Clown put his hands in his pockets, and after puffing out his
cheeks and nodding his head at them saucily, he said:

“My lady fair,
Why do you stare
At poor old Mr. Joker?
You’re quite as stiff
And prim as if
You’d eaten up a poker!”

“Be quiet, sir!” said the Princess. “Can’t you see these are
strangers, and should be treated with respect?”

“Well, that’s respect, I expect,” declared the Clown, and immediately
stood upon his head.

“Don’t mind Mr. Joker,” said the Princess to Dorothy. “He is
considerably cracked in his head, and that makes him foolish.”

“Oh, I don’t mind him a bit,” said Dorothy. “But you are so
beautiful,” she continued, “that I am sure I could love you dearly.
Won’t you let me carry you back to Kansas, and stand you on Aunt Em’s
mantel? I could carry you in my basket.”

“That would make me very unhappy,” answered the china Princess. “You
see, here in our country we live contentedly, and can talk and move
around as we please. But whenever any of us are taken away our joints
at once stiffen, and we can only stand straight and look pretty. Of
course that is all that is expected of us when we are on mantels and
cabinets and drawing-room tables, but our lives are much pleasanter
here in our own country.”

“I would not make you unhappy for all the world!” exclaimed Dorothy.
“So I’ll just say good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” replied the Princess.

They walked carefully through the china country. The little animals
and all the people scampered out of their way, fearing the strangers
would break them, and after an hour or so the travelers reached the
other side of the country and came to another china wall.

It was not so high as the first, however, and by standing upon the
Lion’s back they all managed to scramble to the top. Then the Lion
gathered his legs under him and jumped on the wall; but just as he
jumped, he upset a china church with his tail and smashed it all to
pieces.

“That was too bad,” said Dorothy, “but really I think we were lucky in
not doing these little people more harm than breaking a cow’s leg and a
church. They are all so brittle!”

“They are, indeed,” said the Scarecrow, “and I am thankful I am made of
straw and cannot be easily damaged. There are worse things in the
world than being a Scarecrow.”

The Wizard has fulfilled his promises to Dorothy’s friends, but not to her. She still has not found a way to get back to kansas. She thinks of asking her old friends, the Winged Monkeys, to see if they can help.

Read by Natasha.

Away to the South

Dorothy wept bitterly at the passing of her hope to get home to Kansas
again; but when she thought it all over she was glad she had not gone
up in a balloon. And she also felt sorry at losing Oz, and so did her
companions.

The Tin Woodman came to her and said:

“Truly I should be ungrateful if I failed to mourn for the man who gave
me my lovely heart. I should like to cry a little because Oz is gone,
if you will kindly wipe away my tears, so that I shall not rust.”

“With pleasure,” she answered, and brought a towel at once. Then the
Tin Woodman wept for several minutes, and she watched the tears
carefully and wiped them away with the towel. When he had finished, he
thanked her kindly and oiled himself thoroughly with his jeweled
oil-can, to guard against mishap.

The Scarecrow was now the ruler of the Emerald City, and although he
was not a Wizard the people were proud of him. “For,” they said,
“there is not another city in all the world that is ruled by a stuffed
man.” And, so far as they knew, they were quite right.

The morning after the balloon had gone up with Oz, the four travelers
met in the Throne Room and talked matters over. The Scarecrow sat in
the big throne and the others stood respectfully before him.

“We are not so unlucky,” said the new ruler, “for this Palace and the
Emerald City belong to us, and we can do just as we please. When I
remember that a short time ago I was up on a pole in a farmer’s
cornfield, and that now I am the ruler of this beautiful City, I am
quite satisfied with my lot.”

“I also,” said the Tin Woodman, “am well-pleased with my new heart;
and, really, that was the only thing I wished in all the world.”

“For my part, I am content in knowing I am as brave as any beast that
ever lived, if not braver,” said the Lion modestly.

“If Dorothy would only be contented to live in the Emerald City,”
continued the Scarecrow, “we might all be happy together.”

“But I don’t want to live here,” cried Dorothy. “I want to go to
Kansas, and live with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry.”

“Well, then, what can be done?” inquired the Woodman.

The Scarecrow decided to think, and he thought so hard that the pins
and needles began to stick out of his brains. Finally he said:

“Why not call the Winged Monkeys, and ask them to carry you over the
desert?”

“I never thought of that!” said Dorothy joyfully. “It’s just the
thing. I’ll go at once for the Golden Cap.”

When she brought it into the Throne Room she spoke the magic words, and
soon the band of Winged Monkeys flew in through the open window and
stood beside her.

“This is the second time you have called us,” said the Monkey King,
bowing before the little girl. “What do you wish?”

“I want you to fly with me to Kansas,” said Dorothy.

But the Monkey King shook his head.

“That cannot be done,” he said. “We belong to this country alone, and
cannot leave it. There has never been a Winged Monkey in Kansas yet,
and I suppose there never will be, for they don’t belong there. We
shall be glad to serve you in any way in our power, but we cannot cross
the desert. Good-bye.”

And with another bow, the Monkey King spread his wings and flew away
through the window, followed by all his band.

Dorothy was ready to cry with disappointment. “I have wasted the charm
of the Golden Cap to no purpose,” she said, “for the Winged Monkeys
cannot help me.”

“It is certainly too bad!” said the tender-hearted Woodman.

The Scarecrow was thinking again, and his head bulged out so horribly
that Dorothy feared it would burst.

“Let us call in the soldier with the green whiskers,” he said, “and ask
his advice.”

So the soldier was summoned and entered the Throne Room timidly, for
while Oz was alive he never was allowed to come farther than the door.

“This little girl,” said the Scarecrow to the soldier, “wishes to cross
the desert. How can she do so?”

“I cannot tell,” answered the soldier, “for nobody has ever crossed the
desert, unless it is Oz himself.”

“Is there no one who can help me?” asked Dorothy earnestly.

“Glinda might,” he suggested.

“Who is Glinda?” inquired the Scarecrow.

“The Witch of the South. She is the most powerful of all the Witches,
and rules over the Quadlings. Besides, her castle stands on the edge
of the desert, so she may know a way to cross it.”

“Glinda is a Good Witch, isn’t she?” asked the child.

“The Quadlings think she is good,” said the soldier, “and she is kind
to everyone. I have heard that Glinda is a beautiful woman, who knows
how to keep young in spite of the many years she has lived.”

“How can I get to her castle?” asked Dorothy.

“The road is straight to the South,” he answered, “but it is said to be
full of dangers to travelers. There are wild beasts in the woods, and
a race of queer men who do not like strangers to cross their country.
For this reason none of the Quadlings ever come to the Emerald City.”

The soldier then left them and the Scarecrow said:

“It seems, in spite of dangers, that the best thing Dorothy can do is
to travel to the Land of the South and ask Glinda to help her. For, of
course, if Dorothy stays here she will never get back to Kansas.”

“You must have been thinking again,” remarked the Tin Woodman.

“I have,” said the Scarecrow.

“I shall go with Dorothy,” declared the Lion, “for I am tired of your
city and long for the woods and the country again. I am really a wild
beast, you know. Besides, Dorothy will need someone to protect her.”

“That is true,” agreed the Woodman. “My axe may be of service to her;
so I also will go with her to the Land of the South.”

“When shall we start?” asked the Scarecrow.

“Are you going?” they asked, in surprise.

“Certainly. If it wasn’t for Dorothy I should never have had brains.
She lifted me from the pole in the cornfield and brought me to the
Emerald City. So my good luck is all due to her, and I shall never
leave her until she starts back to Kansas for good and all.”

“Thank you,” said Dorothy gratefully. “You are all very kind to me.
But I should like to start as soon as possible.”

“We shall go tomorrow morning,” returned the Scarecrow. “So now let us
all get ready, for it will be a long journey.”

Click Pictures to Enlarge

By popular demand, the single paid-for story on Storynory is now free. Thank you to everyone who supported us by buying it. If you would like all 17 of the lovely pictures by CaiJia, and you have and iPad or iPhone, you can still buy our Katie and the Witch’s Swap app from the Apple Store. And of course you can always make a donation !

Katie and her best friend Isis are very different from one another. Apart from the fact that Katie is a witch, and Isis isn’t, there are many more differences. Isis has a nice big house, nice clothes, and a very pretty face. Katie is not nearly so well-off in those ways. One day Katie and Isis decide to swap their lives. Katie uses her magic powers for the experiment.

Read by Natasha.
Pictures by CaiJia Eng.
Story by Bertie.

It was 9 am on Monday morning, and the corridor at school was echoing with shrill voices and swarming with every type of kid – neat, scruffy, tall, dumpy, nice-mannered, plain rude, sporty, smart, not so smart, and the odd genius.

Each and everyone of them was unique. For instance, who else but Katie knew the magic spell for turning brown bread into chocolate cake? And who else but Isis came to school with a brand new hair band every Monday? Katie found herself walking behind the blond head of her best friend now. She tapped her on the shoulder:

“Nice hair band” she said.

“Oh, Thank you,” said Isis. “And that’s a pretty hair band that you’re wearing too.”

Katie was surprised, because Isis didn’t normally compliment her on what she was wearing. “Do you really think so?” she asked.

“Yes, I do,” replied Isis, “In fact, let’s swap.” And before class, there was just time to swap hair accessories and check how they looked in Isis’s compact mirror.

The swap brightened up a dull Monday, and it was kind it was kind of nice to exchange something because, well, you would only do that sort of thing with your best friend.

On Tuesday they swapped shoes. Isis wore Katie’s solid clumpy lace-ups that were strictly school regulation issue. As she took her first steps in them she said:

“ Katie I don’t know how you walk in these without turning into Dobbin the Mule.”

And Katie tottered along in Isis’s pointy slip-ons with hints of heals. Miss Vile told her that if she ever wore them again she would be sent home to change into sensible shoes.

“That’s not fair,” thought Katie, “No teacher ever said that to Isis.”

On Wednesday they swapped MP3 players. Katie listened to Isis’s chart topping girl band music and thought it was fun to dance to for one evening, but Isis didn’t listen to Katie’s underground rock music because it was far too weird.

On Thursday they swapped books. Isis did try to read Katie’s book on famous witches in history, but it was really hard going because it was printed in strange Gothic letters. Katie read two chapters of Isis’s paperback novel about a girl who who had a magic pony, but she thought it was all nonsense, because the writer clearly didn’t have any experience or knowledge of magic in real life.

On Friday they swapped watches. Katie wore Isis’s watch that little teddy bears instead of numbers, and Isis wore Katie’s magic watch that went backwards for some reason that Katie tried to explain, but Isis simply couldn’t for the life of her understand.

But the following Monday neither of them could think what else to swap. So they didn’t – at least, not until it was going home time. As they were crossing the school playground toward the gate, Katie said:

“I know. Let’s go the whole way. Let’s swap identities.”

“You mean like, passports?”

“No silly. Like I become you and you become me, just for a day…. oh go on, please Isis, say you will, it will be such fun, and nobody will every know.”

“But that’s impos….” But of course it wasn’t – because Katie’s a witch and can do all sorts of things that you wouldn’t think were at all possible, although they can work out rather strangely sometimes. A moment later Isis realised that she was looking at herself … only it wasn’t herself, because she was herself, but suddenly Katie looked like Isis….

“Oh no! “ she screeched ….. And then she burst into fits of giggles. “And do you mean to say I look like you?”

“Of course,”

“Oh Gross.. !….. Oh I didn’t mean it like that, it was just a joke Katie…. “ But Katie wasn’t hurt because it was all too exciting.

Outside the school Gate, Katie went to meet Isis’s mum in her car, and Isis went to meet Katie’s mum in her car. The inside of Isis’s family car smelt of “newness”. As Katie strapped herself into the unfamiliar soft white leather seat, Isis’s mum kissed her and asked, “had a good day darling?” And Katie thought: “Life as Isis isn’t going to be half bad. ”

And as Isis searched for the seat-belt buckle in a rather rustier and smaller car than she was used to, Katie’s mum snapped her fingers and the seat belt fastened itself up. And Isis thought: “It’s quite nice to be Katie, when every problem can be solved in a snap.”

Isis had never been to Katie’s house before. As she came in, she was amazed at the amounts of clutter in the corridor – there were so many coats, cloaks, and hats that it was hard to find a peg for her coat – and it only got worse the further she got into the house – the living room was so full of boxes, fabrics, glass jars, old-fashioned dolls, unconnected chandeliers, and piled up antique furniture that she couldn’t find the television set, let alone the remote control.

But Isis’s house was so spacious and empty that Katie did not know where to start looking for Isis’s room. She went up the broad sweeping staircase and found that there were six doors and two more floors to the top. Then she remembered that she still had Isis’s book in her school bag. She took it out, and said “Book, which is Isis’s room?” and the book said: “Third door on the left.”

Over in the other house, as Isis went upstairs, Katie’s mum called out, “Katie, can you switch on the crystal ball and see if you can find Solomon? He hasn’t been back since he went for a walk last night and I’m starting to get worried about him.”

“Sure mum, “ Isis called back. She knew that Solomon was Katie’s cat, but she had no idea where the crystal ball was, let alone how to switch it on. She explored the three rooms upstairs. One was the bathroom. One had a double bed. The other was clearly Katie’s room, because her school books and clothes were strewn all over the floor. A crystal ball sat among the pens and piles of paper on Katie’s dressing table. She examined it, looking in vain for an on-off switch.

In Isis’s bedroom, Katie was trying on her friend’s tortoise shell sun glasses. They fitted so perfectly over her pretty, slightly turned up nose. She looked into the mirror and thought:

“It’s not hard to be popular with a face like this.”

Meanwhile Isis was looking into Katie’s mirror and couldn’t help sniggering, because even though Katy was her best friend, her face was kind of funny.

Katie searched through Isis’s wardrobe for something simple to wear around the house but she couldn’t find anything at all suitable- not the black baby-doll dress, not the tennis outfit, not the emerald floor length silk party dress, not the jodhpurs, not the skiing pants, not he silk scarves or pashminas, not… not anything really.

Isis was changing into one of Katie’s hooded running shirts. She wouldn’t be seen dead in one normally, but since she looked like Katie, it sort of suited her.

When Katie came down for dinner wearing a pristine white shirt, she found her place around the dining table that was as long as swimming pool and Isis’s mum said: “ I called Miss Vile and she agreed to change your B+ for Geography to A.”

“My goodness, How did you manage to mellow Miss Vile?” asked Katie

“Oh, I used my powers of persuasion,” said Isis’s mum. And Katie thought different mothers had different powers. Her own mum would never think of trying to make Miss Vile change her grades, even though she could easily put a magic spell on her.

And when Isis sat down at the kitchen table in Katie’s house, Katie’s mum said: “Did you manage to track down Solomon on the crystal ball?”

And Isis put on Katie’s puzzled expression and said:

“No, I can’t see him anywhere.”

And Katie’s mum looked worried and said that it was really unusual for him not to come home for dinner. She ladled out the witch’s broth into a bowl. Isis looked at the lumpy green liquid and thought , “Will she believe me if I say I’m not feeling well?

Meanwhile Katie was looking at three wafer thin slices of parma ham and half a skinned avocado on her white plate and thinking “is that it?” A moment or two later her plate was empty. Isis’ mum asked :

“Anything else dear?”

“Any chance of some ice cream?” asked Katie?

And Isis’s mum turned as white as vanilla and exclaimed ! “Ice cream? You’ve never asked for that before. It’s full of sugar. You’ll get spots !”

While at Katie’s house, Isis had finished her Witch’s Broth, and found that it was quite tasty really, and it gave her a nice warm, full feeling inside. Katie’s mum brought her a cornet with a large round ball of mint-chocolate chip ice cream and she thought “Yum Yum”.

It was a very happy Isis that went upstairs to Katie’s room after dinner. She thought to herself that Katie’s mum really was a sweety, even if she was a witch. And there was a nice surprise waiting for her on her pillow: Solomon. “Naughty cat,” she said, “You had us all worried. “ She picked him up and was about to call out “Mum, I’ve found him,” when Solomon let out a screech and scratched her nose.

“AHHH…” she called out, and Solomon streaked downstairs. As she examined the damage in the mirror she thought: “Well at least it’s Katie’s nose he scratched, not mine.”

Meanwhile, in Isis’s bedroom, Katie was doing her friend’s homework. It was full of horrid maths problems, and she was far too excited to sit down and concentrate, so she used a quick magic spell. At home, she wasn’t allowed to use magic for her school-work, but well, she wasn’t at home, and besides, this was Isis’s work, and it had to look ever so neat. She changed a few answers to make them wrong, otherwise the teacher might suspect something was up .

And Isis sat at Katie’s table, and tried to do some scrawly handwriting that looked like her friend’s. She made sure that there was an ink blot on the page because that’s what Katie’s work normally looked like .

Later on, Isis sat in bed wearing Katie’s psychedelic pyjamas, and opened up Katie’s diary. All the pages were blank.

“I bet she uses invisible ink,” she said to herself, and she thought for a long time about what the magic password might be. Somehow, with the witch’s broth inside her tummy, she thought she might have some magical inspiration. “I know”, she said, “It’s catnip!” and in an instant, all the pages were covered in Katie’s messy handwriting. She turned the corners avidly looking for remarks about herself, but most of it seemed to be about somebody called Paul.

But Katie was reading Isis’s diary, and she found that she only filled it in about once a week, and then it was usually to say something about her pony. She picked up a pen and wrote

“Today I did a big swap with my best friend Katie who is an extremely clever witch.”

In the morning, Isis tried to comb her hair, which was of course Katie’s hair and far more tangled and knotty than her own. It was really quite painful. And Katie looked in the mirror at Isis’s face and thought:

“It’s nice to be a blond”.

She slipped on Isis’s pointy shoes and was pleased to think that Miss Vile wouldn’t send her home to change them because Isis could get away with so many stylish things that she couldn’t.

When the two friends saw each other at school, at first they couldn’t help giggling, but then Isis said:

“Hey Katie, that shirt’s not tucked in. And look at this: your tie’s not straight. And as for your – I mean my – hair – couldn’t you find my comb? Now that you’re me, you’ve got standards to keep up. You can’t go around looking like a scruff when you are wearing my identity.”

And Katie said: “Why did Solomon scratch your – I mean my – face? If you’ve been nasty to my cat I’ll kill you!”

And they would have quarrelled more, only Miss Vile came into the class room and they had to sit down at each other’s desks and keep quiet. At break-time they both avoided each other. Katie hung out with Isis’s friends, and Isis didn’t quite know who to hang out with, because Katie didn’t have nearly so many friends as she did. She went for a walk by herself around the playing field, and on the way back to the class room she met Rachel, a tall girl from the year above, who said:

“Hey Katie, have you been out collecting toads?“ Which was the sort of nasty thing that some people said to Katie quite often.

As Isis shook her fist, the girl said sarcastically “ Oooh–ooh, don’t put a magic spell on me.”

Meanwhile Katie was listening to Samantha and Isabelle chatter on about which soap stars were going out with which footballers according to Hot Gossip magazine.

“Sometimes, “ thought Katie, “It’s just a bit boring being Isis.” And she began to see that having perfect looks, perfect clothes, and a perfect house could become a bit of a pain after a while.

And so at lunchtime, the two friends hugged each other, and Katie whispered the magic reverse-spell to turn them back into themselves.

“Oh, that’s a relief,” said Isis, as she looked at her pretty hands and neatly cut fingernails.

“Well I’m kind of comfortable in my own skin too,” said Katie. And she thought to herself that although there was a lot to be said for being somebody else for a while, if only to get a new view on life, you could only really be happy as yourself, imperfections and all.

This haunting and romantic song tells how Jason asked Medea to sail with him across the wine dark sea.

Composed and Sung by Gabriella Burnel
Drums and inspiration by Jayesh Vadukul
Guitar and Base by Drew Wynen
Words by Bertie
Engineer Felipe Elcanja
Recorded at Forward Motion Studios with thanks to Jas
Picture by Nick Hayes

Now stealing stealthily down to the sea
By the path I knew as a child,
I found the fobidden boat hidden
In a place that was dark and wild.

My sleepy pharmacy I’ll slip into the stream.
It is a powerful draught
The dragon drinks, to sleep he sinks
I’m a witch who knows her craft.

Now at last he took me in his arms,
And this is what he said,

“Sail with me, across the wine dark sea,
In my ship as swift as a thought.
By the Lady of Olympus, Hera the Lovely
I’ll marry you like I ought.”

I was so naive, I wanted to believe
I ached indeed with fever !
A man like this a woman would kiss,
And he would never leave her.

What a fool, I was, to loose my cool ,
And to be taken in by lies
A whirling, swirling, girly girl.
The sort I despise.

And now at last, with eyes downcast
The liar spoke the truth.
“Yes it’s true that I swore, but that was before
I had seen the awful proof.”

My life she saved, but her family she betrayed,
Her soul with sin is rife.”

And now at last, with eyes downcast
He was never to say again:

“Sail with me, across the wine dark sea,
In my ship as swift as a thought.
By the Lady of Olympus, Hera the Lovely
I’ll marry you like I ought.”

Pictures by Nick Hayes. Click to enlarge.

Please find the entire series filed under Greek Myths and don’t miss three fabulous songs which go with the story.

The final part of Jason and Medea is action packed. Jason must drive fierce bulls to plough Ares’ field, fight off an army of skeleton men, and take the Golden Fleece from the cave guarded by a dragon. Will the beautiful witch Medea help him? Will he keep his promises to her?

There is an postscript. The Greek writer, Euripides, penned a famous drama entitled Medea. He gave the tale a gory ending. But some people think Euripides made up his violent finale to slander the non-Greek Medea. We give the story our own twist in the final scene.

Read by Natasha Gostwick.
Pictures by Nick Hayes.
Music by Gabriella Burnel.
Words by Bertie.

Jason and Medea, The Story of the Golden Fleece, told in verse in four parts, by Storynory.
Part Four : The Escape

When the sun revealed the bright day at dawn
We gathered on Ares field.
The bulls snorted, they would not be thwarted,
And to the yoke they would not yield.

The crowd waited. My hero hesitated.
He did not hasten in.
But I knew he had bathed in the lotion I gave,
I saw it from his gleaming skin.

My father sneered “The Greek is Weak!”
The Riff-Raff jeered at his fear,
And the Argonauts resembled, schoolboys that trembled,
At a teacher that pulled their ears.

Then Jason took a running jump
Over the fence – he was in.
The bulls snorted, they would not be thwarted,
Let the battle begin.

Achilles himself could not match that dash,
You should have seen the strength of the boy
He broke the bulls in, he yoked them in.
He fought like a hero of Troy.

But it was me of course, who was the cause of his force,
The people had no notion,
That the king’s daughter had brought to Jason
Strength in a magic potion.

It was an amazing sight to see the bulls plough,
The black earth that knew no pity.
Their heavy hooves plodded the clods,
Beneath the walls of the city.

Then Jason took a tooth, and threw it in the groove
It came from the mouth of a beast.
The beast that guarded the golden fleece
The dragon beast of the East.

And another he sowed, in the earth’s fold
And another sunk into the ground.
And straight up they grew, into a deathly crew
The skeletons stood all around.

The bones of the attackers, clattered and spattered,
No doubt they were dealing in death.
The horror he fought like a hero ought,
With all the breath he had left.

And at last he cast a glance at my eyes
And he recalled the advice I had given.
He bended low to pick up a stone
And hurled it at the bulls he had driven.

And in a rage they engaged the army of death
The bulls tore them apart.
The skeleton men, were scattered again
All by the cunning of my art !

Now Jason claimed, from the king who had disdained him,
The prize of the Golden Fleece.
And the Argonauts shouted, “The enemy’s routed
We Claim the Fleece for Greece !”

But loosing is for losers, not for my Dad,
The king would not make peace.
“This upstart Greek has a terrible cheek,
“To claim the fleece for Greece.”

And his guards thundered, and seeing they were outnumbered,
The Argonauts slipped back to their boat
And the king of Colchis kissed by the gods
Had shamed our name by his gloat.

And full of indignation at the shame of our nation
To my father now I lied.
“I have an ache in my head, I am returning to bed.”
And my lie was justified.

Then stealing stealthily down to the sea
By the path I knew as a child,
I found the forbidden boat hidden
In a place that was dark and wild.

And having hastened to Jason, I told him my plan.
He said “The Dragon’s Horrific.”
Never mind, I said, I’ll put him to bed,
With my drugs that are soporific.

My sleepy pharmacy I’ll slip into the stream.
It is a powerful draught
And when the dragon drinks, into sleep he sinks
I’m a witch who knows her craft.

And now at last, he took me in his arms,
And this is what he said,

“Medea, my dear, you have no peer,
Back in Greece we shall wed.”

“Sail with me, across the wine dark sea,
In my ship as swift as a thought.
By the Lady of Olympus, Hera the Lovely
I’ll marry you like I ought.”

I was so naive, I was ready to believe
How I ached with fever !
A man like this a woman would kiss,
And never leave her.

What a fool, I was, to lose my cool ,
And to be taken in by lies
A whirling, swirling, girly girl.
The sort I despise.

And so that night, but the treacherous moon
I drugged the dragon’s spring.
And I put to bed, his terrible head,
That snorted with fiery rings.

And past those paws with fearsome claws,
Past the beast that slept
My beautiful boy, played my ploy,
And into the cave he crept.

Who dares take the prize from Ares?
Who dares steal the fleece?
Only an upstart Greek would seek,
To claim the fleece for Greece.

Oh how the gold glittered, Oh how it shone !
Like a star of heavenly light.
That woolly wonder of the Eastern world
Lit up the darkened night.

Like far off Pharos, the lighthouse of Egypt
It was a fiery illumination
But it was a pity, that seen from the city,
It caused a sensation.

Aeetes, my father, the king of Colchis,
Told his trumpets to blare
And they manned the boats, every ship that could float,
And revenge they did swear.

For it was not just the fleece, that the pirates claimed for Greece
But the daughter of the king they took.
And my father faced, a shameful disgrace,
An insult he would never brook.

And the Argonauts rowed, but their ship was slowed
By the weight of the gold within.
For Argo carried, the war god’s cargo
The fleece that glittered like sin.

And the Georgian navy flew across the waves
Like the steeds of the Sea-God Poseidon
And I must find a plan, as best I can,
I knew an island that we could hide on.

And my cunning plot, I revealed to Jason
But I held back from him my worst
We set a trap, an ambush to attack
The soldiers that landed first.

And the first was no other, than my own dear brother
I shot him with a golden cross bow.
And with gory glee, we threw his body in the sea
And swiftly away we did row.

Now if my father had a heart, it was hard to see,
But he stopped to pick up his heir.
And in this way, his chase was delayed
In war what plot is not fair?

And we crossed the seas, to the island of my aunt
The wondrous witch called Circe
And I begged her for the spell, which she knew well
To make my father show mercy.

And seeing her niece plead on her knees
This is what Circe said.
“You, a woman, have given all to a man
And yet, you are not even wed?”

“Jason my boy, become a man
Now do not falter.
You have lit the fire, of a fine woman’s desire
Marry my niece on this alter”.

And now at last, with eyes downcast
The liar spoke the truth.
“Yes it’s true that I swore, but that was before
I had seen the awful proof.”

“This lady’s no mere witch, she’s a frightful witch
She cut up her brother with a knife.
My life she saved, but her family she betrayed,
Her soul with sin is rife.”
“Do I deserve this harridan harpy?
Zeus ! How she carries on
Such curses she utters, the words of the gutter
Should I marry such a one?”

“Yes, I betrayed, but what a price I paid !
Do you not see how I feel?
All my sinning gave us a beginning
In blood our love we sealed.”

“Zeus she’s mad, I never asked her to be bad !”
“How can you say that you liar?
You were obsessed by that Fleece, you wanted it for Greece,
And for you I went through fire.”

Now this domestic fight, could have carried on all night
But Circe settled it soon
“Listen my dears, Aeetes’ army is near
Their ships lie in the lagoon.”

“So see here Jason, you pathetic man,
Medea saved your life.
If you need my spell, that works magic well
Make my niece your wife.”

And Jason in his woe, trembled like a doe
He knew is number was up
A woman must marry him, or an army would harry him.
We both drank from the wedding cup

And later that day the army lost its way
Circe’s spell worked well.
And now I was a queen, I was happier than I had ever been
One day in his palace I would dwell.

And Circe sent us sailing across the sea
With a fair wind to Greece
And Jason brought me, his beautiful trophy
And soon forgot the fleece.

I forgot my malice, when I lived in his palace,
I gave him some wonderful kids.
I never grew frumpy, but at times I was grumpy
And said what custom forbids.

I let people know, that I was the real show
I said more than I ought.
I let slip the story, of my part in his glory
Of how the fleece was brought.

And like a true man, Jason began
To allow his eyes to wander
And soon he found, a princess who was bound
To make his heart grow fonder.

And when I gave him a piece of my mind
He had no need for force.
The court granted his escape from me
It was divorce of course.

He gave my name, a scandalous fame
Then there was that dreadful drama.
As for the rest, don’t believe the press.
By then I had grown much calmer.

There’s no need to believe Euripides,
Literature is all lies.
Yes, his play is called Medea, a name men should fear,
But revenge comes in many a guise.

The gods sent me, a chariot with wings
And I flew away from Greece.
To the land of Colchis, kissed by the gods,
And with me I took the fleece.

And that was the fourth and final part of Jason and Medea written for Storynory by Bertie, and read by Richard Scott, and me, Natasha Gostwick. Our production features the Music of Gabriella Burnell and the illustrations of Nick Hayes. Do drop by at Storynory.com for the full effect !

We do hope that you have enjoyed our version of this ancient story. There are more Greek myths, and many more audio stories from all over the world, at Storynory.com, so do make full use of this resource in your schools and homes !

For now from me Natasha, and from me Richard, Goodbye

read by Natasha in voice of Medea – but with bits later on by Richard who will speak Jason’s voice when he argues with Medea.

Summary :

Jason has super-human strength from the magic lotion given to him by Medea. He yokes the bulls and sews the field of Ares. He sows the dragon’s teeth into the earth. Skeleton men spring up from the earth to fight him, but he throws a stone at the bulls and they charge and scatter the skeletons.

