Living in a red-and-blue circus tent
Roaring at children and showing them tricks
Juggling pilchards and walking sticks
She promised to stop destroying the town
And helped to rebuild all she'd knocked down
And now when she knits it's bigger and better
All the children in town can fit in one sweater!
Kate Milner
TWINKLE TWINKLE
This is brand new – not a spoof or a rewrite.
Nora Watson was always dreaming and wishing that things could be different. This morning was no exception as she trudged down the long muddy lane on her way to school. It was raining – the fine drizzly kind that makes you feel damp and miserable.
I wish I didn't have to go to school, she thought crossly. And I wish it wasn't such a long boring walk. I even wish my mum could afford a car and drive me to school, like other peoples' mums. She deliberately sloshed through several large puddles. Luckily, she was wearing her green wellies, and there was no one around to see her behaving like a little five-year-old, when in fact she was quite grown-up – almost twelve. Then she noticed something bright and sparkling, lying at the bottom of the deep puddle in which she was standing.
Nora bent to pick it up, thinking someone had lost a brooch. It wasn't a brooch; it was a kind of jewel, shaped like a star and a deep violet colour. When she held it up to her eye, she could see tiny red sparks dancing inside it, and was reminded of the old nursery rhyme:
“Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are...”
The rest of the rhyme wasn't quite suitable, so Nora promptly made up her own version: in a puddle wide and deep, what strange secrets do you keep?
She giggled at her own silliness, and then marvelled at her find. Such a beautiful thing – who could have lost it? There weren't any terribly rich people in the village, but this must be a real jewel – perhaps very valuable. It was the size of a fifty pence piece. Should she hand it in to the police station? It didn't look like any gemstone she had ever seen. Nora had often admired such pretty treasures in the jeweller's shop window. When she grew up, she wanted to be a famous film star, and have loads of jewels – just like Joan Collins. But this was something different; it was a magical precious stone, and for some reason it had been given to her. It would surely bring her luck.
Nora suddenly realised she was dawdling, and would be late for school if she didn't hurry. Holding the star stone tightly in her hand, she continued her long trek down the lane, sighing wearily, “I wish it would stop raining.”
The star stone began to grow warm in her hand, and tingled as if something were moving inside it. Nora looked at it worriedly, and was surprised to see it glowing bright violet-blue. She was alarmed. Could it be radio-active? Such things glowed, didn't they? But they were also dangerous and could burn. She examined her hand which held the gem, and found nothing wrong with it, so it must have been the magic working. Just then, the sun burst through the grey morning, and she realised it had stopped raining.
I wish all my wishes came true that easily, Nora thought, feeling much happier.
The star stone heated and tingled once more – and it was glowing again! She had wished without meaning to. I'll have to be very careful from now on. If this stone can really grant wishes, there might be a limited number, and I mustn't wish for anything bad because then the magic can turn against you. Nora had read enough stories to understand this. But what should she wish for? There were so many things she wanted; it was hard to know where to start.
“I wish I was really pretty,” she said aloud, with sudden inspiration.
The stone warmed and tingled, and so did her face. She nervously felt her features to see if they'd changed. Then she rummaged through her school bag, searching for a mirror, but she didn't have one. She tried to see her reflection in a puddle. The image was dark and distorted by ripples, but yes, she did look prettier; not much different – just somehow better. It was really strange.
Feeling quite pleased with herself, Nora then wished for beautiful golden hair, pulling back her rain hood as she did so. The transformation was instant and glorious. She ran her fingers through the bright tresses with wonder. Then she realised the stupidity of such a wish. Everyone would think she had dyed her hair, and she would get into serious trouble at school. Her mum wouldn't be too pleased either. What had she been thinking? She wished the colour back again, and watched with disappointment as the golden locks faded to mousy brown.
Nora thought hard. Wishes weren't much good if you had to explain them to everyone else. It had to be something that wasn't too obvious. What about enough money to buy that lovely diamond necklace she'd seen in the jeweller's window? It was Mum's birthday soon, and she would love that. Don't be silly! she told herself. That would take more explaining than anything. People might even think she'd stolen the money. But there must be something...
Jerry Hayes was a boy in school whom she rather liked. He was sort of dreamy, tall for his age with dark sad eyes and a nice smile, not handsome exactly – but there was something about him that made her heart flutter whenever she saw him. Jerry never called her ‘Nutty Nora’, like some of the other boys did. Nora – what an unfortunate name for a future film star. She would certainly change that when she was older. It would be nice to have a name that sounded beautiful – something like Sylvia. Her mum had a book of names and their meanings, and Nora had learned that Sylvia meant ‘sylph’: a sort of fairy. Yes, she would become Sylvia Scott, beautiful and talented – adored by millions...
But here she was daydreaming again. She dragged her wandering thoughts back to the present. “I wish Jerry Hayes liked me,” she said firmly.
The star stone warmed, tingled and glowed.
