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Portia is the heroine of Shakespeare’s play, The Merchant of Venice. At the end of the play she appears as an extremely clever lawyer. This tale is adapted from near the beginning of the story – where her husband is chosen by an unusual test. As you will hear, it is rather like a fairytale.

Read and written by Elizabeth for Storynory. Duration 23 minutes.

A long time ago, in Italy , there lived a beautiful young woman named Portia. Everyone who knew her thought that she was the luckiest girl alive. She wore the finest dresses, and ate the most delicious food. Every evening, the funniest jesters in Italy performed for her and the best musicians played. And she had the most glorious bedroom any Princess could wish for, draped in cloths of satin and velvet. And on a dressing table sat an oak box of necklaces and bracelets dripping with diamonds and pearls.

But in spite of this wonderful life, there was one thing that troubled Portia, and that was, now she had reached the age of eighteen she was expected to find a husband.

Her parents had died some years before. And her father, a very intelligent man who loved his daughter dearly, had not left her future happiness to chance. He knew that he would not be around to help her choose a husband, and so, he came up with a test to see that the right man got the job.

And this was the test…

Behind a red curtain at the end of the grand hall was a platform. And on it were placed three caskets: one of gold, one of silver and one of lead. Inside one of the caskets was a portrait of Portia. Whoever wanted to be Portia’s husband had to choose the correct casket, where he would find her picture.

But there was a risk that came with this challenge. Every man who tried his luck had to promise that if he picked the wrong casket, not only would he never see Portia again, but he would never marry anyone! This was to make sure that anyone who tried had very serious intentions.

Word of Portia’s beauty had spread to every corner of the world, and men, young and old, tall and short, fat, thin, pale, tanned, handsome, ugly, charming, rude, pretty much men of every variety flocked to her town, fair Belmont, to meet her.

It was after a day of meeting and greeting that she finally managed to have some time alone with her maid, Nerissa.

“Did you really not take a shining to any of the young lads?” asked Nerissa.

“It’s not up to me, is it?,” replied Portia, “This has got to be the most random way of choosing a husband ever.”

“Portia! Do you really have such little faith in your father?” responded Nerissa, and then she said more softly, and slyly…”Supposing that young Bassanio turned up…. I know you thought he was a nice lad”

“Him ! Oh yes, well he was, I admit, rather nice…. for a man… but he’s not been here for at least two years.”

“Well you never know..” said the serving girl. “Anyway what did you think of today’s batch?”

“You’ll have to remind me of them – I saw so many!”

Nerissa drew out a scroll from her apron pocket. Unrolling it, she said,

“First there was the Neapolitan, what did you make of him?”

“Oh him!” sighed Portia, “All he did was talk about his horse and how wonderful it was,” To amuse her companion, she did an impression of him: “It runs so fast, it jumps so high, oh and his teeth!” and “oh his coat!” and “I must tell you about his neck…!”

“No, you’re right!” Nerissa cut in. Portia laughed.

“I think he was starting to look a bit like a horse!” Portia added.

“Well, then there was the Roman.” said Nerissa.

“Goodness he was a misery guts! He didn’t laugh at a single joke. And before you say anything, my jokes aren’t that bad!… Oh yes he said to me,
“What’s the point of beauty in the world when everything decays…? If he’s like that as a young man imagine what he’ll be like when he’s older.
I’d rather marry a skull – it’d have a better sense of humour!”

“Next was Monsieur Le Bon, The French lord.” said Nerissa, looking down the list of suitors.

“Monsieur Le Bon! I’d never met anyone like him before, or like “them” I should say!”

“Sorry?” inquired Nerissa.

“He was certainly more than one person. He kept becoming different personalities. One minute he was dancing on his own (to no music), the next he was fencing his own shadow: ‘Don’t you think for one moment you will get away you pesky little shadow. -But it is me, Monsieur Le Bon. Non! I am Monsieur Le bon. -This cannot be! Aha – I have surprised you! Oh non! Mais oui! Oh non!’ I think he is all the company he will ever need. If I did marry him, I’d be marrying twenty husbands!”

“So that’s Italy and France crossed off the list! What did you make of that nice young man from England?” asked Nerissa.

“Falconbridge? He was lovely to look at, but it was hopeless. He spoke no Latin, French or Italian and you know how ropey my English is. There’s little conversation to be had with a mime artist! And as for his outfit, he was dressed in such a strange way. Certainly a man of international style – he was wearing an Italian jacket, French trousers, and a German hat – it was peculiar!”

“Speaking of Germans, how did you like the Duke of Saxony?”

“I didn’t like him very much in the morning when he was sober, but it only got worse in the afternoon when he was drunk!”

“Oh well you needn’t worry, love. When they heard about the text, they all decided they weren’t up to it and will be leaving Belmont tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, a new day, and a new hoard of visitors will arrive!” , Portia sighed.

The next day, as the sun first appeared on the horizon, and its beams danced across the choppy waves, a fleet of ships could be seen approaching the port of Belmont. These belonged to the Prince of Morocco. He, like many other princes before him, had come to seek Portia’s hand in marriage.

Portia was fast asleep when the ships docked at dawn. She never received visitors before midday and this gave the new guest time to prepare for their meeting. He was due to meet Portia on the stroke of noon in the grand hall where he would face the challenge.

When 12 o’clock arrived, Portia, with Nerissa at her side, was sitting in the grand hall, at the far end where the red curtains were hung. Noble ladies and gentlemen, sworn to secrecy, gathered at the other end of the hall to watch the challenge, (for royal romance has always been a great spectator sport.)

As soon as the Prince of Morocco walked into the room, his eyes were drawn to Portia and he was struck by her beauty.

Portia watched as he entered with his train of servants. She had never seen a man dressed so exotically. He wore brilliantly dyed clothes in orange and sapphire blue, and an elaborate turban clasped with a ruby. She met him with a smile, and nodded to the the red curtains. He walked towards them with his attendants. On reaching the curtains, one of Portia’s servants drew them open to reveal the three caskets.

“My picture is in one of them,” said Portia, “and if you chose correctly, you will win me as your bride.”

“Thank you, I must choose carefully then,” said the prince.

Looking at the three caskets, one of gold, one of silver and one of lead, he noticed the clues that hung above each one.

Stopping first at the box made of lead, he read the clue,

“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath!”

He pondered over this, “‘Must give’, What would I be giving for? What would I get in return for everything I already have? Lead? I should give up everything I am worth for lead? No. When people risk everything, they do it hoping the outcome will be worth it. I shall not give up all my wealth and honour for something paltry!”

“What about the silver?” He said stepping in front of the second casket. He read aloud the clue that hung above it.

“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”

“As much as he deserves.” I must think about this carefully. I do deserve a lot, and yet is a lot, enough to deserve the lady. I do in birth deserve her and in wealth and in upbringing, but more than any of these I deserve her in love. For no-one could be more loving than I am. Why should I carry on? I could stop at this silver chest.”

He looked around for the servant that guarded the three keys, but checking himself, he spoke,

“I’ll have one last look at the gold casket, just to be sure.”

He read its clue,

“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”

“That has to be Portia, every man alive wants to marry her! Now I think about it, how could she possibly be placed inside lead? What a terrible thought. And why would she be placed in the silver casket? It was foolish of me to think so. Silver is worth a tenth of the value of gold. The finest jewels are set in gold and nothing less!”

He turned to Portia.

“I’ve made my decision and I will stand by it. The key to the gold casket if you please.”

Portia nodded to the servant holding the three keys.

“If you find my portrait inside it, I shall be yours!” She said.

Without hesitation, the prince unlocked the golden box and lifted its lid.

“Oh No!” He cried. He lifted out the contents of the chest. There was no sight of Portia’s picture, but instead he had found a skull. In its eye socket was lodged a piece of parchment. He unrolled it and read out loud,

“All that glitters is not gold.”

“Oh what a fool, I’ve been,” he said. “Yes of course, many men desire what is beautiful on the surface and are tricked just as I have been. Farewell, Portia, it is with great sadness I leave you and you have my word I shall never tell anyone which casket I chose.”

And the Moroccan Prince and his attendants left the grand hall.

The court sat down for lunch, during which, Portia was told that another suitor had arrived. This time it was a nobleman from Spain, the Prince of Aragon.

At two o’clock, Portia and Nerissa took up their places in the grand hall to wait for the visitor’s arrival. As the clock chimed upon the hour, the large panelled doors were opened to receive the young Prince. He was very handsome, with a jacket of crimson velvet and jet black hair.

With great confidence he strutted down the hall towards Portia.

“There are the caskets, noble prince.” said Portia. “ Do you agree to the terms of the challenge?” she asked.

“I do indeed. I swear that I will never tell anyone which casket I chose, and that if pick the wrong one, I shall leave right away, never return, and never, in all my life, marry.”

“He seems to take these vows as if they were nothing to him.” whispered Nerissa, “He must be pretty confident!”

The Prince began to examine the caskets.

Standing in front of the lead, he read its clue,
“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”

“Give everything I have!” he exclaimed, “Never – what’s mine is mine, I’d never risk it for anything!”

“What’s written on the golden chest?”

“Who chooseth me shall get what many men desire.”

“What many men desire? I don’t belong to the common masses, my tastes are by far superior!”

“On to the silver.” “Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”

“Well said. For he that wins the lady must deserve her. Her father would not give her away to anyone unworthy. I know I am deserving! The key to the silver chest, please!”

Portia nodded to her servant who handed the silver key to the Spaniard.

Seizing it from his hand, the Spanish Prince hastily unlocked the casket, flashing a smile over his shoulder to the assembled crowd, before lifting the lid.

But the crowd saw his smile leave is face pretty swiftly as he pulled out a picture of a clown.

“What is this? Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserve. Is this all I deserve? A fool in place of a beautiful bride?” and then all of a sudden realising, “By valuing myself so highly I have made a fool of myself in front of all these people and so I have become the fool in the picture! Farewell lady, I shall never trouble you again.”

And with that he left. As he was on the way out, a servant passed him in the doorway on his way to the princess:

“My lady, a young Venetian man has arrived at the gate. He is very witty and brings you all manner of gifts. He asks if he might take the challenge.”

“Claudio,” replied Portia, “Are you related to him? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so highly of anyone!”

“I promise you I’m not, my lady.”

“Admit him!”

“Very good. My lady.”

Shortly after this exchange Claudio reentered followed by a young man. Portia recognised him at once. It was Bassanio – the one she had always liked, but had not seen for two years. He was a scholar and a soldier, whose wit was as sharp as his sword. But after her father’s death, Bassanio had been away at war.

He approached the chairs on which Portia and Nerissa sat , before bowing deeply. Then he took Portia’s hand and kissed it.

But Portia looked downcast.

“Oh please don’t take the test”, she said, “It would be too cruel for me to get my hopes up, and then for you to fail it, and never be able to marry another. ”

He smiled at her and she returned his smile.

“Couldn’t you delay the challenge a day or two?” she asked.

If Bassanio chose the wrong casket like the other suitors before him, this would be the last time she would ever see him.

But he replied resolutely. “I can’t put it off any longer. It is torture to stand in front of the three caskets, knowing that in one of them lies the future I have always dreamed of.”

Portia felt herself about to blush, but determined not to, quickly replied,

“Torture? Men speak to please when they are being tortured!”

He smiled. “I promise you nothing but the truth.”

All this had been said privately, but now Portia said out loud so that the audience could hear:

“Choose as you think best. In one of the caskets lies my portrait, which if you find, you’ll find me as a wife,” she said trying to seem calm whilst her heart raced inside her.

He picked up the gold casket that the Moroccan prince had chosen. Portia looked away. Nerissa nudged her as the young man put it down. Next he studied the silver casket – looking at the marks which showed what weight of silver it was. Portia felt certain he was about to choose the wrong one. But he put it back on the table and pondered over the lead casket.

“Lead, silver, and gold.” said Bassanio. “Well often the most worthless things are decorated to make them seem of value, so I won’t be tricked by gaudy gold or even silver. Material wealth is worthless in comparison with the truly precious treasures in this life, love and happiness…”

Portia and Nerissa looked on as Bassanio examined the caskets once again.

“Oh you poor thing.” Nerissa whispered as she noticed Portia biting her lip in anticipation. “He’s a clever lad, that Bassanio, he’ll not go wrong.”

“ And so, I have made my decision.” Bassanio announced. “The key to the lead casket please,” he requested.

Portia sighed with relief. She knew it to be the correct choice after the previous suitors had failed with gold and silver.

Bassanio opened the chest to find her portrait and a scroll. He read it aloud,

“You that choose not by the view
Chance as fair and choose as true.
Since this fortune falls to you.
Be content and seek no new.
If you be well pleased with this
And hold your fortune for your bliss.
Turn you where your lady is
And claim her with a loving kiss.”

Bassanio did exactly that.

Nerissa thrilled by the sight of the young couple wiped a tear of happiness from her eye. Portia and Bassanio were to be married…

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Chicken Little is one of those traditional fairy tales in which some cute animals are eaten – so don’t say we didn’t warn you !

Several parents on our Facebook Group. have been lobbying us to publish this fast-paced and popular story. We have based our version on Henny-Penny by Joseph Jacobs. One of the great attractions of the tale is in the amusing names like Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey- Loosey and Turkey-lurkey, and of course, the baddy, Foxy-Woxy. As the fast-paced story goes on, the names build up into a long string.

But just once again – this story does involve animals being eaten. Comments are welcome but please dont’ say we the ending came as a nasty surprise.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 7.51.

Chicken Little

Hello, This is Elizabeth, and I am dropping by a story that has been requested by several our of listeners including two parents, Clare and Teresa, both on our Facebook group.

It’s a fun, fast-paced tale, but I have to warn you that if you really mind stories where sweet little animals get eaten up by bad foxes, then this really isn’t the story for you.

ONE day Chicken Little was picking up corn in the cornyard when–whack!– something hit her upon the head. “Goodness gracious me!” said Chicken Little; “the sky’s a-going to fall; I must go and tell the Big Boss.”

So she went along and she went along and she went along till she met Cocky-locky. “Where are you going, Chicken Little?” says Cocky-locky. “Oh! I’m going to tell the Big Boss the sky’s a-falling,” says Chicken Little. “May I come with you?” says Cocky-locky. “Certainly,” says Chicken Little. So Chicken Little and Cocky-Locky went to tell-the Big Boss the sky was falling.

They went along, and they went along, and they went along, till they met Ducky-daddles. “Where are you going to, Chicken Little and Cocky- locky?” said Ducky-daddles. “Oh! we’re going to tell the Big Boss the sky’s a-falling,” said Chicken Little and Cocky-Locky. “May I come with you?” says Ducky-Daddles. “Certainly,” said Chicken Little and Cocky- Locky. So Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky and Ducky-Daddles went to tell the Big Boss the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along, till they met Goosey-Loosey, “Where are you going to, Chicken Little, Cocky- Locky and Ducky-Daddles?” said Goosey-Loosey. “Oh! we’re going to tell the Big Boss the sky’s a-falling,” said Chicken Little and Cocky-Locky and Ducky-Daddles. “May I come with you,” said Goosey-Loosey. “Certainly,” said Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky and Ducky-Daddles. So Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles and Goosey-Loosey went to tell the Big Boss the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along, till they met Turkey-Lurkey. “Where are you going, Chicken Little, Cocky- Locky, Ducky-Daddles, and Goosey-Loosey?” says Turkey-Lurkey. “Oh! we’re going to tell the Big Boss the sky’s a-falling,” said Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles and Goosey-Loosey. “May I come with you? Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles and Goosey-Loosey?” said Turkey-lurkey. “Why, certainly, Turkey-Lurkey,” said Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, and Goosey-Loosey. So Chicken Little, Cocky- Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey and Turkey-Lurkey all went to tell the Big Boss the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along, till they met Foxy-woxy, and Foxy-woxy said to Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey and Turkey-Lurkey: “Where are you going, Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-Lurkey?” And Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-Lurkey said to Foxy-Woxy: “We’re going to tell the Big Boss the sky’s a-falling.”

“Oh! but this is not the way to the Big Boss, Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey and Turkey-Lurkey,” says Foxy-Woxy; “I know the proper way; shall I show it you?” “Why certainly, Foxy-woxy,” said Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-lurkey. So Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, Turkey-Lurkey, and Foxy-Woxy all went to tell the Big Boss the sky was a-falling. So they went along, and they went along, and they went along, till they came to a narrow and dark hole. Now this was the door of Foxy-woxy’s cave. But Foxy-woxy said to Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-Lurkey:

“This is the short way to the Big Boss’s palace you’ll soon get there if you follow me. I will go first and you come after, Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-Lurkey.” “Why of course, certainly, without doubt, why not?” said Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-Lurkey.

So Foxy-woxy went into his cave, and he didn’t go very far but turned round to wait for Chicken Little, Cocky-lLocky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey- Loosey and Turkey-Lurkey. First Turkey-Lurkey went through the dark hole into the cave. He hadn’t got far when “Hrumph,” Foxy-Woxy swallowed up Turkey-Lurkey.

Then Goosey-Loosey went in, and “Hrumph,” she was eaten too.

Then Ducky-Daddles waddled down, and “Hrumph,” snapped Foxy-Woxy, and Ducky-Daddles made the next course.

Then Cocky-Locky strutted down into the cave and he hadn’t gone far when “Snap, Hrumph!” went Foxy-Woxy.

But Foxy-Woxy had made two bites at Cocky-Locky, and when the first snap missed, he called out to Chicken Little. So she turned tail and ran back home. And she never told the Big Boss the sky was a-falling

And that was the story of Chicken Little. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about sweet little animals getting eaten. Bertie say Storynory listeners seem to fall into two sorts – those who are outraged that not all the animals get away and write in to complain – and those who like the traditional tales which are a little more true to life. These ones tells us not to coddle kids and to give them the real stuff straight from the storyteller’s mouth. You can always leave a comment and let us know where you stand on this great issue !

And I thought you might like to know that we based our version on the English Tale by Joseph Jacobs where Chicken Little is actually called Henny-Penny, but as this story seems to be best known in America we used used the American name, Chicken Little. In some versions even Chicken Little doesn’t get away. In the Disney film of a few years ago, of course nobody gets eaten, so you can safely watch that one.

Does the story have a moral? Bertie says it’s hard to find, but perhaps it shows how mad mass panic only creates danger. Keep your head, so to speak, and you will keep your head.

For now, from me Elizabeth, Bye.

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This traditional story from Japan is about the time a Samurai Warrior challenged a Tea Master to a duel. It shows how if you are the master of yourself, you can be the master of anything.

The steadfastness of the Japanese character has been much on display during the aftermath of the recent Tsunami. People all over the world have been filled with admiration for the dignity and manner in which the Japanese nation has endured so much suffering.

We hope that you will enjoy this story which is full of wisdom about how to be the master of yourself in the face of great danger.

Read by Natasha. Adapted by Bertie from various sources. Duration 12.32.

Kindly supported by the Centre for Guided Montessori Studies.

A Samurai warrior is as spiritual as a monk. He is the ruler of of his mind as much as of his body. He trains his spirit through the form of meditation known as zen. He can sit still for hours on end, gradually reducing his thoughts until his sole focus is on his breath. No base passion, fear, discomfort or excitement shall control him even for a single second. He can endure the bitterest cold or the fiercest heat. When faced with death itself, his mind is perfectly still. The odds, the dangers and the enemies may be massively against him and yet his concentration, as sharp as his sword, may cut through them all.

Yes he is a spiritual being indeed. But his spirit is the distilled essence of violence.

But such self control is not confined to the fighters of Japan. The Master of the Japanese Tea ceremony performs his peaceful duties with just the same concentration and focus of attention, as this story from Ancient Japan shows.

Several centuries ago, a tea master worked in the service of Lord Yamanouchi. No-one else performed the way of the tea to such perfection. The timing and the grace of his every move, from the unfurling of mat, to the setting out of the cups, and the sifting of the green leaves, was beauty itself. His master was so pleased with his servant, that he bestowed upon him the rank and robes of a Samurai warrior.

When Lord Yamanouchi travelled, he always took his tea master with him, so that others could appreciate the perfection of his art. On one occasion, he went on business to the great city of Edo, which we now know as Tokyo.

When evening fell, the tea master and his friends set out to explore the pleasure district, known as the floating world. As they turned the corner of a wooden pavement, they found themselves face to face with two Samurai warriors.

The tea master bowed, and politely step into the gutter to let the fearsome ones pass. But although one warrior went by, the other remained rooted to the spot. He stroked a long black whisker that decorated his face, gnarled by the sun, and scarred by the sword. His eyes pierced through the tea maker’s heart like an arrow.

He did not quite know what to make of the fellow who dressed like a fellow Samurai, yet who would willingly step aside into a gutter. What kind of warrior was this? He looked him up and down. Where were broad shoulders and the thick neck of a man of force and muscle? Instinct told him that this was no soldier. He was an impostor who by ignorance or impudence had donned the uniform of a Samurai. He snarled:

“Tell me, oh strange one, where are you from and what is your rank?”

