The King and the Lamp

by Duncan Williamson

  He quickly hobbled back home to his wife and he said, ‘Do you know what your son is doing? He’s out there, in the hillside, an he’s eating with a snake, a poisonous adder! And to make matters worse he hits it with his spoon! If that snake bites him he shall die!’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘husband, he’s been doing that all summer long, and if that snake was going to bite him it would have done so a long time ago. I think ye should leave him alone.’

  ‘I’m not having my son eating with a snake, I’m not having my son eating with a snake! That terrible adder,’ he said, ‘that’s a poisonous adder. Tomorrow morning when he comes downstairs for his breakfast you send him up to tidy up his bedroom, an I’ll take the porridge to the snake!’

  So sure enough, next morning Iain comes downstairs and he says, ‘Could I have my breakfast, Mummy?’

  She says, ‘After you tidy up your room. It’s in a terrible mess, your bedroom. Collect your toys and tidy up for your mummy!’

  While he was gone his daddy took the empty plate and spoon, and he hobbled out of the kitchen. He took his gun from behind the door and he walked … to the stone. He tap-tapped on the rock with his spoon. Out came the snake, and he shot the snake. He carried it back to the house. He buried it in the garden. Iain knew nothing of this. He was busy working in his room. His father came in and sat down at the table.

  Sure enough, soon Iain comes downstairs once more. He says, ‘Mummy, can I have my breakfast, please?’ And his mother gives him a plate of porridge and milk and his spoon. He hurriedly – happy little boy – walks away through his little path through the heather.

  His father turns round to his wife and says, ‘He’s in for a big surprise when he goes back. I shot the snake.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I don’t think you should have done that.’

  Iain goes to the rock once more with his spoon, and he halves the porridge in two as usual – one side to that side, one side to the other side o’ the plate – then ‘tap, tap, tap’ on the rock. And he waits.

  No answer.

  He taps again with his spoon.

  No answer.

  Three times he taps. No snake. He says, ‘Well, my pet, you seem to not be hungry this morning.’ And he lifts the plate, porridge and all, he walks back with it. He puts it on the table.

  His mummy says, ‘What’s the trouble, Iain? Are ye not having yer breakfast this morning?’

  He says, ‘I don’t feel very hungry.’ He walks up to his bedroom.

  The next morning he went with his porridge to the stone. The same thing happened. He went with it for three times. Nothing happened. On the fourth day Iain did not come downstairs.

  By this time his daddy’s leg is better. He says, ‘What’s the trouble? Where is Iain this morning?’ He goes up to get Iain.

  Iain is just lying in bed staring at the ceiling. He would not talk to his father in any way. Nor he would not talk to his mother in any way. He just lay there. He completely lost the will to live, in any way. He lay there for nearly a week without food or drink.

  His father said, ‘This cannot go on.’ So he took his pony, he rode down to the little village and brought back the doctor.

  The doctor came in and asked the trouble. They told him, but they never mentioned the snake. The doctor went up to Iain’s bedroom, he examined him in every way. He could find nothing wrong with him. But Iain wouldn’t even talk to the doctor, he just lay staring into space. Then the doctor came down and he said to Iain’s mother and father, ‘I can’t seem to see anything wrong with yer son. He just seems to have lost the will to live. Has anything happened to upset him in any way?’

  And it was Iain’s mother who said, ‘Prob’ly it was the snake.’

  The doctor said, ‘Snake? What snake? Tell me about it.’ Iain’s father told the doctor about the snake he had shot.

  The doctor was very upset. He said, ‘Ye know, children are very queer sometimes, and they love to choose their own pets in their own time.’ And he said, ‘I’m sorry, ye should not have touched the snake. I don’t think it would ever have touched him in any way. How long had he been feeding this snake?’

  She said, ‘He’d been doing this since the beginning of summer, an the summer before that when he was only four. I never knew anything about the snake. But he was a quite happy child, an I just let him take his breakfast outside every morning,’ said his mother.

  ‘Well,’ the doctor said, ‘I think you’ve made a grave mistake. I’ll come back and see him again, but I don’t think there’s very much I can do for yer son. He’ll have to come out of it himself.’

