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

When God sent a great flood to destroy almost all his own creation, he chose Noah to save the animals and preserve life on Earth beyond the great disaster. The story of how humans, through their own folly, bring catastrophe upon the world has always struck a deep cord. And the theme of saving of animals from mankind’s mistakes appeals greatly to children, and to everyone who cares for the natural world. Noah appears in both the Bible’s Book of Genesis and in the Quran.

This reading by Natasha is a “vintage” recording from our most secret treasure trove. We made it in 2007 and have not previously released it on Storynory. We also have another version of the story read by John Le Mesurier

Read by Natasha. Version by Bertie. Duration 6.32.

When the world was still very young, it began to fill up with people and all sorts of creatures including fury four-legged ones, birds, fish, fluttering butterflies, slithering snakes, creepy-crawly spiders, and insects.

In those days there was a man, called Noah, He was 600 years old. Noah was hard-working, honest and loved God with all his heart. However, the whole world had become very mean and evil. Everyone was lying, cheating, and stealing. People often got into fights, and sometimes they even killed each other.

God saw all this, and was sad that men and women had become so evil. God decided to send a great flood and drown all of his creation under the waters. That way, He wouldn’t have to look down on all the wickedness that upset him so very much.

He told Noah of his plan. God told Noah, “You must build a huge boat out of gopher wood.” It was to be called an “ark’, which means a place of safety. It was to have a great door, just one window, and three floors inside, filled with clean straw and plenty of food. He was to make it water-proof by putting black tar between the planks of wood. The boat was as big as a cruise ship (but not that nice of course). Next Noah was to tell his family to come and live in the ark, and they must also bring one male and one female of every type of creature. Noah understood his job of building the ark and saving the animals, two of every kind.

And so Noah and his three sons, who were called Shem, Ham, and Japheth, set about building the Ark. Other people saw them working hard in the hot sun, and thought that they were wasting their time. They laughed at Noah and his sons and teased them. But still Noah kept believing and building,… believing and building..everyday. Till one day, the ark was completed. Noah and his sons collected the animals, two of every kind and gathered them in the ark.

They did not need to keep them apart, because the Lions understood that they must not eat the deer or the sheep on board the ark. The foxes didn’t eat the hens, and wolves left the sheep alone. They all lived on grass and leaves, and although the larger animals became a little thin, they were content to lie down and leave the other creatures unharmed. Only the insects had to look out, incase an elephant or a horse trod on them by accident, but fortunately, that didn’t happen.

Then just as God had promised Noah, it began to rain. The rain began to fall by the bucketful and the skies emptied out all their water. It rained and it rained. In fact, it never stopped raining for one second. It rained for forty days and nights. The whole world was covered in water, and everybody drowned, except for the fish and Noah’s family and the animals who were safe in the Ark.

Everyone on the Ark was dry and safe, , but the food was running out, and the people and animals began to look at each other hungrily. The wolves began to howl, and the lions prowled up and down. Noah was worried in case one of the wolves decided to have lamb for dinner, and then there would be no more lambs, ever again. But he need not have worried, because the wolves remained well behaved.

Only after 150 days did the water start to do down, and the bottom of the Ark came to rest on the top of a mountain called Ararat. Noah looked out of his window but all he could see was water.

He wondered if there was any dry land anywhere in the world, and so he released a black bird called a raven into the air. But raven could not find any land or trees, and it flew back to the ark. A week later, he sent out a white dove, but it came back with an empty beak as well. A week after that, he sent the dove again, and she flew around until she found a tree to rest on. She returned to the ark with an olive leaf in her beak, and Noah knew that there was a tree above the water. After another week, he sent the dove out yet again, and she did not return, so he knew that she had found a dry place to live. Everyone on board the ark celebrated, because they were all longing to leave the ark, which to tell you the truth, was becoming rather smelly.

And it happened that after an a year, a month and a day, Noah opened up the ark and he, his family, and all the creatures stepped out onto dry land. What a day that was ! How the animals bounded around full of joy. It was the springiest spring in the history of the world.
Stretching above the sky was a beautiful rainbow. And God said to Noah, I have placed a rainbow in the sky as a sign of a promise that I will never destroy the earth and its creatures by a flood again. So go forth, have children and fill up the earth again, and enjoy the world in all its beauty.
And that’s exactly what Noah and his family did.

Now every time a rainbow appears in the sky, it is a reminder to all of us of the promises God made and the great faith Noah had to believe.

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

When we last left Astropup, he was flying into the mouth of a giant space ship shaped like a bird (see Astropup for Freedom). At the centre of the space ship is a giant tree holding up the nests and families of thousands upon thousands of highly intelligent birds. Astropup’s commanding officer, the major (who is a parrot) wants to stay. So will our Space Dog hero be stranded on the Ship of Birds?

Read by Richard Scott. Story by Bertie. Duration 16.59.

Astropup here again. Last time I left the story at an exciting moment, and I could hear some of you howling at the moon saying : Tell me, do please tell me, Astropup, What happened next? Well here we go again, back to the weird and wonderful ship of birds.

I’ve given you some idea of how many different types of birds there were inside that space ship. What I haven’t described yet is the noise they made. As we opened the hatch of our craft, the sound of all that twittering and tweeting, not to mention squawking, was as deafening as it was confusing. It was like you could hear every creature who had ever lived or died all talking at once. I wanted to howl, only I knew that nobody would hear me over all that din. But it was surprising how soon I got used to it. My brain just stopped listening.

We had landed somewhere near the foot of the great tree. It was at the centre of the ship of birds. Its branches supported their nests and families. I began to sniff its roots, and the parrot said:

“Whatever you do, don’t lift your leg at that trunk.”

“I wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” I protested.

A flock of doves came to great us, carrying worms and nuts in their beaks as offerings to make us welcome. The parrot politely took a nut. I hoped nobody would be offended if I didn’t eat the wiggling worm that was dropped at my feet.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to follow the feathery ones to wherever it was that they wanted to take us, because that would involve flying. The Major went off with them. I was content to dip my tongue into a cool stream that was flowing not far away, to sniff the scent of ducks on the water, to chase a pretty butterfly, and then to fall asleep in the long grass that covered the floor of the giant space bird. This was the way to travel, I thought, once you get used to the noise. The problem with our own space craft was that it was designed by humans. They would never think of including anything so pleasant as a blade of grass let alone a single duck in one of their vehicles.

I learned what the Major had been up to when he fluttered back and hour or two later. He had been granted an audience with a most remarkable bird. He was an ancient owl – at least 250 years old – and his brain served as the ship’s computer. That’s right, they just plugged him in, and he controlled the whole caboodle. Now that’s what I call smart. He lived right at the top of the tree – as you would expect – and he was surrounded by exotic birds who tended to his every need.

“They’re the most gorgeous creatures you ever did see!” Squawked the parrot, and I could see that their plumage had impressed him. Fortunately, he had picked up a bit of interesting info too. The birds came from a planet that had been invaded by the cat people. At the time of this calamity, the owl had been leading a project to build the giant bird ship. As the computer was not yet complete, he simply plugged his brain in to the control panel, and took off with as many of his feathered friends, friends of feathered friends, and friends of friends of feathered friends, as he could gather. There were about a 1000 of them to begin with, but since then they had multiplied many times over. I asked the parrot:

“How many birds are there now?”

“I would say that there’s at least a myriad,” he replied.

I didn’t know how many a myriad was, but I had never learned to count anyhow.

Next I asked if these clever feather brains could fix our space craft.

“They already have,” he replied. And I thumped my tale on the ground with glee.

“We’ll be on our way back home then,” I said hopefully, But something told me that salvation was not going to be as simple as that. And I was right. The Major shook his head.

“Nawww,” he said, “I like it here. And besides, If I go back to Earth, the humans will court marshal me for disobeying orders. But you go back if you like. I’m not stopping you.”

That remark made me growl. He knew perfectly well that I didn’t know how to fly the ship. That was his job. Without the Major, I was going nowhere. It was all very well for him to hang out here. There were enough nuts and fancy-feathered friends to set up a parrot for life. But it’s beneath the dignity of a dog to eat worms – unless he’s really hungry that is. I could have murdered a pheasant or a wood pigeon, but even my dodgy doggy brain realised that such a diet might be bad form in a place like this.

And so I chewed on a few sticks, because there wasn’t anything better to do. I was impressed that our parrot had picked up the language of these alien birds so soon, but then he let slip that he hadn’t. They had deciphered his Earthly squawks in a matter of minutes. He was only just beginning to puzzle out their lingo. I began to realise that there is smart, and there is smarter still.

Now, I’m not normally one to be envious of cats who, as you know, are the most despicable creatures in the universe. But I began to wish that I knew how to climb trees, because I was longing to see more of this incredible bird world. I don’t know if those birds were so clever that they could read my thoughts, but they soon sent a giant swan who offered to pick me up on his back and take me for a site seeing flight around the ship.

It was quite scary up there, clinging onto the swan’s neck with my front legs but it was a flight that I shall never forget. We swooped in and out of the branches of that giant tree and saw every coloured feather from gray sparrows to electric blue kingfishers, and many others besides. I saw flocks of quick thinking birds, all plugged into the ship’s power system, and the Wise Old Owl himself, thinking deep thoughts while birds of paradise groomed his feathers. But just as I was getting used to this form of transport, the swan swooped sharply around the top of the tree and turned upside down. And then, oh dear, I was falling to the ground, and it was a long long way: …OWWWWWWWWW! MURDERRRRRRR!

As you can imagine, I thought that my number was up, but that sneaky swan assassin had miscalculated. I ended up in a huge nest of feathers that had been collected from all over the ground by worker sparrows. It was the softest landing I could have hoped for, but one that made me sneeze. Now I was under no illusions. These birds might look pretty and harmless, but they were deadly when they wanted to be. The major recked that perhaps they were frightened of me – thought I might be tempted to eat a duck or something.

“I’d lie low for a while, if I were you,” he said.

“Well thanks very much,” I woofed, and crawled off into some bushes to sleep. The food had run out, and I was pretty hungry by now. In fact I was quite tempted to try my luck at a duck.

Meanwhile, the Major applied to the senior birds for a job as a space engineer, but they wouldn’t have him. Apparently they weren’t too impressed with his efforts with soldering iron on board our own ship. They said a dog could have fixed wires together better. Now I’m the first to admit that that’s not strictly true, but the drift was that if a the Major is a brainy bird in our world, among this flock of fellows, he was just averagely smart, if not a downright a dunderhead. And when I turned this over in my canine brain, I had one of my occasional but big thoughts.

Everything is relative, you see.

Ok, now I have travelled around the universe, I admit that there are things that are absolutely true always and everywhere. Like, where ever you go, cats are mad and can’t be trusted. The only other universal I know of is that Might is Right – like whoever is in charge, they make up the rules and say what’s ok and what’s not, according to what suits them. All the rest – well it’s just different where ever you go. When you are in another world, you can’t be sure what’s wrong and what’s right. Sometimes I ask, is it always wrong to bite a postman? Probably, but GRRRR I just can’t help myself!

I don’t mean to get too deep. The fact is, our parrot was out classed by these bird brains, but he wasn’t so dim that he didn’t know it.

Both he and I were unemployed. He hopped over to my hideout in the bushes. I could see his head was hanging low. I asked him what most of the birds did for a living in this ship, and he said.

“Transcendental mathematics,”

Apparently these birds plugged their brains together and thought about circles. They had calculated the ratio of a circumference to a diameter to fifteen billion decimal points.

I haven’t a clue what that means by the way, and if you do, well you’re smarter than this old space dog, and you’re not the only one. But to put it simply: the ship of birds was powered by thoughts. All that fiendishly clever feathered thinking generated enough renewable energy to take them where ever they wanted to go, which by and large was nowhere in particular. The only job our friend the parrot could get on board this ship was as a common thinker. He would have to sit plugged into the the ship’s power system contemplating circles all day. It was what thousands of birds did around this place. And do you know what the major said when they offered him the job.

Well perhaps you can guess.

“No thank you.”

He was used to being someone rather more special you see.

And that’s why, after two week’s on board the Ship of Birds, our friend the Parrot, a Major in the Space force, finally decided to fly us back home to earth, even though he knew he would have to face a court marshal for disobeying orders.

I can’t say the birds on board were too sorry to see us go. Some kind blue tits brought us a big supply of nuts and berries to see us home. By the time we reached earth I was a much slimmed down space dog.

As the Parrot had predicted, the humans put him in a cage soon after we touched down. He was charged with disobeying orders on a critical mission, and ordered to stand trial before a court marshal of the Space Force. One day I’ll tell you what happened to him.
But I’m glad to say that the Major told the humans that I was innocent.

“Don’t bother to arrest him,” he squawked. “He’s too stupid to disobey orders.”

Well not the most flattering remark, but I wasn’t complaining, because I was off home to see my jenny.

That that was the story of Astropup and the Ship of Birds.

I do hope that you’ve enjoyed Astropup’s recently adventures – and are glad that he’s come back to us after a gap of some years. Bertie says it’s one of the biggest comebacks in the history of Storynory. Talking of which, we are still looking forward to Natasha’s return, but unfortunately can’t quite say when that will be.

Bye the way, if you are listening on our iPhone app, look out for the bonus audio that Bertie’s going to be publishing there. He’ll be bringing you a quick guide to the planets.

Download the audio (click to play, right click to save)

We bring you this sad, but we hope beautiful, story in verse. Orpheus the musician married Eurydice the shepherdess. When she was killed by a snake, he traveled down to the underworld and was granted one chance to fetch her back to life. Bertie has freely adapted this ancient tale into his own verse. And yes, we did warn you, it is sad.

Read by Richard Scott. Written by Bertie. Duration 12 minutes.

Thanks to our sponsor, Sweetpea3.

I speak of a man of sweet honeyed melody,

Whose love sick heart had no remedy

But to travel to where none before,

Save sad souls who live no more,

Have been and seen and ne’re come back:

The land of DEATH where all is black.

But where we start is under the sun,

Of ancient Greece, where legends begun.

Orpheus his name, and music he made,

Like no other who sang or played

His notes unfold upon the breeze

He woos the birds, he charms the trees,

No living thing is quite immune

When Orpheus plays his tender tune.

His skill commands the strings of the lyre

Under his orders, it sings like a choir

Of love for a woman: Eurydice.

Though his tongue was tied in speech, he,

As a man who hardly knew her,

Walked by her side and tried to woo her.

Without reply. Her pretty head

She turned away, and no word said.

She, sixteen, a sweet shepherdess,

Her heart, not hard, but I tell, you no less

Than twenty suitors she had turned away,

For she thought it too soon, to see her wedding day.

But then he sang, and his sweet voice carried

straight to her heart, and soon they were married.

Oh what a wedding! I wish you were there,

To join the feast in open air,

A thousand guests, a handful human,

The piper god Pan and his crewmen,

Nymphs and Dryads, Satyrs and Fawns,

Demi-Gods dancing all over the lawns

Horns and hairs sprout from their faces

For Ancient Greece was one of those places

Perilously populated by peculiar creatures

Who in modern times don’t often reach us,

Gods mingled with mankind

And often offspring, they left behind,

Back then, no one thought it queer,

To see a girl, with a head like a deer,

Or when out wondering some woodland track

To find a boy, with a goaty back.

Eurydice smiled and danced and charmed

All who saw her were quite disarmed,

Is she mortal, or a goddess divine?

Oh too mortal, Eurydice mine !

The sweet Cicadas in the grass

Sang their legs off, but none could surpass

The melodic magic of the man

Who outdid all nature as he sang

Orpheus played upon his lyre.

Love out-glowing the sun-set’s fire.

Darkness fell, the dryads danced on

And Eurydice sang and tripped along

The flock of girls ran down to the stream

and splashed along the waters clean.

The bride lifted up her white wedding hem

and hurried along, ahead of them,

But alack alas she did not see

The snake that struck beneath her knee.

Venom flowed deep from deadly fang

And over the hills the mourning bell rang.

When Orpheus kissed the lifeless hand

Her soul had gone to another land,

His lungs gulped air as if to cry,

But he could not cry. His eyes were dry.

The hills were silent as if for a year,

And then he sang, a song so sincere,

So sad, so simple, so straight from the gut,

That all who heard it, felt nothing but

The sweet sadness of this turning world,

where beauty must wrinkle, and grow old,

That, or in the warmth of youth, turn cold.

Men heard it, Nymphs herd it. Fawns heard it. Gods heard it.

Down in the depths of Hades, the word it,

reached the royal ear of the Lord of the Dead.

Pale faced Pluto, whom all men dread.

He spoke to Persephone, the queen of the hosts,

who inhabit the depths where all are ghosts.

“Dearest, Deathly, Queen have you heard,

The ringing music, the lovely sound,

The lament which echoes all around,

The land of the sun, and the world of the gloom,

For the girl Eurydice, who has met her doom? “

“Yes, my dear, I have heard the cry,

‘Why,’ he sings, ‘must sweet she die,

My young simple shepherdess,

Who is yet to feel, her husband’s caress?’

We doomed death so soon, for it must be so,

That the mortals feel, their share of woe,

But now I regret it. I feel it’s not fair,

That a voice of such beauty, be filled with care. “

And so it was, Orpheus sang by the river,

The Styx, it is called, it causes a shiver,

For it flows over ground, then down beneath,

To the land that’s guarded by the teeth,

Of Cerberus. The three headed dog of death,

When you breath no more, you smell his breath.

While Orpheus sang a boat came by

Propelled by a wind that sounded like a sigh.

The ferryman offered to carry him along,

To where none who lives can linger long.

So down to Hades, Orpheus went,

The first living man, who there was sent.

And when the dog who guards the gate,

Growled to him that he must wait,

Till death deals its dreadful blow,

He sang back . No no no !

Only he sang it so sweetly, so piteously, so sadly,

That the dog rolled the rock back, only too gladly,

And the music man entered the gates of Hell,

The place where we all must one day dwell.

And there Orpheus met, the ghost of his mother,

He tried to hug her, but could only recover,

A fleeting, empty, insubstantial thought,

Of she who had loved him, since he was naught.

And then he was granted, an audience before,

The Queen of Death, whom all hold in awe.

She whose heart does not beat,

Save once, when she heard a musician entreat,

A sentimental lament to reverse the law,

that has held enthrall, all before.

No ordinary musician, but Orpheus he,

Who moved to pity, Queen Persephone.

“I grant your wish, for your wedded wife,

That she should return back to life,

You may lead her up the trail to light,

But not once, must you take in the sight

Of she who follows faithfully your way.

Do not look back, or she shall stay!”

So spoke Persephone, and Orpheus heard,

And he agreed, to her every word.

He set off to the world of life,

Playing a love song for his longed-for wife,

She followed happily, twenty paces behind,

But Orpheus fell victim to his artistic mind

To be ruled by reason he was never meant,

Impulse and passion made up his temperament.

The journey was long and the way was steep,

Far to far, for Orpheus to keep

His promise to she who is queen of Always,

Who when she speaks, means what she says.

He wavered you see, he suspected a trick,

He worried himself, until he was sick.

Perhaps the queen had given her word,

Only to make him, look absurd.

What if his wife had lost the track?

He could not help it. He looked back.

‘Goodbye my sweet, adieu, adieu,

I only gave my love to you,’

So sang his wife, Eurydice,

A simple, sad, sweet melody.

And Orpheus took his beloved lyre,

And threw it upon, the furious fire.

And that was the end of the musician’s song

And though his life was painfully long,

He no more sang to human kind

For lack of the love he left behind.

Copyright Hugh Fraser 2010 (aka Bertie)
Written For Storynory.com

Download the audio: Click to Play, Right Click Save AS to Download

Since Astropup last went into space, he has started to think big thoughts about the universe. Now he is torn between the love of his owner, Jenny, and his thirst for space exploration. He returns to the launchpad for another mission with his companion the Major (who is a parrot in the Space Force). But this time the Major takes matters into his own beak.

Sponsored by Sweetpea3 (thank you !)

Read by Richard Scott. Story by Bertie. Duration 17 minutes.

Hello, my name’s Astropup, and if you are one of the pack that heard my earlier adventures, you’ll know that I have seen wonders and abominations in all four corners of the Universe. But in between my voyages through space, I lead a normal family life. I live with a little girl called Jenny who looks after me. You may recall that Jenny and her family moved to a sunny part of the world called Kuwait. Their home was in a compound surrounded by a high fence. There were other houses for the families called “expats”, and we all shared a big garden with shady palm trees and cooling fountains. Some might have called it Paradise.

Every now and then, I would come across a cat creeping through the flower beds on its fat belly. I found that I had lost the urge to chase such pathetic creatures. When you have seen all infinity, you have bigger thoughts on your mind than pesky felines. Yes, thoughts, they were what ailed me. I hadn’t had many of them before, but seeing other worlds and meeting alien life forms expands a dog’s mind. I started to wonder if pampering and love might be a sort of slavery. I had an itch for freedom, and you couldn’t scratch it. I had seen the Planet of the Cats. I longed to discover the Planet of the Dogs.

Sometimes I would put my paw in Jenny’s hand and she would gaze at me with loving eyes and say:

“Don’t worry darling Bonzo. I’m never ever going to let them shoot you up into space again. If they come to get you, I’ll hang on to you and I won’t let go. They’ll have to send me with you to the other side of the heavens, and Daddy will never let them do that.”

“Bonzo” was what she called me by the way. It was an affectionate name, but it didn’t seem to fit me anymore. By then I thought of myself as Astropup, the space explorer. My exterior was same fluffy, waggy friend that Jenny had known since puppyhood. But on the inside, I had changed.

The cruelest, most gut wrenching moment of my life took place one day in the garden of our compound. I was lying under an orange tree, when I heard an unhappy voice from within the house. It was jenny crying and saying, “No no. I won’t let them take him. He’s my dog and he belongs here down on Earth, with me, for ever.”

Jenny ran out into the garden and flung her arms around me. I licked her face to tell her that I loved her, but I felt another force tugging at my heart. I saw a man with a Parrot sitting on his shoulder. He was my old friend and comrade – the parrot I mean – and he squawked, “Hurry up old boy. The rocket’s on the launch pad”. And with a woof I bounded over and joined him.

As we drove off, I pressed my nose against the back window of the van, and I saw Jenny standing in the doorway of the house with tears in her eyes. My heart was wrenched into two.

Well I had chosen adventure over the cushy life, and boy I got it. I’ve told you before how take-off is a nasty experience, well this was a blast to remember, because as we were going up, and the g-force was pulling our stomachs down, I saw a piece of metal fly past our window. The Major – that was the parrot – saw it too. “Uh-oh,” he said, And oh, how I wished I was back in the arms of Jenny.

But eight minutes later we reached orbit safely, and all systems seemed to be A-ok. It’s so tranquil up there that it’s hard to worry. I gazed back down at the world. and thought how life goes round in circles like a pup chasing its tail. Even space travel becomes routine after you’ve done it a few times. Well the mechanics of it do, but I’ll always feel a sharp thrill at the start of an adventure: It’s more exciting than even the waft of rabbit scent on the wind. Our mission was only a small one. A quick trip to Mars. My role was to dig in an ancient river bed and bring back samples of Marsian mud. The humans thought they might contain microscopic life forms.

The Major’s job was to set the coordinates, and fire us off in the direction of the Red Planet. He was a cool -headed bird, and normally he worked calmly and methodically at the control panel. It beats me how he remembered which buttons to press, but he did. This time I noticed that his head was nodding more frantically than usual. That worried me. My worst fears were confirmed when he squawked into the microphone;

“Houston, we have a problem”.

The human chatter from the speakers grew quite intense, but the voice of the controller remained calm. He said.

“Ark 3” – that was our ship – “Remain in orbit. A rescue shuttle is standing by.”

I was pleasantly surprised. I had assumed that the humans would leave us hanging up there, rather than go to the trouble of rescuing a bird and a dog. Perhaps the ship was too expensive to dump. But the Major replied:

“Hold on. I can fix it.”

He was grasping an electric screw driver between his claws and undoing a panel. I had never seen him do anything like that. The human controller was saying.

“Major. Your orders are to stay in orbit and await assistance. Do not attempt maintenance. Repeat, do not attempt maintenance”

I added my bark to that, but something seemed to snap inside the Major’s feather breast. He jutted his beak at me:

“Shut your snout and that’s an order.” It was unusual for the parrot to be so petulant. I don’t think he liked being told what to do, even by the humans.

After he had been working for half an hour with a soldering iron, he said “Houston. I’ve patched in the emergency booster.” The human controller was saying: “Do not engage the booster. Remain in orbit and await assistance.”

I gruffed, “Better do what the humans say. It’s their show.”

But the Major replied: “Yeah, yeah yeah, I know what I’m doing. I’m not just a pretty polly you know.”

He pecked on the controls and a few seconds later we were rushing across the galaxy at four times the speed of light. The Major looked like a very pleased parrot. He had wanted to prove something to the humans, and he had done it – or so he thought. We had only been going a few hours when a red light started to flash on the control panel. I noticed it through my half closed eyelid.

“Wake up,” said the Major. “We’re almost there.” But I felt in my tail that something was wrong. I looked up at the space chart on the ceiling. Mars was marked with a red circle. Our position was marked with a green light. The two were nowhere near each other. In fact, even to a simple minded hound such as myself, it was obvious that we were heading in wrong direction. I sat staring it.

“What’s up?” asked the Major.

“We’re lost. That’s what’s up,” I said.

“Naaa!” he replied. But then he saw what I was looking at, and his face turned from yellow to bright yellow.

I couldn’t help myself. I howled and bayed:

“Aw-aw-awwwwwwwww! I should never have left my Jenny!”

The Major started to work at the computer, but I could tell that he didn’t really have a clue how to get us out of this pickle. He was a brainy bird alright, but on this occasion, too smart for his own good, and mine, unfortunately.

I curled up in my kennel and tried to sleep. Our oxygen and water could be recycled indefinitely. If were were careful not to woof our grub down all at once we could keep going for two, maybe three months : but the end result would be the same: starvation in space. I wondered if, when it came to it, I would eat the parrot. I hoped not, because he had been my friend, as well as my doom.

We didn’t hear anything from the humans. Either we were too far away, or they were fed up with us. The parrot worked continuously at the computer for a week, but we kept on heading in entirely the wrong direction. Eventually he said.

“Alright. I’m sorry. You were right. I should have obeyed orders. “

“Don’t fret your feathers” , I said. “I forgive you. At least we will go out gloriously, as creatures of freedom.” 

But how I wished I hadn’t left home. I began to think that if pampering and three meals a day is slavery, then perhaps freedom is overrated. And if it was our destiny to die in space, I would rather have gone down fighting the cat people than wasting away slowly of hunger.

The Major set the computer to beam out a Mayday signal. Actually, we broadcast “Help, Save our Skins” in all the languages that the Major knew, which included parrot, general bird language, animal speak, English, Japanese, and a bit of German. He couldn’t bark, but he could understand dog language. He spoke to me in English and I woofed back. He asked me to record an “SOS”, and added my own “OW-OW-OWWWWW! to the tape.

I can’t say either of us expected to meet anyone up there, but the Universe is so much smaller than you think, or at least that’s what I always find. After about a month of helpless wandering, the Parrot started to squawk excitedly.

“Dog. Dog. Wake up ! We’re saved. Either that or death will come quickly. In any case, our suffering is at an end.”

I rushed over to the window, and could not help letting out a series of excited yaps. A space craft was approaching us, and the nearer it came, the bigger it got. It was huge. I mean the size of an oil tanker or two – and I’ve barked at some out in the gulf off Kuwait so I know what I’m talking about. It was not shaped at all like our own ship. It was more like a bird, with great wings out of the side. It was painted all sorts of bright colours. In fact, it look liked a giant Parrot.

“Oh no. Oh no. It’s alive!” I yelped.

The beak of this ginormous bird opened and it was clear that was going to swallow us up. This was to be our end. A snack for a space monster. There was nothing we could do. Our course was set straight into its mouth. I said goodbye to the stars and saw my life flash before me. I thought of my mother, my six brothers and sisters, the first squirrel that I caught (and then let go), of the day that Jenny chose me and took me home, and of our two trips to the Planet of the Cats.