The tea master bowed once more. “It is my honour to serve Lord Yamanouchi and I am his master of the way of the tea.”

“A tea-sprout who dares to wear the robes of Samurai?” exclaimed the rough warrior.

The tea master’s lip trembled. He pressed his hands together and said: “My lord has honoured me with the rank of a Samurai and he requires me to wear these robes. “

The warrior stamped the ground like a raging a bull and exclaimed: “He who wears the robes of a Samurai must fight like a Samurai. I challenge you to a duel. If you die with dignity, you will bring honour to your ancestors. And if you die like a dog, at least you will be no longer insult the rank of the Samurai !”

By now, the hairs on the tea master’s neck were standing on end like the feet of a helpless centipede that has been turned upside down. He imagined he could feel that edge of the Samurai blade against his skin. He thought that his last second on earth had come.

But the corner of the street was no place for a duel with honour. Death is a serious matter, and everything has to be arranged just so. The Samurai’s friend spoke to the tea master’s friends, and gave them the time and the place for the mortal contest.

When the fierce warriors had departed, the tea master’s friends fanned his face and treated his faint nerves with smelling salts. They steadied him as they took him into a nearby place of rest and refreshment. There they assured him that there was no need to fear for his life. Each one of them would give freely of money from his own purse, and they would collect a handsome enough sum to buy the warrior off and make him forget his desire to fight a duel. And if by chance the warrior was not satisfied with the bribe, then surely Lord Yamanouchi would give generously to save his much prized master of the way of the tea.

But these generous words brought no cheer to the tea master. He thought of his family, and his ancestors, and of Lord Yamanouchi himself, and he knew that he must not bring them any reason to be ashamed of him.

“No,” he said with a firmness that surprised his friends. “I have one day and one night to learn how to die with honour, and I will do so.”

And so speaking, he got up and returned alone to the court of Lord Yamanouchi. There he found his equal in rank, the master of fencing, he was skilled as no other in the art of fighting with a sword.

“Master,” he said, when he had explained his tale, “Teach me to die like a Samurai.”

But the master of fencing was a wise man, and he had a great respect for the master of the Tea ceremony. And so he said:

“I will teach you all you require, but first, I ask that you perform the way of the Tea for me one last time.”

The tea master could not refuse this request. As he performed the ceremony, all trace of fear seemed to leave his face. He was serenely concentrated on the simple but beautiful cups and pots, and the delicate aroma of the leaves. There was no room in his mind for anxiety. His thoughts were focused on the ritual.

When the ceremony was complete, the fencing master slapped his thigh and exclaimed with pleasure :

“There you have it. No need to learn anything of the way of death. Your state of mind when you perform the tea ceremony is all that is required. When you see your challenger tomorrow, imagine that you are about to serve tea for him. Salute him courteously, express regret that you could not meet him sooner, take of your coat and fold it as you did just now. Wrap your head in a silken scarf and and do it with the same serenity as you dress for the tea ritual. Draw your sword, and hold it high above your head. Then close your eyes and ready yourself for combat. “

And that is exactly what the tea master did when, the following morning, at the crack of dawn he met his opponent. The Samurai warrior had been expecting a quivering wreck and he was amazed by the tea master’s presence of mind as he prepared himself for combat. The Samurai’s eyes were opened and he saw a different man altogether. He thought he must have fallen victim to some kind of trick or deception ,and now it was he who feared for his life. The warrior bowed, asked to be excused for his rude behaviour, and left the place of combat with as much speed and dignity as he could muster.

And that was the story of the Samurai and the Tea Master. Bertie loves this story because it shows that if you can gain mastery over your mind and spirit, you can overcome almost any difficulty or danger. In fact, the impossible will soon become become possible.

Natasha’s Post Recording Comment

Storynory PCR
Zen and The Faith of The Samurai,

Dear Listeners,

The principals of Zen used by the Samurai soldiers, which formed part of their practice, we can see as the guiding principal for the characters in this story.

The philosophy of Zen was formed by the Japanese into 13 sects and is part of their Northern School of Buddhism. It was adopted by The Japanese in the Confucian era. The Confucian soldier Wang Yang Ming used its principals as part of the basis for his military school in the training of young men to become samurai soldiers. It’s distinctive elements were of use to its art and practice, as follows:

Principals of Zen Philosophy.

It denounces emphasis on scriptural authority and places more importance on the act of mind, body and the spoken word to convey religious truth; providing a good guide for the physical and mental training for the Confucian soldiers.

It holds Buddha as a spiritual model they hope to obtain; someone of an acclaimed position that they worship and follow, useful for Confucian soldiers in learning how to follow the hierarchy of a ruling leader.

It express its religious practice through the act of specific physical actions like the picking up of a sword or the moving of a chair or a loud cry, extremely useful for the precise military act carried out by the soldiers with a characteristic slicing action and ‘ hi ya’ sound of the sword.

These are just some of the aspects of Zen used by the Samurai soldiers and show how it easily became the faith first of the Samurai in the Sung Dynasty between 1358 and 1659. And was hugely influential to men of the military, statesmen and letters.

And further more Zen’s over riding principal; to obtain a harmony of mind, both physical and mental, not to rash or not too calm, not too emotional or unsympathetic not to stressed or relaxed but a balanced equal both of mind and body combined, is one that we westerner’s can still learn from. The Japanese and Chinese are still devoted to Zen Buddhism today and its prominent in their culture.

Our sister site Storynory Japan helps Japanese speakers with English based on our stories.

http://storynory.jp/ 

 
The site is very interesting as Japanese speakers can listen to the audio Stories and follow along with the text and visuals, enjoying the culture of storytelling and learn English at the same time.

In the mean time I do hope you enjoy the far eastern story of The Samurai and The ‘T’ master and the good principals of Zen that it implies.

N*

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Sadko lived in the Russian city of Novgorod and was famed for his beautiful singing voice and his skill on the gusli, a wooden instrument shaped like a wing. His music won the favour of Tsar Morskoi, the Lord of the Sea, who brought him great fortune… but his adventures did not end there.

Our recording features the wonderful Gusli playing of Olga Shishkina and we would like to thank Olga for giving us permission to use her lovely music.

The chelo / chamber music is Chanson from Sadko by Rimsky Korsakov (royaltyfreemusic.com)

Read by Elizabeth. Version by Bertie. Duration 16 min.

The ancient city of Novgorod is older than Russia itself. If you visit it now, you can still see its scarred white-washed cathedral, St. Sophia, with its domes that are shaped like the turbans of an Eastern Sultan. The red walls of its Kremlin run up and down the hill, while below flows the broad river Volkva that freezes over in winter.

Many centuries ago, when Yaroslav the Wise was Prince of this holy city, there lived among its people a musician, whose name was Sadko. His nimble fingers plucked the strings of the wing-shaped instrument called a gusli, and those who heard him sing compared his voice to that of Orpheus who charmed open the gates of the Underworld.

Sadko made his living by playing at the wedding celebrations and birthday parties of the wealthy merchants of Novgorod. The merchants were not the finest connoisseurs of music. They paid him with the left-overs of their feasts, or if he was lucky, with coins.

There were occasions when Sadko had no work, no money, and little food. At those times he would seek inspiration for his music from nature. On one such day, he sat by the shore of Lake Ilmen, and sang to himself.

He sang of the loveliness of the lake and compared its blue waters to the eyes of the girl he was yet to meet and marry.

When he had finished his sweet, heartfelt song, he laid down his instrument on the grass. He closed his eyes and felt the sun on his face. A gushing sound caused him to open them again. He stared into the middle of the lake where the water was swirling round into a great whirlpool. The whirling waters began to form the features of a face, wise and old, surrounded by flowing hair and a long beard, surmounted by a tall crown. The face became more and more real until at last Sadko was left in no doubt that he was looking at Tsar Morskoi, the King of the sea. He fell to his knees to honour the apparition. Then the lips of the watery face began to move, and the voice of Tsar Morskoi rose out of the lake.

“We thank you, musician, for delighting our guests below the surface with your performance. We wish to reward you. Listen to this secret, and heed it well. Next time you return to this lake, cast a net three times into the water, and on the third occasion you shall pull out a golden fish. Use this secret wisely, and you shall have a rich reward.”

When he had finished speaking, the waters washed over the apparition and the face shimmered and dissolved into nothing more than a few ripples. Sadko remained kneeling for sometime afterwards, for his legs seemed to have lost all their strength, he was so overcome by what he had seen and heard.

He returned to his garret in the city, wondering whether too much sun had been the cause of the vision. He wearily climbed the steps to the garret that served for his home, fell asleep on his mattress, and dreamed of food. But his fortune did not take long to turn. The following morning, the richest merchant in Novgorod sent his servant to the musician’s door. He invited him to grace a feast with song and story that very evening.

Sadko’s voice and skill had never been on finer form than that night – not that many of the diners took much notice of his artistry as he passed among the diners and sang. For them, one musician was much the same as another. When they had consumed a fair amount of food and drink, the merchants grew more and more boastful, as was their habit. Some bragged of their wealth, some of their fine horses, some of their noble pedigree, others of their beautiful women. At last the host of the feast asked Sadko if he too would like to speak of his greatest pride. Sadko, however, replied.

“I have no money, no horse, no family, no woman that I can boast of. I am but a poor musician. My only possession is my instrument.”

There was contemptuous laughter around the room, and one of the loudest-mouthed merchants said:

“Any cat can sing on a spring evening. Surely you must have something more worthwhile than music to speak of ?”

For a moment, Sadko could not think how to reply, and the laughter grew more uproarious. Then he remembered the words of Tsar Morskoi – Use this secret wisely, and you shall have a rich reward.

“Wait, Wait!” he called out. “I have something which not one of you possess. It’s a fish with fins made of gold that can swim. “

There were calls for him to show this remarkable fish, and when he protested that he could not, for it was still swimming in Lake Ilmen, there was yet more laughter.

“But I speak the truth,” he shouted, not knowing where his courage came from, “I and only I can catch it, and if any of you will join me in a wager, I shall prove it to you tomorrow.”

And because the merchants were in fine spirits, many of them were willing to bet large sums that the musician could not catch the golden fish, even though he himself had nothing to wager in return.”

The following day, towards sunset, Sadko cast his net into Lake Ilmen, and pulled it out empty. The merchants who were watching shrugged their shoulders. He cast the net in a second time, and again pulled it back empty. One or two of the merchants began to walk away. Sadko cast his net a third time, and now, just as the Tsar of Sea had foretold, he pulled out a fish with golden fins.

That was the moment that Sadko made his fortune. The merchants may have been a boastful lot, and they may not have been all that cultured, but a merchant of Novgorod was as good as his word. Sadko had won the bet, and they paid up handsomely.

And now he had made it good, the musician became a merchant. He moved into a fine villa. He married a beautiful woman. And his ships sailed the seas carrying his goods. Some time later, he travelled abroad on a business trip. As he was crossing the sea, a wild storm tossed his ship on the waves. Even the captain of the ship was white with fear.

“Tsar Morskoi is angry, and he will sink us unless we give him a offering,” he declared. The rich men on board threw gold and jewels into the water, but it did nothing to appease the sea god. As he slid from one side of the ship to the other, Sadko realised that it was he whom the Tsar Morskoi wanted. Not once since he had become a rich man had he returned to the shores of Lake Ilmen to play for his benefactor. In fact he had given up music almost altogether and carried his gusli round with him, more as a lucky charm than an instrument! …..And now all those on board would drown because of his ingratitude. In a moment of remorse and anger with himself, Sadko leaped over the side of the ship holding his gusli in his hand, and sank beneath the waves.

All was calm below the surface of the sea, and deep down at the bottom, Sadko found himself before the throne of Tsar Morskoi, and all around the coral reef swam his eleven daughters. He began to play his gusli, because he was certain that was the reason he had been summoned to this under-water palace. The Tsar floated up from his throne and began to dance, looking like a giant octopus. When the merriment was at an end, the Tsar invited Sadko to choose one of his lovely daughters to marry. He thought of his wife, back on the dry land, and was reluctant to choose – but one of the daughters whispered to him

“Pick me, and I will show you the way home.”

And as she was no less lovely than any of the others he indicated that he wished to marry her.

“A good choice,” exclaimed the Tsar. “This daughter of mine is the River Volkva that flows by your home.”

And later that night, in Novgorod a young boy found the body of Sadko washed up on the river bank. His gusli was still strapped to his back. At first he thought that the man was drowned, but then he belched up river water, and the boy called for help. Sadko revived and returned to his home and family, and from then on, he never neglected to play his gusli for the Tsar of the Sea.

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We present a Magical and Musical Story for the Christmas Holiday Season (or any time of year when you feel like some music and romance).

The story is based on the ballet by Tchaikovsky. We have incidental music from the ballet, but the highlight is a Swan Lake song specially written and recorded for this production. All this and two stunning original pictures. We have a few more credits than usual:

Song sung and arranged by Gabriella Burnel.
Song recorded and produced by Auburn Jam
Original Pictures by Sophie Green
Orchestral Music by Partners in Rhyme
Audio hosted by SoundCloud.
Story read by Elizabeth Donnelly
Story and Lyrics by Bertie.

If you like this story, you might also enjoy, A Christmas Nutcracker and Sadie’s Broken Heart – the latter is rather loosely based on Swan Lake.

A voice exclaimed, “Ah, here he comes,”

And the Queen, who was greeting her guests on the terrace of the palace, looked up with some relief, and saw her son, arriving on horseback, late for his own birthday celebration. By the gate of the garden he dismounted with arrogant agility, before springing up the steps on his long legs.

Many of the guests were gathered on the lawns before the palace. The royal and noble families of all Europe were well represented. And there was a particularly plentiful supply of pretty princesses of marriageable age. Now the message went around:

“He’s here, he’s arrived,”

All eyes were trained on the terrace, where the Queen was presenting her son with his birthday gift. It was a crossbow with a silver handle that was intricately engraved with scenes of wild birds, hares, deer, and other game. There was polite applause, as Prince Siegfried slung the hunting weapon across his shoulder by its leather strap. He still wore the gift while he did his duty and mingled with the guests.

The Prince had to find a handful of polite words for each and every guest. He found it somewhat trying at the best of times to make courtly small talk, and each time he was presented with a blushing princess, he could not help but feel irritated. He knew perfectly well what everyone, especially his mother, expected him to do. He was supposed to pick a Princess for his bride.

That evening, he was greeted by mouths that were toothy and grinning, others that were delicate and demure, and still others that were luscious and red. He could choose from eyes that were feline green, chocolate brown, sky blue, or owl grey. There certainly was no shortage of princesses in all shapes sizes and complexions. But the whole situation seemed to him quite unbearable. Even a prince cannot be pressured into falling in love right on cue. As darkness fell, he slipped away from the crowd and retrieved his horse. By the time his birthday fireworks were lighting up the sky, he had reached the edge of the forest.

Very little light from the stars of the moon came through the canopy of trees, but he and his horse knew the track well. They trod carefully, but he may have taken a different turning from usual, because he soon came across an unfamiliar clearing in the forrest, which, as he soon found, opened up onto a lake. The Prince sat down on a tree stump not far from the water’s edge and listened to the gentle lapping of the waves. His thumb stroked the silver handle of his crossbow. When a group of swans came gliding across the moonlit water, he recalled that swans are said to mate for life. That, he thought, is because their love is natural and sincere. No-one tells a swan when he or she is supposed to marry.

One of the swans rose out of the water onto the bank ,where she stretched her long neck and flapped her wings. Prince Siegfried raised his crossbow and took aim. His finger felt the trigger, but although hunting was one of the keenest pleasures of his gilded life, he could not bring himself to shoot a creature so peaceful and beautiful. He lowered the weapon and put it on the mossy ground beside him. As he did so, his eyes grew a little misty.

“Dash it. Not tears,” he thought. His finger wiped away a salty drop from the corner of his eye. Now he saw that that a star was shining directly onto the swan. But she was no longer quite a swan. Her feathers were fading, and she was undergoing some sort of magical moonlit transformation. He stood up and walked towards the remarkable vision. By the time he reached the spot where she stood, she was more woman than a swan, and then she fell gently backwards into his arms.

Song

Night
Falls upon the secret lake 
I wake
More woman than a swan

I
Dance upon my pointed toes
I pose
More woman than a swan

This lake of tears 
Sees me lift my chin
Sees me stretch my wing
Knows the hopes I cling 

These slender reeds 
See me twirl  around 
See me stroke the ground  
See me  fly unbound 

You
Chance upon my lonely lake
You take
The arrow from my heart 

We
Dance upon the moonlit stream
We seem
Quite destined for this part

This dawn of hope
Sees us form a pair
Sees us tour the air
Sees us bound to share

These skies of fire 
See you lift me high
See us soar and fly

See us turn into one
At light I’m gone
Back to a swan
woman no more

Magician condition enchanted
Only love that is loyal can grant it

Romantic quite frantic  I sigh
For love that is sudden can lie;

Can lie, can sigh, can die.

Light
Falls upon the secret lake 

Less
Woman than a
Woman than a
Swan

When the young prince returned to the castle, he was a different man from the one who had set out the night before, because now he knew what it meant to be in love with the mysterious and magical creature known as a woman. But this woman was even more elusive than most. At first light she had transformed back into a swan, and he had caressed her feathery neck before she returned to the cold waters of the lake.

Naturally he believed that their love was a secret. Little did he know, that one of the guests, Prince von Rothbart, had followed him to the lake, and had overseen his liaison with the Swan Princess. Von Rothbart was a master of the dark arts of sorcery. It was his magic that willed Prince Siegfried to aim his crossbow at the breast of the swan, but, on that occasion, the power of beauty overcame the evil spell before any harm was done. Now Von Rothbart was angry. He was afraid that Princess Odette – for that was who the swan really was – had found her true love. Love would smash the spell that he had used against Odette when he had imprisoned her inside the feathers of a swan. She could soon be free. A woman once more.

The following evening the champagne flowed and the orchestra poured out music for the guests at the castle. The grand ball, the climax of the birthday celebrations, was to be a magnificent spectator sport for the older generation. All eyes were following Prince Siegfried to see who he would invite to dance with him, and which pair of pretty feet would be most in step with his own. Those guests with daughters were than just passingly interested in the outcome. And none more so than Prince von Rothbart, for it was his plan that Siegfried should marry none other than his own daughter, Princess Odile. He did not believe in leaving a matter of such great importance to chance, let alone to the uncertainties of the heart. Before the ball began, he cast a spell on Odile to make her as alike in appearance to Princess Odette as his magic could manage.

Odile did not have long to wait for her invitation to dance, not just once but twice, and then thrice… four, five, six times. The onlookers were in no doubt that Prince had made his choice for the girl with a perfectly oval face elegantly balanced on a long neck, who held herself so perfectly, whose arms were so expressive, and who danced so lightly on her toes.

Von Rothbart congratulated himself. His connection by marriage to the royal family was all but in the bag. In fact, the only person in the ballroom who harboured any doubts was Prince Siegfried himself. He had seen his Princess only once before, and by moonlight. For sure, the way Odile looked and moved was perfection, but he could no longer feel the magic current of energy between them. Each time he asked her to dance, he was hoping to rediscover the enchantment that he had felt the previous evening. Was it her who was different, he wondered, or himself, or perhaps the situation with the crowd of onlookers?

Only when he had danced five times with her did be begin to realise that his commitment was growing all too publicly. In the satisfied eyes of his mother he was all but engaged. To back away now would cause talk, perhaps a minor scandal. The Queen would be far from pleased. And so he asked Odile to dance a sixth time. Now at last he did recognize the look in her eyes. He knew it too well. It was the satisfaction of a hunter who has shot and bagged a catch. At that moment he looked up, and saw, standing on the balcony, Princess Odette. The music played on. He could not stop the dance. Every beat seemed to last a tortuous eternity. Every step was weighed down by an iron ball chained to his ankle – or so he felt. And yet, for the sake of decorum, he must dance to the last bar. As soon as he was free from the arms of Princess Odile, he bowed, and backed away towards the door. He ran out of the castle and heard the clamorous wings of a swan, wheeling through the night sky for the forrest. He leapt onto his horse and pursued her to the lake. There he saw her land on the water, skidding on her feet before her. “Odette, Odette,” he called out. The swan turned her head toward him and then swam away into the shadows. The Prince waded into the water and swam after her. When he reached her they were both on the other side of life, where they are now together, for all eternity.

Words and Lyrics by Hugh Fraser aka Bertie 2010

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This Jewish tale is wise, witty, and very ancient.

The story comes from the Talmud and has been very lightly adapted by Bertie.

Read by Natasha. Duration 7.25

In Roman times, The Emperor Hadrian, was riding with his army through Galilee. As he passed down a lane, he noticed a very old man planting a fig tree in his garden, The Emperor ordered a solider to bring the ancient gardener before him. He then spoke to him as follows:

“Old man, why are you planting that tree? The time to plant it was in your youth, to bear you fruit for your old age. It’s too late now. At this stage of life, you can’t hope to live to taste the fruit from it.”