  But Iain lay in bed and he just pined away. He finally died. And his mother and father were so upset, they sold the farm and moved off to another part of the country. The funny thing was, no one seemed to want the farm after the story spread from the doctor.

  The farm stood there till it became a ruin. But Iain’s daddy never forgave himself for shooting the queerest pet that any child could have – a poisonous snake. And that, children, is a true story that happened a long time ago on the West Coast of Scotland. If you were there with me today I could lead you to the same place, to the ruins of the farmhouse; I’ve passed it many times on my travels through the West Coast.

  The Dog and the Peacock

  When I was young we were very very poor and we never got anything for Christmas, nothing at all. Probably my mother was just around the doors begging a little bit of supper for us at night-time; and that was our first meal, the only meal of the day. To us Christmas was just another day … glad my mother was home, her feet were wet and she dried them at the fire. My mother would dry her shoes by the fire and hang up her stockings for the next day. Probably she’d been away among the snow.

  And Daddy would say, ‘Well, children, thank God it’s Christmas. We havenae got very much tae give ye for Christmas, but I’ll tell ye what, I’ll give ye something that’ll be a lot better tae ye than a present – I’ll give ye a nice wee story for Christmas.’ And we sat round his feet by the fireside. The thing about our fire was it was right in the middle of the tent, and everybody could sit round about it.

  THE old collie dog was tired. He’d wandered around the village all day seeking little pieces of meat to eat from anyone who would help him. He’d wandered the village in fact for years. No one owned him, he was just to the village folk ‘the old collie’. He was an old dog, disregarded, forgotten by his owner. But he was loved and respected in the village. Whenever anyone had a tidbit to spare, it was always the old collie who would get something to eat. He slept here and slept there, he was a friend to the children, a friend to everybody. All the cats, dogs, everyone in the village knew him. He never touched no one.

  But one particular evening the old collie got up from his sheltering place where he lay and it was cold. He thought to himself, ‘I’ll wander down the village and see if my old human friends will give me something to eat.’ He wandered round the village and round the village two or three times, but lo and behold he never met a soul because everyone was indoors. The evening was getting darker and everyone had their Christmas trees up, their Christmas lamps going. And the old collie thought to himself, ‘It must be Christmas, people are all in celebrating their Christmas Eve.’ He said, ‘I think I’ll go down and have a talk to my old friend the peacock. Maybe he has something lying in his dish that’ll help me.’

  So he wandered down the street to a large bungalow owned by a merchant, and this merchant had two peacocks, a hen and a cock. The old dog went through the hedge, came round the back of the bungalow and there sitting on a post was the peacock. The old dog spoke, he said, ‘Hello, Peacock!’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘it’s yourself, old Collie.’

  He said, ‘It is.’

  He said, ‘You’re on your wander tonight again.’

  ‘Yes I am,’ he said, ‘I am on my wander tonight again. But there’s not many people around.’

  ‘No,’ said the peacock, ‘there’s not many peopl
e around. My master and his wife and children are busy celebrating the Christmas Eve. And my old wife is sitting on an egg in there in the shed. She’s sat there all summer on it and I don’t think she’s going to make much of it with the way I see it! And I’m just sitting here watching the moon and stars coming up.’

  The collie says, ‘It’s a funny evening, all these people celebrating their Christmas and the coming of Our Blessed Saviour among us.’

  ‘True,’ says the peacock, ‘true. But there must be some other people who are not as well-off as some of them.’

  ‘That’s true,’ says the collie, ‘very true – in particular one good friend I have, my old friend the old widow-woman who lives in the last cottage at the end of the village. I passed by an hour ago and her light was out.’

  ‘Sad,’ says the peacock, ‘sad – why some people have so much and other people have so little.’

  ‘I feel sorry for her,’ says the collie. ‘She’s good tome and she shares anything she has with me whenever I go around, though little she’s got to spare. But,’ he says, ‘I wish there was something I could do for her. She probably won’t have a fire, she’ll probably have no light, she’ll probably have no food and probably no one will give her a thought.’

