Dancing with Trees Page 4

  ‘Stupid creature. Telling me what to do!’ said the eldest son. ‘What would I want a pair of stupid pipes for? I’m off to seek my future. Besides, it’s all your fault that I have only this tiny bannock to eat. There’s barely enough for me, I’m not wasting any on you.’ He shooed away the bird and crammed the rest of the bannock in his mouth, finishing it in two bites.

  Then up he got and away he walked, seeking his fortune. He walked to the east; he walked to the west. He walked north; he walked south. He walked up hills and down, along roads and across fields, until at last he came to a grand house, where the king lived.

  This is the place for me, he thought, and in he went to ask if they had any work for a young man of fine strength and character such as himself.

  ‘What can you do?’ asked the king.

  ‘I can chop your wood and sweep your floors and look after your cattle,’ said the eldest son.

  The king waved his hand dismissively. ‘I’ve got plenty of help with all of those things,’ he said. ‘What I need is someone who can herd hares. Can you do that?’

  Herding hares? The eldest son knew about herding sheep and looking out for cattle, but never had he heard of herding hares. How hard could it be?

  ‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘I can herd hares.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said the king. ‘You will start tomorrow. If you bring them all back safely at the end of the day, I’ll let you marry my daughter.’

  ‘That suits me fine,’ said the eldest son, thinking how easy it was going to be to make his fortune and marry a princess to boot.

  ‘Good,’ said the King. ‘But if you don’t bring them all home safe and sound, I’ll hang you.’

  The eldest son did not like the sound of that, but it was too late now. Besides, he was quite confident he’d be able to herd hares. After all, they were small and didn’t have much going on in their heads.

  The king sent him off to a room with no mention of supper. His stomach was grumbling, he’d walked far and only eaten one tiny bannock all day. But as soon as he was in bed, he fell soundly asleep.

  He woke late the next morning and hurried downstairs to find the king had eaten all the porridge and the bannocks and drunk all the tea. The king offered him a glass of water and sent him out to watch the hares in a nearby field.

  There were four and twenty hares, plus a wee lame one, playing amongst the long grass and meadow flowers. The eldest son sat down grumpily. Here he was, sent out to work under the hot sun with nothing to eat, even though he had been singled out to marry the king’s daughter.

  As he sat, watching the hares, his stomach growling louder and louder, he noticed how plump and well fed the beasts were. Surely the king would not begrudge him one. After all, the king had as good as promised him his daughter’s hand.

  The eldest son jumped to his feet and lunged after the nearest hare. It hopped out of his reach. He ran after another one, but it was faster than he. Finally, his eyes fell on the little lame hare. He grabbed it before it could bolt, broke its little neck, skinned it and roasted it over a fire. After his meal, he felt sleepy, so he napped in the long grass, amongst the meadow flowers, while the remaining hares cowered in the far corner of the field.

  When he woke up, the sun was setting and it was getting cold. He tried to the catch the hares, but they had seen what he had done to their friend and they scattered in front of him, dashing of in all directions. He tried for hours, but could not catch a single one. He tried whistling. He tried coaxing them with dandelion leaves. He tried shouting at them. But they would not come anywhere near him.

  In the end he returned to the grand house alone.

  The king was waiting.

  ‘Did you watch over my hares?’ asked the king.

  ‘Yes sir,’ said the eldest son.

  ‘Then where are they?’ asked the king.

  ‘I had to leave them in the field. They kept running away from me,’ replied the eldest son.

  ‘Even the wee lame one?’ asked the king.

  ‘No sir, I hadn’t been given any supper or breakfast so I caught and ate the wee lame one,’ he replied.

  ‘Hang him,’ cried the King angrily. And that’s what they did.

  A year and a day later, back in the wee cottage in the valley with the stream, the youngest son came to his widowed mother to tell her that he was going out into the world to see what kind of life he could make for himself. She sighed, but she knew that children must do what children must do. She got out the sieve and the old broken bowl and told him to fill them from the stream, and she would make him a bannock to take with him on the journey.