The old man bowed before the Emperor as best as his back would let him, and answered:

“In my youth I worked, and I still work. With God’s good pleasure I may yet try the fruit of this tree, I plant. I am in His hands.”

“Tell me your age,” said the emperor.

“I have lived for a hundred years.”

“A hundred years old, and you still expect to eat from the fruit of this tree?”

“If such be God’s pleasure,” replied the old man; “if not, I will leave it for my son, as my father left the fruit of his labour for me.”

“Well,” said the emperor, “if you live until the figs from this tree are ripe, I pray you, let me know of it.”

Ten years went by, the tree bore fruit, and the old man enjoyed its figs for his breakfast. As it so happened, the Emperor was again visiting Galilee. The old man resolved to visit him. He took a small basket, filled it with the choicest figs from the tree, and made his way to the palace. At the gate, he told the guard his purpose, and after some time, he was admitted into the presence of the Emperor.

Again he bowed as deeply as his old back would permit him, and said:

“ Ten years ago, you saw an old man planting a fig tree. You said to him ‘If you live to eat its fruit, I pray you let me know;’ and behold I that same old man. I have come and brought you the fruit of that tree so that you may also taste it.”

The Emperor was very much pleased to see that the old man had lived to enjoy his the fruit of his labours. He emptied the man’s basket of its figs, and he ordered it to be filled with gold coins.

When the old man had departed, the courtiers said to the Emperor:

“You Excellence, Why did you so honour this old Jew?”

“Heaven has honoured him, so why not I?” replied the emperor.

Now next door to this old man there lived a crafty woman. When she heard of her neighbour’s good fortune, she was filled with envy. She thought her husband should try his luck in the same quarter. She filled an immense basket with figs, placed it on his shoulder, and said, “Now carry it to the emperor; he loves figs and will fill your basket with golden coins.”

When her husband approached the gates of the palace, he told his errand to the guards, saying, “I brought these figs to the Emperor.”

When this was told to the Emperor, he ordered the man to stand in the hallway of the palace, and all who passed pelted him with his figs. He returned home to his wife, sore and crestfallen.

She looked at her poor bruised husband, and at last she chuckled and said:

“Never you mind, you should look on the bright side. If had they been coconuts instead of figs you would have suffered harder knocks.”

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This ancient Jewish story inspired Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, and is creepy enough for us to rank it a “Halloween Story”. But don’t worry, in this version (written for children in 1911 by “Aunt Naomi“) he isn’t too terrifying.

The “golem” is a creature created by a rabbi of the city of Prague (these days the capital of Czech Republic). In real life the hero of the story, Rabbi Lion, was Loew ben Bezalel, the late 16th century Chief Rabbi of Prague, (Leow meaning “Lion”). The idea of a “golem” has biblical origins. Adam was an unshaped “golem” made of dust before he became a man.

We would like to thank our sponsor, therel=”nofollow” href=”http://guidedstudies.com”>Center for Guided Montessori Studies.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 13.21

Rabbi Lion, of the ancient city of Prague, sat in his study in the Ghetto. Through the window he could see the River Moldau with the narrow streets of the Jewish quarter clustered around the cemetery, which still stands today, and where is to be seen this famous man’s tomb. Beyond the Ghetto rose the towers and spires of the city. He had a problem on his mind. He was unable to find a servant, even one to attend the fire on the Sabbath for him.

The truth was that the people were a little afraid of the Rabbi. He was a very learned man, wise and studious, and a scientist; and because he did wonderful things people called him a magician. His experiments in chemistry frightened them. Late at nights they saw little spurts of blue and red flame shine from his window, and they said that demons and witches came at his beck and call. So nobody would enter his service.

“If, as they declare, I am truly a magician,” he said to himself, “why should I not make for myself a servant, one that will tend the fire for me on the Sabbath?”

He set to work on his novel idea and in a few weeks had completed his mechanical creature, a woman. She looked like a big, strong, laboring woman, and the Rabbi was greatly pleased with his handiwork.

“Now to endow it with life,” he said.

Carefully, in the silence of his mysterious study at midnight, he wrote out the Unpronounceable Sacred Name of God on a piece of parchment. Then he rolled it up and placed it in the mouth of the creature.

Immediately it sprang up and began to move like a living thing. It rolled its eyes, waved its arms, and nearly walked through the window. In alarm, Rabbi Lion snatched the parchment from its mouth and the creature fell helpless to the floor.

“I must be careful,” said the Rabbi. “It is a wonderful machine with its many springs and screws and levers, and will be most useful to me as soon as I learn to control it properly.”

All the people marvelled when they saw the Rabbi’s machine-woman running errands and doing many duties, controlled only by his thoughts. She could do everything but speak, and Rabbi Lion discovered that he must take the Name from her mouth before he went to sleep. Otherwise, she might do mischief.

One cold Sabbath afternoon, the rabbi was preaching in the synagogue and the little children stood outside his house looking at the machine-woman seated by the window. When they rolled their eyes she did too, and at last they shouted: “Come and play with us.”

She promptly jumped through the window and stood among the boys and girls.

“We are cold,” said one. “Canst thou make a fire for us?”

The creature was made to obey orders, so she at once collected sticks and lit a fire in the street. Then, with the children, she danced round the blaze in great glee. She piled on all the sticks and old barrels she could find, and soon the fire spread and caught a house. The children ran away in fear while the fire blazed so furiously that the whole town became alarmed. Before the flames could be extinguished, a number of houses had been burnt down and much damage done. The creature could not be found, and only when the parchment with the Name, which could not burn, was discovered amid the ashes, was it known that she had been destroyed in the conflagration.

The Council of the city was indignant when it learned of the strange occurrence, and Rabbi Lion was summoned to appear before King Rudolf.

“What is this I hear,” asked his majesty. “Is it not a sin to make a living creature?”

“It had no life but that which the Sacred Name gave it,” replied the Rabbi.

“I understand it not,” said the king. “Thou wilt be imprisoned and must make another creature, so that I may see it for myself. If it is as thou sayest, thy life shall be spared. If not–if, in truth, thou profanest God’s sacred law and makest a living thing, thou shalt die and all thy people shall be expelled from this city.”

Rabbi Lion at once set to work, and made a man, much bigger than the woman that had been burned.

“As your Majesty sees,” said the rabbi, when his task was completed, “it is but a creature of wood and glue with springs at the joints. Now observe,” and he put the Sacred Name in its mouth.

Slowly the creature rose to its feet and saluted the monarch who was so delighted that he cried: “Give him to me, Rabbi.”

“That cannot be,” said Rabbi Lion, solemnly. “The Sacred Name must not pass from my possession. Otherwise the creature may do great damage again. This time I shall take care and will not use the man on the Sabbath.”

The king saw the wisdom of this, set the Rabbi at liberty and allowed him to take the creature to his house. The Jews looked on in wonderment when they saw the creature walking along the street by the side of Rabbi Lion, but the children ran away in fear, crying: “The bogey-man.”

The Rabbi exercised caution with his bogey-man this time, and every Friday, just before Sabbath commenced, he took the name from its mouth so as to render it powerless.

It became more wonderful every day, and one evening it startled the Rabbi from a doze by beginning to speak.

“I want to be a soldier,” it said, “and fight for the king. I belong to the king. You made me for him.”

“Silence,” cried Rabbi Lion, and it had to obey. “I like not this,” said the rabbi to himself. “This monster must not become my master, or it may destroy me and perhaps all the Jews.”

He could not help but wonder whether the King was right and that it must be a sin to create a man. The creature not only spoke, but grew surly and disobedient, and yet the Rabbi hesitated to break it up, for it was most useful to him. It did all his cooking, washing and cleaning, and three servants could not have performed the work so neatly and quickly.

One Friday afternoon when the Rabbi was preparing to go to the synagogue, he heard a loud noise in the street.

“Come quickly,” the people shouted at his door. “Your bogey-man is trying to get into the synagogue.”

Rabbi Lion rushed out in a state of alarm. The monster had slipped from the house and was battering down the door of the synagogue.

“What art thou doing?” demanded the rabbi, sternly.

“Trying to get into the synagogue to destroy the scrolls of the Holy Law,” answered the monster. “Then wilt thou have no power over me, and I shall make a great army of bogey-men who shall fight for the King.”

“I will kill thee first,” exclaimed Rabbi Lion, and springing forward he snatched the parchment with the Name so quickly from the creature’s mouth that it collapsed at his feet a mass of broken springs and pieces of wood and glue.

For many years afterward these pieces were shown to visitors in the attic of the synagogue when the story was told of the Rabbi’s bogey-man.

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Aesop wasn’t the only teacher to compose short animal stories with morals. The Indian book, the Panchatantra, is also full of wise fables. This one about a tortoise explains why it’s wise to think before you open your mouth to speak. It’s framed by a little story about the King of Banaras, the Indian city which these days is known as Varanasi.

Read by Elizabeth. Length 10.23. Text adaptation by Bertie.

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It has been said that the city of Banaras is older than history. It stands on either side of the sacred River Ganges, which the Hindus believe to be the divine essence of Lord Shiva. Its holy streets are crowded with pilgrims, and wherever you look there is a temple or a shrine.

Many centuries ago, there was once a King of Banaras who loved nothing better than the sound of his own voice. He had lived a long time, seen many things, read many books, and met many fascinating people. But his thoughts rambled, and his speech was never brief. If one of his generals asked him about some military matter, he would begin, “What would the great Alexander do? When I met the invincible one 35 years ago, he told me that an army marches on its stomach,” and then would launch into an anecdote of little consequence. By the time he had finished telling the story, he had forgotten what the question was in the first place.

Or when the cook consulted him, he would tell tales about the great banquets of his youth. Or when a poor man came to beg for justice in a dispute over a field, he would talk about the wisdom of the great law-maker Solon.

One day, when the king was walking in the garden of his palace, he found a tortoise lying on the path. The poor creature was dead. Its shell was smashed into several pieces. He was puzzled by this strange discovery, for he was certain that it was a sign from the gods, but his mind struggled to think what the meaning of it might be. At last, he called the oldest and wisest holy man in the City of Banaras, and asked him to interpret. On seeing the smashed tortoise, the sage recounted the following tale.

Master. There was once a tortoise who lived by the side of a beautiful lake. He spent his days shaded by the long grass, and nibbling on the juicy weeds. But one year the rains failed to fall in season. The sun baked the land into hard clay. The water in the lake dried first into puddles, and then disappeared altogether The animals that came there in search of a drink were reduced to skin and bones, and tottered away on weak legs.

Now, this tortoise was on friendly terms with some of the geese of the lake. One day, a friendly pair of these birds came to wish him farewell, for their flock was planning to migrate to the Himalayas in search of water and fresh grass.

“And what will become of me?” asked the tortoise, “For I am 100 years old, and my shell is heavy, and my legs are short. If I plodded all day I would reach no further than that boulder that you see over there. I must stay here until I am all dried up.”

The two geese took pity on the old tortoise and they agreed to help him. This was the plan: they would hold a stick between them as they flew. The tortoise must hold on to the stick with his mouth – and in this unusual way they would transport him to cooler and wetter climes.

And so that was how the tortoise found himself flying through the skies. It was a most unusual feeling and he felt quite air sick . The other geese in the flock thought that the sight was hilarious.

“Hey look,” said one, “I’ve seen everything now. A tortoise has grown wings”.

“No he’s hasn’t,” said another, “He’s chewing on a stick because he’s hungry.”

“I’m sure he would fly better if he left his heavy shell behind,” remarked a third.

And so the comments continued, because the geese had nothing better to talk about than the tortoise and his unusual mode of transport. Eventually the tortoise could stand it no more:

“See here,” he said, “Do you think I’m enjoying this?”

And that, of course, was when he opened his mouth, let go of the stick, and started to fall. And he fell, and he fell, and fell, until he hit the ground, my Lord, here in the garden of your palace.

That was the end of his tale. In reply, the King began to talk at length about the hibernation of tortoises. The sage listened patiently, understanding that the King had not yet understood the message of his story. When the opportunity arose to speak politely to the sovereign without interrupting him, he walked once again around the body of the tortoise and said these lines:

And now, O mighty master, mark it well.
See thou speak wisely, see thou speak in season.
To death the Tortoise fell:
He talked too much: that was the reason.

And at last the King did understand that the gods had sent him a sign. From then on, he was careful to make sure that he used his words concisely and to the point.

And that was the story of the Tortoise and the Geese. And Bertie’s asked me to tell you a little bit about the origin of this story. Animal fables are some of the oldest stories in the world, and have long been used as a way to teach morals and wisdom. This story was written down in Sanscrit language over 2000 years ago in a book of fables called the Panchatantra, or the five Principles. According to legend, a King in Southern India appointed a wise man called Vishnu Sarma to educate his three sons, whom he considered to be rather stupid. Vishnu Sarma used short stories about animals to impart wisdom to the princes. A few of his tales are very similar to those written by the Greek story-teller, Aesop, about 300 years earlier. And another famous collector of animal stories, Jean La Fontaine, who wrote in France in the 17th Century, took many of his stories both from the Panchatantra and from Aesop. Bertie believes that this goes to show that the best stories have always connected people from around the world , hundreds, in fact, thousands of years before anyone had even dreamed of the internet.

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If you like sweet love stories, you will love this tale of the Cherokee Indians. The first man and the first woman quarrel, and the sun reunites them with a very special gift. Perhaps the relationship in this story shows that some things never change.

Natasha dedicates this story to Zed, Matthew, Bugsy and their families in California, and thanks them for their kindness and hospitality while she was in LA for the National Story Telling Conference.

Read by Natasha. Text adaptation by Bertie. Duration 5.18.

At the dawn of time, the first man and the first woman set up their home together by the side of a great broad river. They had everything they needed for a blissful life: fruit, and berries, meat and fish, plenty of wood and fresh water, and, of course, each other. They lived as happily as any man and woman have ever lived together, until they began to quarrel.

First it was the small things, like “Why didn’t you cook this?” and “Why didn’t you tidy that?” But then the insults, and a few wooden plates and bowls, began to fly.

The first woman was so upset that she decided to leave the first man. At the break of day, while he was still asleep, she set off down the valley, heading towards the rising sun. She walked and walked, always looking straight ahead of her, and not once turning back.

When the first man woke up and saw that she was gone, he waited for her to come back. She did not come back. He found her tracks along the valley, but she had a long head-start on him, and she did not stop or look round.

The sun was now high in the great blue sky. It looked down upon the first man, as he followed after the first woman, and it saw that there was sadness on the face of an otherwise pristine and perfect world.

And the sun asked the man if he was still angry with his wife.

He said that he was not angry with her.

The sun asked if he would like to have her back.

He said that he would like to have her back.

And the sun took pity on the first man, and decided to help him. His gentle rays touched the ground along the woman’s path, and a huckleberry bush sprang up. Its fruit was shiny and enticing, but as she passed her eyes remained fixed on the distance, and she did not see the berries.

And so the sun shone again on the ground up ahead of the woman. And he caused a clump of blackberries to grow up beside her path. She refused to even glance at them.

And then the sun thought that he must create something entirely new: something so vivid, fragrant, and delicious, that even the first woman would not fail to take notice of them in her resolute and unhappy mood.

And so he blessed the ground again with his rays, and the first patch of strawberries spread over the ground. Their sweet scent filled the woman’s senses, and her mood became lighter. She began to look around her, and she saw the bright red fruit hiding beneath he leaves. It looked so enticing that she picked one and tried it. She tasted the strawberry on her tongue, and she began to remember the happiness she knew when she first set up home with her husband. She found she no longer felt the pressing desire to leave him. She sat down on the ground and wondered what she must do. And then at last the first woman stood up and started to walk once again, to the West, and back to the first man.

And that was the story of the First Strawberries, and of course, of the first man and woman. It’s funny how so little changes.

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

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

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

Read by Elizabeth. Version by Bertie. Duration 18.43.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read by Natasha. Duration 8.46.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 7.32. Text by Bertie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At this, the faithful slave became agitated and said:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Text Copyright Hugh Fraser 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The crane, an elegant and beautiful bird, is considered to be auspicious in Japan. In this story, a poor farmer receives good fortune after he rescues a wounded crane. But unfortunately his curiosity gets the better of him, and his luck does not hold out. It’s a short, rather sad, but beautiful story.

Read by Richard Scott. Version by Bertie Duration 7.23

It was winter. The fields were covered with snow, and the winding river was frozen so thickly that you could walk on it. A poor farmer was returning home along the river bank, when he heard a noise from inside a frosty thicket. He understood right away that it was a wounded bird, and his first thought was that it would make an easy catch to take home and boil his pot. But when he parted the twigs and undergrowth, he found a such a beautiful bird that he did not have the heart to kill it. It was a crane, whose side had been pierced by an arrow. He pulled out the shaft and rubbed some balm into the wound. The crane spread out its wings and soared into the the sky.

The farmer returned to his hovel, ate half a bowl of rice, and went to bed as soon as it was dark, because there was nothing else to do. In the early hours of the morning he heard a tap tap tapping at his door. At first he thought it was the wind, and then he wondered if it was a ghost. At last he realised that he would not sleep until he opened up and saw who or what was there. He lifted up the latch,expecting to see a ghastly apparition in the moonlight. He was prepared for a spectre from the spirit world. His hand, clasping a great knife, was ready for a robber. But he was utterly unready for the face of a beautiful girl. In fact, she was so lovely that he was quite startled. He was simply amazed that anyone could be so gorgeous, let alone standing at his door.

He let the girl in, and she slept on his bed, while he lay by the ashes of the fire. After she had stayed with him for three days and nights, he finally found the words to ask her to marry him, though he never expected her to accept. The girl replied that she had come to his door hoping that he would ask that very question, and she gladly accepted. The farmer thought to himself,

“Until just recently, I was lonely, poor and wretched. Now I am still poor, but chance or some god has brought me happiness.”

But nobody can live on love alone. The winter was long and hard, the couple ran out of rice to take the edge of their hunger. The farmer said: “What are we to? I have no food, no money, and nothing we can sell.” He himself was on the brink of tears, and he expected that his wife would either grow angry with him for failing to provide for them both, or to break down in sobs. This, he thought, was the end of their happiness. But instead she smiled and said:
“Dear Husband. Do not worry or fret. I will weave a cloth, and you shall take it to the market to sell.”

The farmer shrugged his shoulders, because they had no thread to weave. But his wife went into the one and only room of their house and as she closed the door she said:

“Whatever you do, do not come in.”

Some hours later, she came out of the room carrying a beautiful cloth. It was embroidered with flowers and birds and was so beautiful that it was fit for a princess. The next day the farmer took it to the market and sold it for a great sum. They couple had enough money to last them several winters.

But when you have money, there is a tendency to spend. You forget how careful you once were, you buy whatever you want, and you pay prices that are sometimes over the odds. In short, the money run out, and once again the couple were poor. The farmer was again on the edge of despair but his wife said.

“Do not fret. I will weave another cloth. I will go into the back room and work. But whatever you do, do not peep in until I come out.”

While his wife weaved, the farmer sat and wondered how he had been so fortunate to have found such a woman , one so lovely, one who loved him, and one who was able to weave cloth out of nothing. He recalled how she had turned up at his door on a winter’s night, and he thought about how little he knew or understood who she was, why she had come to him, or how she weaved the cloth.  He lived with her. He loved her. Yet he hardly knew her. At last his curiosity overcame him. He opened the door a crack and he peeped in.

And this is what he saw. It was his wife, but not a woman. She was the crane that he had saved from the thicket. On the floor was an intricate pattern of feathers, and as she worked, she plucked yet more feathers from her own breast. The cost to her was pain and loss of her own plumage, but she was ready to inflict this on herself for him. But then the bird looked up and saw him. She let out a cry and and shed a single tear from her eye. She flapped her wings and flew up and away, out through the hole in the roof that served as a chimney in the cottage.
And that was the last the poor farmer ever saw of the grateful crane who had become his wife, and who had plucked feathers from her own breast to keep him from poverty. He never married again, and lived to the end of his days alone.

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The Fire-Fly Princess is a glittering beauty, and numerous insects want to be her husband. She has little interest in any of them, and declares that she will only marry the one who brings her a flame. This glittering story is full of the beauty of old Japan.

And we are delighted to introduce the very talented Elizabeth Donnelly, who joins Natasha and Richard as a narrator for Storynory. And for all those who have been asking us for news of Natasha, she will be very soon reading more chapters of Alice Through the Looking Glass.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 12.32.

IN JAPAN the night-flies emit so brilliant a light and are so beautiful that ladies go out in the evenings and catch the insects for amusement. They imprison them in tiny cages made of bamboo threads, and hang them up in their rooms or suspend them from the eaves of their houses. At their picnic parties, the people love to sit on August evenings, fan in hand, looking over the lovely landscape, spangled by ten thousand brilliant spots of golden light. Each flash seems like a tiny blaze of harmless lightning.