  ‘It’s sad,’ says the peacock, ‘very sad.’

  Says the collie, ‘I wish there was something I could do.’

  ‘Well,’ says the peacock, ‘between us we probably could think of something. I’m doing nothing here all night just sitting on this perch. And I mightn’t go in and talk to my old wife, she’s too busy sitting on that egg.’

  The collie says, ‘Look, are those peats you have there?’

  ‘That’s my master’s peats,’ says the peacock.

  ‘Man,’ he says, ‘if the old widow had a couple of these, it would really give her a good fire for Christmas Eve!’

  ‘Sure enough,’ says the peacock. ‘And I don’t think my master would miss any if a couple went amissing.’

  They were sitting talking, discussing the problem, when who should come down but the village tomcat. He too was owned by nobody; he was just a large black tom, a friendly tom who walked the village and was everyone’s pet. ‘Well, you two,’ he said, ‘you are busy chatting away again?’

  ‘Yah,’ says the collie, ‘we’re just here chatting away and discussing this evening.’

  ‘Well, let me into the discussion,’ says the cat. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Well, our main problem,’ says the collie, ‘is the old widow-woman at the end of the village.’

  ‘A-ha-ha,’ says the cat, ‘her I know well! I just passed her house barely half an hour ago. It looks dark, there’s no light and seemingly no fire on in it.’

  ‘That’s what we’re discussing, that’s our problem,’ says the collie. ‘The peacock and I have made up a plan here. Peacock thinks that he could manage to get a couple of peats, take a couple up to the old widow-woman’s house and give her a wee fire for Christmas Eve even though she has nothing else.’

  ‘Well,’ the cat says, ‘she’s good to me, she treats me very well: whenever she’s got a wee drop milk or a bone to spare or anything she has for eating, she always shares it with me. And I would like to help.’

  ‘But,’ the peacock says, ‘what good is a fire to her when she has nothing to eat?’

  The collie says, ‘Wait … all the shops are closed for the evening. But I know a way into the back of the butcher’s, a secret passage where I go in and help myself to some bones. And I could help myself to much more than bones if I needed to, but I always just take the bones he leaves in a bucket. That’s enough for me. But there’s sausages and meat of all description! And I’m sure the butcher wouldn’t miss a string of sausages!’

  ‘Fair enough,’ says the peacock, ‘you do that!’

  ‘But wait a minute,’ says the cat, ‘how about me? You know I too have my secrets, though I’m a cat! I know a secret way into the back of the fish shop. And the fishman always leaves heads and tails in a bucket and I go in and help myself. But there are many more things than that – there’s fish and kippers and herring and everything in the fish shop. If the old widow-woman could have a pair of kippers it would make a lovely supper for her tonight. And,’ he says, ‘I’ll go for a pair of kippers!’

  ‘And I’ll go,’ says the collie, ‘for a string of sausages, a large string of sausages.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting here at the gate,’ says the peacock, ‘and I’ll have a peat under each wing. And we’ll all go, we’ll visit the old widow and spend our Christmas with her!’

  Sure enough, their plan was made! Away goes the old collie, he isn’t long gone when back he comes with a big string of sausages in his mouth. And he’s keeping them high so’s they’ll no touch the road. Within minutes back comes the tomcat. Oh, he is a great big black cat, and across his mouth he has a pair of large kippers, carrying them nice and tender in his mouth in case they touch the ground! And there stands the peacock, a peat under each wing. ‘Are you ready, gentlemen?’ he says. ‘Let’s go!’ And away go the peacock, the collie and the cat marching up the street.

  Everybody was inside behind their doors watching their Christmas trees and having their Christmas Eve lunches. Nobody paid attention to the peacock, the collie and the cat on their way up the street. They hadn’t far to go to the end of the village.

  Now the old widow’s house sat by itself and round it was a large hedge and a gate going into her garden. When up came the peacock, the collie and the cat. The gate was open. But sitting on the gate was an owl, a large tawny owl. The old cat and the old collie knew the owl well because he was another old fellow who flew around the village. He said, ‘To-hoo, to-hoo!’