But as all but the dimmest among you will have gathered, since I am here to tell this tale, this was not the end. It was not a bird that swallowed us up, but a space craft.

When I opened my eyes I saw that the inside of the ship was filled with branches, like a giant tree. We were surrounded by thousands of birds. Some were sitting, some were flying, some were pecking, and still others were doing one of those things and pooping at the same time.

The Parrot stared in amazement through the window. Eventually he said one word.

“Civilisation!”

Download the audio, (Right Click, Save As)

This is one of the wonderful Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling. It explains why a huge mammal – the whale – can only eat the smallest things. The story is full of Kipling’s love of words and sounds, and it’s read with gusto by Richard. In case you missed last week’s story, we had better mention that Natasha is away.

If you enjoy this story, you might also like The Elephant’s Child, also from the Just So Stories.

This story is kindly sponsored by Sweetpea3 who are also giving away prizes for our writing competition.

Fancy yourself as an author? Here’s your chance to win a Sweetpea3 player and HEAR your story on Storynory. And even if you don’t win, we plan to publish the texts of all entries that we deem fit to publish. Please read the rules here.

Read by Richard Scott. Duration 12.55

ON the sea, once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a Whale, and he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel. All the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth–so! Till at last there was only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was a small ‘Stute Fish, and he swam a little behind the Whale’s right ear, so as to be out of harm’s way. Then the Whale stood up on his tail and said, ‘I’m hungry.’ And the small ‘Stute Fish said in a small ’stute voice, ‘Noble and generous Cetacean, have you ever tasted Man?’

‘No,’ said the Whale. ‘What is it like?’

‘Nice,’ said the small ‘Stute Fish. ‘Nice but nubbly.’

‘Then fetch me some,’ said the Whale, and he made the sea froth up with his tail.

‘One at a time is enough,’ said the ‘Stute Fish. ‘If you swim to latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West (that is magic), you will find, sittingon a raft, in the middle of the sea, with nothing on but a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must not forget the suspenders, Best Beloved), and a jack-knife, one ship-wrecked Mariner, who, it is only fair to tell you, is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’

So the Whale swam and swam to latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West, as fast as he could swim, and on a raft, in the middle of the sea, with nothing to wear except a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must particularly remember the suspenders, Best Beloved), and a jack-knife, he found one single, solitary shipwrecked Mariner, trailing his toes in the water. (He had his mummy’s leave to paddle, or else he would never have done it, because he was a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.)
Then the Whale opened his mouth back and back and back till it nearly touched his tail, and he swallowed the shipwrecked Mariner, and the raft he was sitting on, and his blue canvas breeches, and the suspenders (which you must not forget), and the jack-knife–He swallowed them all down into his warm, dark, inside cup-boards, and then he smacked his lips–so, and turned round three times on his tail.

[Imagine a picture of the Whale swallowing the Mariner with his infinite-resource-and-sagacity, and the raft and the jack-knife and his suspenders, which you must not forget. The buttony-things are the Mariner's suspenders, and you can see the knife close by them. He is sitting on the raft, but it has tilted up sideways, so you don't see much of it. The whity thing by the Mariner's left hand is a piece of wood that he was trying to row the raft with when the Whale came along. The piece of wood is called the jaws-of-a-gaff. The Mariner left it outside when he went in. The Whale's name was Smiler, and the Mariner was called Mr. Henry Albert Bivvens, A.B. The little 'Stute Fish is hiding under the Whale's tummy, or else I would have drawn him. The reason that the sea looks so ooshy-skooshy is because the Whale is sucking it all into his mouth so as to suck in Mr. Henry Albert Bivvens and the raft and the jack-knife and the suspenders. You must never forget the suspenders.]

But as soon as the Mariner, who was a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, found himself truly inside the Whale’s warm, dark, inside cup-boards, he stumped and he jumped and he thumped and he bumped, and he pranced and he danced, and he banged and he clanged, and he hit and he bit, and he leaped and he creeped, and he prowled and he howled, and he hopped and he dropped, and he cried and he sighed, and he crawled and he bawled, and he stepped and he lepped, and he danced hornpipes where he shouldn’t, and the Whale felt most unhappy indeed. (Have you forgotten the suspenders?)

So he said to the ‘Stute Fish, ‘This man is very nubbly, and besides he is making me hiccough. What shall I do?’

‘Tell him to come out,’ said the ‘Stute Fish.

So the Whale called down his own throat to the shipwrecked Mariner, ‘Come out and behave yourself. I’ve got the hiccoughs.’

‘Nay, nay!’ said the Mariner. ‘Not so, but far otherwise. Take me to my natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and I’ll think about it.’ And he began to dance more than ever.

‘You had better take him home,’ said the ‘Stute Fish to the Whale. ‘I ought to have warned you that he is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’

So the Whale swam and swam and swam, with both flippers and his tail, as hard as he could for the hiccoughs; and at last he saw the Mariner’s natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and he rushed half-way up the beach, and opened his mouth wide and wide and wide, and said, ‘Change here for Winchester, Ashuelot, Nashua, Keene, and stations on the Fitchburg Road;’ and just as he said ‘Fitch’ the Mariner walked out of his mouth. But while the Whale had been swimming, the Mariner, who was indeed a person of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, had taken his jack-knife and cut up the raft into a little square grating all running criss-cross, and he had tied it firm with his suspenders (now, you know why you were not to forget the suspenders!), and he dragged that grating good and tight into the Whale’s throat, and there it stuck! Then he recited the following Sloka, which, as you have not heard it, I will now proceed to relate–

By means of a grating
I have stopped your ating.

For the Mariner he was also an Hi-ber-ni-an. And he stepped out on the shingle, and went home to his mother, who had given him leave to trail his toes in the water; and he married and lived happily ever afterward. So did the Whale. But from that day on, the grating in his throat, which he could neither cough up nor swallow down, prevented him eating anything except very, very small fish; and that is the reason why whales nowadays never eat men or boys or little girls.

The small ‘Stute Fish went and hid himself in the mud under the Door-sills of the Equator. He was afraid that the Whale might be angry with him.

HERE is the Whale looking for the little ‘Stute Fish, who is hiding under the Door-sills of the Equator. The little ‘Stute Fish’s name was Pingle. He is hiding among the roots of the big seaweed that grows in front of the Doors of the Equator. I have drawn the Doors of the Equator. They are shut. They are always kept shut, because a door aught always to be kept shut. The ropy-thing right across it is the Equator itself; and the things that look like rocks are the two giants Moar and Koar, that keep the Equator in order. They drew the shadow-pictures on the doors of the Equator, and they carved all those twisty fishes under the Doors. The beaky-fish are called beaked Dolphins, and the other fish with the queer heads are called Hammer-headed Sharks. The Whale never found the little ‘Stute Fish till he got over his temper, and then they became good friends again.

The Sailor took the jack-knife home. He was wearing the blue canvas breeches when he walked out on the shingle. The suspenders were left behind, you see, to tie the grating with; and that is the end of that tale.

Kipling added this short rhyme about a sea voyage to the story:

WHEN the cabin port-holes are dark and green
    Because of the seas outside;
When the ship goes wop (with a wiggle between)
And the steward falls into the soup-tureen,
    And the trunks begin to slide;
When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap,
And Mummy tells you to let her sleep,
And you aren’t waked or washed or dressed,
Why, then you will know (if you haven’t guessed)
You’re ‘Fifty North and Forty West!

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as)

Quite a while ago, we heard from a dog called Astropup who told us about his adventures in space with clever parrot and a treasonous cat. The years have gone by, and Astropup has been continuing to have adventures. Now he returns to recount some of them.

Natasha is taking a break for a few weeks. We know that you will miss her. We are already – and she’s hardly been away yet ! But we do think that you will enjoy the voice of Richard Scott who is standing in for her.

That’s not the only news. We have a new sponsor Sweatpea3 who make an MP3 player that is specially designed for kids. It’s durable and easy to use, and it’s also cute. We think you will love it. Audible continue to back us too and we are grateful to both our sponsors.

Read by Richard. Story by Bertie. Duration 16.38.

Hello My name’s Astropup, which fitted me quite well way back when I was a young scalawag, but these days I’m more of an old space dog. If you’ve got a good memory, you might recall my first yarn on Storynory.com quite a while ago. That was when I travelled with a brainy parrot and a treasonous cat to a distant planet where cat people were the top dogs, so to speak. I’ve zoomed around the galaxy quite a bit since then, been there, done that, and thought you might like hear about some of my adventures. Well here goes.

After I got back from the abysmal Planet of the Cats, the people at the space centre hung a medal from my collar. For a short happy while, I returned to Jenny, the little girl who cares for me, but it wasn’t long before my other master – duty – was calling me again. As I had so successfully completed one mission, the humans wanted me for the next one. Better the dog you know, so to speak. They had picked up a signal from outer space. The voice sounded like a bark, and the scientists took it as evidence of an intelligent canine species from another world – one perhaps even smarter than sheep dogs.

Once again my traveling companion was the Parrot, who was a Major in the Space Force. His real name is a top secret, and although I do in fact know it, I can’t tell it to you. In any case, I always called him The Major. The Major wasn’t very talkative, or even very squarkative, for a parrot, but when he did speak, he always made good sense, like the time when he told me:

“Cats aren’t clever, you know, they’re cunning, and there’s a big difference.”

I won’t tell you all about lift off, and what a scary horrid feeling it is when you leave this world. I described all that terrible clattering and juddering in my first story. It was more bearable this time because we knew what to expect, and because we didn’t have to endure that cowardly cat screeching “We’re all going to die” every five seconds.

I’m sure that if our spacecraft had been made for humans, there would have been every convenience, like sofas to lie on, carpets to chew on, and gourmet meals out of the freezer. But we animals and birds are second class citizens, even when we are saving the world. You’ve seen the boot of an estate car. Well that’s what our living quarters were like. You couldn’t even open the window. The parrot had a perch. I had a rubber bone. That was our lot for luxuries.

The Major is a brainy bird, and he understood a lot more scientific stuff than I ever will. He said the humans had found a way to bend space, so that we hurtled along at four times the the speed of light without actually going forward in time. Look, if you don’t understand that last sentence, neither do I, so don’t let it bother you. All you have to know is that this form of travel was too new, too untried, and too dicy for humans.

Once we had said goodbye to Earth, it was basically just us and the universe. I can’t tell you how quiet it is out there. And of course there’s no gravity to drag you down. As for that floating around business, it was alright for the bird, he was used to it, but us dogs prefer to keep our paws on the ground. If I wanted to sleep, which was most of the time, I had a kennel, and the walls and roof stopped me drifting off too far.

The parrot had brought along plenty to keep his clever feather brain occupied. He spent his time learning German, to add to his other languages, and solving cryptic crosswords on his computer.

After we had been bending space for about four weeks, we finally picked up a signal. I could clearly hear it through the speakers. It was three long woofs, followed by three short ones: Like this:

Woof woof woof
Wuf wuf wuf.

Intelligent life ! This is what we had come all this way to find. We had been trained in the procedure. The Major started to peck on some buttons on the wall. Our course locked onto the signal and we headed straight for its source. In the meantime, I returned some friendly barks into the microphone, but the major said that we would get there before the sound of my barks – figure that one out if you can.

Before too long, we sighted the distressed space craft through the big window. You could see it was in a bad way, because panels were missing off the roof, and bits and pieces of debris were trailing behind it.

“Best be careful,” said the Major, “We don’t know if these aliens have friendly intentions.”

I couldn’t agree enough, but our orders were to make contact and, if possible, to bring any evidence of their life back to earth. I gruffed into the microphone,

“Hello canine friends. We come in peace. Would you like a tow to anywhere in the Universe?” But they just repeated the woofing exactly as before. It was just like a blooming recording.

“They don’t seem all that smart to me,” I said. The Major looked like he was about to say something clever, but he didn’t have a chance because seconds later there was a loud crash and we were both juddered and thrown all over the place. Fortunately the walls of our quarters were padded with cushions, or one of us might have broken a paw or a wing.

When we had recovered our senses, we saw that the idiots in the other craft had crashed into us. I mean, you’d think with all infinity to drive through, they could have found their own space. But at least our window was now next to there’s. We could see in – and just as I had suspected – their ship was crewed by three fellow pouches.

I can’t tell you what this moment meant to me. You travel millions of miles, you meet beings from another world, and it turns out that they are dogs who are smart enough to build and fly their own space craft, all be it badly.

While pride for my species was swelling in my heart, the Major squawked:

“You stay here. I’m going out for a space walk.”

His space suit was suspended from the ceiling. It was a clever design with a self fastening zip. He was dressed in about a minute, and not much later he was waving a wing at me from the other side of the window. I was glad it was him out there, not me. Fortunately he didn’t find much more damage to our ship than a couple of dents. He hooked up a towing rope to the other ship, and popped back inside via the air lock.

We were almost set to go. I said into the microphone: “Right, where to boys?” and they beamed over a map. The Parrot spent some time studying our own star charts, and comparing theirs to ours. At last he squawked “Got it !” and pecked some coordinates into our ship’s computer. The star map on the ceiling of our quarters lit up, and “Zoom” we were on our way.

As we went, I tried to speak to the dogs in the other ship, but their woofs made little or no sense to me, and I gave up trying to communicate. They seemed to prefer snoozing to talking, and I thought to myself, “Well we will see soon enough what the planet of the dogs is like.”

And sure enough, after only a couple of days we were already in orbit around their world. As I looked down into the swirling seas and sprawling land masses, it all seemed strangely familiar. It was as if I had seen it all before in a dream. I started to think big thoughts, like perhaps the spirits of dogs come from this world when we are born, and return here when we die. Perhaps somewhere else there is a planet of the parrots, and perhaps each and every species has its own home in one corner of the universe, where they are lords and masters and all is perfect for them, just like the humans rule our Earth.

The dogs in the other ship sent over another map with instructions about where to land. If anything, entering a world is worse than leaving it. The ship grows horribly hot with friction against the atmosphere, and you are going so fast you can’t help wondering if you’re going to crash and that will be it, but when the parachute opens and you are drifting down through a clear sky, all is bliss. I wondered what our welcoming party would be like. No doubt they would be as amazed to meet dogs from another planet as we were. My only worry was that they might think me stupid, because it seemed to me that their canine civilisation was as advanced as the humans’ on our own planet.

We landed, as you generally do, with a bone shuddering thud, and after weeks of weightlessness, I had trouble standing up. It’s like learning to to walk all over again. The parrot was flying before I was walking. He was fluttering at the window.

“Core !! “ he said, which was his own parrot language and I didn’t understand it. Then he switched into English, which is what Jenny spoke and which I understand perfectly.

“You’re not going to like this,” he said. I staggered over to the window and pressed my nose against it. A cart was coming towards us along a track through the field. It was pulled by a set of four dogs in harnesses. Seated above in the vehicle were two hideous creatures. It wasn’t the first time we had seen such abominations. They were cat people !

It breaks my heart to recount what happened next. The ship that we had towed was lying on its side. I wondered if the poor dogs had suffered broken bones in the landing, but they were unhurt. The hatch flew open, and they climbed out, and jumped down onto the ground. They ran across the field, their tales wagging, towards the cart. They were glad to be home – back to where dogs were slaves – back to the Planet of the Cats !

“I’ve seen enough,” I said. “Let’s get out of here,” and the Parrot started to apply his beak to the computer. A few pecks fired the rockets and we were lifting off. I hope that our exhaust singed some cat whiskers down below, and if it burned some dog fur, so be it: they were cowards and traitors to their own kind.

For a long while I was silent. I could not take it in. Eventually, when we were well on our way, I said to the Major:

“Why? Why did they want to go back? They were free dogs. We could have taken them back to Earth where they could hold their tails high? Ours might not be the planet of the dogs, but at least, the humans treat us, well, humanely, and not like slaves.”

“Why?” said the parrot. “Some creatures find freedom frightening.”

And I thought to myself, that however much I loved Jenny and my family life, I also loved the freedom of space travel. Yes it was a scary business, but when you are out there in the universe, nobody can tell you what to do. I made a promise to myself that I would never be afraid of freedom, and one day I would find the corner of the universe which dogs can call their own home.

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as).

The adventures of Theo the Monkey take a new turn as he determines to break out of the zoo and take up the fight for what is right in the City.

Mr. Grabber, the keeper of the monkeys cage, has a new scheme which on the face of it seems to be in a good cause. When Theo digs deeper, he finds that Mr. Grabber and his girlfriend are up to their usual criminal tricks.

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie. Picture by Tania Fernandes . Sponsored byAudible. Duration 13.51.

Hello, This is Natasha, and I’m dropping by with a story about Theo the Monkey. You may remember that Theo’s arch enemy is Mr. Grabber, the zoo keeper who is always up to some criminal schemes. Theo believes in justice and is infuriated that Mr. Grabber always seems to get away with his crimes. In this story, Theo decides that he must take up the fight for what is right.

One evening, after the zoo was closed, Mr. Grabber, the keeper of the monkeys, opened the door to the cage.

“Which of you hairy gang would like some banana ice cream?” he called out.

“Oooh, ah ah aha!” replied the nearest half a dozen monkeys who had heard him.

“Well swing on out of the cage and work for your keep,” said Mr. Grabber.

Theo was among the monkeys who reported for duty in a line outside the cage. He wondered what criminal scheme Mr. Grabber would have up his sleeve this time. But that evening, the keeper’s aim seemed surprisingly public spirited. He ordered them to pick up litter and to put it into black bin bags, and whenever they found an old entrance ticket to the zoo, to put it into a special green bag to be recycled. And he promised that he would exchange banana ice cream for full bags of litter.

The monkeys understood perfectly well what to do, and soon they were hopping around the zoo, trailing litter bags behind them, some black, some green. Sometimes one of them would try to put a crisp packet or a sandwich wrapper inside a green bag, and Mr. Grabber would yell.

“Oy, you, that monkey ! Only tickets go in the green bag.“

And while the monkeys were working, Mr. Grabber tipped full bins of litter onto the ground and told them to sort out the tickets from the rest of the rubbish.

After an hour and a half of litter picking, the monkeys claimed their reward, and Mr. Grabber was as good as his word. He gave each of them a big tub of yellow ice cream.

“And there will be more of that tomorrow evening,” he promised.

After dark, Theo spoke to Fucious, the most respected old monkey in their tribe.

“Oh wise one, “ he said, “What is the meaning of Mr. Grabber’s tidying and recycling? Is he a reformed man?”

The silver haired monkey scratched his head. “It is indeed very puzzling. Perhaps even a man as selfish and greedy as Mr. Grabber wishes to save the planet from a mountain of rubbish.”

The next day, the Peters family joined the queue of visitors outside the zoo. Little Jack Peters said:

“I want to see the monkeys and feed them chocolate through the bars so that they all go crazy like this,” and he did a little dance while he scratched himself under the arms.

“That’s silly,” said both his sisters, quite unamused.

When they reached the pay kiosk, Mr Peters asked to pay for two adults and three children.

“That will be £125 sir,” said the ticket seller.

“Oh dear,” said Mr. Peters. “That is rather a lot. I don’t think I have enough money on my payment card.”

“Sorry sir. The prices went up at New Year,” said the ticket seller.

“Sorry kids,” said Mr. Peters, “The zoo’s too expensive. We’ll have to go to the playground in the park. At least that’s still free.”

As the dejected family started to leave, a lady came up to them and said: “Would you like some cheap tickets to the zoo? I bought some for my family in advance, but now grandma has been taken ill and we can’t go. I’ll let you have five for 50 quid.“

Mr. Peters knew a bargain when he saw it and gladly paid.

But he didn’t know that the lady was Mr. Grabber’s girlfriend, and she was selling the recycled tickets that the monkeys had picked up. It was Mr. Grabber’s latest criminal scheme to make quick and easy money .

The plot would have gone undetected, if Theo had not been watching from the top of the cage. His sharp eyes spotted what was happening just outside the entrance to the zoo, and he understood everything.

That evening Theo tried to stop the other monkeys from helping Mr. Grabber to recycle old zoo tickets.

“Don’t do it. You are aiding and abetting a criminal scheme,” he told them.

“No we’re not. Recycling is good,” said a monkey called Janice as she hopped out of the cage to join that evening’s ice cream gang.

Once again, Theo climbed up onto the rock of the wise ones in the centre of the cage, and he consulted Fucious.

“Master, what am I to do?” he asked.

“Stay calm, be patient, watch, and wait for inspiration to tell you what to do,” advised the old monkey.

But Theo was not very good at staying calm and being patient. He was bursting with anger and fury :

“I can not stay here and watch Mr. Grabber get away with it once again!,” he said to himself. “ I cannot stand living with this bunch of monkeys who see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil even when it is taking place right in front of their noses. I must get out of here. I must escape !”

He fumed for another 24 hours until Mr. Grabber once again opened the cage and offered banana ice cream to the first six monkeys to report for litter picking duty. Theo made sure that he was first to swing out of the cage. He could smell freedom. But before he made his break for it, he quietly slipped his paw into Mr. Grabber’s coat pocket and pulled out a key. Later, when everyone else was busy picking up litter as fast as they could, he climbed up a tree that reached over the wall of the zoo.

Theo landed in the car park. He made for the red motor cycle which he knew belonged to Mr. Grabber. He hopped on board, and looked around the for the ignition. When he found it, he fumbled to get the keys into the slot.

Just then he heard a cry of

“Oy, Stop that Monkey”

Mr. Grabber was running from the zoo gate. His girl friend opened the door of a van where she was waiting, jumped out, and came running towards him from the other direction. She almost managed to grab hold of Theo just as motor cycle’s engine burst into life. Theo let out the clutch and the bike went shooting forward. He was accelerating like a bullet straight for Mr. Grabber who had to dive out of the way.

“Quick, get the van” called Mr. Grabber, And his girl friend ran back to to where it was parked. Soon they were out on the street – They saw Theo shoot through some red lights, causing cars to serve and hoot madly.

“He won’t get far like that,” said the girlfriend.

“But what about my bike? He’ll smash it up for sure.” said Mr. Grabber sadly. It was no use chasing. Theo was soon out of sight.

Theo seemed to know how to ride the bike instinctively. “I must have been a motor cyclist in a previous life,” he thought to himself gleefully, as he dodged round an oncoming police car. He could hear the wailing of sirens, but they soon faded far behind him.

As he chugged up a side road more slowly now, he saw something that filled him with anger. A woman was walking along holding the hand of a small boy, who skipped beside her, trying to avoid the cracks in the pavement. Two youths ran up behind her. One pushed her over, and the other grabbed her handbag. The boy scrammed “Mummy!”. The muggers ran down the street, and they moved even faster when they heard a motor bike revving up behind them. Perhaps you can imagine the terror that one youth felt as a hairy paw grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the ground. The motor bike skidded round. The monkey jumped off and grabbed the hand bag. A tug of war ensued, the monkey pulling one way, the youths another. A police van pulled up and six officers jumped out and slapped handcuffs on the monkey and the youths.

As the police officer helped the woman to her feet, she said :

“Officer. That monkey helped me. He was rescuing my handbag.”

“Sorry Madam. I’m afraid he’s a notorious criminal, escaped from the zoo. There’s been a call out on all police radios for him. Fits the description exactly he does.”.

‘But he’s a good monkey,” cried the boy.

But the police could not hold Theo for long. He was the Harry Houdini of monkeys. Even as the officer spoke, Theo was wiggling his hairy wrists out of the cuffs. Before a policeman could shout “Stop that Monkey! ” He was on his motor bike and racing down the street.

“Hurray! “ called the small boy. “He’s escaped!”

By the next day, pictures of Theo’s face were in all the newspapers and on all the television broadcasts. Overnight he had become by far the most notorious monkey in the country, if not the world.

He hid the motor bike in the park, because he knew that if he continued to ride it, he would run into a police road block soon or later. He hopped over the rooftops of the town, wondering what fate lay in store for him. His stomach complained bitterly of hunger. He could see fruit store holder down at street level.

“Oooo ! those bananas and apples look so delicious,” he thought to himself. “I could just hop down and pick up some. But oh, I don’t have any money. And it’s wrong to steal. I don’t want to be a criminal like Mr. Grabber, even if the police say that’s what I am.”

But he was so hungry, that he found himself somehow drawn down to the ground, and towards the store. He stared with a starving look at the bananas.

“Hey you’re that monkey,” said the store holder.

Theo didn’t run away. He just looked at him, almost ready to give himself up for in return for some food from the prison kitchen.

“You’re the one they call the Vigilante Monkey,” went on the store holder. “You’re doing a great job. The public’s right behind you. Here, have a banana, take a whole bunch. Take two bunches.”

Theo expected a trick, and as he crept forward he was on the look out for the gleam of handcuffs, and he half thought he could hear the sound of sirens.

But there was no trick. The store holder did give him the bananas, as well as a bag of apples, and a bunch of grapes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir,” he said. “Now be on your way, and mind you don’t get caught. This city needs you.”

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as).

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 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 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.

Download the story to your computer (right click, save as)

Katie, the ordinary witch, returns for story in which her mother buys her a black kitten to help her with her magic. Katie puts a spell on the cat so that he can talk. Soon he is not only talking, he’s gossipping about all her friends.

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie. Duration 12.51.

Every Saturday, not far from where Katie lived, there was a market. Farmers came into town and set up their stalls in a car park. They sold the tastiest apples, the freshest eggs, and all sorts of vegetables that still had the mud from the fields on them. Katie liked to go there with her mum who looked for unusual herbs like sorrel, angelica and coltsfoot. Sometimes she made spells with these herbs, but quite often she just put them in her soups. One morning, as they were leaving the market, they passed an old lady who was standing on the corner holding a wicker basket.

“Little girl, do you want to see what I have inside this basket,” she asked.

Katie was a bit afraid, because she thought that perhaps she had something bad in the basket, like apples that were poisonous. Besides, she knew that she must never speak to strangers. But then she heard a little sound.

“Mee-ow”

“Oh mum, can we look please?” she asked.

Katie’s mum was curious to see too. The old lady pulled back the cloth and they saw that inside the basket four little kittens clambering over each other.

“Oh please, they are so cute, mum, can we have one?”

Mum shook her head.

“Oh please, please, can we have a kitten? I want one so much. I promise to look after it and besides”, she whispered, “a cat could help me with my magic.”

One of the kittens was black. Mum picked it up by the scruff on the back of its neck – the way a mother cat picks up her kittens. She examined it closely and made sure that he was completely black without even the smallest white mark on its paws.

“Alright,” she said. “We’ll buy this one.”

Back at home, the fluffy little creature did loads of incredibly cute things like playing with a ball of wool, looking in the mirror and thinking there was another cat there, and climbing in and out of Katie’s shoe.

“Mum, what sort of magic can cats do?” asked Katie

“Cats are very clever and can be your ears and eyes,” said mum, “But you must be very careful. Cats don’t have much tact. They can get you into all sorts of trouble.”

“By my cat’s clever,” said Katie. She picked up her kitten and kissed him. “I shall call you Solomon,” she said. “Because you are so much wiser than ordinary cats.”

The months passed and Solomon grew up into a serious young cat who liked to sit and watch Katie do her homework. He often went out for long walks on his own, and Katie wondered where he wandered and what he saw.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to ask him,” she thought. And then she had an idea. She went into her mother’s room and pulled down a volume from the Encyclopedia of Magic. There were some spells in there that were so secret that they weren’t even on the internet yet. She turned through the pages of magic instructions that began with “C” and she found the one that looked the most promising for her purpose. It was called “Cat’s Tongue”

Katie went out into the garden to pick some catnip. She said a magic spell over it, and came back in to the kitchen to give it to Solomon. He purred appreciatively because there was nothing that he liked more than catnip.

“Now Solomon, “ said Katie, “Can you tell me where you went on your walk today and what you saw?”

“Murrrrr,” said Solomon.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand cat talk,” said Katie.