One of the species of night-flies, the most beautiful of all, is a source of much amusement to the ladies. Hanging the cage of glittering insects on their verandahs, they sit and watch the crowd of winged visitors attracted by the fire-fly’s light. What brings them there, let this love story tell.

On the southern and sunny side of the castle, the water in the moat had long ago become shallow so that lotus lilies grew there luxuriantly. Deep in the heart of one of the great flowers whose petals were as pink as the lining of a sea-shell, lived the King of the Fire-flies, Hi-?, whose only daughter was the lovely Princess Hotaru-himé. While still a child the Princess was carefully kept at home within the pink petals of the lily, never going even to the edges except to see her father fly off on his journey. Dutifully she waited until of age, when the fire glowed in her own body, and shone, beautifully illuminating the lotus, and its light at night was like a lamp within a globe of coral.

Every night her light grew brighter and brighter, until at last it was as mellow as gold. Then her father said:

“My daughter is now of age to marry, she may fly abroad with me sometimes, and when the proper suitor comes she may wed whom she will.”

So Hotaru-himé flew in and out among the lotus lilies of the moat, then into rich rice fields, and at last far off to the indigo meadows.

Whenever she went a crowd of admirers followed her, for she had the singular power of attracting all the night-flying insects to herself. But she cared for none of them, and though she spoke politely to all she gave encouragement to none.

One night she said to her mother, the Queen:

“I have met many admirers, but I don’t wish a single one to be my husband. Tonight I shall stay at home, and if any of them love me truly they will come and pay me court here. Then I shall give them an impossible task. . If they are wise they will not try to perform it; and if they love their lives more than they love me, I do not want any of them. Whoever succeeds may have me for his bride.”

“As you wish, my child,” said the Queen mother, who dressed her daughter in her most resplendent robes, and set her on her throne in the heart of the lotus.

Then she gave orders to her bodyguard to keep all suitors at a respectful distance lest some stupid bug, dazzled by the light should approach too near and hurt the Princess or shake her throne.

No sooner had twilight faded away, than forth came the golden beetle, who stood on a flower and bowing said:—
“I am Lord Green-Gold, I offer my house, my fortune and my love to Princess Hotaru.”

“Go and bring me fire and I will be your bride” said Hotaru-himé.

With a bow of the head the beetle opened his wings and departed with a stately whirr.

Next came a shining bug with wings and body as black as lamp-smoke, who solemnly professed his passion.
“Bring me fire and you may have me for your wife.”

Off flew the bug with a buzz.

Pretty soon came the scarlet dragon-fly, expecting so to dazzle the Princess by his gorgeous colors that she would accept him at once.

“I decline your offer” said the Princess, “but if you bring me a flash of fire, I’ll become your bride.”

Swift was the flight of the dragon-fly on his errand, and in came the Beetle with a tremendous buzz, and ardently plead his suit.
“I’ll say ‘yes’ if you bring me fire” said the glittering Princess.

Suitor after suitor appeared to woo the daughter of the King of the Fire-flies until every petal was dotted with them. To every one of her lovers the princess in modest voice returned the same answer:

“Bring me fire and I’ll be your bride.”

So without telling his rivals, each one thinking he had the secret alone sped away after fire.

But none ever came back to wed the Princess. Alas for the poor suitors! The beetle whizzed off to a light that glimmered through the paper walls of a house.

The black bug flew into a room where a poor student was reading. His lamp was only a dish of earthenware full of rape seed oil with wick made of pith.

The dragon-fly flew to the light of a housewife who was working late at night,

Mad with love the brilliant hawk-moth, afraid of the flame yet determined to win the fire for the Princess, hovered round and round a candle flame, coming nearer and nearer each time. “Now or never, the Princess or death,” he buzzed, as he darted forward to snatch a flash of flame.

But none of the the lovers of Hi-?’s daughter succeeded in their quests. All met their ends in the flames or the lamp-oil.

As the priests trimmed the lamps in the shrines, and the serving maids cleaned the lanterns in the homes, each said alike:
“The Princess Hotaru must have had many suitors last night.”

The next day was one of great mourning and there were so many insect funerals going on, that Hi-mar? the Prince of the Fire-flies on the north side of the castle moat, asked after the cause .

Then he learned for the first time of the glittering Princess. He fell in love with her and resolved to marry her. The Princess’s father agreed to his proposal of marriage, on condition that the Prince should obey her wish in one thing, which was to come in person bringing her fire.

Then the Prince at the head of his glittering battalions came in person and filled the lotus palace with a flood of golden light. But Hotaru-himé was so beautiful that her charms paled not, even in the blaze of the Prince’s glory. The visit ended in wooing, and the wooing in wedding. On the night appointed, in a carriage made of the white lotus-petals, amid the blazing torches of the Prince’s battalions of warriors, Hotaru-himé was borne to the Prince’s palace and there, Prince and Princess were joined in wedlock.

Many generations have passed since Hi-mar? and Hotaru-himé were married, and still it is the whim of all Fire-fly princesses that their low-born admirers must bring fire as their love-offering or lose their prize. It is for this cause that each night insects hover around the lamp flame, and every morning a crowd of victims must be cleaned from the lamp. This is the reason why young ladies catch and imprison the fire-flies to watch the war of insect love, in the hope that they may have human lovers who will dare as much, through fire and flood, as they.

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We celebrate the Year of the Tiger with a legend of how the tiger got his stripes. The Chinese New Year falls on February 14th in 2010, and anyone born in this year will be lucky and brave (according to horoscopes).

You might also be interested in our story of how the Chinese years were named after animals. And if you like tigers, then try the poem. The Tyger (yes, it is spelt that way because it’s archaic), and our story from India, The Brahman, the Tiger, and the Jackel.

Read by Natasha. Version by Bertie. Duration: 7.01.

A long time ago, when animals still had the power of speech, a white, stripeless tiger, crept to the edge of the jungle and looked out at the paddy fields where the rice grew. He saw a man sitting under a banana tree eating his lunch. Not far away stood a buffalo who was also taking a rest from his work ploughing the fields. The great beast swished his tail to swipe away the flies.

The tiger crept forward on his belly, using his powerful arms to pull himself through the grass, and when he was just behind the buffalo he whispered. “Do not be afraid. I do not come to satisfy my hunger, but to seek your advice. Do tell me the answer to my question,” said the tiger, “For I am so curious to know. I have been observing the puny little man who is your master. He has no strength, no sharp sense of smell. His hands are not strong. His teeth are not sharp. And yet he rules you and makes you work for him. You, on the other hand, are a magnificent beast of great and wonderful strength. You are twenty times his weight and size, and I know to my cost that you can put up a fair fight with the best of the beasts of the jungle. I haver heard that the source of man’s power is something called wisdom. So tell me, oh buffalo, what is wisdom, and where does the man get it from?”

The buffalo munched slowly on his grass for a while before answering. “Beats me. I’ve no idea. Why don’t you ask him?”

The tiger saw that he would not get a sensible answer from the buffalo, and so he sprang over the to the man in one great bound, and as he stood before the trembling farmer he said:

“Have no fear little man, for I have not come to satisfy my hunger. I am here in search of wisdom. Do answer my question, please, for it perplexes me. What this thing that men call wisdom? What does it look like? Where does it come from? Will you not share some of it with me?”

The man wiped the sweat of fear from his forehead and said as calmly as he could: “Wisdom is very precious. Must I really give some of it to you?”

“The choice is yours,” said the Tiger, “But do you hear that sound? It is my stomach rumbling. I have not slept or eaten for three days, so perplexed have I been by this question, but now I am starting to feel like I could do with a bite to eat. ”

And the man could indeed hear a low rumbling sound. He replied to the tiger:

“Well of course I will gladly share my wisdom with you. But I’m afraid I have left it at home today. I must go and fetch it for you. If you come back with me, I am afraid the villagers will take fright. Will you wait here a while?”

The tiger walked around the man menacingly before giving his reply: “I will wait, but be sure to come back, or I will visit you in your field again tomorrow, and next time I might be more hungry than than inquisitive.”

The man started to walk out of the field, but he had taken only a few steps when he turned back and said:

“Please forgive me. I am troubled by the thought of leaving a hungry tiger here with my animals. Will you let me tie you to this tree while I am away fetching the wisdom? That way my fears will be at rest.”

The tiger was afraid that the man would change his mind about sharing his wisdom. He thought of the great power that only a little wisdom would give him — how with his strength, and with just a little of man’s wisdom, he would rule every creature that walked, slithered, swam or flew across the world. He wanted this prize so much that he agreed to let the man coil a rope around his body and his legs, and tie him to the trunk of the banana tree.

A little later, the man returned to the field with his three sons. Each carried armfuls of dry straw.

“Here, I have kept my side of the bargain. I have brought you wisdom” said the man, and he and his sons laid the straw on the ground beneath the tiger. Then the man set alight to it. Bright orange flames leapt up and burned the tiger. He roared with pain, until at last the fire seared through the ropes, and he sprang to freedom, and bounded for the river where he soothed his burnt fur in the cooling waters.

In time the wounds of the tiger healed, but for ever more his body bore orange stripes where the flames and burned him, and black ones where the ropes had bound him.

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This tale from Ancient Egypt was written down in hieroglyphics 4000 years ago. It’s one of the oldest stories to have come down to us. In fact, it is really several stories all framed within a story.

A ship returns to Egypt from a long voyage. The merchant owner of the shipper is afraid that the Pharaoh will be angry with him because his business has not prospered. His attendant tells him a story of an earlier journey, in which he was shipwrecked and met a giant serpent. The attendant means to show that it’s not so much what you do, but how you tell it that counts. The master is not so sure.

If you would like to hear the original in Ancient Egyptian – and read the hieroglyphics – you can listen to Orlando’s rendition here on YouTube.

Read by Natasha. Duration 9.50

Four thousand years ago, a ship glided into its home harbour in the land of Egypt. A sailor jumped ashore with the rope and tied it to the mooring post. His comrades rejoiced and embraced one another, so glad they were to have survived their long journey at sea, and to know that soon they would be filling their arms with their children and kissing their wives.

But as the ship’s owner stepped ashore, dark, anxious lines crossed his brow.
His business in the lands of Wawat and Biga had not prospered, and he feared the anger of the great Pharaoh who ruled the land of Egypt. He had an attendant, a smart young fellow, who understood what was troubling his master’s mind. As they stepped off the boat, he tried to give his master words of assurance.

“Be satisfied, oh my lord, for we have returned in good health, and not a single one of us is lost. You may go and tell the tale of our journey to the Pharaoh. Choose your words carefully, trust in your eloquence, and all will be well.”

But the master was only irritated by these words, and he spoke angrily to his attendant.

“You are home, but your mind is still wandering. A man’s mouth may save him, but so it may also get him into trouble. Do you always say out loud any thought that flies into your head? If you must babble such nonsense, pray say it quietly, to yourself.”

The smart young man was not offended by this rebuke. Instead he replied to his master with a story about another adventure that he had once undertaken. And this is what he told him.

“I was on a journey across the great green sea to the mines of the Pharaoh. We had a 120 sailors, the best in Egypt, their hearts fiercer than lions. They had seen many skies, they had seen many lands, they could tell a storm before it came, and gale before it happened.

“As we approached the land the wind arose, and threw up enormous waves. Our ship split in two, and all the mortal souls within were at the mercy of the great green sea. I grabbed a plank of cedar wood and stayed afloat. A wave picked me up and placed me down on the shore of an island. After I had lain for three days, all alone in some bushes, I arose and looked for something for my mouth. I found it in abundance: figs and grapes, all manner of good herbs, berries and grain, melons of all kinds, fishes and birds. Indeed, the island did not lack for any good thing. After I had satisfied my hunger, I dug a pit, lit a fire, and made a burnt offering to the gods.

“Suddenly I heard a crashing sound, which I took to be a wave crashing against the land. The trees shook and the earth moved. I uncovered my eyes, and I saw that an enormous snake was slithering towards me. He was the size of a temple building. His face was that of a man, and he wore a beard as tall as as a pillar. His skin was as blue as true Lapis Lazuli and he was overlaid with gold.

“I threw myself on my belly before him, before he he opened his mouth and said:

“Who brought you, who brought you? O commoner, who brought you? If you delay your reply it shall be the worse for you. Your life shall be extinguished like the flickering flame of a candle.”

“I lay still, stunned, silent, my mouth full of sand. When the serpent saw that could get no reply out of me, he scooped me up in his mouth and carried me to his cave where he laid me down. Again he asked:

“Who brought you, who brought you, o commoner, who brought you to this island of the great green sea whose two sides are lapped by waves?”

And then I, realising that my life depended on my words, replied to him:

“I was on a mission, sent by the Pharaoh. We had a 120 sailors, the best in Egypt, their hearts fiercer than lions. They had seen many skies, they had seen many lands, they could tell a storm before it came, and gale before it happened. Each one was no less strong or fierce than his companion, and there was not a single fool among us.

“ As we approached the land the wind arose, and threw up enormous waves. Our ship was split in two, and of all who were on board, I alone was saved. And behold, here I am at your side…… … I was brought to this island by a wave of the great green sea.”

It seemed that my words soothed the anger of the great man-serpent for he smiled gently and replied to me.

“Fear not, o commoner, do not be pale, for it is God who has let you live, and has brought you to me. You will spend four months on this island of the blest, which does not lack for any good thing. At that end of that period a ship will arrive and taken you home to your wife and family, and you shall live and finally die in your own town.

“Now since you have survived this accident, let me tell you of a tale of calamity that befell me. I once lived on this island with my family – 75 serpents in all without counting an orphan girl who was brought to me by chance and who was dear to my heart. And then one night a star came crashing down from heaven and they all went up in flames. Only I was spared, and behold, here I am, utterly alone.

“But you, if you are brave and overcome your fears, you will fill your arms with your children and kiss your wife, you will see your house and live among your family.”

And when I heard this prophesy of my salvation, I wept and bowed and touched the ground before him, and said.

“On my return I shall tell the Pharaoh all about you and your greatness. I will bring you sacred oils and perfumes, and incense with which the gods are honoured in the temples. I shall slay animals for you in sacrifice, I shall bring you birds, and ships full of all kinds of treasures from Egypt and they shall speak of you in the councils and honour you throughout the land.”

And when he heard this he laughed and rebuked me:

“Do not trouble yourself with incense, for you are not rich in perfumes. As for me, I am a prince of the land of Punt, and I have all the richest scents. But you need not return, for after you depart, this island shall be covered by the sea.”

And my rescue and salvation came true exactly as he said. After four months had gone by, I climbed a tall tree, and behold ! I saw a ship on the horizon. It came to rescue me, and as I took my leave of my serpentine host, he said : “Go to your house. See your children. Spread my good name in your city. This my due from you”.

And he gave me gifts of incense, myrrh and balsam, tails of giraffes, and elephant tusks.

And as I departed, I and all who were on board the ship, gave our praises to the Serpent God. We sailed northwards, and two months later I came before the Pharaoh and presented him with the tribute of gifts I had brought from the Island. I told him of my adventures and he thanked me before the council and rewarded me with a position in his court.”

And with these words the attendant finished his story of his shipwreck and survival. The master of the ship had waited patiently on the quay by the side of the ship, and had listened carefully. But he was not pleased by the story… and he said:

“Save your smart words my young friend. Such drops of hope do me no good. Who gives water to a goose in the morning, when it is due to be slaughtered in the afternoon?”

And that was the Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor as written down by the cunning fingers of the scribe Imen-Ah, Son of Imeny, life, prosperity, and health.

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This story tells how the delicious fruit the watermelon came to Vietnam many centuries ago.

The hero of the legend is Prince Mai An Tiem who was adopted by the King of Vietnam. His brother grew envious of him, and started to plot against him. If you want to know how watermelons come into it all – well you had better listen to the story.

Today watermelons are associated with the New Year in Vietnam – called the Tet festival. People eat roast watermelon seeds at the time of the festival.

Read by Natasha. Version by Bertie. Duration 10.10.

The Watermelon Prince

Many centuries ago, a gale blew across the land of Vietnam. It leant on the palm trees so that they bent their branches to the ground, and it grabbed red tiles from the roof of the great palace and chucked them across the courtyard. Out at sea, great waves made war on the cliffs, pounding them with all the force of nature. Most of the local fisherman had seen the storm coming from afar, and had pulled their boats well back from the shore, and tied them fast to the ground. But a merchant ship was caught in the storm, and its hull was dashed to splinters on the rocks. Everyone on board was drowned, except for one. By some miracle, the waves carried a basket containing a newly born baby, and they deposited it on the beach not far from the great palace. The morning after the storm, a fisherman’s wife was out walking along along the beach and searching through the debris for anything of value. She heard the baby’s cries, and discovered its basket under some torn-off palm leaves. She knew from the swaddling clothes of the child that he belonged to a rich family, and not knowing what else to do, she took him to the palace in search of a reward.

When the King heard of this infant who had been saved from the storm by a miracle, he thought that it must be a very special child indeed. He adopted him as his own, and he grew up to be Prince Mai An Tiem.

Mai An Tiem proved to be a popular young man, with wisdom and knowledge beyond his years. Often the King’s councillors would consult his opinion before reaching an decision, because he understood the King’s heart and his wishes better than anyone else. His adopted father loved him as much, if not more, than his natural sons.

When Mai An Tiem turned twenty years old, the King arranged for him to marry one of his daughters, Princess Co Ba, who had been his friend since childhood. The celebration was the most extravagant of the King’s reign. So much so, that the King’s own son, Prince Hau, grew envious, for the lavishness of the wedding party far exceeded his own.

“My father means to adopt Mai An Tiem as his successor,” he thought to himself. “I must stop this.”

And so Prince Hau bought a large bribe to the head of the King’s bodyguard, and a slightly smaller bribe to the head of his household. In return for this payment, these officials started to spread ugly rumours about Main An Tiem.

He grows arrogant.
The king’s favoritism has gone to his head.
He is plotting a coup.

And the further the rumours spread, the less clear it was where they had began. Eventually the head of the bodyguard came to the King and said that Mai An Tiem had tried to recruit his services to overthrow the King. At first the King would not believe this lie against his adopted son, but soon others in the palace, who confused rumour for fact, backed it up. With great sorrow in his heart the King decreed that Mai An Tiem was guilty of plotting treason, and must be banished from the kingdom for evermore. His wife, Princess Co Ba, swore that she would follow him to the ends of the earth. And soon the couple boarded a ship, which took them far out to sea, and deposited them on a desert island.

But Mai An Tiem and Co Ba did not despair, for although they had lost all the privileges, friends, and comforts, they had at least, each other. They found a stream with fresh water, and they built a hut for themselves out of leaves and branches. They made nets for fishing and they learned how to climb trees to pick bananas and shake down coconuts. But although everything they ate was fresh and good, their diet lacked anything that you might call a special treat. Co Ba began to dream of sumptuous banquets.

One day, after they had been on the island for several years, Mai An Tiem was walking along the cliffs when he saw a flock of birds, squabbling excitedly amongst themselves. As he drew closer, he saw that the cause of all their excitement were some black seeds. He picked up a handful, and when he reached home, he scattered them on the ground around their hut and along the stream.

Many months later, during one of the hottest times of the year, he noticed that some unusual plants had began to sprout on the spot where he had spread the seeds. Over the coming weeks, they spread like a vine along the ground, and then some fruits started to bud under the leaves. These grew into enormous green fruits, the likes of which he had never seen before. On cutting them open, he discovered within, soft, red flesh. He cut off a piece and popped it into his mouth, and it melted on his tongue like no other. When, a little later, Co Ba, tasted the fruit, she was enormously happy and pleased. It was her first treat in seven years.

The couple decided to call the fruit, red melon, and the were careful to spread the seeds and grow a second crop. The red melons – which we know as watermelons – were one of the greatest joys of their life on the island.

One day, when Mai An Tiem was sitting on the beach, contemplating the vast ocean, and the way his life had turned out. He idly carved his name on a watermelon, and tossed it into the waves, wondering where it would wash up. Perhaps some one in some far away land would be lucky enough to find the delicious fruit, and would for for ever more thank the name of Mai An Tiem that was engraved on its skin.

And just as the ocean tide had been a friend to Mai An Tiem when he was a baby, so it proved now. The current carried the watermelon back to the Kingdom of Vietnam. A fisherman’s wife found the wondrous fruit on the beach, and she took it to the palace in hope of a reward. When the King saw the name that was carved on the fruit, he marvelled at the reminder of his long banished son. He tasted the red flesh of the fruit inside, and it was so delicious that he thought it was the greatest present that could be bestowed on a king, who was so wealthy that he had every other pleasure that a human being could desire. He thought with love of Mai An Tiem and in his heart he forgave him. And two weeks after that, a ship sent by the King, came to the desert island to bring Mai An Tiem and Ko Ba back to the palace. Eventually Mai An Tiem became King of Vietnam and he ruled wisely to the end of his days.

