by Thomas Taffy
The hunchback was lying on the bed completely still and the robin whispered back to the other animals, ‘I think he may be dead!’
Just then, the robin tapped his little yellow beak three times on the window and the flicker of a smile spread across the hunchback’s face. Excited, the robin reported back, ‘No, he’s still alive but he’s desperately sick.’
The animals knew they needed help. They needed the help of the wisest of birds, the wise old owl, or to give it its Lakeland name, the hullet.
The robin flew off to the wood to where the hullet was perched on a branch. Settling next to the owl, the robin reported the sickness of the hunchback.
The hullet advised the robin that if the hunchback got a visit from his special friend, his lady of the lake, it may cure him.
Thanking the hullet, the robin flew off to the lake to where the swan was settled in her nest. Landing next to the swan, he told her of the hunchback’s sickness, adding the owl’s advice that she might be able to save him.
The swan climbed from the nest and swam to the other bank. Then she started to waddle up the path toward the hunchback’s cottage. So, there was the swan followed by the line of animals – the weasel, the rabbit, the badger, the fox and, flying over head, the robin and the wren.
They formed a circle around the cottage – a magic circle. As the swan waddled up to the back door and pushed it open with her yellow bill, the wren fluttered up to the window to peep in. The hunchback was lying on a white sheet. His face was as white as the sheet he was lying on and he was completely motionless.
The wren whispered to the others, ‘It may be too late.’ Then, ’No, wait a minute, my lady is waddling over to the bed.’
The swan tapped her yellow bill on the hunchback’s forehead three times and he started to smile. Excited, the wren reported, ‘We’re in time, he’s still alive!’.
Just then, the swan tore some of the feathers from her left wing and jabbed them through the skin of the hunchback’s left arm, where they remained. Then, the swan tore some of the feathers from her right wing and jabbed them through the skin of the hunchback’s right arm, where again they stayed.
On hearing this, the circle of animals became very agitated and asked the wren, ‘What’s happening now?’
The wren reported that the hunchback had rolled over and the swan had torn some feathers from her back and jabbed them through the skin of his back.
Inside the cottage, the swan then started to stroke the hunchback’s hump with her yellow bill and his back flattened out. Then, stroking the hunchback’s neck with her bill, his neck became long and curved.
It had gone magically quiet and the animals wondered what was happening.
After some magical time, the back door of the cottage opened and, to the animals’ amazement, out waddled not one but two swans. The swans waddled down to the lake, slid into the water and swam off side by side.
They say our friend the hunchback will be with his lady of the lake for ever now, because swans, like most water fowl, only mate once in their lifetime, and they mate for life! Strangely, since that day, most of the swans in the Lake District have been mute swans … just like the hunchback in our tale.
17
THE WOODPECKER
Why the Woodpecker Is Still Tapping
The Old English word for this bird, ‘hygwhele’, has had numerous derivations such as ‘wudewale’, used by Chaucer, and ‘yaffle’, a name widely used from the eighteenth century. The use of’ ‘yaffle’ even returned to fairly recent popular culture when, in the 1960s, Oliver Postgate named the woodpecker in his beloved animation ‘Bagpuss’, Professor Yaffle.
Another name once used for the woodpecker was ‘rain bird’, which leads to the following little legend.
After the Big Bang came the Creation. The Creator gave all the birds of the air the task of using their beaks to scoop holes and trenches in the earth that would fill with rain water to form lakes, ponds and rivers. The only birds to refuse this task were the woodpeckers, who didn’t wish to dirty their beaks and fine feathers. As a punishment for their vanity and laziness, the Creator decided that woodpeckers could never have water from lakes, ponds or rivers to drink, but would have to peck tree trunks whilst crying for rain and trying to catch raindrops in their beaks high in the treetops.
The strange little tale that follows was gifted to me by storyteller Des Charnley from Windermere, in my adoptive home the Lake District. Des was always a regular teller at the South Lakeland Storytelling Club and made it his business to be sure the stories he told outlived himself.
Long ago, when the Earth was almost all covered in forest, the day came when Mother Nature had to deliver the insects, the beetles, ants, centipedes and millipedes, and of course the midges. Just picture the wise old woman with a green shawl, carrying a sack containing all of those tiny creatures, descending the ladder from Heaven to Earth.