“I was just thinking,” said Solomon, “What to tell you first. Would you like to know about the mouse that I caught and ate for breakfast?”

“Not really.”

“Or would you like to know about the oak tree where I sharpen my claws?”

“Not especially.”

“Then shall I tell you who I saw with your friend Isis?”

“Yes,” said Katie. “That would be rather more interesting.”

“I saw Isis sitting in her garden with Tim eating ice creams, and do you know what? They kissed !’

“Hu! They didn’t “

“They did, I saw it. “

And Katie was so excited that she couldn’t wait to tell everyone at school all about Isis and Tim, but of course she wasn’t going to tell Isis or Tim themselves, because they obviously already knew about it.

“Wow,” you don’t say?” asked Emma.

“Ugg, how could she? He has blackheads on his nose,” exclaimed Jane.

“But how do you know?” asked Ravinia.

As Katie couldn’t say how she knew, because her talking cat was meant to be a secret, so she just said that she saw it all with her own eyes.

The next day, when Katie came home, she found Solomon sleeping on top of a pile of laundry.

“Solomon, wake up you sleepy moggy, What did you see today?”

“Well,” he said with a stretch and a yawn, “I was walking along the top of the school wall when I saw your friend Isis again. She was talking to Ravinia and she said that you were a spy and a tell-tale-tit. “

“She didn’t !” exclaimed Katie with great indignation.

“Of course, You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to.”

“I do believe you Solomon. I just meant, like, how dare she say a thing like that? She’s my friend. Well you know what? I’m not speaking to her anymore.”

And for the rest of the week at school, Isis and Katie pretended not to notice each other, even though they were normally the best of friends. When they weren’t falling out with each other, Isis and Katie would share secrets and problems, and quite often, when they got home from school, they would chatter on the phone because they liked each other’s company so much. Now Katie wasn’t speaking to Isis. So she called Paul who used to go her school.

Isis was looking out of her bedroom window at the spot where she had sat with Tim. Tim had given her one tiny little kiss, as an experiment, just to see what all the fuss was about that sort of thing. And she had liked it. She would have liked it less if she had known that Katie was spying on her? But how? The garden had a high wall all around it. Had she climbed up a tree? Or flown over on her broomstick, more like. But however she had spied that kiss, the hurtful thing was that she had gossiped about it. When the rumours started to spread around school, thanks to Katie and her big mouth, Tim became embarrassed and stopped being her friend. While Isis was thinking these sad thoughts, she noticed that a black cat was sitting in the apple tree, watching the birds flutter around the nut container that swung to and fro from a branch.

“I know you,” she said. “Your’e that witch Katie’s cat.”

And then Isis thought to her self. “That’s it ! The cat is Katie’s spy…. but I bet I can turn that cunning creature into double agent. Soon he’ll be spying for me. It doesn’t take much to win a faithless cat’s heart. “ She knew exactly what to do. Two minutes later she was walking down the garden path carrying a saucer of clotted cream.

“Here kitty kitty,” she called. That was all it took. Soon Solomon’s rough tongue was lapping up the cream. “Now would you like to come inside and have some gorgeous smelly sardines?” asked Isis.

“I don’t mind if I do,” said Solomon.

When Solomon had eaten the tinned sardines in the Kitchen, Isis lifted up the feline fellow and took him to her room where she put him down on her big soft pink pillow. As he stretched out she tickled his belly.

“Mrrr. You sure know how to spoil a cat,” said Solomon.

“I sure do,” said Isis. “And you can come here, drink cream, feast on sardines, and lie on my pillow any time you want. But tell me. Who is your owner and what is he or she like?”

“Oh nobody special, just a little witch called Katie,” purred Solomon.

“I know her. She has a boyfriend, doesn’t she?” asked Isis, taking a stab in the dark.

“Not really. She just holds hands with Paul sometimes,” he said.

And Isis thought that was rather interesting. “And tell me, “ she said, “What does she say about the other kids at school?”

“Oh nothing worth knowing. Just that Annabel has bandy legs, and Georgie is a cry baby, and Ravinia can’t be trusted to keep a secret, and Laura is so stupid that she takes notes when she’s watching cartoons on TV.”

That was more than enough information. Five minutes later Isis had dialed Katie’s number and was relating back all the interesting facts that she had just learned.

“That’s s all rubbish,” said Katie. “It’s a tissue of lies.”

“No it’s not. It’s the perfect truth.”

“Prove it,” Challenged Katie. And she immediately wished that she hadn’t said that.

“Alright I will prove it. Your black moggy is lying on my pillow in my room and I’m going to invite to invite Annabel,Georgie, Ravinia and Laura round to hear what he has to say. And then I’m going to tell the entire world about you and Paul. In fact, I’m going to send record dedications for soppy love songs to all the radio stations on your behalf.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

And Katie realised that she was in a tight spot – one that magic wouldn’t necessarily get her out of.

“Ok,” she said. “I’m sorry that I gossiped about you.”

And although Isis didn’t accept her apology right away, the next day at school, when she found herself next to Katie in the dinner queue she asked:

“How’s your cat?”

“I don’t know. He’s not talking to me,”

“You mean that even your cat doesn’t talk to you any more?”

“Not since last night. I took the spell off him. I’m not so sure that a talking cat is such a good idea. “

And after that, Isis and Katie became friends again – because everyone needs somebody special that they can talk to.

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as)

A proud and haughty princess refuses to marry because no man is good enough for her. She mocks every suitor, especially a king whom she calls “Thrushbeard”. Her father devises a plot to make her less proud.

You may notice that this story by the Brothers Grimm has much in common with The Taming of the Shrew, the comedy by William Shakespeare.

Read by Natasha. Duration 10.34.

A king had a daughter who was beautiful beyond all measure, but so proud and haughty that no suitor was good enough for her. She sent away one after the other, and ridiculed them as well.

Once the king made a great feast and invited, from far and near, all the young men likely to marry. They were all marshaled in a row according to their rank and standing. First came the kings, then the grand-dukes, then the princes, the earls, the barons, and the gentry. Then the king’s daughter was led through the ranks, but to each one she had some objection to make. One was too fat, the wine-barrel, she said. Another was too tall,  and long and thin has little in. The third was too short,  and short and thick is never quick. The fourth was too pale, as pale as death. The fifth too red, a fighting cock. The sixth was not straight enough, a green log dried behind the stove.

So she had something to say against each one, but she made herself especially merry over a good king who stood quite high up in the row, and whose chin had grown a little crooked. Look, she cried and laughed, he has a chin like a thrush’s beak. And from that time he got the name of King Thrushbeard.

But the old king, when he saw that his daughter did nothing but mock the people, and despised all the suitors who were gathered there, was very angry, and swore that she should have for her husband the very first beggar that came to his doors.

A few days afterwards a fiddler came and sang beneath the windows, trying to earn a few pennies. When the king heard him he said, let him come up. So the fiddler came in, in his dirty, ragged clothes, and sang before the king and his daughter, and when he had ended he asked for a trifling gift. The king said, your song has pleased me so well that I will give you my daughter there, to wife.

The king’s daughter shuddered, but the king said, I have taken an oath to give you to the very first beggar-man and I will keep it. All she could say was in vain. The priest was brought, and she had to let herself be wedded to the fiddler on the spot. When that was done the king said, now it is not proper for you, a beggar-woman, to stay any longer in my palace, you may just go away with your husband.

The beggar-man led her out by the hand, and she was obliged to walk away on foot with him. When they came to a large forest she asked, to whom does that beautiful forest belong.

“It belongs to king Thrushbeard. If you had taken him, it would have been yours.”

“ Ah, unhappy girl that I am, if I had but taken king Thrushbeard.”

Afterwards they came to a meadow, and she asked again, to whom does this beautiful green meadow belong.

“It belongs to king Thrushbeard. If you had taken him, it would have been yours.”

“ Ah, unhappy girl that I am, if I had but taken king Thrushbeard.”

Then they came to a large town, and she asked again, to whom does this fine large town belong.

“It belongs to king Thrushbeard. If you had taken him, it would have been yours.”

“ Ah, unhappy girl that I am, if I had but taken king Thrushbeard.”

“ It does not please me”, said the fiddler, “to hear you always wishing for another husband. Am I not good enough for you?”

At last they came to a very little hut, and she said,

“Oh goodness. What a small house!  To whom does this miserable, tiny hovel belong?”

The fiddler answered, “That is my house and yours, where we shall live together.”

She had to stoop in order to go in at the low door. “Where are the servants?”, said the king’s daughter.

“What servants?” answered the beggar-man. “You must yourself do what you wish to have done. Just make a fire at once, and set on water to cook my supper, I am quite tired.”

But the king’s daughter knew nothing about lighting fires or cooking, and the beggar-man had to lend a hand himself to get anything fairly done. When they had finished their scanty meal they went to bed. But he forced her to get up quite early in the morning in order to look after the house.

For a few days they lived in this way as well as might be, and came to the end of all their provisions. Then the man said, wife, we cannot go on any longer eating and drinking here and earning nothing. You must make baskets. He went out, cut some willows, and brought them home. Then she began to make baskets, but the tough willows wounded her delicate hands.

“I see that this will not do”, said the man. “You had better spin, perhaps you can do that better.”
She sat down and tried to spin, but the hard thread soon cut her soft fingers so that the blood ran down.

“See, said the man, you are fit for no sort of work. I have made a bad bargain with you. Now I will try to make a business with pots and earthenware. You must sit in the market-place and sell the ware.”

“Alas”, thought she, “if any of the people from my father’s kingdom come to the market and see me sitting there, selling, how they will mock me.”  But it was of no use, she had to yield unless she chose to die of hunger. For the first time she succeeded well, for the people were glad to buy the woman’s wares because she was good-looking, and they paid her what she asked. Many even gave her the money and left the pots with her as well. So they lived on what she had earned as long as it lasted, then the husband bought a lot of new crockery. With this she sat down at the corner of the market-place, and set it out round about her ready for sale. But suddenly there came a drunken hussar galloping along, and he rode right amongst the pots so that they were all broken into a thousand bits. She began to weep, and did now know what to do for fear.

“Alas, what will happen to me?”, cried she. “What will my husband say to this? She ran home and told him of the misfortune.

“Who would seat herself at a corner of the market-place with crockery?” said the man. “Leave off crying, I see very well that you cannot do any ordinary work, so I have been to our king’s palace and have asked whether they cannot find a place for a kitchen-maid, and they have promised me to take you. In that way you will get your food for nothing.”

The king’s daughter was now a kitchen-maid, and had to be at the cook’s beck and call, and do the dirtiest work. In both her pockets she fastened a little jar, in which she took home her share of the leavings, and upon this they lived.

It happened that the wedding of the king’s eldest son was to be celebrated, so the poor woman went up and placed herself by the door of the hall to look on. When all the candles were lit, and people, each more beautiful than the other, entered, and all was full of pomp and splendor, she thought of her lot with a sad heart, and cursed the pride and haughtiness which had humbled her and brought her to so great poverty.

The smell of the delicious dishes which were being taken in and out reached her, and now and then the servants threw her a few morsels of them. These she put in her jars to take home.

All at once the king’s son entered, clothed in velvet and silk, with gold chains about his neck. And when he saw the beautiful woman standing by the door he seized her by the hand, and would have danced with her. But she refused and shrank with fear, for she saw that it was King Thrushbeard, her suitor whom she had driven away with scorn. Her struggles were of no avail, he drew her into the hall. But the string by which her pockets were hung broke, the pots fell down, the soup ran out, and the scraps were scattered all about. And when the people saw it, there arose general laughter and derision, and she was so ashamed that she would rather have been a thousand fathoms below the ground. She sprang to the door and would have run away, but on the stairs a man caught her and brought her back. And when she looked at him it was king Thrushbeard again. He said to her kindly,

“Do not be afraid, I and the fiddler who has been living with you in that wretched hovel are one. For love of you I disguised myself so. And I also was the hussar who rode through your crockery. This was all done to humble your proud spirit, and to punish you for the insolence with which you mocked me.”

Then she wept bitterly and said, I have done great wrong, and am not worthy to be your wife. But he said, be comforted, the evil days are past. Now we will celebrate our wedding. Then the maids-in-waiting came and put on her the most splendid clothing, and her father and his whole court came and wished her happiness in her marriage with king Thrushbeard, and the joy now began in earnest. I wish you and I had been there too.

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as)

Our series about a girl band called the chiX and their brainy little sister Gladys arrives at its final episode. The chiX have come second in the Eurovision Song Contest. They think that perhaps their dream is at an end. But Arny their manager is convinced that success lies ahead.

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie. Duration 11.47

It was Monday morning: the first after the chiX returned from Istanbul and the Eurovision Song Contest where they had taken second place. The girls were waiting for the bus to take them to school. An old lady who was sitting on the bench by the stop looked them up and down warily, as if she thought they were going to mug her. Then she commented:

“You look like them girls what was singing on the telly on Saturday evening.”

“Yeah, lots of people have said that,” replied Laura.

“I thought the boy what won it was nice, but our lot looked like they’d never seen a hair brush, “ continued the old lady. “It’s surprising anyone voted for them really. “

When the bus arrived, they went upstairs and sat at the front of the top deck. The bus followed the river on one side, and a row of suburban houses on the other. The girls sat silently, each of them wondering how Monday mornings would have changed if they had won.

They didn’t know that a reporter from Breakfast TV was waiting for them at the school gate. Various school girls were pulling faces and waving at the camera and saying “Film me, I’m Laura” or “I’m Gladys. Ask me a clever question,” or “Listen to me sing, Life is a Circus, Tra la la!”

When the real chiX walked past, the reporter asked if they would mind telling her what it felt like to be going back to school. Laura looked annoyed and said, “What do you think it feels like? Is this a wind up or what?” Fortunately the camera wasn’t filming. In the interview that went out live on TV, Gladys said that they were all looking forward to going back to school and that nothing would have been different if they had won.

“And what about those who are predicting a glittering future ahead of you?” asked the reporter.

“Yeah, that’s what our manager keeps on saying,” said Mandy. “But we’ll see.”

But they didn’t have to wait long to find out. Their manager, Arny, left six messages on Gladys’s mobile phone that day, each with an offer for the chiX to perform on TV or at a special concert or to go to a party. And for the rest of the week, Gladys’s phone kept on ringing. It seemed that the public and the music business loved the chiX, and didn’t care at all that they had come second.

On Saturday morning, Laura went into the convenience store for some biscuits and as she was waiting to pay, she cast her eye over the magazine rack. She noticed that a picture of the chiX was on the cover of weekly rag about celebrity gossip. The headline read:

“The Un-Glamour Girls.”

Laura felt annoyed that she had to pay £2 just to read about herself and her sisters. And she felt even more angry when she saw that the article was about how the chiX were the first chart-topping girl band not to care about how they looked in public. It had snap shots of the girls in jogging pants and old trainers as well as in school uniform with laddered tights.

The article concluded : “scruffy is the new smart.”

When she showed it to the other girls they were all seething with rage. “How they write that? ” Sam demanded …”Gladys, can’t you get Arny to stop them saying things like that about us?”

Gladys looked at the article and thought out aloud, “Well, I don’t know. It’s not trying to be nasty about us. It’s sort of saying that we are setting the trend.”

But the chiX spent all afternoon shopping and getting ready for the evening when they were invited out to a swish nightclub for the birthday party of Nigel Newcastle, the lead singer of the Joywheelers. Laura and Mandy went to the hair dressers. As they trooped down the stairs on their way out, Dad took a double-take:

“Who are those gorgeous ladies? Are they my daughters?”

“They’ve done themselves up,” said Gladys, who wasn’t going to the party because she was too young to spend all night in a club.

The following Saturday, Laura came back from the convenience store beside herself with rage. She was clutching a copy of “Hi There! “ magazine. On page 22 there was a picture of her walking out of the party on the arm of Nigel Newcastle:

“Nigel Picks a Chic” it said, adding that he was “romancing” the scruffy sixteen year old singer of the school-girl band sensation, the Chix.

“If there’s any romance, Nigel’s not told me about it,” claimed Laura, “They just make this stuff up. And why do they keep on calling me scruffy?”

Gladys told the girls to ignore what the media was saying, and just to make the best music that they could. She continued to write songs, and the chiX went to regular rehearsals, as well as dancing and singing classes. They were preforming on TV shows and giving interviews on radio about once a week now. Their songs were topping the download charts on the internet and they were getting used to seeing their pictures in the papers.

The next Saturday, Gladys went out to the convenience store with Laura because she wanted to buy a new notebook. As they were standing in the queue for the till, a girl who was about the same age as Gladys came up to them and said:

“I really like your songs. Can I take your photograph on my mobile phone please?”

Before Gladys could answer, Laura snapped: “No buzz off. Can’t you see we just got out of bed?”

When they were outside the shop, Gladys said: “That wasn’t very nice. Now we’ve lost a fan.”

“Plenty more where she came from.”

“We’ve got to be nice to the public” insisted Gladys. “It’s part of the deal.”

“I don’t remember signing no deal like that,” said Laura.

“Well it’s an unwritten one. It’s like this: we owe everything to the fans, so we’ve got to give something back to them. Or the word will get round that we’re a bunch of spoilt brats.”

And sure enough, the following week, Hi There Magazine had a grainy picture of Laura snarling and pointing at the girl in the shop. Her mum had taken the photo and sent it to the magazine. This time Laura didn’t even bother to complain.

The bad publicity didn’t hurt the chiX’s popularity. The newspapers were never exactly polite about them, but they also admitted that the girls were the “Real Deal” and it was refreshing to see their youthful faces, unadorned by bright lipstick and false eyelashes. They were a new type of Girl Band, that didn’t seem to have been invented by the Music Industry, but who sung their own music straight from the heart while continuing to go to school, dress badly, and live normal lives.

But Gladys was no longer achieving straight “As” at school on a regular basis. At parents ‘ evening, her teacher told her Dad that Gladys had to choose between music and work. In a few years time the chiX fame might have faded, and Gladys would have lost her chance of going to University.

Dad told this to Gladys, and she felt really bad and decided to spend less time going with her sisters to performances and TV shows.

“After all,” she said to herself, “I’m not in the band, and I’m not old enough to have a boyfriend. The newspapers have nothing to gossip about me, anyway.”

Gladys spent more time on her homework, but she was often up late answering emails from Arny or their Public Relations manager, and most often of all from their fans. Quite often she was tired at school, and struggled to pay attention. Her report said:

“A disappointing term for Gladys.”

A week later after school broke up for the holidays, Gladys joined her sisters for a big night at the Music Industry’s annual awards ceremony. Their song “Life is a Circus” had been nominated for Best Debut Single.

“I don’t care if we win or not,” said Sam.

“I’m rooting for the The Throbinsons,” said Mandy. “That way I won’t be too disappointed whatever the result is.”

But in truth, all the girls were sitting with tensed up stomach muscles as Nigel Newcastle stood on stage and opened the envelope for their category.

“And this year’s winner for the Best Debut Single is “Life is a Circus by the chiX.” Their song started to play through the loud speakers and the three girls walked through the dining tables and up onto the stage to accept their trophy.

“Yay, For once we won something ! “ said Sam into the microphone.

“But where did Gladys get too?” asked Laura.

Gladys had stayed behind at the dining table, because she wasn’t in the band. She only wrote the songs and managed things behind the scenes.

“Come on Gladdy !” called Mandy. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

And Gladys saw that her three sisters were beconning to her. She shook her head, but they kept on insisting, and Nigel Newcastle said into the microphone “Gladys come and get your award darling,” so she had no choice but to climb up the steps onto the stage. Nigel handed her the trophy and her sisters lifted her up onto their shoulders. The audience clapped, whooped and cheered.

In the taxi on the way back home, Gladys sat silently.

“Hey Gladdy, are you feeling sad or just tired?” asked Mandy.

“Both,” said Gladdy. “Because you see, I can’t go on like this. I mean, I don’t have time to do all the work for the chiX and revise for my exams at school. It’s just too much for me. It’s not just writing the songs, there’s the emails and the phone calls, the accounts and the contracts to keep an eye on. It all takes much more time than you seem to think. I mean, anyone can sing and go to parties, but if you want to succeed you’ve got to be smart and stay on top of everything. ”

And Mandy said:

“You’re right Gladdy. We never understood how important all that sort of stuff was. We don’t do enough to help you.”

“But we will…” said Laura. “From now on we’ll all share the boring work…. because Gladdy’s got brains, and it would be unfair if she didn’t do well at school because she spent all her time helping us make it big.”

“Promises, promises….” said Gladys.

But over the past year, the girls had learned far more than Gladys had realised. They did now understand that he boring stuff was as important as all the exciting part of being famous. Mandy started to take more of the phone calls and answer the emails. To begin with, she often lost things, and wasn’t quite as efficient as Gladys, but she soon started to learn. And Laura learned to appreciate the fans and be nice to them. And Sam worked harder at school, though not quite so hard as Gladys. And Gladys continued to write the songs and to read the important contracts, but she had time to do her homework and get a good night’s sleep.

At in the Summer exams Gladys got straight As in every subject. Her end of term report said:

“Gladys has worked hard and deserves her success”

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as)

We present the second and final part of our audio drama (part one is here) in which Sir Gawain meets his destiny on New Year’s Day. He must allow The Knight of the Green Chapel one strike against him with an axe. In the meantime he faces a more delicate challenge in the castle of Lord Bertilak.

• Natasha Gostwick as Morgan Le Fay and Lady Bertilak
• Richard Scott as Sir Gawain and King Arthur
• Sam Freeman The Green Knight and Lord Bertilak

Many thanks to Jon Sayles for his site full of free recordings of early music which he plays so wonderfully on the classical guitar. Do fill up your iPod with Jon’s MP3s because there’s some lovely music here.

Adapted by Hugh Fraser for Storynory.

[pull up sound of hunting horns]

Morgan Le Fay

Before the cock crowed, the huntsmen and hounds gathered in the courtyard of the castle. They set out noisily for the forrest, with many barks and calls on the hunting horn. Wild things trembled when they heard the din. Deer darted along the valley. Soon the hinds were springing this way and that to flee the flying arrows and the greyhounds snapping at their feet. Bertilak galloped ahead of the pack, thrilling to the chase.

But in the castle, the handsome head of Sir Gawain lay on his pillow. His strong limbs stretched out between the richly coloured covers of the bed. As the rays of the morning sun fell on his face, he lingered somewhere between sleep and awakening.

Sir Gawain

I hear the latch on the door rise gently. I feel a soft presence in the room. Do I dream? She parts the curtain of the bed, and settles gently down near my feet. I feel her blue eyes gazing on my face. What shall I do? Pretend to sleep on? But better, I think, to find out what brings her here. (Yawning noise)…. My Lady Bertilak….

Lady Bertilak

You, Sir Gawain, are my prisoner. You failed to hear me enter. The sentries of your five senses were asleep. And now I have taken you by surprise.

Sir Gawain

Fair lady, I beg for mercy. But now, I pray, retreat behind the door so that I may rise and dress, and then I can receive you more properly.

Lady Bertilak

No indeed, my noble prisoner. You shall not rise from your bed. Instead, I shall tuck you in, and I shall sit here and and talk pleasantly with the knight whom I have caught.

Sir Gawain

It is my pleasure to be held captive by one so lovely.

Lady Bertilak

Lucky will be the one who marries you. If a woman lived seven life times, it would be hard to find a husband more handsome, noble and pleasant.

Sir Gawain

Then you are all the more fortunate, because you have already chosen a husband who is better than me in every respect.

Lady Bertilak

But I am no longer sure that you are true knight. For would not a true Knight seek at least a single kiss from a lady?

Sir Gawain

Very well my lady, if I will grant you one chaste kiss , will you set me free?

Lady Bertilak

I agree to your terms. In exchange for one kiss, I will release my prisoner – for now.

Morgan Le Fay

Lady Bertilak held the Knight’s handsome head in her hands, and her lips gave him a single kiss on the forehead. A moment later, she slipped from the room. Sir Gawain arose and dressed, and occupied himself happily until evening when Bertilak returned from the hunt. The whole household gathered in the great hall to see the cuts of meat, the venison they had prepared for roasting.

Bertilak

Sir Gawain, do you not agree that is a profitable result for a day’s hunting?

Sir Gawain

It is the finest kill I have seen for many a year.

Bertilak

It is all yours, Sir Gawain. I give it to you freely as we agreed in our pact. And if you have gained anything good today, will you give it to me?

Sir Gawain

I have indeed won a prize today, but this is all it was.

Morgan Le Fay

And Sir Gawain embraced his host and kissed him on the forehead as tenderly as he could manage.

Bertilak (laughingly)

Well perhaps your gift was the better of the two. Will you tell me where you gained this kiss?

Sir Gawain

No Sir. I shall not. The rules of our pact do not stipulate that I must give you that information.

Bertilak

Well thank you for trading so freely. What if we do the same tomorrow? I will go out hunting in the morning, and you rest in the castle. In the evening we shall exchange whatever good we have gained during the day.

Sir Gawain.

It shall be my honour and my pleasure.

Morgan Le Fay

They sat that evening eating, drinking, and enjoying their conversation. At the dawning of the next day, Bertilak led the hunt across the fields through the mist. At the edge of the marsh, the hounds caught the scent of a wild boar. A white tusk flashed in the first rays of the sun. The hoary old beast was fenced in by the snarls of the dogs and the spears of the men. He lowered his porcupine head and charged at his tormenters. Arrows flew and ricocheted off his hairy hide. Dogs yelped and men screamed as the fierce pig gashed them.

Back in the castle, the lord’s wife slipped once again into the room of Sir Gawain and softly closed the door behind her.

Sir Gawain

Good morning, dear lady.

Lady Bertilak

I no longer believe that you are truly Sir Gawain as you say you are. You are in impostor.

Sir Gawain

My lady Bertilak, I cannot think what I have done to put such doubts into your mind.

Lady Bertilak

Why it seems strange that a knight, so famed the world over for his manners, grace and chivalry to women, should have so promptly forgotten the lesson I taught him yesterday.

Sir Gawain

I beg your forgiveness. What lesson was that?

Lady Bertilak

Why don’t you recall? The lesson of a kiss.

Sir Gawain

Dear Lady. If it pleases you, it shall be my honour to receive one kiss on the cheek.

Morgan Le Fay

Lady Bertilak kissed the knight gently on the cheek, and laughingly questioned him about the art of courtly romance. Sir Gawain deftly answered her questions, always with great courtesy , but skillfully denying her the chance to demand any more kisses. Until at last, at mid morning, he allowed her just one more kiss, a parting one as is proper. She left him with a loving smile, and he rose and dressed for the day.

Meanwhile, Lord Bertilak stood ankle deep in a cold stream, a sword in his hand. The great wild boar stood higher up the hill, grunting menacingly, its bristles on end. It lowered its head and charged with its ferocious tusks pointing straight at the knight. There followed a fight in which both rolled over in the stream. It was single combat, man versus pig, tusk against sword, but the boar got the worst of it, and Bertilak, though wounded, held its head up high. All around the huntsmen blew their horns to celebrate the kill and their mater’s triumph.

That evening in the castle, Bertilak presented the huge hairy head and the cuts of pork to Sir Gawain as his gift. And Sir Gawain, according to the rules of the game, gave Bertilak the winnings he had won during his day in the castle.

Sir Gawain

(Two Kissing sounds)

Bertilak

Ha-Ah ! This is twice as good today. Two kisses ! At this rate you shall be a rich man. I thank you, Sir Gawain, once again for playing so fairly and so honorably. By St. Giles, you are the best man I know. Now let us dine and relax, and tomorrow let us play the game of trades a third and final time.

Morgan Le Fay

In the morning, after Mass and a quick bite of breakfast, Bertilak mounted his horse and led the hunt out over the bright frosty ground. The hard winter sun rose above the hill tops, and the clouds reached across the skies with long rosy fingers. The huntsmen released the hounds at the edge of the woods, and as the horns blew all around, some of the whippets caught the scent of a fox. The hounds soon caught up, panting hard, and some of the huntsmen caught sight of a fleeting red flash. The fox doubled back, dodged through hedgerows, paddled across streams, slipped through prickly thickets, slid between narrow rocks, and many times the hounds lost his cunning scent, only to catch it again minutes later….. while in the castle, our noble knight lay sleeping, resting his strong limbs.