Version by Bertie of Storynory

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We bring you a single chapter from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by y L. Frank Baum. This quintessentially American fairy tale was first published in 1900. Perhaps you have seen the extremely famous musical film staring Judy Garland (made in 1939).

We chose this chapter in the spirit of Halloween – so expect a few scary moments when with wolves, bees, crows, and winged monkeys.

As we are starting in the middle, we had better tell you the story so far.

Dorothy is an orphan who lives on a farm in the America, in the state of Kansas. One day the farmhouse, with Dorothy and her little dog (Toto) inside, is picked up by a giant wind called a cyclone and she is swept away to the land of Oz. She walks down a yellow brick road and meets a scarecrow, a tin woodman, and a cowardly lion. They are all on their way to the Emerald City seek help from the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. The Wizard agrees to help them, but first they must kill the Wicked Witch of the West. And this is the story of how they set out to do just that.

Read by Natasha. Duration 28.37.

The soldier with the green whiskers led them through the streets of the Emerald City until they reached the room where the Guardian of the Gates lived. This officer unlocked their spectacles to put them back in his great box, and then he politely opened the gate for our friends.

“Which road leads to the Wicked Witch of the West?” asked Dorothy.

“There is no road,” answered the Guardian of the Gates. “No-one ever wishes to go that way.”

“How, then, are we to find her?” inquired the girl.

“That will be easy,” replied the man, “for when she knows you are in the country of the Winkies she will find you, and make you all her slaves.”

“Perhaps not,” said the Scarecrow, “for we mean to destroy her.”

“Oh, that is different,” said the Guardian of the Gates. “No-one has ever destroyed her before, so I naturally thought she would make slaves of you, as she has of the rest. But take care; for she is wicked and fierce, and may not allow you to destroy her. Keep to the West, where the sun sets, and you cannot fail to find her.”

They thanked him and bade him good-bye, and turned toward the West, walking over fields of soft grass dotted here and there with daisies and buttercups. Dorothy still wore the pretty silk dress she had put on in the palace, but now, to her surprise, she found it was no longer green, but pure white. The ribbon around Toto’s neck had also lost its green color and was as white as Dorothy’s dress.

The Emerald City was soon left far behind. As they advanced the ground became rougher and hillier, for there were no farms or houses in this country of the West, and the ground was untilled.

In the afternoon the sun shone hot in their faces, for there were no trees to offer them shade; so that before night Dorothy and Toto and the Lion were tired, and lay down upon the grass and fell asleep, with the Woodman and the Scarecrow keeping watch.

Now the Wicked Witch of the West had but one eye, yet that was as powerful as a telescope, and could see everywhere. So, as she sat in the door of her castle, she happened to look around and saw Dorothy lying asleep, with her friends all about her. They were a long distance off, but the Wicked Witch was angry to find them in her country; so she blew upon a silver whistle that hung around her neck.

At once there came running to her from all directions a pack of great wolves. They had long legs and fierce eyes and sharp teeth.

“Go to those people,” said the Witch, “and tear them to pieces.”

“Are you not going to make them your slaves?” asked the leader of the wolves.

“No,” she answered, “one is of tin, and one of straw; one is a girl and another a Lion. None of them is fit to work, so you may tear them into small pieces.”

“Very well,” said the wolf, and he dashed away at full speed, followed by the others.

It was lucky the Scarecrow and the Woodman were wide awake and heard the wolves coming.

“This is my fight,” said the Woodman, “so get behind me and I will meet them as they come.”

He seized his axe, which he had made very sharp, and as the leader of the wolves came on the Tin Woodman swung his arm and chopped the wolf’s head from its body, so that it immediately died. As soon as he could raise his axe another wolf came up, and he also fell under the sharp edge of the Tin Woodman’s weapon. There were forty wolves, and forty times a wolf was killed, so that at last they all lay dead in a heap before the Woodman.

Then he put down his axe and sat beside the Scarecrow, who said, “It was a good fight, friend.”

They waited until Dorothy awoke the next morning. The little girl was quite frightened when she saw the great pile of shaggy wolves, but the Tin Woodman told her all. She thanked him for saving them and sat down to breakfast, after which they started again upon their journey.

Now this same morning the Wicked Witch came to the door of her castle and looked out with her one eye that could see far off. She saw all her wolves lying dead, and the strangers still travelling through her country. This made her angrier than before, and she blew her silver whistle twice.

Straightway a great flock of wild crows came flying toward her, enough to darken the sky.

And the Wicked Witch said to the King Crow, “Fly at once to the strangers; peck out their eyes and tear them to pieces.”

The wild crows flew in one great flock toward Dorothy and her companions. When the little girl saw them coming she was afraid.

But the Scarecrow said, “This is my battle, so lie down beside me and you will not be harmed.”

So they all lay upon the ground except the Scarecrow, and he stood up and stretched out his arms. And when the crows saw him they were frightened, as these birds always are by scarecrows, and did not dare to come any nearer. But the King Crow said:

“It is only a stuffed man. I will peck his eyes out.”

The King Crow flew at the Scarecrow, who caught it by the head and twisted its neck until it died. And then another crow flew at him, and the Scarecrow twisted its neck also. There were forty crows, and forty times the Scarecrow twisted a neck, until at last all were lying dead beside him. Then he called to his companions to rise, and again they went upon their journey.

When the Wicked Witch looked out again and saw all her crows lying in a heap, she got into a terrible rage, and blew three times upon her silver whistle.

Forthwith there was heard a great buzzing in the air, and a swarm of black bees came flying toward her.

“Go to the strangers and sting them to death!” commanded the Witch, and the bees turned and flew rapidly until they came to where Dorothy and her friends were walking. But the Woodman had seen them coming, and the Scarecrow had decided what to do.

“Take out my straw and scatter it over the little girl and the dog and the Lion,” he said to the Woodman, “and the bees cannot sting them.” This the Woodman did, and as Dorothy lay close beside the Lion and held Toto in her arms, the straw covered them entirely.

The bees came and found no one but the Woodman to sting, so they flew at him and broke off all their stings against the tin, without hurting the Woodman at all. And as bees cannot live when their stings are broken that was the end of the black bees, and they lay scattered thick about the Woodman, like little heaps of fine coal.

Then Dorothy and the Lion got up, and the girl helped the Tin Woodman put the straw back into the Scarecrow again, until he was as good as ever. So they started upon their journey once more.

The Wicked Witch was so angry when she saw her black bees in little heaps like fine coal that she stamped her foot and tore her hair and gnashed her teeth. And then she called a dozen of her slaves, who were the Winkies, and gave them sharp spears, telling them to go to the strangers and destroy them.

The Winkies were not a brave people, but they had to do as they were told. So they marched away until they came near to Dorothy. Then the Lion gave a great roar and sprang towards them, and the poor Winkies were so frightened that they ran back as fast as they could.

When they returned to the castle the Wicked Witch beat them well with a strap, and sent them back to their work, after which she sat down to think what she should do next. She could not understand how all her plans to destroy these strangers had failed; but she was a powerful Witch, as well as a wicked one, and she soon made up her mind how to act.

There was, in her cupboard, a Golden Cap, with a circle of diamonds and rubies running round it. This Golden Cap had a charm. Whoever owned it could call three times upon the Winged Monkeys, who would obey any order they were given. But no person could command these strange creatures more than three times. Twice already the Wicked Witch had used the charm of the Cap. Once was when she had made the Winkies her slaves, and set herself to rule over their country. The Winged Monkeys had helped her do this. The second time was when she had fought against the Great Oz himself, and driven him out of the land of the West. The Winged Monkeys had also helped her in doing this. Only once more could she use this Golden Cap, for which reason she did not like to do so until all her other powers were exhausted. But now that her fierce wolves and her wild crows and her stinging bees were gone, and her slaves had been scared away by the Cowardly Lion, she saw there was only one way left to destroy Dorothy and her friends.

So the Wicked Witch took the Golden Cap from her cupboard and placed it upon her head. Then she stood upon her left foot and said slowly:

“Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke!”

Next she stood upon her right foot and said:

“Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo!”

After this she stood upon both feet and cried in a loud voice:

“Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!”

Now the charm began to work. The sky was darkened, and a low rumbling sound was heard in the air. There was a rushing of many wings, a great chattering and laughing, and the sun came out of the dark sky to show the Wicked Witch surrounded by a crowd of monkeys, each with a pair of immense and powerful wings on his shoulders.

One, much bigger than the others, seemed to be their leader. He flew close to the Witch and said, “You have called us for the third and last time. What do you command?”

“Go to the strangers who are within my land and destroy them all except the Lion,” said the Wicked Witch. “Bring that beast to me, for I have a mind to harness him like a horse, and make him work.”

“Your commands shall be obeyed,” said the leader. Then, with a great deal of chattering and noise, the Winged Monkeys flew away to the place where Dorothy and her friends were walking.

Some of the Monkeys seized the Tin Woodman and carried him through the air until they were over a country thickly covered with sharp rocks. Here they dropped the poor Woodman, who fell a great distance to the rocks, where he lay so battered and dented that he could neither move nor groan.

Others of the Monkeys caught the Scarecrow, and with their long fingers pulled all of the straw out of his clothes and head. They made his hat and boots and clothes into a small bundle and threw it into the top branches of a tall tree.

The remaining Monkeys threw pieces of stout rope around the Lion and wound many coils about his body and head and legs, until he was unable to bite or scratch or struggle in any way. Then they lifted him up and flew away with him to the Witch’s castle, where he was placed in a small yard with a high iron fence around it, so that he could not escape.

But Dorothy they did not harm at all. She stood, with Toto in her arms, watching the sad fate of her comrades and thinking it would soon be her turn. The leader of the Winged Monkeys flew up to her, his long, hairy arms stretched out and his ugly face grinning terribly; but he saw the mark of the Good Witch’s kiss upon her forehead and stopped short, motioning the others not to touch her.

“We dare not harm this little girl,” he said to them, “for she is protected by the Power of Good, and that is greater than the Power of Evil. All we can do is to carry her to the castle of the Wicked Witch and leave her there.”

So, carefully and gently, they lifted Dorothy in their arms and carried her swiftly through the air until they came to the castle, where they set her down upon the front doorstep. Then the leader said to the Witch:

“We have obeyed you as far as we were able. The Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow are destroyed, and the Lion is tied up in your yard. The little girl we dare not harm, nor the dog she carries in her arms. Your power over our band is now ended, and you will never see us again.”

Then all the Winged Monkeys, with much laughing and chattering and noise, flew into the air and were soon out of sight.

The Wicked Witch was both surprised and worried when she saw the mark on Dorothy’s forehead, for she knew well that neither the Winged Monkeys nor she, herself, dare hurt the girl in any way. She looked down at Dorothy’s feet, and seeing the Silver Shoes, began to tremble with fear, for she knew what a powerful charm belonged to them. At first the Witch was tempted to run away from Dorothy; but she happened to look into the child’s eyes and saw how simple the soul behind them was, and that the little girl did not know of the wonderful power the Silver Shoes gave her. So the Wicked Witch laughed to herself, and thought, “I can still make her my slave, for she does not know how to use her power.” Then she said to Dorothy, harshly and severely:

“Come with me; and see that you mind everything I tell you, for if you do not I will make an end of you, as I did of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow.”

Dorothy followed her through many of the beautiful rooms in her castle until they came to the kitchen, where the Witch bade her clean the pots and kettles and sweep the floor and keep the fire fed with wood.

Dorothy went to work meekly, with her mind made up to work as hard as she could; for she was glad the Wicked Witch had decided not to kill her.

With Dorothy hard at work, the Witch thought she would go into the courtyard and harness the Cowardly Lion like a horse; it would amuse her, she was sure, to make him draw her chariot whenever she wished to go to drive. But as she opened the gate the Lion gave a loud roar and bounded at her so fiercely that the Witch was afraid, and ran out and shut the gate again.

“If I cannot harness you,” said the Witch to the Lion, speaking through the bars of the gate, “I can starve you. You shall have nothing to eat until you do as I wish.”

So after that she took no food to the imprisoned Lion; but every day she came to the gate at noon and asked, “Are you ready to be harnessed like a horse?”

And the Lion would answer, “No. If you come in this yard, I will bite you.”

The reason the Lion did not have to do as the Witch wished was that every night, while the woman was asleep, Dorothy carried him food from the cupboard. After he had eaten he would lie down on his bed of straw, and Dorothy would lie beside him and put her head on his soft, shaggy mane, while they talked of their troubles and tried to plan some way to escape. But they could find no way to get out of the castle, for it was constantly guarded by the yellow Winkies, who were the slaves of the Wicked Witch and too afraid of her not to do as she told them.

The girl had to work hard during the day, and often the Witch threatened to beat her with the same old umbrella she always carried in her hand. But, in truth, she did not dare to strike Dorothy, because of the mark upon her forehead. The child did not know this, and was full of fear for herself and Toto. Once the Witch struck Toto a blow with her umbrella and the brave little dog flew at her and bit her leg in return. The Witch did not bleed where she was bitten, for she was so wicked that the blood in her had dried up many years before.

Dorothy’s life became very sad as she grew to understand that it would be harder than ever to get back to Kansas and Aunt Em again. Sometimes she would cry bitterly for hours, with Toto sitting at her feet and looking into her face, whining dismally to show how sorry he was for his little mistress. Toto did not really care whether he was in Kansas or the Land of Oz so long as Dorothy was with him; but he knew the little girl was unhappy, and that made him unhappy too.

Now the Wicked Witch had a great longing to have for her own the Silver Shoes which the girl always wore. Her bees and her crows and her wolves were lying in heaps and drying up, and she had used up all the power of the Golden Cap; but if she could only get hold of the Silver Shoes, they would give her more power than all the other things she had lost. She watched Dorothy carefully, to see if she ever took off her shoes, thinking she might steal them. But the child was so proud of her pretty shoes that she never took them off except at night and when she took her bath. The Witch was too much afraid of the dark to dare go in Dorothy’s room at night to take the shoes, and her dread of water was greater than her fear of the dark, so she never came near when Dorothy was bathing. Indeed, the old Witch never touched water, nor ever let water touch her in any way.

But the wicked creature was very cunning, and she finally thought of a trick that would give her what she wanted. She placed a bar of iron in the middle of the kitchen floor, and then by her magic arts made the iron invisible to human eyes. So that when Dorothy walked across the floor she stumbled over the bar, not being able to see it, and fell at full length. She was not much hurt, but in her fall one of the Silver Shoes came off; and before she could reach it, the Witch had snatched it away and put it on her own skinny foot.

The wicked woman was greatly pleased with the success of her trick, for as long as she had one of the shoes she owned half the power of their charm, and Dorothy could not use it against her, even had she known how to do so.

The little girl, seeing she had lost one of her pretty shoes, grew angry, and said to the Witch, “Give me back my shoe!”

“I will not,” retorted the Witch, “for it is now my shoe, and not yours.”

“You are a wicked creature!” cried Dorothy. “You have no right to take my shoe from me.”

“I shall keep it, just the same,” said the Witch, laughing at her, “and someday I shall get the other one from you, too.”

This made Dorothy so very angry that she picked up the bucket of water that stood near and dashed it over the Witch, wetting her from head to foot.

Instantly the wicked woman gave a loud cry of fear, and then, as Dorothy looked at her in wonder, the Witch began to shrink and fall away.

“See what you have done!” she screamed. “In a minute I shall melt away.”

“I’m very sorry, indeed,” said Dorothy, who was truly frightened to see the Witch actually melting away like brown sugar before her very eyes.

“Didn’t you know water would be the end of me?” asked the Witch, in a wailing, despairing voice.

“Of course not,” answered Dorothy. “How should I?”

“Well, in a few minutes I shall be all melted, and you will have the castle to yourself. I have been wicked in my day, but I never thought a little girl like you would ever be able to melt me and end my wicked deeds. Look out–here I go!”

With these words the Witch fell down in a brown, melted, shapeless mass and began to spread over the clean boards of the kitchen floor. Seeing that she had really melted away to nothing, Dorothy drew another bucket of water and threw it over the mess. She then swept it all out the door. After picking out the silver shoe, which was all that was left of the old woman, she cleaned and dried it with a cloth, and put it on her foot again. Then, being at last free to do as she chose, she ran out to the courtyard to tell the Lion that the Wicked Witch of the West had come to an end, and that they were no longer prisoners in a strange land.

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This story from Japan shows us that we should respect the old – even an old monkey. It’s about a dancing monkey who has served his master faithfully all his life. Now he is too old to dance, his master wants to get rid of him. The monkey consults a wise old wild boar, who hatches a plan to remind the master of his monkey’s faithful service.

The plot of this story resembles Old Sultan by the Brothers Grimm from Germany – suggesting that there is something universal about a good plot.

Read by Natasha. Duration 7.13. Sponsored by AudibleKids

Long, long ago, there lived in the province of Shinshin in Japan, a traveling monkey-man, who earned his living by taking round a monkey
and showing off the animal’s tricks.

One evening the man came home in a very bad temper and told his wife to send for the butcher the next morning.

The wife was amazed and asked her husband:

“Why do you wish me to send for the butcher?”

“It’s no use taking that monkey round any longer, he’s too old and forgets his tricks. and now he won’t dance properly. I must now sell him to the butcher and make what money out of him I can. There is nothing else to be done.”

The woman felt very sorry for the poor little animal, and pleaded for her husband to spare the monkey, but her pleading was all in
vain, the man was determined to sell him to the butcher.

Now the monkey was in the next room and overheard ever word of the conversation. He soon understood that he was to be killed, and he
said to himself:

“I never knew my master was so cruel and heartless. I have served him faithfully for years, and instead of allowing me to end my days comfortably and in peace, he is going to let me be cut up by the butcher, and my poor body is to be roasted and stewed and eaten? Woe is me! What am I to do. Ah! a bright thought has struck me! There is, I know, a wild boar living in the forest near by. I have often heard tell of
his wisdom. Perhaps if I go to him and tell him abut the trouble I am in he will give me his advice.. I will go and try.”

There was no time to lose. The monkey slipped out of the house and ran as quickly as he could to the forest to find the boar. The boar
was at home, and the monkey began his tale of woe at once.

“Good Mr. Boar, I have heard of your excellent wisdom. I am in great trouble, you alone can help me. I have grown old in the service of
my master, and because I cannot dance properly now he intends to sell me to the butcher. What do you advise me to do? I know how clever you are!”

The boar was pleased at the flattery and determined to help the monkey. He thought for a little while and then said:

“Hasn’t your master a baby?”

“Oh, yes,” said the monkey, “he has one infant son.”

“Doesn’t he lie by the door in the morning when your mistress begins the work of the day? Well, I will come round early and when I see my
opportunity I will seize the child and run off with it.”

“What then?” said the monkey.

“Why the mother will be in a tremendous scare, and before your master and mistress know what to do, you must run after me and
rescue the child and take it home safely to its parents, and you will see that when the butcher comes they won’t have the heart to
sell you.”

The monkey thanked the boar many times and then went home. He did not sleep much that night, as you may imagine, for thinking of the
the following day when the butcher was due to come to the house. His life depended on whether the boar’s plan succeeded or not. He was the first up, waiting anxiously for what was to happen. It seemed to him a very long time before his master’s wife began to move about and open the shutters to let in the light of day. Then all happened as the boar had planned. The mother placed her child near the porch as usual while she tidied up the house and got her breakfast ready.

The child was crooning happily in the morning sunlight, dabbing on the mats at the play of light and shadow. Suddenly there was a noise
in the porch and a loud cry from the child. The mother ran out from the kitchen to the spot, only just in time to see the boar
disappearing through the gate with her child in its clutch. She flung out her hands with a loud cry of despair and rushed into the
inner room where her husband was still sleeping soundly.

He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, and crossly demanded what his wife was making all that noise about. By the time that the man was
awake and they both got outside the gate, the boar had got well away, but they saw the monkey running after the thief as hard as his legs would carry him.

Both the man and wife were amazed to see the monkey chasing the thief. And when he bought the baby back safely to them, they could not stop crying with joy and gratitude.

“There!” said the wife. “This is the animal you want to kill–if the monkey hadn’t been here we should have lost our child forever.”

“You are right, wife,” said the man as he carried the child into the house. “You may send the butcher back when he comes,
and now let us us all have a good breakfast and the monkey too.”

When the butcher arrived he was sent away with an order for some meat for the evening dinner, and the monkey was petted and
lived the rest of his days in peace.

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This exciting story from Japan features a battle between a warrior and a giant centipede. The rewards for bravery in this story are not riches or the hand of a beautiful princess, but a plentiful supply of food. And by the end of the story you will know how the warrior gained his unusual title of “My Lord Bag of Rice.”