Jason claims the fleece from Aeetes. Aeetes refuses. Medea slips down to the boats and tells Jason that she will drug the dragon that guards the fleece. Jason promises to take her back to Greece and marry her. She puts the dragon to sleep and Jason steals the fleece from the dragon’s cave. Medea and the Argonauts sail away but the shining fleece lights up the sky. Aeetes sees it and his navy chases the Argo. Jason and Medea stop at an island where they ambush Aeetes son and kill him. They throw his body in the sea and Aeetes is held up while he picks up the body.

They sail to the island of Medea’s aunt, the witch Circe. They ask her for a spell to put off the persuing army. Circe will only grant the spell if Jason will marry Medea. Jason says that he does not want to marry a woman who would murder her own brother. They start to argue. But when Aeetes army is near he gives in and marries her.

They return to Greece and Medea gives him two children. Jason divorces her and marries another woman. Medea tells us that we should not believe the playwright Euripides who told lies about her. She did take her revenge but it was not like they said in the drama. She flew back to Colchis in a magic Chariot and took the fleece with her.

An uptempo, amusing song about Jason and the Golden Fleece. We hope you will find this fun ! The words are a bit of a tongue-twister.

Composed and Sung by Gabriella Burnel
Guitar and Base by Drew Wynen
Drums by Jayesh Vadukul
Words by Bertie
Engineer Felipe Elcanja
Recorded at Forward Motion Studios with thanks to Jas
Picture by Nick Hayes

A young upstart Greek has come to seek,
The Gorgeous Golden Fleece.
He has a cheek, that Greek, to come and seek
The fleece of gold for Greece.

Is this scrawny boy to lead,
A gang of hardened heroes?
Will he hold his nerve, and never swerve
When the clanging fear grows?

A hero’s quest, he wanted best,
Glory for his name.
He had a cheek, that Greek, to come and seek
The Georgian Fleece of fame.

Away across the blackest sea
To a gorgeous, wild state,
With hills of riches women that are witches,
Dragons guard that the gate.

A prince he is, supposedly.
He looks like a dope.
He has a cheek, that Greek, to come and seek
On a quest that has no hope.

Yes, Georgia, Colchis, what you will
It stands by the sea that’s black
Many assaulted its citadel vaulted,
But no one ever came back.”

A young upstart Greek has come to seek,
The Gorgeous Golden Fleece.
He has a cheek, that Greek, to come and seek
The fleece of gold for Greece.

Jason speaks with manly voice,
Perhaps he’s putting it on.
No war with Georgia, war with no one,
War’s not why he has come.

A young upstart Greek has come to seek,
The Gorgeous Golden Fleece.
He has a cheek, that Greek, to come and seek
The fleece of gold for Greece.

A young upstart Greek has come to seek,
The Gorgeous Golden Fleece.
He has a cheek, that Greek, to come and seek
The fleece of gold for Greece

Pictures for Storynory by Nick Hayes, click to enlarge.

Our story is taken up by Princess Medea. Jason and the Argonauts have arrived in her father’s kingdom of Colchis. They have come to take the fabulous Golden Fleece back to Greece – something her father is not happy about. Medea is in love with Jason and decides to help him with her magic.

Read by Natasha Gostwick.
Pictures by Nick Hayes.
Music by Gabriella Burnel.
Words by Bertie.

Jason and Medea, The Story of the Golden Fleece, told in verse in four parts, by Storynory.
Part Three : Princess Medea.

It is a youthful traveller
Only just a man
So pretty, so witty, it is a pity
I can’t quite understand,

What this feeling inside me is
My pulse begins to race.
I’m so aware that I do not dare
To look straight into his face.

And he was barely more than a boy
But oh boy what a boy.
His dark eyes, lit by lies,
And a look that was coy.

Oh, I quite forgot: me
My name is Medea.
A student in the art, of wild witchcraft
My name men should fear.

I’m rich, I’m smart, I’m full of art,
And this is what I say.
I might be seventeen, but I know what I mean
I will have my way.

My father’s name is Aeetes
He’s king around these parts.
This land of Colchis is kissed by the gods
Wine, women, arts.

A fog from the gods wrapped our city.
And Jason just appeared.
A noble man, from a long-lived clan,
Though the way he appeared was weird.

And Heaven must have helped him then,
My guess: a goddess.
It might have been Aphrodite I think
She is never modest.

This young upstart Greek, had come to seek,
My father’s Golden Fleece.
He had a cheek, that Greek, to come and seek
The fleece of gold for Greece.

Then my dad, though his rule is to be cruel
Invited Jason in.
And a banquet put on, for the guest who had come
to take from him.

Jason spoke with a low manly voice,
Perhaps he was putting it on.
No war with Georgia, No war with no one,
War was not why he had come.

Perhaps some service he could perform
Could the king suggest a quest?
And the price that was nice was the fleece for Greece
The Argo would bring it back West.

And turning to me, father spoke softly,
“This is men’s table talk.
Medea, my dear, your grow bored, I fear
I suggest you take a walk.”

And so I suppose, I stretched and rose,
And slipped out silkily.
For I could hear, from a place that was near
Up on the minstrel balcony.

And my father drank wine and spoke his mind,
“I suppose you’ve heard of Troy
Warriors from Greece, don’t come East in peace
I have reason to fear you my boy.”

And Jason looked hurt, like a friendship had burst
And he seemed like a little boy
“Don’t speak to me, of that cruel history,
No need to talk of Troy.”

And my father softened, or so it seemed.
I knew his hard heart by now:
“My boy you have shoulders that could easily move boulders,
Like an ox that pulls a plough.”

“This is the task that I ask, not hard.
I have a field outside the city.
Take these dragon’s teeth, and sow them beneath,
The earth that’s dark and gritty.”

And my young pretty sap, did not run into this trap
He pondered and he thought:
“Why would he ask a task not hard
For a fleece that could not be bought? “

The craft he couldn’t see, and at last he agreed,
Little did he know,
That a dead army of men, would grow up again
As soon as be began to sow.

And those skeleton men, would fight again
See the dead cannot be killed !
For the god of war, long, long before,
This terrible curse had willed.

And a fearful fact that he did not know
Those fields were full of toil.
No harmless oxen plod Ares’ farm
But bulls must plough the soil.

And then my boy hero stood up to go,
Perfect to my eyes.
The shoulders of a man, the grace of a girl
He was doomed by my father’s lies.

And when he was well away from the men,
My father laughed and said:
The bulls will destroy that precocious boy.
And as soon as he is safely dead.

We shall shove a great rock from a high hill top,
And smash his ship to bits.
And never more, shall pirates plague our shore,
Where the game is double or quits.

Need I say, that in tears and dismay
I tore my hair and my cheeks?
My fingers were red where my face had bled
I was hot, I was cold, I was weak.

For in my heart, I knew, my father was cruel,
He never went back on a threat.
Still worse, he knew no mercy,
Not once had he relented yet.

That night I dreamed of frightful scenes,
It was I that yoked the bull.
It was I that sowed the teeth beneath
The earth so fearful.

When the impossible feat was neatly completed
I turned to my father and said:
“Now give the fleece of gold to Greece,
And Jason the boy I’ll wed.”

By daughter betrayed, father raged
And father flew at me.
There’s nothing so bad, that brings out the mad
As to break with family.

Then I woke in a sweat, the sheets were wet,
And my temperature as high as a kite.
I crept out of bed into the cool corridor.
And there I caught a fright.

For standing in front of me, was him you see,
Yes, the boy, Jason.
I refused his embrace, I stung his face,
And back into my room did hasten.

Then he called to me, knocking softly on my door
In my heart I hoped that he would.
“Medea, my dear, no need for fear,
I give my word to be good.”

I opened up slowly, and there in front of me
He stood. We were like two trees.
That grow side by side, open their arms wide,
And sway together in the breeze.

We did not touch, though the feeling was such
That I will never forget.
Our souls surged, our minds merged,
And still we hadn’t touched yet.

Nothing to say. He pulled himself away,
Like he was leaving home for ever.
Then taking his chance, he gave me a glance,
And I knew we had to be together.

Now not only have I looks, I’m learned in books,
I know my potions and lotions,
There’s no harm I see in pharmacy,
My fingers put magic in motion.

I lit the fire that burned like desire,
And stirred my ingredients in.
There’s power in my powder, and verve in my herbs.
With a flash my fun begins.

Then stealing stealthily down to the sea,
By the path I knew as a child
I found the forbidden boat hidden
In a place that was dark and wild.

It was the Argo alright, a magnificent sight,
As long as it was strong.
And the men slept around on the stony ground,
As I carefully crept on.

My hero now, sat by the prow
My Jason did not sleep
A lotion I gave him, and told him to bathe in it
That lotion would be his safe-keep.

And that was the third part of Jason and Medea told by me, Natasha Gostwick, and written for Storynory by Bertie. I’ll be back soon with the fourth and final part in which we will find out if Jason really does manage to get the Golden fleece for Greece ! And our production of Jason and Medea has fantastic music by Gabriella Burnell and stunning illustrations by Nick Hayes so drop by at Storynory.com for the whole effect.

For now, from me, Natasha Bye Bye.

This part read by Natasha in voice of Medea. Medea is daughter of Aeetes, the cruel king of Colchis, and the owner of the Golden Fleece.

It starts off with the same line as part one “It is a youthful traveller” which is a play on “It is an Ancient Mariner”. Medea talks of her infatuation for Jason, talks of her beauty and her strong will, and reveals that she is a witch. He appeared at their palace out of a mist. Her father invited him to dinner, and he asked for the Golden Fleece offering to perform a quest for it. Her father asked him to sow a field with dragon’s teeth. He did not say that the field must be sewed with bulls, and that they teeth would grow up into a terrible army of skeleton men. Medea dreams that she performed the task herself, and her father was furious with her. She wakes up and goes out into the corridor where she meets Jason. They do not touch but are obviously in love with each other. She follows him down to his ship, and gives him a magic potion to help him form the task.

A rowing song for our Jason and Medea series.

We are not only telling the story of Jason and Medea in verse, but in song too ! We hope you enjoy these soaring vocals and bluesy guitar. We have two more songs to come, so listen out for those.

Composed and Sung by Gabriella Burnel
Drums and inspiration by Jayesh Vadukul
Guitar and Base by Drew Wynen
Words by Bertie
Engineer Felipe Elcanja
Recorded at Forward Motion Studios with thanks to Jas
Picture by Nick Hayes

They rowed across the deep black sea
A never ending stretch.
They heaved and hoe-ed, and on they rowed
For the fleece they need must fetch

And Orpheus strummed his sweet sweet lyre
And sung out his sweet honeyed voice,
Row on boys, row on boys, don’t you slack
Row on boys, row on boys, there’s no going back
We surf the sea to our destiny
Keep right on track !

They rowed across the deep black sea
A never ending stretch.
They heaved and hoe-ed, and on they rowed
For the fleece they need must fetch

And when at night, they slept at their seats,
Heracles rowed on.
He would have rowed more, but he broke his oar,
Snap! and it was gone.

And Orpheus strummed his sweet sweet lyre
And sung out his sweet honeyed voice,
Row on boys, row on boys don’t you slack
Row on boys, row on boys, there’s no going back

We surf the sea to our destiny

Illustrations for Storynory by Nick Hayes. Click to enlarge.

Jason and the Argonauts travel the seas on their way to Colchis to fetch the Golden fleece. On one stop along the way, they meet Amycus, the inhospitable king, who challenges their strongest hero to a boxing contest. On another stop they meet a prophet to is tortured by Harpes for the crime of telling the future too accurately.

Read by Richard Scott
Illustrated by Nick Hayes
Written by Bertie
With the music of Gabriella Burnel.

Jason and Medea, The Story of the Golden Fleece, told in verse in four parts, by Storynory.
Part Two : The Voyage to Colchis.

They rowed across the deep black sea
A never ending stretch.
They heaved and hoe-ed, and on they rowed
For the fleece they needs must fetch

And as they rowed, over them watched,
Poseidon the god of the sea
He watched them row, and he watched them go
To reach their destiny.

Wherever they touched the land, the sparkling sand
They jumped on the beach with glee.
Those that met them, clothed and fed them
with Hospitality.

Save one. They called him Amycus,
The inhospitable king.
He knew no love, save the boxing glove,
He loved to fight in the ring.

“Choose a man”, he said, the best you can,
To take me on, I insist.
Your only right is to put up a fight
My guests are kissed with a fist.

His words of welcome irked them sorely,
Oh for Heracles.
He had a knuckle, that made men buckle
And crouch down on bended knees.

But Heracles was left well behind
And Polydeuces stepped forth.
He was an Argonaut, who many fights had fought,
He snarled his teeth with wrath.

The king exchanged a stare for a snarl
Like a cornered lion
He gazed at him, and blazed at him,
and held up his fists of iron.

Daunting gauntlets, Amycus wore,
That covered his fighting fists.
His second helped him pull them on
And tied them around his wrists.

The Argonaut’s man held steady and ready
And listened as Amycus spoke
“I’ll put blood on your cheek, and knock you to next week
Your cloak with red I’ll soak. ”

Polydeuces nodded his acknowledgment,
And so begun the fight.
He danced on his toes and dodged the blows
And deflected his opponent’s might.

But Amycus landed some heavy hits,
His fists tore through the air.
Teeth clattered, and ribs shattered.
The fight was brutal but fair.

But no fool was our hero Polydeuces
He knew how to measure a man.
He observed and learned the pattern of the fight,
And soon he had a plan.

Amycus acted more with anger than skill
In rage did he attack him.
He fell into a trap
. He left a gap
And our hero whacked him.

Polydeuces hit with the force of a thunderbolt
It was a skull shattering blow
There was a terrible crack, a deadly attack
He laid his opponent low.

All round there was awe and roars from the crowd.
And outloud Jason said:
Your king is down. He’s bust his crown.
Your king – he is dead.

But the people of that place bore no grace
They knew not how to lose.
Their king had died. The women cried.
And then, there were jeers and boos.

Above the roar, a voice spoke out loud:
“The killer of the king must die”
With no more words, they drew their swords
And at him they did fly.

But the Argonauts stepped forth
A line of prickly tips.
They fiercely fought back, and repelled the attack,
And more came out from the ships.

With shields and spears, and cries and cheers,
They fell upon the foe.
They cut and thrust and bones did bust
No mercy did they show.

For it is the law of Zeus, Lord of the gods,
Who rules form East to West.
Wherever you live, a warm welcome you must give
For a stranger is a guest.
…..

The heroes returned to their trustworthy ship
And sailed the Bosporus straight
A meandering sea, like a crooked knee,
That leads them to their fate.

When under their toes, the waters rose,
Choppy was not the word.
Propelled from Hell, a wave did swell,
And flung them like a bird.

The heroes yelled, and tightly held,
To the rim of their boat.
Up and down they dived, in fear for their lives,
And only just afloat.

When at last they hit the land with a thud,
To the coast of Bethynia they had come
They were glad to be here, for near lived a seer
The prophetic one.

Phineas the Bethynian, was frightfully thin,
His gift was a curse.
He could clearly see, your far off destiny,
For better or for worse.

But he was at odds, with the vengeful gods
And a cruel crazy Zeus,
Cut him down to size, and blinded his eyes
And harpies he let loose.

Now harpies harp on, they are terrible birds,
They are furies with fearsome claws,
They have women’s heads, and women’s breasts,
And they grab food from your jaws.

And every time Phineas tried to eat,
A harpy dove down from the sky.
It snatched the food, and flew off to its brood,
With squawk and a terrible cry.

“Oh Argonauts, I expected you ,
Bravest of the Greeks
You have come to me, for my prophesy
And wait for me to speak.”

“But before I tell, your future well,
Listen to my present.
The gods have meant to torment me
And this terrible torture sent.”

“Oh to you I pray, chase those fiends away
Those harrowing harpies kill me.
Give me your word, you’ll banish those birds
And your future told will be. ”

Now the Borriad twins, the sons of the wind,
Stepped forth and said “no fuss.
If it’s speed you need, we are swift indeed,
They won’t get away from us”.

They hide in a cleft of a rock to the left,
Of the old man and his dinner.
And when the harpies appear, to torment the seer,
And to make the prophet thinner,

The twins jump out, the birds to clout,
And chase them over the sand.
And up they fly, to their nests in the sky
For cliffs are safer than land.

But the terrible twins, are set to win
There are no buts or ifs.
They climb with ease, like cats up trees,
And scale the difficult cliffs.

The nests they reach, and the harpies screech,
And the boys attack with their knives
But Juno sent word, to save the birds,
And spare them their terrible lives.

A boy with wings, the message brings
To stave off from the fight.
“Twins of the wind, hold back from sin,
What you do is not right!”

“These birds are absurd, but they fulfil the word,
Of Zeus the almighty Lord.
Man cannot understand, his future in hand,
Or The gods would be frightfully bored.”

“Phineas tells, the future too well.
There’s a devil in his detail.
If he keeps it vague, we’ll rid his plague,
And again you may set sail.”

“For the best prophesy is ambiguity
Nothing is ever clear,
And horoscopes are meant for dopes
And play on hope and fear.”

And the twins climbed down, and returned to ground
And to Phineas this message brought.
And he listed well, and the future did tell
So vague as to be worth naught.

And so the sailors sailed on to their destiny
That was dark as a moonless night.
Through the clanging cliffs and the swirling pool
To the sea that is black and bright.

And at last they came, to the realm of Aeetes
He was king around those parts.
That land of Colchis, kissed by the gods,
With wine, women, arts.

But Jason pondered, how far they had wandered,
His head upon his chin.
His thoughts of gloom, his visions of doom
The frightful fix they were in.

For he was never a man with a ready plan.
And now he was frightfully vexed.
His head full of fear, and he had no idea.
Exactly what they should do next.

And that was the second part of Jason and Medea, written for Storynory by Bertie, and read by me Richard Scott. In the next part, Natasha takes over in the voice of the Georgian Princess and witch, Medea. Our production of Jason and Medea is accompanied by the Music of Gabriella Burnell and the illustrations of Nick Hayes. For now, from me, Richard Scott,

Good Bye.

Summary: Jason and the Argonauts stop at the Island of King Amycus, who challenges all visitors to a boxing match. Polydeuces takes him on and kills him in the boxing ring. Amycus’s army attack the Argonauts, the heroes fight back and sack their city.

A huge wave carries them up the Bosphorus, and they land in Bethynia. There they meet Phineas the seer who is tormented by Harpes. These birds (with women’s heads and breast) snatch food from his mouth so he is always hungry. The Argonauts help him. The Borread twins, the sons of the wind, chase the Harpes up the cliffs. Juno sends a messenger to tell them not to kill the Harpes. Phineas’s sin was to tell the future to well. If he keeps it vague, the Harpes will leave him alone. Phineas gives them a useless prophecy. They sail on and reach Colchis. Jason is not sure what to do next.

We begin our four part “epic” poem written in verse by Bertie for Storynory.

You may know this famous story by other titles including Jason and the Golden Fleece and Jason and the Argonauts. We have chosen to call it “Jason and Medea” to emphasis the parts of the hero and the heroine, who are both interesting characters. It tells the tale of how Jason sailed from Greece on a quest to the land of Colchis which is now known as Georgia (South of Russia, North of Turkey, West of Armenia, on the Black Sea). He took with him a gang of “hardened heros” including the famous strongman, Heracles, who features in Part One. His goal was to bring back the fabulous Golden Fleece – but he must contend with fierce dragons and beautiful witches.

The poem will be in four parts, and there are three songs to go with it. There are 12 specially commissioned pictures. This part and part two is beautifully narrated by Richard Scott. Parts three and four will be read by Natasha in the voice of Medea.

The story if very loosely based on / inspired by The Argonautica by Apollonius of Rhodes.

Read by Richard Scott.
Pictures by Nick Hayes.
Written by Bertie.
Music by Gabriella Burnel.

Jason and Medea, The Story of the Golden Fleece, told in verse in four parts, by Storynory.
Part One : The Voyage Begins.

It is a youthful traveller
Only just a man
A single sandal upon one foot,
He has not more than

Twenty years spent upon earth,
“My Shoe”, he says, “I lost.
Stolen by the winter stream,
Snatched, as I crossed.”

And here, to Iolcus, he has tramped,
His cloak is tattered and torn.
And Pelias, the king, he looked at his foot
And felt utterly forlorn.

“Come in my boy, sit down, your name?”
“I’m Jason”, he replied,
The king he looked, again, at that foot
And felt that he had died.

For he had heard that his doom would be dealt
By just such a man
A single sandal upon one foot
That was destiny’s plan.

“Away, I must send him, he thought to himself
Far over the wine dark sea
He can go on a quest, to prove he is best
To fetch his boyhood glory.”

“Away across the blackest sea
To a gorgeous, wild state,
With mountains of riches, and women that are witches,
Where dragons guard the gate”.

“Yes, Georgia, Colchis, call it what you will
It stands by the sea that is black
Many have assaulted, its citadel vaulted,
But not one has ever come back.”

“A prince he is, supposedly.
He looks somewhat a dope
I think it’s a plan, for just such a man,
A quest that has no hope.”

But Jason scrubbed up rather well
Bathed and clothed he looked better.
He had long dark locks, and a hero’s looks,
And was quite the trend setter.

A hero’s quest, was what he wanted best,
To add glory to his name.
He would not cease, until he had the fleece,
The Georgian Fleece of fame.

For in a cave in Colchis there hung
The golden, shimmering fleece,
The Georgian garment of great renown
Coveted by all of Greece.

Once worn by a living creature,
A ram with golden wings
Phrixos flew there from Greece on the ram.
And gave it to the king.

Get it, said Pelias, Bring it to me
And Jason gladly agreed.
Gold turned him cold, but fame was his flame
He suffered not from greed.

“I am a man to manage a challenge,”
He said boldly in the court.
Who will join me on this quest
A journey, danger fraught?”

And forth came heroes, real heroes,
Men who had sailed the seas
Polydeuces, Castor, Idmon and last,
Not least, Heracles.

And Argos, the oldest, greatest ship maker,
He set to work with his saw.
He made them the strongest, fleetest, ship
Like none that had sailed before.

Then gathered the gang, a hero to the man.
They named their ship the Argo.
And the crew they called, the Argonauts,
And the Fleece was to be their cargo.

They went down to the shore, gave an ox to the gods
Then sat on the beach, and drank wine.
The men tell tales, but Jason he ails,
Troubles on his mind.

And Idas of Arene, an irksome fellow
Though handy in a fight
Saw Jason brood, and guessed his mood,
“He’s a coward, alright”.

“Is this scrawny boy to lead,
A gang of hardened heroes?
Will he hold his nerve, and never swerve
When the clanging fear grows?”

“See here, a hero, Herakles.
Now this is a man.
He is more than a man, he makes war
Like a mighty entire clan.”

“He caries a club, his foes to drub,
He smashes, and trashes them in.
He loves to kill, it gives him a thrill
His heart, as black as sin”.

“When he was small, he was sent a gift,
A sinuous, venomous snake.
To slither in, and silence him,
But he did take

That snake, and shake and break it,
And fling it to the floor.
You know his mother’s milk, was creamy silk
She was a goddess, for sure. ”

“So Herakles, choose him, he’s the one
To lead us across the sea.”
“- No No”, he said, hanging his head,
Struck down by modesty.

The others told Idas to hold his tongue
And then they took up the boat
And shouting with glee, they shoved it to sea,
And soon they were fast afloat.

They sat down at the benches, and took their oars,
And mid all sat Heracles.
They heaved and hoe-ed, and on they rowed
Gliding over the seas.

And next to Heracles sat Hylas,
His one and only friend.
The golden one, he loved a liked son
To the end he would defend.

And Poseidon the god of the oceans
Followed them over the surf.
And his seven steeds, that galloped the seas.
Strained for all they were worth.

They rowed across the deep black sea
A never ending stretch.
They heaved and hoe-ed, and on they rowed
The Fleece for Greece they’ll fetch!

And when at night, they slept at their seats,
Heracles rowed on.
He would have rowed more, but he broke his oar,
Snap! and it was gone.

When rosy-fingered dawn awoke,
They glided toward the land
No longer afloat, they jumped over the boat,
And warmed their toes in the sand

Heracles was in need of an oar
A tree would suit his grip,
To Hylas he said, fetch water instead
My thirst could do with a sip.

At first the friends walked together
The ambled along light hearted.
Tracks on the beach, the woods they did reach,
And in the woods they parted.

Hylas headed for the sacred spring
But he did not go unseen.
The nymphs along route, thought he looked cute
One, was the woodland queen.

And when he reached the gushing water.
He knelt down to fill his urn.
A nymph saw his face, she longed to embrace,
And her little heart did burn.

She entwined her arm around his neck,
And kissed him in full wonder.
She entwined her arm, she meant no harm,
But she pulled him under.

Did Hylas drown? It’s hard to say
He glugged beneath the water
The king of the spring, welcomed him in,
And married him to his daughter.

But Heracles, he had lost his friend
He could not find him anywhere,
The strongest man, now began
To surrender to despair.

He cried, he wailed, he felt he had failed
He didn’t know what to do
The incredible hulk has muscles that bulk,
But his heart is broken in two.

And Jason waits by the bulk of the boat.
He waits and waits for the hulk.
But he is gone. He wanders on.
Now he’s the incredible sulk.

And Jason waits by the bulk of the boat
His oar at his side.
To sail away. Or to stay.
He is unable to decide.

And Polydeuces puts his hand on his shoulder
“This is no time to fret.”
Says the hero, “It’s time to go.
On the fleece our sight must set.”

So Jason summons all his Argonauts.
He calls each man by name.
“Push down the boat, and on we float,
To Colchis and our fame.”

They pull at the oars, it’s harder than before,
They plough the sea wearily.
As they heave through the haze, all their eyes gaze
On the middle bench that is empty.

And Telamon, of the strong spear, speaks up:
“It’s not hard to see your mind.
Jason, my lad, you were only too glad
To leave the real hero behind.”

There is no reply. Only tears in his eye.
Then the sea stirs deeply.
The Argo rocks. The Argonauts are in shock.
Now the waves rise steeply.

And before them shaking the prow of the boat
A god has risen from the deep.
his name. His tongue is a flame.
The men began to weep.

“On whose authority did you take with you,
Heracles, I ask?
According to Zeus, he cannot be let loose,
Until he has done his twelfth task.”

“For 12 Herculean labours must he do
And back to Argos he has gone
Do not doubt him, you must go without him.
To take him with you was wrong.”

And then the water wrapped around him like a cloak,
He was gone and all was calm.
“Forgive me”, said Telamon, “for I was wrong.
Believe me, I meant no harm.”

And Jason nods and prudently speaks:
“Your words were cruel and hot.
But in the end, you spoke for a friend,
For gain you spoke not.”

“So I take it that you, are to a comrade true;
And I value you more for that
So get back to your oar, we are as before,
Together in this combat.”

And they raised the mast, and the wind blew fast,
Driving them across the sea
And all night long, the wind blew on
Until dawn, rose rosily.

And that was the first part of Jason and Medea read by me Richard Scott. In the next part I will be telling you about Jason and the Argonauts’ adventures on the way to Colchis to fetch the Golden Fleece. Later on you will hear the voice of Natasha as the Georgian princess and witch, Medea. And we have we have music by Gabriella Burnell. Also if you drop by at Storynory.com you can see the fantastic illustrations of the story by Nick Hayes. All in all this is a big production for Storynory so we do hope that you enjoy it !

Jason and Medea was written for Storynory by Bertie, very loosely following the Argonautica by Apollonius of Rodes.

For now, from me, Richard, Bye.

Summary: The youthful Jason arrives at the court of King Pelias wearing only one shoe. Pelias as been told that a man with one scandal will kill him. He sends Jason on an impossible quest to get the golden fleece from Colchis (modern Georgia). Jason collects a gang of heroes including Heracles and they set sail. Some of the heroes think that Heracles should be the leader. They land and Heracles friend Hylas is abducted by a water nymph. Heracles wanders off in grief. One hero says that Jason is glad to lose his rival. But a sea god rises out of the sea and says Heracles had to go to complete his labours. Jason forgives the insubordinate sailor.

We have already met the Norse hero, Sigurd . After killing a dragon, he rode his horse through a ring of fire to discover a sleeping princess – a Valkyrie or War Maiden. Her name was Brynhilde. He woke her with a kiss – but was it happy ever after?

Read by Elizabeth Donnelly.
Adapted for Storynory by Charlotte Sebag-Montefiore.

Brynhilde

My story is long but what happened to me is the stuff of legends…and great music ! Someone called Richard Wagner put me in a famous opera cycle called The Ring.

Listen well, for what happened to me was my own fault – is it not always so? – and also the fault of sorcery and those who practise it.

I was once a beautiful warrior-maiden and a Valkyrie. I had long red-gold hair which fluttered behind me as I flew about in battles wearing a scarlet chain mail corset, with my shield and spear outstretched. As you know, war is about skill, courage, and chance. We Valkyries are that random element. As we ride through the fear, the chaos, and the dust of the battle, we enforce the will of Odin – ensuring who will live, and who will die, who will flee, and who will win the day and emerge the glorious conqueror.

But there was one time when I followed my heart. I saw Agnar, a handsome young warrior about to enter a vicious fray. Although I was a Valkyrie, and it was my job to realise the gods’ wishes of who lived and who died, I had a woman’s feelings and impulses. Like everyone I am a prisoner of who I am.

When Odin ruled that Agnar must die, I thought , “No, The other one will fall. I’ll see to that,” and a moment later, I turned the spear which had been heading towards Agnar’s chest towards his opponent, who fell to the ground and died with fearful groans.

Odin was not pleased. “You can’t do that, Brynhilde, – I told you to kill Agnar. That was my will.”

“Well it wasn’t mine,” I said. “Why should one so young have to die?”

“That’s not your business,” said Odin. “ I shall have to punish you. You will no longer be a Valkyrie, you will be an ordinary human woman, born to live, marry and die… But because you have been a Valkyrie, I will grant your wish that you shall not marry a coward, but a hero, a man without fear. I will place you within a Ring of Flames, and you will sleep until a hero rides through the fire to claim you for his bride.”