  He could hear the sweet sound of bird song as he approached the stream. A pretty little bird perched on a bramble branch that reached out over the clear, running water. As soon as the bird saw him and what he was carrying, he changed his tune:

  Stop it with moss and clog it with clay,

  And then you’ll carry the water away.

  The youngest son looked at the bright-eyed little bird and laughed. ‘You’re a clever one aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Thank you for your help.’

  He collected moss and lined the bottom of the sieve with it. Then he covered the moss with clots of clay and smoothed it down until it was sealed. He did the same with the crack in the bowl. Carefully, he filled both vessels with water and carried them home. He didn’t spill a drop.

  His mother was pleased when she saw how much water he’d brought. With it, she baked him a huge bannock. He thanked her and kissed her on the cheek. She gave him her blessing and off he went to make a life for himself in the big, wide world.

  He walked to the east; he walked to the west. He walked north; he walked south. He walked up hills and down, along roads and across fields, until at last he was weary and he sat down under a birch tree to eat his bannock. No sooner had he sat down, but the little bird landed on a branch above him.

  ‘Hello, old friend,’ said the young man. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Give me a wee bite of your bannock and I’ll let you pluck a feather from my wing so you can make yourself a pair of pipes,’ said the bird.

  ‘You can have as much bannock as you like,’ said the youngest son, crumbling some up for the bird and laying it on the ground. ‘After all it is because of you that I have such a big bannock. But I’ll spare you your wing feathers. I wouldn’t want to hurt such a beautiful creature.’

  The bird hopped down and pecked up all the bannock crumbs. The youngest son crumbled up some more, ate a few more bites himself, and then wrapped up what remained.

  The bird stopped pecking, stretched out one of his wings and looked up at the young man with his bright, beady eyes. ‘Please take one of my wing feathers. It won’t hurt me a bit. Consider it a gift.’

  The young man knew it was rude to refuse a gift. Reluctantly he took hold of one of the bird’s feathers. It pulled out easily. The bird finished eating the crumbs and flew off, trilling his cheerful song as he went.

  Using his knife, the youngest son trimmed the feather, cut the shaft in two and notched it.

  Bringing the pipes to his lips, he began to play the cheerful little song the bird had been singing. It made his feet feel like dancing. So he danced.

  He danced to the east; he danced to the west. He danced to the north; he danced to the south. He danced up hills and down, along roads and across fields, until at last he came to a fine house, where the king and all his household lived.

  Night was drawing in and he was weary, so he thought he’d stop at the house and see if there was any work to be had for a willing lad. He went in and was greeted by the king.

  ‘What can you do?’ asked the king.

  ‘I can chop your wood and sweep your floors and look after your cattle,’ said the youngest son.

  ‘I’ve already got plenty of help with all of those things,’ said the king. ‘I need someone to herd my hares. Can you do that?’

  Herding hares? The youngest son knew about herding sheep and looking a
fter cattle, but never had he heard of herding hares. It sounded like it might be fun.

  ‘I’ve never herded hares before,’ he said, ‘but if that’s what needs doing, I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said the king. ‘You can start tomorrow. If you bring them all back to the house, safe and sound, you can marry my daughter.’

  ‘That would suit me,’ said the youngest son, ‘as long as it suits her.’

  ‘Hrumph,’ said the King. ‘What suits my daughter is none of your business. You just worry about taking care of my hares. If you do not bring them all back safely, I’ll see you hanged.’

  The youngest son did not like the sound of that, but it was too late now. No mention was made of supper, so when he got to the room he’d been given, he unwrapped the rest of his bannock, broke it in two, ate one piece and wrapped up the other. He went to bed happy and content.

  The next morning he came downstairs only to find that the king had eaten all the porridge and bannock and drunk all the tea. He drank the glass of water he was offered and went off to the nearby field to find the hares.