Told by Natasha. Duration 19.12

Long, long ago there lived, in Japan a brave warrior known to all as
Tawara Toda, or “My Lord Bag of Rice, ” and there is a very interesting
story of how he received this unusual name.

One day he went out in search of adventures. He buckled on
his two swords, took his huge bow, much taller than himself, in his
hand, and slinging his quiver on his back, started out. He had not
gone far when he came to the bridge of Seta-no-Karashi spanning one
end of a beautiful lake. No sooner had he set foot on the
bridge than he saw lying right across his path a huge serpent-
dragon. Its body was so big that it looked like the trunk of a large
pine tree and it took up the whole width of the bridge. One of its
huge claws rested on the wall of one side of the bridge, while
its tail lay right against the other. The monster seemed to be
asleep, and as it breathed, fire and smoke came out of its nostrils.

At first the warrior could not help feeling revolted at the sight of
this horrible reptile lying in his path, for he must either turn
back or walk right over its body. He was a brave man, however, and
putting aside all fear went forward. Crunch, crunch! he
stepped now on the dragon’s body, now between its coils, and without
even one glance backward he went on his way.

He had only gone a few steps when he heard someone calling him from
behind. On turning back he was much surprised to see that the
monster dragon had entirely disappeared and in its place was a
strange-looking man, who was bowing most ceremoniously to the
ground. His red hair streamed over his shoulders and he wore a crown
in the shape of a dragon’s head, and his sea-green dress was patterned
with shells.

The warrior knew at once that this was no
ordinary mortal and he wondered at what had happened.
Where had the dragon gone in such a short space of time? Or had it
transformed itself into this man, and what did the whole thing mean?
While these thoughts passed through his mind he had come up to the
man on the bridge and now spoke to him:

“Was it you that called me just now?”

“Yes, it was I,” answered the man: “I have an earnest request to
make to you. Do you think you can grant it to me?”

“If it is in my power to do so I will,” answered the warrior, “but
first tell me who you are?”

“I am the Dragon King of the Lake, and my home is in these waters
just under this bridge.”

“And what is it you have to ask of me!” said the warrior

“I want you to kill my mortal enemy the centipede, who lives on the
mountain beyond,” said the Dragon King as he pointed to a high peak on the
opposite shore of the lake.

“I have lived now for many years in this lake and I have a large
family of children and grand-children. For some time past we have
lived in terror, for a monster centipede has discovered our home,
and night after night it comes and carries off one of my family. I
am powerless to save them. If it goes on much longer like this, not
only shall I lose all my children, but I myself must fall a victim
to the monster. I am, therefore, very unhappy, and in my extreme need I
determined to ask the help of a human being. For many days with this
in mind I have waited on the bridge in the shape of the horrible
serpent-dragon that you saw, in the hope that some strong brave man
would come along. But all who came this way, as soon as they saw me
were terrified and ran away as fast as they could. You are the first
man I have found able to look at me without fear, so I knew at once
that you were a man of great courage. I beg you to have pity upon
me. Will you not help me and kill my enemy the centipede?”

The warrior felt very sorry for the Dragon King on hearing his story,
and readily promised to do what he could to help him. He
asked where the centipede lived, so that he might attack the
creature at once. The Dragon King replied that its home was on the
mountain Mikami, but that as it came every night at a certain hour
to the palace of the lake, it would be better to wait till then. So
the warrior went to the palace of the Dragon King, under the
bridge. Strange to say, as he followed his host downwards the waters
parted to let them pass, and his clothes did not even feel damp as
he passed through. Never had he seen anything so
beautiful as this palace built of white marble beneath the lake. He
had often heard of the Sea King’s palace at the bottom of the sea,
where all the servants were salt-water fishes, but
here was a magnificent building in the heart of Lake Biwa. The
dainty goldfishes, red carp, and silvery trout, waited upon the
Dragon King and his guest.

The warrior was astonished at the feast that was spread for him. The
dishes were crystallized lotus leaves and flowers, and the
chopsticks were of the rarest ebony. As soon as they sat down, the
sliding doors opened and ten lovely goldfish dancers came out, and
behind them followed ten red-carp musicians with the koto and the
samisen. Thus the hours flew by till midnight, and the beautiful
music and dancing had banished all thoughts of the centipede. The
Dragon King was about to pledge the warrior in a fresh cup of wine
when the palace was suddenly shaken by a tramp, tramp! as if a
mighty army had begun to march not far away.

The warrior and his host both rose to their feet and rushed to the
balcony, and they saw on the opposite mountain two great
balls of glowing fire coming nearer and nearer. The Dragon King
was trembling with fear.

“The centipede! The centipede! Those two balls of fire are its eyes.
It is coming for its prey! Now is the time to kill it.”

The warrior looked where his host pointed, and, in the dim light of the
starlit evening, behind the two balls of fire he saw the long body
of an enormous centipede winding round the mountains, and the light
in its hundred feet glowed like so many distant lanterns moving
slowly towards the shore.

He showed not the least sign of fear. He tried to calm the
Dragon King.

“Don’t be afraid. I shall surely kill the centipede. Just bring me
my bow and arrows.”

The Dragon King did as he was bid, and the warrior noticed that he
had only three arrows left in his quiver. He took the bow, and
fitting an arrow to the notch, took careful aim and let fly.

The arrow hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but
it glanced off it harmless and fell to the ground.

The warrior took his second arrow, fitted it to the notch
of the bow and let fly. Again the arrow hit the mark, it struck the
centipede right in the middle of its head, only to glance off and
fall to the ground. The centipede was invulnerable to weapons! When
the Dragon King saw that even this brave warrior’s arrows were
powerless to kill the centipede, he lost heart and began to tremble
with fear.

The warrior saw that he had now only one arrow left in his quiver,
and if this one failed he could not kill the centipede. He looked
across the waters. The huge reptile had wound its horrid body seven
times round the mountain and would soon come down to the lake.
Nearer and nearer gleamed fireballs of eyes, and the light of its
hundred feet began to throw reflections in the still waters of the
lake.

Then suddenly the warrior remembered that he had heard that human
saliva was deadly to centipedes. But this was no ordinary centipede.
This was so monstrous that even to think of such a creature made one
creep with horror. He determined to try his last chance. So
taking his last arrow and first putting the end of it in his mouth,
he fitted the notch to his bow, took careful aim once more and let
fly.

This time the arrow again hit the centipede right in the middle of
its head, but instead of glancing off harmlessly as before, it
struck home and sunk into the creature. Then with a convulsive shudder
the serpentine body stopped moving, and the fiery light of its great
eyes and hundred feet darkened to a dull glare like the sunset of a
stormy day, and then went out in blackness. A great darkness now
overspread the heavens, the thunder rolled and the lightning
flashed, and the wind roared in fury, and it seemed as if the world
were coming to an end. The Dragon King and his children and
retainers all crouched in different parts of the palace, frightened
to death, for the building was shaken to its foundation. At last the
dreadful night was over. Day dawned beautiful and clear. The
centipede was gone from the mountain.

Then the warrior called to the Dragon King to come out with him on the
balcony, for the centipede was dead and he had nothing more to fear.

All the inhabitants of the palace came out with joy, and
he pointed to the lake. There lay the body of the dead
centipede floating on the water, which was dyed red with its blood.

The gratitude of the Dragon King knew no bounds. The whole family
came and bowed down before the warrior, calling him their preserver
and the bravest warrior in all Japan.

Another feast was prepared, more sumptuous than the first. All kinds
of fish, prepared in every imaginable way, raw, stewed, boiled and
roasted, served on coral trays and crystal dishes, were put before
him, and the wine was the best that he had ever tasted in his
life. To add to the beauty of everything the sun shone brightly, the
lake glittered like a liquid diamond, and the palace was a thousand
times more beautiful by day than by night.

His host tried to persuade the warrior to stay a few days, but
he insisted on going home, saying that he had now finished
what he had come to do, and must return. The Dragon King and his
family were all very sorry to have him leave so soon, but since he
would go they begged him to accept a few small presents (so they
said) in token of their gratitude to him for delivering them forever
from their horrible enemy the centipede.

As the warrior stood in the porch taking leave, a train of fish was
suddenly transformed into a retinue of men, all wearing ceremonial
robes and dragon’s crowns on their heads to show that they were
servants of the great Dragon King. The presents that they carried
were as follows:

First, a large bronze bell.
Second, a bag of rice.
Third, a roll of silk.
Fourth, a cooking pot.
Fifth, a bell.

The warrior did not want to accept all these presents, but as the
Dragon King insisted, he could not well refuse.

The Dragon King himself accompanied the warrior as far as the
bridge, and then took leave of him with many bows and good wishes,
leaving the procession of servants to accompany Hidesato to his
house with the presents.

The warrior’s household and servants had been very much concerned
when they found that he did not return the night before, but they
finally concluded that he had been kept by the violent storm and had
taken shelter somewhere. When the servants on the watch for his
return caught sight of him they called to every one that he was
approaching, and the whole household turned out to meet him,
wondering much what the retinue of men, bearing presents and
banners, that followed him, could mean.

As soon as the Dragon King’s retainers had put down the presents
they vanished, and the warrior told all that had happened to him.

The presents which he had received from the grateful Dragon King
were found to be of magic power. The bell only was ordinary, and as
the warrior had no use for it he presented it to the temple near by,
where it was hung up, to boom out the hour of day over the
surrounding neighborhood.

But as for he single bag of rice, however much was taken from it day after day
for the meals of the warrior and his whole family, it never grew less–
the supply in the bag was inexhaustible.

The roll of silk, too, never grew shorter, though time after time
long pieces were cut off to make the warrior a new suit of clothes
to go to Court in at the New Year.

The cooking pot was wonderful, too. No matter what was put into it,
it cooked deliciously whatever was wanted without any firing–truly
a very economical saucepan.

The fame of the warrior’s fortune spread far and wide, and as there was
no need for him to spend money on rice or silk or firing, he became
very rich and prosperous, and was henceforth known as My Lord Bag of
Rice.

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This story is not quite as scary as its title, but it is certainly a little darker than some of our tales. It is a powerful fable about a man who boasted too much, and was cured of his pride by a brush with death.

Bertie would like to thankAdem from Turkey for suggesting this story. Adem works in a primary school in a small village, and he and the students in his class are Storynory listeners.

As several people have pointed out in the comments below, this story is a little fanciful, and its authenticity as a genuine piece of Turkish folklore is in doubt. The real Dede Korkut was an author of epic tales from the 15th C. See Wikipedia.

We’ve closed the comments on this story, as Bertie has simply got bored of replying to the same people making the same points over and over again.

Read by Natasha. Adapted by Bertie. Duration 11.10

There was once a great warrior called Dede Korkut. He and his men swept across the earth conquering lands far and wide, and as his power and wealth grew, so did his pride. He began to believe that he was invincible, and perhaps even immortal. After one particularly great victory in battle, he held a feast in his palace for seven days and seven nights on end. And on the seventh night he called for the music and dancing to cease, and he made the following speech.

“Men. We have conquered all before us. There is no force on earth that can hold us back. We are the greatest army that has ever lived and fought. I challenge all creation to stand and fight us, and still we shall prevail, so long as I, Dede Korkut, am your leader. ”

And when the leader had finished speaking, there was cheering and uproar throughout the palace and the celebrations continued among great merriment and rejoicing.

But God was also listening to the proud speech of Dede Korkut. And He was displeased at his arrogance and boasting. And so God ordered Az’rail, his Angel of Death, to visit Dede Korkut and to take his soul.

Az’rail flew into the palace and stood on the table in front of where Dede Korkut was feasting. The leader looked up at the intruder and said:

“Dark Warrior, who are you to stand before me so insolently?”

And Az’rail replied: “I am not one to answer questions from the likes of you, for I am here to punish your arrogance and boasting”.

Dede Korkut was far from used to hearing such defiance and rude words directed at him. He was filled with rage and jumped up onto the table meaning to cut off the head of the dark stranger. But before he could do so, Az’rail changed into the form of a bird and flew out of the window.

Dede Korkut rushed to the stables and ordered his horse to be saddled immediately. Soon he was charging out of the palace in pursuit of the angel. First he saw him in the moonlight standing on the highest tower of the palace, then he too saw him take off with a wingspan far greater than any bird he had seen before. He charged after him, firing arrows and hurling javelins into the sky, but none came near the dark bird. He pursued him out of the city and into the forest. Deeper and deeper into the forest he went, following the terrible screeches and cries of the bird, when suddenly the angel appeared before him.

“At last you’re mine ” Dede Korkut, meaning to run him through with his lance. ”

“No, you are mine,” said the figure before him. “For I am Azra’il the Angel of Death and I have come for your soul. You boasted that you were immortal and invincible. Now the moment of your death has come, oh arrogant one.”

At these words, Dede Korkut  threw himself on the ground before the angel and said.

“Now that I look death in the face, I understand the arrogance of my life. But I beseech you, kind Angel, spare me. Give back to me the remaining years of my youth and strength, and I swear that through my words and my deeds I will prove that I have learned my lesson. ”

And the Angel replied: “I do not decide such things. I am but a messenger from the Almighty. ”

And Dede Korkut cried out: “Then get out of my way and stop wasting my time. ” And he fell on the ground and began to pray to God”

“Forgive my boasting oh Lord of All Creation and give me another chance”.

And God heard his words and was pleased, and He ordered the Angel to spare Dede Korkut his life, on condition that he could find another who was ready of his own free will to give up his own life for that of Dede Korkut’s.

Dede Korkut rode back to the palace a changed man. He felt sure that all he had to do was to ask his father to take his place in death, for he was an old man, and had never refused his son anything. But when he came before his father and gave him his request, his father replied.

“My son. I have struggled all my life so that I can enjoy my old age. I am sorry, but I am not ready to die in your place.”

And Dede Kokut was surprised and disappointed, but he thought that surely his mother would not refuse him anything. But when he asked her she said”

“Oh my son ! I have already given my life to you many times, when I gave birth to you, when I fed you with my own milk, when I took care of you. Now the rest of my life belongs at your father’s side, as company for his old age”.

And the young warrior was disappointed and distraught. He returned to his chamber and prepared to die. But when his young and beautiful wife saw him, she asked what troubled him and he said:

“Beloved. The Angel of Death is about to take my life unless I can find someone willing to die in my place. And yet it seems that even my parents, who previously have never refused me anything are not willing to do this for me. And so I have no escape. I must bid you farewell for I am about to die.”

And when she heard these words his wife replied.

“Look no further. Why did you not ask me? I love you so much that I will gladly give what even your own father and mother have refused. Take my life so that yours can be spared.”

And when the warrior heard those of true and unblenching love, tears came to his eyes. He fell on his knees and prayed to God again saying”

“Great Lord. Forgive me. Take my life and spare that of my wife, for she has faced death more calmly and bravely than I.”

And God was again pleased to hear those words, and he decided to spare both Dede Korkut and his wife, and they lived a long and blessed life and there was peace and prosperity throughout his lands.

And God wrote on the palms of the Angel of Death, in letters of light.

“In the Name of God, Most Merciful and Beneficent” and he ordered the angel that whenever he must take the soul of one of the faithful, he must show to him those letters so that his soul might come out of his body and return to its maker.

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We present the classic story with music by Tchaikovsky from his famous ballet.

Clara and Fritz have a very special godfather who makes inventions out of clockwork  (or perhaps they are magical) and his Christmas presents are always amazing and wonderful.  This year he gives them something rather small and simple -  a nutcracker-doll in the form of a soldier.  It’s rather ugly, and soon it is broken, but Clara loves it all the same. And then it comes to life and proves himself to be a true hero.

The original book in German, “The Nutcracker and the Mouse King” was by ETA Hoffmann, who wrote it in 1816.   This is our own Storynory adaptation, with music and magic.

Read by Natasha.   Duration 28 minutes.

It was the night before Christmas.  Clarla and Fritz were sitting  by the door of the kitchen.  Their cheeks were red after throwing snowballs outside in the cold air.   Their eyes shone brighter than the candles on the Christmas tree.  They were chattering very excitedly about something.

And what were two children so excited about on Christmas Eve? You don’t have to be a genius to guess the answer to that question.  For they were talking about -

Presents.

And the presents for Clara and Fritz were wrapped up and waiting for them  on the kitchen table, just on the other side of the door.  But the children were forbidden to go through the door until it was time.  Time for presents.  And as they couldn’t see the presents, they talked about them instead.

“I bet, ” said Fritz, “That this year, Godfather Drosselmeyer has made a two entire armies of clockwork soldiers – thousands and thousands of them -  Cavalry, and infantry, and artillery – and they’ll go to war with each other and fire cannons and guns like this  BAAAMMMMM !  It is will be just like a Real Battle !”

“Oh NO! ” said Clara.  “I do hope he’s made something more pretty than that.  I think he’s made a toy theatre, with an orchestra that plays, and ballerinas  who look like swans and dance on their tip-toes. In fact, Godfather Drosselmeyer has told me himself that he had been to see the Russian dancers – and that they were the most marvellous thing he had ever seen – and that’s why I think he’s making a magic theatre for us.”

“You’re such a silly nincompoop sometimes,” said Fritz.  “Godfather Drosselmeyer doesn’t do magic.  He makes clockwork that you can wind up.”

“Oh yes he does do magic,” said Clara.  “And in any case, you’re the silly nincompoop – so there.”

And  the children chattered on, until at last the door bell rang to announce that Godfather Drosselmeyer himself had arrived at the house. The children rushed to meet him in the hall.

“Oh Godfather  do please come into the kitchen so we can open our presents,” begged Clara.

He was a funny-looking man, who wore a wig that sometimes slid half off his head.  He had a faint mustache that had never grown very bushy, and his left eye was usually half closed.  His hands and fingers were very tiny, but he was ever so clever with them – for Fritz was right; Godfather Drosselmeyer was a watch and clock maker and one of the cleverest who ever lived.  But then perhaps Clara was right too.  Maybe, just maybe he also could do a little magic.  But in any case, his presents were always amazing and wonderful.

It took a while to gather the whole family including parents, children, aunts, uncles and godparents.  But at last it was time to open the presents. Sweets, dolls,and tin soldiers all  emerged out of the wrapping, and even a Sultan’s palace beautifully carved and painted.  They were exciting, lovely presents – and  at last they were all opened – except that they hadn’t yet found a gift from Godfather Drosselmeyer.   Clara understood that he was keeping back an extra special surprise for them, but Fritz thought that their godfather such a strange man, that perhaps he had forgotten all about Christmas this year.  Both children were too polite to ask – but Clara gave her Godfather a gift of her own – a picture of a sugar-plum fairy that she painted herself. The old man was clearly delighted with it,  he said.

“And what have I got for dear Clara and Fritz this year?  Ah yes, I remember now. It’s here in my waistcoat pocket.”

And he pulled out a very small present – no longer than his hand.  “Which one of you two wants to open it this year?”

Fritz saw how small the present was and said : “Let Clara open it.  She’s so excited about it because she’s still a baby.”

And Clara took the present and felt it.    Yes here was its head – a little on the large size,   and here were its legs. She smiled and said:

“It’s a doll.   I bet it dances.”

And she carefully unwrapped it.

But it wasn’t just a doll.   It was a nutcracker – painted to look like a soldier.  The handles were legs, in bright red trousers, and with feet in shiny boots,  and the part where you put the nuts to crack them looked like an oversized head with giant jaws. On top of its head it wore a tall fury hat.  To tell you the truth, it was rather ugly.

“Why thank you,” said Clara.

“You’re not disappointed are you?” asked Godfather Drosselmeyer.

“No,” she said. “I love the nutcracker-soldier because he’s funny.” And she gave her godfather a hug and a kiss.

But Fritz did not like the nutcracker-soldier at all.  He thought it was useless. Well almost, you could use it to crack nuts – and after dinner that’s what they did.  Clara and Fritz sat under the Christmas tree and cracked walnuts in the mouth of the soldier.

Clara wasn’t quite strong enough to break the shells, but Fritz found it easy.  Until he tried to break open an extra hard nut.  He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed  until eventually – the nutcracker broke.  One of its jaws came off, leaving the poor solider with half a mouth.

“Oh no!” squealed Clara. “Why did you do that?”  And she grabbed the nutcracker and the broken-off piece its jaw and ran off to find their mother.

But what could her mother do? All she could do was to hug Clara and promise that Godfather Drosselmeyer would make the nutcracker as good as new in the morning.   It was funny, but now that the nutcracker-soldier was damaged,  Clara felt sorry for it, and even though it had an ugly face, she began to love it as much as if it were the most beautiful doll in the world.

And when Clara went to  lay it  under the Christmas tree,  she felt so sad that she lay down and held the broken solider closely to her.  She cried a little, and soon she fell asleep among the presents.  And if you came into the room just then, you might have thought that Clara herself was a big doll, like the others flopped under the tree.

At midnight, the 12 chimes of the grandfather clock roused Clara from her sleep.   She sat up and wondered for a  where she was.  And as she looked up she saw Godfather Drosselmeyer sitting on the very top of the tree in the place of the angel.

