Faery Tales

by Carol Ann Duffy

  ‘I am afraid I have no money. But I can feed you and your guests.’

  ‘How?’

  Kari took out the cloth, gave it a shake, holding it at both ends, and said, ‘Cloth, cloth, spread yourself and set out scrumptious scram!’

  At once the cloth was groaning with food – soups and soufflés, roasts and stews, steaks and sausages, pies and flans, fruits and vegetables, trifles and puddings, and every kind of drink.

  When all the guests at the inn had filled their bellies, Kari rolled up her cloth and went to bed. But at dead of night, when everyone was in the land of nod, the troll crone came creeping up the stairs with a cloth identical to Kari’s. She sneaked into her room and swapped her cloth for hers.

  Next morning, Kari woke up, snatched the cloth and sprinted all the way home. ‘Mama! Mama! Look what the North Wind gave me,’ she shouted excitedly. She babbled out the magic words and shook the cloth. Nothing! She tried again – and again – and again – twisting the cloth this way and that, but nothing worked.

  ‘The North Wind has tricked me!’ said Kari furiously and she marched off to the North Wind’s house before her mother could say no.

  ‘North Wind! Come outside! I want to talk to you!’ bawled Kari at the door. After a while, the North Wind emerged, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

  ‘You again?’ he yawned. ‘Why are you back so soon?’

  ‘You know very well why I’m back!’ yelled Kari, almost in tears. ‘The cloth you gave me was useless! It only worked once and what good is that?’

  ‘Just the once? Something is wrong,’ said the North Wind. ‘But let’s not quarrel. I’ll give you something else.’ Soon enough he came back with an old goat.

  ‘This goat is magic. All you have to do is say, “Goat! Splosh! Crip, crap, dosh!” and it will make all the money you need.’

  ‘Will it work more than once?’ asked Kari suspiciously.

  ‘For ever,’ promised the North Wind.

  So Kari took the goat and set off homewards. It was getting dark so she decided to return to the inn for the night. She knocked on the door and the troll crone swung it open at once. Broth dripped from her huge conk because she’d been using it to stir her souppot.

  ‘Goo kuelh, good evening. I was wondering if I could have a bed for tonight?’ said Kari.

  ‘How are you going to pay?’ rattled the crone.

  Kari turned to the old goat and said, ‘Goat! Splosh! Crip, crap, dosh!’ Immediately, out of its backside, dropped a jackpot of gold coins. Kari paid the crone, used another sovereign for food and drink, and then went to bed. In the middle of the night, the troll crone once more came crawling up the stairs, this time with her own goat, which she switched for Kari’s.

  When Kari got home next day, she tried to show her mother just what the goat could do. But whatever came out of this old goat’s rear end was stinking but not rich!

  Kari stomped back to the North Wind, more livid than ever. The North Wind just scratched at his flowing silvery mane, tossed it, and said, ‘Something is wrong. I’ll give you one last thing, but you’d better use it wisely.’ Off he went and back he came with a stick. ‘This stick is magic. All you have to do is say “Stick, stick, lay on!” and it will thrash anyone you want. When you want it to stop, just say “Stick, stick, lay off!” and it will come straight back to you.’

  Kari thanked the North Wind and went straight to the Inn.

  ‘Goo kuelh,’ cawed the troll crone.

  ‘May I have a bed for the night?’

  ‘How do you plan to pay?’ growled the crone, leering at the stick. Kari found some spare coins in her apron and went straight to bed.

  In the dark small hours, the crone came creeping up the stairs again. She was certain the stick was magic. Slowly she sneaked into the room. Just as she was about to swap her stick for Kari’s, up Kari jumped and bellowed, ‘Stick, stick, lay on!’

  The stick whizzed from the pillow and began to give the troll crone such a hiding that she danced from one foot to the other all over the room, howling and hooting and hollering, until at last she screeched, ‘Make it stop! Make it stop!’

  ‘Not until you give me back my cloth and my goat,’ shouted Kari.

  ‘I will, I will!’ shrieked the troll crone.