That's great! she thought giddily. That's really brill'. He likes me – he likes me! She skipped through several puddles just for sheer joy, and then stopped with a sobering thought. It won't make any difference. Jerry's such a shy boy. He blushes every time I smile at him. He'll never dare let on that he likes me. But at least I'll know he does – oh what's the use..?
Nora plodded on, beginning to feel rather warm in her anorak and wellies, with the sun beating down on her. There must be something really good and useful she could wish for, if only she could think of it.
“I know...” She stopped in her tracks. “I wish I could be ever-so wise and always make the right decisions. There – that should do it.”
The star stone worked its magic ritual while she admired it in her hand. Nora watched until it was just faintly twinkling. But how will I know if I am wise?’ she wondered. I don't feel any wiser. She suddenly felt quite angry, and glared accusingly at the stone. Nothing's any good. I can't wish for anything I can really have. This is some kind of wicked joke, sent to teach me a lesson. The stone's prob'ly cursed, and I wish I could just forget the stupid thing!
The star stone dropped unnoticed from her hand as she raised her hood against the sudden rain. A quick glance at her watch told her she was late and she began to run. Yet Nora wondered why she should feel so happy on such a dismal morning...
Nora Watson had no memory of the magical star stone. She never knew that her second wish had been the greatest of all. For when she'd wished that all her wishes would come true, she had woven a spell which could never be broken.
She never became a film star, but in later years she really did become Sylvia Scott, a famous children's author and poet, for this was where her talents truly lay. She was beautiful – and adored by millions, just as she had dreamed. And she married Jerome Hayes, a brilliant young scientist, whom she had loved for years.
All her decisions were wise ones.
The star stone lay at the bottom of a deep puddle, where it twinkled and waned, sparkling and darkening, as if it were breathing. One last flare of violet-blue, then it winked out – right out of this world.
The gift had been used wisely.
RAPUNZEL
This is def
initely a spoof. Hope you like it.
Rapunzel was locked in a tower,
Growing sadder each day by the hour.
Till one day she found
That her hair reached the ground,
“How ironic!” she thought with a glower.
A handsome prince came riding by.
He saw this gold fall from the sky.
He looked up and spied
The princess who cried
In her tower – so wretchedly high.
He heard her most mournful boo-hoo,
And quickly saw what he must do;
He said, "Ma cherie,
I’ll soon have you free."
Then off of his stallion he flew.
He called up to the maiden so fair,
"You have truly magnificent hair.
Would you mind awful-ly
If I climbed up to thee
With these tresses to use as my stair?"
"Oh, Dear Prince, I don’t mind at all;
I will anchor myself to the wall
With the coat-hooks thereon.
See, my nerve is not gone.
Please be careful that you do not fall."
Thus welcomed, he started to climb
Up onto those tresses sublime.
He worried at first
Quite fearing the worst;
To hurt her would be such a crime.
At last he arrived in her cell,
Her misery set to dispel.
She said, "Well, my pet,
I don’t wish to fret,
But now you are up here as well."
He said, "Don’t you worry, my dear;
The answer is perfectly clear.
I’ll hold onto your hair
With the greatest of care,
And lower you straight down from here."
He did so with manly aplomb;
A happy lass she had become.
When she got to the ground
The big stallion she found,
Who wondered where she had come from.
The Prince called her name from the tower,
“Rapunzel, my beautiful flower,
Just throw up your hair
So lustrous and fair,
I’ll be with you inside the hour.”
How she laughed at that foolish Don Juan;
The Prince was a stupid mor-on.
For you cannot throw hair
Fifty feet in the air…
She just mounted the horse - and was gone.
The Leopard
Emma Quittenton
I stood in the street; the mist swirled around me. The market place looked foreboding and forbidding; it looked deserted. The only person there was an old stall holder fast asleep. An eerie sensation came over me and suddenly I noticed a beautiful leopardskin coat. I felt the fur between my fingers, tracing every dark spotted mark. A tingling feeling washed over me and my eyes were forced to shut.
When I opened my eyes, I saw her through the long grass: the leopard. She steadily stalked through the long grass, hungrily waiting for her prey to come. Her beautiful eyes staring back at me. I gazed at her, mesmerised, it was as if she was talking to me, asking me to help her. Her ears pricked forward and suddenly she sensed danger: hunters.
Two men with rifles were coming closer: one skinny man and one large man. The larger man plodded on heavily through the thick jungle, searching for an animal to kill. He stopped abruptly.
“Oi! Come ‘ere Barry. I’ve found a baby zebra,” he whispered excitedly.
“Cool, now let’s shoot it quickly.” The skinny man raised his gun: bang! bang! The zebra was dead.
The leopard yelped with fright and they heard her. “Hey Barry, come ‘ere, this is our lucky day. I’ve just seen a leopard.”
He picked up the rifle and aimed. It was obvious what he was going to do next. I put my hands over my eyes so I couldn’t see. Bang! They had just fired.
Luckily they missed. The leopard raced forward, startled by the loud bang.