“Godfather !  What are you doing up there? ” she said.

But he did not answer, because he was just a doll.

And then she saw the nutcracker.  Oh, how sad it looked, lying there with a piece missing.  But then the nutcracker-soldier turned over… and it smiled at her with its broken face.

She screamed and started to run for the door.  But she had only taken a few steps when she saw that the whole floor in front of her was covered with mice  -  only they weren’t ordinary mice because they were dressed as soldiers and they had swords and rifles.   Out in front they were lead by a terrible rodent with seven heads, each with a golden crown on it.

I think that anyone can get a fright from a mouse – they are so small and squeaky, but at the same time they appear out of holes and cracks so suddenly that they catch us by surprise.  But an army of mice!  And a Seven-headed Mouse-King.  This was a terrible sight indeed !  Perhaps I don’t need to tell you that Clara let out a scream !

But before she could scream, or cry , or run,  the Nutcracker Doll rushed forward followed by his own army of dolls and tin soldiers, and the battle between the toys and the mice broke out all around Clara’s feet.   The mice squeaked and guns and cannons fired on both sides.  Clara wondered why the whole family was not awoken by the noise.  Toys and mice lay wounded on all sides, and the nutcracker was fighting  with the Mouse King.  The Mouse King was biting the nutcracker with his seven heads, but the nutracker fought on – if only he was not broken he could have caught the Mouse King in his jaws, but as it was, all he could do was to dance, jump, and kick with his long legs.   He was winning the fight with the King, but losing the battle, for he was surrounded by mice solders who caught him by the feet and started to drag him away.

“Oh no you don’t !” screamed Clara, “and she took off her shoe and threw it as hard as she could at the Mouse King.  She just missed him, but he took fright and started to run.   When the army of mice saw their king running from a giant girl and her flying shoes they turned and fled in terror. In a moment they had vanished into the cracks between the floor boards, leaving their prisoner, the nutcracker, behind them.  All the toys cheered and began to dance, until at least, when the first light came through the window they crept back into the toy box, or went back to sleep under the Christmas tree.

And Clara pulled herself back to her own room and fell into a deep sleep.

She awoke late on Christmas Morning. When she went downstairs, she found Godfather Drosselmeyer. He had already fixed the nutcracker doll so that he was as good as new …

“Thank you so much dear Godfather,” said Clara. “He’s the best present I ever had.”  And then she told him all about her strange dream.

And her Godfather put his head on one side, while he listened to her dream, and when she had finished telling him, he said.

“Interesting. Very interesting indeed. Your dream reminds me of a story.  Let me tell it too you now”

And this is the story that he told Clara.

One Christmas some bad mice crept into the Royal Palace and gobbled up all the sausage meat that was meant for the King’s special Christmas lunch.  The king was furious, and he summoned his special inventor – whose name was Drosselmeyer and who made many wonderful things.   He ordered him to make some mousetraps – which he did – and these were left in the palace kitchens.  Soon they had caught lots of mice.   The Queen of the Mice was furious – for the mice that lay in the traps were her children. A  She climbed up onto the Human Queen’s dressing room table, and just as the Queen was going to bed, the Queen Mouse said:

“So you dared to kill my children did you?   Well I’ll have my revenge, I will.   I’ll make your little Princess turn quite ugly”

The Queen screamed, and her guards rushed in to the room with drawn swords – but the Mouse Queen had disappeared behind the skirting board.

It so happened that the King and Queen had a beautiful daughter called Princess Pirlpat.  When The king heard about the threats of the Mouse-Queen, he ordered bed of the princess must be guarded by seven fierce cats so that no mouse could get near her.  But even cats must sleep. And when they were curled up and purring softly, the Queen Mouse crept past them and climbed up on to the end of Princess Pirlpat’s cot. There she said an evil magic spell, and in the morning, when she looked in the mirror, she saw that her face had been turned quite, quite ugly.  Her nose was long and had a wart on the end of it,  her eyes were small and squinty, her hair was standing up on end and would not settle down,  she had spots on her chin.  In fact, she wasn’t just ugly. She was hideous.

As you can imagine, the Queen was utterly distraught – and the King, well he was beside himself.  He summoned Drosselmeyer again and gave him just four weeks to find a cure for the princesse’s ugliness – or else.

But Drosselmeyer was an inventor, not a magician.  He did not know any spells or anti-spells.  He did not know what to do, and so he asked the Court Astrologer for his advice.  And the advice he received was that Princess Pirlpat must eat a nut called a Crakatook.  But first the Nut must be cracked by a boy who had never shaved,  and he must do it without opening his eyes, and then he must take seven steps backwards without stumbling.

Well Drosselmeyer searched the land for a Crakatook nut, and eventually, after almost four weeks were up, he found one in a small shop. He brought it before the King.

“This nut sire, ” he said, “is the cure for your daughter’s ugliness.  She must eat it.  But first the nut must be cracked by a boy who has never shaved, and he must do it with his eyes closed, and then he must take seven steps backwards without stumbling”.

The King was pleased that the cure for his daughter was so straight forward.  He made a law that that any boy who fulfilled the conditions and cured his daughter of ugliness would have the hand in marriage of the princess.

And many boys came to the palace and tried to crack the nut.  But not one could succeed.

Until one day, Drosselmeyer’s own nephew was visiting his uncle in the palace.  His face was still smooth, he had not quite reached the age when he needed to shave, and his uncle asked if he would like to try his hand at cracking the nut.

And the nephew held the nut between his teeth. And he closed his eyes.  And he cracked it. Then he took seven steps backwards, and on the seventh step — he stumbled.

And although Princess Pirlpat was cured of her ugliness, and was beautiful once more- Drosselmeyer’s nephew caught the spell – and his face became ugly.   In place of his nice kind mouth, he wore a stupid grin, and his smooth cheeks grew a white curly beard.  And his head grew too large for his shoulders. And he looked not only ugly, but stupid too.

And although the King had promised that his daughter would marry the boy who cured her,  his daughter refused to marry one who was so ugly.  And the king had to agree that it would not be proper for the princess to marry such an ugly, stupid-looking boy.

And as Drosselmeyer’s nephew went home, people pointed and laughed at him.  His teacher said he could no longer come to school because he looked so stupid.  And so he stayed at home, all alone.

And that was the story that Godfather Drosselmeyer told to Clara. And she thanked her Godfather for telling her such an interesting story, but she had to admit that it had made her feel rather sad.

That night Clara was thinking about the strange tale, and she could not fall asleep.  After a long while of laying awake, she heard a voice whispering in her ear.

It was the mouse king who had come back. And he said to her:

“Feed me your sweets, or I will bite off the head of your precious nutcracker, and I will spit it out where nobody will find it again, not even your ingenious godfather.”

And Clara was so afraid for the nutcracker that she got up and found some sweets for the Mouse king.  He gobbled them up with this seven heads in an instance, and then he demanded more. And she went down the the pantry and found some cake – and he ate all of that too – and the Christmas pudding – and the newly baked biscuits.  And still he wanted more.

“How much more shall I give you?” Asked Clara.  And the Mouse King said:

“It is for me to say when to stop.  Give me more. More I say !”

And Clara began to cry – for what would her mother say in the morning when she found that all the sweets, cake and biscuits in the house had been eaten?

And as she was crying, the Nutcracker came striding into the room.  The Mouse king turned round and said:

“Prepare to die oh Ugly One ” but the Nutcracker bit off each of the Mouse King’s seven heads.  And soon he lay dead.

And when he had defeated his enemy, Clara picked up her hero and took him back to her room.  And instead of going to sleep they watched a wonderful show.  Toys came out to dance and sing for them all night long.  Never before had Clara seen such a lovely performance.

In the morning she could not wait to tell her mother all about what she had seen.

But when she began to explain about the seven headed mouse king and the brave little nutcracker, her mother said, “Clara – your imagination is running wild.  Don’t you realise that what you saw is just a dream?”

“But look mother,” said Clara reaching into her pocket, “Here are the seven crowns of the mouse king that the nutcracker defeated !”

“Just toys !” said her mother. “stop being silly.  Can’t you see I’m busy.”

And so Clara went into the nursery and sat down and cried.

“It is true, it is true,” she said.  “And if the nutcracker was a person, not just a, well, a nutcracker, then I would love him and marry him even if he was ugly.  I would not be like that Princess Pirlpat in the story.  I would love a boy for his good heart – not for his handsome face.”

And as she said that, she heard the doorbell, followed by her Godfather’s voice in the hall.  She went to see him and to tell him what she was thinking.

But there was no need. For Godfather Drosselmeyer had come with his nephew.  And his nephew was no longer ugly – but handsome and bright eyed and smiling.

For when Clara had promised to marry an ugly but good boy, she had broken the spell.  And he had regained his looks of old.   And they both knew that one day they would be married to each other and live happily ever after.

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This delightful tale comes from Korea. It tells the story of Shimchung, who loved her blind father so much that she was willing to sacrifice all for him. We love the delicate Eastern images – the lotus blossom in particular – and we hope you will too.

Bertie has adapted our text from various versions – and you can read more about the background to this traditional story here.

Read by Natasha. Duration 14.15

Many years ago there lived a poor blind man called Shim. He and his wife were childless, and never a day went past when the couple did not pray to the spirits for the blessing of a child. It was only after many years that their prayers were granted, and Shim’s wife gave birth to a beautiful daughter whom they named Shimchong. But sadly, the mother died soon after giving birth, and poor blind Shim was left to bring up the child alone, and as best he could.

The years went by, and Shimchong grew into a beautiful young woman, devoted to her father.

One day, Old Man Shim was walking out alone when he fell into a deep ditch that brought water to the fields. Every time he tried to scramble out, he slid back again into the mud. He had started to think that he would die in that ditch, and he was bemoaning his fate when he heard a voice speak to him from above.

“Old man,” said the voice, “We have heard you complain many times about your blindness. If you will give 300 sacks of rice to the temple as an offering to Lord Buddha, then we monks will pray for you to be able to see once again.”

The old man cried out: “Good monks ! Only save me now and return me safely to my daughter, and I will gladly offer you whatever you ask to give to Lord Buddha!”

And no sooner had he spoken, than he felt gentle but firm hands lift him up and out of the ditch – to the blind old man it seemed that those hands had reached down from heaven itself.

Shim was so grateful for his rescue that he thanked the monks again and again, and swore that he would bring the 300 sacks of rice to the temple.

It was not until later, when he was already home and dry, that he realised that he had no chance of keeping his promise to the monks.

“Oh Shimchong,” he said to his daughter, “What shall I do? We are so poor that I could not offer three bowls of rice, let alone 300 sacks? Now what a terrible fate will befall us? For I have offended Lord Buddha himself !”

And father and daughter both began to weep, for neither of them could think of any way to pay their debt to the temple.

That night, as Shimchong lay awake, unable to sleep, her mother appeared to her and said:

“Go down to the harbour tomorrow. There you will find a merchant looking for a young girl. Go with him, and he will provide the 300 sacks of rice.”

And it so happened that the Dragon King of the East Sea was angry with a rich merchant, and he had sent storms to sink the merchant’s ships on the way to China. After losing ship after ship in this way, the merchant had consulted the high priest of the Dragon King’s temple, and he told the merchant that he must take a beautiful young maiden out to sea and sacrifice her to the Dragon King.

The merchant offered a great quantity of gold to any family that would give up their daughter to the Dragon King of the East Sea – but none would enter into such a terrible deal. And then Shimchong appeared at the harbour, and she went to the merchant and offered herself in return for 300 sacks of rice to be sent to her father. The merchant could not believe his luck. 300 sacks of rice was nothing to him – a low price indeed !

And although the merchant sent 300 sacks of rice to the temple, and although the monks did indeed pray for the return Old Man Shim’s sight, nothing happened. And now not only was he poor and blind, but he had lost his daughter too – and he was utterly alone.

Shimchong borded the merchant’s ship, and the ship put out to sea. At first the waters were calm, but then the Dragon King began to thrash his tail and the waves started to toss the ship to and fro.

The merchant told Shimchong to put on her bright coloured wedding dress, and then he brought her out of the hold and up onto the deck. Shimchong quietly said a prayer, and then leapt over the side of the ship and into the waves. As soon as she had disappeared the violent sea grew calm again. The sailors wept because they had never seen a girl at once so beautiful and so brave.

Shimchong sank deeper and deeper into the icy cold sea. And when she opened her eyes she was surrounded by bright fish of every colour and shape, and they lead her to the palace of the Dragon King of the East Sea. And there she lived, happily at first. But it was not long before she began to miss her father deeply, and she began to look sad, and sometimes there were tears in her eyes.

At last, the Dragon King could no longer bear to see the lovely girl looking so sad. Her devotion to her father touched his heart. And as a reward for her goodness, he sent her back to the world above, only first he transformed her into a lotus flower.

A fisherman found the giant lotus blossom in the mouth of a river, and he was so overcome by its beauty, that he decided to make it a gift to the king of the land above. His queen had recently died, and he was in deep mourning. When he saw the flower, his eyes lit up in wonder. He thanked the fisherman with gold, and set the flower up in his room, and every time he felt sad, he stood and looked at it, admiring its beauty.

What he did not know was that each night, when the palace was asleep, Shimchong would come out of the blossom and walk through the many beautiful chambers and halls, and at first light, she would merge back into the flower.

One night, the King could not sleep, and he got out of bed and drew the blinds to let the moonlight into his room. He turned around and was amazed to see the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld.

“Who are you?” he said, “Are you a spirit?”

The girl tried to merge back into the lotus blossom, but it had vanished.

She could not say who she was, for surely the King would not believe her story. But the King could not help but fall in love with her, and she was moved that so powerful a man could be so gentle and so sincere.

Not long after, they were married, and on their wedding day he said to her:

“My blossom. Now you are my Queen. Anything you wish, I shall grant. All you have to do is tell me your desire.”

And Shimchong replied:

“There is only one thing I wish for. Let there be a great banquet to celebrate our marriage, and may all the blind men of the Kingdom be invited to dine with us.”

His bride’s wish was strange and unexpected, but the King gladly granted it. And they held a banquet, and blind beggar men came from all four corners of the land to feast at the table of the King. And the new Queen watched from behind the silk curtains, hoping to catch sight of her father. But though hundreds and hundreds of blind men came into the banqueting hall – not one was her father.

And the Queen had given up all hope of seeing him .

“He must have died of grief when I went away,” she thought sadly to herself.

But one of the King’s kindest and most faithful stewards called out: “Do not close the doors for there is one more beggar for the banquet.”

And an old man entered the hall, leaning on one shoulder of the steward. His clothes were ragged, he was covered with dust from the journey, and he was so weak he could hardly walk.

Shimchong came out from behind the curtain and held his hand.

“Father,” she said, “It is I.”

And when the old man heard that familiar and much loved voice of his daughter – he opened his eyes.

And that was the story of the Blind Man’s Daughter.

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This amusing yarn has lots of tears in it, but all the same, it will make you laugh. It’s about a man who goes in search of three people even more silly than his fiance and her parents. And he soon finds them ! If you want to find out how to get a cow onto your roof to eat grass up there, or how an alternative way to get into your trousers in the morning, listen on !

Read By Natasha. English Traditional Story Collected by Joseph Jacobs. Duration 11.08

Once upon a time there was a farmer and his wife who had one daughter, and she was courted by a gentleman. Every evening he used to come and see her, and stop to supper at the farmhouse, and the daughter used to be sent down into the cellar to fetch the beer for supper. So one evening she had gone down to fetch the beer, and she happened to look up at the ceiling while she was fetching, and she saw a axe stuck in one of the beams. It must have been there a long, long time, but somehow or other she had never noticed it before, and she began a- thinking. And she thought it was very dangerous to have that axe there, for she said to herself: “Suppose him and me was to be married, and we was to have a son, and he was to grow up to be a man, and come down into the cellar to fetch the beer, like as I’m doing now, and the axe was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!” And she put down the candle and the jug, and sat herself down and began a-crying.

Well, they began to wonder upstairs how it was that she was so long fetching the beer, and her mother went down to see after her, and she found her sitting on the settle crying, and the beer running over the floor. “Why, whatever is the matter?” said her mother. “Oh, mother!” says she, “look at that horrid axe! Suppose we was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down to the cellar to fetch the beer, and the axe was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!” “Dear, dear! what a dreadful thing it would be!” said the mother, and she sat her down aside of the daughter and started a-crying too. Then after a bit the father began to wonder that they didn’t come back, and he went down into the cellar to look after them himself, and there they two sat a- crying, and the beer running all over the floor. “Whatever is the matter?” says he. “Why,” says the mother, “look at that horrid axe. Just suppose, if our daughter and her sweetheart was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to fetch the beer, and the axe was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!” “Dear, dear, dear! so it would!” said the father, and he sat himself down aside of the other two, and started a-crying.

Now the gentleman got tired of stopping up in the kitchen by himself, and at last he went down into the cellar too, to see what they were after; and there they three sat a-crying side by side, and the beer running all over the floor. And he ran straight and turned the tap. Then he said: “Whatever are you three doing, sitting there crying, and letting the beer run all over the floor?”

“Oh!” says the father, “look at that horrid axe! Suppose you and our daughter was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to fetch the beer, and the axe was to fall on his head and kill him!” And then they all started a-crying worse than before. But the gentleman burst out a- laughing, and reached up and pulled out the axe, and then he said: “I’ve travelled many miles, and I never met three such big sillies as you three before; and now I shall start out on my travels again, and when I can find three bigger sillies than you three, then I’ll come back and marry your daughter.” So he wished them good-bye, and started off on his travels, and left them all crying because the girl had lost her sweetheart.

Well, he set out, and he travelled a long way, and at last he came to a woman’s cottage that had some grass growing on the roof. And the woman was trying to get her cow to go up a ladder to the grass, and the poor thing durst not go. So the gentleman asked the woman what she was doing. “Why, lookye,” she said, “look at all that beautiful grass. I’m going to get the cow on to the roof to eat it. She’ll be quite safe, for I shall tie a string round her neck, and pass it down the chimney, and tie it to my wrist as I go about the house, so she can’t fall off without my knowing it.” “Oh, you poor silly!” said the gentleman, “you should cut the grass and throw it down to the cow!” But the woman thought it was easier to get the cow up the ladder than to get the grass down, so she pushed her and coaxed her and got her up, and tied a string round her neck, and passed it down the chimney, and fastened it to her own wrist. And the gentleman went on his way, but he hadn’t gone far when the cow tumbled off the roof, pulling the string behind her. And the weight of the cow tied to her wrist pulled the woman up the chimney, and she stuck fast half-way and was smothered in the soot.

Well, that was one big silly.

And the gentleman went on and on, and he went to an inn to stop the night, and they were so full at the inn that they had to put him in a double-bedded room, and another traveller was to sleep in the other bed. The other man was a very pleasant fellow, and they got very friendly together; but in the morning, when they were both getting up, the gentleman was surprised to see the other hang his trousers between the two beds and run across the room and try to jump into them, and he tried over and over again, and couldn’t manage it; and the gentleman wondered whatever he was doing it for. At last he stopped and wiped his face with his handkerchief. “Oh dear,” he says, “I do think trousers are the most awkwardest kind of clothes that ever were. I can’t think who could have invented such things. It takes me the best part of an hour to get into mine every morning, and I get so hot! How do you manage yours?” So the gentleman burst out a-laughing, and showed him how to put them on; and he was very much obliged to him, and said he never should have thought of doing it that way.

So that was another big silly.

Then the gentleman went on his travels again; and he came to a village, and outside the village there was a pond, and round the pond was a crowd of people. And they had got rakes, and brooms, and pitchforks, reaching into the pond; and the gentleman asked what was the matter. “Why,” they say, “matter enough! Moon’s tumbled into the pond, and we can’t rake her out any which way!” So the gentleman burst out a- laughing, and told them to look up into the sky, and that it was only the reflection in the water. But they wouldn’t listen to him, and abused him shamefully, and he got away as quick as he could.

So there was a whole lot of sillies bigger than them three sillies at home. So the gentleman turned back home again and married the farmer’s daughter, and if they didn’t live happy for ever after, that’s nothing to do with you or me.

And that was the story of the three Sillies

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For the first time on Storynory we bring you fairies – Real Ones !  Yes, it’s true.  A man who was working near Merlin’s Craig in Scotland saw one, and then another, and then another.    And before too long he was dancing with the fairies and they were dragging him underground into their house beneath the moor.

Read by Natasha.  Duration 12 Minutes.
Version by Bertie (from original)Kesh Jig from audiosparx.  Bagpipes etc mixed on Garageband.

There are certain places where the very earth itself is charged with that fiery, unpredictable energy, known as magic.  One of those centres of enchantment, is in Lanarkshire, in Scotland.  You have to tramp for miles and miles across a bleak, soggy moorland to reach it – but eventually you will see a mound of jagged rocks rising out of the peat bog.  And that will be Merlin’s Craig.