The lady of the house dressed herself in her most lovely robe, and arranged the pearls over her delicate breast. She trod silently down the corridor, and slipped into the room of her sleeping guest. He stirred and groaned, as if he was having some bad dream. She bent low over his head and softly kissed his face.

Sir Gawain.

Lady Bertilak. This is the most pleasant awakening.

Lady Bertilak

And now I will scold you. You are very much to blame if you do not love the lady who has come to you so frankly. It is not courteous for a knight to fend off a woman’s advances, as if they were the stabs of an enemy.

Unless, of course, you love another. Yes, that is the only conclusion I can draw. You do not return my kisses because you carry the picture of a sweetheart in your soul, one who is more beautiful and delightful to your eyes.

Sir Gawain.

I sear a double oath. I have no sweetheart, nor do I intend to have any for now.

Lady Bertilak.

That is very painful for me to hear. Now Sir, let us kiss one more time, and I will leave you to your rest.

Sir Gawain

It will be my great pleasure to receive one more kiss.

Lady Bertilak

There. That is your last kiss. But before I leave you with my broken heart, will you not give me just some little gift, a token of our friendship that has been so proper, something to ease my sorrow. May I take a glove to remember you by?

Sir Gawain

My glove is nothing special. It is not a fitting gift for a lady.

Lady Bertilak.

I will make a fair exchange. I will give you this ring in return. Its jewel is clear and bright, and very costly.

Sir Gawain.

I could not accept such a gift.

Lady Bertilak.

Very well. I shall leave you.

Sir Gawain.

Goodbye, my lady.

Lady Bertilak

Unless, perhaps, you will accept something less eye-catching from me. This green belt which I wear around my waste. I would be glad for you to have it as your own. It looks plain enough to the untrained eye, but I will tell you this secret. It was made by the witch, Morgan Le Fay, whom you have seen, though you may not have known it was her. She is the revered lady, now old, but once beautiful, how lives under this roof. Long ago, when she was fresh and young, she loved Merlin the Wizard and from him she learned much magic. He or she who wears this magical garter is immune to any weapon. No cut of a sword or an axe can harm the one who wears it. I think it might prove useful to a man of your profession.

Sir Gawain

No harm from any weapon, you say. My lady,

Lady Bertilak

No harm.

Sir Gawain

By St. Mary, I shall gladly accept this gift, and thank you with all my heart.

Lady Bertilak

Here. I unclasp the belt from my waist, and place it on the end of your bed. And if you are not afraid, I will step closer and give you one more kiss, the third, and truly the last on this day, and then, upon my word, I shall leave you. But will you make me this promise, on your honour as a true knight, that you will say nothing of this gift to my husband?

Sir Gawain

My lady, you have my word. I shall say nothing of this gift.

Morgan Le Fay

With one final kiss, the lady and the knight parted. He rose and placed the green belt among his things. Hope sprang up in his heart. He believed that he might yet see the sun set on New Year’s Day. When he was dressed, he went directly to chapel, asked to see the priest, and made his confession, though he did not think to mention to the priest anything of his trust in the green belt of Morgan Le Fay.

Toward the end of the day, the hunting hounds ran the fox to ground, and cunning Reynard met a swift end. Bertilak returned to the castle with its mangy red pelt as his trophy.

Bertilak

Good Sir Gawain. This is all I have to show my day in the saddle, though I must say the hunting was fast and fun. I trust your day has rewarded you better.

Sir Gawain

I thank you. I have enjoyed a most pleasant day, and I am in the best of spirits. And this evening I have three gifts to offer you. (Three kissing sounds)

Sir Bertilak

By Mary, you are fortunate to have found such gifts, provided you struck a good bargain for these three kisses !

Sir Gawain

I believe I did, sir.

Morgan Le Fay

And that night, New Year’s Eve, there was great feasting and rejoicing. Sir Gawain spoke and jested merrily with all around, and was careful to give his most special courtesies to Lady Bertilak. Everyone said that they had not seen the Knight in such good spirits since he came to the castle. Until, at last, it was time to take their leave, and for Sir Gawain to give his thanks for such a wonderful stay. Guest and and host hugged one another, and commended each other to Christ. And before he retired to bed, Bertilak appointed a servant to rise at first light and guide Sir Gawain on his way to the Green Chapel, to meet his destiny.

[sound of birds and open air]

Servant

My noble Sir. If you will grant me my release, I would come no further with you. The green chapel which my Lord commanded me to show you is just over that crag. Climb up and you shall see it. But if you care for your life, listen to what I suggest. Do not go on. There is a terrible creature who lives there, half man, half beast, the Knight of the Green Chapel they call him. He deals death to all who cross his path. No poor man, no priest, no lord has ever survived an encounter with him. Go further, and you go to your doom. Instead, if you have good sense, follow the track in the other direction. It will lead you far away from here. I will tell not a single soul that you departed from you dark plan. I give you my word. I will say to everyone who asks that you rode down freely to the Green Chapel.

Sir Gawain.

Thank you kindly for your well meaning wishes, but I have sworn an oath that I shall meet the Green Knight on this very morning, and by the five pointed star of my shield, I will not break with my word.

Servant

Then goodbye honoured sir. There are many in the castle, among the high born and the humble, among the noble and the fair, who greatly regret your resolve.

[play up a eery soundscape]

Sir Gawain

By Mary, this place is ugly, and over grown with weeds. It is a fitting place for a wild man in green to do honour to the devil. This is the chill chapel of ill-fortune. It is the most un-holly church I ever entered.

[Play up weird scything nose]

Why I believe that dread sound was made in my honour. Let God’s will be done. No noise shall frighten me.

Where be the master of this place ? It is I, Sir Gawain, come to keep my word !

The Green Knight

Gawain ! You are welcome to my abode. You have timed your visit as a true man should, quite in accord with the pact we made a year and a day ago. Remove your helmet and let us complete our exchange. I will return you the blow that I promised.

Sir Gawain

I shall stand still and let you strike. But make it a single stroke, for that is all that was sworn to.

Morgan Le Fay

And now the fate that I planned was being fulfilled. Sir Gawain inclined his head and showed the flesh on the back of his neck. Then the Green Knight lifted his grim weapon aloft, and swung as if he meant to deal him death. but Sir Gawain swayed sideways, and the blade landed in the green moss.

The Green Knight

is this Sir Gawain, famed for his courage? I think not. Would a true knight flinch before death? Did I so much as shiver when you struck my head from my shoulders in the court of King Arthur?

Sir Gawain

Sir. Strike again and I will not move an inch. Only hurry and get the dead done.

Morgan Le Fay

My green man lifted his axe and swung once again with all the might of his great body, but he stopped it just short of the neck of the knight. Sir Gawain stood perfectly still, true to his word.

The Green Knight

So you have found your courage. I stopped short so you could be hear my praise and be honoured as a true knight. But these words will be the last you shall hear for this time I will strike true.

Sir Gawain

So strike. The time for games is over.

The Green Knight

Since you are in such a hurry to depart this world. I will not detain you.

[sound effect of blade rushing through air]

Morgan Le Fay

My man swung, and his blade caught the flesh and drew Sir Gawain’s red blood from his veins. But the wound was not deep nor did any serious harm. Feeling the nick on his neck, Sir Gawain knew that his duty was done. He need stand still no longer. His sword was drawn in a trice.

Sir Gawain

You’ve had your swing by St. Mary. Our contract is complete. Now stand and fight in a contest that is fair.

The Green Knight

Hey gentle Knight, your anger is understandable, but there is no need for it. Had I wanted to kill you, believe me, the strike of my axe would have done for you. See now, I put down my weapon and lift my helmet from my head. And I think, you shall soon see a face that you know.

Sir Gawain.

Bertilak !

The Green Knight / Bertilak

I offered you one playful blow which did you no harm. This good I gave you in return for your truth, for on the first day of your trial, you freely and fairly delivered to me one kiss from my lovely wife. The second blow that missed you was also my gift, because on the second day of our bargain you truly surrendered two kisses from my wife. My third blow stung you, but did you great harm. I took this slight cut out of your flesh with justice, for you are wearing something that is mine: the green garter that my wife gave you, and which is now belted around your waist. This you should have surrendered to me, by the rules of our pact.

Sir Gawain

Oh by St. Mary I see now that I have sinned ! I loved my life too dearly and accepted this gift without telling you. I have failed my word. I have been disloyal to my host. I am no worthy knight.

The Green Knight

Do not be so harsh on yourself, Good Sir. I do not think there is another knight in the world who would have passed these tests with such honour. Three times you have proved yourself a true guest and a faithful knight. How many men, brave and unflinching in battle, are equally strong in the face womanly beauty? Not many, I say. And of those, how many so deftly and courteously weave their way through such a delicate trap. You are a man apart, I declare, the one true knight.

Sir Gawain.

No sir. I have failed. And for that I am truly sorry.

The Green Knight.

The standards you set for yourself are too high. Now return to my walls where you will be most welcome to stay a little longer.

Sir Gawain

No. I thank you. My quest is at an end. I must give you your green belt and be on my way.

The Green Knight.

Keep it. I give it freely. Remember me and my lady by it.

Sir Gawain

Thank you sir. May God be with you and your good wife. I will always wear this green garter to remind me of the day I fell short of my duty.

Morgan Le Fay

And now my test is at an end. What lesson shall we draw from this tale?

Sir Gawain returned to Camelot and related the result of his quest with great shame. The courtiers laughed to learn of how he was tricked, and thought it a good sport. And King Arthur , if he honoured his knightly nephew before, he honored him thrice as much now. He commanded that every Knight of the Round Table should wear a green garter from that time on, in remembrance of the noblest of their number, Sir Gawain.

And so shall we conclude that this noble knight behaved with shame, fun, or honour? And to return to my question, what is it that makes a man?

I now have my answer and I give it to you freely. This is the single word that sums up a man and makes him what he is:

Imperfection.

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as)

Storynory presents an audio drama adapted from the famous medieval story.

It is almost New Year at the court of King Arthur. A strange visitor lays down a challenge which is taken up by Arthur’s nephew, Sir Gawain. A year later Sir Gawain sets out on a quest that proves a test to his honour as much as to his valour. Our story weaves between narration and voice parts and is probably Storynory’s most ambitious production to date. It might appeal to slightly older children (and perhaps to adults too ).

• Natasha Gostwick as Morgan Le Fay and Lady Bertilak
• Richard Scott as Sir Gawain and King Arthur
• Sam Freeman The Green Knight and Lord Bertilak

Many thanks to Jon Sayles for his site full of free recordings of early music which he plays so wonderfully on the classical guitar. Do fill up your iPod with Jon’s MP3s because there’s some lovely music here.

We also made use of some fabulous public domain Gregorian chants.

Adapted by Hugh Fraser for Storynory.

The first of Two Parts

Morgan Le Fay

The story that you are about to hear was all my doing. I wished, I willed it , I spelled it. So listen well little ones, for I am Morgan Le Fay – the sorceress no less – the queen of the Welsh Witches, and the enchanting enemy of King Arthur.

I worked out these wonders because my womanly heart demanded an answer to a question. What is it that makes a man? Is it valour in battle? Is it a tongue that speaks true? Or is it a way with words that sways the ladies? And what beasts must a true knight sleigh? Serpents that breath fire, or demons that whisper desire?

And so I sought a man to test. Not just any puny little man but the finest fellow who rode a horse since Felix Brutus left behind the flaming city of Troy, and founded the race of brawling, warring, strife-loving men that are known as the Britons. The most famous among the Britons is Arthur,` their king. But the noblest, the knight who perfectly combines courtesy and valor, whose every word, whose every gesture, is governed by the courtly code of chivalry, is not the King himself, but his nephew, Sir Gawain. He is the one. If he can not pass the test that I set, then no man can.
-

It is Christmas. Picture the splendid scene at Camelot Castle. The lords and ladies who gather at Arthur’s court are the best in the Kingdom. The men are handsome, the women are pretty. All are carefree and gay. They celebrate the festive season with games and jousting, dancing and carol singing. You can hear their noisy noels from ten miles away. For a full fifteen days they celebrate, until at last a shiny new year is about to be born. After Mass in the chapel. the noble lords hold up New Year gifts in their hands. The ladies play guessing games for the prizes, and laugh out loud even when they lose and have to forfeit a kiss.

Such were the scenes that led up to dinner time. As the feast began, King Arthur took his place on the high table. All around were noble knights and fair ladies, and Queen Guenevere sat in their midst. Silks shimmered and jewels sparkled, but the brightest gems were the queen’s shining eyes.

Trumpets and drums heralded the courses. I will not describe the sumptuous dishes that were laid before them, as you can well imagine that no one lacked anything. All I will note is that King Arthur sat still. He did not lift a morsel to his mouth. For it was his custom not to eat on such occasions until he had seen, or heard tell, of something wonderful. And that is when I sent my creature in.

My man rattled the door and came clattering into the hall on his horse. He was a giant, a man mountain, but although his shoulders and chest were as broad and square as battlements, his waist was boyishly slender. He was the biggest but also the most handsome of men. The gaze of every lord and lady was upon him. And what amazed them most was that every aspect of the man was bright green. His tunic and his fur-trimmed cloak were green. His leggings, the same. His hands were green. His face was green. His beard and long flowing hair was were as green as grass. His eyes were like emeralds. And his horse – yes you’ve guessed it – was a good shade of green. In one hand he held a sprig of green holly. In the other a monstrous, fearsome green axe. Its head was a yard wide. Yet he wore no armour, nor carried any other weapon.

The green axman rode into the hall, and headed for the high table. When at last he spoke, this is what he said:

The Green Knight

“Who is the Governor of this gang? I wish to set eyes on his face and speak with him.”

Morgan Le Fay

He cast his gaze on the knights, and looked them up and down, as he studied their faces, and considered who was the most renowned of them all.

And they looked back at him. And the longer they looked at him, the greener he seemed to grow. No one spoke a word. I would not put their silence down to fear, for here in the hall sat the bravest knights in all Christendom. Rather, let us say, it was courtesy that held down every tongue, until at last Arthur saluted the visitor and greeted him thus:

Arthur

Sir, you are welcome here. Please dismount from your horse, and join us at this feast.

The Green Knight

No, so help me, I do not invite myself to your table. I am no gate-crasher. And by the sign of this stick of holly, you may be sure that I come in peace. See, I wear civilian clothes. Had I war on my mind, I would have come differently dressed. At home I have a sharp spear and a shining helmet. But your fame and your love of thrill draws me here at this merry time of year. The greatest knights in all Christendom celebrate in this hall. All I ask is that one step forward, and join me in a game, a Christmas contest shall we say, a spot of sport.

Arthur

Sir courteous knight, if it is single combat that you seek, you will not fail to find a fight here.

The Green Knight

I tell you in good faith, I came to this court is search of some festive fun. It is the very season for games. If there is any lad here so bold in his heart, so thoughtless in his head, that he will trade me one blow for a blow, then I will give him this axe as a prize. It is great and heavy and he may do with it as he pleases. I shall grant his blade first strike against my bare neck . I shall stand here and not flinch. He may cut with all his force, but only once. If anyone will do me this favour, let him step forward. All I ask is a single strike on the same terms. There will be no rush to claim my right. I will wield my return cut, a year and a day from now. …. Come….. Such silence? Does anyone have anything to say?

Morgan Le Fay

If they were stunned before, they were more stunned now. The green knight twisted and turned in his saddle, and cast his emerald gaze on each and every face.

The Green Knight

What ? Is this Arthur’s house? Are these the knights about whom the whole world chatters? Where are the dragon-slaying, grail-seeking, maiden-saving, questing, besting, knights of the renowned round table? Can they be these boys who will not trade one little blow for another?

Arthur

By heaven, no one here is a afraid, merely baffled by your foolish request. Give me your axe by Mary, and I will grant you the cut that you desire.

Morgan Le Fay

The green knight that I had sent, stepped down from his horse and handed the axe to the king. He stood bare-necked, without the slightest quiver or shiver, and stroked his beard. Arthur swung the axe about, testing it for weight and balance. But before he was ready to deal the blow, there came a voice from the high table.

Sir Gawain

My worshipful lord. If you will, command me now to rise from this bench and to stand by you there. I do not think it right that you, my Lord, should take up this haughty challenge here in your hall. So many of the boldest men on earth sit here all around. I myself am the weakest, and my life counts the least. If I were not your nephew, no one would pay me any regard. To speak to the point: let us risk my neck, not yours.

Morgan Le Fay

The leading nobles gathered, and they all advised one and the same, that the crowned king should give Sir Gawain this game.

Sir Gawain

Let St. Mary be my witness. I, Sir Gawain, take this axe to strike one blow against the green neck of our guest according to his own wishes. And one year and a day from now I will accept a similar blow against myself, from none other than this same green knight.

The Green Knight

I thank you for this favour. I incline my head to you sir, and sweep aside my long flowing hair so you may take a better aim at my nape. Deal your single blow. You will not see me flinch.

[Sound effect of axe and uproar]

Sir Gawain

And now courteous guest, I have granted your strange wish. Your head is parted from your shoulders. You will not, I think be dealing any blow against me a year and a day from now, nor on any day,

Hey, but what in Heaven or Hell’s name is this? He, headless, stands quite still. Must I believe my eyes? He springs across the floor. His hands reach under the tables and among the diners’ feet. He picks up his head like a ball. He vaults back up onto his horse. And now the blubbery green lips move. He – it – speaks !

The Green Knight

By your honour, do not fail, Sir Gawain, and do not forget. Remember your oath before all these knights seated here. A year and a day from now, your quest is to find me. Be sure to ask for the Knight of the Green Chapel. Many men know me. Ask and you shall not fail to find. On New Year’s morning take your blow, as I have just taken mine. It is right and just. Come or be called a coward.

Morgan Le Fay

The hooves of his horse clatter out of the hall. The wild man in green is gone. Sir Gawain is speechless, though all those seated around the hall discuss the marvel they have just witnessed. The King takes Sir Gawain by the arm:

KIng Arthur

My noble nephew, hang your axe up on the wall above the the high table. In christmases to come, those who feast here will gaze up at it and remember your wondrous game. Eat and be merry. The year is young.

Fade up some music

Morgan Le Fay

The year turns hastily on, through lean lent, burning summer and mellow autumn. At last the calendar reaches All Saints Day, and Sir Gawain recalls his grim quest. He must set out and seek the blow against his own neck, according to the rules of the game. Little does he know that it was I, Morgan Le Fay, who devised the rules of this sport. And soon I shall see what stuff the man is made of. He says his final goodbyes to the famed knights and ladies of Camelot. Last, but not least, he kneels before Queen Guenevere.

Sir Gawain

Gracious queen, you honour me with your tears, but I cannot share your regrets for the life of your faithful knight. We must all submit to our fate.

Morgan Le Fay

Servants set out his armour on a silk carpet. He held up his spiked helmet and kissed it. He stepped into his grieves. His batman buckled him into his breastplate. Five men lifted him up onto his horse. Over his shoulder, he slung his shield on which was emblazoned, in gold, his five pointed symbol – the sign by which all knew him as the noble Sir Gawain.

Sir Gawain (softly)

Our Father who art in Heaven, I pray that the sacred star of my shield shall guide me and protect my honour. King Solomon devised this everlasting knot. Each point of the perfect pentangle reminds me of my duty. Lead me not into temptation with my five senses, Deliver me from sinning with the five fingers of my hand. Give me strength from the five wounds of your son, our Saviour. Let me find comfort in the five joys of St. Mary. And let me not waver from the five virtues of a true knight: generosity of heart, faith to words, purity of mind and body, courtesy to high and low, and sympathy for those who suffer.

Morgan Le Fay

As soon as he had spoken this prayer, he dug his golden spurs into the side of his steed, and its hooves sent sparks flying off the cobbles.

He wandered westwards, through dark forests, over high mountains, and across fast flowing rivers. On his way he met wild trolls and ogres, bulls, bears, dragons and all manner of abominable beasts. He dealt with them as a knight should, with his sword and lance when needs be. The rain, the sleet and the snow showed him no pity. His only company was Gryngelot, his horse. His only shelter was his armour. But all these sufferings were nothing to him. Still he quested on, until at last, on the eve of Christmas Day, he prayed to St. Mary , for a chapel where he could hear mass. He crossed himself three times as he came over the brow of the hill, and the turrets and battlements of a strong but handsome castle came into view. With hope in his heart, he spurred Gryngelot down the grassy slope to the deep moat and the end of the drawbridge.

Sir Gawain.

Good Porter ! Please, be my messenger. Go to the noble lord of this house. Tell him an errant knight is at his door, and humbly begs shelter.

Porter

I believe, by St. Peter, that you will find a welcome within these walls.

Morgan Le Fay

The porter was not a bad sort. He returned soon with company to help the guest down from his horse. As he stood in his resplendent armour, knights and squires came out of the halls and knelt before him on the cold ground.

Sir Gawain

Please, please, noble sirs. There is no need at all to kneel. I am a humble knight like yourselves, a follower of King Arthur and the Round Table. I come to your land on an errand. I must meet the one who goes by the name of the Knight of the Green Chapel.

Morgan Le Fay

As he spoke, the noble Lord of the castle stepped out. He was tall, broad and handsome, splendidly dressed in an ermine-lined cloak.

Bertilak

Gracious Sir Gawain. The five pointed star on your shield speaks your name. My own is rather less renowned – though it is known well enough around these parts. I am Bertilak. You are most welcome here. Treat everything that is mine as yours ! Do with it what you wish ! My paige boys will free you from your armour and bring you fine clothes. Then join us by the fire and warm your limbs.

[Fade up sound of fire and laughter and music]

Bertilak

My Lords, Ladies see I hold up my hood on my spear. I offer it as a prize to the one who makes us laugh the most this Christmas !

[music fades into bells ]

It is the midnight hour. The monks call us to mass.

[Sound of Chanting ]

Morgan Le Fay

Inside the chapel, Sir Gawain kneeled at the pew, and asked forgiveness for his sins that Christmas night. When he arose from his prayers, he noticed a lady who had joined the company of women. Although the others were fair, she was far fairer still. She was more beautiful than even queen Guenevere, so he thought. And leading her by the hand was another lady, though quite different to look at. The one lady was in the ripeness of youth, the other was old and dry. The one wore bright pearls around her white throat and over her soft breast. The other covered her eyes and hair with a veil, and wrapped herself in a cloak. The one had delicate dewy lips, the other’s were purple and swollen. But if the young lady commanded respect among those around her, the older received sill more.

Sir Gawain

Good ladies. I am Sir Gawain. Let me be your knight. Allow me to serve you.

Lady Bertilak.

You may serve us with the art of your conversation. It is not often we have the pleasure of such courteous company.

Bertilak.

My wife longs for the courtly manners of Camelot. Out here in the sticks we barely know how to hold a knife at the table !

Sir Gawain

Lady Bertilak, I will do all I can to keep you entertained, but do not over expect. I am, at bottom, a man of action not words.

Morgan Le Fay

They spent the Christmas days in laughter, song and feasting. Among the ladies, the oldest, of whom I have spoken, took the place of honour at the table. Lady Bertilak was often at the side of Sir Gawain. They exchanged many glances and many words, though all of them quite proper. She seemed to delight in his conversation. He in her company. In truth, she diverted him from dark thoughts of the blow that he must receive. She made him feel that that this short life, though often brutal, had been worth living.

[Fade up some music]

Sir Gawain

Dear hosts. The last time I rejoiced so much and so freely at Christmas was when I was a boy. I thank you for these delights. But now it is time for me to leave your welcoming roof and to pick up my quest. I have sworn to meet the Knight of the Green Chapel this New Year’s morning, and just three more days remain for me to seek my destiny.

Bertilak

Leave? I will not hear of it. The chapel of which you speak is a mere two miles from here. It makes no sense to leave us so soon. Rest in comfort for three more days and on New Year’s morning, my servant will guide you to the Chapel of the Green Knight.

Lady Bertilak

I would not blame you if you are in a rush to leave. I quite understand if our company bores you. We cannot compete with the ladies of Camelot for refined entertainment, although we do our best to amuse our guests. But Sir, for my sake, if you value me at all, please stay.

Sir Gawain.

When a lady puts it like that, how can a knight refuse? My debt to you both for your welcome, is now greater still. I am at your service. I will do whatever you ask.

Lady Bertilak

I will have to think of some little service you can perform.

Bertilak

Since you will do whatever I ask, here’s what I suggest. Let’s have a little festive fun. In the morning I will set out hunting before dawn. You shall remain here, rest your limbs, and find comfort and amusement within the walls of this castle. In the evening, when I return, I shall give you whatever I have caught while hunting. And if you have gained anything good during the day, you shall give that to me.

Sir Gawain

A simple exchange. I see no harm in that.

Bertilak

Exactly. Now do I have your word as a knight that, win or lose, you will swop straight and true?

Sir Gawain

By the Holy Pentangle on my shield, I swear.

Bertilak

Then let us drink to our bargain !

You have been listening to the first part of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight adapted from the Medieval text for Storynory by Hugh Fraser.
The parts of Morgan Le Fay and Lady Bertilak was played by Natasha Gostwick.
The parts of The Green Knight and Lord Bertilak was played by Sam Freeman
And the parts of Sir Gawain and King Arthur was played was played me, Richard Scott

The second and final part follows shortly. For many more free audio stories, please visit Storynory.com

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as)

This charming medieval story shows that a true knight has more virtues than just courage. The hero, Sir Cleges, is generous, perhaps too generous. He celebrates Christmas in such style every year, that eventually he falls into poverty. When he is at his lowest ebb, cherries appear in his garden, even though it is snowy and out of season. His wife points him in the direction of the Court of King Uther, and he is on his way to restore his wealth.

For a detailed introduction see Teams Middle English Texts.

Read by Natasha. Version by Bertie. Duration 14.46

My Lords and Ladies, you shall hear of one who lived many generations ago, in the time of King Uther Pendragon, father of the famed King Arthur. I speak of a knight, hardy and strong, tall and fair, brave and noble. In all the world there lived no one as courteous, noble or generous as he. To land owners, who struggled in times of war, he gave gold. To poor farmers who rented lands from him, he gave food and good cheer. A spare place at his table was always laid just incase anyone might pay a visit on him.

This knight had a gentle wife, the best a man could wish for. No woman was more beautiful, or more noble in her heart than she. Dame Clarys was her name. Of goodness, she had truly. Together they brought gladness to many a soul. No man, rich or poor, felt any ill will against them.

Every year, Sir Cleges – for that was the name of this noble knight – would hold a feast at Christmas time. No king celebrated that day in greater style than he. Rich and poor came to his feast. He would turn away no man. Friars payed him with blessings, minstrels with music – those were the highest prices he would ask for his food. And when the feasting was over, the guests would not leave without gifts. He gave freely of robes, horses, silver and even gold. All this he did in honour of Him who was born in a manger on that day.

But his wealth dwindled with each passing year. He would not give up his feasting or his gifts. He let, mortgaged, even sold his lands to pay for his generosity, until at last he had almost nothing left. The Christmas feasting had to end. He lived meekly with his good wife and two children – and of luxuries, they knew no more.

One Christmas Eve, Sir Cleges was walking up and down in his garden, when he heard the sound of trumpets, pipes, drums, harps and cymbals. He could hear carols and dancing. The sound of merriment brought back memories of his past feasts and festivities. He knew well that the music came from the court of King Urther, who was as Cardiff for Christmas. But the King had not invited his loyal knight to join his table for the festivities. . He had either forgotten him, or thought that he was dead. Sir Cleges wrung his hands began to pray piteously:

“Oh Jesus, heavenly king, you made everything out of nothing. I thank you for times past, for the the merriment I used to make . I gave freely for your sake. I fed both rich and poor. Those who dined at my table did not lack for any meat or game, or good drinks. Of the cost I thought nothing. And now, here I stand, a poor man at your service, overlooked and forgotten by all mortal men, high and low.”