  ‘Hello, Owl,’ says the dog, taking care that the sausages shouldn’t drop out of his mouth. ‘We are bound for the widow’s house.’

  And the owl says, ‘The widow is very poorly tonight. She’s very hungry and she hasn’t thrown me any scraps for two days, and she has no fire.’

  ‘Well,’ says the peacock, ‘we are on our way to give her her Christmas. The collie has got some sausages and the cat has got some kippers and I’ve got two peats.’

  ‘I’ll come too, I’ll come too,’ says the owl, ‘I’ll come too!’ And he hopped off the gate on his two feet behind them. And they all marched – the peacock, the dog, the cat and the owl – all walked up the path. And they came to the door.

  ‘Scratch-scratch, scratch-scratch,’ went the dog with his foot on the door. No answer. ‘Scratch-scratch-scratch,’ again went the dog.

  And they heard footsteps. And lo and behold the door opened and this was the old widow-woman. The dog could see right into the room and the fire was burning very low – there was very little on her fire.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘it’s yourself, old Collie Dog,’ she said. ‘It’s Christmas, and I’m sorry I’ve little to give you.’

  But the dog never said a word. He just walked in – followed by the peacock, followed by the cat, followed by the owl. And they all came up in front of the fire. The old widow-woman closed the door, she came in behind them and she looked and she saw: the dog left down the sausages, the cat left down the kippers and the peacock left down the two peats.

  ‘Oh, my children, my children!’ she said. ‘You’ve brought me my Christmas.’ She took the two peats, gathered all the coals together and put the peats on the top of the fire. ‘Sit there children,’ she said. ‘And you’ve brought me sausages and you’ve brought me kippers. Oh how wonderful, we’re going to have a Christmas feast!’ She picked up the sausages, picked up the kippers, went back into the kitchen. And the dog, the cat and the owl and the peacock sat before the fire.

  The peats began to kindle up. The shadows began to leave the walls, the room began to come cosy with the brightness of the fire. When lo and behold the peacock said, ‘It’s a lonely old house this, for a lonely old woman – without a Christmas tree!’

  ‘Well,’ says the old dog, ‘we can’t fin
d a Christmas tree.’

  The peacock says, ‘We can’t find a Christmas tree? Of course we can – we’ll find the nicest Christmas tree of all for the widow-woman – I have a Christmas tree!’

  ‘You,’ says the collie, ‘have a Christmas tree?’

  He says, ‘I have the nicest Christmas tree of all.’ He says to the owl, ‘You didn’t bring a present, but your eyes are bright! You sit by the side of the fire, Owl!’ And he says to the cat, ‘You sit by the other side of the fire, Cat!’ And the cat sits at one side, the owl sits at the other. The peacock turns his back to the fire and spreads up his tail – it covers the whole fire-place. He hears the old woman humming away to herself in the kitchen.

  And lo and behold the next thing she walks through with a plate of kippers and a plate of sausages, one in each hand. And when she comes through she sees the light from the cat’s eyes, the light from the owl’s eyes, the peacock’s tail spread across the fire reflecting light. ‘Oh my children,’ she says, ‘you’ve brought me a Christmas tree, the most beautiful Christmas tree of all!’ And she cried and wiped her eyes with her apron, she was so happy. She said, ‘My children, you are the greatest little friends anyone could ever have. And now we’re going to sit down, we’re going to enjoy our Christmas Eve lunch.’

  And the old widow sat down with the peacock and the dog and the cat and the owl. They ate up the kippers and they ate up the sausages. And the old woman sat and told them stories, talked to them till she got tired. Then she said, ‘Children, it’s time for me to go to bed. But till the day I die, I’ll never forget how my wonderful little friends gave me such a wonderful Christmas Evening.’

  So the old woman opened the door, and the dog went out and the cat went out and the owl went out and the peacock went out, and they bade the old woman ‘good-bye’. And down in the village everyone was happy enjoying their Christmas Eve. No one ever gave the old widow-woman a thought, but the peacock, the dog, the cat and the owl. And they had the most wonderful Christmas of all, and that’s the end of my wee story.