Where Dragons Soar: And Other Animal Folk Tales of the British Isles

by Castle, Pete;

  And the moral of this tale is: if you try to please everyone you’ll please no one.

  This is one of the stories from Aesop’s Fables, but it has almost removed itself from that category and become a folk tale in its own right. As I said in the introduction, I considered having a little set of Aesop’s Fables as they’ve been in print in English since they were published by Caxton in 1484 – more than half a millennium ago. They’ve influenced and educated generations of Britons but they are still tagged as ‘Aesop’s Fables’ and are thought of as Greek rather than British, so in the end I decided not to, apart from the odd sneaky one which hid away.

  JACK AND THE DEAD DONKEY

  Showmen with donkeys can still make a living – think of all those donkey rides on beaches and in parks – and the donkey doesn’t even have to be alive! Here’s a modern shaggy dog story (can you have a shaggy donkey story?).

  Jack was a city boy, but when he grew up he moved to the country. He bought himself a nice house with a piece of land and thought he’d have some animals to go on it. The first animal he got was an old donkey which he bought from a farmer for £100. The farmer said he’d deliver the donkey the next day. (As I said, Jack was a city boy, I’m sure he could have got an old donkey for a lot less – even for nothing!)

  The next day, the farmer drove up and said, ‘Sorry, old son, but I have some bad news for you. The donkey died.’

  Jack replied, ‘Well, just give me my money back, then.’

  ‘I can’t do that, I’ve spent it already,’ the farmer said.

  ‘OK, then, just give me the donkey.’

  ‘What do you want a dead donkey for?’ asked the farmer, puzzled.

  Jack said, ‘I’m going to raffle him off.’

  ‘You can’t raffle off a dead donkey!’ said the farmer.

  ‘Sure I can. Just watch me. I just won’t tell anybody he is dead.’

  A month later, the farmer met Jack in the village and asked, ‘What happened with that dead donkey?’

  Jack said, ‘I raffled him off like I said I would. I sold 500 tickets at £2 each and made a profit of £898.’

  The farmer asked, ‘Didn’t anyone complain?’

  Jack replied, ‘Only the chap who won, so I gave him his £2 back. That’s why the profit wasn’t a round £900.’

  Jack grew up to become the chairman of a multinational company.

  This is a modern folk tale that is probably very recent, but it fulfils all the criteria to be ‘traditional’ – it has its roots in far older stories, it’s anonymous and it has changed through repeated transmission from one teller to another. Most traditional tales have been told orally, but many of these modern ones are transmitted via the internet and email. That has the effect of shrinking time and what took hundreds of years to happen to a story in ‘the old days’ now happens within weeks.

  THE PARROT

  An Old Story from Yorkshire

  In a quaint little town in Yorkshire there once lived a grocer who had a beautiful, bright green parrot called Polly. Polly lived in a cage by his shop door and greeted everyone who came into the shop. Sometimes it was a very nice greeting – ‘Hello. Good day.’ – but at other times it was rather rude – ‘Look out. Here comes the old bat.’ Sometimes the parrot was even ruder and used language the owner swore she must have picked up before she came to live with him because she would never have heard those words in his shop! No one minded too much, though, because she was just a parrot and she didn’t really know what she was saying … or did she …?

  In fact Polly was a very shrewd, sensible bird, and saw everything that happened in the shop. Unfortunately she couldn’t help shouting out all the little things she noticed, often without warning, and sometimes at the most awkward moment.

  One day Polly noticed her master ‘stretching’ the brown sugar by mixing a little sand into the sack. A bit later on, in came a woman and asked for some brown sugar. ‘Sand in the sugar! Sand in the sugar!’ squawked the parrot, and the customer pocketed her money and rushed out of the shop.

  The angry grocer rushed to the cage and shook it. ‘You abominable bird!’ he shouted. ‘If you tell tales again I’ll wring your neck!’ And again he shook the cage till the poor creature was all ruffled up and a cloud of feathers was flying around the shop.

  Next day the parrot saw its master mixing brick dust into the cocoa powder. Just afterwards in came a customer asking for cocoa. ‘Brick dust in the cocoa! Brick dust in the cocoa!’ cried Polly, loudly and repeatedly until the astonished customer believed it, and went away without his cocoa. There followed another shaking of the cage and a warning that any more tale-telling would certainly be punished with death!

  The frightened parrot promised never to speak again.

  Presently, however, it observed its master making ‘shop butter’ from lard coloured with a little turmeric. Then in came a lady and asked for butter.

  ‘Nice fresh butter, ma’am, fresh from the dairy,’ said the shopkeeper.

  ‘Lard in the butter! Lard in the butter!’ screamed the parrot, and the woman turned and left the shop.

  ‘You worthless bird!’ yelled the shopkeeper and rushed to the cage. He opened the door, pulled out the parrot, wrung its neck and threw it into the ash pit.

  But Polly was not quite dead, and after lying quiet for a few minutes she lifted up her head and saw a dead cat in the pit with her. ‘Hello!’ called the parrot. ‘What’s the matter with you, Tom?’

  There was no answer for the cat really was dead.