At the bottom of the ladder a man watched the old woman climbing down and heard the insects buzzing in the bag. As the old woman stepped off the bottom rung onto the Earth, the man, in his curiosity, ran towards her, causing the old woman to stumble and drop the sack from her shoulder. As the sack touched the ground it fell open and all of the little creatures escaped. Some started crawling across the ground, some flew to the nearby forest where they made their homes in trees and bushes, and as for the midges, they all made their way to Scotland where they live to this very day!
Mother Nature was furious that her day’s work had been spoiled. As she struggled to her feet, in her anger she tapped the man on the shoulder, magically changing him into a striking little bird with a chisel-like bill. She told him he would remain as this bird until he could get all the insects back in to her sack.
With a quick shuffle around the ground the bird got some back where they belonged. Most of them, however, had made it to the safety of the forest. The bird flew off into the forest, banging its beak against their bark of the trees to force the tiny creatures out of their hiding places. This certainly helped to get some of them back in the sack, but many of them still remained free. And so the bird was left to continue its quest. To this day, I think that bag may be only about three-quarters full. Mind you, if you do visit a forest you may well hear the tap-tap-tapping of that bird still collecting those insects, which is why it is called a woodpecker. I don’t think it will ever complete its task of filling that sack, so that unfortunate man will have to remain as a bird for eternity. ‘Tap tap tap.’
18
THE OWL
A Riddle
My first is in ocean but not in sea
My second’s in wasp but not in bee
My third is in glider and also in flight
My whole is a raptor that flies out at night.
What am I?
Why the Owl Has a Heart-shaped Face
A wise old owl lived in an oak
The more he saw, the less he spoke
The less he spoke, the more he heard
Why can’t we all be like that wise old bird?
(Anon.)
Now we all know about the man in the moon. The story that follows is about the woman in the moon, or to be precise the woman of the moon – Diana the moon goddess.
Little Bridget’s life started in a sad way. She was left almost alone in the world when, as a baby, her parents died from a terrible illness. It was left to her grandmother to take care of little Bridget. They lived together in a tiny cottage on the edge of a great wood and they were as poor as church mice. They only managed to survive as Bridget helped her grandmother all the hours of daylight, looking after their chickens and growing vegetables on a piece of land about the size of a pocket handkerchief. Luckily it was good land and Bridget and her grandmother ate quite well. Any food they had to spare they swapped or sold in the village.
However, Bridget’s grandmother was very old and before the young girl reached the age of sixteen, one night her grandma peacefully died in her sleep.
After arrangi
ng a funeral to celebrate her grandmother’s simple but rich life, Bridget was left to look after the chickens and the land as best she could. Her grandmother had taught her well and most of the time Bridget managed fine. There were times, however, when the young lass felt the pangs of loneliness, especially when she had a problem to solve or a difficult decision to make.
Then one night, whilst lying in her bed pondering a problem, Bridget was sure she could hear her grandmother’s voice calling her from the wood. She got out of bed and, barefoot in the star-shine, walked to the edge of the forest. The moon broke through a clearing in the trees and there, in the light of the shining silver sphere, stood a woman. It was Diana, the moon goddess, with a hundred owls silently circling her head and shoulders. Diana and her owls moved gently towards little Bridget asking why she was so troubled. Bridget, reassured by the gentleness of their approach, found herself telling the moon goddess and the birds she had a problem troubling her deeply. Since the death of her parents and her grandmother, when she encountered a problem she found herself completely alone with no one to help. Diana told Bridget that this need never be the case again, for whenever she felt lonely or had a problem to solve, the owls would be there to help her. If she called out to them and the owls hooted once whilst Bridget counted nine on her fingers, the answer to her problem was yes. If they hooted twice while she counted nine the answer was no. But importantly, if the owls didn’t call out at all while she counted, then the problem was one they knew that Bridget had the wisdom to work out for herself.
The moon goddess smiled at Bridget, telling her to remember that she would never be alone again. All she had to do was look at the face of an owl and she would see the sign of the moon goddess, the shape of the heart. For she, Diana, the mistress of the heart and keeper of its knowledge, would always speak to her through her birds.