  ‘Stick, stick, lay off,’ ordered Kari and at once the stick flew – whish-whoosh! – into her hand. But she kept a firm grip on it as she marched behind the troll crone to fetch her cloth and her goat.

  The next morning, Kari ran home with her treasures, and with them she and her mother had all the food and money and protection they needed for the rest of their long and extremely happy lives.

  Snipp, snapp, snute,

  Her er eventyret ute!

  Snip, snap, snut,

  My gob’s now shut!

  Rats and the Chinese Zodiac

  Rats!

  Members of the genus rattus –

  black or brown –

  Found in countryside and town.

  Long-tailed rodents, live in packs;

  Collective noun, mischief of Rats.

  Blamed for the fleas upon their backs

  Who brought the plague in the Middle Ages

  On the ships that sailed to here from Asia.

  Unfair!

  Rats!

  Expert jumpers, climbers, swimmers.

  Love their food – they’re no slimmers!

  The second most successful mammal

  On the planet? Fact – the Rat!

  They go where you go – gnawing, chewing.

  No Rat is ever more than ten feet from a human.

  Rats!

  Colour-blind. Fantastic sense of smell.

  From their whiskers they can tell

  Exactly where they are – how far, how near.

  They can disappear down a sewer, down a well.

  Rats are clever, sociable, untemperamental.

  In India, they have their very own and sacred Hindu temple!

  Rats!

  Who can say why cats chase Rats?

  It’s all to do with the Chinese Zodiac.

  A long, long time ago when the world was still young, all the creatures on the planet were good friends and true comrades. Everyone liked everyone else and there was never any trouble. In fact, although you might find this hard to believe, the Cat and the Rat were so close and were such terrific pals that they shared a house. One day, it was announced that all the animals in China were invited to enter a competition to win a place in the twelve signs of the Zodiac. There was going to be a long and hard race and the winner would become the first sign of the Zodiac; the second would become the second sign of the Zodiac; the third would become the third sign of the Zodiac; the fourth would … Well, it’s quite obvious how matters were to be arranged. The animals were incredibly excited about this wonderful opportunity, but the Cat and the Rat were anxious. The thing was, they were both addicted to sleeping, snoozing and snoring, and they were very worried that they would miss the start of the big race. The Cat and the Rat discussed this mutual problem at considerable length before deciding to ask their friend, the Ox, to make quite sure that they woke up in good time for the off. The loyal Ox agreed and gave his solemn word.

  So – the day of the great race dawned and the Ox made his way to the home of the Cat and the Rat while the dew was still wet on the cherry blossom. Bang! Bang! Bang! he went on the front door with his great big mighty hoof – but there was no reply! Bellow! Bellow! Bellow! he roared at the window with his great big mighty voice – but there was no reply! So the Ox broke down the door with his great big mighty shoulder and barged into the bedroom to meet the Cat and the Rat as he had promised.

  Would you credit it? The two bone-idle specimens were so deeply asleep in their stinking pit that nothing the Ox did could wake them up (and he tried everything!) The Ox saw that it was getting late, so he picked up the Cat and the Rat, put them on his great big mighty back, and made his way to the start of the race. On your marks! Get set! Go!


  The race began and the Ox ran as fast as he could, still with the Cat and the Rat in the land of Nod on his broad back. If the Ox could win the race, then all three of the gang would be part of the Zodiac! Of course, all the bouncing up and down on top of the Ox at last woke up the Rat!

  He looked across and there was the Cat, still kipping away, and the Rat suddenly had a brainwave! If the Cat were to wake up and start running, there was totally no way the Rat could beat her. The Cat was so much bigger and faster than the Rat. So he gave the Cat a good shove and she fell straight off the back of the Ox! The poor Cat bounced twice on the ground, rolled into the ice-cold river and was at once wide awake! She splashed and crawled her way out of the water just in time to see all the other animals racing past her and speeding away. The Ox was almost at the finishing line when the Rat climbed up on to his head – and just before the Ox broke the tape to win the race, the Rat jumped forwards as far as he possibly could and managed to beat the Ox by a whisker!