And so it was. Odin sent me to a castle on the summit of a remote mountain. All around this castle, there burned an eternal ring of flames. Inside I slept, and slept, until such time as my hero would come and rescue me.

Then one day it happened. I heard something in my dream. I opened one eye, and then the next. There was a smell of singed horsehair. I turned my head. A tall, broad-shouldered warrior was standing over me.

I stretched out my hand. He knelt down and took it in his own.

I must say, he was a nice-looking hero – some of them have so many scars it spoils their looks. We held hands fast – for the people of the North, this itself means much – and before long we kissed each other and plighted our troth : as we did this the Ring flamed ever higher as our sacred vows reached high into the Heavens….Soon, I thought – and I wanted it to be soon – we would be wed.

His name was Sigurd, and he said that he was the slayer of a dragon called Fafnir. He certainly sounded like a brave enough fellow.

“ You know that I am not like other men,” he said. “I rode my horse through the flames as others pass through the heather. But there are yet other tasks I must complete before I can return to claim you as my bride.”

Well you can imagine how I felt. After all those long years of dreams, my hero arrives for the briefest of meetings. One kiss and he was ready to be off.

“Take this,” said Sigurd, softly. “It is a magic Ring, named Andvaranaut.”

“I will wear it always,” I whispered. “ Now go, if go you must.” Sigurd kissed me one last time, , jumped on his horse, and gathered his reins before leaping once again through the terrible flames.

I now know that Sigurd left me to join the Burgundy Court. The Queen was Grimhild by name, and she was grim by nature. I will call her Queen Grim. She was a sorceress who wrought spells like herself, grim and evil. She wanted Sigurd to marry her daughter, Gudrun, who was pretty and silly enough, just a foolish girl. One night, at table during the feasting, the Queen herself served the wine. “Honoured guest,” she said to my Sigurd, “ your fame and renown reached our Court long ago, and I am proud to serve you myself. For you I shall pour from this pitcher from which only heroes may drink.” Sigurd,- who lacked my gift of second sight – took the goblet.

“Drink deep, Sigurd.”

Queen Grim held his eyes with a bold gaze. Sigurd drank the wine and Queen Grim smiled, for she knew that the goblet was bewitched: Sigurd forgot forever all he had held dear, me, his family and friends….and thus it was that my Sigurd was enchanted into losing all recollection of his promise to me. He felt that he was free to marry Princess Gudrun, and he did.

Now the Queen also had a son to marry off. His name was Prince Gunnar. One day she told him:

“I will find you a bride. A bride worthy of a hero, and a worthy mother of heroes. Brynhilde is her name. Take your best horse, and spurs, for you will need them, and ride as you have never ridden yet. You must cross a Ring of Flames. There you will find a bride who has flown at the side of Odin….I will tell you where to go”

Gunnar saddled his best horse, and did as his mother told him. But his horse would not pass through the Ring of Flames, and he had to return empty-handed to Court. That night at dinner he had his mother on one side, and Sigurd opposite him. “Where is your bride, oh my son?” said his mother. “My horse was faint-hearted and would not cross the flames,” Gunnar replied.

“Is that all? ” said Sigurd “You are my wife’s brother, – practically my blood-brother- take mine.”

This was a generous offer, for Sigurd loved his horse, and the two brothers-in-law embraced. Gunnar agreed to leave for the Ring of Flames the next day. Queen Grim smiled, “My boy,” she said, “We will feast when you return and I pray it will be your wedding feast.”

The next day Gunnar rode, but the horse was not used to him and was frisky. He lacked Sigurd’s firm hand and sure steady seat in the saddle. Much to Gunnar’s annoyance, the horse would not pass through the Flames, and again he had to return without me for his bride.

Back at Court, Gunnar was out of temper. “Come brother,” said Sigurd. “Don’t they say third time lucky? Let me try my luck, – I will ride for you, with your helmet, chain-mail and shield.”

Thus it was that my Sigurd returned for me, not for himself but for another. A second time he rode through the Ring of Flames. Again, I woke and saw my hero standing over me. “This time,” I thought, “It really is my happy ever after. Now he will take me in his arms, and we shall ride away to our fairytale wedding.” Oh how happy I was ! But not for long.

There was no look of love in Sigurd’s eyes. It was as if he had never seen me before. He came over all official.

“I have come to claim you for my brother-in-law, Prince, Gunnar of Burgundy,” he said.

I felt then that I had died. And yet my heart refused to stop beating. I was still breathing. He took his own ring from my finger and replaced it with Gunnar’s. I did not even protest. I was a ghost.

Then he raised me to his saddle, and away we sped through the flames and back to the Burgundy Court. There, I married Gunnar, and became a wife.

I revived, but I was not happy – how could I be happy with Gunnar when every day I saw my Sigurd with that Princess Gudrun? How could I stand to see another in my place? But for the witchery of Queen Grim, he would have been mine. What did that spoiled Princess Gudrun know of battles and the world? Had she flown at Odin’s side and lived the glorious life of a Valkyrie?

She was stupid enough to goad me.

“We two are sisters, now, are we not? But my Sigurd, slayer of Fafnir, is a hero known to all! And it was my husband, not yours, who rode through the Flames to fetch you.” She flashed her ring. Imagine what I felt when I saw Andvaranaut, the ring that Sigurd gave to me, on Gudrun’s finger! Could I bear this insult?

I will tell you that I could not bear it. My heart called for revenge!

Enraged, I taunted Gudrun: I told her that Sigurd had loved me before ever he had loved her. I told her that she was only with him, because of her wicked sorceress of a mother. Did I not tell her the truth?

Gudrun cried, but what did I care? Her brother, Gunnar, shouted and stormed, – he even cried for his mother, milksop that he was. But as Sigurd’s brother-in-law, he could not kill him. That was for another to do. And so for the honour of the family, Gunnar’s younger brother took it upon himself to kill Sigurd. One night, as my beloved warrior slept, the youngest of this shameful family crept into Sigurd’s chamber, and slew him in his sleep.

Gunnar grieved and wept. But my heart was numb, for I too was grieving, though I did not weep, and I turned away, saying nothing. If Gunnar had lost Sigurd, so too had I. By the day of the funeral, I wanted no part of a life at this accursed Court. Standing in front of Sigurd’s funeral pyre, I took a knife and plunged it in my grieving heart. As I felt the life departing from my weak body, I threw myself onto the fire. There we were consumed together in the eternal flames, that lifted our souls up together to the afterlife.

Big things are expected of Prince Sigurd. His father died before he was born, but left him the pieces of a hero’s sword. His mother believes that he will grow up into one of the greatest heros of all times. That’s called “pressure”. His first quest is set by his Tutor. He has to kill a dragon.

Prince Sigurd is Norse hero that Richard Wagner took up as “Siegfried” in his opera of the same name.

Read by Elizabeth. Written for Storynory by Charlotte Sebag-Montefiore.

Sigurd was the son of a King. That’s a good start in life, but before he was even born, his father was killed in a war. That was not so good. The night after the dreadful battle, the King’s wife, crept over the field where the poor soldiers lay. By the moonlight, she collected the shattered pieces of the king’s old sword and she kept them safely. You see, it was a magic sword, and the king had told her that it would belong to their son, and that he would grow up into one of the greatest heroes of all time.

Sigurd’s mother went to live with another King, and I think she married him. This new King looked after her, and her son, very well. But life was not easy for young Sigurd. He knew that his mother expected a lot of him. It is one thing to have a go at being a hero, and quite another when everyone is waiting for you to grow up into the greatest hero who ever lived. That’s called Pressure.

But he did mature into a fine young man. At least he looked pretty good – all the girls thought he could play the part. He had a special tutor called Regin, whose job it was to see that he knew how to behave as a true Prince. One day he suggested that it was time for Sigurd to go to the King and ask for his own horse. That is what he did, and the King told him to choose any horse he liked from the stables.

On the way across the courtyard, Sigurd met an old man.

“Where are you going?” he said. “Are you about to choose a horse?” In fact, this old fellow was Odin, ruler of the gods, who knew everything. “Would you like my advice?” he asked.

Sigurd looked at him. He didn’t seem like the sort of person who knew about horses. But he had known what Sigurd was about to do, and “Maybe,” thought Sigurd to himself, “Just maybe I ought to listen to what he has to say.”

It was a wise decision: listen to advice and then take it or leave it. The old man told Sigurd to drive all the horses to a river and to choose the one that swam across. It sounded like a good plan, and that is what he did.

The horse that swam across the icy river was a beautiful grey mare, young but not too young, with a tail and mane that flowed with the wind when she galloped. Sigurd stretched out his hand flat with a carrot, and the horse whinnied to a stop and took it.

“That’s my girl,” said Sigurd. He walked the horse back, and saddled it up. “Good choice,” said the old man “This animal is of noble stock: it is descended from Odin’s horse, and will serve you well.” And Sigurd thanked him and went back into the palace.

At dinner he sat next to his old teacher, Regin. “Now you’ve got a horse” said Regin, “Why don’t you go and get some treasure?”

“Well,” said Sigurd “Can it be as easy as that? The only treasure I know about is guarded by the dragon, Fafnir”. As you know, all dragons are terrible, but this one was more terrible than most.

“Are you a coward?” said Regin.

“No,” said the boy. Not for the fist time he began to suspect that his tutor was a little bit sly. He narrowed his eyes and asked: “Why are you so keen for me to kill this dragon?”

Regin told Sigurd some of the truth. Fafnir the dragon had once been human and was in fact Regin’s own brother. There had been three brothers. Regin was the eldest, next was a young man who swam and looked liked an Otter, and the youngest was Fafnir. Now, the otter-like, middle brother had been murdered, which angered the father so much that he demanded the blood price, – a lot of gold – and he got it. But the murderer had stolen the gold from a Dwarf who, surprise, surprise, got very angry. “A curse on you,” he said to the murderer. “ A curse on you forever. And what’s more…this gold will bring bad luck to whoever has it.”

So it was that the family was now cursed. Fafnir killed his own father for the gold, and now rich he worried how to protect his newfound wealth and so he became a dragon to guard it.. Regin had loved his father, and also loved gold, and so wanted vengeance. “That’s why” he said to Sigurd “That’s why I want you to kill Fafnir. I’ll help you too. You know me as a tutor, but I was a great smith and have not lost my skills. I will make you a sword to kill the dragon with.”

“Well make me a sword, and I will slay your brother-dragon,” promised Sigurd, who was now rising to the challenge.

Regin made a beautiful sword. It was straight and strong and glinted in the sun. Sigurd tried it out on a stone, and it smashed to pieces.

“I’m afraid that’s no good to me,” he said. And so Regin made him another sword fit for a prince. Sigurd soon broke that one too.

Everyone at court was talking about how Sigurd had broken two swords as if they were twigs of a tree, and soon his mother heard about it too. The time had come to give her son the broken pieces of his father’s blade. Regin made these into a shining and great new sword. Sigurd clashed this blade on a lump of iron, and it did not break, but split the iron in two.

A few days later, Sigurd rode out with Regin to the heath where the Dragon had been seen. It was a bleak and blasted spot. Sigurd looked down and saw a ravine – definitely not a green and pleasant valley. Along the bottom, there was a strange white trail which even from that distance looked like slime.

“There,” said Regin “ See that! It’s slime from the dragon like a snail trail….! That’s the way he goes to drink, there’s a lake at the bottom.” Sigurd saw that the trail was very broad, and the weight of the Dragon had made a huge indent in the ground. “The Dragon must be huge” he said. “Yes,” said Regin “And see that thing that looks like a caravan, that’s the Dragon’s dung!”

“Wow” said Sigurd. There was nothing else to say, and he automatically gripped his sword tighter… “When you go down” said Regin, “be careful to stand at the side. If you go in front of Fafnir, you’ll be poisoned by his breath, and if you go behind him, he’ll knock you over with his tail and then…”

“I know, I know” said Sigurd “He’ll eat me”….and he began to clamber down into the valley. His idea was to ambush the Dragon, to dig a pit with his sword, climb in and hide. When the Reptile slithered across the pit, he would drive his sword into the Dragon’s heart from underneath. It was a brave plan.

If the Dragon’s forelegs fell into the pit, his head would go in and that would be the end of Sigurd. If his hind legs went in, his great feet would claw Sigurd to death or squash him. Either of these things might happen. But Sigurd was brave, and he dug the pit as he thought best, climbed down into it and tried to camouflage over it. He hoped the Dragon would not smell him.

Sigurd had never been so frightened as when he sat in the dark dugout, listening to the dragon getting closer and closer. His heart pounded in his chest and beads of sweat broke out across his forehead. The dragon’s wheezing lungs drew nearer and nearer. And then thud! The dragon arrived over the pit. Without a second to lose Sigurd thrust his sword straight up through the camouflage and it cut directly into the dragon’s heart. Fafnir lashed with his tail till stones broke and trees crashed about him. Then he croaked and said:

`Whoever you are, my gold will bring you death…..’

Sigurd said: “I will die anyway, Fafnir, but now it is you that must die,” and he thrust the sword some more… and Fafnir died.

It was very hard for him to climb out of the pit and over the terrible dead dragon, but Sigurd told himself the dragon was more terrible when he was alive.

Regin came down to meet him and asked him to roast Fafnir’s heart for him. Sigurd didn’t much like the idea, but he always obliged people if he could, so while Regin built a little fire, he cut out Fafnir’s heart. He had to touch the disgusting bit of meat, , and while he was putting it on to grill, he burnt his finger.. So he licked it, now sticky with the residue of the dragon’s heart and to his amazement, he was suddenly able to hear what the birds roundabout were saying. One bird said :

“There is Sigurd roasting Fafnir’s heart for another, when he should eat it himself and learn all wisdom.’

Another bird said:`There lies Regin, ready to betray Sigurd, who trusts him.’

A third bird said:`Let him cut off Regin’s head, and keep all the gold to himself.’

When Sigurd heard the birds’ truth, and understood that he was about to be betrayed, after all he had done for Regin, in a passionate rage he took out his sword once more and cut off his tutor’s head.

Then he heard a fourth bird sing:
“Sigurd kills a dragon

a hero and a man

now he ought to find a bride

Brynhilde, if he can.”

And that is how Sigurd got the idea of going to look for Brynhilde, – but that is another story.

The big day has arrived. Wizard has promised to fly back to Cansas with Dorothy. The crowds await to see them off. Read by Natasha.

17. How the Balloon Was Launched

For three days Dorothy heard nothing from Oz. These were sad days for the little girl, although her friends were all quite happy and contented. The Scarecrow told them there were wonderful thoughts in his head; but he would not say what they were because he knew no one could understand them but himself. When the Tin Woodman walked about he felt his heart rattling around in his breast; and he told Dorothy he had discovered it to be a kinder and more tender heart than the one he had owned when he was made of flesh. The Lion declared he was afraid of nothing on earth, and would gladly face an army or a dozen of the fierce Kalidahs.

Thus each of the little party was satisfied except Dorothy, who longed
more than ever to get back to Kansas.

On the fourth day, to her great joy, Oz sent for her, and when she entered the Throne Room he greeted her pleasantly:

“Sit down, my dear; I think I have found the way to get you out of this country.”

“And back to Kansas?” she asked eagerly.

“Well, I’m not sure about Kansas,” said Oz, “for I haven’t the faintest notion which way it lies. But the first thing to do is to cross the desert, and then it should be easy to find your way home.”

“How can I cross the desert?” she inquired.

“Well, I’ll tell you what I think,” said the little man. “You see,
when I came to this country it was in a balloon. You also came through
the air, being carried by a cyclone. So I believe the best way to get
across the desert will be through the air. Now, it is quite beyond my
powers to make a cyclone; but I’ve been thinking the matter over, and I
believe I can make a balloon.”

“How?” asked Dorothy.

“A balloon,” said Oz, “is made of silk, which is coated with glue to
keep the gas in it. I have plenty of silk in the Palace, so it will be
no trouble to make the balloon. But in all this country there is no
gas to fill the balloon with, to make it float.”

“If it won’t float,” remarked Dorothy, “it will be of no use to us.”

“True,” answered Oz. “But there is another way to make it float, which
is to fill it with hot air. Hot air isn’t as good as gas, for if the
air should get cold the balloon would come down in the desert, and we
should be lost.”

“We!” exclaimed the girl. “Are you going with me?”

“Yes, of course,” replied Oz. “I am tired of being such a humbug. If
I should go out of this Palace my people would soon discover I am not a
Wizard, and then they would be vexed with me for having deceived them.
So I have to stay shut up in these rooms all day, and it gets tiresome.
I’d much rather go back to Kansas with you and be in a circus again.”

“I shall be glad to have your company,” said Dorothy.

“Thank you,” he answered. “Now, if you will help me sew the silk
together, we will begin to work on our balloon.”

So Dorothy took a needle and thread, and as fast as Oz cut the strips
of silk into proper shape the girl sewed them neatly together. First
there was a strip of light green silk, then a strip of dark green and
then a strip of emerald green; for Oz had a fancy to make the balloon
in different shades of the color about them. It took three days to sew
all the strips together, but when it was finished they had a big bag of
green silk more than twenty feet long.

Then Oz painted it on the inside with a coat of thin glue, to make it
airtight, after which he announced that the balloon was ready.

“But we must have a basket to ride in,” he said. So he sent the
soldier with the green whiskers for a big clothes basket, which he
fastened with many ropes to the bottom of the balloon.

When it was all ready, Oz sent word to his people that he was going to
make a visit to a great brother Wizard who lived in the clouds. The
news spread rapidly throughout the city and everyone came to see the
wonderful sight.

Oz ordered the balloon carried out in front of the Palace, and the
people gazed upon it with much curiosity. The Tin Woodman had chopped
a big pile of wood, and now he made a fire of it, and Oz held the
bottom of the balloon over the fire so that the hot air that arose from
it would be caught in the silken bag. Gradually the balloon swelled
out and rose into the air, until finally the basket just touched the
ground.

Then Oz got into the basket and said to all the people in a loud voice:

“I am now going away to make a visit. While I am gone the Scarecrow
will rule over you. I command you to obey him as you would me.”

The balloon was by this time tugging hard at the rope that held it to
the ground, for the air within it was hot, and this made it so much
lighter in weight than the air without that it pulled hard to rise into
the sky.

“Come, Dorothy!” cried the Wizard. “Hurry up, or the balloon will fly
away.”

“I can’t find Toto anywhere,” replied Dorothy, who did not wish to
leave her little dog behind. Toto had run into the crowd to bark at a
kitten, and Dorothy at last found him. She picked him up and ran
towards the balloon.

She was within a few steps of it, and Oz was holding out his hands to
help her into the basket, when, crack! went the ropes, and the balloon
rose into the air without her.

“Come back!” she screamed. “I want to go, too!”

“I can’t come back, my dear,” called Oz from the basket. “Good-bye!”

“Good-bye!” shouted everyone, and all eyes were turned upward to where
the Wizard was riding in the basket, rising every moment farther and
farther into the sky.

And that was the last any of them ever saw of Oz, the Wonderful Wizard,
though he may have reached Omaha safely, and be there now, for all we
know. But the people remembered him lovingly, and said to one another:

“Oz was always our friend. When he was here he built for us this
beautiful Emerald City, and now he is gone he has left the Wise
Scarecrow to rule over us.”

Still, for many days they grieved over the loss of the Wonderful
Wizard, and would not be comforted.

It’s amazing, but people keep on asking the Wonderful Wizard of Oz to do impossible things – and he can’t help but oblige them – even if that means fooling them too.

Read by Natasha

The four travelers walked up to the great gate of Emerald City and rang
the bell. After ringing several times, it was opened by the same
Guardian of the Gates they had met before.

“What! are you back again?” he asked, in surprise.

“Do you not see us?” answered the Scarecrow.

“But I thought you had gone to visit the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“We did visit her,” said the Scarecrow.

“And she let you go again?” asked the man, in wonder.

“She could not help it, for she is melted,” explained the Scarecrow.

“Melted! Well, that is good news, indeed,” said the man. “Who melted
her?”

“It was Dorothy,” said the Lion gravely.

“Good gracious!” exclaimed the man, and he bowed very low indeed before
her.

Then he led them into his little room and locked the spectacles from
the great box on all their eyes, just as he had done before. Afterward
they passed on through the gate into the Emerald City. When the people
heard from the Guardian of the Gates that Dorothy had melted the Wicked
Witch of the West, they all gathered around the travelers and followed
them in a great crowd to the Palace of Oz.

The soldier with the green whiskers was still on guard before the door,
but he let them in at once, and they were again met by the beautiful
green girl, who showed each of them to their old rooms at once, so they
might rest until the Great Oz was ready to receive them.

The soldier had the news carried straight to Oz that Dorothy and the
other travelers had come back again, after destroying the Wicked Witch;
but Oz made no reply. They thought the Great Wizard would send for
them at once, but he did not. They had no word from him the next day,
nor the next, nor the next. The waiting was tiresome and wearing, and
at last they grew vexed that Oz should treat them in so poor a fashion,
after sending them to undergo hardships and slavery. So the Scarecrow
at last asked the green girl to take another message to Oz, saying if
he did not let them in to see him at once they would call the Winged
Monkeys to help them, and find out whether he kept his promises or not.
When the Wizard was given this message he was so frightened that he
sent word for them to come to the Throne Room at four minutes after
nine o’clock the next morning. He had once met the Winged Monkeys in
the Land of the West, and he did not wish to meet them again.

The four travelers passed a sleepless night, each thinking of the gift
Oz had promised to bestow on him. Dorothy fell asleep only once, and
then she dreamed she was in Kansas, where Aunt Em was telling her how
glad she was to have her little girl at home again.

Promptly at nine o’clock the next morning the green-whiskered soldier
came to them, and four minutes later they all went into the Throne Room
of the Great Oz.

Of course each one of them expected to see the Wizard in the shape he
had taken before, and all were greatly surprised when they looked about
and saw no one at all in the room. They kept close to the door and
closer to one another, for the stillness of the empty room was more
dreadful than any of the forms they had seen Oz take.

Presently they heard a solemn Voice, that seemed to come from somewhere
near the top of the great dome, and it said:

“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Why do you seek me?”

They looked again in every part of the room, and then, seeing no one,
Dorothy asked, “Where are you?”

“I am everywhere,” answered the Voice, “but to the eyes of common
mortals I am invisible. I will now seat myself upon my throne, that
you may converse with me.” Indeed, the Voice seemed just then to come
straight from the throne itself; so they walked toward it and stood in
a row while Dorothy said:

“We have come to claim our promise, O Oz.”

“What promise?” asked Oz.

“You promised to send me back to Kansas when the Wicked Witch was
destroyed,” said the girl.

“And you promised to give me brains,” said the Scarecrow.

“And you promised to give me a heart,” said the Tin Woodman.

“And you promised to give me courage,” said the Cowardly Lion.

“Is the Wicked Witch really destroyed?” asked the Voice, and Dorothy
thought it trembled a little.

“Yes,” she answered, “I melted her with a bucket of water.”

“Dear me,” said the Voice, “how sudden! Well, come to me tomorrow, for
I must have time to think it over.”

“You’ve had plenty of time already,” said the Tin Woodman angrily.

“We shan’t wait a day longer,” said the Scarecrow.

“You must keep your promises to us!” exclaimed Dorothy.

The Lion thought it might be as well to frighten the Wizard, so he gave
a large, loud roar, which was so fierce and dreadful that Toto jumped
away from him in alarm and tipped over the screen that stood in a
corner. As it fell with a crash they looked that way, and the next
moment all of them were filled with wonder. For they saw, standing in
just the spot the screen had hidden, a little old man, with a bald head
and a wrinkled face, who seemed to be as much surprised as they were.
The Tin Woodman, raising his axe, rushed toward the little man and
cried out, “Who are you?”

“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible,” said the little man, in a trembling
voice. “But don’t strike me–please don’t–and I’ll do anything you
want me to.”

Our friends looked at him in surprise and dismay.

“I thought Oz was a great Head,” said Dorothy.

“And I thought Oz was a lovely Lady,” said the Scarecrow.

“And I thought Oz was a terrible Beast,” said the Tin Woodman.

“And I thought Oz was a Ball of Fire,” exclaimed the Lion.

“No, you are all wrong,” said the little man meekly. “I have been
making believe.”

“Making believe!” cried Dorothy. “Are you not a Great Wizard?”

“Hush, my dear,” he said. “Don’t speak so loud, or you will be
overheard–and I should be ruined. I’m supposed to be a Great Wizard.”

“And aren’t you?” she asked.

“Not a bit of it, my dear; I’m just a common man.”

“You’re more than that,” said the Scarecrow, in a grieved tone; “you’re
a humbug.”

“Exactly so!” declared the little man, rubbing his hands together as if
it pleased him. “I am a humbug.”

“But this is terrible,” said the Tin Woodman. “How shall I ever get my
heart?”

“Or I my courage?” asked the Lion.

“Or I my brains?” wailed the Scarecrow, wiping the tears from his eyes
with his coat sleeve.

“My dear friends,” said Oz, “I pray you not to speak of these little
things. Think of me, and the terrible trouble I’m in at being found
out.”

“Doesn’t anyone else know you’re a humbug?” asked Dorothy.

“No one knows it but you four–and myself,” replied Oz. “I have fooled
everyone so long that I thought I should never be found out. It was a
great mistake my ever letting you into the Throne Room. Usually I will
not see even my subjects, and so they believe I am something terrible.”

“But, I don’t understand,” said Dorothy, in bewilderment. “How was it
that you appeared to me as a great Head?”

“That was one of my tricks,” answered Oz. “Step this way, please, and
I will tell you all about it.”

He led the way to a small chamber in the rear of the Throne Room, and
they all followed him. He pointed to one corner, in which lay the
great Head, made out of many thicknesses of paper, and with a carefully
painted face.

“This I hung from the ceiling by a wire,” said Oz. “I stood behind the
screen and pulled a thread, to make the eyes move and the mouth open.”

“But how about the voice?” she inquired.

“Oh, I am a ventriloquist,” said the little man. “I can throw the
sound of my voice wherever I wish, so that you thought it was coming
out of the Head. Here are the other things I used to deceive you.” He
showed the Scarecrow the dress and the mask he had worn when he seemed
to be the lovely Lady. And the Tin Woodman saw that his terrible Beast
was nothing but a lot of skins, sewn together, with slats to keep their
sides out. As for the Ball of Fire, the false Wizard had hung that
also from the ceiling. It was really a ball of cotton, but when oil
was poured upon it the ball burned fiercely.

“Really,” said the Scarecrow, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself for
being such a humbug.”

“I am–I certainly am,” answered the little man sorrowfully; “but it
was the only thing I could do. Sit down, please, there are plenty of
chairs; and I will tell you my story.”

So they sat down and listened while he told the following tale.

“I was born in Omaha–”

“Why, that isn’t very far from Kansas!” cried Dorothy.

“No, but it’s farther from here,” he said, shaking his head at her
sadly. “When I grew up I became a ventriloquist, and at that I was
very well trained by a great master. I can imitate any kind of a bird
or beast.” Here he mewed so like a kitten that Toto pricked up his
ears and looked everywhere to see where she was. “After a time,”
continued Oz, “I tired of that, and became a balloonist.”

“What is that?” asked Dorothy.

“A man who goes up in a balloon on circus day, so as to draw a crowd of
people together and get them to pay to see the circus,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said, “I know.”

“Well, one day I went up in a balloon and the ropes got twisted, so
that I couldn’t come down again. It went way up above the clouds, so
far that a current of air struck it and carried it many, many miles
away. For a day and a night I traveled through the air, and on the
morning of the second day I awoke and found the balloon floating over a
strange and beautiful country.

“It came down gradually, and I was not hurt a bit. But I found myself
in the midst of a strange people, who, seeing me come from the clouds,
thought I was a great Wizard. Of course I let them think so, because
they were afraid of me, and promised to do anything I wished them to.

“Just to amuse myself, and keep the good people busy, I ordered them to
build this City, and my Palace; and they did it all willingly and well.
Then I thought, as the country was so green and beautiful, I would call
it the Emerald City; and to make the name fit better I put green
spectacles on all the people, so that everything they saw was green.”

“But isn’t everything here green?” asked Dorothy.

“No more than in any other city,” replied Oz; “but when you wear green
spectacles, why of course everything you see looks green to you. The
Emerald City was built a great many years ago, for I was a young man
when the balloon brought me here, and I am a very old man now. But my
people have worn green glasses on their eyes so long that most of them
think it really is an Emerald City, and it certainly is a beautiful
place, abounding in jewels and precious metals, and every good thing
that is needed to make one happy. I have been good to the people, and
they like me; but ever since this Palace was built, I have shut myself
up and would not see any of them.

“One of my greatest fears was the Witches, for while I had no magical
powers at all I soon found out that the Witches were really able to do
wonderful things. There were four of them in this country, and they
ruled the people who live in the North and South and East and West.
Fortunately, the Witches of the North and South were good, and I knew
they would do me no harm; but the Witches of the East and West were
terribly wicked, and had they not thought I was more powerful than they
themselves, they would surely have destroyed me. As it was, I lived in
deadly fear of them for many years; so you can imagine how pleased I
was when I heard your house had fallen on the Wicked Witch of the East.
When you came to me, I was willing to promise anything if you would
only do away with the other Witch; but, now that you have melted her, I
am ashamed to say that I cannot keep my promises.”

“I think you are a very bad man,” said Dorothy.

“Oh, no, my dear; I’m really a very good man, but I’m a very bad
Wizard, I must admit.”

“Can’t you give me brains?” asked the Scarecrow.

“You don’t need them. You are learning something every day. A baby
has brains, but it doesn’t know much. Experience is the only thing
that brings knowledge, and the longer you are on earth the more
experience you are sure to get.”

“That may all be true,” said the Scarecrow, “but I shall be very
unhappy unless you give me brains.”

The false Wizard looked at him carefully.