As he stood mourning so, his wife came to him, and enfolded him in her arms. She kissed him with glad heart and said,

“My true husband, I heard what you were saying. It does not help to have sad thoughts. So let your sorrow be gone. Every one should be happy on this day, and be glad with what they have got. So let us go inside, and be merry and eat our dinner joyfully. “

“Of course,” said Sir Cleges. And with somewhat better cheer he quickly wiped the tear from his cheek and went inside to eat his food. After they had eaten, they took great delight in playing with their two children. And at midnight they went to church and asked God to keep them clothed and fed.

On Christmas morning, Sir Cleges went into his garden. He kneeled on the snow covered ground before his favourite cherry tree, and prayed once again. When he had finished, he reached up for a branch to help him stand. As he arose, the bough broke in his hand. He noticed that it bore green leaves, and that there were ripe, round cherries clustered around it.

He said:

“Dear God. What manner of berries are these that grow at this time of year? And then he picked a cherry and tried it. It was the most delicious fruit he had tasted since he was a small boy. He cut off a little branch and took it to his wife to show her.

“My dear, here is a novelty,” he said. “I found these growing in our garden. Cherries in mid winter. I am afraid it is some ill omen, a warning to me for my sorrow and grieving. “

“Why no,” said his wife, “Rather it is a sign that goodness is coming to us. Tomorrow at first light, take the cherries to Cardiff and the King. He will have no better gift than this. “

When it was daylight, she prepared a large basket full of cherries. She told their eldest son to carry it on his back, and walk behind his father to Cardiff. And so they set off, not on a stead or pony, but Sir Cleges’ walking stick was his only support.

When they arrived at the gates of the castle, the porter saw his poor clothing and said :

“You shall turn around and leave smartly without delay, or by God and St. Mary, I shall break your head. Go and stand in the beggars’ row. That’s the place for you.”

But Sir Cleges said:

“Good Sir. I pray you, let me go in. I have a present for the king. Here look.”

And the porter went over to the basket and lifted the lid. When he saw the cherries he marveled and said:

“If I let you pass, you must promise me a third of whatever reward the king shall grant you for this gift, be it silver or gold.”

And Sir Cleges replied : “I consent” and he went through the gate into the castle On his way to the banqueting hall he met an usher of the court who said:

“Go, vassal, get out of my sight, and if I find you again within these walls I shall beat your head and your limbs without a moment’s regret.”

At this, Sir Cleges said:

“Good Sir. Stay your anger. Be gentle and good. For I have brought a present for the king. See here, these fruits grew this christmas season in my garden. They are the fairest cherries that ever man did see.”

And when the usher saw the cherries, he was amazed and said: “If you grant me a third part of what ever you may win for these, then you may indeed go on.”

And as Sir Cleges had no other choice, he agreed to the usher’s terms, and into the hall he went with his son and the basket.

As they entered the Hall, the Steward saw them. He went up to Sir Cleges and said:

“Who made you so bold as to come in here uninvited? Turn around smartly and get out.”

And Sir Cleges replied : “See, good sir, I have a gift for the king.” And when the Steward saw what he had brought he exclaimed:

“By Mary I never saw such fruits at this time of year. You shall go before the king, but only if you promise me a third part of whatever you shall receive.”

Sir Cleges stood and thought to himself that betwixt these three men, he would divide all that he received. For all his trouble he would win nothing. As he did not reply right away, the Steward demanded:

“Have you no tongue? Give me your answer without delay or I shall beat your rags with my stick!”

And seeing that he had no other choice, Sir Cleges said: “Very well, whatever the king shall reward, you shall have a third part.”

The steward brought Sir Cleges before the king, where he knelt and uncovered the basket:

“Great King,” he said. “These fruits grew in my garden this christmas time, and I have brought them to you as a gift. “

The king saw the cherries, fresh and new, and said: “Truly this is the work of our Lord.” And he commanded Sir Cleges to sit down and join the feast. The king sent a portion of the cherries to a radiant and fair lady in Cornwall, and he commanded the rest to be served around the hall. When all had eaten and were glad, he king commanded:

“Bring before me the poor man who gave me the cherries.” And Sir Cleges knelt again before the king. And the kind said:

“I thank you heartily for the gift you have brought me. It has honoured my feast. Whatever you will have, I will grant you. Whatever your heart desires, be it lands, or surfs or goods.”

And Sir Cleges replied.

“Great King. I ask nothing but 12 strokes of my stick that I might give freely to my enemies around this castle.”

On hearing this the King was angry and said. “I am sorry that I granted you this gift. Better that you asked for silver or gold, for you have more need of it. Nevertheless, if that is your wish, let my debt to you be paid with blows.”

And Sir Cleges went into the hall and sought the steward to give him his reward. He dealt him such a blow that he knocked him down. And then he gave him three more. On leaving the hall he found the usher and told him: “Here’s the third part of my gift that I promised you!” and he beat him four times with his stick. And then he found the porter and gave him his reward with the words. “I keep bargain. Take this, and this, and this and this!”

And while Sir Cleges was busy paying back his enemies, the king sat in his chamber and listened to a minstrel. The minstrel sang of a great knight who had served him in years past, one who was full of fortune, nobility and grace. His name was Sir Cleges. And as the king listened, memories came back to him, and he realised that he had seen the good knight that very evening.”

“Why, was that not him who knelt before me in the hall? “ exclaimed the king.

“Sire, indeed it was,” replied the minstrel.

When word reached the lords and ladies of the court of how Sir Cleges had paid back the porter, the usher and the steward, they all laughed heartily and thought that it was good sport.

The king called Sir Cleges before him, and this time he gave him lands, and forests, and a cup of gold to take to his wife. He made his son a squire and gave him fine clothes to wear.

Every year after that, Sir Cleges and his wife celebrated Christmas with good food, music, merriment and gifts, and they lived in great happiness until the Lord sent for them.

Text copyright Hugh Fraser (for Storynory) 2009.

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as)

This is our most ambitious story about the “Wicked Uncle” – Uncle Jeff. Of course he’s not really wicked, merely irresponsible, and somewhat annoying to mum and dad. But the kids love him.

This story refers back to our summer story, “The Wicked Uncle by the Sea” when Uncle Jeff and the kids climbed aboard the yacht of a Russian billionaire and were held captive by the crew. By way of apology the billionaire now offers the family the trip of the life time – a holiday aboard his new space hotel.

We’ve mixed in some educational space background about space travel. For example, we mention Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space, and we explain about the astronauts have to endure g-force as the rocket takes off.

Several real-life companies are promising holidays in space and there are even plans to build a space hotel. Our description of the hotel and the robot butler is fantasy though. Needless to say none of the characters or businesses mentioned in the story have anything to do with real life ones.

The main aim of this story is try and convey some of the wonder of being in space and looking back at the earth, and the marvel of creation and life which is so much part of Christmas.

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie. Duration 32.47

It was November. Every shop window glittered with christmas lights, inflatable Santas, christmas trees, tinsel and glitz.

“Oh no, “ said mum as she pushed the trolly round the supermarket, “I’m bored with Christmas already. I’m simply not going to order a turkey this year. We’ll just have to get away for the holidays- as far away as we possibly can.”

But she could not quite work out how to win over Dad and and the kids to her get-away-plan, because she knew just how much they loved every detail of Christmas at home, right down to the last bad joke in the crackers.

She was still brooding over the problem that evening when the phone rang. It was uncle Jeff. She held the receiver about six inches from her ear because his voice was loud and grating.

“Have I Christmas sorted for you and the kids this year, “ he announced, “It’s a surprise that’s, well, out of this world. That’s the only way to put it. “

“LIke an all inclusive luxury hotel in the Maldives out-of -this-world?” asked mum hopefully,

“Not a bad guess. It is a Christmas-get-away. But it’s less boring than a beach,” replied Jeff. In fact the news was so exciting that he had to come round and break it to the family in person.

An hour later ,the wheels of Jeff’s Porsche crunched onto the drive. Mum felt a certain amount of dread as she wondered what his Christmas surprise would be. She imagined all the dangerous and irresponsible treats that he might, in his bachelor delusion, believe to be suitable for a family holiday: Big Game Hunting? Scuba Diving with Great White Sharks? Jumping out of helicopters with skis?

She watched her husband grimace as Jeff slapped him on the back and asked “How’s tricks my older bro?”

The kids were supposed to be in bed, but both were sitting in their pajamas at the top of the stairs.

“Hi Uncle Jeff ! “ they chorused. And he gave them a wink and replied, “No listening in now, because what I’m going to say is so exciting that if you hear it, you won’t be able to sleep.”

So of course they both did listen at the living room door while Jeff unveiled his surprise to Mum and Dad.

“I bet,” said Jeremy, “That he knows a rock star or some mega famous actor who’s invited us to stay in a mansion. ”

“I’m not so sure about that, “ said Jemima. “I think Jeff knows business people mainly. Mum says he drives around in sports cars because most of his life is really rather boring.”

And when they both reapplied their ears to the door they heard that Uncle Jeff was indeed talking about a business person, but not a boring one:

“Back in the summer, when you came to stay at my place by the sea, there was a big yacht in the harbour belonging to a mega-rich Russian. Me and the kids ran into him by chance, and there was a little, shall we say, unpleasantness with his staff, for which he was incredibly sorry. And by way of apology, he wants the family – that’s you and the kids – to be the first to try out his life-changing – first of its kind, new frontier -travel service, all absolutely free, gratis, on the house. It will be the holiday of a lifetime.”

“And what sort of holiday would that be?” asked Dad.

“The name of the company is a bit of a giveaway. It’s called ‘Holidays in Space’”.

“I don’t get it,” said Mum.

Well,” said Uncle Jeff. “It does what it says in the tin. Here’s some literature.”

And he handed them some brochures.

“I still don’t get it,” said mum. “What do all these pictures of space rockets mean?”

“Duh ! “ exclaimed Jeremy outside the door. “It’s pretty obvious isn’t it? We’re going to spend Christmas in space, courtesy of Uncle Jeff and his Russian billionaire friend. “

“Don’t be silly and keep your voice down,” hissed back his sister. The could hear that
mum was saying, “Oh no ! Oh no!. Oh no!”

And Jeremy pushed the door open and came flying into the room saying “Yes, yes yes ! Thank you uncle Jeff ! That’s the most incredible idea ever!”

And Jemima was saying “Not me. You won’t catch me going up in rocket propelled bucket!”

Dad just sat looking amazed. Mum was pleading with him. “Explain to your brother why his idea is completely no-can-do, not-on-your-life.”

But Dad got up and hugged his brother.

“You see,” he said, “When we were both growing up, we both wanted to be astronauts. And now Jeff has made it possible. That’s so incredibly kind of him. Of course we must accept. Don’t you see? This is an amazing opportunity for the kids. It will change their whole view of the world. You wouldn’t want them to grow up saying that they had a chance to go into space, but their parents passed it by?“

And when mum thought about it, she realised that she wouldn’t want her children saying a thing like that.

As soon as the school term finished, the family flew to Russia to begin training for their Christmas holiday. Three and a half hours after leaving London, they landed at Moscow airport. As they came through passport control , surly looking men in leather jackets called out “taxi! taxi!”.

“Nyet, Nyet,” said Mum. It was the only Russian she knew. It means “No.”

“There’s our guide,” said Dad. And he tugged his suitcase on wheels in the direction of a tall blond lady who was holding up a sign that said:

“HOLIDAYS IN SPACE”.

A car picked them up outside airport and drove them along the ring road around Moscow. They looked out at the landscape of snow covered fields, silver birch trees, high-rised flats and signs in unfamiliar Russian letters – and quite frankly they felt that they were already out of this world.

Finally they checked into their hotel inside Star City, the training centre for all the Russian cosmonauts, as well as for space tourists like themselves. The rooms were rather small and poky, and Dad said it was part of the training, to get used to the cramped conditions of the space craft..

A little later, the family went downstairs to meet Uncle Jeff who had been in Moscow for a few days already : “Hey Kids. Welcome to Space City. Have you seen Yuri Gagarin yet?”

“Who’s he?” asked Jeremy.

“Why he’s my hero. The first man in space of course,” said Jeff. “Get you gloves and hats on, and we’ll go and pay homage. He’s just across the square. “

Yuri Gagarin was in fact a statue on the steps of the space museum – - a sliver man flying through a hoop, more like a circus acrobat than a cosmonaut.

As uncle Jeff explained, the real Yuri Gagarin had died when he crashed his Mig fighter jet. “But he got into space first, in 1961, ahead of the Americans,” he added.

“But the Americans got to the moon first,” said Jeremy.

“That’s true, I well remember watching the Apollo moon mission on a dim television screen when we were boys. The rocket standing on the launch pad in Cape Canaveral. Mission control counting down. And then a blast of fire. Lift off from 0 to 28,000 kilometers per hour, why that’s a bigger rush than my motorcycle can do! Ever since then, I’ve dreamed of trip through space.”

“And now your dream is coming true Uncle Jeff” said Jemima.

“Uh-uh. No room for me. It’s going to be squish getting you four inside the space shuttle,”

And the kids realised just how generous Uncle Jeff had been to give up his chance of fulfilling his boyhood dream for them. Mum would have gladly given him her place in space, but she knew she would be more worried waiting on the ground than if she was actually in orbit with the family.

We’re going to be the first family in space.. It will be like, historic.” said Jeremy.

“And great publicity for the travel company,” said Dad.

“Providing we all get back safely,” added mum.

In the morning, things started to get even more real when they met their space instructor, a former Cosmonaut called Timor who had spent six months living in the International Space Station which orbits the earth. He told the kids:

“When I was in space, I missed my family. There was nothing else on Earth that I felt the need for. So you are very fortunate to be going up with your mom and dad.”

Jemima hugged her mother and said how wonderful it was to be going into space together. Jeremy shuffled his feet.

Timor took them to the quartermaster to try on their space suits for the first time. All the suits had “Holidays in Space” written across the chests and helmets. Jeremy had a blue helmet and Jemima had a pink one, Dad had an extra large helmet, and mum had a neat white one.

Uncle Jeff joined them for their training too – just to so he could get a taste of what space travel would be like. He brought his own space helmet which he had ordered especially from NASA, the American space agency. It bore the inscription:

Buzz Lightyear. Space Ranger.

Mum said it only went to show that Uncle Jeff hadn’t grown up.

Their first space lesson was fun. It involved picking up toothbrushes while wearing big fat gloves, and sticking things to walls with velcro, because in space everything would be floating around. Then they learned to operate the space toilet, which was a cross between a seat and a vacuum cleaner and had lots of different colored buttons.

The next day things started to get tough. The hardest part of space travel is enduring the enormously powerful gravitational force – or g-force – when you pass out of, and then back into, the Earth’s Atmosphere. This force feels a bit like being on the biggest, fastest, scariest, and most sick-making fair ground ride – and so space training is a bit like going to the fun fair – only a lot worse.

They met Timor in a large empty room next to the gymnasium.

“Jeremy. Please sit on this chair and fasten the seat belt nice and tight,” said Timor. Jeremy did as he was told. The chair wasn’t particularly conformable. He wondered what was going to happen. Was he about to drop through a trap door? Or shoot up through the ceiling at vast speed? No. Wrong on both counts. He started to spin round, fast at first, and then even faster, then even faster. It would have been fine, only he felt that his stomach and his head were both traveling at different speeds in different directions. He wished he had not eaten pancakes and honey for breakfast. ‘STOP !” he shouted. He span round a few dozen more times, but now more and slowly, thankfully.

“Well done. You lasted 96 seconds before begging for mercy. Not bad. “ said Timor.

Jeremy felt too sick to make any comment.

And then Jemima, Mum and Dad all had a go. Mum lasted the longest – two and half minutes – perhaps that was because she had eaten the least breakfast.

Over the next couple of weeks, they did a lot of whizzing around in circles . And trained inside a giant water tank, to get used to floating, because that’s what what you do in space.

At the end of their training, Timor presented each member of the family with a certificate that said.

Diploma of Moscow International Academy of Space Tourism.
Space Tourist. First Class.

And the next day they flew to the desert of Kazakhstan which, although it is a long way south of Moscow, is still cold and snowy in winter.

Jeremy and Jemima looked out of their hotel window towards the brand new space shuttle that stood on the launch pad pointing straight up to the gray clouds. It was the first of its kind, the jumbo-jet of space craft, especially designed to carry tourists out of the world’s atmosphere. The words “Holidays in Space” were written in English and Russian letters down its sides.

Jemima said. “I wish they hadn’t given us a room overlooking that thing. It makes me want to go home,”

And Jeremy said:

“I’m scared too. But we’ve got no choice. Dad’s determined to go.”

Upstairs Mum and Dad were also looking out of the window towards the shuttle. Dad was saying:

“It’s funny. I dreamed of this all my life. And now I see that space craft on the runway, I’m wondering, should I be taking this risk with kids?”

And Mum said:

“We can’t pull out now. It would be too embarrassing.”

And on the top floor , Jeff was looking out at the space ship, and saying to himself.

“Oh, oh my…. I hope that contraption is space-worthy and totally safe. If anything happens to them, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Just after dawn, a battered old bus took the family over the slushy runway to the shuttle. They wore their space suits and carried their helmets under their arms. Underneath their spacesuits they wore wooly vests and long johns, because it’s cold in space. And underneath those, they wore special diapers or nappies for space travelers because – well I won’t explain that – but let’s just say they had a long flight ahead before they reached the space hotel.

Uncle Jeff was waiting for them next to the steps up into the shuttle. He hugged each of his relatives in turn, giving his brother the last and longest hug:

“Hey kiddo,” he said. “May the force be with you !”

Sergei, the space travel tycoon, was there too. They all got a kiss on both cheeks from the billionaire. Apparently that was a Russian tradition.

The three crew members were the first to climb up the the ladder to the door of the space craft, and the the family followed. Jemima was last up, and she turned and waved to the television cameras and gave them a happy mile.

Inside, the the space tourists lay down on their seats with their knees bent towards them, as they had been taught. The illuminated signs above their positions read;

“Fasten Seat Belts. Switch off Mobile Phones. No smoking.”

They slotted their safety buckles into place.

Jeremy looked at Jemima, and Jemima looked at Jeremy. Inside their helmets they could hear the chattering of voices from Mission Control, but they couldn’t understand a word because it was all in Russian. Jeremy and Jemima could talk to each other over the radio, but they had to compete with the background babble which was quite confusing. Jeremy said:

“Jeremy to Jemima. Thanks for being a good sister. I mean, if this space- doohickey blows up or something, I want you to know that you were okay really. “

“Jemima to Jeremy,” replied his sister. “It’s not going to blow up. But thanks for being a good brother – most of the time.”

The Countdown was in Russian and English.

At the end of the countdown there was stillness. The chattering in their ears ceased. It was like the whole world had stopped turning.

And then the rocket blasters pushed off. They were traveling at five miles a second straight up. They all felt their stomachs go heave-ho. “I’m not going to be sick, I”m not going to be sick,” said Jeremy. And he was glad that he hadn’t eaten pancakes for breakfast.

The ship shook and shuddered so much that Jeremy could hear his bones rattling – in fact the Wright brothers probably enjoyed a smoother flight when they took off in the first airplane in 1903.

The view through the window turned gray with cloud but soon the view became blue, then purple, and at last black. It had taken them six minutes to reach space.

The rockets stopped firing. The ship stopped shaking. There was silence. A deep, awesome, silence.

Jeremy was the first to see that the seatbelt sign had been turned off. He pressed the red button to release himself, and he cart-wheeled out of his seat. He flew straight into the wall, but it didn’t matter because it was covered with soft padding.

Dad followed him. They were both floating in total weightlessness. And then the oxygen sign came on which meant they could take their helmets off.

“Wow this amazing” exclaimed Jeremy as Jemima shot past him, flaying her arms around like a baby sea gull learning to fly.

Mum was floating on her back like she was resting on the warm calm sea that she had dreamed of for her holiday.

“I think”, said Mum, “That a baby must feel like this insider the mother’s womb.”

The most remarkable part was yet to come. “Hey look at this! “ called Jemima. She was pressing her face against one of the portholes.

She was looking at the top of the world. A translucent blue curve. And beyond it, all infinity. They were all quiet, lost for words, until Jeremy said:

“Hey, Look there’s Santa,” ..

“Where?” asked Jemima.

“…… Caught you…. just kidding.”

And then they were silent again for a while, until Dad said:

“You wouldn’t think there were any problems down there. Like Mr. Jones is late for work and Johnny’s stuck on his home work,”

And the whole family knew that they would always have a special bond. Not just because they were family, but because they had shared experience this together, and had seen Planet Earth from the outside, and felt the harmony of the universe.

The journey took another two days before they caught up with the space hotel in its orbit around earth. Their shuttle docked with the larger ship on Christmas Eve. The family floated into their hotel through connecting hatches. There was music playing in the reception area. It was Jingle Bells.

The butler was a robot called Fred who wore a Santa Clause hat. He introduced them to the luxuries of their new home. Their floating sleeping bags were more comfortable than the best mattresses, and they would sleep like birds on the wing. The water in the shower floated upwards. The space toilet was a slightly different model from the one which they had trained on, but if they got confused they could consult the instruction manual. The refrigerator had every type of drink, but it didn’t matter if they wanted water or champaign, they still had to drink it through a straw. They should use the rowing machine every day, because your muscles can go flabby in space if you aren’t careful. For a special relaxation, the butler could give them a foot massage, or they could climb into the aromatherapy capsule. They could use the free wifi to check their emails, cruise the net or even to watch TV.

But actually, the coolest thing you could do was to look out of the big window to stare into infinite space. Dad asked Fred to move the Christmas tree because it was blocking part of the view.

For christmas lunch, they strapped themselves to the table so that the wouldn’t float up to the ceiling Fred brought round the Turkey sandwiches and the Christmas pudding. They pulled Christmas crackers and read jokes like:

I only work when I’m fired, what am I?

A rocket.

And

What kind of astronaut can jump higher than a house?

Any kind. A house can’t jump.

And they laughed even more than they would have done at home.

And then they went up to the bridge to look out at the blue planet called Earth.

“Isn’t it just like a new born baby?” said Mum. “It’s so beautiful, so perfect, so fragile. It’s a
miracle.”

And Dad said : “Happy Christmas Darling” and he kissed Mum.

And Jemima said:

“I wish we could take something back for Uncle Jeff. Like a piece of moon rock or something.”

And they all remembered how their Wicked Uncle had given them this amazing Christmas present, and mum admitted:

“For the first time ever, I”m truly sorry that Jeff isn’t with us. It was so kind of him to give up his place on the shuttle for us.”

Their watches were still set to Greenwich Mean Time. Dad noticed that it was almost three o’ clock in London.

“Come on he,” said. “We can’t miss the Queen just because we’re 280 miles above the Buckingham Palace. Let’s fire up the internet.”

A few minutes later, they were all gathered around a screen watching the Queen , just as they watched her at home every Christmas Day.

Her Majesty wore reading spectacles and said: “At this time of peace and goodwill, our thoughts turn to children all over the world”

“Hey, and don’t forget us kids up here in space !” said Jeremy.

When the Queen had finished her Christmas message, Dad wanted to take take “a quick snoop at headlines”. And he picked up the keyboard and switched the screen over to Google News.

“I wouldn’t bother. Nothing ever happens at Christmas,” advised Mum.

“You’re right,” said Dad, “It all looks reassuringly boring down there…. but that’s funny. There’s a news story here that says “Family Stuck in Space”…. Is there another family up here?”

“Here let me see that,” exclaimed mum in a panicky voice.

The news story – and the 4032 other similar stories on Google News – was about the Crusoe family from Walton Upon Thames, England. There was only one Crusoe family in orbit around the Earth that Christmas. And they were that family. Mum read on.

The Crusoe Family may be spending rather longer in space than they bargained for. The shuttle that was due to bring them back to Earth has failed safety tests. Inspectors from the International Federation for space Travel declared it unsafe to fly after a cleaner noticed that a vital life support system had been fastened to the outside of the craft with masking tape. A spokesman for the Russian Travel company, Holidays in Space, said

“The Crusoes have enough dried food, water and oxygen to last them another year in orbit. Even if they are celebrating next year’s Christmas in space, they will be ok.”

Mr. Crusoe’s brother, Jeff Crusoe, who is currently in Moscow, said:

“I am working night and day to get the family back down on Earth where they belong.”

When she had finished reading the article Mum said:

“I should have trusted my first instinct. As soon as Jeff said he had got Christmas “sorted” I felt something terrible was going to happen. But I allowed your brother to sweet talk me into this insane space escapade.”

Dad didn’t say anything. He just stared at the Earth and wondered if they would ever see their house in Walton upon Thames close up again.

“Next Christmas….” said Jeremy, “That seems like an awfully long time before we get back home”.

“If we ever get down at all ,” said Jemima, who looked more shocked than any of them.

Mum inspected the larder. She found powdered strawberry moose, powdered milk, powdered chicken broth, powdered lamb curry, and powdered just about any food you could think of.

“It’s back to the 1970s,” said Dad. “That’s what Jeff and I lived on when we were growing up.”

“Don’t talk to me about Jeff,” said Mum.

The week between Christmas and New year passed quietly. Jemima drew maps of the constellations. Jeremy played computer games. Dad practiced virtual reality golf swings, and Mum read War and Peace, which she had always wanted to do, but had never found the time. In fact it would have been a deeply relaxing holiday – if it wasn’t for the fact that they all knew that they were Stuck in Space.

The news did not improve.

“Holiday Space Company Tottering on the Brink…” read Dad on the internet. The millionaires who had booked holidays in the space hotel were canceling one after the other. The company was in danger of going bankrupt. And if that happened, the Crusoe Family might be stuck in space FOR EVER!”

”Like, we’ll just go round the Earth until the End of Time….?” asked Jemima.

“We’ll have to get down to Earth sooner than that ,” said Mum. “Because I’ve sworn a solemn oath to smack your Uncle Jeff around the chops. What was he thinking of, sending us up here? He’s the most irresponsible uncle in the entire world, sorry, in the entire universe “ she said with a gesture towards the universe itself, stretched out just beyond the window.

And then she froze. “Oh my…” she said… “Oh my stars. I’m hallucinating. Or can you see what I can see….”

“I think I can,” said Jeremy.

“Well if you can see Uncle Jeff taking a space walk just outside our window, then your having the same hallucination that I’m having,” said Mum.

“I think we are,” said Dad.

Fifteen minutes later they heard a metallic clunk as the space shuttled docked with the hotel. First Uncle Jeff, and then Sergei, the owner of the travel company, floated into the reception area. Fred the Robot Butler said:

“Welcome to the Space Hotel. The management of Holidays in Space wishes you a happy and comfortable stay .:

“Hey kids, how do you like it up here?” boomed Uncle Jeff.

“Wicked,” said Jeremy. “But it would be nice to get down some time.”

“And very soon you shall,” said Jeff.

An hour later the family were strapped into their seats in the space shuttle The decent
to the desert of Kazakhstan took just thirty minutes, but the inside of the shuttle was as hot as sauna on the way down. They landed on the runway with two or three bumps, but no real trouble.

When they climbed down the ladder onto the tarmac, Jeremy looked up at the sky and said:

“Uncle Jeff’s up there somewhere.”

“Yes,” said Jemima. “He got his space trip after all”

You see, after all the millionaires cancelled their Holidays in Space, the only people confident enough to fly in the shuttle were Sergei and Uncle Jeff. According to Sergei, there was nothing much wrong with the shuttle from the safety point of view. It just needed some routine maintenance after its first trip. The story about the masking tape had been spread by a rival company and wasn’t true at all. But the only way to prove that it was true was to make the trip himself. And the only other person who had enough faith to go with him, was Uncle Jeff. And in one week’s time, the shuttle would return to pick them up again and bring them back to Earth.

And that’s the story of how Jeremy and Jemima, Mum and Dad, and Uncle Jeff spent their Christmas Holiday in space.