The folk who live thereabouts say  that over a thousand years, ago the famous wizard called Merlin lived and practiced his magic among those rocks.  No doubt he made use in his spells of the black peat that was all around him.  You see peat is like no other earth:  For it burns, and gives warmth and life to the people who eek out a living on the moorlands.

A few hundred years ago, a poor but honest man, worked on a farm near Merlin’s Craig.  One day his master sent him to the Craig to dig up slabs of peat and fetch them back for fuel. The man did as he was told.  He had just begun to slice the ground with his shovel and lift up the peat when all at once the smallest wee woman that he had ever seen in his life appeared before him. She was certainly a dainty little creature – perhaps no more than two feet high.  She was clad in a green grown and red stockings, and her long yellow hair tumbled down to her waist.

The man was dumbfounded.  He stuck his spade in the ground and gaped at her.  She wagged her finger at him and said angrily:

“What do you mortals think you are doing when you dig up our roof? How would you like it if I came along with a giant spade and took the lid off your house?”

She stamped her wee foot and demanded:

“You put that turf back at once, or you will rue the day that you ever lifted it”.

Now the poor man’s teeth began to chatter with fright, for he had heard stories of how when a mortal offends the fairy-folk, the fairies wreak a terrible revenge.  He swiftly shovelled the peat back into its place, patted it down nicely, and returned to his master to tell him what had happened.

But the master jeered at him: “A fairy you say?  Taking the roof off her house were you?  Drinking whisky more like it… No go back at once and fetch me some peat or there will be no wages for you this very week.”

The poor man had little choice but to do as he was told – for he had to feed his wife and two wee bairns – those were his children.

And so he spent the next few days working hard, digging peat and fetching it back to the farm.  And during this time no fairies appeared to him – not a single one.

A year went by and the man still had not caught sight of another fairy – and he began to think that his master might have been right – perhaps he had only seen the fairy in a dream.

Autumn went by, and then winter and spring, and once again it was summer.  It was the very same day that he had lifted the peat the year before.  The man had been working hard on the farm, and his master was pleased with him, and gave him a present of some milk to take home to his family.   He set off on his journey home with a spring in his step, and was humming a happy tune.   As it was such a nice evening, he went home the long way over the moor, by a path that led past Merlin’s Craig.  When he reached the craig his legs felt strangely tired, and he sat down on the ground, and soon fell into a deep sleep.

It was near midnight when he was awoken by some strange but lively music.  He rubbed his eyes and what a shock he had when he saw that a band of fairies was dancing around him, glowering at him, and pointing their wee fists in his face.

He got up and tried to start on his way, but where ever he went, the fairies danced in a ring around him.  Then out of the ring stepped the bonniest wee lady and the other fairies laughed and called out:

“Dance man, Dance !”

And when the lady reached up and took him by the hands.  And although he had never been much of a dancer in his youth, he found himself waltzing and reeling as if he had been a dancer all his life.  His head felt happy and light and he forgot all about his home, his wife, and his wee bairns.  The whole night long they danced on until at last they heard the shrill sound of the farmyard cock greeting the morning with his loudest crowing.

All at once  the merriment ceased.   The fairies stampeded headlong toward the Craig, and they dragged the man along with them.  A door opened up in the rocks and in they all clattered.

The door closed behind them and they led the man down below the ground into a dimly lit hall.

Here the fairies busied themselves with tasks: some dipped  quill pens in magic ink, and copied out spells and fairy laws onto scrolls of parchment.  Others were making fairy honey out of flowers.  And still others were distilling  fairy whisky.

The man could do nothing but sit down and watch and be amazed.  Towards evening time, the wee woman in red stockings whom he had first seen a year ago came before him and led him back up to the door by which they had entered.  She said:

“The turf which you took from the roof of our house has reformed, and there is grass growing over it once again. Now you may go home. But you must swear never to tell any mortal any of our secrets.”

The man swore never to tell the fairy secrets to a living soul – for he had seen some things which I have not been able to tell you about -  and the door opened and he went back out onto the moor.

But when he reached home, his wife stared at him in amazement. She seemed somehow to have aged.  Then his children came into the hall of the house – but they were not longer wee infants, but lads and lasses, and they did not know him.”

“Where have you been these long long years?” demanded his wife.”How could you do such a thing as to run off and leave your wife and wee bairns to fend for ourselves?”

The man did not know what to say  to this, but   he soon learned that the one day he had spent underground had lasted seven years, while the turf grew back over their roof.    And from that day on, he never again dug peat from that part of the moor, or even dared to venture near to Merlin’s Craig.

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Original Pictures for Storynory by Sophie Green
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If you like SCARY STORIES, then this one is for you. We are putting it out for Halloween, but you can listen any time of year IF YOU DARE !

Baba Yaga is a famous witch of the East. She has spooked and scared little children across Eastern Europe for many a year. This is a her most famous story. A wicked Step-Mother sends Vasilisa to visit the witch in her hut in the woods to ask for some lights. She’s pretty sure that that will be the last she ever sees of her step-daughter -but is she right?

Read by Natasha. Version for Storynory by Bertie. Duration 30 min.

Somewhere in the Eastern part of Europe, where it gets bitterly cold in winter, there is a dark forest. If you are ever brave, foolish or ignorant enough to go wondering through that forest, there is a good chance that you might come across a peculiar house. It’s a wooden hut, but it’s like no other that you have ever seen, for it stands on giant chicken legs – and quite often it walks about, just like a monstrous farm-yard bird. This hut is the home of Baba Yaga. I don’t advise that you knock at the door of Baba Yaga’s hut, no matter how much you have lost your way through the forest. For Baba Yaga is a witch.

On the edge of Baba’s Yaga’s forest, there is a little village, and everyone who lives there knows about the strange hut and the lady who lives inside it. They know her, and they fear her, for it has long been rumored that she likes to eat children.

A long time ago, a man lived in this village with his beautiful daughter, who was called Vasilisa. The girl’s mother had sadly died some years before the start of this story. But before she died, she gave Vasilisa a wonderful gift. It was a little rag doll that did not look so different from any other. The girl’s mother told Vasilisa that she should take special care of the doll. Every night she must feed it a little milk and a little biscuit, and so long as she did so, the doll would always be ready to help her – no matter how much trouble she found herself in. Vasilisa did just as her mother bid her. And every night the little rag doll sat up and drank a little milk, and ate a little biscuit before smiling at Vasilisa and then going back to sleep.

As time went by, the girl’s father decided to marry again. His second wife had two daughters of her own, neither of whom could touch Vasilisa for beauty or sweetness of character. In fact, they were jealous of Vasilisa and they hated her terribly. So long as Vasilisa’s father remained at home, the step-mother and step-sisters had to pretend that they liked her, but every now and then one of the sisters would whisper in Vasilisa’s ear:

“Just you wait until your dear papa leaves us alone with you. Then you’ll see !”

When Vasilisa had recently passed her sixteenth birthday, her father said that he had to go away on a journey that would last at least a month. Vasilisa begged him to take her with him, but he just laughed and said he was traveling on business, and the girl would find the journey tiresome and dull.

The first night after the father had left, the step-mother gathered the three girls together in the parlor and spoke like this:

“Now my dears, I have a little task for each of you. Tanya” – that was the oldest ” – go in my room please my dear and sew a button on my red dress. Katya ” – that was the youngest – ” go to the kitchen table and roll some pastry so that it’s nice and flat. And Vasilissa dear, go to Baba Yaga’s hut in the forest and ask her to lend us some lights. Now run along sweetheart. Don’t waste any time. We don’t want you to get caught in the dark now do we.”

The stepmother shooed Vasilisa out of the house so fast that that she had hardly time to put on her hat and gloves. She walked forlornly to the corner of the street and took the little doll out of her coat pocket where it had been sleeping.

“Oh Little Doll,” she said. “My mother told me that if I fed and looked after you, you would be ready to help me if I was ever in trouble. Well I have fed and looked after you. And now I’m in terrible trouble. I must go to Baba Yaga. And every one knows that she is a dreadfully wicked witch. So please tell me – what am I to do?”

And the little doll looked up at Vasilisa and said:

“Be as brave as you are beautiful. Go to Baba Yaga’s hut and no harm will come to you.”

And so Vasilisa mustered all her courage and walked down the path that led through the woods to the hut of Baba Yaga.

After a while, the young girl heard the sound of galloping hooves coming up behind her, and she stepped off the road to let a hose ridden by a rider in a blazing red cloak shoot past her.

“I wonder who that was?” thought Vasilisa before setting off on a her way once more.

A little further on, she once again heard the sound of galloping hooves, and this time a rider in a cloak of dazzling white sped past her and down the road that led to Baba Yaga’s hut.

And some time later, a third horse shot by. Its rider wore a cloak that was as black as night.

After about an hour of walking Vasilisa came to a clearing on the forest. Although it was now getting quite dark, she had no trouble seeing, for this neck of the woods was lit by skulls with blazing eyes.

The skulls were mounted on stop of a high fence. And beyond the fence, She saw the strange hut that stood on chicken legs. It turned round to face her, and it seemed to Vasilisa that the hut was looking at her.
Then the chicken legs began to kneel and the hut lowered to the ground. The door creaked open.

Baba Yaga’s nose was so long and bony that it appeared through the door before the rest of her. A moment or two later the nose was followed by tall skinny old woman holding a broom stick.

Vasilissa was so frightened that her legs would not obey her when she told them to run. The old lady came towards her – but she did not walk – her feet flew just a few inches above the ground.

“Well child,” she said,”Did the cat get your tongue? Or are you just badly brought up? Speak Child ! Spit out your name and your business here ! I haven’t got all night to hover around while you tremble and gibber like an idiot !”

For a few moments Vasilisa’s lips quivered so much that no proper words would come out of her mouth, just a kind of “ah, ah ah,” but she then remembered the Doll’s words that no harm would come to her, and eventually she found courage to speak clearly.

“Good Ma’am,” she said. “It is only me, little Vasilisa. My step-mother sent me to the forest to borrow a light from Baba Yaga.”

“Did she now?” said Baba Yaga thoughtfully. “Well I am Baba Yaga, but you may call be Babushka.”

Vasilisa brightened a little at this, for Babushka is a kindly name that means “Grandma”. Baba Yaga went on:

“Now come with me into my hut. I will give you some simple tasks to do. If you are not lazy and you complete your work like a good girl, then I will give you the light that you ask for and let you go free. But if you do not manage these simple tasks then I shall cook you in my oven and eat you for my dinner ! Ha Ha Ha ! How do you like that for an offer?”

To tell you the truth, Vasilisa did not like it at all, but she had faith that all would be well, that she would complete the tasks, and return with the light, and so she curtsied and said:

“I like it well, dear Babushka”, and she followed the old lady as she floated back to the door of her hut and called out: “Locks ! Unlock!”

The doors creaked open, and then shut again behind Vasilisa as she stepped inside. The hut was surprisingly roomy, but a large part of it was taken up by a huge oven. Then Vasilisa had to hold in a scream, because the house started to rise up on its chicken legs and move about. She realised that there would be no escape unless Baba Yaga let her go. `

The witch sat down at the table and gestured to the larder. “Fetch me my supper, dear,” she said.

“Yes, Babushka,” replied Vasilisa, and she brought over some bread and cheese for the old lady.

“Ah well,” said Baba Yaga, “Soon I shall be enjoying a nice plate of roast meat, thinly sliced and pink in the middle.” and with those words she pinched Vasilisa’s arm.

“Now tomorrow my dear, you must complete my little task. When I am away from the hut, you must tidy the yard, clean the hut, and cook pumpkin soup for my supper. Can you manage that?”

“Why yes, Babushka, I can.” said Vasilisa, who was relieved that the task did not sound by any means beyond her ability.

“That is good,” said Baba Yaga, “And when you have finished doing that you can sort out all the kitchen pots and pans”.

Baba Yaga ate her bread and cheese and drank a tankard of frothy brown ale before falling asleep on top of a thick fur which was strewn above the stove, the warmest place in the hut.

The hut continued to move around and Vasilisa felt queasy. She certainly had no appetite herself, but before she lay down for the night, she did not forget to feed her Doll a few crumbs of bread and some drops of milk. When the rag Doll had finished her supper, Vasilisa asked her:

“Oh dear what have I done? How shall I ever get out of here?”

And the Doll replied. “Have courage and keep faith and all will be well, for Baba Yaga is unable to tell a lie and she is bound to keep her promise.”

The next morning, Baba Yaga arose from her bed on top of the stove, and drank another tankard of ale before flying up the chimney and onto the roof. Vasilisa looked out of the window and saw the witch flying away above the trees, but this time she she was riding what looked like a giant mortar. A mortar, by the way, is like a strong wooden bowl, and you can use it for cooking. You put some herbs or spices in there, and crush and grind them with a stick called a pestle. This is what the witch was flying in – only it was much bigger than a usual mortar. And a giant pestle was what the old lady was holding in her hand, and using as a rudder to guide her flight.

Vasilisa gazed at a the witch until she was out of site, and then she started to clean and to cook She managed to get everything spick an span, and get the soup on the cooker by mid day, but now she faced an impossible task. How could she possible pick the black peas out of a sack of white ones? Why, there must have been thousands, if not millions of peas in the sack.

She heard a noise outside the hut.

“Oh, Baba Yaga must be back early. Now I’m done for!” she exclaimed – but when she looked out of the window she saw not Baba Yaga, but the white horseman who had over taken her on her way to the hut. He galloped round the fence of the compound and then was off again into the woods. Vasilisa sighed and wished that he would only come and rescue her, whoever he might be. Then when she turned round from the window she saw that all the peas had been sorted into two piles – one black and one white. Her task was done.

That evening, after Baba Yaga flew back home from whatever business she had been on, the old witch could not hide her surprise at all that her guest had managed to achieve in one day.

“I see that you are good little worker my dear,” she said. “Well in that case, tomorrow you can make pea soup and fetch water from the stream to fill up the tank. Here, use this bucket”

But what she handed to Vasilisa was not a bucket, but a sieve, and the poor girl wondered how she would ever manage to use it to fetch water. Still that night, when the little rag Doll urged her not to feel despair, she knew in her heart that something wonderful might happen to help her.

And it did. For as she stood by the stream holding the sieve in her hand, the red horseman rode by, took it from her and swept over to the hut where he hurled it through the open window. When Vasilisa returned she found that the tank was filled with fresh water.

That evening Baba Yaga dipped her bony finger in the tank, and tasted a drop of the fresh water. She said:

“Indeed you are a hard working girl. Let’s see if you are clever too. Tonight you can stay up and count the number of stars in the sky. If you tell me the right number in the morning, you can take your light and go free, but if your answer is wrong, even if you tell me one star too many or too few, then I shall have you for my breakfast.”

That night Vasilisa gazed out of the window at the sky and tried to count the stars – 1,2,3, 5.. but by the time she reached 100 stars she was no longer sure whether or not she was counting the same ones again, and she had to start all over again. It did not help that the hut kept moving around so that the view kept on changing.

Eventually, Vasilisa began to sob quietly. She took out her Doll and said: “Oh dear little Doll, who will come to the aid of poor little Vasilisa this time? I cannot guest the number of stars in the sky, and in the morning the witch shall surely eat me.”

“Do not worry said the Doll. Have courage, and keep faith, and all will be well.”

And it was. For at the mid night hour, the black horseman came riding up to the window where Vasilisa was sitting and he whisper a number to her as if in a dream. It was a very big number, but I cannot tell you what it was, for it is a secret. But it was the exact number of stars in the sky that he told her, and in the morning, when Baba Yaga stepped with her bony legs onto the floor, Vasilisa said.

“Good morning Babushka, shall I tell you the number of stars now?”

And Baba Yaga yawned and said:

“Go on child. Tell me. But you had better not be wrong, for if you are, I shall eat you.”

And Vasilisa told the number to Baba Yaga. And Baba Yaga let out a terrible cry like

“Ha !”

And her eyes blazed like those of the skulls on the fence surrounding her hut.

“Who told you that?” she demanded so fiercely that Vasilisa shank back. Baba Yaga picked up plate and threw it across the room so that it smashed against the wall. Then she picked up a knife and Vasilisa was sure she meant to kill her:

“But Babushka,” she said, “You promised that if I told you the number correctly I could take a light and go free.”

And the Baba Yaga froze for a moment, and the fierce glare of her eyes lessened somewhat.

“Ah yes,” she said more calmly “So I did. And I suppose it was morning and day that helped you with the other tasks I set you?”

And Vasilisa nodded, for she now understood that the three horsemen were morning day and night.

“Then you are a good girl,” said Baba Yaga, “For if Morning Day and Night choose to help you, that means that your spirit is in harmony with the universe. I will do you no harm. Wait here while I go on my business. I have no tasks for you today. And tonight you shall return home with a light.”

And that evening, after Baba Yaga flew home on her mortar, she took Vasilisa out into the courtyard and gave her one of the skulls with blazing eyes.

“Take this,” she said, “And it will light up your step-mother and your two step-sisters very well.”

Vasilisa took the skull and returned back down the path to her village. She expected that her step-mother would have found a light by now, but in fact the house was not lit. Instead her relatives were sitting in complete darkness.

She stepped into the house. The skull lit up the inside as bright as day.

“I’m home,” called out Vasilisa

But she received no reply, for as soon as the light fell on her step-mother and sisters, they turned to dust.

And Vasilisa went to live with a kindly old lady in the village until her father returned from his business. When he came back, he thought that his wife and step-daughters must have run away. He did not miss them much. He lived happily with his beautiful daughter, Vasilisa, until one day a Prince came riding by and caught sight of her. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he had no hesitation in asking her to marry him, which she did, and they lived happily ever after.

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This old story from Scotland is about a man who makes his living by killing seals and selling their skins. He does not really think about whether or not the animals he hunts have feelings, until one day he has a chance to get to know one.

Read by Natasha. Length 7.18

There was once a man who lived not far from John O’Groat’s house, at the very north of Scotland. He made his living by catching fish of all sizes and types, but he had a particular liking for killing those wonderful beasts, half-dog, half-fish, called Seals. No doubt he liked killing the seals so much because he got a fancy price for their skins. The truth is, that most of these animals were neither dogs nor cods, but downright fairies as this story shall tell.

Now one day the fisherman stabbed a seal with his hunting knife, but he failed to kill it outright, for the seal let out a loud cry of pain and slipped off the rocks and into the sea, taking the knife with it.

Later that night, after the fisherman had returned home his cottage, a stranger came to visit him. The man said that he had been sent by his master who wanted to buy a large number of seal furs. The fisherman was pleased to hear this news. The two men both mounted the stranger’s horse, and rode off at great speed, their faces cutting through the sharp, salty air. Finally they reached a great cliff that overhung the sea, and the stranger told the fisherman that they had arrived.

“But where is the person you spoke of?” asked the astonished seal-killer.

“Soon you shall see!” replied his stranger, and with that the stranger seized the fisherman with irresistible force, and they both plunged over the cliff and headlong down into the sea. After sinking down down, nobody knows how far, they at last reached a pearly gate which opened onto a palace. The rooms of the palace were filled not with people, but with seals who could speak and feel like human folk. And the seal-killer was astonished to find that he himself had been changed into the form of a seal.

“Am I to spend the rest of my days here, like this?” he asked in great distress.

“Your suffering need not last much longer,” replied his stranger, and so saying he produced a huge knife. The fisherman, who thought he was about to be killed begged for mercy, but the creatures of the deep gathered round and assured him that he would meet with no harm.

“Did you ever see that knife before?” asked the stranger. The fisherman looked at the weapon again and recognised it as the knife that he had lost in the back of a seal.

“Why it is my own,” he admitted.

“Well sir,” said the stranger, “The seal that made away with it is my father, and these past hours he has laid dangerously ill from his wound. Only your healing hand can save him.”

The fisherman was led into another room, in which he found the stricken seal. He was asked to pass his hand over the wound, which he did, and to his surprise it immediately healed. The seal rose from his bed in perfect health, and the mood of the sea-creatures all around changed from mourning to rejoicing.

The seal-catcher thought that he would remain under water as a seal for the rest of his life, but the stranger told him that he could return home on one condition – that he took an oath that he would never harm another seal again so long as he lived. To this, the seal-catcher readily agreed.

And then they swam out of the gates of the palace, and up to the surface of the sea. From there they made their way onto land, and up to the top of the cliff where the horse was waiting for them. By now they had regained human form, and they rode back to the cottage where they had begun their wondrous journey. The seal-cather had already begin to wonder how he would make his living in future – but he need not have worried – for the stranger made him a gift. He presented him with a heavy bag which he carried into his cottage and placed on the table. And when he opened it, he discovered that it was filled with gold.

And that’s the story of The Seal Catcher. And Bertie says that seals aren’t really half dog, half fish, even though they might look a bit like that. They are of course mammals that have flippers instead of feet and powerful tales for swimming.