  ‘Oh dear, poor Tom,’ sighed the parrot. ‘He too must have loved the truth and been punished for speaking it.’

  Polly sat up and tried her wings. They were undamaged. She stretched her legs and looked all round. She seemed unharmed, but she was hurt in her soul. Polly lamented, ‘Oh, great is the truth in my own country, but in this dingy, dark England it is held for nothing. Lies are all that count here – lies and profit.’

  Then Polly spread her wings and flew away. Whether she ever reached her own land, where truth was held in such high regard, I don’t know. More likely she flew twice round the world in search of it, and could not find it, for in today’s world I doubt that such a place exists.

  THE FROG AT THE WELL

  This is one of the best-known folk tale motifs in a version from the North of England – it was a Scottish version of this story which inspired the Brothers Grimm to start their collection!

  One morning a young woman took her jug and went down to the well to fetch some water, but when she got there she found the well had gone dry. So she sat on the edge of the well and started to cry. Now, any of you modern, capable, educated women reading this wouldn’t behave in that way, would you? You’d know how to get the well unblocked or would call the plumber or phone for a delivery of bottled water from a supermarket, or something … but none of those options were open to her, so she just sat on the edge of the well, and cried.

  As she was sitting there crying, a frog came plopping along the path towards her and when it got there it said, ‘Hello, why are you crying?’

  ‘Because the well’s gone dry and there’s no water.’

  ‘Well, if you marry me then you can have all the water you want,’ said the frog.

  The young woman didn’t fancy marrying a frog – she didn’t know anyone who had married a frog. None of her friends had married frogs, but she couldn’t really think of any good reason not to, so she said, ‘Alright’, and when she looked the well was full of water. Without giving the frog another thought she filled her jug and went home.

  That night, when she and her mother were getting ready for bed, there was a sudden commotion outside the door and someone started singing:

  ‘Open the door, my hinny, my heart

  Open the door, my deary,

  Remember the promise that you and I made

  Down in the meadow so early.’

  ‘Who’s that singing outside the door?’ asked the mother.

  ‘Oh, it must be t
hat old frog I met down by the well this morning.’

  ‘Well, let him in, it’s cold out there.’

  So the girl let him in and he sat down by the fire and got warm and then he sang:

  ‘Give me my supper, my hinny, my heart

  Give me my supper, my deary,

  Remember the promise that you and I made

  Down in the meadow so early.’

  And the mother sent the daughter into the kitchen to bring the frog some supper. She wasn’t quite sure what a frog would want for supper so she piled up a tray with all kinds of things and brought it back, and the frog ate the lot. Then it licked its lips and burped and sang:

  ‘Put me to bed, my hinny, my heart

  Put me to bed, my deary,

  Remember the promise that you and I made

  Down in the meadow so early.’

  So the girl went into the bedroom and did all the things you do to a visitor’s bed – she puffed up the pillows and tucked in the sheets and smoothed out the blankets and the frog jumped into bed, and then he looked at her and sang:

  ‘Jump into bed, my hinny, my heart

  Jump into bed, my deary,

  Remember the promise that you and I made

  Down in the meadow so early.’

  Now she didn’t much fancy getting into bed with a frog, but her mother had made her do everything else so she didn’t think it was worth arguing. So she got into bed and lay down on one side while the frog was the other side and she made sure there was a big gap down the middle of the bed between them. But the frog looked at her and sang:

  ‘Give me a kiss, my hinny, my heart

  Give me a kiss, my deary,

  Remember the promise that you and I made

  Down in the meadow so early.’

  So she screwed up her eyes and she screwed up her lips and she screwed up her courage and she screwed up everything else which she could think of to possibly screw up, and she leaned over and gave the frog a quick little peck on the lips.

  And when she opened her eyes … I’m sure you have guessed, instead of a frog there was the most handsome young man she’d seen in her whole life, and he said, ‘Thank you, you’ve saved me from a wicked enchantment,’ – and what happened next I will leave to your imagination!

  LOVE FROGS

  A modern variant of the above.

  A beautiful young woman was feeling lonely so went to her local pet shop in search of an exotic pet. As she looked about the shop she noticed a tank full of frogs. A sign said:

  LOVE FROG’S. SUCCESS GUARANTEED. COME’S WITH INSTRUCTION’S

  (As is the way with these things the sign was complete with unnecessary apostrophes!)

  The woman looked around to see if anybody was watching and then went up and whispered softly to the young man behind the counter, ‘I’ll take one.’

  The man put the frog into a little plastic tank and said, ‘Make sure you follow the instructions carefully.’ The woman nodded and took the frog home.

  As soon as she had closed the door to her flat she read the instructions thoroughly, and carefully did as they said:

  1. Take a shower.

  2. Splash on some nice-smelling perfume.

  3. Place the frog in the bed and climb in beside it.

  She got into bed with the frog but nothing happened.

  She re-read the instructions.

  Still nothing happened.

  Then she noticed that, at the bottom of the page, there was a note which said, ‘If you have any problems or questions please call the pet shop.’ So she called the pet shop.

  The man said, ‘That’s odd, I had another complaint earlier today, too. I’ll come over straight away.’