Download the audio (right click, save as)

( Of course, in modern English, “The Tyger” would be “The Tiger”.)

We present three “songs” by the poet and artist, and Londoner, William Blake (1757-1827). His Songs of Innocence and Experience were intended to be sung, but the melodies are now lost. Many of his poems see the world with the freshness of a child’s eye.

THE TYGER

   Tyger, tyger, burning bright
   In the forests of the night,
   What immortal hand or eye
   Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

   In what distant deeps or skies
   Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
   On what wings dare he aspire?
   What the hand dare seize the fire?

   And what shoulder and what art
   Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
   And, when thy heart began to beat,
   What dread hand and what dread feet?

   What the hammer? what the chain?
   In what furnace was thy brain?
   What the anvil? what dread grasp
   Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

   When the stars threw down their spears,
   And watered heaven with their tears,
   Did he smile his work to see?
   Did he who made the lamb make thee?

   Tyger, tyger, burning bright
   In the forests of the night,
   What immortal hand or eye
   Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

THE FLY

   Little Fly,
   Thy summer’s play
   My thoughtless hand
   Has brushed away.

   Am not I
   A fly like thee?
   Or art not thou
   A man like me?

   For I dance
   And drink, and sing,
   Till some blind hand
   Shall brush my wing.

   If thought is life
   And strength and breath
   And the want
   Of thought is death;

   Then am I
   A happy fly,
   If I live,
   Or if I die.

THE LAMB

     Little Lamb, who made thee
     Dost thou know who made thee,
   Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
   By the stream and o’er the mead;
   Gave thee clothing of delight,
   Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
   Gave thee such a tender voice,
   Making all the vales rejoice?
     Little Lamb, who made thee?
     Dost thou know who made thee?

     Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee;
     Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee:
   He is called by thy name,
   For He calls Himself a Lamb
   He is meek, and He is mild,
   He became a little child.
   I a child, and thou a lamb,
   We are called by His name.
     Little Lamb, God bless thee!
     Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Download the audio (right click, save as)

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.

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 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 through out 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 elephants 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, health.

Download the audio (right click,save as)

This is a story about luck, or chance or fate. Some people believe that everything happens is set in the stars at the dawn of time and some people believe everything happens chaotically and at random, and other people believe that we are totally in charge of our own fate. And most of us, well we’re not quite sure what to believe. Perhaps this story will help you make up your mind.

Re-introducing Wicked Uncle Jeff (who is not so wicked at all) and the family of Mum, Dad, Jeremy and Jemima.

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie. Duration 20.40.

It was Friday morning, and Mum had just managed to pack the kids off to school. But this Friday, Mum had a busy schedule ahead of her – because she didn’t just look after the children, she also worked from home. Her job was cooking for special occasions, like weddings and birthdays and parties. She made cakes and tarts, dainty sandwiches, little nibbles, and all sorts of tasty things on cocktail sticks, and then she packed them all up, put them in the back of the car, and drove them off to the event. Today she had to deliver a feast of snacks to an office leaving-do by 5. p.m. But before she picked up her electric whisk, she thought that she deserved a little time to herself with a cup of tea, a pastry, and the newspaper. As she glanced over the news headlines she thought to herself,

“Oh dear. Sometimes it seems like the only things that ever happen in the world are wars,disasters, and celebrity divorces. And the weather forecast isn’t much better…..”

But one article caught her eye. She couldn’t miss it really, because there was a photograph of Dad’s brother, Jeff, whom the family liked to called The Wicked Uncle because he was totally irresponsible. He never had a proper job, or settled down with a family, and yet he owned several houses and even more cars, boats and motorcycles.

In the picture, he was smartly dressed for the horse races known as Royal Ascot, and at his side was his latest girl-friend, tall, blond, and beautiful, and wearing a ludicrous pink hat. The article said that he was sharing a box at the races with a Russian tycoon whom he had met by chance on a yacht.

Mum sighed. “Some people have all the luck. Jeff seems to live a charmed life. …. why can’t we share just a little bit of his good fortune? I know. I’ll see what my horoscope says…. it’s always fun to know in advance what sort of a day your going to have. ”

Mum’s star sign was Libra, which was supposed to mean she was very fair and even minded. In fact, Mum thought that her star sign gave a very accurate picture of her character. The stars seemed to describe all her family. Dad was a Taurus, which meant that he was stubborn, and that was certainly true, And Jeremy was Leo the lion, which meant that he was cut out to be a great leader, and Jemima was Aquarius, the water sign, which explained why she was so good at swimming. The truth was that really she believed in horoscopes. so as soon as she had finished reading today’s, she immediately wished that she hadn’t. It said:

“The best thing you could do today, is to stay in bed. All the stars and planets are opposed to you. Mars is waging war on you, Sagittarius the archer s firing her arrows at you, Venus has deserted you, and Taurus the bull is charging you with its horns. Quite frankly, even staying in bed isn’t a fully safe option. Better hide UNDER the bed and stay there until after the weekend.”

Mum stood up crossly and tossed the newspaper in the peddle bin. “That’s ridiculous. I can’t hide under the bed. There isn’t room!… “ she exclaimed “Oh my stars ! What a day this is shaping up to be. But I’ll just have to struggle on and cook those nibbles even if all the forces of the universe are working against me.”

And all day Mum was very careful not to cut herself with a kitchen knife, not to drop a weight on her foot, and not to leave the kitchen while anything was cooking in case a fire started. But even so, everything seemed ten times more difficult than usual. She ran out of casting sugar, she burned her quiche, and she put too much mustard powder in the french dressing. And then, to top it all, she tripped over Rudy – he was the cat – and dropped her egg whites all over the floor. Rudy started to lick up the goo.

“A black cat,” thought Mum, “Get out of here you,” she screamed. “You’re nothing but Bad Luck !”

While Mum was bravely overcoming every obstacle that cruel fate threw in her way, Dad was also having one of those days. He was stuck in the mother of all traffic jams. There had been an accident on the fly-over, and the police were investigating. They were painstakingly picking up every fragment of glass, labelling it, and putting each one into its own separate plastic bag. And to make matter worse, Dad was desperate to go to the loo. As he sat at his wheel fuming and sweating, he called the office to give them an update. A policeman tapped on his window.

“Excuse me sir, don’t you know there’s a law against using your mobile phone while driving? And by while we are about it, your front wheel is on the yellow grid. You can’t stop here. You’re blocking the traffic. That will be two fines in one. ”

And Dad had to get out of the car, show his driving license, and answer all sorts of questions while four policemen examined his tires and searched his boot for lethal weapons.

It was half past one before Dad arrived at work.

“That makes sense,” he thought as he turned on his computer. “It’s Friday the 13th. .I should have called in sick.”

But Friday the 13th, which is supposed to be an unlucky day, had been just fine for Jeremy and Jemima at school. Jemima had a swimming lesson – which she loved – and Jeremy was just glad because it was end of the week, and on Saturday he would be playing football. When they got home though, they found that Mum was frantically searching for her car keys.

“I’m having a bit of day,” she said ,sounding like she was having a nervous breakdown. Jemima knew it would be best to stay out of Mum’s way. Even Rudy was hiding in the coat cupboard. But Jeremy asked:

“Have you looked in the kitchen drawer?”

“Oh course I have. Do you think I’m stupid or what?” snapped back Mum.

But Jeremy opened the drawer, which was where they usually kept the keys, and lo and behold, that was where they were. Mum mumbled thanks and grabbed some trays to take out and load into the car.

“Don’t just stand there, help me” she yelled the kids. “And mind you don’t drop anything. That would be all I need right now!”

Ten minutes later, Mum was gone, and Jeremy went up to his room to program his website while Jemima went to tell Rudy that it was safe to come out of the cupboard now. Then Jemima went upstairs to put the finishing touches to her school project all about Queen Cleopatra of Egypt.

When Mum got home she kicked off her shoes, put her feet on the sofa and said:

“What a day. Thank goodness it’s over !”

But it wasn’t. Ten minutes later the phone rang, and an angry voice asked where was the food for the party.

“But I just delivered it,” protested Mum.

“Not to here you didn’t,” exclaimed the voice.

And after quite a bit of arguing, Mum realised that she must have delivered the food to the wrong office. Some greedy office workers had accepted her snacks and were now celebrating the end of the week with a free feast ! While the real party was going without any food. Mum had wasted her time and money, and at the end of it all, she had lost a customer.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Dad arrived home looking looking totally fed up. He had left the office early because he was feeling ill, but on the way back, smoke started rising from the bonnet of his car. The breakdown van toed it away to the garage, and he came home by bus.

“I don’t think I can keep on at this job,” he said. “Ever since the office moved, I spend all my time getting there and back. “

And to top it all, Rudy the cat was sick Not just sick but had diarrhea – and not in any old place, like out in the garden or on the kitchen floor but in Jemima’s bedroom, and not just in Jemima’s bedroom, but all over her project on Queen Cleopatra.

There was a terrible scream from the top of the house

“Oh my goodnes, what’s happened !” exclaimed Mum.

And then it was followed by a long heart-felt wail….. “My Project !!!!!!!!”

Poor Jemima. She had worked so hard on her project. And now she was going to have to spend the whole weekend doing it all again. And she would have to miss her ballet class on Saturday and her swimming lesson on Sunday.

But at least Jeremy was ok. Nothing had happened to him. He was happily working on his computer until way too late. When Mum came to wish Jemima goodnight, she was sitting on her bed hugging a big bear that she had loved when she was little and looking very sad.

“Mum,” she asked. “Do you think our family’s cursed? I mean, we always seem to have bad luck.

“Don’t be silly,” said Mum. “We just had a bad day. There’s no such thing as a curse or bad luck. Things just happen sometimes, that’s all. ”

But Mum didn’t sound at all convincing. You see, she did believe in bad luck. And in the morning, when Dad slipped on some sick the cat had made in the night, and landed in a heap on the kitchen floor, she couldn’t hide her true feelings any more.

‘Listen kids,” she said as she helped a badly shaken Dad up to his feet, “I know this sounds a bit spooky, but we had all better be extra careful this weekend. My horoscope says that lots of bad things are going to happen, and judging by the last 24 hours, it’s coming all too true.”

And that really scared Jemima. “Mum, do you think like, anything really really bad could happen? Like, could we die?”

And Jeremy thought that was absolutely hilarious. He was still laughing about it as Dad drove him to the soccer fields.

He was the goal keeper and he knew that saving the ball required loads of skill just a few drops of good luck. Fortunately his luck seemed to be in. The other side had a some great shots at goal, but Jeremy leapt, stretched and dived and kept the ball from crossing the line. The score was nil – nil until, ten minutes before the final whistle, his team’s defender tripped up the other side’s striker. The referee blew his whistle and pointed to the penalty spot.

The centre forward was about to take the penalty. He placed the ball on the spot and considered the goal. Jeremy reckoned that he was eying up the top left corner of the posts. His opponent ran up and struck the ball cleanly with his boot. Jeremy sprang through the air like a ballet dancer and just reached the ball with his little finger. As he landed on the muddy ground he knew that he was the hero of the match, but oh, his little finger was hurting. The ball had bent it back.

An hour later the phone rang at home. Jemima picked it up, before calling out:

“Mum…. it’s the hospital, Jeremy’s in Accident and Emergency.”

Mum prepared herself for the worst. She picked up the phone as bravely as she could and she had to ask the nurse to repeat what had happened three times before she understood that her son had probably broken his little finger, that his football trainer had to leave, and that somebody should come wait with Jeremy until he had an xray.

“Yes, I’ll come right away,” said Mum. She went to the drawer to look for her keys, but they weren’t there.

“Don’t you remember,” said Jemima. “Dad’s car is broken-down, so he took yours to his golf match…. .but you do you what? Uncle Jeff lives not far from the hospital, maybe he could go and wait with Jeremy.”

“Oh I expect he’s away on one of his exotic holidays, “ said Mum, “You know Uncle Jeff, he spends his weekends scuba diving or trekking in the himalayas. “

But in fact Uncle Jeff was having a quiet weekend at home for once, and when Mum called, he said he would be only too pleased to help out, and besides, it would be an opportunity to catch up with his nephew and have a good chat while they waited.

And by the time Uncle Jeff got to the hospital, Jeremy had already had his xray, and a splint was holding together two fingers on his left hand.

“Good job your trigger finger’s still in tact,” said Uncle Jeff. “Come on, let’s go clay pigeon shooting. I reckon we’ve safely got two hours while your Mum thinks you’re still waiting at the hospital.”

“Wow!” said Jeremy. “You bet !”

But back at home, Jemima and Mum had yet more anxiety. Rudy was still sick and didn’t want to come out of the coat cupboard. They both wished that they had taken him to the vet that morning – but now it was Saturday afternoon, and they would have to wait until Monday.

“This has to be the most unlucky weekend any family ever had” said Jemima.

But Jeremy came back looking pleased with himself. After all, he was the hero of the match, and though he didn’t let on to Mum about it, he had a great time clay pigeon shooting.

When uncle Jeff heard about Rudy he said: “Don’t worry. I know a woman who can do wonders for any cat. She has healing hands.”

And although Mum didn’t have much faith in Uncle Jeff’s cat-healing friend, she was willing to give anything a try. So Jeff took poor Rudy off in his basket and Jemima went with him. They returned that later with a very well and satisfied looking cat.

“That’s a miracle. What did she do?” asked Mum.

And Jemima explained:

“She said that he was suffering from stress and all he needed to do was to chill out. So she gave him a massage for an hour, and he was purring away in cat-heaven – and look – now he’s completely better.”

“Well ,well, “ said Mum. “Jeff seems to have an easy answer to every problem.”

Mum asked Uncle Jeff to stay for supper and he said that he would be delighted to eat some proper home cooking. She made her special cottage pie with steamed vegetables that she had grown in the garden and while they were eating, Jemima asked:

“Uncle Jeff. Why are you so much luckier than we are? I mean, like, you’re Dad’s brother. But everything always seems to turn our right for you, and Dad, well, he just doesn’t seem to have any luck at all.”

Dad gave his daughter an annoyed stare, but he couldn’t protest as his mouth was full of cottage pie. Jeff saw this and smiled affectionately at his brother

“Well first of all, I don’t think I’m luckier than your Dad. Not one bit. He has a beautiful family, and I just have strings of girl-friends. In many ways, I’m quite envious of his steady life. And secondly, luck is just all about how you see things. Everything that’s happened to you this weekend could be seen as bad luck, but if you look at it differently, it could also be seen as good luck.”

“Good luck? “ exclaimed Mum. “What’s been good about anything that’s happened yesterday or today?

“Well lots of things,” said Jeff. “For instance, you delivered your party snacks to the wrong address. You lost a customer – but I’m willing to bet that the other office food were very impressed by your delicious cooking. And probably they are feeling just a bit guilty about eating your food for free. So I see that as an opportunity. They are your next customer, and perhaps they will be a bigger and better customer.”

“And then Dad’s having trouble getting to work since his office moved. So why doesn’t he suggest to them that he works from home? Anyone can work from home these days, and it’s a much better lifestyle.”

“What? Have him at home all day. I’m not so sure about that idea,” said Mum.

But Jeff went on. And as for Jemima. Yes, her project was ruined, but that gave her a chance to do it again, and do it even better. And even Rudy being sick was good luck for him, because he scored an enjoyable cat massage. As for Jeremy, yes he broke his finger, but he saved the match, and breaking his finger to do it made him even more of a hero in the eyes of his mates. And to finally all this has been a wonderful opportunity for a family get together – which is something we don’t do often enough.”

“So actually Jemima, “ said Uncle Jeff, “I don’t especially have any good luck. In fact, I’m always getting into all sorts of trouble and scrapes. You lead a much more steady life, and in some ways, I’m quite envious of you. But I believe that the whole trick is not to see our little problems as bad luck, but to see them as opportunities. “

And although Mum didn’t entirely see things the way Uncle Jeff did, she now understood the secret of how he seemed to be always followed around by good luck.

Download the audio (right click, save as)

The epic and tragic story of Samson and Delilah can be found in the Bible’s book of judges. It tells the story of a man who has the strength of a lion – but who has a taste for the sweetness of honey, and that is his downfall.

Read by Natasha. Duration 18.27. Version by Bertie .

Samson and Delilah.

A long time ago, in a land where the sun is searingly hot, a man was making his way through a vineyard. The vines brushed against his broad thighs was he went. He was young and handsome, and long hair fell down his muscular back. He had taken an oath never to cut his hair, drink wine, or to touch a dead person. For this oath, he was considered to be a Holy Man. But whether his character was holy, that is something I will leave for you to judge.

Now crouching among the vines was a lion. He swished his tail like a cat about to pounce upon a mouse. His nostrils quivered at the scent of man. His ears tuned into the sound of footsteps and rustling vine leaves. And then he sprang with his jaws open and his claws extended. Samson, for that was the name of his intended victim, punched the lion on the chin, and then tore him apart with his bare hands. Soon the creature lay dead among the vines.

Samson was pleased with this encounter, because he liked a good scrap. But there was something he liked even more, and that was a pretty face. It must have been his lucky day, because at the bottom of the hill he spied a lovely young woman sitting on the steps of her father’s house. The girl was a Philistine, and Samson was an Israelite. Their peoples were enemies, in fact, at this time, the Philistines ruled over the Israelites, but Samson did not care about politics. Make love, not war, he said to himself. He sat down next to Philistine girl and spoke to her, and she liked this handsome young stranger as much as he liked her.

On his way back home, Samson passed back through the vineyard where he had met the lion. He heard a buzzing sound, and saw that bees were swarming around the dead beast. The corpse was now filled with a thick amber coloured liquid. Samson scooped some of the sticky stuff up onto his fingers and tasted it. It was honey. He dug out more of the sweetness with his hand and ate it. As the honey melted on his tongue, he felt his muscles grow even stronger. By the time he reached home he felt so full of energy and power that he was certain he could fight a whole army single-handed and win. But he did not tell his parents about the lion or the honey. He decided to keep that secret for himself. Instead he described the girl to his mother, and told her that he intended to marry her.

His mother threw up her arms and said:

“Is there not a single woman among your own people that you might marry?”

But his father said that it was the Lord’s will that their son should wed a daughter of the Philistines.

“Let them take Samson into their family,” he said. “They deserve him.”

And his wife knew exactly what he meant.

The wedding feast lasted seven days on end. Long tables were set outside in the girl’s village, and the trestles were laden with piles of goat’s meat, figs, grapes, stuffed vine leaves, houmos, fried aubergines and other delicacies.

Philistines and Israelites sat side by side around the tables. They ate and drank together. They sang and danced together. And they laid bets and dares for each other. In fact after not very long, anyone coming upon this wedding celebration would have a hard time saying who was Philistine and who was Israelite.

On the very first night, Samson gave the guests a riddle to solve: He promised that if anyone could find out its meaning, he would give each and every one of his guests a fine set of clothes. But if none of the guests could guess the riddle by the end of the feast, then they must give him thirty sets of new clothes.

And this was the riddle:

“Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness. What was strong and what was sweet?”

The bride’s father glanced at his daughter to see from her face if she knew the answer. But she looked as puzzled by Samson’s words as everyone else did.

After three days of feasting, none of the guests had divined Samson’s meaning. But on the forth day, the girls father sat down next to her and whispered into her ear.

“Can’t you entice your husband to give you the answer to his riddle?”

Later that night with tears in her eyes, she stroked Samson’s face and told him:

“You say you love me, but you are keeping secrets from me. I will not trust in your love until you tell me the answer to your riddle.”

And she wept every day until at last Samson surrendered the answer to her.

On the seventh day, at the end of the feast, one of the guests stood up and announced, “Samson, I have solved your riddle, for what is sweeter than honey or stronger than a lion?

And when Samson heard this, he shook his fist with rage and said;

“If you had not schemed with my wife, you would not have found out my riddle.”

Which meant that he knew that somehow they had got the truth out of his wife.

But he had no trouble finding clothes to give to his guests He went down to the city of Ashkelon, killed thirty men, and took their clothes. When he had done this, he went to the house of his wife’ family to take away his wife with him. But there he discovered that her father had already given her way to another man – a friend of Samson’s.

“I thought you had deserted us,” he said simply. “But here, take her sister, she’s no less pretty.”

Samson looked at the sister. It was true, she was no less pretty than his wife, but the suggestion was an insult to him, his wife, and her sister. He left the farm house promising his revenge, which followed soon after. He caught numerous foxes and then he tied burning torches to their tales. The poor terrified animals ran through the fields and set alight to the corn and the nearby farms. The whole sky was lit up with the blaze, and for miles around the Philistines had lost their crops.

The cycle of violence continued. The Philistines took revenge on the Israelites for Samson’s deeds. And Samson slew the Philistines, either with his bare hands, or with nothing more than the jaw bone of a donkey for a weapon. He was so filled with loathing, strength and fury that an entire Philistine army could not defeat him.

But he had a taste for sweetness as well as for war. Sometime later, he fell in love with a woman from the valley of Sorek, whose name was Delilah. She was more beautiful and clever than any of the women he had come across before. She had whiles and guile and she understood exactly how to win him over to her point of view. There was almost nothing he would refuse her, if it was in his power.

What Samson did not know, was that Delilah was a spy who worked for the Philistines. When their king heard word of the romance he said:

“The strong man is caught in our honey trap.”

One night, when Samson and Delilah rested in each others arms, she whispered to him: “Tell me my love, what is the source of your great strength,” And Samson, fearing betrayal, said:

“Tie me with seven green bow strings, and I will be your slave,”

And so while Samson slept, Delilah tied him up with seven green bow strings. She stood back and admired his great limbs bound by the tiny strings. Even his light breathing seemed in danger of breaking them. Somehow she suspected that he had not told her the truth, and so she put him to the test. She called out “My love, the Philistines are upon you !”

Immediately Samson sat up ready to fight, and as he did so he snapped the strings with ease. And Delilah laughed because she knew that she had been deceived.

The next night Delilah said, “Tell me, oh cunning one, what is the secret of your strength? And do not mock me with your lies.”

And Samson replied: “If you bind me fast with new ropes that have not been used, then I will be quite helpless.”

And later, as Samson slept, Delilah tied his limbs with thick new ropes that had never been used before. She pulled the knots tight and this time she was almost sure that he would not be able to escape. Still, she decided to put him to the test. When he was bound fast she called out,

“Oh my love, the Philistines are coming for you !” Immediately Samson burst the ropes apart and leapt to his feet. She had been deceived again. This time she did not laugh – she was quite furious with him for tricking her. She knew she must try a different tactic.

The next night she upbraided Samson with tears : “How can you say that you love me, when you mock me with your lies?” And she kept on pressing him for his secret until his soul was vexed almost to death.

At last Samson told her: “Shave off my hair and all my strength will desert me, for I have been a Nazerine to God, ever since I lay in my mother’s womb, and a Nazarine is a holy man who must never shave his hair.”

And Delilah knew from the grave way he spoke that this was the truth. That night, the strongman fell asleep with his head on her lap. At first she caressed him and ran her fingers through his long hair. For all his strength and wild fury, the handsome giant was totally in her power. This gave her a sense of thrill, but it was mingled with regret for what she was about to do. When he was quite asleep, she took a razor from behind the chair, rubbed olive oil into his thick locks, and shaved every single hair from his head.

“My Love, ” she cried, “The Philistines are upon thee!” And this time she spoke the truth, for she had told the soldiers to come that night and to bring gold with them for her payment. An armed band of Philistines broke down the door and captured the shaven Samson. He was quite helpless to defend himself, for all his strength lay on the ground with his locks of hair.

The Philistines blinded their prisoner and bound him in chains, before throwing him into their deepest prison cell. And there he rotted.

Some time later, it was the feast day of the Philistine’s god, Dagon. There were great celebrations through the land of the Philistines, for their god had delivered them from Samson’s strength and fury. The King commanded:

“Bring him forth from his gaol, and chain him to the pillars of my palace so that we might mock him”.

And this they did. The house was full of the lords and ladies of the Philistine nation and they made sport of the great Samson, the strong man of the Israelites. They threw wine in his face, and poured soup over his head. Others, still crueler, poked and beat him with sticks.

But during the long months when Samson had lain in prison, nobody had noticed or cared what happened to him. Nobody seemed to understand that as his hair grew back in length so did his strength. And Samson now shook his chains and cried out:

“O Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen me, I pray thee, only this once, O God, that I may be at once avenged of the Philistines for my two eyes!”

And Samson took hold of the two middle pillars upon which the house stood, one with his right hand, and the other with his left. And as he uprooted them from their foundations, his last words were:

“Let me die with the Philistines !”

And the heavy stones of the house came crashing down on the Lords and Ladies of the Philistines and all who were inside.

Download the audio (right click, save as)

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 re 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 councilors 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 twe nty 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 body guard, 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 body guard 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 deposit d 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 coco-nuts. 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 marveled 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

Download the audio (right click, save as)

Here we have a double first. It’s the first “Single” by our fictional girl band the chiX… and it’s the first song by us at Storynory.

In the story (Gladys and the Eurovision Song Contest) this song is written by Gladys, the chiX younger sister, and sung by Laura with backing vocals by Mandy and Sam.

Save the song on your iPod – send it to all your friends !

Real life credits:

Music (and musical direction): Gabriella Brunel
Lead Vocals (and creative input): Eiriona Jackson
Backing vocals: Natasha and Gabriella
Band: Andre, Eric and David
Engineer: Joe Davison
Lyrics: Bertie

You taught me to fly and to swoop to your arms;
And though I soared high I came to no harm;

You sawed me in half and you pulled me apart
And though I really laughed, you had broken my heart,

You stood me quite still and you threw straight your knives
And though you didn’t kill, you used eight of my lives,

You rattled my cage and you cracked your whip
And though I really raged, I only bit my lip.

Chorus x 2

Our dream is
A circus
Run away
Live for the day

Our life’s
A circus
Ups and downs
round and round

You set up a hoop, and I jumped through the fire,
And though you were cool, you lit up my desire

You stretched a high wire, and you made me walk the walk,
And though said you were a flyer, It was only ticks and talk.

Chorus x 2

Our dream is
A circus
Run away
Live for the day

Our life is
A circus
Ups and downs
round and round

Bridge—

We made a pact
We’re a double act
A high wire flier
with a belly full of fire

A big attraction
with plenty of action
A spectacular show
With no net below

[Guitar Solo]

Our dream
is a a circus
Run away,
live for the day

Our life,
is a circus
ups and downs
round and round

Our dream
is a a circus
Run away,
live for the day

Our life,
is a circus
ups and downs
round and round

Our way is a circus
Thrills and spills,
looks that kill

Our love
is a circus
yes we fight, but it’s right on the night

Our way is a circus
Thrills and spills,
looks that kill

Our love a is
A circus
yes we fight
But it’s alright on the night

Copyright: Storynory.com (Blog Relations Ltd) 2009 – but please feel free to spread the mp3 of the song around the internet and to all your friends so long as all rights to the music, lyrics and story remain with us at Storynory !

Download the audio (right click, save as)

Click picture to enlarge

The chiX reach the final of the Eurovision Song Contest in Istanbul, and we approach the climax of our story about a girl band and their young sister, Gladys, who isn’t in the band, but who IS the brains behind it.

We’ve specially recorded the chiX song, “Life is a Circus” for this story – and if you want an mp3 of The Single without the story around it, then you can find it here.

Catch up with earlier episodes of Gladys and the chiX.

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie (with lots of inspiration from Natasha). Duration 26.40 min. Picture of Gladys and the chiX preforming “Life is a Circus” for Storynory by Tania Fernandes

TV Presenter’s voice :

“Good evening and welcome to Istanbul, gateway to the East, or gateway to the West if you are coming from the other direction. if like me you are a fool for drum machines, wind-machines, clawing, pawing, glitz and glitter,
crazy costumes and bizarre behaviour you’ve come to the right place, for this is the 76th run along that well worn race track, the Eurovision Song Contest !”