“Please just leave her alone. Really I mean it!” I cried, but my words were interrupted by a loud whining sound. I turned around, and to my horror I saw the leopard; her leg had got caught on a thorny branch.
The hunters wasted no time. They ran towards her, but I got there first. The thorns looked almost as if they were glaring at me, their sharp blades pointing up to the sun. I was not going to let a leopard die because of a few stupid thorns. Determined to help her, I stretched out my hands and ripped the thorns off her leg. “Ahhhh!”, I screamed in pain, then I got the same tingling feeling again.
I closed my eyes and when I opened them, I was standing in the market place again feeling disorientated. What had just happened? It felt like everything had been a dream. I saw the scratches on my hands and realised that the pretty leopardskin coat had vanished.
Then a thought struck me: by saving the leopard, I had prevented the fur coat from ever being made.
Emma Quittenton
The Knight in Training
He looked up towards the top of the stone staircase with trepidation. Having hacked his way through a wilderness of vines, bramble and tree roots, the last thing he expected was an arduous climb up a mountain of stone steps. However, as he tumbled down them, for the second time, and at great speed, he was thinking to himself that there weren't so many steps after all. Well, not if he could reach the bottom so fast… twice.
The hapless Knight in Training picked himself up, dusted himself off, and once more attempted to climb the challenging steps.
'I'll be ready next time,' he muttered, as he hauled himself up yet another step.
The Knight in Training was nearly at the top when he drew his sword. He hadn't had combat training yet, but no matter, he'd manage. Gripping the handle of the rather heavy weapon in his right hand, he slowly raised his arm above his head and began to wave the sword about in a very random fashion.
The mythical being's lair was high up in the structure that stood proudly at the top of the staircase. It was the elongated tail belonging to the creature that had knocked the novice knight off his feet… twice… and sent him somersaulting down the uneven steps.
In the eerie blueness of the oval shaped moon's glow, it was very difficult to spot the serpent-like critter lurking above. For some unknown reason the creature had no control over its tail, and this was constantly dropping down over the parapet and swinging freely. Indeed, on one occasion, it dropped so quickly the creature only just managed to stop itself from following the tail and landing in a heap at the top of the stone steps.
The Knight in Training reached the top of the steps and was still brandishing his sword wildly above his head. He was determined to strike whatever it was that had sent him flying. Sadly, all he was doing was slicing through thin air; he was making contact with nothing.
'Er, what yer doing?'
The trainee lowered his sword and looked around him. He could see nothing.
'Up here,' said the voice.
The Knight in Training, looked up. 'Ugh, what are you?'
'What d'ya think I am?'Enquired the now, not so faceless voice.
'Hard to tell in this strange light,' answered the chain-mail encased young fellow.'But you are not handsome.'
'I'm a dragon.' In truth it was more like Jabba the Hutt with a wayward tail, but believed itself to be a dragon.
The Knight in Training had never seen a dragon before, so he was in no position to argue. 'So,' he asked. 'What do dragons actually do?'
'What do dragons do, what do dragons do?'The voice was full of amazement. 'You mean you don't know what...'
It was at that precise moment that the tail did its own thing again. This time it happened so quickly that the "dragon" couldn't help but go the same way as its tail. It landed in a very undignified heap right at the feet of the Knight in Training.
Well, a heap is questionable ‒ more a big, wobbly, blob.
'Ouch, that wasn't meant to happen.' The dragon seemed quite s
haken by its fall.
The Knight in Training prodded the dragon with his sword. 'Are dragons always so wobbly,' he asked.
'Who are you calling wobbly?' The dragon was very insulted by this query.
'Are you meant to be so... well, wobbly?' enquired the Knight.
The dragon was getting annoyed. 'Listen here… what's your name?'
'George,' answered the young trainee.
'Well listen here, George, I'm a bit fed up with you and your insults. I'm a fine specimen of dragon, and I am NOT wobbly.'
George pondered the comment for a while. 'Bet if I pushed you down those stone steps you would bounce like a ball,' he suggested.
The dragon thought for a while, then said, 'Okay, let's try it, I won't bounce like a ball, I will free-fall like a good dragon should.'
George gave the dragon a gentle push. Nothing happened. A hefty shove came next and the dragon went hurtling down the stone steps. It bumped and bounced and finally landed very sloppily at the bottom.
George thought he'd best check the dragon and ran down the steps to see if it was okay.
The dragon wasn't moving. That didn't bode well. George didn't really want to touch the creature, but felt that maybe he should, especially as he was the one who had actually pushed and sent it plummeting down the hard, stone steps.
It didn't take George long to realise that the dragon had met its demise falling down the steps. 'Oh dear,' he said to himself. 'I think I have killed the dragon.'
Of course, the beast wasn't really a dragon at all. It was a rather large slug who lived in the dank, dark, crevices of the structure at the top of the stone steps. It did believe itself to be a dragon, though, and George believed it was too.
He was hailed as a hero when he got home and remembered as a saint after his death.
And that, folks, is how the legend that Saint George killed the Dragon really began.
Short and Tall Page 4