Then the moon disappeared behind a cloud and Bridget found herself standing barefoot at the edge of the forest looking up to see if it would return. In the darkness she could see the shape of the owls silently gliding through the trees. But Bridget wasn’t afraid. She turned to walk back to the little cottage knowing she need never feel quite so alone again.
Ever since that day we too can see the shape of a heart on the face of an owl, and because we know this story, perhaps it will help us think through our problems and, like Bridget, we won’t feel quite so alone.
The Owl Was a Baker’s Daughter
In William Shakespeare’s play Hamlet, Ophelia states, ‘they say the owl was a baker’s daughter, Lord we know what we are but not what we may be’. The Tudor playwright and poet must have been familiar with a version of the English folk tale that follows, which also explains why the owl has its distinctive cry.
In a village there lived a baker who had twin daughters. Although born only a couple of minutes apart, these two girls were as different as baps and baguettes. One of these girls had an open moonbeam face and was always kind and generous of spirit. The other was grouchy and mean and would not even share the air she breathed. She was just sour.
One day the cheery twin was working in the bakery and the winter wind whistled down the street past the baker’s tiny shop. The door creaked open and an old lady in rags leaning heavily on a stick entered seeking shelter. She asked the young girl behind the counter if she might have a bit of bread dough. The lass smiled, telling the strange old lady she could, whilst pulling off a large piece. The old lady, who was pale with hunger, asked the lass if she could pop the dough in the oven. Smiling, the girl popped the piece of dough on a tin and placed it in the hot oven. The old lady slumped, exhausted, in the grandfather chair in the corner and, with the wonderful smell of baking bread in her nostrils, drifted off into a peaceful sleep. The old woman woke as the young lass took the loaf out of the oven. It had doubled in size. The old woman, delighted, picked up the warm bread, savouring its smell and its size. She was so pleased she touched the young girl’s shoulder with her magic staff, telling her that she was her fairy godmother and that from that day, because of her generosity, every pie, loaf and cake she baked would be perfect – and so it was.
The following day the ill-natured, cross daughter was serving in the baker’s shop. As the cold wind whistled over the roof and down the lane, the same old lady opened the door. Shuffling into the room, she leaned heavily on her staff and asked the grumpy girl for a piece of dough. The girl gave her a tiny piece. Again, it was placed in the oven to bake. Some minutes later when it was taken from the oven, smelling wonderful, it had doubled in size. The mean girl thought this was far too good for a scrounging tramp woman and slipped it into her own bag. The old woman asked for another piece. This time the girl gave her a piece of dough half the size of the first and put it in the oven. Again after baking, this piece had doubled in size. The old woman was pleased but was looking the other way as the selfish girl again slid the loaf into her own bag. For a third time the old woman asked for a lump of dough. This time the girl tore off a tiny piece only as big as her fingernail. With the dough placed in the oven the old woman again settled in the chair in the corner for a snooze. Whilst the old woman was asleep the mean lass took the bread from the oven, discovering it was not only twice the size but had a sweet crust of sugar and currants. Again this went straight into the girl’s own bag. The strange old lady woke, asking for the bread. The deceitful girl told her the bread had burned in the oven and had to be thrown away. Meanly she laughed at the poor old woman – ‘hoo, hoo’.
The old woman asked if that was all the young girl had to say to her. Again, laughing sarcastically, the girl repeated, ‘hoo, hoo’. The fairy woman told the girl that for the rest of time that was all she would be able to say, and touching the girl’s shoulder with her magic staff turned her into an owl. She flew out of the bakery door hooting into the night. So now we know why owls have that strange cry, ‘whoo, whoo’.
EPILOGUE
I talk with the Moon said the Owl
While she lingers over my tree
I talk with the Moon said the Owl
And the Night belongs to me
Good Night and Happy Reading.
(The author)
RIDDLE E ANSWERS
P.34 A Magpie
P.83 A Robin
P.97 A Swallow
P.130 An Owl
TWO SHORT RHYMES
Little bird, little bird fly around
Up to the sky, down to the ground
Little bird, little bird flap your wings
Open your beak and sweetly sing
Little bird, little bird fly to your nest
Now it’s time to take a rest
( Trad. to the tune of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star)
Magpie, Magpie flutter and flee
Turn up your tail
And good luck come to me