——

As is the long tradition in Britain, the television commentary for the final of the Eurovision song contest did not take the proceedings 100% seriously. But that didn’t mean to say that the millions of viewers at home weren’t rooting in their hearts for their country’s entry, Life is A Circus, sung by a young girl band called the chiX. The papers were saying it was the UK’s best shot at the Eurovision for for years, a song with real sincerity, or as one commentator put it, “Too Good to win the Eurovision.”

The chiX had arrived in Istanbul almost a week beforehand. Their hotel overlooked a wide, grimy waterway, busy with boats and barges.

“Istanbul’s not exactly what I expected, ” said Laura.

“What did you expect?” asked her younger sister Gladys.

“Well, more like, you know, Ibitha. But that doesn’t meant to say that it isn’t cool. Coz it’s amazing to be here.”

Gladys explained the name of the straight was the Bosporus, and it divided Europe from Asia. But geography did not impress three older girls nearly so much as their hotel’s fat tapped bathrooms ands and field-sized beds.

“I could live here, and never go out the front door again,” said Mandy as they ate ice cream and sipped soft drinks in a cafe on the 16th floor of the hotel.

But there was work to do. A film crew followed the chiX around the great sites of Istanbul. They posed outside the Topkapi Palace, and the Blue Mosque with its six minarets. And then they went inside the ancient Basilica of Hagia Sophia, or holy wisdom. 1,500 years ago it had served as a cathedral of the Byzantine Empire, and then later as a mosque. Now it was a museum. The girls looked up into the enormous dome, radiant with gold mosaics and natural light, and at the black shields in the corners, bearing unfamiliar oriental letters

“You know what, ” said Laura, “I really feel something in here. Something like, a mystical power. I would never have come here on my own, But thank you Gladdy for bringing us here. This is really cool. ”

They wandered through the alleys the Grand Bazaar, the largest covered market in the world. The store holders charmed them into buying stuff they never knew they needed, including leather jackets, copper pots, fake designer shoes, strange lamps, and even a Turkish rug or two. But the girls always got good prices. As they bargained with the store holders they sang and danced and won the best discounts in the whole market.

And of course there were rehearsals too. They sang their number on a vast stage set up in the middle of a sports stadium. The thousands of empty seats were kind of ghostly, more scary than if they were full of people. They felt tiny as they preformed their song in such a vast vacuum. Afterwards they went up to the control room while the TV producers from London played back video of their performance , and discussed camera angles with their Turkish colleagues. Some of the cameras, mounted on cranes, were swooping over the top of the stage while others were zooming in close up and focusing on their faces. Arny, their manager, was pressing for them to use the close ups.

“Do you think we’ve got, like, enough stuff going off ?” asked Laura, “I mean, like the other acts have fireworks and lasers and armies of dancers. We’ve got, you know, just little old us.”

“Yeah I do think we’ve got enough ‘ stuff going off’,” said Arny with a touch of tetchyness. “Our entry is about you lovely galls and the song, not about all that other razzmatazz.’

And Gladys thought she understood what Arny was doing. If the girls had lots of singers and performers all around them, they could sort of hide. This way, they were the frame, and they had to give it their all.

And then there was a press conference. It was held in a meeting room of their hotel. Four chairs were set up for the chiX behind a table with lot of microphones on it. At first, Gladys assumed that the fourth place was for Arny, but then she noticed that there was a name card on the table saying, ‘Gladys’. Perhaps it was a mistake. There were only three sisters in the band. She was always working behind the scenes. But Mandy ushered Gladys to her place. She put her legs under the table, and blinked at the rows of journalists with notebooks on their laps, and the video cameras mounted on tripods.

The first question from a journalist was:

“Is it true that Gladys, aged 12, wrote this circus song all on her own?”

“Absolutely,” said Mandy, and the other girls all nodded. “She’s ten times smarter than the rest of us put together,” agreed Laura.

And the next question was:

“Gladys. Can you tell us a little bit about how you write your songs?”

And Gladys realised that for the first time she, and not just her sisters, was in the spotlight. Nobody had actually asked her before how she wrote her songs. She stumbled a bit: “Er well I think of a theme, like say a Circus, and then I think about some words that are about the circus but are really about, you know, relationships and that sort of stuff, because that’s what all pop songs are about really. You know, I have three older sisters so I kind of get ideas off them….”

She felt herself going bright red. She wasn’t sure why really. But afterwards everyone said that she had answered all the questions brilliantly.

“It’s a great story,” said Arny. “12 year old girl writes winning song in Eurovision….”

And now, at last, after a week of hard work and living the high life, it was Saturday night and the start of the show. The next day they would be on the flights back to London Heathrow Airport. These few hours could be the chiX last taste of fame and success.

In three and half hours time the winner or winners would sing their entry one more time, and there would be tears of joy and disappointment.

The chiX sat at a table in the area cordoned off for all the singers and their entourages.

They were wearing their circus costumes, ready for their performance. Sam was a clown, Mandy a ring master, and Laura a glitzy acrobat. Round their table with them sat their backing musicians, – four cool young boys who didn’t say that much – their manager, Arny, their mum and dad, and of course, Gladys.

Arny was swapping statistics with Dad. Both of them seemed to know exactly which years the UK had won the contest, or come second, and which countries generally voted for their friends. In fact, Gladys was amazed that their Dad was such an expert.

‘1974, that was the year, I remember it well, when Abba won…” said Dad.

‘But my favourite was 1967 when Sandie Shaw topped it with Puppet on a String,” chipped in Arny.

“Oh, I’m way too young to remember that,” claimed Dad.

The girls were more fascinated by their fellow contestants. “It’s a freeking freek show,” said Mandy.

“Yeah, have you seen the tooth fairy?” said Laura. And she was staring at a woman from iceland in an extremely flouncy dress.

“Hey check out Eric the Viking, ” said Sam. She meant one of the contestants from Bosnia Hetzogovnia.

Gladys knew that sneering at all the continental contestants wasn’t in the best of taste, and given the girls were wering circus costumes, perhaps they weren’t entirely immune from criticism themselves. But gentle sniping was their way of controlling their nerves.

The show opened with Whirling Dervishes to set the Turkish context of the final. The hosts on stage were a young man and woman, one speaking French, the other English. When the contest proper started, the crowd whooped and cheered every performance, and seemed quite non-plussed by the grandiose over-the toppness of many of the acts: stomping glam-rockers, John Travolta-sytle disco-dancers, women with 1980s big hair dos, various types of gypsies and folk dancers, half dressed gladiators, men in white cat suits, numerous navels, Napoleonic soldiers playing electric guitars, leaping cossacks, accompanied by plenty of pyrotechnics, and gales of confetti and CO2 blown by wind machines.

Only a few acts were quite restrained. The entry from France was tres francais, but sounded just like the song they did the previous year, and the year before that. A boy from Denmark strummed a guitar a sang a bouncing happy-go-lucky folk song. And and homely girl sung a pretty ballad in Serbo-Croat.

According to the draw, the United Kingdom was due on stage third from the end, just after Azerbaijan. Several songs beforehand, a producer came to fetch them. Gladys stayed seated at the table while her sisters were given their last brush of face powder and the radio microphones were clipped to their costumes, before they worked out onto the stage in the arena packed with 30,000 spectators and the cameras broadcasting their images to 100 million or more viewers around the world.

[ play in sound of applause]

[PLAY IN SONG]

End with applause

Even the other acts were clapping wildly.

“You were fantastic, ” said Arny as the girls came back to the table, positively glowing with excitement. “You were easily the best act, ” he added. And the girls were hopping up and down and kissing each other.

“But don’t get exited. my bet is that you’ll come second. Denmark’s the only one with the exact Eurovision formula.

Gladys could see the taken aback look on her sister’s faces.

“Well I think the chiX will win,” she said,” Because the chiX were the best. ”

“Well maybe you are right, and maybe you aren’t” said Arny. “At any rate, we’ll soon find out.”

But it didn’t seem at all soon. After the last act had played out its umpa, umpa tune, there was a long wait while the various juries around Europe and a bit beyond deliberated and voted. The audience was treated to more folk dancing during the interval. Eventually the hosts appeared back on stage, and the giant screen projected the score board. Each country in turn presented its results. Latvia gave the maximum 12 points to Estonia. Russia gave 12 points to Ukraine. Ukraine returned the compliment. Cyprus voted for Greece and vice versa. But not all the voting was quite so neighbourly and predictable, and by half way through, the UK and Denmark were neck and neck in the lead. Sometimes the chiX slipped ahead, and sometime Denmark held first place.

The camera crews were collecting around the chiX table. When Romania gave 12 points to the United Kingdom, the TV viewers saw the chiX hugging and kissing each other, when Belgium gave them “null points”, you could see them shrugging their shoulders and looking like, hey, whatever. Towards the end, when it became clear that it was going to be a cliff hanger, the chiX were biting their nails and looking white and serious. The last country to vote was Slovakia. There were only two points between Britain and Denmark. This was the last and deciding vote.

“Hello Bratislava” called the Eurovision-presenters on stage.

“Good Evening Istanbul !” responded the Slovakian lady who held the results in her hand. She spoke quite mater of fact-ly.

” Here are the decisions of the Slovakian jury.

“Our eight points go to, United Kingdom… ”

The presenter on stage translated this result into French. It could have been worse , but it could have been better. Eight points meant that the chiX were still in the running. – just. Gladys was not sure whether to be relieved or nervous.

“Our ten points go to Holland”

This result made no difference. Holland was no longer in the running to win the contest.

And now, this was the deciding moment. If Slovakia gave its 12 points to Denmark then its happy go lucky folk song would win the whole contest, but if it gave its 12 points to any other country, then the chiX song would be the winner. Gladys felt her heart sink. She knew it was highly unlikely that Denmark would not get any points at all from Slovakia. The odds were that Denmark was about to take the last 12 points and win the contest outright.

“And finally,” said the Slavakian lady, before pausing to savour the suspense, our 12 points go to……. DENMARK!

The audience erupted into cheers and applause. Denmark had won the Eurovision. The chiX entry for the United Kingdom had come second.

The girls were trying to smile for the cameras, but there were tears in their eyes.

Mum hugged each of her daughters in turn.

The cameras were only interested the runners up for a minute or two. Soon the girls were able to sit down and have a little more private commiseration. Sam was crying quite inconsolably. Laura was looking suddenly tiered and quite drained. She put her all into her performance.

Dad said mournfully: “Now I know what it feels like to lose in the final of Wimbledon.”

“But at least with tennis you get another chance next year,” said Gladys. “the chiX will never get another shot at the Eurovision”.

“Yeah, sorry Arny,” said Mandy, “You backed a losing horse.” But Arny didn’t look at all disappointed.

“Ah never mind all that,” he said. Everyone knows the Eurovision is a load of old cods-wallop anyway. You didn’t win, but, actually you did win. Your story has caught the public’s imagination. The press loves you, especially the angle about the school girl genius who writes the songs. I’ve got some little presents for you girls.” And he he took out some papers from his brief case.

“This, he said, “is a draft recording contract with a top record company. They want you to do two albums. And this is a contract from another top record company. They want to sign you up for four. We’ll have to decide which one WE want to go with. Now this is from an American promoter who wants you to tour the USA. This is an invitation to appear on the Top talk show state side. This is from a publishing company that wants to ghost write your biography. And this is from a hollywood studio that wants an option on your life story. Oh, and this is lady wants a job as your twitter secretary, and to send out your tweets on the internet.

Girls, forget Eurovision. the chiX are the biggest thing since slice bread, and you Gladys, have a massive career ahead of you in the music biz. ”

And although Gladys was pleased with to hear Arny’s flattering prediction, she began to wonder if a career in the music business was really want she wanted form her life.

Download the audio (right click, save as)

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 sate of Kansas. One day the farm house, 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 scare crow, a tin woodman, and a cowardly lion. They are all on their way to the Emerald City seek help from the Wonderful wizard of Ox. The Wizard agrees to help them, but firs 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 nor 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 traveling 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.

Download the audio

Around about Halloween, you might like to sit by the fire and listen to a spooky, supernatural poem by Edgar Allan Poe.

A student sits reading and thinking about his dead girlfriend, Lenore. He hears a tap-tap-tapping at his window, and he sees a jet black bird – a raven. The raven comes into his room at sits on top of a statue of Pallas Athene (the goddess of wisdom) and speaks one word – Nevermore ! The word reminds the student that never more will he see his long lost love, Lenore. Then the air seems to thicken with incense swung by supernatural creatures ( Seraphims), and the student starts to cry out that the Raven should stop reminding him of Lenore … he asks if there is any relief from this torment in heaven – and the bird replies – Nevermore ! At last the raven turns into a statue and remains in the room for ever more.

Read by Natasha. Duration 11.22.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.’

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”‘

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee
Respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore -
Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!

Download the audio

A prince becomes all powerful, but still his priests fear God more than they do him. There is only one being left for the prince to conquer – God himself. And sohe declares war on God. Hans Christian Andersen’s moral and dramatic warns against the hubris of power. It has some things in common with our story about the Angel of Death.

Read by Natasha. Duration 10.08.

THERE lived once upon a time a wicked prince whose heart and mind were set upon conquering all the countries of the world, and on frightening the people; he devastated their countries with fire and sword, and his soldiers trod down the crops in the fields and destroyed the peasants’ huts by fire, so that the flames licked the green leaves off the branches, and the fruit hung dried up on the singed black trees. Many a poor mother fled, her naked baby in her arms, behind the still smoking walls of her cottage; but also there the soldiers followed her, and when they found her, she served as new nourishment to their diabolical enjoyments; demons could not possibly have done worse things than these soldiers! The prince was of opinion that all this was right, and that it was only the natural course which things ought to take. His power increased day by day, his name was feared by all, and fortune favoured his deeds.

He brought enormous wealth home from the conquered towns, and gradually accumulated in his residence riches which could nowhere be equalled. He erected magnificent palaces, churches, and halls, and all who saw these splendid buildings and great treasures exclaimed admiringly: “What a mighty prince!” But they did not know what endless misery he had brought upon other countries, nor did they hear the sighs and lamentations which rose up from the débris of the destroyed cities.

The prince often looked with delight upon his gold and his magnificent buildings, and thought, like the crowd: “What a mighty prince! But I must have more—much more. No power on earth must equal mine, far less exceed it.”

He made war with all his neighbours, and defeated them. The conquered kings were chained up with golden fetters to his chariot when he drove through the streets of his city. These kings had to kneel at his and his courtiers’ feet when they sat at table, and live on the morsels which they left. At last the prince had his own statue erected on the public places and fixed on the royal palaces; nay, he even wished it to be placed in the churches, on the altars, but in this the priests opposed him, saying: “Prince, you are mighty indeed, but God’s power is much greater than yours; we dare not obey your orders.”

“Well,” said the prince. “Then I will conquer God too.” And in his haughtiness and foolish presumption he ordered a magnificent ship to be constructed, with which he could sail through the air; it was gorgeously fitted out and of many colours; like the tail of a peacock, it was covered with thousands of eyes, but each eye was the barrel of a gun. The prince sat in the centre of the ship, and had only to touch a spring in order to make thousands of bullets fly out in all directions, while the guns were at once loaded again. Hundreds of eagles were attached to this ship, and it rose with the swiftness of an arrow up towards the sun. The earth was soon left far below, and looked, with its mountains and woods, like a cornfield where the plough had made furrows which separated green meadows; soon it looked only like a map with indistinct lines upon it; and at last it entirely disappeared in mist and clouds. Higher and higher rose the eagles up into the air; then God sent one of his numberless angels against the ship. The wicked prince showered thousands of bullets upon him, but they rebounded from his shining wings and fell down like ordinary hailstones. One drop of blood, one single drop, came out of the white feathers of the angel’s wings and fell upon the ship in which the prince sat, burnt into it, and weighed upon it like thousands of hundredweights, dragging it rapidly down to the earth again; the strong wings of the eagles gave way, the wind roared round the prince’s head, and the clouds around—were they formed by the smoke rising up from the burnt cities?—took strange shapes, like crabs many, many miles long, which stretched their claws out after him, and rose up like enormous rocks, from which rolling masses dashed down, and became fire-spitting dragons.

The prince was lying half-dead in his ship, when it sank at last with a terrible shock into the branches of a large tree in the wood.

“I will conquer God!” said the prince. “I have sworn it: my will must be done!”

And he spent seven years in the construction of wonderful ships to sail through the air, and had darts cast from the hardest steel to break the walls of heaven with. He gathered warriors from all countries, so many that when they were placed side by side they covered the space of several miles. They entered the ships and the prince was approaching his own, when God sent a swarm of gnats—one swarm of little gnats. They buzzed round the prince and stung his face and hands; angrily he drew his sword and brandished it, but he only touched the air and did not hit the gnats. Then he ordered his servants to bring costly coverings and wrap him in them, that the gnats might no longer be able to reach him. The servants carried out his orders, but one single gnat had placed itself inside one of the coverings, crept into the prince’s ear and stung him. The place burnt like fire, and the poison entered into his blood. Mad with pain, he tore off the coverings and his clothes too, flinging them far away, and danced about before the eyes of his ferocious soldiers, who now mocked at him, the mad prince, who wished to make war with God, and was overcome by a single little gnat.

Download the audio

Prince Bertie the Frog’s friend, Tim the Tadpole, is extremely upset because a certain person on the pond has called him “stupid” for not doing well at school. No prizes for guessing that the name of that person is Colin the Carp.

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie. Duration 15.02

… And this picture of Bertie and this Pondlife friends is by Phoebe Katsaiti, aged 6.

It was end of term at the Tadpole School, and all the tadpoles had to do exams. When Tim came home for the holidays, he was terribly excited about his results. He was turning in cartwheels and calling out

“Mummy Mummy, Can you guess where I came in class?”

Tim’s mum – who is of course a frog – saw that her youngest tadpole seemed ecstatically pleased and proud with himself, and she thought he must have done very well indeed.

“Er, did you come first?” she ventured.

“No -oh ! – you’ll never guess” said Tim as he stopped to catch his breath.

“Er did you come first equal”

“No-ooooo”

“Well then did you come second?”

And Tim gave his mother a little tadpole kiss. “Oh Mummy. You’re taking simply ages to guess the right answer, and I can’t wait to tell you. I won a really really big number. The teacher told me that I cam 2974th in my class. Isn’t that fantastic?”

But Tim’s mother found it hard to smile sweetly, and her expression looked just a bit, well, weak. She didn’t want her little Tadpole to feel bad about himself, but at the same time she really would have preferred him to come first or first equal, or even second – or even third come to that. She tried to think of something nice to say – which normally she was very good at – but this time it was quite hard. Eventually she said softly to Tim.

“Oh well darling. I suppose somebody’s got to come 2974th.”

Tim was very pleased, and he swam off to tell Colin the Carp – which wasn’t a good idea, because Colin isn’t quite as nice as Tim’s mummy. Colin would say that he’s a harbinger of the truth. But most people would say he’s just plain old rude, which only goes to show that everything depends on your point of view. Tim found him lurking around the east end of the pond looking sinister, which is what carps are good at. When Tim told him about his exam result, Colin replied.

“I suppose you could say that’s a unique achievement.”

“Oh thank you Colin, you always say the nicest things,” said Tim with a happy smile on his face.

And then Colin couldn’t quite help himself. He just had add what is called the “sting in the tale” because that’s what Colin does. And so me muttered: “Uniquely stupid”.

And although Colin said this quietly, Tim heard it. And when he thought about what Colin had said, all his excitement suddenly turned to sadness. He was so sad that he swam away crying.

“Oh No. Am I really really truly stupid? Oh it’s not good to be stupid, is it? Oh dear. Colin thinks I’m stupid… I feel really bad about myself now now.”

And to tell you the truth, Colin felt rather guilty. It was an unusual feeling for Colin, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. Eventually, he decided to go and tell Bertie the frog that Tim was a bit upset. When Bertie what had happened, he searched and searched the pond for his little friend. Finally he found him in the water under the overhang of the weeping willow tree. He seemed to be concentrating very hard on something.

“What are you doing here, all on your own little Tim?” asked Bertie.

“Counting green Algae”

Green Algae are tiny little plants – so tiny that they are even smaller than tadpoles – and very hard to see. But lots of water creatures eat them because they are extremely nutritious.

“And how many algae have you counted?” asked Bertie.

“Well I started at a million and I’m counting backwards. But now I’ve forgotten where I got to. Oh dear. Am I really really stupid Bertie?”

But Bertie assured him that he wasn’t at all stupid. He was just original.

“Is that just a big word for stupid?” asked Tim. And he started to cry. Nothing Bertie could say would cheer him up. All Bertie could do was to lead him home, and when they got there Tim had cried so much that he was really quite exhausted. His mother tucked him up under a leaf, kissed him, and soon he was asleep. She whispered to Bertie.

“Oh dear. I know he’s never going to be the brightest tadpole in the pond, but I just want him to be happy.”

“Well I don’t accept that Tim’s stupid,” said Bertie. “He’s just silly, which is another way of saying he gets over excited sometimes. Don’t worry. We’ll teach him to pass his exams. There’s just a knack to them, that’s all. If you have the knack, and you work hard, you can’t fail. But if you start to think that you can’t do them, then you’ll get into a state and do worse and worse. We’ll work up a plan for him. A plan for success !”

And Tim’s mother thought that Bertie was being really nice – but she wasn’t quite sure that he or anybody else could help Tim do better at school.

The next day Bertie took Tim for a swim around the pond, and while they swam he asked him all about his exams. First, he asked him how the geography exam was. And Tim said he didn’t know, because he got the time wrong, and he turned up just as it was finishing.

“I see,” said Bertie. “Rule number one. Ninety percent of success is just turning up. Always arrive at an exam half an hour early – and check and double check the time table beforehand.”

And Tim thought that Bertie’s advice was jolly interesting, because he hadn’t thought of that before.

And then Bertie asked him how the story-composition went.

“Oh I did really well in Storytelling. ” Bertie was pleased, because he kind of hoped that a little of his own story-telling skill would have rubbed off on Tim. But then Tim went on:

“I finished first by a mile. I just wrote, ‘Once upon a time. The end.’ Everyone else took ages to catch up. ”

“Right,” said Bertie. “Rule number two. Slow and steady wins the race. Use all the time available.”.

And then he asked him how he did in mathematics.

“On not not too bad,” said Tim. “The questions were really hard but guessed all the answers.”

“Ah-ha. Rule number three,” said Bertie. “No guessing. And never panic, no matter how hard the questions seem at first. Keep a cool head head and work your way steadily through them.”

And they swim on, while thought about that one.

“Now finally, how was history?” asked Bertie.

“Well I thought I did really well,” said Tim. “Because I wrote done some really funny answers.”

“Okay,” said Bertie. “Rule number four. Exams are no joking matter”.

And then Bertie gave Tim some more rules for exams.

Before you do anything else, read through all the questions.
Make a plan for how much time you need on each answer.
Leave some time at the end to read through for mistakes.

And they swam round the pond three more times and made sure that Tim knew and understood all Bertie’s tips.

“So you see,” said Bertie. “Exams aren’t really about being clever. They are about having the right knack. Oh, and there’s hard work too. That’s the downside. But we can make learning fun. ”

And Bertie and the pondlife helped Tim with his lessons. Bertie taught Tim story composition – because making up stories is what Bertie does best – Harry the centipede helped Tim with mathematics, because he can count to a hundred on his feet, Colin helped Tim with History, because Colin is old and remembers a lot of it himself, and the the swallows helped Tim with Geography because they fly long distance every year and the see how all the land lies, as well as the seas. By the end of the holidays, Tim had learned more things than you would have ever thought possible for one Tadpole to hold in his tiny pin head at one time. And then Tim went back to school and learned even more interesting things. When the exams came, he followed Bertie’s rules – and do you know what ? He scored better marks than anyone else in his whole class. And it was a very big class indeed, because there are thousands of tadpoles in the pond.

But even though he scored top marks, he only came 2869th in class.

When Bertie understood that Tim had scored top marks, but was still 2869th in his class, he went to see the teacher to ask how this could be. The teacher told him that the school had a rule that you could only improve by five places in each exam, because to improve by more than that was impossible. Bertie said that was jolly unfair and the school should do more to encourage improvement. Tim swam around hanging his head low and saying that there was no point in working hard and doing well, because your efforts weren’t recognised.

But the next week Tim started at the Big School. And everything was new. There was no unfair rule about how much anyone could improve and Tim already knew lots of interesting things, and he also had the knack of doing exams. From then on, Tim did rather well at school. And although some people still call him silly every now and then, because he gets really excited and asks lots and lots of questions – nobody calls him stupid any more. Well Colin does sometimes. But that’s just Colin – and you shouldn’t take too much notice of what he says because he’s a grumpy old carp.

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as)

A very queenly lioness meets first a mosquito and then a mouse. Both these tiny creatures teach her something about respect for small things. This is story is based on two of Aesop’s famous fables and we’ve rolled them into one. As with all our Aesop tales, it is told in the voice of one of the characters, in this case, the lioness.

Read by Natasha. Adaptation by Bertie. Duration 6.59. Sponsored by Audible.

Respect. I expect nothing less.

All respect the queen of the African planes. If the zebara or the antelope catch sight of me crouching in the bush, they do not forget to gallop. The elephant and the rhino respect me, and they mind not to tread on my children with their big clumsy feet. Even the snappy crocodile stays clear of me, when I come down to drink at the water.

Yes, respect is good.

And that is why I was so angry when a pesky little fellow failed to show me respect.

Buzzzzzzzzzz !

The mosquito buzzed around my ears and even stung me on the nose. I snapped at the horrid little traitor, and I bit my tongue. Oh, how that hurt ! Then I struck at him with my paw, such a blow that would fell a buffalo, but he slipped through my claws and was laughing at me. The he bit me on the bottom ! The cheek of it !

“Oh great queen”, said the Mosquito. “Bow your head before your master, I the Mosquito, have drunk your blood and defeated you in combat.”

I roared an almighty roar that sent the wildebeest and the giraffe scattering across the savanna.

“Ha ha ha, ” laughed the mosquito. And he flew backwards into a spider’s web. And the spider showed respect to his queen by eating the wretched insect.

A little while after this, I was lying asleep under a tree when I felt something tickling my nose.

I opened one eye and saw that a mouse had scampered onto my face!

“How dare you ! ” I roared. And was about to swipe him a deadly blow with my paw when the mouse begged:

“Oh mighty queen, forgive me! I was running through the long grass, and did not mean to run onto your nose or to disturb your sleep .”

And I laughed at this furry creature and said.

“Little fellow. I was about to kill you but you have shown wisdom and respect for your queen. I pardon your sin.”

“Oh, thank you thank you,” said the mouse. “I only hope that One day I may be of service to your majesty. ”

And I laughed again, for how could a little mouse help a mighty queen?

The weeks went by, and I was out for a midnight stroll when all of a sudden, there was no ground beneath my paws.

Thump. I fell to the bottom a pit I tried to spring out, but I was tangled in a net. The more my limbs struggled, the more I became entangled.

A hyena came by and saw me in this sorry trap. He cackled with his ugly voice and taunted me;

“In the morning the men shall come and throw their spears into your side. And then we shall have to find a new queen.”

I snarled with fury and swore to tear him apart when I was free from the snare. But he just laughed his silly laugh.

Towards morning, I had almost given up hope when I heard a little voice.

“My queen,” it said. “At last I may be of service to you.”

I saw the pink nose of the mouse.

“My loyal subject. It does my proud heart good to hear your well meaning words. But I am afraid you must now pay your last respects to your queen, for my limbs are caught in this net, and very soon the sun will rise and the men shall come to kill me.”

“You underestimate the might of a mouse,” said my loyal subject. And he called his wife and children, and together they gnawed through the net. I was free within the hour, just in time to spring out of the pit and give the men who had come to kill me a nasty surprise.

And so that is the story of how I, the queen of the jungle, came to respect those who respect me, no matter how small they might be, because sometimes the smallest of those among us, have the advantage over the mighty and the strong.

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

Click picture to enlarge
Our girl band, the chiX, perform live on TV in the first round of the Eurovision song contest. At the end, they find out if they are going to be representing Great Britain in the final in Istanbul.