  There were four and twenty hares frolicking in the tall grass, amidst a rainbow of meadow flowers. A wee lame one watched them, twitching her nose happily. The young man sat down, took out the rest of his bannock and ate it slowly while he watched them play. He thought to himself that there could be no better life than this, to sit in the sun and watch over these happy creatures.

  He took out his pipes and began to play, his fingers finding the notes of the bird’s cheerful song. The hares stopped playing, their long ears turning towards the clear sound of the pipes. As the song played on, they started to sway and dance, circling around the young man.

  The song carried far and wide. Fish swimming in the river heard it and lay still to listen. Ducks in the pond stopped paddling, and bobbed on the tranquil water, their eyes half-closed. Everywhere peace reigned. The hawks flying high in the sky heard it, left off their hunting and came back down to earth so that they might hear it better. Flies buzzed sleepily amongst the heather flowers. Dragonflies came to rest on the lily pads.

  The only creatures that moved were the hares. All afternoon the young man played and all afternoon they danced. Only when the sun was beginning to lower in the western sky, did he put his pipes away.

  The fish in the river shivered and swam on. The ducks woke and began their quacking gossip. The hawks and dragonflies lifted back into the air. Only then did the hares stop dancing.

  ‘It’s time for us to go home now,’ he said to the hares. He started off across the field, the four and twenty hares following after him, but the little lame one was nowhere to be seen.

  The young man returned to the circle of matted-down grass that the hares had made in their dancing and there he found her, too tired to move. He picked her up gently in his arms. ‘Don’t worry, little one,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you home and safe to bed.’ She looked up at him with liquid brown eyes and he smiled down at her.

  He led the four and twenty hares into the barn, but the littlest one he took to his own room, so that she might sleep on a feather bed, instead of the hard dirt floor. Then he went downstairs to meet with the king.

  ‘Where are my hares?’ asked the king.

  ‘They are safely in the barn,’ said the young man.

  The king strode over to the barn and threw the door open. Four and twenty pairs of brown eyes shone out at him. ‘Where’s the littlest one?’ asked the king, angrily. ‘I told you to look after all of them.’

  ‘She seemed very tired,’ said the young man. ‘I took her up to my room, so that she might sleep in comfort.’

  ‘Hrumph,’ said the king. He strode up the stairs to the young man’s room and flung open the door.

  A beautiful young woman lay on his bed; she opened her eyes and gazed at the young man with liquid brown eyes.

  ‘You’ve watched over my hares, brought them all back safely and found my daughter,’ said the king. ‘You may now marry her.’

  ‘Only if she will have me,’ said the young man.

  ‘Hrumph,’ said the king.

  ‘Let me think about it,’ said the princess.

  ‘Why don’t I play you some music, while you think,’ said the young man, pulling the pipes from his pocket. He put them to his lips and began to play the bird’s cheerful little song. Everyone in the great house stopped what they were doing and started to dance. The king began to prance about. The princess got up off the bed and swayed and twirled, no trace of a limp in her steps.

  All night long the entire household danced and laughed and made merry.

  When the sun rose the next morning, the young man put away the pipes and the princess took his hand.

  ‘I have thought about it,’ she said, ‘and I believe that being married to you would suit me just fine.’

  They all lived happily ever after.

  NOTES: The hare is a magical animal in Celtic lore, most often associated with the moon. In this story, the king might be understood as the sun and his daughter, the hare-princess, as the moon. The solar year is a bit longer than twelve moon-cycles long. So the twenty-four hares plus one can be understood as the full and new moons over the course of the year. The first son ignores the messages that the other creatures of the land are trying to tell him, so he goes hungry and eventually angers the sun-king. The second son shows respect for nature and her creatures and so returns the world to balance and joy.

  4

  KING AND QUEEN OF THE BIRDS

  (ENGLAND, IRELAND, SCOTLAND, WALES)

  One day, the birds were all gathered together in the woods, discussing which of them was the prettiest, the handsomest, the strongest and the cleverest. The wise owl shouted for silence and suggested that rather than bickering and arguing, they should have a competition, whoever won would be crowned the King and Queen of the birds.

