Dancing with Trees

by Allison Galbraith

  NOTES: A happy ending that highlights a families’ resilience and ability to change. While the seal mother must return to her element of water, most of her human family give up their familiar way of life to be with her. The one boy, who stays to become a farmer, perhaps gives us the strongest message in the story – follow your own path. You do not have to do what your parents have done before you. Change is possible.

  10

  THE TIDDY MUN

  (ENGLAND)

  Long ago, the boggy marshland of the Cars in England was home to more ghosts, spirits and strange creatures than anyone could dare to name. There were boggarts, will-o’ the-wisps, body-less voices, hands without arms, todlowries and witches who rode on great, black water snakes. All these ghosties and ghoulies came out at night and scared people nearly to death.

  There was only one wetland spirit whom folk could trust, and that was the Tiddy Mun. He lived deep down in the green water holes, only coming out at night when the mists rose. He was just a tiny, wee man – the size of a three-year-old child, and that’s why he was called ‘Tiddy Mun’. He would creep from his watery home and limp along the roads. His hair and beard were long, tangled and white; he looked like a tiny, old grandfather. He wore a long grey cloak, so you could barely see him in the mist, just a shimmer of eerie shadow. But folk heard him as he whistled in tune with the wind, and sometimes he laughed loudly and clearly like the peewit bird.

  Tiddy Mun was not an evil spirit like the rest of the ghouls in the Cars; he helped the local people and they respected him. During the rainy, wet months, if the water level was rising high and coming too near their homes, the whole family would go out into the night and ask for his help. They would call out loud, ‘Tiddy Mun wi’out a name, tha watter’s thruff!’

  They would chant this verse until they heard the call of the peewit across the marsh. Then they knew he had heard them and they could go home.

  The next morning, the waters would have gone down and the people’s homes would be saved from flooding.

  Sadly though, everything changed when the Dutchmen were hired to drain the wetlands. The men arrived to do the drainage work and the people were promised great benefit and riches. They said that draining the wild, wet, boggy land was progress. But the farmers and local folk knew that no good would come of it, because where would the ‘ole granfer’ live if his water pools were dried up?

  Many Dutchmen disappeared mysteriously into the mists, never to be seen again. The Car-folk spoke of the Tiddy Mun; they knew he was growing angrier, and that he was the one responsible for the men vanishing.

  The authorities just sent for more men from Holland to drain the water from the land. As the Cars grew drier and drier – the water flowing away in ditches to the rivers – the Tiddy Mun eventually lost his patience with the Car-folk, as well as the Dutchies. Tiddy made the cattle ill, he curdled the cow’s milk, babies became very sick with a strange fever and many died, and all the crops in the fields perished. The people were starving and dying.

  At first they blamed the wicked bogles and witches. Many poor old herb-wives and men gifted with prophecy were accused of witchcraft. They suffered terribly, before being put to death by the desperate and ignorant townsfolk. But still the harvests failed and illness plagued the community and their livestock. Finally, they realised that it must be their old ally the Tiddy Mun who was sending bad luck and pestilence their way.

  The whole community came together to plan a way to let the Tiddy Mun know that they could not stop the draining of the land; that they too wanted none of this so-called progress. Each man, woman and child took a bowl or cup of water and gathered at the dyke. Each poured their water out carefully and they all called, ‘Tiddy Mun wi’out a name, here’s watter for thee, tak tha spell undone.’

  At first all was eerie silence, then the sound of crying, wailing children could be heard rising up all around them. The pitiful cries grew louder, as the unseen spirits drew closer. Tiny, invisible hands reached out for the women and cold babies’ lips kissed the mothers. The women said it was the infants they had lost to illness. The children’s spirits were calling to the Tiddy Mun to forgive them, lift the spell and help their families. Silence followed as the night darkened. Then the cry of the peewit echoed out, across the land.

  The Cars-folk sighed with relief, for they knew the Tiddy Mun was lifting the curse of bad luck. The Tiddy Mun was still their friend, the good, little grandfather. Some cheered for joy, some grieved for the spirits of their lost babies, but all went home with new hope and light hearts.

  From that time onwards, the curse was lifted and the people prospered. Families remembered to go out together on the new moon and pour cups of water into the dyke, as a peace offering and sign of respect to the Tiddy Mun. Those who didn’t observe this ritual grew sick and died.

  But over many years, the community forgot about the Tiddy Mun. As new generations were born, the old ways no longer seemed important and the little old grandfather was abandoned on the moors. Maybe he is gone now, or maybe he still hides away in deep watery places, whistling in the wind and laughing with the peewit.

  NOTES: This haunting tale about the forgotten spirits of the land is a reminder about what is lost when habitats are improved, drained and changed for human use. The ecological balance is disturbed and altered. This is a good introduction to discussions about wetland habitats and the need for biodiversity. It also highlights the need for community cohesion over the stewardship of the environment. When these wetland areas were drained, old spirits and old beliefs faded away. This poignant folk legend reminds us of the richness of a diverse landscape, with many types of habitat and spirits.