“Well,” he said with a sigh, “I’m not much of a magician, as I said;
but if you will come to me tomorrow morning, I will stuff your head
with brains. I cannot tell you how to use them, however; you must find
that out for yourself.”

“Oh, thank you–thank you!” cried the Scarecrow. “I’ll find a way to
use them, never fear!”

“But how about my courage?” asked the Lion anxiously.

“You have plenty of courage, I am sure,” answered Oz. “All you need is
confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid
when it faces danger. The True courage is in facing danger when you
are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.”

“Perhaps I have, but I’m scared just the same,” said the Lion. “I
shall really be very unhappy unless you give me the sort of courage
that makes one forget he is afraid.”

“Very well, I will give you that sort of courage tomorrow,” replied Oz.

“How about my heart?” asked the Tin Woodman.

“Why, as for that,” answered Oz, “I think you are wrong to want a
heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in
luck not to have a heart.”

“That must be a matter of opinion,” said the Tin Woodman. “For my
part, I will bear all the unhappiness without a murmur, if you will
give me the heart.”

“Very well,” answered Oz meekly. “Come to me tomorrow and you shall
have a heart. I have played Wizard for so many years that I may as
well continue the part a little longer.”

“And now,” said Dorothy, “how am I to get back to Kansas?”

“We shall have to think about that,” replied the little man. “Give me
two or three days to consider the matter and I’ll try to find a way to
carry you over the desert. In the meantime you shall all be treated as
my guests, and while you live in the Palace my people will wait upon
you and obey your slightest wish. There is only one thing I ask in
return for my help–such as it is. You must keep my secret and tell no
one I am a humbug.”

They agreed to say nothing of what they had learned, and went back to
their rooms in high spirits. Even Dorothy had hope that “The Great and
Terrible Humbug,” as she called him, would find a way to send her back
to Kansas, and if he did she was willing to forgive him everything.

Just how wonderful is the Wonderful Wizard of Oz? In this chapter we find out….

Read by Natasha.

The four travelers walked up to the great gate of Emerald City and rang
the bell. After ringing several times, it was opened by the same
Guardian of the Gates they had met before.

“What! are you back again?” he asked, in surprise.

“Do you not see us?” answered the Scarecrow.

“But I thought you had gone to visit the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“We did visit her,” said the Scarecrow.

“And she let you go again?” asked the man, in wonder.

“She could not help it, for she is melted,” explained the Scarecrow.

“Melted! Well, that is good news, indeed,” said the man. “Who melted
her?”

“It was Dorothy,” said the Lion gravely.

“Good gracious!” exclaimed the man, and he bowed very low indeed before
her.

Then he led them into his little room and locked the spectacles from
the great box on all their eyes, just as he had done before. Afterward
they passed on through the gate into the Emerald City. When the people
heard from the Guardian of the Gates that Dorothy had melted the Wicked
Witch of the West, they all gathered around the travelers and followed
them in a great crowd to the Palace of Oz.

The soldier with the green whiskers was still on guard before the door,
but he let them in at once, and they were again met by the beautiful
green girl, who showed each of them to their old rooms at once, so they
might rest until the Great Oz was ready to receive them.

The soldier had the news carried straight to Oz that Dorothy and the
other travelers had come back again, after destroying the Wicked Witch;
but Oz made no reply. They thought the Great Wizard would send for
them at once, but he did not. They had no word from him the next day,
nor the next, nor the next. The waiting was tiresome and wearing, and
at last they grew vexed that Oz should treat them in so poor a fashion,
after sending them to undergo hardships and slavery. So the Scarecrow
at last asked the green girl to take another message to Oz, saying if
he did not let them in to see him at once they would call the Winged
Monkeys to help them, and find out whether he kept his promises or not.
When the Wizard was given this message he was so frightened that he
sent word for them to come to the Throne Room at four minutes after
nine o’clock the next morning. He had once met the Winged Monkeys in
the Land of the West, and he did not wish to meet them again.

The four travelers passed a sleepless night, each thinking of the gift
Oz had promised to bestow on him. Dorothy fell asleep only once, and
then she dreamed she was in Kansas, where Aunt Em was telling her how
glad she was to have her little girl at home again.

Promptly at nine o’clock the next morning the green-whiskered soldier
came to them, and four minutes later they all went into the Throne Room
of the Great Oz.

Of course each one of them expected to see the Wizard in the shape he
had taken before, and all were greatly surprised when they looked about
and saw no one at all in the room. They kept close to the door and
closer to one another, for the stillness of the empty room was more
dreadful than any of the forms they had seen Oz take.

Presently they heard a solemn Voice, that seemed to come from somewhere
near the top of the great dome, and it said:

“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Why do you seek me?”

They looked again in every part of the room, and then, seeing no one,
Dorothy asked, “Where are you?”

“I am everywhere,” answered the Voice, “but to the eyes of common
mortals I am invisible. I will now seat myself upon my throne, that
you may converse with me.” Indeed, the Voice seemed just then to come
straight from the throne itself; so they walked toward it and stood in
a row while Dorothy said:

“We have come to claim our promise, O Oz.”

“What promise?” asked Oz.

“You promised to send me back to Kansas when the Wicked Witch was
destroyed,” said the girl.

“And you promised to give me brains,” said the Scarecrow.

“And you promised to give me a heart,” said the Tin Woodman.

“And you promised to give me courage,” said the Cowardly Lion.

“Is the Wicked Witch really destroyed?” asked the Voice, and Dorothy
thought it trembled a little.

“Yes,” she answered, “I melted her with a bucket of water.”

“Dear me,” said the Voice, “how sudden! Well, come to me tomorrow, for
I must have time to think it over.”

“You’ve had plenty of time already,” said the Tin Woodman angrily.

“We shan’t wait a day longer,” said the Scarecrow.

“You must keep your promises to us!” exclaimed Dorothy.

The Lion thought it might be as well to frighten the Wizard, so he gave
a large, loud roar, which was so fierce and dreadful that Toto jumped
away from him in alarm and tipped over the screen that stood in a
corner. As it fell with a crash they looked that way, and the next
moment all of them were filled with wonder. For they saw, standing in
just the spot the screen had hidden, a little old man, with a bald head
and a wrinkled face, who seemed to be as much surprised as they were.
The Tin Woodman, raising his axe, rushed toward the little man and
cried out, “Who are you?”

“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible,” said the little man, in a trembling
voice. “But don’t strike me–please don’t–and I’ll do anything you
want me to.”

Our friends looked at him in surprise and dismay.

“I thought Oz was a great Head,” said Dorothy.

“And I thought Oz was a lovely Lady,” said the Scarecrow.

“And I thought Oz was a terrible Beast,” said the Tin Woodman.

“And I thought Oz was a Ball of Fire,” exclaimed the Lion.

“No, you are all wrong,” said the little man meekly. “I have been
making believe.”

“Making believe!” cried Dorothy. “Are you not a Great Wizard?”

“Hush, my dear,” he said. “Don’t speak so loud, or you will be
overheard–and I should be ruined. I’m supposed to be a Great Wizard.”

“And aren’t you?” she asked.

“Not a bit of it, my dear; I’m just a common man.”

“You’re more than that,” said the Scarecrow, in a grieved tone; “you’re
a humbug.”

“Exactly so!” declared the little man, rubbing his hands together as if
it pleased him. “I am a humbug.”

“But this is terrible,” said the Tin Woodman. “How shall I ever get my
heart?”

“Or I my courage?” asked the Lion.

“Or I my brains?” wailed the Scarecrow, wiping the tears from his eyes
with his coat sleeve.

“My dear friends,” said Oz, “I pray you not to speak of these little
things. Think of me, and the terrible trouble I’m in at being found
out.”

“Doesn’t anyone else know you’re a humbug?” asked Dorothy.

“No one knows it but you four–and myself,” replied Oz. “I have fooled
everyone so long that I thought I should never be found out. It was a
great mistake my ever letting you into the Throne Room. Usually I will
not see even my subjects, and so they believe I am something terrible.”

“But, I don’t understand,” said Dorothy, in bewilderment. “How was it
that you appeared to me as a great Head?”

“That was one of my tricks,” answered Oz. “Step this way, please, and
I will tell you all about it.”

He led the way to a small chamber in the rear of the Throne Room, and
they all followed him. He pointed to one corner, in which lay the
great Head, made out of many thicknesses of paper, and with a carefully
painted face.

“This I hung from the ceiling by a wire,” said Oz. “I stood behind the
screen and pulled a thread, to make the eyes move and the mouth open.”

“But how about the voice?” she inquired.

“Oh, I am a ventriloquist,” said the little man. “I can throw the
sound of my voice wherever I wish, so that you thought it was coming
out of the Head. Here are the other things I used to deceive you.” He
showed the Scarecrow the dress and the mask he had worn when he seemed
to be the lovely Lady. And the Tin Woodman saw that his terrible Beast
was nothing but a lot of skins, sewn together, with slats to keep their
sides out. As for the Ball of Fire, the false Wizard had hung that
also from the ceiling. It was really a ball of cotton, but when oil
was poured upon it the ball burned fiercely.

“Really,” said the Scarecrow, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself for
being such a humbug.”

“I am–I certainly am,” answered the little man sorrowfully; “but it
was the only thing I could do. Sit down, please, there are plenty of
chairs; and I will tell you my story.”

So they sat down and listened while he told the following tale.

“I was born in Omaha–”

“Why, that isn’t very far from Kansas!” cried Dorothy.

“No, but it’s farther from here,” he said, shaking his head at her
sadly. “When I grew up I became a ventriloquist, and at that I was
very well trained by a great master. I can imitate any kind of a bird
or beast.” Here he mewed so like a kitten that Toto pricked up his
ears and looked everywhere to see where she was. “After a time,”
continued Oz, “I tired of that, and became a balloonist.”

“What is that?” asked Dorothy.

“A man who goes up in a balloon on circus day, so as to draw a crowd of
people together and get them to pay to see the circus,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said, “I know.”

“Well, one day I went up in a balloon and the ropes got twisted, so
that I couldn’t come down again. It went way up above the clouds, so
far that a current of air struck it and carried it many, many miles
away. For a day and a night I traveled through the air, and on the
morning of the second day I awoke and found the balloon floating over a
strange and beautiful country.

“It came down gradually, and I was not hurt a bit. But I found myself
in the midst of a strange people, who, seeing me come from the clouds,
thought I was a great Wizard. Of course I let them think so, because
they were afraid of me, and promised to do anything I wished them to.

“Just to amuse myself, and keep the good people busy, I ordered them to
build this City, and my Palace; and they did it all willingly and well.
Then I thought, as the country was so green and beautiful, I would call
it the Emerald City; and to make the name fit better I put green
spectacles on all the people, so that everything they saw was green.”

“But isn’t everything here green?” asked Dorothy.

“No more than in any other city,” replied Oz; “but when you wear green
spectacles, why of course everything you see looks green to you. The
Emerald City was built a great many years ago, for I was a young man
when the balloon brought me here, and I am a very old man now. But my
people have worn green glasses on their eyes so long that most of them
think it really is an Emerald City, and it certainly is a beautiful
place, abounding in jewels and precious metals, and every good thing
that is needed to make one happy. I have been good to the people, and
they like me; but ever since this Palace was built, I have shut myself
up and would not see any of them.

“One of my greatest fears was the Witches, for while I had no magical
powers at all I soon found out that the Witches were really able to do
wonderful things. There were four of them in this country, and they
ruled the people who live in the North and South and East and West.
Fortunately, the Witches of the North and South were good, and I knew
they would do me no harm; but the Witches of the East and West were
terribly wicked, and had they not thought I was more powerful than they
themselves, they would surely have destroyed me. As it was, I lived in
deadly fear of them for many years; so you can imagine how pleased I
was when I heard your house had fallen on the Wicked Witch of the East.
When you came to me, I was willing to promise anything if you would
only do away with the other Witch; but, now that you have melted her, I
am ashamed to say that I cannot keep my promises.”

“I think you are a very bad man,” said Dorothy.

“Oh, no, my dear; I’m really a very good man, but I’m a very bad
Wizard, I must admit.”

“Can’t you give me brains?” asked the Scarecrow.

“You don’t need them. You are learning something every day. A baby
has brains, but it doesn’t know much. Experience is the only thing
that brings knowledge, and the longer you are on earth the more
experience you are sure to get.”

“That may all be true,” said the Scarecrow, “but I shall be very
unhappy unless you give me brains.”

The false Wizard looked at him carefully.

“Well,” he said with a sigh, “I’m not much of a magician, as I said;
but if you will come to me tomorrow morning, I will stuff your head
with brains. I cannot tell you how to use them, however; you must find
that out for yourself.”

“Oh, thank you–thank you!” cried the Scarecrow. “I’ll find a way to
use them, never fear!”

“But how about my courage?” asked the Lion anxiously.

“You have plenty of courage, I am sure,” answered Oz. “All you need is
confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid
when it faces danger. The True courage is in facing danger when you
are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.”

“Perhaps I have, but I’m scared just the same,” said the Lion. “I
shall really be very unhappy unless you give me the sort of courage
that makes one forget he is afraid.”

“Very well, I will give you that sort of courage tomorrow,” replied Oz.

“How about my heart?” asked the Tin Woodman.

“Why, as for that,” answered Oz, “I think you are wrong to want a
heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in
luck not to have a heart.”

“That must be a matter of opinion,” said the Tin Woodman. “For my
part, I will bear all the unhappiness without a murmur, if you will
give me the heart.”

“Very well,” answered Oz meekly. “Come to me tomorrow and you shall
have a heart. I have played Wizard for so many years that I may as
well continue the part a little longer.”

“And now,” said Dorothy, “how am I to get back to Kansas?”

“We shall have to think about that,” replied the little man. “Give me
two or three days to consider the matter and I’ll try to find a way to
carry you over the desert. In the meantime you shall all be treated as
my guests, and while you live in the Palace my people will wait upon
you and obey your slightest wish. There is only one thing I ask in
return for my help–such as it is. You must keep my secret and tell no
one I am a humbug.”

They agreed to say nothing of what they had learned, and went back to
their rooms in high spirits. Even Dorothy had hope that “The Great and
Terrible Humbug,” as she called him, would find a way to send her back
to Kansas, and if he did she was willing to forgive him everything.

We learn how Odin, the chief of the Norse gods, gained True Wisdom so that he could see everything that was happening, and was about to happen, all at the same time. He had to pay a high price for the gift, as you will hear.

Read by Elizabeth Donnelly.
Adapted for Storynory by Charlotte Sebag-Montefiore.
Duration 14.32

Odin’s Eye

Hello,

This is Elizabeth..and I’m here with another myth about the Norse gods. This one tells the story of how Odin, the chief of the Norse gods, gained True Wisdom, but only by paying a high price for it.

The Norsemen lived long ago, roughly half way between the time of Jesus and today. They mostly came from the countries that are part of Scandinavia, which is now rich, but was then very poor. Most people, except the Kings and jarls or chiefs, had a constant struggle against the cold, and against hunger and disease. Because they were so poor, many Norsemen sailed away – these were the Vikings. They journeyed in long boats looking for somewhere easier, and perhaps warmer, to make a living. Some went to Britain, and to other parts of Europe including Normandy in France, and Sicily, and some went to Greenland and all the way to North America.

The Vikings had several gods, the chief of whom was Odin. There are lots of different stories about him but in every one, one fact remains the same and that is that he had only one Eye, [and that] This is because he had sacrificed the other to gain wisdom in order to save the World. This story tells you how that happened.

Odin lived in Asgard, the home of the Norse gods. As well as being god of war, battle, victory and death, he was also the god of magic, poetry, prophecy and wisdom. Like most of the gods, he didn’t stay in Asgard all the time. When he came down to earth, which they called Midgard, he wandered about in a long dark blue cloak, with a beautiful silver clasp with letters called runes engraved on on it. These runes contained magic spells..

Odin’s cloak had a hood, to keep him dry, as umbrellas hadn’t been invented yet – and a traveller’s stick to help him beat back the bushes and branches back as he walked along. for there were no roads like there are today. As Odin was the father of the gods, we imagine him to look quite old. Which maybe he was, and maybe he wasn’t, for gods are immortal, aren’t they? Odin is often pictured with a very long white beard which reached down below his knees. You could say he looked rather like Gandalf: Tolkien did, who wrote the book Gandalf is in, so he ought to know. Or you might say, that he couldn’t possibly have had such a long beard as it was bound to get tangled and dirty, though perhaps as he was a god, he could keep it clean. Or, you could say what is definitely true, that he was very good at disguising himself, and he could and often did look quite different.

Sometimes Odin didn’t use his stick, but rode his wonderful magic horse Sleipnir, which had 8 legs and was terribly fast. Whether he was just fast anyway, or whether it was because he had 8 legs, I don’t know, though I do know that if I had 8 legs, I would trip up. Anyway, Sleipnir was so fast that Odin just flew along, or perhaps he just flew: after all, Sleipnir was a magic horse. Some people think he was the forerunner of the reindeer that pull the sleigh of Santa Claus.

All the same, Odin sometimes got tired of walking and riding about. One day when he was really fed up with wandering, he had a good idea. “If only I could see everything that is going on,” he said to himself, “Then, I could stay at home.”. And he thought about this for a while. What he needed was True Wisdom. If only he had True Wisdom, he would be able to stay at home and see everything all at the same time, and even you can’t do that on the internet.

But to gain True Wisdom, he knew he would have to have a drink from the Well guarded by Mimir, the wisest man in Midgard.

The next morning, Odin left Asgard.. He took his favourite knapsack, and set off for Mimir’s Well. The journey was dangerous. For he had to climb over rocky mountains with blizzards of snow and ice cold winds. The well was near where the giants lived in Jotunheim, and lay under a huge ash tree. Mimir was not at all hospitable. “He won’t give me a drink for nothing,” said Odin. “The price will be very high”. How right he was.

As Odin tramped along the road to the well, he met a giant riding on the back of a reindeer. He immediately recognised this lofty fellow – he was the wisest of the giants who knew many things – but for all his wisdom, he did not see through Odin’s disguise. Odin had pulled himself up to the height of the giant, and fell into conversation with him. “There’s something I would dearly like to learn from you,” he said.

And the giant replied jovially: “Ho ho. before you can learn from me, you must answer three riddles. And if you answer any of them wrong, you will lose your head. But if you answer them right, you can ask me three questions on the same terms. Do you agree to my rules?”

This was not the sort of game Odin liked, -and can you blame him ?- but as he was so set on his mission, he consented to the giant’s terms.

‘Well,’ said the giant, ‘These are the questions. What is the name of the river that divides Asgard from Jötunheim? What are the names of the horses that Day and Night drive across the sky? And what is the name of the plain on which the last battle will be fought?’

Odin breathed a sigh of relief. thank goodness for that! He knew the answers!

‘Ifling is the deadly cold river that freezes in an instant any living thing that falls into it…

Skinfaxe and Hrimfaxe are the horses that drive Day and Night across the sky.

The field for the Last Battle is Vigard. That’s where you and I are destined to fight at the End of Days.’

‘Hmph’, said the giant. ‘You keep your head’. The giant was disappointed, because he liked taking peoples’ heads off them and boiling them up for dinner. ‘Now it’s your turn’.

Odin asked: “What will be the last words that Odin will whisper into the ear of Baldur, his son?”

‘That’s not a fair question’ said the giant. ‘How could I possibly know that?

‘Well,” said Odin ‘ Did you worry about being fair to me? No, you did not… But I don’t want your head, just tell me what I’ll have to give Mimir for a drink from the Well of Wisdom?’

‘He will ask for your right eye,’ said the giant.

Odin shuddered. ‘That’s a lot to ask for. Is there no other way.?..’

“There is no other way. Many have asked for the wisdom of the waters, but not one has yet agreed to pay the price.”

Odin nodded. He was glad to leave the wise but fierce giant and walk on. The path was stony, and there was a bitterly cold wind and rain so that his cloak was soon wet through. He fingered the clasp and whispered the rune: his cloak dried, and the weather improved, but the path was still rough, and he had to be very careful where he put his feet. It was depressing, especially when Odin thought about the eye he would have to lose forever. And about the terrible pain. For when the gods were in Midgard, the Land of Men, they had to feel what men feel, and suffer what men and women suffer. But Odin knew he would have to forfeit his eye to gain the Wisdom he needed to save the World.

Odin continued his journey. Eventually, after turning a sharp bend in the road he was able to see the huge Ash Tree bordering Jotunheim, the Giants’ Land. It was indeed a wonderful and a beautiful tree, very tall, and very deep-rooted, as ash trees generally are. Its deep roots drew wisdom from the four corners of the earth. And near the tree Mimir stood by his Well.

‘Ho there Odin, I’ve been waiting for you.’ said Mimir, for he had drunk from the Well, and knew everything that would happen, and everyone’s name before they told him. ‘Are you thirsty?’

‘Yes’ said Odin. ‘I have a great thirst for Wisdom, and yes, Mimir, I need to drink from your Well’,

Mimir laughed. ‘Many are thirsty for my waters, but they do not get to drink from them. No one has yet agreed to my price. You must give me your right eye.”

Odin considered one last time if the price was too high. His pale blue eyes were the colour of the sky on a bright winter’s day, when the frost is hard on the ground. His eyes could pick out the tiniest bird miles and miles away across the frozen tundra. If a human, or even a god, looked him in the eyes, they could not but feel a kind of awe. But in the end, he did have two of them.

‘I will pay your price, Mimir.” And so saying, he tore his right eye from his head. The pain was searing. He gave it to the guardian of the Well. Mimir handed him a horn brimming with the waters of wisdom. Odin took a deep drink.

Immediately he saw everything that had happened and everything that was in the future. Most people don’t want to know the future, as some of it is not good news. But some people do and try to find it out, one way or another. Usually it does them no good, and my advice to you is to keep away from fortune tellers.

But Odin was not a person, he was a Norse god, and when he saw the joy that would come to him, he laughed with happiness.

But seeing all the sorrows and troubles that would happen to humankind, he also knew what he could do to help. For even though the gods really have no need to trouble themselves about us mortals, and our puny lives and petty sufferings, they do actually care – at least some of the time. After he drank from the Well of True Wisdom, he knew that he must never let evil get the upper hand in the world of humans on a permanent basis. And at least we mortals can be grateful for that small mercy.

And that is the story of how Odin got his True Wisdom, and of how he lost his eye. It is just possible that that is how he got his name too, for odin or “odeen” – in Russian, means one. The story was adapted by Charlotte Sebag-Montefiore for Storynory.

I do hope that you enjoyed this Norse myth, and there are many other myths, including stories from the ancient Greek World, that you can hear for free on Storynory.com.

How are the Norse gods able to remain wrinkle-free and forever young? This story explains how, and also tells us how they almost lost the secret of eternal youth.

Read by Elizabeth.
Adapted for Storynory by Charlotte Sebag-Montefiore.

Anyone lucky enough to go to Asgard, where the Norse gods
live, would see at once that all of them, with the exception of
Odin, are young, beautiful and handsome. Odin is the exception
as he does have such a long beard, and he would look much
younger if he shaved it off. But no-one shaves in Asgard, and
now I am thinking about it, this may be because the other male
gods look too young to grow a beard…. How do they manage
this, you might well ask, given that they’ve been up in Asgard
for quite a while? The answer lies in Idun, and her Golden
Apples.

One day Odin, and Loki left Asgard to see what was
going on in Midgard, the Land of Men. You may know that
Odin is the father of the Norse gods, Loki is the god of fire and
mischief. Anyway, these two gods had been trekking all
day in the mountains, and come nightfall, they were definitely
hungry. They saw some cows grazing, and they decided to kill
one and have a few steaks. Odin jointed the beef,
while Loki got the fire going. This was the work of a moment
for him as he was the god of fire, even though the wood was
wet, – it would have taken you or me a lot longer. Soon the meat

was cooking over the fire. But there was a problem: the fire was
hot, the meat was there, -but for some reason, it would not cook.
Try as they would, and the three of them did try, their dinner
remained raw.

“Hmph” said Odin. “There’s trouble about.”

In the light of the fire, they saw a shadow of a huge bird. They
looked up and saw an an eagle perched on a branch, silhouetted against the night sky.
“That’s no eagle” said Odin. The bird laughed “No, I am no eagle and your meat will not cook
unless you agree to give me whatever I want.” The gods were tired,
cold and hungry so they agreed without inquiring as to the demands of the strange creature.

At once the meat began to
sizzle: how good it smelt! But just as they were about to help
themselves, the creature in the shape of an eagle, swooped down
and grabbed the best bit with his beak. He gulped it down – no
chewing for him – and took another piece. “No, you don’t “
said Loki, and he shoved a great log at the bird, trying to beat
him off. But instead, the eagle grabbed the log and Loki found
himself stuck fast on the other end of it. He could not let go!
Now the eagle flew low, so that Loki was dragged behind and
terribly bashed and bounced about by rocks and branches as
they flew over the ground. At last the eagle put him down. “I am
the Giant Thjasse” he said “and you’re not the only one who can
change shape. You will never be free unless you agree to get me
Idun’s golden apples. Do you?”

Loki hesitated: Thjasse wasn’t really asking for apples, he was
asking for what Asgard prized above all, eternal youth and
beauty. What would his punishment be if he stole that? But he
was tired of being bruised and dragged about, so he agreed.
Thjasse flew off screeching, “Keep your word or you’ll have me
to deal with!” and Loki, who didn’t want that, brushed himself
down thoughtfully. Then he rejoined Odin who
were already tucking into their steaks, and began to eat himself.

This expedition to Midgard had not been very successful and
soon the three gods returned to Asgard. Loki did intend to keep
his word, and he began by making friends with Idun, keeper
of the Golden Apples. This wasn’t hard, as Idun was as sweet
and good-natured as her lovely apples! Loki made a good start
by telling her about his travels: he had plenty of funny and
interesting tales to tell. Every time he went to get his own apple
– for all the gods ate them once a week – he took the chance to
tell Idun something or make her laugh. One day, he said:”You
know, Idun, these are wonderful apples, but they’re second best,
I have seen better”.

“I don’t believe you”.

“You don’t believe me? Come and see for yourself”.

“I think I will” said Idun.

“Why don’t you bring your own apples?” said the crafty
Loki. “Then you could really compare them”.

Idun went to fetch her wondrous apples. She kept them in the
sort of basket they deserved: it was made of purest gold, just
the right size, and the handle was studded with rubies. It was so
pretty!

Loki and Idun made for the gates of Asgard. Loki looked up.
He saw a huge shadow in the sky – he knew what that meant.
All of a sudden, Idun shivered. “I’m not sure I want to go” she
said. “I’ll come another day”.

“A walk outside will do you good” said Loki and he took her by
the arm and they went through the gate.

Idun screamed, and no wonder. The eagle-Thjasse swooped
down for his prize, Idun and her apples. Poor Idun was flying
through the air, with Thjasse’s huge claws closed tightly round
her waist without scratching her. “Careful with those apples” he
screeched, and poor Idun screamed again. She was fated to be
held prisoner in Thjasse’s cold and gloomy castle.

Meanwhile, at first, no-one in Asgard noticed she had gone.
Then things changed. The goddesses ,complained to each other
of one or two grey hairs. Odin, who must have been the oldest
if he was the father of the gods, got backache. And one or two
little wrinkles, crow’s feet, smile lines, that sort of thing, began
to appear on the faces of the gods. They were not happy about it:
if they were gods, they had to be immortal. Besides who doesn’t
want to look young and beautiful?

They held a assembly of the gods. The number one suspect in the Case of
the Missing Apples was Loki, for suspicion always fall on him
when there is mischief afoot. It was an uproarious meeting with
all the gods demanding that Loki tell the truth, and all sorts of
threats and divine curses were banded about:

“Alright, alright, I did it” Loki, finally admitted. “I was forced
into it.”

Then Thor, the strongest of the gods, seized hold of Loki and
shook him terribly so that he was in fear of his life.

“Stop stop,” cried Loki,”I’ll get the apples back. If you kill me,
you will never eat those apples again, and you can all suffer the
aches and pains of old age.”

When things had calmed down, the gods helped Loki turn into
the shape of a falcon.

He flew and flew until he reached Thjasse’s castle. Idun was
walking on the ramparts, – with her jewelled
basket. Quickly, Loki turned her into a nut, clutched it tight
with his claws, and soared high towards Asgard. It was lucky he
had a good start, for soon Thjasse came home. How he roared
when he saw that Idun and her apples were gone! He guessed
what had happened, changed at once into an eagle, and flew off,
spurred on by anger and fury. Loki flew as quickly as he could, -
falcons fly very fast- , but it is the eagle that rules the skies, and
little by little Thjasse gained on him.

Everyone in Asgard was watching, fearful. Would Loki get back
in time? The gods rushed off and laid great fires on the walls.
Near fainting with exhaustion, the falcon flew over the wall and
fell to the ground exhausted. In an instant the flames leapt into the sky,
and Thjasse was burned. He fell, and died. Loki and her golden
apples were safely back home. Youth and beauty returned to
Asgard for evermore!

And that was the story of Idun and the golden apples, adapted for storynory by
Charlotte Seabag-Montefiore. We do hope you enjoyed it, and look out for more norse stories on Storynory.com.

The Norse legends come from Northern Europe including, Iceland, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. The Pagan gods of the Norse people often represented forces of nature. In this story you will hear about Thor, the god of Thunder, Sif, the goddess of the harvest, and Loki the god of fire and mischief. There are plenty of wonderful stories about the Norse gods – and we will be telling you a selection here at Storynory over the coming weeks.

Read by Elizabeth. Adapted for Storynory by Charlotte Sebag-Montefiore.

What do Thursdays mean to you? They are not gloomy like Mondays, or glorious like Fridays, or lazy like Sundays…. They seem quite boring really, unless, that is, you know about Norse mythology. But once you have heard the stories of the Norse gods, you will realise that Thursdays are meant to be loud, thunderous, stormy days, for they are named after Thor, the red-headed, hammer-yielding, thunder-clapping god of the Norse people.