  This is why the Rat is the first sign of the Chinese Zodiac (and the Ox is the second). But as for the Cat, she never forgave the Rat for pushing her off the Ox’s back and into the river. To this very day, instead of being good friends, true comrades and sharing a home, Cats chase Rats as soon as they see them. Like this!

  The Pied Piper of Hamelin

  In your ancestors’ time in the town of Hamelin, which is still there, there was an invasion of rats the like of which it is impossible for us to imagine, but we will try. These rats were dirty great black things, which ran as they pleased in broad daylight through the streets and swarmed all over the houses so that folk couldn’t put their hand or foot down without touching something furry. When dressing in the morning they found rats in their underpants and petticoats, in their hats, boots, briefcases and pockets. One poor citizen had found two rats playing in her brassiere.

  When anyone wanted a bite to eat, the rats had been there first! The Cook, for example, was always going into her larder and finding that the rats had eaten the cheese or sucked the eggs or nibbled the bread or gnawed the rind off the best bacon. The Cook had a good moan about it to the Priest, who agreed with her, because he had found rats in the pockets of his cassock, and had had his King James Bible chewed from Genesis to Revelations. In fact, there was nowt left of his Holy Candle but the wick!

  The Priest had a right old bitch about it with the Poet, who agreed with him because she couldn’t write poetry any more on account of the noise. As soon as it got dark, the rats set to work, nibbling away from cellar to garret. Everywhere, in the ceilings, in the floors, in the cupboards, at the doors, there was a scamper and a rummage, and such a furious noise of gimlets, pincers and saws, that the Poet was a nervous wreck! So the townsfolk agreed to march to the Town Hall and find the Politician to demand that something was done about the bloody rats.

  The Politician announced that they were all in this together and he would launch an Official Inquiry … but at this everyone plonked themselves down on their bottoms and refused to budge until the Politician came up with a better idea.

  Well, they sat there from noon till dusk while the Politican consulted his Moral Compass and looked at his Legacy and mentioned his Mandate, when there arrived in the town a man with an unusual face, who played on a pipe and sang these words:

  ‘If you live, you’ll see

  This is me –

  I was born to be

  The Rat-catcher!’

  He was an odd, gawky person, very weatherbeaten, with a long crooked nose, a droopy rat-tail moustache, and two great yellow piercing eyes under a felt hat with a crimson feather. He was dressed in a green jacket, red pantaloons and big leather boots. He stopped outside the Town Hall, with his back to the Church, and continued with his music, singing:

  ‘If you live, you’ll see

  This is me –

  I was born to be

  The Rat-catcher!’

  The Politician came rushing from the Town Hall, followed by the citizens, and the Pied Piper explained that if they made it worth his while, he would get rid of all their rats, right down to the last one.

  ‘He’s not from round here!’ cried the citizens with one voice. ‘He might trick us! We can’t trust him!’

  But the Politician knew a potential vote-winner when he saw one! He was determined that it was high time everyone went home and stopped blaming him for the rats. So he said, ‘I give you my word of honour, Piper, that you will be properly rewarded, should you succeed in ridding our town of rats. How much do you charge?’

  ‘By midnight tonight, I shall remove every rat from this place, if you promise to pay me one gold sovereign per head.’

  ‘One gold sovereign for each rat!’ cried the citizens with one voice. ‘But that will come to millions of pounds!’

  But despite the grumbling of the people, the Politician was not for turning. He shook hands with the Piper, gave him a beaming smile, and guaranteed to pay him one gold sovereign per head with the taxpayers’ own money.

  The Piper replied that he would start this evening when the moon rose. He requested that the inhabitants leave the streets empty, but said that they could look out of their windows at what was happening and that it would be an interesting event. And so, at about nine o’clock that night, the Pied Piper reappeared by the Town Hall, back to the Church, and as the moon rose on the horizon, he began to play on his pipe.