  11

  THE SUNKEN PALACE

  (IRELAND)

  Once upon a time, in a valley far in the south of Ireland, there was a king who was blessed by having a well that was filled with the clearest, sweetest water anyone had ever tasted. So sweet was this water that he built his whole castle around it. So sweet was this water that he named his first and only child Fior Usga (Spring Water) in honour of the well. So sweet was this water that everyone came from miles around to fill their drinking vessels. The rich and the poor, the young and the old, the brooding and the joyful, all came to the king’s courtyard to quench their thirst at his well.

  This did not please the king. It was tiresome to have people constantly knocking at his gate, clamouring to fill their jugs and water skins, their goblets and barrels, their jars and their flagons with the clear, sweet water. After all it was his well, in his courtyard, enclosed by the tall walls and ramparts of his castle! What good was it to be king, if he was to be constantly surrounded by crowds of subjects?

  His daughter enjoyed the crowds. When the king complained about the constant queues of people littering up his courtyard, she shrugged. No matter how much water was drawn, the well never ran dry. In fact, the water always seemed sweeter on days when many people had come to draw up the bucket. And everyone was so grateful, stopping to thank her if she happened to be crossing from the Great Hall to the kitchens, which she made sure to do many times a day when crowds had gathered. It made her feel important and happy to be thanked by them.

  One day, it took the king an entire hour to cross from one side of the courtyard to the other, because there were so many people wanting to tell him how generous and kind he was. When he finally reached the Great Hall, he sent for his stonemason and instructed him to build a high wall around the well and to fit it with a thick oak door, guarded by a heavy, iron lock.

  The king had two golden keys made to fit the lock. One he kept on a chain around his neck, the other he gave to his steward, whom he trusted above everyone else.

  Now when people came to the castle carrying their flagons and jugs, their water skins and barrels, they were turned away. ‘The water belongs to the King,’ said the guard at the gate, ‘and he has decreed that it be kept exclusively for his household’s use.’

  Now when the princess crossed the empty court
yard, there was no one to thank her, to bless her, to ask after her father’s health. The sound of her footsteps echoed hollowly off the wall that enclosed the well. Soon she stopped crossing the courtyard. Then she stopped leaving her room. Some days she didn’t even bother to get out of bed.

  The king worried about his one and only child, his Fior Usig, his Clear Water. He announced that he would hold a ball in her honour. He’d heard that princesses like balls, and it seemed to work. The very next day, she sprang out of bed early in the morning to begin writing invitations.

  On the night of the ball, the princess was radiant, smiling and greeting each new arrival. Several charming young men had accepted her invitation, including a prince or two. Once the music started, she was kept busy dancing with them. One particularly handsome prince caught her fancy. He was dashing and graceful. When she was in his arms, her feet scarcely touched the floor. She danced with him more than once.

  And then there was the feast. The wooden tables creaked and groaned with the weight of all the food. It was more than the whole company would be able to eat, even if they stayed an entire fortnight. But there was no water.

  The princess led the handsome prince to the high table to meet her father. The king asked him if he was enjoying the ball.

  ‘The company is delightful,’ he said, smiling at the princess, ‘the food is delectable, but with all this dancing, my thirst is great. I would love a taste of the clear, sweet water that your castle is renowned for.’

  This was the moment the king had been waiting for. While his daughter had been planning the ball, he had been conspiring with his goldsmith, who had created a water jug made of pure gold.

  ‘My daughter will fetch you some of my clear, sweet water,’ said the king, clapping his hands. The steward stepped forward carrying the gold jug and the gold key. The crowd exclaimed at the beauty of the jug, but the princess frowned. She did not like being ordered about like a common serving girl.

  Her beloved prince, sensing her displeasure, bowed to the king. ‘Kind sir, it would be my honour to escort your daughter on this important errand.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said the king, dismissing the pair with a wave of his hand, wondering how much this prince’s kingdom might be worth.

  The princess felt quite breathless as she led the handsome prince through the Great Hall and out into the moonlit courtyard. She fumbled with the golden key. The prince took it gently from her hand and turned it easily in the lock. The door swung open and he followed her inside.

  The princess looked down into the well. It was the first time she had been near it in over a year. The water was lower than she remembered, almost out of reach. She lowered the golden jug towards the water, but it seemed to pull away from her. Not wanting to disappoint the prince, she leaned even further over the rim of the well, the golden jug heavy and awkward in her grasp. Still she could not reach. She stood up on her tiptoes and stretched her arms as far as they would reach, and lost her balance. She fell, tumbling headlong into the well, still clutching the golden jug.

  The prince shouted, lunging after her, holding out his hand. But he was too late. She disappeared beneath the surface of water, which was now rising at an alarming speed. He tried to reach for her under the water, but the force of it gushing up out of the ground pushed him back. It spilled out of the well and washed him out into the courtyard.

  He sprang to his feet and ran towards the Great Hall, hoping to warn the king and his guests, but the water got there first. In a matter of minutes, the entire castle was submerged.