  Within five minutes, her doorbell rang. The woman welcomed him in and said, ‘See, I’ve done everything according to the instructions but the frog just sits there.’

  The man, looking very concerned, picked up the frog, stared directly into its eyes and said sternly, ‘Listen to me! I’m only going to show you how to do this one more time …’

  7

  WE THREE KINGS

  HOW THE HERRING BECAME THE KING OF THE SEA

  A Manx Tale

  One day the fish decided that they needed someone to rule over them – a king. They didn’t have a deemster – a magistrate or judge – like the people on the Isle of Man, so it seemed a good idea. They called a meeting somewhere in the deeps off the Shoulder, near the Calf of Man, and they all arrived looking their best, for you have to look your best if you want to be voted king!

  All the fish were there: Captain Jiarg, the red gurnet, in his fine crimson coat; Grey Horse, the big, cruel shark; Bollan, the wrass, in his brightest colours; Dirty Peggy, the cuttlefish, putting on her nicest face; Athag, the haddock, trying to rub out the black spots the Devil burned on him when he took hold of him with his finger and thumb; and all the rest of the fish from the smallest to the largest. Each one thought he had a good chance and hoped he might be chosen.

  The fish had a strong notion to make Brac Gorm, the mackerel, king. He was the pre-meeting favourite. He knew that, so he put beautiful stripes on himself, pink and green and gold and all the colours of the sea and sky, and then he added sparkling diamonds. When he arrived in all this finery he looked so grand that they didn’t recognise him and they ignored him.

  In the end Skeddan, the herring, ‘the Lil Silver Fella’, was made the King of the Sea and everyone agreed that it was a good choice.

  When it was all over, up rushed the fluke, too late to give his vote, and they all called out, ‘You’ve missed the tide, my beauty!’ He had been so busy titivating himself up, touching himself up with red patches, that he forgot the time. When he found that the herring had been chosen he twisted up his mouth and sneered, ‘And what am I going to be then?’ Scarrag the skate gave him such a slap with his tail that it knocked the fluke’s mouth even more to one side and it’s been crooked like that ever since.

  The herring is still the King of the Sea and that may be why he is so honoured amongst men, particularly on the Isle of Man. When the deemsters there take their oath they say, ‘I will execute justice as indifferently as the herring’s backbone doth lie in the midst of the fish’. And the Manx people will not burn a herring’s bones in the fire in case the herring should feel it. Those that know, say that the best herring in the world are caught in that place off the Shoulder, where the fish held their big meeting.

  The names of the fish above are the Manx names. The same story, with local names, is found in the Scottish islands and is probably common amongst fishermen all around the coast, as the song below, from East Anglia, includes the same ideas.

  WINDY OLD WEATHER

  One night we were fishing off Happisburgh* Light,

  Fishing and trawling, all through the night

  Chorus: In this windy old weather, stormy old weather,

  When the wind blows we’ll all pull together.

  Up jumped the herring, the King of the Sea,

  He sang out ‘Old Skipper, O you can’t catch me!’

  Up jumped the mackerel with spots on his back,

  He sang out, ‘Old Skipper, come square your main tack!’

  Up jumped the crab with his great long claws,

  He sang out, ‘Old Skipper, you’ll run her ashore!’

  Up jumped the rooker, his back hard and tough,

  He sang out, ‘Old Skipper, you will burn the duff!’

  Up jumped the sprat, the smallest of all,

  He sang out, ‘Old Skipper, you will lose your trawl!’

  Up jumped the whiting with silvery eyes

  Said, ‘You haven’t got long on the sea for to ride!’

  Up spoke the skipper, ‘The saying is right,

  We’ll haul up our trawl and we’ll go home tonight!’

  This is a song which was very popular amongst East Anglian fishermen. It was famously sung by Harry Cox, who was the source of many great songs.

  *Happisburgh is pronounced ‘Haisebor
ough’.

  THE KING OF THE FISHES

  A few of the stories in this book can be found in the two collections by Joseph Jacobs: English Fairy Tales and More English Fairy Tales. Jacobs (1854–1916) was, in a way, the British equivalent of the Brothers Grimm. This tale is not in either of those collections, but it is in another of his books called Europa’s Fairy Book, in which he attempted to ‘complete’ folk tales by correlating different versions from all over Europe. I have used just the beginning of the story, which can stand on its own. Jacobs goes on to tell, at great length, of the exploits of George and Albert. (Unusual names for a fairy tale, but very fashionable at the time he was writing.)

  Once upon a time there was a fisherman who was very poor. He felt poorer still because he and his wife had no children. They wanted children and they had tried to have them, but children never arrived. One day when he was fishing he caught the finest fish he had ever seen. It was large enough to provide several meals for him and his wife, but it also looked grand; its scales were golden and its eyes were as bright as diamonds. He was just going to take it out of his net and take it home when it spoke. ‘I am the King of the Fishes,’ it said. ‘If you throw me back into the water you will never want for a catch.’ The fisherman was so surprised that he let the fish slip back into the water. Once it was safe it flapped its big tail and dived under the waves.

  When the fisherman got home he told his wife all about it, and she said, ‘Oh, you silly man, I’d love to eat a fish like that.’