  The birds agreed that this was a good idea, but once again they started arguing over what sort of competition it should be. Each species suggested a competition that would favour their own special skills and talents.

  A strong, loud voice from the back boomed out, ‘We should have a competition to see who can fly the highest.’ It was one of a pair of eagles who had spoken. All the other birds shook and shivered in fright but they all agreed. Well, they didn’t dare argue with an eagle!

  So it was decided that they would meet the next day to hold a flying contest.

  The birds gathered the following morning at dawn. They had all eaten a filling breakfast to give them energy for the competition: the sparrows had pecked plenty of grass seeds, the robins had gorged themselves on caterpillars and the buzzards had scoffed lots of plump voles. As each bird arrived, they sang their own unique tune, stretched their wings and fluffed up their feathers in readiness for the great event.

  The collared doves and wood pigeons sang out together, ‘On your marks, get set, go! On your marks, get set, go! On your marks, get set, GO!’ (They always repeated themselves at least three times!)

  A wave of rushing wind swept the woodland as each bird beat its wings and took flight. The contest to see who could fly the highest had begun.

  The birds flew up into the sky until they got as far as their wings would take them. The littlest birds flew just past the treetops, but then had to give up and return to the ground, because their small wings were exhausted. Bigger birds flew high into the clouds before becoming too tired to continue. But two birds soared further than any of the others. It was the golden eagles.

  They glided on the thermals of air, circling above the other birds. They flew so far that breathing was difficult – the air is thin, high in the atmosphere above Earth.

  As these great birds looked down on all the others, who were giving up, one by one, they shouted out triumphantly, ‘We have won. We have gone higher than any other bird!’

  ‘Not so fast,’ peeped a voice. With a fluttering of tiny wings, two little brown birds flew out from their hiding place amongst the fe
athers on the eagles’ backs. The two birds hovered a few inches above the eagles and squeaked, ‘Look, who has flown the highest now? We are the winners!’

  The eagles turned their heads, staring in disbelief at the tiny stowaways who were barely managing to keep alight above them. It was the jenny wrens!

  The eagles were furious at being outsmarted by such insignificant birds. They screeched angrily, swooping away towards earth. The little wrens chirped in delight, until they thought about what a long way back down it was.

  The eagles tossed them off and the wrens began their descent, the wind racing through their wings. They fell faster and faster, until thump, thump, the poor creatures hit the ground so hard that their tail feathers were pushed upwards out of their rumps – and still to this day the wren’s tail points straight up at the sky.

  All of the other birds waiting below cheered for the wrens. They had won the competition through their wit and cleverness, not through great size or strength.

  And so, it was the clever, tiny wrens that were crowned King and Queen of the birds.

  NOTES: This story makes a very appealing introduction to the study of birds and their habitats. Wrens are the second smallest bird in Britain – the goldcrest is the smallest.

  When telling this story; at the point where the birds begin to argue about what type of competition to hold, you can ask the listeners to say what their favourite bird is, and why it should be crowned King or Queen of the birds. If the eagle is suggested too early on, say you will come back to that bird, because it is so special. You can give all of the different birds in the story voices and have fun with accents, pitches and dialogue. Making bird-masks and turning the tale into a drama can be fun too.

  FIRE

  5

  CERIDWEN’S CAULDRON

  (WALES)

  Ceridwen, the ancient moon goddess and mother of our planet, gave birth to twins, a girl and a boy. Her daughter, Creirwy was a beauty but the boy, well, dark hair covered most of his little body. His mother named him Avagddu, ‘black wings’, because his dark, soft down reminded her of a raven’s magnificent, blue-black feathers. She thought he was the most wonderful boy alive. But as Avagddu grew, it became plain to Ceridwen that she alone thought him attractive. He wasn’t very good at his school lessons either and the goddess tired of hearing others’ rude whispers about how ugly and stupid her son was. She decided to use her knowledge of magical plants and herbs to help him.