  At first the music was slow and dreamy, gentle as a caress; but then it grew more and more lively as though it was saying, ‘Come and dance!’ It could be heard loud and clear in the farthest alley of the town. Soon, from the depths of the cellars and sewers, from the tops of the attics and garrets, from out of the larders, cupboards, wardrobes, handbags and wellingtons, from under the beds and tables, from every corner of every house or shop … out came the rats! They ran out of the doors, jumped into the street and tap, tap, tap, began to dance, all squeezed together, towards the Town Hall. There were so many of them they looked like a filthy flood in full flow.

  When the square was completely rammed, the Piper turned away and, still playing wonderfully, magically, began to walk towards the river at the foot of the town. The rats followed eagerly until the Piper stopped playing and pointed to the middle of the river where the water was flowing and swirling and foaming and whirling dangerously.

  ‘Hop! Hop!’ he cried. ‘Hop! Hop!’ And straight away, without pausing for a moment, the rats began to jump in, head first, one after another, and disappeared. It was almost midnight when, at the very end of the line, crawling along slowly, came a big old rat, silver with age. It was the boss of the plague.

  ‘Are they all in, my old friend?’ asked the Piper.

  ‘They are all in, brother,’ replied the silver rat.

  ‘And how many were there?’

  ‘Nine hundred and ninety thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine.’

  ‘Including you?’

  ‘Including me!’

  ‘Then go and join them, old friend, till we meet again.’

  Then the silver rat jumped into the river and disappeared.

  The Piper had kept his end of the bargain and went off to his bed at the inn. And for the first time in a long, long while, the citizens of Hamelin slept peacefully through the night and the Poet was able to start at last on a new poem.

  The next morning, just after nine o’clock, the Pied Piper arrived outside the Town Hall, where all the well-rested and breakfasted citizens had already gathered and were cheering and applauding the Politician.

  ‘All your rats went for a swim in the river last night,’ called out the Piper, ‘and I guarantee not one will return. There were nine hundred and ninety thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine, at one gold sovereign a head. It is time to count out my wages.’

  ‘Just a moment, stranger,’ smiled the Politician. One sovereign a head means one head a sovereign. Where are the heads?’

  The taxpayers roared with laughter, but the Piper had not expected this devious
ploy. He shook with rage and his eyes burned red.

  ‘The heads?’ he hissed. ‘If you want the heads, then go and find them in the river!’

  ‘Oh, I see!’ boomed the Politician confidently. ‘You are refusing to keep to the terms of our arrangement. One sovereign per head. Where are the heads?’

  The crowd joined in with one voice: ‘Where are the heads? Where are the heads? Show us the heads!’

  ‘Order! Order!’ cried the Politician, in charge once more. He turned to the Piper and said, ‘We could refuse even to pay you a penny. But we are a Big Society and you have been of use to us. Why not accept a token ten sovereigns for your trouble, before you leave?’

  ‘Keep your token ten sovereigns,’ replied the Piper poisonously. ‘If you do not pay me, I will be paid by your children.’

  Then he pulled his hat down over his eyes, turned away, and left the town without speaking to a soul.

  The taxpayers gave high-fives and slapped each other on the back and laughed when the Politician said the Rat-catcher had been caught in his own trap. But what made them laugh most of all was his threat of passing their debt onto their children.

  The next day was a Sunday and they all went happily to the Church, looking forward to a Sunday lunch after Mass that hadn’t been sampled by rats.

  But when everyone returned home to his or her house, their children had gone.

  ‘Our children! Where are our children?’ was the terrible cry that was heard in every street.

  Then, limping from the east side of the town, came a little lame boy who was sobbing loudly and this is what he told …

  While all the adults were at Church, a wonderful music had started. Soon, all the boys and girls who had been left safely at home had run outside, following the magical sound to the square by the Town Hall. They found the Pied Piper there, playing his music just as he had on the night he caught all the rats. Then the Piper had walked quickly towards the east gate of the town and all the children had followed, running, singing, clapping, dancing to the music, as far as the foot of the mountain outside Hamelin. But when they got near, the mountain had opened and the Piper had gone in, still playing his music, and all the children had danced after him, after which the mountain had closed again. The only child left was the lame boy who could not keep up with the others.