Although Thor was a raucous fellow, he did, underneath it all, have one soft spot – and that was for his beautiful wife, whose name was Sif, and whom he loved tenderly and dearly. She had long, thick wondrous golden hair, that flowed down her back like a field of corn. In fact, it was Sif who made the Norse people’s crops grow, and their fields yield long heavy ears of corn that would keep people well fed and happy. She travelled over the Northern world, and wherever there were families, farms and people tilling the land, Sif was sure to be near at hand smoothing their path against the cruel winds, cold and winters of the North.

Of course as every lady knows, beautiful hair does not take care of itself. She was very proud of her hair, and did not allow herself to have a bad hair day. Especially as she knew she was not the only one who was very proud of her hair, Thor her husband was very proud of it too, and often boasted of it when he was drinking his mead to anyone who was around to listen. Morning, noon and night, Sif combed her wondrous hair with a jewelled comb, and she often washed in pure sparkling streams, and lay it out in the sun to dry on a rock. As you can imagine, with hair as thick as hers, it took quite a while to dry.

One day, while she was sitting on a bank of the softest moss outside her house in Asgard, where the gods live, drying her golden hair in the sun, Sif went to sleep. It’s easy to go to sleep in the sun when you’re not doing much. And it’s especially easy, if another god puts a spell on you so that nothing can wake you.

It was Loki, the god of fire and mischief, who cast this sleeping spell on Sif. He found her dozing with her gorgeous hair flowing all around her, and his evil mouth smiled at this chance to make trouble in the Thunder-God’s household. He knew that Sif’s hair of gold was Thor’s greatest treasure – and he was determined to take it away from him.

And while she was asleep, Loki took his shears and chopped off Sif’s hair, every single lovely lock! One by one they tumbled onto her shoulders and down her dress. Her head was bare, as if she’d had a haircut in the army or become a convict on a prison ship – the poor thing!

A while later, Sif woke up. Her head and neck felt cold and light, – she looked up and saw the sun was still shining. Then she felt for her hair, – there was nothing there! Looking down, she caught sight of the clusters of curls that lay all around her. Horrified, she rushed inside and burst into tears…and rain fell in bucketfuls on all the corn in the north, so the people asked “What in heaven’s happened to Sif?” She continued to cry and cry.

That night Thor came home. But when he called to his lovely wife, he did not hear her sweet voice in reply.  Thor thought she must be somewhere else, so he put his hammer down, and whistled as he walked over to the homes and palaces of the other gods to look for her. Sif was nowhere to be found. Sadly, Thor came home, he did not like coming back to an empty house. “Sif” he called again and again, “come back to me”.

And then he heard his name, in a whisper. Sif stood in the shadows, so that Thor could only see her outline.
“My husband,” she sobbed,” I am ashamed for you to set your eyes on me. I must leave Asgard, the home of the gods, which is beautiful and perfect, and go to hide elsewhere.”

“Don’t speak like that. What has happened to you my sweet, that you say such terrible things?” asked the Thunder-God tenderly. “Come out so that I can see you.”

“My crowning beauty, my hair has gone. An evil-doer has cut it and taken it from me. I do not want you to see me like this, so I must leave.”

Thor saw that it was true, Sif had lost her hair. Her shaven head was still beautiful, but the dancing joy had gone from her eyes. Instead her face was puffy with sobbing and her distress touched the heart of Thor.

And then the men of the Earth heard the skies roar with agonised Thunder -

“Who was it who did this, Sif?” raged Thor. “I, the strongest of the gods, I will find whoever did this and kill him. I will make the other gods use all their strength, all their magic and all their powers to give you back your wonderful golden hair!”

Thor led Sif in her veil to the Court of the Immortals , where some of the other gods and goddesses were seated on crystal benches sipping mead in Council. None of them could tell Thor who had cut Sif’s hair. Finally Odin, the chief of the gods, and the father of Thor, spoke. “It must have been Loki who did this” he pronounced. He is the god of fire, and we all know that fire can wreak much mischief.   Nobody else would do such a thing. Though fire was not the cause of this, a great mischief it was, and Loki has ever loved mischief. But Thor, you must not kill him here. There can be no killings among the gods in Asgard. I will find Loki for you. But do not kill him. Besides, he has many skills, and maybe he will find a way to return Sif’s beauty to her.”

“Hmph” grunted Thor who was red with rage. “I’d like to kill him! …but that wouldn’t help Sif”. Odin spoke again, “Control your rage, my son. I will call the Call, and all must answer it, even Loki!”

Odin’s Call was terrible to hear, but all the gods and goddesses who were not in the Council chamber, had to leave what they were doing and assemble . Even Loki. Loki saw at once that everyone was against him, so he said “Where is your proof that I am the culprit?” “Come”, said Odin. “Do not lie, do not avoid the truth. You have done Sif and Thor a great wrong, and you must repair it!”
“I cannot grow hair”,  joked Loki. And even if I could, it would not be on her head!” None of the gods laughed. Loki looked at Thor whose temper was legendary, and he looked at Odin  who solemnly said again “You must make good the wrong you have done ‘’, and  Loki saw that he would indeed have to find a way to restore Sif’s beauty.

So Loki left Asgard. He did not leave in order to escape from Thor, though that was part of it. He left to try and find a solution. He did not go to the Giants in Jotunheim, even though  he had been there before, and had friends there – as far as it is possible to have friends among the Giants – and he did not go to Midgard, the land of the mortals. For he knew that there had never been a man or woman who could do anything that would restore Sif’s hair. No, Loki went under the earth.

This is not something that you or I could do, for the innards of the earth are molten hot and we would not survive. But Loki was the god of fire, and so he was able to go down and down inside the passages of the earth. That is where the Gnomes live. You might think thenomes were ugly, but they didn’t think so, and Loki didn’t mind. Down inside the earth, the Gnomes were master smiths and the rich guardians of metals, minerals and crystals: they had learnt  with hammer and tongs to fashion articles of much beauty and magic from them. Loki had seen them make a magic spear that hit whatever it was thrown at, and a boat which could sail anywhere, and which you could fold and put in your pocket.

Loki was crafty, and he always flattered the Gnomes whenever he went to see them. He praised their work to the skies, and promised them the earth although they already had it! Resisting flattery and false promises needs more wisdom than the Gnomes possessed, so they grew to like him. Nobody else had ever been nice to them, not even when they were babies, so their hearts softened. Then he said “Have you gold and skills enough to make a cap of floor-length hair as fine as silk?” The Gnomes set to work at once. They stitched, threaded, weaved and span[ for days, [but] until finally the Cap of Golden Hair was ready! Even Loki was impressed. “’Tis true, you are master smiths indeed. None are better. Will you give me this Cap in return for the Heavens and the Earth?”

The Gnomes who were not clever, gave Loki the Cap of Golden Hair, although the Earth was already theirs, and the Heavens were not Loki’s to give. Loki said his farewells, and was glad to return to the fresh air of Midgard with the Cap. Then he ascended to Asgard and the Heavens and went to find Sif. “Take your veil off, Sif” he said “for you will have golden hair again”. And he wrapped the Cap around Sif’s head where it fitted perfectly. Sif was so overjoyed with her new hair that she twirled around, her long locks flowing behind her. Her eyes sparkled once more and as the glow returned to her cheeks, she looked truly beautiful.

And that is the story of how Sif lost and regained her golden hair.

We’ve now heard how Dorothy defeated the Wicked Witch of the West, and rescued her
companions. In this chapter we shall meet the Winged Monkeys again – and hopefully they will be more friendly this time !

Read by Natasha.

You will remember there was no road–not even a pathway–between the
castle of the Wicked Witch and the Emerald City. When the four
travelers went in search of the Witch she had seen them coming, and so
sent the Winged Monkeys to bring them to her. It was much harder to
find their way back through the big fields of buttercups and yellow
daisies than it was being carried. They knew, of course, they must go
straight east, toward the rising sun; and they started off in the right
way. But at noon, when the sun was over their heads, they did not know
which was east and which was west, and that was the reason they were
lost in the great fields. They kept on walking, however, and at night
the moon came out and shone brightly. So they lay down among the sweet
smelling yellow flowers and slept soundly until morning–all but the
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman.

The next morning the sun was behind a cloud, but they started on, as if
they were quite sure which way they were going.

“If we walk far enough,” said Dorothy, “I am sure we shall sometime
come to some place.”

But day by day passed away, and they still saw nothing before them but
the scarlet fields. The Scarecrow began to grumble a bit.

“We have surely lost our way,” he said, “and unless we find it again in
time to reach the Emerald City, I shall never get my brains.”

“Nor I my heart,” declared the Tin Woodman. “It seems to me I can
scarcely wait till I get to Oz, and you must admit this is a very long
journey.”

“You see,” said the Cowardly Lion, with a whimper, “I haven’t the
courage to keep tramping forever, without getting anywhere at all.”

Then Dorothy lost heart. She sat down on the grass and looked at her
companions, and they sat down and looked at her, and Toto found that
for the first time in his life he was too tired to chase a butterfly
that flew past his head. So he put out his tongue and panted and
looked at Dorothy as if to ask what they should do next.

“Suppose we call the field mice,” she suggested. “They could probably
tell us the way to the Emerald City.”

“To be sure they could,” cried the Scarecrow. “Why didn’t we think of
that before?”

Dorothy blew the little whistle she had always carried about her neck
since the Queen of the Mice had given it to her. In a few minutes they
heard the pattering of tiny feet, and many of the small gray mice came
running up to her. Among them was the Queen herself, who asked, in her
squeaky little voice:

“What can I do for my friends?”

“We have lost our way,” said Dorothy. “Can you tell us where the
Emerald City is?”

“Certainly,” answered the Queen; “but it is a great way off, for you
have had it at your backs all this time.” Then she noticed Dorothy’s
Golden Cap, and said, “Why don’t you use the charm of the Cap, and call
the Winged Monkeys to you? They will carry you to the City of Oz in
less than an hour.”

“I didn’t know there was a charm,” answered Dorothy, in surprise.
“What is it?”

“It is written inside the Golden Cap,” replied the Queen of the Mice.
“But if you are going to call the Winged Monkeys we must run away, for
they are full of mischief and think it great fun to plague us.”

“Won’t they hurt me?” asked the girl anxiously.

“Oh, no. They must obey the wearer of the Cap. Good-bye!” And she
scampered out of sight, with all the mice hurrying after her.

Dorothy looked inside the Golden Cap and saw some words written upon
the lining. These, she thought, must be the charm, so she read the
directions carefully and put the Cap upon her head.

“Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke!” she said, standing on her left foot.

“What did you say?” asked the Scarecrow, who did not know what she was
doing.

“Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo!” Dorothy went on, standing this time on her
right foot.

“Hello!” replied the Tin Woodman calmly.

“Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!” said Dorothy, who was now standing on both feet.
This ended the saying of the charm, and they heard a great chattering
and flapping of wings, as the band of Winged Monkeys flew up to them.

The King bowed low before Dorothy, and asked, “What is your command?”

“We wish to go to the Emerald City,” said the child, “and we have lost
our way.”

“We will carry you,” replied the King, and no sooner had he spoken than
two of the Monkeys caught Dorothy in their arms and flew away with her.
Others took the Scarecrow and the Woodman and the Lion, and one little
Monkey seized Toto and flew after them, although the dog tried hard to
bite him.

The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were rather frightened at first, for
they remembered how badly the Winged Monkeys had treated them before;
but they saw that no harm was intended, so they rode through the air
quite cheerfully, and had a fine time looking at the pretty gardens and
woods far below them.

Dorothy found herself riding easily between two of the biggest Monkeys,
one of them the King himself. They had made a chair of their hands and
were careful not to hurt her.

“Why do you have to obey the charm of the Golden Cap?” she asked.

“That is a long story,” answered the King, with a Winged laugh; “but as
we have a long journey before us, I will pass the time by telling you
about it, if you wish.”

“I shall be glad to hear it,” she replied.

“Once,” began the leader, “we were a free people, living happily in the
great forest, flying from tree to tree, eating nuts and fruit, and
doing just as we pleased without calling anybody master. Perhaps some
of us were rather too full of mischief at times, flying down to pull
the tails of the animals that had no wings, chasing birds, and throwing
nuts at the people who walked in the forest. But we were careless and
happy and full of fun, and enjoyed every minute of the day. This was
many years ago, long before Oz came out of the clouds to rule over this
land.

“There lived here then, away at the North, a beautiful princess, who
was also a powerful sorceress. All her magic was used to help the
people, and she was never known to hurt anyone who was good. Her name
was Gayelette, and she lived in a handsome palace built from great
blocks of ruby. Everyone loved her, but her greatest sorrow was that
she could find no one to love in return, since all the men were much
too stupid and ugly to mate with one so beautiful and wise. At last,
however, she found a boy who was handsome and manly and wise beyond his
years. Gayelette made up her mind that when he grew to be a man she
would make him her husband, so she took him to her ruby palace and used
all her magic powers to make him as strong and good and lovely as any
woman could wish. When he grew to manhood, Quelala, as he was called,
was said to be the best and wisest man in all the land, while his manly
beauty was so great that Gayelette loved him dearly, and hastened to
make everything ready for the wedding.

“My grandfather was at that time the King of the Winged Monkeys which
lived in the forest near Gayelette’s palace, and the old fellow loved a
joke better than a good dinner. One day, just before the wedding, my
grandfather was flying out with his band when he saw Quelala walking
beside the river. He was dressed in a rich costume of pink silk and
purple velvet, and my grandfather thought he would see what he could
do. At his word the band flew down and seized Quelala, carried him in
their arms until they were over the middle of the river, and then
dropped him into the water.

“`Swim out, my fine fellow,’ cried my grandfather, `and see if the
water has spotted your clothes.’ Quelala was much too wise not to
swim, and he was not in the least spoiled by all his good fortune. He
laughed, when he came to the top of the water, and swam in to shore.
But when Gayelette came running out to him she found his silks and
velvet all ruined by the river.

“The princess was angry, and she knew, of course, who did it. She had
all the Winged Monkeys brought before her, and she said at first that
their wings should be tied and they should be treated as they had
treated Quelala, and dropped in the river. But my grandfather pleaded
hard, for he knew the Monkeys would drown in the river with their wings
tied, and Quelala said a kind word for them also; so that Gayelette
finally spared them, on condition that the Winged Monkeys should ever
after do three times the bidding of the owner of the Golden Cap. This
Cap had been made for a wedding present to Quelala, and it is said to
have cost the princess half her kingdom. Of course my grandfather and
all the other Monkeys at once agreed to the condition, and that is how
it happens that we are three times the slaves of the owner of the
Golden Cap, whosoever he may be.”

“And what became of them?” asked Dorothy, who had been greatly
interested in the story.

“Quelala being the first owner of the Golden Cap,” replied the Monkey,
“he was the first to lay his wishes upon us. As his bride could not
bear the sight of us, he called us all to him in the forest after he
had married her and ordered us always to keep where she could never
again set eyes on a Winged Monkey, which we were glad to do, for we
were all afraid of her.

“This was all we ever had to do until the Golden Cap fell into the
hands of the Wicked Witch of the West, who made us enslave the Winkies,
and afterward drive Oz himself out of the Land of the West. Now the
Golden Cap is yours, and three times you have the right to lay your
wishes upon us.”

As the Monkey King finished his story Dorothy looked down and saw the
green, shining walls of the Emerald City before them. She wondered at
the rapid flight of the Monkeys, but was glad the journey was over.
The strange creatures set the travelers down carefully before the gate
of the City, the King bowed low to Dorothy, and then flew swiftly away,
followed by all his band.

“That was a good ride,” said the little girl.

“Yes, and a quick way out of our troubles,” replied the Lion. “How
lucky it was you brought away that wonderful Cap!”

In this story, Katie and her best friend Isis go on a Pony Trek.    If you like horses, you’ll definitely love this story, and even if you aren’t quite such a horsey person,  you will learn about a scary modern legend  that has grown up in the western part  of  England called Cornwall.

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie. Duration 19 Minutes. Pictures by CaiJia Eng

It was the first day of term in the New Year.  Isis was standing in the playground talking to Judith and Andy about their holidays.  All three of them had lovely suntans,  Judith and Andy from their skiing trips, and Isis from her stay on a Caribbean island.  When Katie joined them, she had her usual pale white skin, with a touch of red on her nose from the cold winter air.

“Oh hi Katie, what did you do for Christmas?” asked Isis.

“Oh Mum and I went to grandma’s as usual,” replied Katie.  

That evening, as Katie’s mum ladled out her home-made pumpkin soup for dinner, Katie asked:  ”Why can’t we be rich like Isis and her mum? I mean, we’re witches, so we could easily magic up some money and then we could go on lovely holidays and I could have a pony.”

“Oh Katie,” replied her mother. “We can’t do that.   Only the Government is allowed to make money. Using magic to do it is called alchemy, and it’s against the law.”

“Oh,” said Katie. “That’s a pity.  Isis is always talking about her pony, and I would really like to have one too.”

“Well maybe she will let you ride hers,” said her mother softly.  ”Ponies aren’t just expensive, they are a lot of work, and I’m sure that Isis could do with some help looking after hers.”

On Friday morning, Isis said to Katie, “Why don’t you come down to the pony farm with me tomorrow?  You can have a ride on Bessie if you like.” And Katie was thrilled.  ”What a clever mother I have,” she thought. “I’m sure she did a little magic spell to make that happen.”  But in fact, her mother had just dropped a heavy hint to Isis’s mum at the school gate, along the lines of “Katie’s always telling me how Isis adores her pony.  I think it’s a stage that every girl goes through, but we really can’t afford one.”

On Saturday, as they drove to the Pony Farm, Katie’s mum said: “Remember, don’t use any magic.  We don’t want Isis’s mum to seeing you doing any spells.”

“Promise mum,” said Katie who was very excited just to be going riding for the first time.  

When they arrived, Isis was already tightening the saddle on Bessie and expertly adjusting the stirrups. She knew all about how the reins and the tackle fitted.  Of course, she herself wore all the smartest riding clothes,  including jodhpurs, a trim tweed jacket, and buckled shoes.  Katie just had her jeans and trainers. She had to borrow a hard hat from the stable.

Isis lifted her foot into the stirrup, and swung her other leg over the pony. She looked a perfect picture sitting on top of the dapple-coated Bessie, and Katie could not help feeling a pang of envy.   Isis gave Bessie a little kick, and rode her over to the ring, where she cantered and jumped over some small fences.

When it was Katie’s turn to have a go, Isis said: “Now remember, the most important thing is to let Bessie know that you are the boss.  Horses can smell fear, so be firm.”

Katie found it a little bit of a struggle to climb up onto the saddle, but Bessie stood very still for her.  Isis said:

“Don’t slouch. Hold the reins low, you’re not a cowboy. Give her a gentle kick.”

Katie kicked, but Bessie didn’t move.

“She knows you’re a beginner,” sighed Isis.

“Yes,” thought Katie, “But I know she will like me. We witches have an affinity with animals.”  And she concentrated very hard before saying, “Click cluck” with the back of her mouth. Bessie started to walk.  After fifteen minutes, and a little coaching from Isis, Katie was already trotting.

Isis’s mum said to Katie’s: “She’s a natural.”  And at the end of the morning, Katie was really excited and thrilled just to have been on a horse.

After that, Isis often invited Katie to ride Bessie. And Katie helped look after her too.  When nobody was looking, she used just a little magic to clean up the stable, which gave Isis and her more time to brush down Bessie’s coat and to gossip about school.

At half term, Isis and her mum rented a cottage in Cornwall.  There was a stable nearby, and they planned to go riding every day.  Isis asked if they could bring Katie too, and her mum gladly agreed, because she knew it would be more fun for her daughter to have a friend with her.  

As Katie was packing, her mum said: “Remember Katie, no magic on this holiday.” And Katie promised, “Yes mum.  No magic.”  She kissed Solomon goodbye and said, “Be a good kittie while I’m away. Leave the mice alone. They have right to live too you know.” And Solomon rubbed her face against Katie’s, purred, and thought, “No chance.  I’ll get those pesky mice as soon as you’re gone.”

It was a long drive down to Cornwall, but Isis’s car was so comfortable that it was no hardship.  When they were off the motorway, they drove along long country lanes with high hedges on either side.  They were heading upwards, towards the moors.  The satnav  said, “Take the next left”  and they turned into a little farm.  Their cottage was in fact a newly converted barn.  It was extremely comfortable inside, with warm central heating, a huge flat panel TV, and a lovely pink bathroom.  Through the windows they could see the old stone farm house and the stables.

The next morning, Katie and Isis went to look at the ponies. They met a stable boy who was leading out a sleek black horse on long elegant legs.

“He’s a bit of an aristocrat of a horse,” said Katie admiringly.

And the boy said: (West Country Accent)

“He took a right fright yesterday afternoon and threw the boss.”

“What spooked him?” asked Isis?

“What else?” asked the boy, “But the Beast.”

“The beast?  You’re kidding us,” said  Isis.

But Katie said: “I suppose he means the Beast of Bodmin Moor.”

“That be the one,” said the boy.

“He’s like a big wild cat,” said Katie, “Some people think he’s a puma or a panther that escaped from the zoo.”

“Your friend’s got the low down,” said the boy. “Perhaps you’ll get a look at him yourself, if you’re very unlucky…”

Isis turned her nose up at him. She did not want to admit that he had got her rather spooked herself.  

“But most people think it’s just a rumour ,and the Beast doesn’t exist,” whispered Katie when he was out of earshot, “So he was probably just making it up to frighten us any way.”

They went inside the stable and found a girl who told them that the lad was always making up stories to scare the visitors.  ”He should be sacked,” she said, “Only ,he’s the boss’s nephew.  And it’s not true. Nobody was thrown off yesterday, especially not the boss, who isn’t even here this week.”

She found them two ponies, one called Yorkie who was black, and another called Steptoe who was brown with a shaggy mane and looked a little bit like a miniature carthorse.  As Isis was the more experienced rider of the two girls, she took Yorkie who was the most frisky of the two ponies.  Isis’s mum would have the tall black horse.

That afternoon, they set out on their first trek.  They rode up to a lake where their ponies waded in for a drink.  Over the next few days they explored the local paths and trails. It was not far from the farm before they were away from the hedges and long glass and up on more stony desolate country.  They rode to an old deserted prison, which was rather spooky. Katie managed a few canters, and Isis’s pony jumped over a ditch.

When they got back to the farm, they played hide and seek in the hay loft and watched DVDs on TV. Isis’s mum drove into the village to fetch takeaway dinners, and Katie tried Chinese food and learned how to use chop sticks.  All in all it was a perfect holiday.

On Friday, they took a packed lunch and rode out on an extra long trek. It was their aim to reach some ancient stones left on the moors by Druids centuries ago.  The sun was shining brightly for the time of the year, and it was a crisp bright day.  A bold fox sat on a stone wall and watched them approach, before slowly jumping down and trotting off to the woods.  Brightly coloured pheasants pecked the grass in the fields.  A scarecrow provided a perch for the beady-eyed birds.   Katie’s pony plodded on in his usual docile way, until, quite out of character, he shied back and gave Katie a jolt.  ”Whoa!” she said, what’s got into you?”  And then she saw an snake – probably an adder – slithering through the grassy ditch and disappearing into some long grass.

“That’s ok,” she said, “he’s gone.”

Further up the track ,they found an old deserted farm house.  They rode into the walls of its tumbled-down garden, and were thinking of stopping for lunch when all of a sudden a huge black cat jumped over the wall – only this was no kitty-cat like Solomon – this was the size of a large dog, only much thinner and sleeker.  He was black, with bright yellow eyes, yellow teeth, and a red tongue.  He was facing Isis who had her back to the farmhouse… her black pony started to rear and stomp all over the place… her mum screamed as Isis was flung clear of its back – one of her feet was caught in the stirrup – and oh it looked like it twisted nastily as she fell to the ground – the pony darted round the big cat and ran into the next field, but Isis was left on the ground.  Her mum was in near hysterics. She was crying. The cat growled and fixed her with his stare.  He looked like he was about to pounce.

“Katie, do some magic !” screamed Isis .

And Katie, who was already thinking of a spell, shouted “Catnip!”  And then she said:

“Hey Cat – Don’t hurt my friend!”… and the cat turned around and said:

“I don’t mean to!”

“Then why did you scare her pony like that?” asked Katie, with difficulty, because her own pony was fritting around, fairly unsettled, even at a distance.

Isis’s mum had stopped screaming and was watching in a amazement as Katie carried on this conversation with the creature…

“Well,” said the cat, “I wouldn’t have done if I knew you could talk… Listen, I’m hungry. I don’t suppose you have anything to eat with you do you?”

“Just a cheese sandwich,” said Katie, starting to take off her back back.

“No thanks,” said the cat.

“Sorry, I’m a vegetarian” said Katie. “I’m sure you would get better food if you went back to the zoo.”

The cat, who was now sitting in front of Katie’s horse, licking his paw, looked up and said:  ”I don’t come from the zoo.  I had an owner who kept me secretly in his back garden.  I was in a cage, and he fed me on tins of yucky cat food, so I ran away when he forgot to lock the door.  I’ve lived up here for the past few years.  I catch rabbits and pheasants, but I don’t like the cold or the rain.  Whenever I try to ask people for help, they get scared and run away. ”

“You’re lucky a farmer hasn’t shot you,” said Katie. “That will happen one day you know.  Hey, why don’t you let us take you to the zoo? I’m sure they will look after you.”

And since Katie seemed like such a nice girl, and so trustworthy, the cat agreed to go back to the farm with them.  Isis’s leg really hurt, and it was with much difficulty that her mum helped her back onto her pony, but it was either that or call the air ambulance, and Isis didn’t fancy flying in a helicopter which would be really noisy and uncomfortable.

The Beast of Bodmin followed them back to the farm, trotting behind the horses,  and when they saw the stable boy Katie called out : “Hey have you got any legs of lamb in the freezer. We’ve got a hungry Beast here.”

“Wow!” said the boy, and legged it for the farm house as fast as he could.

The Beast stayed with Katie while Isis went to the hospital with her mum.  They both promised not to breathe a word to anybody about the magic that they had witnessed, not even to Katie’s mum.  Katie gave him a pint of milk, a pot of cream, and some leftovers of duck in plum source.  

“I’m sure they will have steak in the zoo,” she promised.  And the Beast of  Bodmin purred contentedly, because although he was hungry,  he was at least warm by the radiator and looking forward to his new life in the enclosure, where food would be brought to him, and visitors would admire him.

And that was the story of Katie and the Pony who was spooked.

Dorothy has defeated the Wicked Witch of the West, but her friends have been badly hurt in the fight. Can the Yellow Winkies help her to rescue them?

Read by Natasha. Duration 9.29.

The Cowardly Lion was much pleased to hear that the Wicked Witch had
been melted by a bucket of water, and Dorothy at once unlocked the gate
of his prison and set him free. They went in together to the castle,
where Dorothy’s first act was to call all the Winkies together and tell
them that they were no longer slaves.

There was great rejoicing among the yellow Winkies, for they had been
made to work hard during many years for the Wicked Witch, who had
always treated them with great cruelty. They kept this day as a
holiday, then and ever after, and spent the time in feasting and
dancing.

“If our friends, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, were only with us,”
said the Lion, “I should be quite happy.”

“Don’t you suppose we could rescue them?” asked the girl anxiously.

“We can try,” answered the Lion.

So they called the yellow Winkies and asked them if they would help to
rescue their friends, and the Winkies said that they would be delighted
to do all in their power for Dorothy, who had set them free from
bondage. So she chose a number of the Winkies who looked as if they
knew the most, and they all started away. They traveled that day and
part of the next until they came to the rocky plain where the Tin
Woodman lay, all battered and bent. His axe was near him, but the
blade was rusted and the handle broken off short.

The Winkies lifted him tenderly in their arms, and carried him back to
the Yellow Castle again, Dorothy shedding a few tears by the way at the
sad plight of her old friend, and the Lion looking sober and sorry.
When they reached the castle Dorothy said to the Winkies:

“Are any of your people tinsmiths?”

“Oh, yes. Some of us are very good tinsmiths,” they told her.

“Then bring them to me,” she said. And when the tinsmiths came,
bringing with them all their tools in baskets, she inquired, “Can you
straighten out those dents in the Tin Woodman, and bend him back into
shape again, and solder him together where he is broken?”

The tinsmiths looked the Woodman over carefully and then answered that
they thought they could mend him so he would be as good as ever. So
they set to work in one of the big yellow rooms of the castle and
worked for three days and four nights, hammering and twisting and
bending and soldering and polishing and pounding at the legs and body
and head of the Tin Woodman, until at last he was straightened out into
his old form, and his joints worked as well as ever. To be sure, there
were several patches on him, but the tinsmiths did a good job, and as
the Woodman was not a vain man he did not mind the patches at all.

When, at last, he walked into Dorothy’s room and thanked her for
rescuing him, he was so pleased that he wept tears of joy, and Dorothy
had to wipe every tear carefully from his face with her apron, so his
joints would not be rusted. At the same time her own tears fell thick
and fast at the joy of meeting her old friend again, and these tears
did not need to be wiped away. As for the Lion, he wiped his eyes so
often with the tip of his tail that it became quite wet, and he was
obliged to go out into the courtyard and hold it in the sun till it
dried.

“If we only had the Scarecrow with us again,” said the Tin Woodman,
when Dorothy had finished telling him everything that had happened, “I
should be quite happy.”

“We must try to find him,” said the girl.

So she called the Winkies to help her, and they walked all that day and
part of the next until they came to the tall tree in the branches of
which the Winged Monkeys had tossed the Scarecrow’s clothes.

It was a very tall tree, and the trunk was so smooth that no one could
climb it; but the Woodman said at once, “I’ll chop it down, and then we
can get the Scarecrow’s clothes.”

Now while the tinsmiths had been at work mending the Woodman himself,
another of the Winkies, who was a goldsmith, had made an axe-handle of
solid gold and fitted it to the Woodman’s axe, instead of the old
broken handle. Others polished the blade until all the rust was
removed and it glistened like burnished silver.

As soon as he had spoken, the Tin Woodman began to chop, and in a short
time the tree fell over with a crash, whereupon the Scarecrow’s clothes
fell out of the branches and rolled off on the ground.