  The next morning, the sun rose over a new lake, where once a valley had been. On a clear day, it is still possible to see the castle, deep under the water, and all the guests still dancing and eating. The princess is there too, with her prince.

  Now anyone can go down to the shore of the lake and enjoy the sweet, clear water that the king tried so hard to keep for himself.

  NOTES: There are many tales around the British Isles about sunken villages and castles. These legends are usually connected to specific lakes, lochs and inlets. In some of these places there are the remains of old habitations, submerged through natural means or by intentional damming.

  Clean drinking water for people and clean, habitable water for marine and freshwater species is at risk due to droughts, flooding, pollution and over-fishing. This story tells of nature’s revenge when one person tries to prevent others from having access to a resource that should be held in common.

  12

  SEAL ISLAND

  (SCOTLAND, TRAVELLER)

  There was once a crofter who lived happily with his wife and five sons, on their fine big croft in Argyll. The chap spent one or two days a week fishing in his boat and the rest of the time working the land. But as his sons grew older, he knew that there wasn’t enough work for all of them on a single croft. So, one evening after dinner, he and his wife called a meeting of the whole family. They sat around the big kitchen table and discussed their options for the future. They were worried that one or two of them might have to go and find work away from the family, but none of them had the heart for this. Eventually, after much talk, they decided that the two oldest boys could work the croft with their father, and the three youngest ones could take the boat and make a living from fishing. They were happy with this new arrangement, it meant they could all live at home and continue to enjoy their good life together and their mother’s fine cooking.

  The new arrangement began well enough, with the older boys doing much of the farming –they reared the cattle, tended the sheep flock, ploughed with the horses and grew crops. Their father was getting older, so he left the heavy physical work to his two fine strapping lads and concentrated on his chickens, ducks, geese and dogs. Mother had her vegetable garden and six hungry men to feed, so everyone was busy about the house and land.

  The three younger sons took their father’s boat and started their new careers as fishermen. Now, fishing was very good back then. The shoals of cod, mackerel and herring were plentiful, and there were far fewer people in the world to feed. The boys did well for the first few months, catching plenty of fish, which they took to the local pier and sold on to market. Many crofters had boats and the fish were sold up and down the whole coastline; it was a thriving business.

  The brothers took their boat out each day to the sea-loch, but as the weather changed with the seasons, they began to find it too rough to fish there, and had to go further, past a wee rocky island about two miles out from the loch. The waters were calmer here and they caught big netful’s of fish around the island. Every now and then, the seals would find the nets and help themselves to a fish or two, leaving a half-eaten one behind. This annoyed the three brothers – a half-eaten fish was no good to them, and they would have to throw the remains back into the water. Each time they found the head and tail of a cod, or a mackerel eaten clean in two, they would grumble to each other and curse the seals for stealing their catch.

  One evening, their father asked them how the fishing was going. The boys gave their mother money for the housekeeping each month – some of their earnings from their fish sales – but he’d noticed they hadn’t given her any this month.

  ‘Well father, it’s been fine up ’til this last wee while,’ said the oldest of the three, he was nineteen years old.

  ‘It’s those damn seals!’ the youngest boy grumbled.

  ‘Yes father it’s true. They’re eating more and more of the fish we catch,’ the middle boy added.

  The oldest of the three kept on moaning about the seals, while his father listened silently.

  ‘It’s not even that they eat a whole fish father. They eat a fish in half and leave the rest to rot.’

  ‘And tear our nets into the bargain!’ protested the youngest son.

  All three boys grew red in the face with anger as they complained about the seals.

  When they had finished, their father spoke quietly, but firmly, ‘Now listen carefully, the three of you. I’ve fished the water
s around here for longer than you’ve lived. That island is Seal Island. That’s where the seal-people live and raise their young. They need the fish too you know! And they have as much right to those fish as any of us. The seal people are my friends and you had better leave them in peace and stay away from their island.’

  The boys knew their father had a soft spot for the creatures. They thought it was very odd the way he called the seals, ‘people’. They decided not to mention the seals to their father again; best not to upset him like this. But they kept fishing the abundant waters around that small, uninhabited island, even though he’d told them to stay away. And the seals carried on tearing their nets and eating the fish. The younger sons resented this bitterly and grumbled and moaned about it amongst themselves daily.

  Eventually, they decided to do something about the seals, to put a stop to their fish stealing. They planned to go out to the island at about six or seven in the evening. This was when the seals all came onto the rocks to bask in the late sun. Then the boys would club the little ones and stone the bigger ones to death and be rid of the whole lot of them once and for all.

  After dinner the next evening, the three youngest boys got up, mumbled something about mending nets and checking the boat and went out. Their brothers were deep into newspapers and books, their father was nodding off to sleep in his chair by the fire, and their mother was busy, as usual, in the kitchen – no one paid the three lads any notice whatsoever.

  They collected wooden clubs from the woodshed and rowed out to Seal Island.

  When they arrived, there were no seals to be seen anywhere. This was very strange.

  ‘They must be out chasing fish late tonight,’ said the oldest. ‘We’ll get onto land and wait for them.’