And a little chiX news – we are recording their Circus Song, but you’ll have to wait for the next episode to hear it with the full music.

Read by Natasha. Story by Bertie (with lots of inspiration from Natasha). Duration 15.20 min. Picture of Gladys and the chiX arriving by limo for Storynory by Tania Fernandes

The chiX walked out onto the darkened stage. They took their places, and the music began to play – a sort of circus beat. Still in the semi-darkness, Laura began to sing the first few words into her radio microphone that was clipped to her costume. She was looking almost straight into a TV camera.

You taught me to fly and to swoop to your arms;
And though I soared high I came to no harm;

Then the full backing music kicked in and the lights went up at the same time.

You sawed me in half and you pulled me apart
And though I really laughed, you had broken my heart,

The girls started to do their moves -all based on a circus act. Mandy lashed her ring-master’s whip and Sam, who was quite athletic, did some impressive tumbles and turns, as well as a funny clown walk in time to the music. Laura acted out the words while she sang. She walked an imaginary tight rope, rattled the bars bars of an invisible cage, and she pretended to eat fire.

The studio audience whooped and cheered, but Gladys knew that what really counted as the votes of the viewers with the red buttons on their remotes.

For now the girls had to stand on stage and face the verdict of the three studio judges. The first to speak was a woman who had produced West End Musicals. She must have been quite mature in years, but she had blond hair and make-up that would have suited a much younger woman.

“I liked the words,’ she said. ‘And there’s no denying, it’s a catchy tune.’

Gladys closed her eyes and savored the first impartial praise she had received for her composition.

“And Laura my girl – you’ve got a great voice” she said.

The audience cheered. Then the woman through her hands up in the air melodramatically.

“But oh my, the costumes, and the dance ! Sorry girls. A circus act doesn’t cut it for me. It’s just too corny. ”

This was a bit of a let down.

The second to speak was man who was known for being gentlemanly in his views. He wore a silk neck scarf and looked like an arty type.

“I liked it,” he said. “And I think it will go down well in Europe. There’s a big tradition of the circus all over the continent. It’s a clever idea.”

“Yes”, thought Gladys, “He gets it. That was just what I was calculating when I wrote the song.”

The third to speak was a multi-millionaire record producer who reveled in being Mr. Mean. All the contestants feared his cruel tongue, but Gladys had told the girls that they shouldn’t care what he said, because they had to learn to take criticism, and anyway, it was what people at home thought that really counted.

Mr. Mean paused before he spoke. It was a deliberate trick to build up tension. Somebody in the audience coughed.

“Well the circus is a good idea, ” he said, “But hey, come on girls. Stop clowning around ! You want to represent your country ? By jumping around on stage like a troop of performing flees. Worse, if you dance like that in the final, they’ll think you’ve got flees in your pants. Sorry girls.”

There were tears in Sam’s painted clown eyes as the girls walked off stage. Gladys met them and they all hugged her and said how everyone agreed that her song was brilliant – though actually only two of the three judges had praised it.

The girls went back to their dressing room .

Laura said: “We’ll never live this down. I mean, to come last in the first round of the Eurovision – how painful is that?

“The dream is over,” said Mandy.

“Hold on, hold on,” said Gladys. “You said it was cool to get no points, didn’t you Laura?”

Laura shook her head.

“I meant in the real thing. Like on the Big Eurovision when everyone knows that Ireland and France never vote for the UK because they hate our guts. It’s cool to come nowhere then. Everyone expects it to happen – like everyone knows that the English football time always go down on penalties in the World Cup. To get no points in this tiddlywinks contest is just like – gruesome. I mean, if you can’t win this, you’re nowhere. Mandy’s right, It’s all over. Perhaps that’s a good thing. We can all get on with our lives now . It’s been nice while it lasted. Now welcome to reality girls.”

And Mandy, who hadn’t said anything yet, asked:

“Did you see any of our mates in the audience?”

The three sisters had been performing with the studio lights in their eyes, but Gladys said she had spotted two whole rows of supporters from their school.

“Oh Pooh !” said Sam. “They’ll be laughing at us tomorrow.”

They washed their faces and got changed in a glum silence. Then a knock on the door, was followed by the producer saying :

“Mum and dad are here girls.”

Mum and Dad. Gladys could’t actually remember a time when she had heard those words. If any parent ever got a mention in the girls lives, it was Dad, and even he was only semi on this planet. Mum lived on the other side of the river now, and if they were lucky they got a card from her at Christmas and birthdays.

But in came both parents. Like a normal couple. Mum had been crying, and her mascara was all smudged. Did she too think that they were rubbish?

“I’m so proud of my girls !” she said, overcome with emotion. And she was hugging and kissing them.

Dad just hung there, as he normally did, not quite sure what to do.

“But didn’t you hear what they said, ” protested Sam, “The judges were so mean.’

“Who cares about those old has-beens,” said Dad. “It’s the people at home who count.”

And Gladys was quite surprised that he was so switched on about the situation. But Mum. It was amazing to see her. She was all glammed up in a low cut black evening dress and pearls around her neck and loads and loads of bangles on her wrists. Laura said:

“Well fancy you turning up.” Mum took no notice and kissed her all the same.

Mandy was shaking her head. But Gladys. She was happy. If nothing else, the chiX few minutes of fame had brought the family back together again. It was good to be, well, sort of normal – even if it was just for such a short time.

“And Gladdy. Aren’t you proud of how well your sisters have done?” said Mum.

“Yes, I’m very proud,” said Gladys.

“And how are you getting on at school? Straight As. I know. Well, You have turned to be the brainy one. We can’t all be musical.”

“I’m doing fine thank you mum.”

And then Arny the producer joined them and said:

“Come on girls. Get yourselves into the Green room. We can watch the results on the monitor there…. hey you can’t go like that. You’ve got to look your most gorgeous because you’re going to be back on stage to accept the big prize.

The girls had to change again into their best clothes before they trooped, a little more hopeful now, back into the green room where all the other acts – some with friends and family – were waiting to hear the results too. You could smell the tension.

The main programme was over, and the viewers had an hour to vote from home. After the news , the live coverage returned to the TV studio for the results.

Everyone in the green room was looking up at the monitors as the Eurovision fanfare played. The smooth TV presenter was on stage delaying the big moment with some half funny jokes, like pretending his fingers were trembling with too much excitement to open the envelope. People were laughing, but only because of the excitement. Some of the kids from the chiX school were shouting

“Chix, chix chix chix,’

“hush now please,” said the compere, “ooh, the excitement is killing me. Now, in reverse order, in the last, but honourable place, with 11,000 votes is….”

“Please, don’t let it be the chiX” thought Gladys

“…. the Hopping Jays….”

In the green room two girls and two boys were patting each other’s backs in commiseration. They must be the Hopping Jays. Their song played briefly over the programme – a last taste of a tune that would be instantly forgot for all eternity.

“And in 9th place, with 15,202 votes, but also with honor – Jimmy Jam! ” Gladys looked around the Green room. Jimmy Jam it seemed, was not a band, but a tall young man who was smiling sheepishly as the recording of his song played back again for a few moments.

“8th with just over 130,000 votes, is The Woopies ! – The Woopies were a boy band wearing kilts and tartan scarves – presumably from Scotland – who just shrugged the shoulders. Gladys heard one of them say, clearly in an London Accent, “Let’s get out’a here,’ just as the bagpipe chorus of their tune started to play.

Among the crowd of Eurovision hopefuls in the greenroom there was only one act that Gladys recognised: they were the Throbinsons, a boy band who had played at the chiX first gig. Mandy was exchanging a few words with their lead singer. She was saying … “I know it’s going to be us who are out next…”

But it wasn’t. It was a slightly older, but rather glamorous female singer called Shelly Simpson. She had over 500,000 votes.

And the next band to go out had almost a million. And still neither the chiX nor the Throbinson’s name had been called.

And then during the next few minutes some more acts were eliminated, but with respectable quantities of votes well over a million each.

“I can’t believe this, we’re still in,” said Sam.

“Oh my daughters. I’m so proud of you,” said Mum.

Even Dad looked gripped by the tension. He was starting at the monitor with his mouth open.

“I’m sure we’re out next,” said Laura.

But it was the Throbinsons whose name was called – with over 2 million votes. Their lead singer kissed Laura on the cheek as their song played for the last time, and they walked out into obscurity.

“And now,” said the compere, “We have two tip-top-class acts left. Both are lovely girl bands. But sadly, only one of them can go to Istanbul to represent GB in the final of the Eurovision Song Contest. So who is it going to be? Will it be the lovely Dragonesses from Wales…. or will it be the gorgeous chiX from London. Which band did you bless at home viewers…. ? And the runner up, is…… The Drangonesses…….”

Even Gladys shrieked with delight. Laura was jumping up and down, but she didn’t forget to commiserate with the Drogoness girls for coming second. Mum was kissing her daughters. Dad kissed Mum.

And in the excitement, that was what pleased Gladys most – seeing Dad with mum. The producer came into break up the family celebration and hurried the girls out to the stage door.

The lights dipped, and then came up again, and they sang the encore of their circus song. Gladys knew that the would be singing this tune over and over and over again during the coming weeks. The chiX were on their way to final of the Eurovision Song Contest – in Istanbul.

Text Copyright Hugh Fraser 2009

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

In the previous Katie story, somebody stole her spell book and started doing bad spells all over school. Naturally most people assumed that it was Katie who was to blame. The head teacher has discovered who the real culprit is – and it’s not Katie. But Katie still does not know the identity of the thief. In this story, we will find out who stole Katie’s spell book.

Read by Natasha. Text by Bertie for Storynory. Duration 16 min.

Katie was in the clear. The head teacher knew for a fact that it was somebody else who had been doing all the bad spells around school. But not everybody knew that she was innocent. In fact, as far as most people were concerned, Katie was still the Number One Suspect. This unpleasant state of affairs became home to Katie when somebody stuck a horrid poster about her on the classroom pin board. It showed a picture of a witch with a pointed hat and a broom, and beneath the picture was written

WANTED
Dead or Alive
For Black Magic
Katie The Witch !

Katie did not notice the poster at first, but then Isabelle said: “Hey Katie, you’re notorious.”

Katie wasn’t quite sure if notorious was a good or a bad word, but when she saw the poster she realised that it was definitely bad. She ripped the poster off the wall and tore it up. Then she saw that Isabelle, Mandy and Judy were smirking at her.

Mandy said: “Ooh Katie. I put up the poster. Are going to turn me into a toad?”

And Katie felt ever so tempted to do just that. But she held back because that would be doing Black Magic. And that really would be bad.

Katie knew that almost all the girls in her class were gossiping about her. Isis remained her only loyal and true friend. The boys didn’t seem to care if she was a witch or not, but the boys didn’t talk about anything much anyway, apart from football and action movies. Except for one. And that was Paul.

You might think that Paul would be more wary of Katie than most. He had been acting the lead role in the school play that had gone embarrassingly wrong when somebody put a spell on it. He was good looking, and clever – so Katie thought – and the school play was the first time he had ever been in trouble.

But Paul didn’t seem at all cross with Katie. In fact, he was really nice to her. For example, on Friday afternoon in the art class, when Katie was painting a black cat, Mandy whispered that it was a witch’s cat.

But Paul said that the eyes in Katie’s painting were just like his own cat’s. And that he really liked his cat because she was mysterious and did her own thing.

“Well Paul likes weird things,” said Mandy. “In fact, he likes Katie.”

And Judy asked “Hey Paul, why do you talk to Katie? She put a jinx your bid for stardom.” And the girls sniggered.

And Jemma, who had also been in the play with Paul, and who was still crushingly embarrassed about saying all the wrong line in front of all the parents and governors – not just any old wrong lines – but really stupid ones – she was furious with Katie and she said:

“Look Paul, don’t you ever learn? Stay away from Katie. Witches are bad news.”

And Paul got really furious and said:

“All you girls ever do is gossip and whisper nasty things. You don’t know everything. You just think you do. It wasn’t Katie who did those spells. Somebody stole her magic book.”

“Oh yeah, if you believe that you’ll believe anything”, said Jemma. And then they all had to be quite because Miss. Stripes the art teacher was looking at them.

And for the first time in a week, Katie felt really happy. In fact, she felt especially happy because Paul was sticking up for her. She knew that Jemma was particularly peeved because she really liked Paul. And that made her feel even more pleased, though perhaps it shouldn’t have.

In fact, if there was any boy in the class who was ok, it was Paul. He was so nice that he was almost like a girl, only he was a boy. In fact, he was perfect.

But perhaps Paul wasn’t quite as perfect as he used to be. The next week he was late for school on Monday, and then on Tuesday, and then if he was late on Wednesday he would be in serious trouble.

It was 9.30 on Wednesday morning. Miss Vile was taking the register. And Paul’s chair was empty.

Miss Vile said: “Imran – “Yes Miss Vile”,

“Jemma” – “Yes Miss Vile” ,

“Katie” – “Yes, Miss Vile,”

And Katie thought: “Shall I, just this once, do just a little spell to help Paul out? ”

Miss Vile had reached Mathew. Next it would be Nathan and then it would be Paul.

Katie wasn’t supposed to do spells at school, and but then on the other hand, she really did owe Paul a favour, and she really didn’t want him to be in trouble, because that wouldn’t be fair, because normally he was so good.

“Paul,” said Miss Vile. And before the teacher could look up at Paul’s empty chair, Katie quickly said a spell and made it look like he was sitting there and saying:

“Yes Miss Vile,” in a voice that sounded almost like his real one.

But just as the magic Paul was answering the register, the real Paul walked into the room. So if anyone else looked up, the would see two Pauls. And that really could cause double trouble and confusion. Katie quickly said another spell to make the real Paul disappear for a moment while sorted out the mess. Fortunately everyone was quite sleepy because it was first thing in the morning, and nobody seemed to notice the strange comings and goings of Paul’s likeness.

Katie was pleased because she had helped Paul, even though he didn’t know that she had – or so she thought. Just before the first lesson, Paul said:

“Thanks for helping me out Katie. But there was no need. I don’t want you to get into trouble for doing magic.”

And Katie was surprised, because she didn’t think he could see through her magic.

“Oh really it was nothing, she said. “I owed you”

But Paul kept on getting into more trouble at school, and Katie wasn’t always there to help him. He forgot his homework, he lost his text books, and pretended to be feeling poorly when the class had to go on a long run around the playing fields even though it was raining. Mr. Sadie, the games teacher didn’t believe him and made him run twice as far as everyone else. On that occasion, Katie gave Paul just a little help, and said a spell to make him run faster.

“Thanks once again,” said Paul later on.

“Thanks for what?” asked Katie.

“Thanks for making me run faster.”

And this time Katie asked him how he knew that she had done some magic, because most people wouldn’t have noticed. And Paul let her into a secret. He told her that his grandfather had been a wizard. But his family were really embarrassed about it, and they hushed up this chapter in the family history and made Paul swear never to do any magic. His mum and dad thought that magic was something you should be ashamed of.

“That’s ridiculous,” said Katie. “But then, they aren’t the only ones who think like that. There’s a lot of prejudice against witches. People are afraid of us because they don’t understand us. That’s why it’s supposed to be a secret that I’m a witch.’

“It’s not a very good secret,” said Paul. “Everyone knows it.”

“And everyone blames me when it goes wrong.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed” said Paul.

Although what Paul had told Katie was a secret, she shared it with Isis because she was her best friend. And when Isis heard she said.

“Now it all makes perfect sense. It was Paul who stole your book. That’s why he’s sticking up for you. He feels guilty that everyone is blaming you for his naughty spells.”

And at first Katie couldn’t believe that Paul would do something bad like stealing her book. But then she thought some more, and she had to admit that whoever stole her book seemed to have a talent for magic. Because it was one thing to read the spells in a book, and it was another to actually do them. In fact it was really only supposed to be witches and wizards who
could do them.

“It’s obvious, ” said Isis. “You can’t see it because you’ve got a pang for Paul. ”

“I have not.”

“Yes you have.”

“Well perhaps just a bit, ” admitted Katie.

The next week Paul did something really, really bad. He sneaked out of school at lunchtime and went for a walk around town on his own. And then some rough boys started picking on him. A police car was going by and saw that there was a fight about happen. They stopped to help Paul and that was how they found out that he was playing truant from school. Now he was in big trouble. Like getting excluded from School kind of trouble. Miss Hepworth the head teacher called his mother in for a chat. The word was out that Paul was going to get the Big Push.

Paul wasn’t in school, but Katie really wanted to talk to him. She had never been to Paul’s house, and she didn’t have his phone number or email address. But that didn’t stop her. Her mum had a magic phone that knew everyone’s number in the entire world, even the numbers of people like the Queen, or the President of the United States, or Sir Paul Mccartney Mum never used it to call be like that, because she said they were busy and in any case, they didn’t need any help or advice from a witch because they had their own kind of magic. But the phone was incredibly useful when you lost a friend’s number, or didn’t have it in the first place. Katie picked it up and just said:

“I’d like to call Paul please,” And the phone understood which Paul she meant and it called him right away.

Pual’s mum answered and she heard her call up the stares “Paul. There’s a “Katie” on the phone for you.”

And a bit later Paul Picked up the receiver and said, “Hello Katie. Or perhaps I should say goodbye. You know they’re going to kick me out of school.”

“I’m so cross with you,” said Katie. “Why have you been acting so bad recently. You’ve always been so well behaved. In fact, up until recently you were Mr. Perfect.”

“Well I suppose I got bored with being Mr. Perfect,” said Paul. “Being bad seems like more fun. And besides. I’ve got something to confess. It was me who stole your spell book. ”

“I figured that out for myself already,” said Katie. “But now I’m going to save you one last time. I’ll do a mind wipe on Mrs. Hepworth so that she forgets all the bad things you’ve done.”

And Paul said something that really surprised Katie. “No don’t do that,” he said. “I forbid you. I don’t want to be saved by your magic. I’ve got to face this myself.”

And although Katie argued with him, and she meant to ignore what he said and do the spell anyway, later that evening she decided to call Isis and ask her advice. And Isis said that yes, Paul had to take his lesson. It would be good for him.

And so Paul was expelled from school. And before he left, Paul told his friends that it was he who had stolen Katie’s spell book, and people understood at last that Katie really was innocent of doing all the bad spells around school.

Katie was really sad that she wouldn’t be seeing Paul at school anymore. But she had one compensation. She did have his telephone number. And now all she had to do was think of a reason to invite him round in the holidays so that her mother could explain to him the difference between good and bad magic.

And that was the story of Katie’s Who Done It. I do hope you thought it was worth the wait to find out who stole Katie’s spells. And don’t forget there are loads more Katie stories on Storynory.com. So drop by soon and listen to some. For now, from me, Natasha, Bye Bye.

Text Copyright, Hugh Fraser 2009

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as)

The brave little tailor kills seven flies with one blow, and manages to convince both giants and kings that he is indeed a force to be reckoned with. The hero in this story by the Brothers Grimm is armed with whit, cunning and a sense of humour. He conquers all before him, including a giant, a unicorn, and a princess.

Read by Natasha. Story by the Brothers Grimm. Duration 16.48.

One summer’s morning a little tailor was sitting on his table by the window; he was in good spirits, and sewed with all his might. Then came a peasant woman down the street crying: ‘Good jams, cheap! Good jams, cheap!’ This rang pleasantly in the tailor’s ears; he stretched his delicate head out of the window, and called: ‘Come up here, dear woman; here you will get rid of your goods.’ The woman came up the three steps to the tailor with her heavy basket, and he made her unpack all the pots for him. He inspected each one, lifted it up, put his nose to it, and at length said: ‘The jam seems to me to be good. I’ll buy a jar.” The women, who had hoped to sell far more jam, gave him what he wanted but went away grumbling.

‘Now, this jam shall be blessed by God,’ cried the little tailor, ‘and give me health and strength’; so he brought the bread out of the cupboard, cut himself a piece right across the loaf and spread the jam over it. ‘This won’t taste bitter,’ said he, ‘but I will just finish the jacket before I take a bite.’ He laid the bread near him, sewed on, and in his joy, made bigger and bigger stitches. In the meantime the smell of the sweet jam rose to where the flies were sitting in great numbers, and they were attracted and descended on it in hosts. ‘Hey! who invited you?’ said the little tailor, and drove the unbidden guests away. The flies, however, understood no German, and came back again in ever-increasing companies. The little tailor at last lost all patience, and drew a piece of cloth from the hole under his work-table, and saying: ‘Wait, and I will give it to you,’ struck it mercilessly on them. When he drew it away and counted, there lay before him no fewer than seven flies, dead and with legs stretched out.

The taylor looked at the flies that he had killed, and could not help admiring his own bravery. ‘The whole town shall know of this!’ he said. And the little tailor hastened to cut himself a belt, stitched it, and embroidered on it in large letters: ‘Seven dead at one stroke!’ ‘What, the town, the whole world shall hear of it!’ he exclaimed. and his heart wagged with joy like a lamb’s tail. The tailor put on the girdle, and resolved to go forth into the world, because he thought his workshop was too small for his valour. Before he went away, he looked around the house to see if there was anything which he could take with him; however, he found nothing but an old cheese, and that he put in his pocket. In front of the door he observed a bird which had caught itself in the thicket. It had to go into his pocket with the cheese. Now he took to the road boldly, and as he was light and nimble, he felt no tiredness. The road led him up a mountain, and when he had reached the highest point of it, there sat a powerful giant looking peacefully about him. The little tailor went bravely up, spoke to him, and said: ‘Good day, comrade, so you are sitting there overlooking the wide-spread world! I am just on my way there, and want to try my luck. How about you come with me?’ The giant looked contemptuously at the tailor, and said: ‘You wretch! You miserable creature!’

‘Oh, indeed?’ answered the little tailor, and unbuttoned his coat, and showed the giant the belt, ‘there may you read what kind of a man I am!’ The giant read: ‘Seven dead at one stroke,’ and thought that they had been men whom the tailor had killed, and began to feel a little respect for the tiny fellow. Nevertheless, he wished to try him first, and took a stone in his hand and squeezed it together so that water dropped out of it. ‘Do that,’ said the giant, ‘if you have strength.’ ‘Is that all?’ said the tailor, ‘that is child’s play !’ and put his hand into his pocket, brought out the soft cheese, and pressed it until the liquid ran out of it. The giant did not know what to say, and could not believe it of the little man. Then the giant picked up a stone and threw it so high that the eye could scarcely follow it. ‘Now, little mite of a man, do that,’ ‘Well thrown,’ said the tailor, ‘but after all the stone came down to earth again; I will throw you one which shall never come back at all,’ and he put his hand into his pocket, took out the bird, and threw it into the air. The bird, delighted with its liberty, rose, flew away and did not come back. ‘How does that shot please you, comrade?’ asked the tailor. ‘You can certainly throw,’ said the giant, ‘but now we will see if you are able to carry anything properly.’ He took the little tailor to a mighty oak tree which lay there felled on the ground, and said: ‘If you are strong enough, help me to carry the tree out of the forest.’ ‘Readily,’ answered the little man; ‘take you the trunk on your shoulders, and I will raise up the branches and twigs; after all, they are the heaviest.’ The giant took the trunk on his shoulder, but the tailor seated himself on a branch, and the giant, who could not look round, had to carry away the whole tree, and the little tailor into the bargain: he behind, was quite merry and happy, and whistled the song: ‘Three tailors rode forth from the gate,’ as if carrying the tree were child’s play. The giant, after he had dragged the heavy burden part of the way, could go no further, and cried: ‘Now I shall have to let the tree fall!’ The tailor sprang nimbly down, seized the tree with both arms as if he had been carrying it, and said to the giant: ‘You are such a great fellow, and yet cannot even carry the tree!’

The giant said: ‘If you are such a brave fellow, come with me into our cave and spend the night with us.’ The little tailor was willing, and followed him. When they went into the cave, other giants were sitting there by the fire, and each of them had a roasted sheep in his hand and was eating it. The little tailor looked round and thought: ‘It is much more spacious here than in my workshop.’ The giant showed him a bed, and said he was to lie down in it and sleep. The bed, however, was too big for the little tailor; he did not lie down in it, but crept into a corner. When it was midnight, and the giant thought that the little tailor was lying in a sound sleep, he got up, took a great iron bar, cut through the bed with one blow, and thought he had finished off the grasshopper of a man for good. With the earliest dawn the giants went into the forest, and had quite forgotten the little tailor, when all at once he walked up to them quite merrily and boldly. The giants were terrified, they were afraid that he would strike them all dead, and ran away in a great hurry.

The little tailor went onwards, always following his own pointed nose. After he had walked for a long time, he came to the courtyard of a royal palace, and as he felt weary, he lay down on the grass and fell asleep. Whilst he lay there, the people came and inspected him on all sides, and read on his belt: ‘Seven dead with one stroke.’ ‘Ah!’ said they, ‘what does the great warrior want here in the midst of peace? He must be a mighty lord.’ Soon the Taylor was brought before the king how had a request to make of him.

“In the forest roams a magical horse with one horn – a unicorn which does great harm attacking people all around. If you can can rid me of this unicorn, you shall have the hand of my daughter in marriage and half my kingdom.” And the Taylor thought to himself, “It is not every day that I receive an offer such as that” and he replied.

I do not fear one unicorn. Seven at one blow, is my kind of affair.’ He took a rope and an axe with him, went forth into the forest. The unicorn soon came towards him, and rushed directly on the tailor, as if it would gore him with its horn without more ado. ‘Softly, softly; it can’t be done as quickly as that,’ said he, and stood still and waited until the animal was quite close, and then sprang nimbly behind the tree. The unicorn ran against the tree with all its strength, and stuck its horn so fast in the trunk that it had not the strength enough to draw it out again, and thus it was caught. ‘Now, I have got it,’ said the tailor, and came out from behind the tree and put the rope round its neck, and then with his axe he hewed the horn out of the tree, and when all was ready he led the beast away and took it to the king.

But the kind was sorry that he had promised his daughter to the little man, and and made another demand. Before the wedding the tailor was to catch him a wild boar that made great havoc in the forest. And so the taylor went into the forrest where the boar was roaming.

When the boar saw the tailor, it ran on him with foaming mouth and sharp tusks, and was about to throw him to the ground, but the hero fled and sprang into a chapel which was near and up to the window at once, and in one bound out again. The boar ran after him, but the tailor ran round outside and shut the door behind it, and then the raging beast, which was much too heavy and awkward to leap out of the window, was caught. The hero, went to the king, who was now, whether he liked it or not, obliged to keep his promise, and gave his daughter and the half of his kingdom. The wedding was held with great magnificence and small joy, and out of a tailor a king was made.

After some time the young queen heard her husband say in his dreams at night: ‘Boy, make me the jacket , and patch the trousers”. The next morning complained of her wrongs to her father, and begged him to help her to get rid of her husband, who was nothing else but a tailor. The king comforted her and said: ‘Leave your bedroom door open this night, and my servants shall stand outside, and when he has fallen asleep shall go in, bind him, and take him on board a ship which shall carry him into the wide world.’ The woman was satisfied with this; but the king’s armour-bearer, who had heard all, was friendly with the young lord, and informed him of the whole plot. ‘I’ll put a screw into that business,’ said the little tailor. At night he went to bed with his wife at the usual time, and when she thought that he had fallen asleep, she got up, opened the door, and then lay down again. The little tailor, who was only pretending to be asleep, began to cry out in a clear voice: ‘Boy, make me the jacket , and patch the trousers”.. I smote seven at one blow. I killed two giants, I brought away one unicorn, and caught a wild boar, and am I to fear those who are standing outside the room.’ When these men heard the tailor speaking thus, they were overcome by a great fear, and ran as if the wild huntsman were behind them, and none of them would venture anything further against him. So the little tailor remained a king to the end of his life.

And that was the tale of the Brave Little Taylor by the Brothers Grimm. I do hope that you enjoyed it. And don’t forget, there are loads more stories at Storynory.com. Until next time, from me, Natasha, Bye Bye.