Dorothy picked them up and had the Winkies carry them back to the
castle, where they were stuffed with nice, clean straw; and behold!
here was the Scarecrow, as good as ever, thanking them over and over
again for saving him.

Now that they were reunited, Dorothy and her friends spent a few happy
days at the Yellow Castle, where they found everything they needed to
make them comfortable.

But one day the girl thought of Aunt Em, and said, “We must go back to
Oz, and claim his promise.”

“Yes,” said the Woodman, “at last I shall get my heart.”

“And I shall get my brains,” added the Scarecrow joyfully.

“And I shall get my courage,” said the Lion thoughtfully.

“And I shall get back to Kansas,” cried Dorothy, clapping her hands.
“Oh, let us start for the Emerald City tomorrow!”

This they decided to do. The next day they called the Winkies together
and bade them good-bye. The Winkies were sorry to have them go, and
they had grown so fond of the Tin Woodman that they begged him to stay
and rule over them and the Yellow Land of the West. Finding they were
determined to go, the Winkies gave Toto and the Lion each a golden
collar; and to Dorothy they presented a beautiful bracelet studded with
diamonds; and to the Scarecrow they gave a gold-headed walking stick,
to keep him from stumbling; and to the Tin Woodman they offered a
silver oil-can, inlaid with gold and set with precious jewels.

Every one of the travelers made the Winkies a pretty speech in return,
and all shook hands with them until their arms ached.

Dorothy went to the Witch’s cupboard to fill her basket with food for
the journey, and there she saw the Golden Cap. She tried it on her own
head and found that it fitted her exactly. She did not know anything
about the charm of the Golden Cap, but she saw that it was pretty, so
she made up her mind to wear it and carry her sunbonnet in the basket.

Then, being prepared for the journey, they all started for the Emerald
City; and the Winkies gave them three cheers and many good wishes to
carry with them.

Happy 12 everyone ! We are starting 2012 with a Bertie story this week, and a Katie story next… and look out for the final chapters of the Wizard of Oz and a spectacular Greek Myth.

Just in case you are new to Bertie and his stories – let us explain – these days he is a frog and has some pond-life friends, but in the past he was a human prince.

In this story, we hear about one of Bertie’s human adventures. It took him to the jungle of Papua New Guinea along the famed Kokoda Trail. The Lovely Princess Beatrice came with him. They were in search of long lost Cousin Jonas who has discovered the Secret of Eternal Youth. The Wicked Queen wants it – but will she us it, as promised for the good of mankind?

And by the way, the secret or sweet potato is also known in America as a yam.

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie. Duration 31 min.

Only last week, I was walking past the Palace Pond, when I heard a deep groan. I looked at the water, and saw some angry-looking bubbles on the surface. Then I heard an unmistakable voice:

“Oh Tim, When are you going to grow up?” It was Colin the Carp, groaning and grumping as usual. Perhaps this time, he had good reason. Tim the Tadpole was annoying him by tickling his belly.

Sadie, the elegant black swan, heard his complaint too. She swam out of the rushes and said: “I don’t think Little Tim is ever going to grow up into a frog. In fact, I think he has discovered the Secret of Eternal Youth.”

“Ooh that sounds exciting,” said Tim. “Er what is it?”

As ever, Prince Bertie the Frog was on hand to answer Tim’s questions.

“Let me tell you Tim,” he said. “It’s a potato.”

When Prince Bertie said this, Colin the Carp thrashed the water with his tail so hard that some drops splashed on my face.

“Is this pond full of fools?” groaned Colin. “How can the Secret of Eternal Youth be a Potato? That frog’s brain is a potato, more like…!”

“Well actually,” said Bertie, “The Secret of Eternal Youth really is a potato. Or to be precise, it is a Sweet Potato. I know that for a fact because when I was a human prince, I brought it back from the Jungle….”

“Oooh Bertie, do tell us the story…” pleaded Tim. Colin sighed heavily, but all the other pond life gathered around excitedly to hear Bertie’s story – and I pricked up my ears too….

It was winter. The Palace cook was off work with a cold. At breakfast time, the Wicked Queen went into the kitchen and made Bertie’s porridge herself.

“There you are Bertie,” she said, as she placed the steaming bowl of milky oats in front of him on the dining room table, ” Just how you like it.”

” I don’t really feel like porridge today,” said the Prince. “I’ve got a bit of a rotten tummy.”

For a second, an angry glint flashed across the Queen’s eye, and then she said soothingly, “Come on now, eat up. There’s nothing like a bowl of porridge to get you through the morning.”

“Sorry, I’d rather not,” said Bertie. He looked guiltily across the table at Princess Beatrice who was frowning at him. After breakfast, she tapped Bertie on the shoulder at the foot of the stairs.

“There’s no need to be so rude to my step-mother,” she said frostily.

“I can’t help it,” said Bertie. “Sometimes she just scares the life out of me.”

“Couldn’t you see how hurt she was when you wouldn’t eat her porridge? You seemed to think she had dropped poison in it.”

“Well… yeah……,” said Bertie, quite sarcastically.

“Oh sometimes ….you’re just impossible,” said Beatrice annoyed, and she started to stomp off, which was not at all like her. Then she turned around and said: “Not every step-mother is wicked you know. And she’s going to be your mother-in-law one day, so you better start seeing the sweet side of her.”

Bertie was upset, as well as hungry, as he climbed the stairs. The last thing he wanted to do was to get on the wrong side of Beatrice. She had such a lovely character, she just couldn’t see that her step-mother, the Queen, truly was wicked. The world might well be full of lovely mother-in-laws, and charming step-mothers, but this one was well.. like something out of a scary fairytale.

For the rest of the week, the Wicked Queen, was so sweet, and so full of thoughtful little gestures, that Bertie became more suspicious of her than ever. On Saturday morning, she bought Beatrice a present – a delicate and beautiful orchid for her collection. It had snowy white flowers, with beautiful purple centres that looked just like butterflies.

As they admired the lovely plant, the Queen said casually, “Or course, if you want to see rare orchids in the wild, you really ought to go to Papua New Guinea.”

“Really?” said Beatrice. “Perhaps Bertie and I can go there on holiday.”

“Oh you would love it,” said the Queen, “The biodiversity is incredible.”

Bertie tried not to groan. He knew that “biodiversity” – which means a wide selection of life forms – was just the word to use if you wanted to persuade Beatrice of anything. She truly loves the environment and all living things.

“Oh Bertie ! Do let’s go there for our holiday,” she cooed. “I do so want to go to Papua New Guinea to see the Biodiversity.”

“And while you are there,” said the Queen, “You can look up our long lost cousin Jonas. He lives in the Rain Forest and is an expert on the nature of New Guinea.”

“Oh how wonderful,” said Beatrice.

Bertie sighed. He knew that the wicked Queen was plotting something – but there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

But what was the Queen up to? Was she planning for them to be kidnapped by pirates or eaten by cannibals? He didn’t dare suggest anything of the sort to Beatrice. She would be furious with him. He would have to wait for clues. And gradually the clues came. The nearer they got to the holiday, the more the Queen spoke about Cousin Jonas. There was an article about him on the internet with a photograph. He stood on a cliff with with the tree tops of the jungle spreading out for miles behind him. He looked about 25 years old – not a day older than when he left the palace 25 years ago.

“I do believe,” revealed the Queen, “that Cousin Jonas has discovered the Secret of Eternal Youth. Just think Beatrice darling… what a benefit this could be to humanity ! We could make medicines that could cure every illness. Bring back the secret to me, my sweet, or else it may never get out. Greedy Cousin Jonas is just keeping it to himself. That can’t be right. Go to him, Beatrice, with your sweet smile, and persuade him to do the right thing.”

Bertie tried to seem keen on the Wicked Queen’s plan to benefit mankind, but it was no use – Beatrice knew that he was thinking negative thoughts. Her manner was a little colder than usual to her prince.

They flew first to Australia, and then to Port Moresby, the capital of Papua New Guinea. At the airport, they were met by their tour guide, an Australian called Roger Jolly. “Mates call me Jolly Roger,” he said with a grin as he firmly shook their hands.

He showed them the way to the car – which was, as it turned out, a pick-up truck. Princess Beatrice sat in the cab next to Jolly Roger. Prince Bertie sat on the back of the truck with the luggage. He was kept company buy Roger’s righthand-man, a Papua New Guinean called Simon, and known to his mates as Sly Si.

As they drove through the town, Bertie saw that most of the houses were defended by barbed wire and metal gates. “Don’t go for a walk in Port Moresby,” warned Sly Si. “There are plenty of murders.”

And Bertie decided that he could manage without stretching his legs that evening.

They drove to the gleaming white Yacht Club, which was where all the rich people and foreigners liked to hang out. That evening they ate grilled fish out in the warm tropical air. Beatrice told him that they wanted to find Cousin Jonas in the village of Tanga. Jolly Roger looked at Sly Si. Si said: “That’s in the Owen Stanley Mountains, about four or five days hike along the Kokoda Trail.”

“Great, I love walking,” said Beatrice.

“That’s good,” said Jolly Roger, with a smile,”Because the Kokoda Trail is just about the toughest walk in the world.”

Two days later, they drove out to the Owen’s Corner, which is at the start of the famed Kokoda trail. Five porters joined Bertie in the back of the truck, each with a huge rucksack.

They drove as far as they could, before the road just petered out. Before them rose the mountains, covered in dense jungle. The only sign of human life was a bronze monument.

“That’s to the heroes of the Second World War,” explained Roger. “The Australians fought the Japanese through these mountains and beat them off – otherwise Australia might have been invaded.” Then turning to Sly Si he said, “And the locals played a big part too. The worked as porters. They carried the injured on stretchers, and tended to their wounds. The troops called them Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels, because they never abandoned an injured solider, even under heavy fire. ”

After a minute or two of silence, to acknowledge the heroes of the past, they heaved their packs onto their backs and began to plod down the same trail that the troops and the angels had taken in 1942.

At first they went down, but soon they were climbing. The rain started to pitter-patter on the broad leaves above their heads. Some of it managed to dribble down the backs of their collars. The porters cut long walking sticks for them for Beatrice and Bertie. Still it was hard to get a good foothold. Beatrice was the first to slide face down in the mud.

“Bertie, where were you looking? Why didn’t you catch me?” she said testily as he helped her up. Bertie ignored the unfair remark, and said. “Don’t worry dearest. It can’t be like this all the way.”

“Oh yes it can,” said Jolly Roger with a grin.

Often the jungle track divided – one path going one way – the other in a different direction. Fortunately, the porters knew the trail just as certainly as Beatrice knew her way around the palace gardens. Quite often the trail disappeared all together. The porters took out their machetes and scythed a path through the undergrowth, with as little effort as if they were spreading butter on bread. The great packs did not seem to give them any trouble at all. And most remarkable of all – some of them weren’t even wearing boots on their feet – but flip-flops, as if they were strolling down to the beach.

It was still raining that night when they struck camp. The porters cut big logs to get a fire going, and Bertie and Beatrice washed in an icy cold mountain stream. Bertie did his best to help put up the tents, but most of the work was done by the porters. They brewed up the best drink of tea ever. And then they ate a supper of Vegetable Stew – made from a packet – and Sweet Potato Mash. One of the porters was carrying a ruck sack that was filled with nothing but sweet potatoes. Sweet Potatoes were to be the main diet along the trail.

And at long last, they stretched out in their lovely dry sleeping blankets and fell asleep to the mysterious whoops and cries of the jungle birds and animals.

Over the next few days they crossed gushing rivers with the help of ropes, and struggled up and down steep slopes. The rain stopped, and often the sun brightened things up. Sometimes they waded through long wet grass, and slug-like leaches fastened themselves to their legs.

“They like sucking Bertie’s blue blood,” said Jolly Roger, who usually had a joke to hand.

“They have good taste,” said Beatrice, “UGGH There’s one on me…. Get it off me Bertie…”

“I thought you liked all living things,” said Bertie as he sprayed it with insect repellent.

“I do,” she said, “It’s not their fault they like our blood.”

Roger made sure that they treated any little cuts and grazes with stinging iodine, because he said wounds could go rotten in the damp jungle air. Sly Si always came up at the back of the line, to make sure that nobody got left behind. They were in good hands – but if anyone twisted an ankle, there was only one way out of the jungle – on a stretcher carried by the porters.

They stopped often to drink water, and for Beatrice to photograph wild orchids. She wasn’t disappointed – there were many that she had not seen before, even in books. One time Sly Si pointed and said “Look over there,” and he started to walk towards a huge snake that was draped over some branches. He took it in his arms and wrapped it around himself. Then suddenly he made a choking nose and rolled his eyes:

“Oh no, it’s a python and it can squeeze the life out of him,” squealed Beatrice in horror.

But it was just an empty skin that a python had shed.

“Nice one,” laughed Jolly Roger, as Sly Si draped the skin back on the tree, to scare the next group of hikers.

On the fourth day, they reached Jonas’s village. It was on a high plateau, overlooking the tops of the trees for miles and miles. The village huts stood on stilts, growing out of a green lawn that was almost as perfect as a cricket pitch. The hikers were greeted by a group of local kids who wanted to know the latest rugby scores. Bertie made up for their lack of sports results, by handing out pens and badges.

“Can you take us to Jonas?” asked Beatrice hopefully. But they did not have to – because a youthful looking man was walking towards them.

“He can’t be fifty years old. He must be Jonas’s son,” whispered Bertie. But Beatrice was ready to believe that this relative of hers had discovered the Secret of Eternal Youth.

“Er, Prince Jonas, I presume,” said Bertie.

“It’s quite a while since anybody has called me Prince,” replied the youth, “But I am Jonas.”

“Well I’m Prince Bertie and this is your relative, Princess Beatrice. You may not know her, because she was born after you left the palace.”

“Yes, that was a long time ago,” said Jonas. “Well I haven’t heard from my family for a long time. Welcome to my home. Have some tea and, we’ll get dinner ready for you. Hope you like sweet potatoes. It’s all we have around here.”

“We can provide tinned sardines,” said Bertie.

“Oh wonderful,” enthused Jonas.

“And chocolate..” added Bertie.

“You must come more often,” said Jonas.

As they sat around the fire that evening, a sky crammed with stars looked down upon them. They were about as far away from anywhere as you could possibly get. All around the clearing was steep jungle – and it was at least three days hike until you got to anything like a road. The word “remote” hardly summed it up. While they tucked in to their feast of sweet potatoes, sardines and chocolate, the villagers sung and banged drums for them. When the din died down, Beatrice said:

“Cousin Jonas, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how old are you?”

“I will probably seem ancient to a youngster like you,” admitted Jonas, “It was my fiftieth birthday last month.”

“Wow,” said Bertie .

“Pretty old aren’t I?” said Jonas.

“But you can’t be that old,” said Beatrice. “You hardly look older than Bertie.”

“Hmm. Well, you can’t beat a diet of fresh air, mountain water, and sweet potatoes,” explained Jonas.

“Oh come on, you must have a bigger secret than that,” said Beatrice, “Do tell…”

“Worried about getting lines are you? I shouldn’t be concerned at your age. Well perhaps I will tell,” said Jonas. “We’ll see in the morning. ”

After Beatrice had gone to bed, Bertie and Jonas stayed up for one last square of chocolate each. “Do you ever miss your life of comfort and ease in the palace?” asked Bertie.

“Sometimes,” said Jonas. “But I had no choice. I had to leave.”

‘Why?” asked Bertie.

“In a word, Hilda.”

“Ah Hilda,” said Bertie. “I understand. In fact, one day I might have to leave because of Hilda.” Because… you see … Hilda was the person who is now better known as the Wicked Queen.

Later on, as Bertie lay awake in his sleeping bag, he wondered about his moral dilemma. Loyalty to Beatrice dictated that he should help her on her mission to take Jonas’s secret back to the Queen. But his instinct that the Queen had no good intentions, meant that he ought to warn Cousin Jonas. Even though his limbs were weak from the day’s jungle hike, the problem kept turning around his head and preventing him from falling asleep.

In the morning, Beatrice began her assault on Jonas with all her batteries of charm and persuasion.
Bertie could hardly believe the way she fluttered her eyelids and pleaded: ‘Dear Jonas, just think of all the good you could do for humanity if you shared your secret.”

And Jonas was clearly weakening and saying things like, “Well I suppose it has been a bit selfish of me to keep it to myself. I just didn’t want it fall into the wrong sort of hands.”

“Oh I promise will do the best thing possible for your secret. We’ll give it to my step-mother who is ever such a clever woman, isn’t she Bertie? ” said Beatrice. And Bertie had no choice but to nod. He felt a real heel, knowing that Beatrice was going to give it to Hilda, because she really believed that her step-mother would use it for the good of mankind.

At last Jonas gave in. “Well I’ll tell you,” he said. “I’ve developed a special breed of Sweet Potato. I make it into a kind of paste and rub it into my skin. Everyone who has tried it – including many of the villagers here – seems to stay young. I can’t say if lasts eternally – it’s too early to say yet – and I suppose it always will be – ha ha.”

“Oh thank you,” said Beatrice throwing her arms around him. “Will you let us take some back home with us?”

“I’ll get some ready for you,” said Jonas. “Enough to put under a microscope – and some left over for your personal use.”

“Oh I don’t want to use it myself,” insisted Beatrice.

Bertie felt he could hold in his conscience no more. Later, when Beatrice was hunting for orchids on the other side of this village, he said to Jonas.

“Look please don’t let on that I told you this. Beatrice is such a sweet girl. She just can’t see any bad in her stepmother…who is somebody you know..”

“Who exactly…?” asked Jonas, suspiciously.

“Hilda,” said Bertie. “I fear that your secret might not be put to the best use. But what am I to do? If Beatrice catches on that I’ve told you this, I will be right in the do-do.”

“Well we don’t want you dumped in the do-do, do we?” said Jonas. “I have an idea. I’ll give one preparation to you – secretly – and I’ll give another one for Beatrice to give to her step-mother. It will be a nice little present from me to Hilda.”

The next day, their trekking expedition restarted along the Kokoda trail. At first, their stiff limbs protested at being made to work again, but they soon got into the swing of things. Some fine weather saw them through the day. They climbed even higher into the Owen Stanley Mountains, where the air became thinner, and strange trees and shrubs fascinated the botanist in Beatrice. After that, the way was mostly down. On the final day, they waded through some long bush grass, and out into the welcome end-of-trail station to be greeted by the universal symbol of civilisation – Coca- Cola.

After a few blissful days on the beach at Buna, they flew back to Port Moresby, on to Sydney, and then back home. Beatrice carried a jar of the Secret Sweet Potato Cream in her hand luggage. Bertie carried an even more secret formula inside his suitcase.

“You little darling!” exclaimed the Wicked Queen as Beatrice handed over the jar from Uncle Jonas. “We’re RICHHHHHHH!”

‘What do you mean, rich?” asked Beatrice.

“Oh don’t you see? People will pay a fortune for an anti-wrinkle cream that actually works. And as for a hair restorer, even the King would give his crown for one of those, if it did what it said on the tin. It’s what human kind has been striving for all these centuries…. The Cure for Baldness…. The Removal of Wrinkles…..The End of Cellulite… The Eat What You Want and be as Thin as a School Girl Diet….. in short, The Secret of Eternal Youth….”

In her delight, t he Queen was looking younger already – she did a little dance of glee.

And Beatrice was so upset that she turned to Bertie, her eyes full of tears, and said. “Don’t you dare say a word… ” before she ran up to her room.

“I don’t think that’s quite what Beatrice thought you meant by the good of mankind,” he said to the Queen, before leaving the room. Out in the corridor he smiled to himself, because he had already sent the even more secret formula to a top scientist who was working on all sorts of cures for various illnesses.

“Foolish children!” said the queen to herself, as she swept upstairs to her dressing room. “Now let’s just try out a little of this on ourself.”

She stood before the mirror and rubbed some of the sweet potato cream into her face. Almost instantly, the deep troughs around her eyes disappeared. She looked twenty years young.

“I’m beeeee-autiful, ” she exclaimed. .

But when she woke up in the morning, she opened her mouth and all she could say was ‘WAAAAA’ because Uncle Jonas and supplied an extra strong formula, and she had turned back into a baby. Bertie called the Palace Nanny and told her to keep the development a secret. The Wicked Queen grew back into her former self within a week, though, as Bertie noted, her face was perhaps just a bit older and a bit more evil looking than before.

A cast of mice and humans feature in our play for Christmas. The setting is an English country house. The mice who live in the house are as excited about Christmas as the human occupants.

Among the humans, Archie plans to ask Edie to marry him. Not everyone is pleased by the match. His mother, Lady Margaret does not wish to lose a son. His cousin Rupert, the black sheep of the family, thinks he should inherit the family fortune. Edie’s guardian, Aunt Millicent thinks that Archie is soft in the head.

Downstairs in the kitchen, the maid Flossie fears that her family will go hungry for Christmas, and the cook, Mrs. Scratchit has no sympathy. The mice are hoping to pick up a few crumbs.

Just as Archie is about to propose to Edie, the engagement ring goes missing…. Has it been stolen? The American visitor, Murray Buckley, decides to play detective.

Written for Storynory by our own Elizabeth Donnelly. With the voices of Elizabeth, Jonathan Rigby and Johan Munir.

“We Three Kings” arranged and sung by Gabriella Burnel, with James Hewins on base and Jay Vadukai on percussion.

The Christmouse Mystery

SOUNDS OF SCUFFLING AND PANTING

Morris.

(hurried)Come on. This way to the conservatory. Quickly!

Doris.

(out of breath) I’m scuttling as fast as I can.

Morris.

Just around this corner. We can peep through the crack in the skirting board.

Boris. (unfit/heavy breathing)

Slow down.

Morris.

Come on!

They arrive out of breath.

Doris.

So what am I looking at?

Morris.

There. See? It’s the shiniest thing I’ve ever seen.

Doris.

(GASP)What a lovely ring!

Morris.

Shhh! Listen to the humans! Master Archie’s saying something.

sound effect indicating switch from mice world to human world

Archie and Rupert in the conservatory on Christmas Eve morning.

Archie (with enthusiasm and teeth)

It was Grandmother’s engagement ring. Father gave it to me this morning.

Rupert

Must be worth a pretty penny.

Archie

So aren’t you going to wish me luck, Rupert?

Rupert

Whatever for? You’ll be set up for life! You’ll have Edie and the house. And before you know it a few little sprouts tearing up the place. Who will keep me in my old age?

Archie

Oh don’t be so daft you old fool! I’m hardly going to boot you out now just because I’m getting married.

Rupert

Hmm…(beat.) When are you going to ask her?

Archie

Well Edith and her aunt arrive this evening, but I thought I’d wait ‘til tomorrow morning. An extra special Christmas present!

Rupert

Christmas Day eh?(faintly ironic)What a perfect time to pop the question.

Archie

Yes it is rather isn’t it. I thought I’d recite my favourite poem first, before doing the deed.

Rupert (wearily)

What’s that?

Archie

One by Lewis Carroll. It’s called, “You are old, Father William”

Rupert

(Mutters) How romantic! Just right for a lovely young girl.

Archie

What?

Rupert (still muttering)

Trust you to make an ass of yourself.

Archie?

What?

Rupert

Spot on for a proposal I’m sure.

Archie

Would you like to hear it? It’s ever so good.

(recites at pace, enthused, finding the poem hilarious)

You are old, Father William’, the young man said,

‘And your hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head –

Do you think, at your age, it is right?’

SNORTS WITH LAUGHTER

‘In my youth’, Father William…

Rupert (interrupting)

Best save the rest for Edith old chap.

Archie

Very good

——–

TRANSITION EFFECT.

FOLLOWED BY THE SOUND OF SCRATCHING

Doris.

shhhhhhh! I can hear something.

Boris.

Sorry. I just need to make this hole a bit bigger – too many mince pies.

Doris.

Shhhhhhh! not you. One of the humans is crying.

Morris.

We’re all here. So it can’t be us this time.

Doris.

Come on we’d better take a look.

Boris.

I told you I’m a bit stuck

STRAINING NOISES. Eeuuuuuuugggh! SIGH of relief

Morris.

There we go. Where to?

Doris.

It’s coming from the kitchen. I hope it’s not Flossie. Mrs Scratchit’s always so rotten to her.

Boris.

She’s rotten to everyone!

SCUTTLING NOISE.

TRANSITION EFFECT

In the kitchen.

CHOPPING. BOILING. SOUND OF SOBBING.

Mrs Scratchit.

(refined cockney) Well I’ve no time for this I tell you. There’s far too much work to be done. Can’t have you sitting here sobbing when there’s potatoes what need peeling.

Flossie.

(Yorkshire) I am sorry m’am it all got t’better o’ me (sniffing). Father’s too poo-erly to go to work and what with mother’s one eye and the thirteen babbies – there’ll be nowt for Christmas dinner. So I was only asking if you’d lend us a potato. Mother can do wonders meking food go further. That way they’d all have a bite to eat see – well just one, of the potato.

Mrs Scratchit.

(outraged) I(“Eh”) can’t be seen to be handing out food willy nilly. Who’s to say it’d stop there?

Flossie.

Oh but Mrs Scratchit! Christmas won’t be Christmas without a potato!

Mrs. Scratchit.

Now listen here young Flossie. I’m orf to speak to Jeffreys about the butcher’s boy, but when I come back I expect to find them potatoes one hundred percent peeled and no two ways about it! …and don’t think I won’t be counting them!

DOOR SLAMS.

Flossie sobs.

SERVICE BELL RINGS.

Flossie.

Dear me! Where is everyone? Milly won’t be back for ages. And Molly’s in bed with a head cold. (calling) Mandy? Mandy?. I suppose I’d better go upstairs. What a fine state I’m in for it.

——–

TRANSITION EFFECT

Doris.

Come on then. Back to the conservatory.

Morris.

Now you’re just being nosey.

Doris.

When has that ever stopped you! Anyhow I bet Master Rupert’s up to something.

Boris.

He’d certainly got the pip about the proposal.

Doris.

Fancy not being happy for Archie.

Morris.

What a bounder!

——

TRANSITION EFFECT

In the conservatory.

Flossie.

Yes sir?

Rupert.

Ah Flossie! just the ticket. I was hoping you’d come.

Flossie.

What can I do for you Master Rupert?

Rupert.

Well I’m in a bit of a funk old girl and in need of some cheering up.

Flossie.

I doubt I’m the person for that sir.

Rupert.

I’m not so sure about that! A pretty young thing like you.

Flossie.

Pardon Master Rupert?

Rupert.

My life’s in ruins Floss. Have you heard the news?

Flossie.

No sir.

Rupert.

Archie’s finally going to ask Edith to marry him. He’s got the ring from Lord Henry. A fine thing it is too. Oh Floss that ring would have been mine if father hadn’t got me crossed off the inheritance list. But now once Archie’s married he’ll be next in line for the house and I’ll have to stay here with nothing while the twit lords it up over me.

Flossie.

Well things could be worse sir.

Rupert.

How so old girl? This house would’ve been mine.

Flossie.

At least you’ve summit to eat this Christmas. Mother’s got thirteen mouths to feed and three more on the way.

Rupert.(to himself)

Wow she really does pop them out.

Flossie.

Mrs Scratchit wouldn’t give me the leftovers to take home. Y’know sometimes I wonder what to mek of it all. I work every hour God sends and still me family’s back at home with nowt to eat.

Rupert.

I’m sure we can see to that.

I’m so glad you’re here. I fear Christmas will be rather dull this year. The guests will be descending upon us soon and then there’ll be no escape.

Wait a minute I do believe that is a sprig of mistletoe hanging over the door.

Flossie.

Master Rupert, behave yourself.

Rupert.

Just one kiss Floss, it is tradition!

Flossie.

I’d lose my position if anyone saw us.

Rupert.

Have it your own way! Oh it’s all so unfair. If my father hadn’t disgraced himself by running off with the circus. I’d be heir and I’d make you Lady of this house.

Flossie.

Oh don’t talk so daft.

Rupert

But as it stands I’m stuck here living off the charity of my tedious relatives with not a penny to my name.

CRASH! (from afar)

Is Lady Margaret at it again? God help us all!

Flossie

That’ll be the fifth vase she’s thrown at Lord Henry this week!

—

TRANSITION EFFECT

Dorris.

Did you hear that crash?

Morris.

Shall we take a look?

Boris.

At this rate they’ll be no china left by Boxing Day!

Doris.

Boris!

Morris.

Come on slow coach!

Boris (unfit)

Coming!

—

TRANSITION EFFECT

Lord Henry.

I can’t see what you’re making all this heavy weather about.

Lady Margaret (stammering through tears)

How can you be so insensitive?

Lord Henry.

I really think you’re over-reacting darling.

Lady Margaret.

I’ll give you overreacting! CRASH

Lord H.

Good Shot!! You almost got me that time.

Lady M.

You’re a brute if you can’t see how wounded I am.

Lord H.

You will still see him every day.

Lady M.

How could I expect you to understand? I am losing my son to another woman!

Lord H.

Well he is 36.

Lady M.

Thoughtless! that’s what you are! I should never have let you give him that ring! (LOUDLY) You’re insufferable! SMASH!

Lord H.

(nonchalantly)Was that one ming?

Jeffreys.

(coughs in the doorway) huh huh.

Excuse me, sir, m’am. The Buckleys have arrived.

Lady M. (with angelic calmness)

Very good Jeffreys. We’ll receive them in the drawing room.

Jeffreys.

Yes m’am.

Lord H.

You’d better buck up darling.

Lady M.

Go and boil your head!

—–

CRUNCH OF FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL.

Boris.

Oo look there’s a woman approaching who’s being eaten by a fox!

Doris.

Don’t be silly that’s her scarf.

Boris.

Eeeuuugh!

Morris.

Looks like he’s eaten a few foxes though!

Doris.

You mustn’t be rude!

—-

CRUNCH OF GRAVEL

Murray Buckley.

Gee whizz honey! This sure is something!

Imelda Buckley.

Oh Murraykins! Isn’t it beautiful. I could just picture us living here. beat. Can you get me one?

Murray Buckley.

A Jacobian manor?

Imelda.

Sure!

Murray Buckley.

uumm…

Imelda.

Pleease?

Murray.

Oh heck! why not? anything for you sugarlips.

Smmmmmmmmoooch!

Imelda.

(with delight)

Oh Murray!

Jeffreys. (from nowhere, disapprovingly)

Good afternoon

Murray B.

Oh hey there fella. Fancy creeping up on us like that!

Jeffreys.

(drolly)

Yes. Fancy. (beat.) Lord Henry and Lady Margaret expect you in the drawing room. Jenkins will see to your luggage. If you’d like to follow me.

Murray B.

(under his breath)

Do you think he’s an original feature of the house?

Imelda.

(whispering and stifling laughter)

Shhhh You’ll get us sent to the tower or something!

—

SCRATCHING

Morris.

Come on then – back to the drawing room. The festivities will soon be underway.

Doris/ Boris

Right-Oh/Coming!

—-

Lord Henry.

You will be on your best behaviour Margaret. It is Christmas after all.

Lady Margaret.

I don’t know what you mean. You’re the one that’s been utterly beastly since breakfast.

Jeffreys.

The Buckleys, sir.

Lord Henry.

Ah yes. Thank you Jeffreys.

Imelda.

Oh isn’t this divine. Is it very old?

Jeffreys.

A mere 400 years.

Lady Margaret.

(to Imelda)Oh you mustn’t take any notice of Jeffreys. Servants are such snobs! (laughs).(To Jeffreys) Be a darling Jeffers and bring us up some tea.

So… You’re both looking splendid.

Murray.

Why thanks. You know Imelda and I are so excited to spend Christmas over here. I mean we travel a lot you know. Like last week we did Europe and the week before that we did Asia, but you know there’s something about England we really love,

Imelda.

Just love it!

Murray.

I mean we’re staying here for two days!

And you know I was just saying to Imelda that the house just looked so great on the drive up here, wasn’t I Meldy?

Imelda.

yeah. beat. what?

Murray.

I was just saying. You know like one of those Christmas picture cards, covered in snow.

Imelda.

yeah. in snow.

Lord Henry.

You’re too kind.

Murray.

But what’s new with you kid? The cook tried to poison your soup? The footman run off with your daughter?

Imelda.

Murray quit kidding about. He’s been reading a lot of these British detective stories.

Lord Henry.

No! I like a chap with a sense of humour. Afraid not dear fellow. Only excitement on the cards is that our son Archie is finally going to pop the question to Edith Harvey, something he should have done years ago if you ask me. I gave him my mother’s ring this morning.

Lady Margaret.

And I wish he hadn’t! You don’t have children yet do you Imelda? But I’m sure you understand.

Imelda.

Sure. beat. (excited) What kinda ring?

Lord Henry.

Rather a rare one actually. My mother inherited it from her grand-mama. Something they came across in India. Absolutely priceless of course. Sapphires and diamonds. Tremendous looking thing. (with charm)Would match the colour of your eyes.

Imelda

(coquettish)

Oh Lord Henry. Do you really think so?

Lady M. (to Murray)

He never says nice things like that to me.

Lord Henry.

Well I don’t think they make engagement rings in blood-shot red.

Lady M.

I was quite a looker before I married him you know.

Lord Henry.

Yes it’s all my fault. beat. That she’s so hideous. We only let her out on special occasions.

Lady M.

Oh do desist Henry. Nobody else finds you funny.

Jeffreys.

The tea m’am.

Lady M.

Thanks Jeffers. Over there if you would. (to Imelda) A bit of a fossil but when it comes down to it he’s a love really!

—–

SCRATCHING

Doris.

Oo look at those cakes.

Boris.

Do you think there’re more in the kitchen?

Morris.

Come on!

Doris

We’d better be careful. You remember what happened last time Mrs Scratchit caught us.

Morris.

Poor Uncle Horace.

—-

Kitchen. boiling and clanging.

Mrs Scratchit.

Now look here Master Archibald I’ll have you know I (“Eh”) run a kitchen and not a tea room. If you’re hungry you can go upstairs and have tea with the others, but I’ll not have you spoiling your appetite picking away down here when I’m spending all day preparing for tonight’s dinner.

Archie.

Oh Nora, be a sport. …I’ll show you the ring.

Mrs Scratchit.

I (“eh”) ‘ave better things what to be doing with may time than gawping at rings and the like. Tide and time wait for no man young Archibald!

Archie.

Be a pal. What about a slice of bread and jam? No? Or, a taste of that cake mixture? (teasingly) I know you want to see it really.

Mrs Scratchit.

It’s very fine I’m sure.

Archie.

Here. Take a look at this! (opening box)

Mrs Scratchit.

Well I never! Can’t say my Albert, Gawd be good to ‘im, ever gave me anything like that!

SERVICE BELL RINGS

running footsteps.

Flossie. (from off)

They’re here. They’re here.

Archie.

Sounds like Edith’s arrived. Oh crikey! I’m awfully nervous all of a sudden!

Flossie bumps into Archie who is standing behind the door.

Archie/Flossie

Oh!! (Bumps into Archie)

Flossie

I’m sorry Master Archie. I didn’t see you there.

Archie.

Did you say Edith’s arrived?

Flossie.

Yes with her aunt Millicent.

Archie.

Golly! well best get going.

Mrs Scratchit.

Aren’t you forgetting something?

Archie.

Right. yes! thanks!!

Flossie.

Even the box is beautiful. Lucky Edith! SIGH

Archie

See you later girls.

Mrs Scratchit.

Girls indeed! the cheeky young upstart. I’m a married woman I’ll have you know.

—-

Doris.

Oo i want to have a look at Edith. She always looks like a princess.

Boris.

But, the cake…

Morris.

Time to go Boris, you spend your life eating!… This way! I know a shortcut to the front of the house.

Boris.

No, but…

Doris.

Keep up Boris!

—-

CRUNCH OF FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL.

Aunt Millicent.

This is the last time I let you drag me orf on holiday Edith! We could have been perfectly happy spending Christmas at home. And now you’ve brought me out to this godforsaken place, full of half-wits I’m sure.

And as for that driver leaving us at the end of the lane to walk through bogland and who knows what else- I’ve never been so insulted in my life. Why there wasn’t a car waiting for us at the railway station is beyond me. Some welcome I must say!

Edith.

Oh please try to enjoy the holiday Aunt Millicent. It’ll be lovely to have so many people to spend Christmas with.

Aunt Millicent.

And I’ll say this once and once only. Don’t be getting any ideas about that Archibald Winterbury. He’s a dimwit if you ask me.

Edith.

Oh Aunt Millicent how can you be so unkind?

Aunt Millicent.

I’m concerned for your future happiness my child. Until you are married, you are my responsibility. I owe that much to your mother and father, god rest their souls.

Edith.

Well I’m determined to have a lovely time and I wish you were too!

Aunt Millicent.

Impertinence doesn’t become you Edith!

Archie.

(Shouts from afar)Edith!

(standing next to her)How are you my sweet? You’re looking ravishing. as ever. snorts

Edith.

Thanks Archie. You always say the nicest things!

Archie.(cautiously)

Aunt Millicent!

Aunt Millicent.

snarls audibly

Lord Henry.

Lady Wentworth, Miss Edith. Delighted to see you. Do come with us. I’ll introduce you to the Buckleys, they’ve just arrived.

Lady Margaret.

How do you do?

Millicent.

How do you do?

Lady Margaret.

I hope you had a pleasant journey.

Edith.

Oh yes thank you.

Millicent.

What rot! It was far from pleasant.

Edith.

At least we’re here now.

Lady Margaret. (escorting the guests inside)

Yes. Do you know Murray and Imelda Buckley?. Henry and I met them at the Fetherstonhaugh’s in the autumn.

Millicent.

Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.

Lady M.

We were all gathered in the drawing room, when all of a sudden, one of their terriers took a fancy to Imelda’s mink. Next thing it started to chase her about the room! So Henry, stepped up to play the gallant hero and tackled the poor mutt, taking Imelda down with him. You should have heard her screams as he tried to prise the dog off her. The expression on Lady Fetherstonhaugh’s face was quite a picture!

Anyhow, we’ve been pals ever since. They’re a lovely pair. He’s made his money in cars and her father owns the biggest sweet factory in America.

Millicent. (unimpressed)

How fascinating.

Lady M.

And here they are.

(introducing) Lady Millicent Wentworth and her ward Edith Harvey. Murray and Imelda Buckley.

Millicent.

How do you do?

Murray.

Oh we’re just fine honey!

Lord Henry.

Do sit down ladies.

Murray.

So girls where have you come from today?

Millicent. (indignantly)

We have travelled up from London, where we reside.

Imelda.

Oh I do love London, such a glamourous place don’t you think? Everyone’s so… (hesitates to complete the sentence acknowledging Millicent)…attractive.

Millicent.

snarls

Lady Margaret.

Ah Rupert! Glad you could join us. I think we have the full set.

Rupert.

Good evening everyone. (noticing Imelda) I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.

Imelda.

(charmed)Imelda Buckley

Rupert.

Rupert Winterbury. Resident black sheep.

Archie.

Come on coz. No need for all that.

Rupert.

All what? I was just introducing myself to this charming young lady.

Murray.

My wife.

Rupert.

Oh lucky you. Didn’t realise matey. Silly me.

Archie.(whispering)

I say Edith, would you care to see the Christmas tree?

Edith.

How ripping!

Millicent.

Yes that sounds delightful, thank you Archie. How kind of you.

Archie.

Well, I…

Edith.

Aunt Millicent you must be tired after the long journey. Why don’t you sit here a while?

Aunt M.

Nonsense. I’m fresh as a daisy.

Archie.

Flossie and Jenkins did a splendid job with the decorations.

Aunt M.

Lovely! lead the way…exit

Murray.

Do you think she did that on purpose?

Imelda.

What?

Murray.

Stopped the couple from being alone together.

Imelda.

Oh.

Lady M.

Of course she knew what she was up to. Remarkable woman.

Rupert.

Who’s for a drop of fizz?

Lord Henry.

Splendid idea!

Imelda.

Oh just a little.

Lady Margaret.

Thank you Rupert.

Murray.

Gee thanks!

Rupert.

I propose a toast. To Aunt Millicent, a good egg!

Lady Margaret.

Rupert darling not too loud.

whispering

To good old Aunt Millicent!

Imelda.

I don’t get it!

Lord Henry.

Down the hatch!

—–

Morris.

I think it’s time we went back down the hatch.

Doris.

Yes we don’t want mother and father to worry.

Boris.

Oo do you think we’ll have carols? Mother said she’d sing my favourite if we were good.

Morris.

Let’s find out.

Scratching and panting

Mother mouse

Oh there you are darlings! we wondered what’d become of you.

Morris/Boris/Doris.

Sorry mother!

Father mouse

Yes we’ve all been waiting. Sit yourselves down.

Morris/Boris/Doris – Yes father!

MUSIC Rag-time Christmas carol sung by mother mouse

Boris.

That was topping, mother!

Mother Mouse

Thank you Boris. Now all of you off to bed. The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner it’ll be Christmas.

Morris.

Goodnight Mama.

Mother.

Goodnight Morris.

Doris.

Goodnight Mama.

Mother

Goodnight Doris.

Boris.

Goodnight Mama.

Mother.

Goodnight Boris. Sweet dreams!

Boris. Oh goody! I don’t care much for savoury dreams. I hope I’ll dream of Christmas cake and peppermint humans!

Doris.

I’m so excited I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.

Boris. Snores

Morris and Doris.

(laughing) Boris!

Goodnight!

———

Church bells chime.

Morris.

whispering

Doris! Doris! It’s Christmas!

Doris. (sleepy)

mmm?

Morris.

Wake up! It’s Christmas Day!

Doris.

gasps with delight. whoopee!

Morris and Doris.

(an excited whisper) Boris! Boris!

Boris.

snores contentedly

Morris.

Maybe best to leave him, he seems happy enough.

Doris.

Yes, he’s probably dreaming about food.

Morris.

Most likely!

Doris.

Oo I wonder if Archie’s proposed yet. I hope we haven’t missed it.

Morris.

Let’s go upstairs.

Doris.

Oo yes! I’m so excited!

—–

SCRATCHING

Doris.

Look it’s Lady Margaret and Archie.

Morris.

I wonder why they’re not with the others.

——

Lady Margaret.

What was it you wanted to tell me Archie?

Archie.

I’m in a bit of a fix Mama. You saw what happened yesterday. Aunt Millicent wouldn’t leave Edie’s side. How am I meant to propose if I have no time alone with her?

Lady Margaret.

Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing darling.

Archie.

Oh but Mummy! you know I want to marry Edith more than anything. Couldn’t you help me? It’d make me so happy!

Lady Margaret.

Well,(sigh) if that’s what you really want. I was planning on giving the guests a viewing of my latest sculpture. I’ll do it after breakfast and that’ll get everyone out of the way.

Archie.

Oh thank you Mother! you’re such a brick!

Lady Margaret.

Anything for you my darling boy!

——

Doris.

Fancy Lady Margaret helping Archie propose.

Morris.

She’s certainly changed her tune.

Doris.

It is the season of good will.

(They laugh.)

Morris.

Let’s follow them to the breakfast room.

Dorris.

You lead the way.

—-

Lady Margaret.

Good morning everyone! and Happy Christmas!

Lord Henry.

Yes Happy Christmas.

Edith.

Oh I do love Christmas.

Murray.

Happy Christmas!

Rupert. (unconvincing enthusiasm)

Season’s greetings one and all!

Lady Margaret.

I propose that as the first activity of the day, I give you all a private viewing of my latest nude sculpture. It’s a self-portrait.

Lord Henry.

Couldn’t it wait? We’ve just eaten.

Lady Margaret.

I have been slaving away in my studio for some months and I’d love to share with you the fruits of my labour.

Imelda.

How liberating!

Rupert.

Ra-ther!

Millicent.

Did she say nude sculpture? That confirms it. I am spending Christmas with a group of depraved bohemians. Heaven help us all!

Archie.

whispering

Edie! Stay here.

Edie.

What?

Archie.

Let them go off!

As group exits

Aunt Millicent.

This is obscene.

Rupert.

(with delight) Yes. Isn’t it?

Edie

Archie, shouldn’t we join the party? Your mother did seem keen for everyone to be there at the great unveiling.

Archie.

Oh no. trust me , it’s fine.

I’ve been desperate to have a minute alone with you since you arrived. Now I’m not really sure how to go about this.

Edie.

About what? Archie you’re shaking.

Archie.

Am I? oh yes. Silly me.

Well, the thing is you’re a smashing girl Edith and well, I’m ever so fond of you.

Edie.

Are you Archie? Oh how lovely because, I’m fond of you too.

Archie.

Oh really? Well that’s marvellous because you see… over the years you’ve always been the one girl for me. No-one else comes close and you see… If you’d just look at the Christmas tree for a moment.

Edith.

Look at the Christmas tree?

Archie.

yes. if you would.

Edith.

Very well.

Archie.

(seeing box is empty)GASPS (shocked)Dash it!

Edith.

Something the matter? Should I still be looking at the tree?

Archie.

(confused) Just give me two ticks.

Edith.

Whatever’s happened? (seeing the box) gasp Oh Archie!

Archie.

Oh now I’ve blown it! Made a complete hash of this one, Edie. An utter botch-up!! In fact I don’t think I could have made a bigger dog’s breakfast of it if I’d served up pooch porridge and mongrel marmalade washed down with lashings of labrador tea!

Edith.

What’s wrong?

Archie.

The engagement ring. It’s gone. See the box is empty!

Edith.

You were going to ask me to marry you? Oh Archie!

Archie.

I don’t understand. I’ve had it with me at all times since father gave it to me yesterday.

—-

Morris.

Who’d have thought it? Someone’s stolen the ring.

Doris.

But who would do such a rotten thing?

Morris.

A few names spring to mind, but we mustn’t point the paw just yet.

—

Service bell rings

Archie.

I’ll call for father, he’ll know what to do.

Edith.

You sure it’s not in your pocket?

Archie.

I’ve turned them inside out. It was safely in its box last time I looked.

Flossie.

Yes sir.

Archie.

Ah Flossie. Could you fetch Lord Henry. I’m afraid it’s rather urgent.

Flossie.

Yes Master Archie. I’ll bring him here at once.

Archie.

Oh blast it!

Edith.

Try to keep calm Archie, I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of this.

Archie.

I feel such a fool. Rupert said I’d make an ass of myself.

Lord Henry.

Archie. whatever’s the matter?

Archie.

Oh Father. I’m in a bit of a jam. please don’t be cross. I know you said to guard the ring with my life.

Lord Henry.

yes.

Archie.

well it’s gone.

Lord Henry.

Gone?

Archie.

I had it with me at all times. Slept with it on the night table last night. But I opened the box just now to have one last look for luck, and found it was empty!

Lord Henry.

Heavens dear boy!

Edith

Should we call the police?

Lord Henry.

On Christmas Day? Hmmm. No it must be in the house. No-one’s left the house in the last 24 hours so if someone’s taken it it must still be here. I’ll ask Jeffreys to search the servants’ quarters.

Archie.

Do you really think one of the servants took it?

Lord Henry.

I’d like to think not. But it seems a sensible place to start.

Lady Margaret.

Something the matter darling? I wondered where you’d got to.

Lord Henry.

A bit of a situation on our hands. It seems the ring’s been stolen.

Lady Margaret.

Stolen? How’s that possible? You only gave it to Archie yesterday.

Aunt Millicent.

Did I hear correctly that there’s a thief among us? Edith that’s the last straw. I demand that we leave immediately!

Lord Henry.

We request that everybody stays until the ring is found.

Aunt M.

I hope you’re not accusing me of theft dear boy!

Lord Henry.

Of course not Lady Wentworth. We only wish that we all remain together until this is resolved.

Edith.

Please don’t take offence Aunt Millicent. Besides, there won’t be a train until after Boxing Day.

Aunt M.

grunts indignantly.

Murray.

Why is everyone looking so glum? Did Santy-Claus not bring you what you wanted?

Lord Henry.

There’s been a theft. The diamond ring’s been taken.

Imelda.

Taken?

Lord H.

So we ask that everyone keep calm and stay together.

Murray.

Is this a game? I do love a good mystery.

Lord H.

Afraid not dear chum. Archie’s just discovered the ring has gone.

Archie.

I was ever so careful. Didn’t let it out of my sight. Except for when I was sleeping.

Edith.

bursts into tears

This is all so awful. And I was so looking forward to Christmas.

Archie.

Oh you mustn’t cry Edie!

Rupert. (slyly)

At least it’s livened things up.

Jeffreys. (aside to Lord Henry)

Lord Henry, luncheon will be served presently.

Lord Henry.

Very good. Thank you Jeffreys.

Rupert.

Come on then I’m not letting this get in the way of my goose!

Archie.

I say coz! you are being rather heartless.

Rupert.

No need to get shirty. Just famished, that’s all.

Lord Henry.

Ladies and gentlemen. This is a tricky situation to say the least. The police have been called but until they arrive we’d like to carry on as normal. It is Christmas after all. So if you’d care to follow me, luncheon is served.

Imelda. (whispering)

Who’d have thought it? Do you think it’s someone in this room?

Murray. (whispering)

Definitely!

—

SCRATCHING

Morris.

Oo Christmas lunch.

Dorris.

Let’s see if we can catch some crumbs! Boris will be sorry to have missed this.

Morris.

Have you worked out who it was yet?

Doris.

Haven’t the foggiest.

—–

Lady Margaret.

Well I know this is all a bit of a shock. But I wanted to thank you all for joining us this Christmas nonetheless. I’m sure the thief will be caught in time, but until then, I’d like to raise a toast to our guests. Good health!

Lord Henry/Lady M./Archie

Good health!

Rupert.

Nora’s done us proud. This looks magnificent.

Murray.

Funny that you’re so hungry Master Rupert. Oh yes I didn’t see you at breakfast. Late night was it? …Waiting for Archie to fall asleep so that you could CREEP INTO HIS ROOM?!

Rupert.

I beg your pardon.

Archie.

I say dear fellow I hope you’re not accusing Rupert. He may be slovenly but he’s no thief.

Rupert.

Thanks Arch!

Murray.

“The resident black sheep” was how you introduced yourself, the disinherited heir. It all makes sense. You wanted to make a few bucks and get the heck out of here.

Imelda.

Murray dear, what’s come over you? I’m so sorry everyone!

Lady Margaret.

Really Mr Buckley. Please refrain from making accusations.

Murray.

I’m not accusing anyone honey. I’m just speculating to see who here has a motive.

Aunt M.

Well I think it’s quite inappropriate, especially while we’re lunching.

Murray.

Well maybe that’s because you’re not quite as innocent as you look. A seemingly respectable old lady…

Aunt M.

I beg your pardon!

Lord Henry.

Yes steady on dear fellow.

Murray.

But you made it quite clear you didn’t want Edith to have anything to do with Archie.

Aunt M.

This is preposterous!

Murray.

So perhaps you stole the ring to prevent the engagement.

Aunt M.

How dare you!

Lady Margaret.

I must apologise for this Lady Wentworth. Please Mr Buckley you’ve gone too far.

Murray.

Or have I? You changed your tune rather quickly Lady Margaret. Yesterday you were praising Lady Wentworth for preventing the couple from being alone together.

Archie.

Is this true mother?

Murray.

And today you encouraged it, taking us for a viewing of your sculpture, giving Archie the perfect opportunity to propose. Why would you do that unless you knew there would be no proposal?

Lady Margaret.

This is incredible! I refuse to dignify that with an answer.

Lord Henry.

My dear fellow. This really isn’t the time or the place.

Murray.

I haven’t crossed you off the list yet Lord Henry. You complained that there was little excitement in your life, so who’s to say you haven’t set the whole thing up? (having an epiphany) Yes that’s it! You invited me and Meldy along knowing we love a good mystery and planned the whole thing. (excitedly) Honey the whole thing’s a hoax. (realising) Aha! And to prove it… that isn’t your real hair Lady Wentworth. Lady Wentworth is in fact…

Millicent.

high pitched yelp!

Take your hands orf my hair!!

Murray.

Maybe I got a bit carried away there.

Imelda.

Murray you’re embarrassing me.

Jeffreys. (aside to Lord Henry)

Lord Henry, the servants’ quarters have been searched and it hasn’t been found.

Lord Henry.

oh.

Jeffreys

Would you care for the cake now?

Lord Henry.

Thank you Jeffreys.

Murray.

So who’s left? Last but not least, I must come to you my darling. My angel, my honey-bee, love of my life, my sweetness…

Rupert.

Would you hurry up?

Murray.

I know what you’re like babycakes, when you see something, you just gotta have it.

Imelda.

Murray how could you! (bursts into tears)I thought you loved me. And I never even saw the ring.

Murray.

Oh yeah. you’re right. Well then that just leaves (noticing Flossie enter)… yes perfect timing. The maid… Flora or whatever your name is.

Flossie.

Yes sir?

Murray.

I overheard you talking to Jenkins about how hard up your family is. Well a diamond ring could buy a few Christmas dinners could it not?

Flossie.

Pardon sir?

Lord Henry.

Take no notice Flossie. Mr Buckley’s playing detective. We’ve all had a turn.

Flossie.

Well I never! He certainly knows how to insult a girl.

—–

scratching

Boris.

Happy Christmas everyone!

Doris/Morris

Boris!

Boris.

I had such a delicious sleep. Have I missed anything?

Doris.

Have you missed anything?!

Morris.

Quite a lot actually. The ring’s been stolen and now Mr. Buckley is having a go at playing detective.

Boris.

Hold on. Stolen?

Doris.

Yes so far he has accused, Master Rupert, Aunt Millicent, Lady Margaret, Lord Henry, his wife Imelda and Flossie.

Morris.

I wonder who it was.

—

scratch of a record sound effect. RAG-TIME MUSIC

Murray (to listeners).

Who do you think it was?

Was it the jealous cousin, Master Rupert, planning to make some money and run away?

Was it battle-axe, Aunt Millicent, intent on keeping Edith as a companion?

Was it the doting mother, Lady Margaret, convinced that no woman was good enough for her son?

Was it Lord Henry, adding some spice to his dull life?

Was it Imelda Buckley, the girl who just has to have it all?

or was it Flossie, the maid, desperately in need of money to help her starving family?

…or was it one of those pesky mice?

—-

Boris.

I know where it’s hidden.

Morris.

You do?

Boris.

Yes and I’ll show you. (excitedly) Follow me!!

Anti-climactic musical refrain in the style of Laurel and Hardy theme tune as Boris waddles very slowly, as is custom, being so fat

Doris.

Can’t you go any faster Boris?

Boris.

Afraid not.

music cuts and dialogue switches back to regular tempo

Morris.(to Doris)

Oo I wonder where the thief has stashed the swag!

Boris.

All will be revealed.

Morris.

…eventually

Doris.

Boris, you’ve just taken us to the kitchen.

Morris.

Was this just a trick?

Doris.

What are you doing? Come out of the larder. What if Mrs Scratchit catches you?

Morris.

I like that very much, I must say. You’ve brought us all the way down here just so you can fill your tum with Christmas cake.

Doris.

Please stop Boris, you’re making an awful mess of it.

Morris.

We should have known he only thinks about his stomach.

Doris.

Now he’s pulling away at something.

Morris.

Must be a sugared almond…Does look good. I think I’ll tuck in.

Doris.

Do they make golden almonds?

realisation

Morris.

Hold on! Surely not…

Doris.

Is that the…?

Morris.

No. It can’t be…

Boris. (pulling it out of the cake)

The ring my dears!!

Doris/Morris

GASP

Doris/ Morris

Oh I say!/ Well I never!

Morris.

But how did it find its way in there?

Doris.

What a cunning thief!

Boris.

Don’t be silly Doris. There was no thief. This is what I was trying to tell you yesterday, but neither of you would listen.

Morris.

Wait! Someone’s coming…back to the skirting board. Quickly!

—-

Mrs Scratchit.

GASP

Look at me Christmas cake all over the floor!

Scream

A mouse! Gawd help me!

—–

Morris.

Close shave. So what was it you were saying?

Doris.

Yes, how did the ring end up in the cake?

Boris.

It happened yesterday when Archie was showing the ring to Mrs Scratchit. When Flossie ran in she bumped into Archie, causing him to drop it in the mixture. But as everyone was fussing about Edith’s arrival, nobody spotted it. Except me of course.

Morris.

What an observant little rodent you are!

Doris.

Yes, sozzo Bozzo! We’ll know always to listen to you from now on.

Boris.

Not to worry Dolly, but I think we’d better get this ring back to the humans.

Doris.

Edith’ll be pleased.

Morris.

Even if noone else is! laughs

scratching/ running/ breathless

———

back in the dining room.

Mrs Scratchit.

(whispering from doorway)

Pst!! Jeffreys! Jeffreys! may I have a word.

Jeffreys.

Excuse me sir.

Lord Henry.

Ah Mrs Scratchit! Merry Christmas! So glad you’ve appeared, Rupert was just saying how delectable your goose was.

Mrs Scratchit.

(troubled)

Thank you, sir.

Lord Henry.

And now we are all keenly awaiting the pièce de résistance, Mrs Scratchit’s famous Christmas cake. I still have fond memories of last year’s.

Mrs Scratchit.

Well that’s just what I come up here to tell you.

Lady Margaret.

Something the matter Nora? You look like you’ve had a bit of a shock.

Rupert.

Get the girl some brandy.

Mrs Scratchit.

As a matter of fact I ‘ave. Just now I went into the larder to fetch the thing – you know how I like to bring it up meself on Christmas Day.

Lord Henry.

Yes Mrs Scratchit.

Mrs Scratchit.

But you’ll never believe what I found.

Lord Henry.

Oh?

Murray.

Was it a murder weapon?

Mrs Scratchit.

The whole thing ruined. Just a heap of crumbs. And what’s more… a family of mice running in and out of it.

ALL.

gasp!

Mrs Scratchit.

My beautiful cake no longer fit for human consumption!

(aside) You may give it to your mother if you like, Flossie.

Lord Henry.

Catastrophe!

Rupert.

This puts that ring nonsense into perspective. Here, ladies and gentlemen, is a real tragedy!

Imelda. (anxious whisper)

Murray! You know I can’t stand mice.

Murray.

Does that mean there’s no dessert?

Millicent.

Edith! I won’t be made to stay. This place is insanitary!

Imelda.

scream

A mouse!

Lord Henry.

Quick Jeffreys, catch it!

Jeffreys.(wearily)

Very good, sir.

Rupert.

It’s running down the middle of the table.

Imelda.

Murray. Do something!

Millicent.

How ghastly!

Rupert.

It’s heading straight for you Archie.

Edith.

(thrilled scream) It’s jumped in his lap!

Rupert.

Too quick for you, dear boy, it’s darted under the table.

Millicent.

Where did it go? The pest must be located. Who knows what it’s carrying! We’ll all contract the bubonic plague.

Archie.

I say!

Edith.

What is it Arch?

Archie.

You’ll never guess what it’s left behind.

Lady Margaret.

Probably best not to tell us darling.

Archie.

Look everyone…!(holds up the ring)

Lord Henry/ Lady Margaret/ Murray

The ring, egad!/ Golly!/ Geez!

Rupert

Good show!

Imelda

I don’t get it!

Archie

The mouse was carrying the ring in its mouth.

Millicent.

Didn’t I tell you it’d be carrying something (laughs to herself, at first loudly, then lessens as no-one else joins in).

Rupert.

Well fancy that. That really was entertaining!

Lady Margaret.

Well I never!

Archie

Now, where was I? (takes a breath)….Miss Edith Harvey would you do me the greatest honour of being my wife?

Edith.

Oh Archie! You’ve made me the happiest girl alive.

Aunt Millicent.

I think you’d better wash that first my child. Can’t have you contracting something before your wedding day!

Edith

Thank you Aunt Millicent!

Rupert.

Aren’t you going to give my new coz-in-law a kiss?

Archie.

Right-o!

Imelda.

Oh Murray! I do love happy endings. It’s like being at the movies.

Murray.

I know you do honey-bunch.

Lord Henry.

Jeffreys, time for the champagne I think. And Flossie is it true about your family going without this Christmas?

Flossie.

Yes sir.

Lord Henry.

Well we’ve enough to feed an army. I’ll make sure a hamper is sent to their home post-haste.

Flossie.

Oh thank you sir. You don’t know what that’ll mean to them.

Lord Henry.

Don’t mention it. Thanks Jeffreys.

Happy Christmas everyone! To Edith and Archie!

All.

Edith and Archie.

Church Bells chime.

—–

Doris.

I’m so glad that all worked out.

Morris.

Me too.

Boris.

Listen to this, I’ve got a joke…

Morris.

Go on.

Boris.

What do angry mice send at Christmas?

Doris.

I don’t know. What do angry mice send at Christmas?

Boris.

Cross-Mouse Cards! get it?

Morris and Doris.

giggle

RAG TIME CAROL PLAYS OUT

THE END

Prince Bertie the Frog has always considered himself to be something of a comedian. His speciality is penguin jokes. He is delighted when he is asked to do a Christmas Eve performance of his stand-up comedy act at a pond in a neighbouring kingdom.

Bertie and Tim the Tadpole plan to fly back to their own pond in time for Christmas Day. Unfortunately, snow and fog is disrupting all the transport. They find themselves at a bus depot with a motley collection of creatures, including a penguin.

Pictures for Storynory by Ivana Nohel. Click Pictures to enlarge
Read by Natasha
Story by Bertie

Hello, this is Natasha, and I’m delighted to wish you a very happy Christmas for the sixth year of Storynory. A big thank you to all our listeners, especially those who have been with us since the very beginning. And now, I would like to hand you over to our host, Prince Bertie the Frog who has been polishing his stand up comedy act lately..

[Play up Music - Jazzy Christmas Carol - and fade]

Bertie’ voice in slightly echo-y microphone… touch of feedback

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Tadpoles and frogs, birds and fish…. Insects and creepy crawlies, it’s an honour to be with you tonight of all nights, Christmas Eve, and I mean that most sincerely, folks.

Here’s a little story about a man who had 12 penguins in the back of his car. A policeman stopped him and said, ” I say, I say I say, it’s against the law to drive penguins around in the back of you car. You must take them to the zoo.”

And the man said, “I am sorry officer. I promise to take my penguins to the zoo right away.”

The next day, the same man took the 12 penguins for a drive again. This time he dressed them in dark sun glasses and swimming trunks. The policeman stopped him at the roundabout and said: “You can’t fool me with that disguise. You promised yesterday to take those penguins to the zoo.” And the man said:

“Yes officer. I did take them to the zoo. That was yesterday. Today I’m taking them to the beach”.

[Canned Laughter...... ]

Natasha’s Narrator voice….

And that was a little taste of Bertie the Frog’s sense of humour. As you may know, Bertie loves to tell jokes. His speciality is penguin jokes like that one. Opinions are divided about how funny they are. Some people, like Tim the Tadpole, think they are hilarious. Others, like Colin the Carp, think they are about as amusing as a toe caught in the door – or perhaps that should be a fin.

One Christmas, Bertie was really thrilled to be invited to do his stand up comedy act in front of the entire pond. Only, it wasn’t the usual pond where he lives. He was invited abroad – to the next door Kingdom – to perform in front of all the Posh Pondlife who lived in the palace pond over there. He and Tim the Tadpole sneaked on board an aeroplane inside the handbag of an out-of-work princess who was flying home for Christmas. When she arrived home at her palace, she was rather surprised to see a green frog hop out of her handbag. She didn’t even notice that there was a tiny little tadpole hiding inside his armpit.

Bertie made his way down to the water’s edge in time to do his act. All the pondlife at the next door Kingdom really loved his penguin jokes. His biggest fan of all was a happy Carp called Caroline who asked him to marry her -but he couldn’t accept, because he was already engaged to the lovely Princess Beatrice.

Unfortunately, Bertie could not stay for the stage party, because he had to fly home to his own pond in time for Christmas. He and Tim hitched a lift to the airport on the back of a duck who flew them to Departure Terminal. They hid among the suitcases of the Christmas holiday makers, and anxiously watched the flight information screens. Most of the flights were marked “Delayed” in red letters.

“Oh dear,” said Bertie, “I think we are in for a bit of a wait.”

“Never mind,” said Tim, “We can buy last minute Christmas presents. I’ll get some duty free slime for Uncle Joe , and a box of chocolate covered dead flies for Colin.”

“I don’t think that we can get those here,” said Bertie, “You need a boarding pass to buy anything at the airport. ”

“Oh,” said Tim.

A little later, there was a rather disappointing announcement over the Tannoy.

“We regret to inform you that all fights are cancelled due to exceptionally heavy snow and thick fog. Passengers are advised to continue their journey as best they can, by car, bus or foot. Royal United Airports would like to wish you a very happy Christmas.”

The passengers looked glum, and some prepared to spend Christmas night sleeping on the floor of the airport. Bertie said: “We don’t have a car, or a bus pass, and it’s too far to hop on foot.”

“I know!” declared Tim. And Bertie sighed, because he expected that his little friend was about to say something exceptionally stupid. But Tim surprised him with a really good idea: “Let’s take the train.”

“Brilliant!” exclaimed Bertie. “I love trains. When I was a prince I used to drive one… but that’s a story for another time.”

There was a station right at the airport, and Bertie and Tim managed to hop onto a train almost right away. They would have to change at Doncaster, but otherwise it was a straight-forward journey home. They settled in to the first class buffet, where they hid inside a cupboard, and started to munch on a mince pie and a fruit cake.

“Oh dear! Will we miss Santa?” asked Tim, anxiously, as the train came to a halt about 15 minutes down the track.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Bertie, “You’ll be home just in time to open your presents.”

Back on the pond Sadie the Swan was singing a Christmas carol for all the pondlife:

God rest you merry, Gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ our Saviour
Was born upon this Day.
To save us all from Satan’s power,
When we had gone astray.
O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy.

But her heart wasn’t quite in the Christmas celebrations – The festive mood did not come easily when she was worried about absent friends.

“Tish, Tish,” she said, “Bertie and Tim should be back by now. Something must have happened….”

“You’re right,” said Colin, “I expect the audience killed them for telling such terrible penguin jokes.”

“Oh Colin, don’t be so horrid,” said Sadie, who was now more upset than ever.

“Well they probably just got delayed by the fog,” suggested Colin. “They might be late for Christmas, but they will be back, unfortunately, I guarantee..”

“But if Bertie’s not here, who will be our Santa and hand out all the presents?” fretted Sadie. “Only Bertie knows where they are all hidden.”

“Well that’s typical,” grumped Colin, “Trust a frog to mess up everyone’s Christmas.”

….

The frog in question was on the move again, only very slowly. The train heaved and hoed into a station before clanking to a halt. The guard walked through the corridor calling, “All Change, Everybody out – you can’t sleep here. Sir, up you get…. Happy Christmas Ma’m ‘fraid this train’s cancelled. Too much snow on the tracks…”

“Can’t a train get through a bit of snow,” complained a very stressed-looking man.

“No, no, sir,” said the guard. “It’s the wrong type of snow.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Regulations,” said the guard. “Nothing I can do about it. Now….. just step out the front of the station. The bus stop is on the right hand side.”

Bertie, with Tim in on his back, hopped off the train and onto the dark platform. The only light came from a flickering neon bulb in the waiting room. “Brr it’s cold,” said Tim, “And rather creepy.”

“Yes, we’d better find that bus,” agreed Bertie.

“Where can we buy a ticket?” asked Tim.

“You won’t need a ticket little Tim,” said Bertie. “You’re under 12 weeks old. Kids go free. And tonight, so do frogs. The important thing is not to get trodden on.”

Just then, a little boy called out:

“Oh look mummy, there’s a frog. I’m going to stamp on him.”

“Don’t be so unkind,” said his mother. “Frogs have a right to live too you know, especially at Christmas.” Bertie wanted to add “Here here, well spoken,” but he wasn’t taking any chances and he hopped off as fast as he could.

The driver wanted everyone to buy a bus ticket. The passengers, who had already paid for air and train tickets, were in no mood to pay again, and were arguing with him.

“The airline should stump up for this bus”, said a man with a moustache.

“And give us compensation. They’ve ruined our Christmas,” added his wife.

“You should have read the terms and conditions on the website,” said the driver. “No refunds for delays on account of the wrong type of snow.”

This bickering gave Bertie and Tim the perfect chance to climb on board, unseen, and hide under a seat.

The driver, who also wanted to get home for Christmas, finally relented and let everyone on the bus without paying. They drove down a dark road for about twenty minutes and came to a halt.

“Right-oh, everyone off, this is the end of the line,” said the driver.

“What do you mean the end of the line? We’ve got to get Doncaster.” said the lady who had been complaining earlier on.

“Doncaster?” laughed the driver. “That’s miles away.”

“Well we shan’t budge,” said the lady. “Come one everybody let’s stage a sit-in.” There were cheers and grunts up and down the bus.

“Fine by me,” said the Driver. “I’m off home for Christmas. You can sleep in the bus if you like.”

And he left.

The passengers were furious, and started to shout at the driver, but he was already gone. Some people complained. Some people settled down for a Christmas night on the bus seats. Others climbed out to breath some air that was more than just a bit fresh, it was cold enough to chill a penguin.

“Bertie,” said Tim, “Where are we?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Bertie.

“Oh,” he sniffed, “We shall miss Christmas after all.”

“Not a bit of it,” said Bertie. “You can’t miss Christmas. It’s everywhere. We’ll have it here. Let’s see what sort of a place this is.”

They found a hole in the floor of the bus, just by the brake pedal, jumped down, and landed softly in the snow. It was very dark. Large shadows loomed around them.

“Are they monsters?” asked Tim timidly.

“No they’re buses,” said Bertie. “I expect this is some sort of depot. Listen, I can hear a duck quacking. Perhaps there’s a nice cosy pond hereabouts.

And they moved off in the direction of the quack. But they didn’t find a pond. Only a sort of left luggage office, with suitcases and, crates, and parcels that had not made it to their destinations in time for Christmas. They found their way in through a mousehole in the wall.

“I’m sure that quack came from in here,” said Bertie.

“QUACK!”

“There it is a again!”

“HONK!”

“And I do believe that was a goose!”

“Of course I’m a goose,” said a goosey sort of voice.

And in the thin moonlight that came through the window, Bertie saw that there was a duck and a goose, both sitting in crates.

“We’re stuck here for Christmas,” said the Duck,

“That’s a coincidence, because so are we,” said Tim.

“MUUUURRRR !” it’s not at all nice,” said a cat, who was abandoned inside a cat carrier, “People are so inconsiderate. They are sitting at home stuffing themselves with cooked birds – I beg your pardon – and here we are shivering at the station, living gifts that got lost in the post.”

“Well well,” said Bertie, “What an odd collection of lost souls we are.”

“Speak for yourself,” said an even more peculiar voice.

“Who’s that?” asked Bertie, “I can’t see so well in the dark.”

“I’m a penguin,” said the voice,”On my way to the zoo, but abandoned here because of the ice and snow. I love ice and snow, but I can’t get out of this wretched cage and enjoy it.”

“Ha Ha!” said Bertie, “This is really funny- peculiar. I know loads of penguin jokes, but I’ve never met a real live penguin before. Do you know this one… What do penguins have for lunch?”

“No I don’t,” said the Penguin.

“Iceberg-ers!, HA ! HA!” exclaimed Bertie.

“That’s not funny,” said the Penguin.

“Hey what do you call a penguin in the desert?….. Lost ! HA HA.”

“Oh Bertie that’s the funniest one yet,” exclaimed Tim. And the duck, the goose and the cat started to chuckle, not so much at the joke, but because the penguin was getting really cross – and a cross penguin is quite a funny sight.

Now, at the pond, Sadie was not able to sleep. She was getting her feathers in a fret about her friends. In fact, if the truth be told, even Colin was a little worried, though he would never have said so.

“Oh Colin, They should have been back hours ago,” she said sadly. “how would we ever know if something terrible had happened to them?”

“Well expect we’d hear eventually from one of those birds,” said Colin, “They always have the news.”

And as it happened, a thirsty sparrow was nearby, pecking at the ice on the pond.

“Hey Dicky Bird,” said Colin, “What’s the latest gossip?”

“Oh haven’t you heard?, it’s all over Twitter,” he replied.

“I wouldn’t know anything that’s all over Twitter,” said Colin, “Because I’m a fish… duhh.”

“Well,” said the bird, “They’re tweeting about a frog who is telling hilarious penguin jokes to a collection of birds and animals. One of them’s a penguin and he’s getting really cross. They say it’s really funny. I’m just flying off there to see.”

“Oh how can we thank you enough!” said Sadie. “That must be Bertie!”

“No it can’t be,” said Colin, “Bertie’s jokes aren’t funny. It must be some other frog if they are laughing.”

But Sadie was already flapping her great black wings and asking the sparrow for directions. He pointed her in the direction of the remote bus depot, some miles away, and she went skidding over the ice and soared into the air. High up in the sky, she saw that there were indeed flocks of birds heading the same way – all wanting to join the audience for the hilarious Christmas show. When Sadie landed at the depot, quite a crowd was gathered on the roof and at the windows.

“I say, I say I say..” Bertie was saying….”Why did the Penguin cross the road….? er, oh, I’ve forgotten that one. UM…. it must be getting late.” And he looked under his arm, and saw that little Tim was already asleep.

“Well boys, birds, gulls, gals and everyone else…. you’ve been a lovely audience, but I’m afraid that’s it for tonight. Happy Christmas!”

And Sadie said:

“Oh Bertie. You were wonderful. Happy Christmas.”

“By Jove, Sadie, I didn’t know you were in the audience ! ”

“I just got here,” said Sadie,”Your fame is travelling far and wide. Hop on my back. I’ll fly you and Tim home for Christmas.”

And unlike most of the transport that Christmas night, Sadie’s private flight did not break down, get cancelled by fog, or stop in some remote depot. Of course there was one other carrier that was flying that night – and that was pulled by reindeer… Bertie spotted the famous sleigh, and he called out:

“Hey Santa. There are some lost animals abandoned in the bus depot down there. Perhaps you could go and cheer them up”

“Yo Ho Ho!” replied Santa. “Presents on the way.”

And that was the story of Bertie, lost at Christmas.

I do hope that you enjoyed. Don’t forget there are loads more stories on Storynory.com

Bertie and all the pond life would like to wish you a very merry Christmas!

(Jazzy God Rest You Merry Gentlemen licensed from Premium Beat)

“Trust is the glue of friendship.”

When friends do not trust each other, they both fall into trouble. The fox and the wolf live together, but the wolf is a bully, and secretly the fox hates him. They both find themselves at the bottom of a trap set by a man. Their only hope of escape is to trust one another. Can a wolf trust a fox? And vice versa?

Read by Elizabeth.
Adapted by Bertie from the 1001 nights.
Duration 18 minutes.

The Wolf and the Fox, from the 1001 Nights

Praise be to Allah, Sherehezade is married to the Sultan Sharyar. He says to her: “My eloquent Queen, I love stories about animals: although they live apart from us, their friendships and fights are like ours in so many ways. There is much wisdom to be had from tales of their world.”

And Sherehezade replied, “Oh Great One, you are right to say that there is much we can learn from the Animal Kingdom. And one such story comes to my mind. It is a tale of betrayal and trust. It is a story about The Wolf and the Fox. ”

And the Sultan rested his head on his hand, and stretched out on the couch to listen to her story.

The Wolf and the Fox had so much in common that they were like brothers. They both loved to steal and to hunt, but given the choice, they would always prefer to steal. These two strong-pawed bandits of the animal world lived together in one den. But the Wolf was far bigger and more powerful than the fox, and he thought himself to be the better of the pair. The Fox, though smaller, knew that he was much smarter than the wolf, and he resented the way that the Wolf always acted like he was the Big Boss.

One day, as they sat in the sun outside their cave, the Fox said to the Wolf:

“My friend. You are like a brother to me. So let me give you some kind advice. Mend your ways. Be a bandit no more. Do not steal from the Son of Adam again”. (By the Son of Adam he meant Man).

The Wolf turned his great head to his friend, and lifted up one shaggy ear. The Fox went on:

“I know how you love to creep into man’s vineyard, dig up his vines, and eat his grapes. I know how you like to jump into his fields and steal his lambs. I also see how he hates you for this, and how he is planning your destruction. You would be wise to fear him for he is full of cunning. He knows how to shoot birds down from the sky, how to lift fish from the water, how to burn wood, and how to cut up rocks. Someone that smart is bound to out-wit one like you eventually. So do as I advise: Make peace with the Son of Adam, and steal from him no more.”

The Wolf listened, and he did not welcome these words, for he felt deep down that the Fox was insulting him. Did he mean to hint that he was just a bit stupid? Or at any rate, he realised that the Fox thought himself to be far cleverer than him. And so he lifted up his great paw, and punched his friend hard in the face. The poor animal went rolling over and over and was quite stunned. When he staggered back to his feet the Wolf growled at him:

“It is not for you to advise your betters.”

It took the Fox a moment or two to recover himself. When he could manage a smile he said softly: “Of course, you are right Brother Wolf. Forgive me. I am full of regret for my sin against you, whom I love more than any other creature in the world.”

And the Wolf looked him up and down, saw that the Fox was fittingly afraid of him, and added in a stern voice:

“Learn from this lesson. Don’t poke your nose into other people’s business.”

The Fox bowed his head and said:

“To hear your voice is to obey, my brother.”

“That’s more like it,” said the Wolf. “At least those were wise words said in the right place.”

“Oh yes,” said the Fox, more humbly than ever, “As the poet once said, the blow of a teacher is at first hurtful, but in the end it is sweeter than honey.”

And from that time on, he was always careful to show the Wolf the greatest respect, and to flatter him whenever possible. But inwardly he hated the tyrant, and was looking for the chance to take his revenge. The months passed, and the Wolf forgot all about the incident, but the Fox did not. One day, he was skulking along the wall of the vineyard, looking for a way to sneak in and steal some grapes, when he found a hole large enough for a fox – even for a wolf – to creep through.

At first he was delighted, and then he thought to himself, “This is to good to be true. I think The Son of Adam is plotting something here.” And he stretched through the hole and gently tapped the ground on the other side with his paw. It was just as he thought. The man had laid sticks and leaves across a deep pit. It was a trap to catch a thief.

“Praised be Allah that I have found this cunning trap!” said the Fox happily, “And may my enemy the Wolf fall straight into it !” And he ran back to the den with a spring in his step.

“Good news,” he said as the Wolf was just shaking off his sleep. “I have found an easy way into the vineyard. You can sneak in and fill your belly with man’s juicy grapes. The ripe fruit is shining on the vines, ready for you to eat.”

The Wolf had no reason to doubt the Fox’s words, and he went trotting off to the vineyard in search of a delicious and easy breakfast. He found the hole in the wall, just where the Fox had told him to look, and he easily crawled through it – but on the other side he fell through the sticks and leaves tumbled straight down into the the trap. The Fox saw his friend’s misfortune, and he was jubilant.

“At last fortune has taken pity on me! Greed has pulled the Wolf down to his doom!”

And with tears in his eyes, he peered over the edge of the pit and saw the sorrowful Wolf looking up at him:

“My one true friend,” said the Wolf, “I see that you are crying for me.”

“No! Not one bit !” laughed the Fox. “I am crying because I am thinking how long you lived before this day, and I am sad because you didn’t fall into this deep hole sooner.”

These cruel words stunned and hurt the wolf even more than his fall had done. Quite shocked, he replied:

“In the name of Allah, have mercy on your brother. Go and speak to my mother. She will know what to do and will bring help.”

But the Fox was quite unmoved by the Wolf’s plea. He snarled up his muzzle to show his yellow teeth and said:

“You stupid, witless beast, why should I help you who have been a tyrant over me?”

“But, but” pleaded the Wolf, “You have always protested your love for me. You have sworn to be my servant. You have promised to look after me, even in my old age. How can you turn against me like this?”

“Oh you deluded, self-deceiving fool,” jeered the Fox, “That was my fear talking, not my heart. In truth I hate you for you are a bully and a brute.”

Still unable to fully believe these words, the Wolf, half thinking that his friend was joking, said, “I pray, Do not speak to me with the tongue of an enemy. Do not look at me with the eyes of a foe. For the wise poet spoke well when he said: ‘Forgiveness is noble, and kindness is the best of treasures’.”

“Oh now you beg and scrape,” said the Fox, “But that is only because you are down there in the dark hole, and I am up here in the sun.”

“If you rescue me from this pit, I shall repent my ways!” howled the Wolf. But the Fox just laughed at him.

And at last the Wolf realised that his former friend truly did hate him, that there was no hope in him helping him, and all was lost. He began to weep and howl more piteously ever.

Now, even the Fox had a place in his heart that was not either filled with hatred or cunning, At last he was moved by the fate of the Wolf. He went over to the hole and said:

“My friend. Why are you crying so? I was only joking when I said those words. Here, pull on my tail and heave yourself out.” And so saying he dangled his red bushy tail into the hole for the Wolf to take hold of. But the Wolf, full of dumb desire for revenge, did not make use of the tail to save himself. Instead, he seized it, pulled the Fox down into the hole with him, and growled triumphantly:

“So now you have fallen into the snare of your own intent, you traitor, and in it, you shall share my fate!”

The Fox, full of fear, began to beg and scrape: “Oh Brave and powerful master, do not strike me and kill me now, or you will not benefit from my plan and we shall both die here. Is it not better that we should both save ourselves?”

The Wolf, already feeling a little calmer, began to regret that he had not saved himself when he had the chance, and he asked:

“And how exactly do you propose to save us?”

“Easy,” said the Fox, “Lift me up on your head, and I can scramble out of this pit. I will run and fetch a vine to use as a rope to help you climb out.”

But the Wolf shook his shaggy head and said: “Oh Fox, I respect you for never giving up, but I am not the fool you take me to be. As the poet said, ” The worst of enemies is your nearest friend. Greet him with a smiling face, but be ready to do battle with him.” And that is why I do not trust your words. No. It would be a bad thing for me to die here alone. You shall wait here with me, and we shall die together when the man comes and finds us trapped here.”

“Wise words,” said the Fox, “But not for every case. It cannot be right to always be suspicious. Trust is the glue of friendship. Without trust, each one of us is on his own. Without Trust there can be no working together. The choice is yours. Trust me or die. What have you to lose? For if you do not trust me, your number’s up anyway.”

Now the Wolf, who of course did hope to live, saw that he had little to lose by helping the Fox, and he lifted him up on his head. The Fox grasped at the edge of the hole with his claws, got a hold of a vine, and scrambled up into the daylight.

“Be sure to keep your word,” called up the Wolf, “Run and fetch that rope and pull me out.”

“Ha! HA!” cried, the Fox, Not a Chance! If I help you out, you will take your revenge and kill me. ” And he ran off up the hill towards the village. There he started to make a great din, so much so that the man came out holding a rake in his hand. He saw the Fox and started to chase him. The Fox turned and ran, meaning to lead him to the pit where he would find the wolf and kill him. But as he ran, the fox thought: “Is it not sad that we are all alone in this world, and can trust no one.”

And when he reached the pit, he dangled his tail down into the hole once again and said:

“Wolf, quick, pull yourself out by my tail. If you drag me down into the pit once again, we are both dead, because the man is no more than a minute away. Be wise. See that we are joined together by our common enemy. Either we live or die together.”

And the Wolf, seeing that he had but one chance to live, pulled himself out by the Fox’s tail and ran for the woods. The Fox ran too, but in a different direction, because he did not wish to debate trust and suspicion with the Wolf again. There was too much danger in that discussion.

And as Sherehezade reached the end of her story, the light of morning began to creep in through the window.

“That was truly a wonderful and instructive story,” said the Sultan. “How right I was when I said that we have much to learn from stories of the animals.”

“Your instructions were indeed wise’, said Sherehezade, ‘and if you shall spare my life today, tomorrow night I will tell you another tale even more wonderful. And the Sultan, who delighted in her stories, could hardly wait for the next of the 1001 nights.

And that was the story of the Fox and the Wolf. We don’t quite have a 1001 stories on Storynory.com yet, but we do have several hundred free audio tales, and they should be enough to keep you going for quite a while. So be like the Sultan, and listen to a Story every night.

The Sun is our narrator for these three stories adapted from Aesop’s Fables. He looks down on the Earth and sees all the human folly. He tells us the tale of the Milkmaid whose head is full of dreams. Then he relates the famous story of Juno and the Peacock about a bird who wants magnificent feathers. And his last story features himself and the North Wind.

As ever, these charming tales by Aesop come with morals for life.

Kindly sponsored by Audible. Claim your special offer here.

Read by Natasha.
Adapted by Bertie
Pictures by Milo Winter
Duration 12.10.

In the morning I am soft and gentle. In the middle of the day, I am harsh and white. When the evening comes, I rest my red head on the mountains. Yes, as you have probably guessed by now, I am the sun.

All day long, I look down on the Earth and I see all the things that go on – all the wisdom – and the folly – but mostly the folly. As for the things that go bump in the night – I don’t see any of those – but I hear all the best gossip from my pretty lady friend, the moon.

From my vantage point, I can’t help but see a few juicy stories unfold. I will tell you three of them today, and with the help of the Great storyteller, Aesop, I shall give you a moral for each of them.

The Milkmaid

My first tale is of a milkmaid. Only yesterday, I Looked down and caught sight of her – I did not fail to notice how pretty she was. I watched her going along the lane with a pail of milk on her head. I shone brightly for the lovely girl, and my rays set off her blond hair and made her heart happy. I could see that she was chatting away to nobody but herself. I tuned in my ear and listened to what she was saying:

“This lovely creamy milk will give me plenty of butter to churn,” she said, “Yes, I will make the best butter, and I will take it to market. I will get a good price for my butter, and with the money I make, I will buy a lot of eggs for hatching. How nice it will be when the yard is full of fine young chicks! Then, when May Day comes I will sell the hens, and with the money I’ll buy a lovely new dress for the fair. All the young men will look at me. They will come and try out their smooth talk on me , —but I shall very quickly send them about their business!”"

She smiled , as she thought of the witty one-liners that she would deliver to all the smooth-talking young men. And as she imagined the scene, she tossed her head scornfully. But oh ! Down fell the pail – and out spilled the milk onto the ground. The white creamy liquid trickled into the ditch, and with it, the pretty maid’s day dreams – her butter, her profit, her chickens, her eggs, her new dress, and her vain young men – all disappeared into the ground.

I looked down on all this and tried not to smile at the poor milkmaid’s misfortune. But I could not help remembering the words of a wise old lady : Don’t count your chickens before they are hatched. It’s a  very valuable lesson in life.

Juno and The Peacock

My next story is about the Peacock. He is the most royal of birds – or so he thinks.. When I shine down with my bright rays, [ We are keeping the Sun in the Story] he loves to open up his feathers to show off all his wonderful colours. How he gleams with emerald gold, purple, and azure ! Why, he is so shining, that he considers himself a worthy rival to me ! But he was not always so bright and beautiful. Once, long ago, he was just an ordinary, dusty sort of farmyard bird. This bothered him, for in his heart, he longed for greatness. His life abruptly changed when, one day, as he was pecking grass by the lake, he met the goddess Juno. He knew that his chance for transformation had come .

“Divine Juno, lovely goddess,” he said, “Why are my feathers so plain and ordinary? I want to be beautiful. I long for everyone to admire me. In fact, I want to be the most indisputably magnificent bird in the world. You are a goddess. You can do this for me in an instant. If you work your will, even the Emperor will admire and envy me . I pray, Dear Goddess – make me magnificent.”

Juno looked at the dull and ordinary bird and thought, “How vain and pretentious he is! I will give him what he wants, but I will teach him a lesson.”

When the peacock next saw his reflection in the water, he realised that she had granted his wish – for he was beautiful beyond his dreams. His feathered tail was more magnificent than the tapestry that hung behind the Emperor’s throne. The other birds gathered round to admire him – and how he strutted up and down like a king ! And how he patronised all the scruffy farmyard birds – the hens, the geese, the ducks, and other such riff-raff !

But the the other birds were not gazing at him, as he thought they should. They were looking up into the sky. He too looked up, and he saw how the powerful, and kingly eagle span out his wings, and soared high into the heavens – so high that he flew up to wish me Good Morning through the clouds.

Who could doubt that the eagle was the most royal of all the birds? Not the Ducks and the Geese who squawked in homage to the soaring king.

“Pa,” said the Peacock, “I will fly even higher.” He lifted his wings – but they were heavy and weighed down with decorative feathers. Yes, he looked wonderful, but the sly goddess had made him pay a price for his beauty – he could not longer fly.

“Hmmm”, I thought, as I looked down. “That peacock is all show”. There’s an important lesson here. It’s not only feathers that make fine birds. Oh yes, there is a good the moral in this tale: Don’t harm your strength and your health for the sake of beauty.

The Wind & The Sun

And my last story features a truly radiant character. This, if you will permit me, is a story about myself. I have a rather gusty friend called the North Wind. I was watching in amusement one day how he tormented a man who was walking along the road. He was trying to blow the man’s hat off, and how he huffed and he puffed with all his might. But the man was wise to him, and he held his hat firmly down on his head.

I laughed: “Ho ho North Wind. That man’s got one up on you.”

“Well I bet you can’t do any better,” hissed the North Wind testily.

“I bet I can,” I said. And I shone down with my warmest, most health-giving rays. The man felt gladness as he walked along. He smiled. And then he took his hat off to cool his head.

“There you see,” I said, “Gentle and kind persuasion win where force and bluster fail.”

Do you think animals should wear clothes? Let us know when you have listened to this amusing poem. It tells the story of Albert Orangutan, who is a very fashionable ape.

Read by Richard Scott.

Written by Glenn Lawrence for Storynory.

Original Pictures for Storynory by Sophie Green.