Now the old tinkerman was in his tent and he kindled his fire, made a little meal to himself, and he just sat back and waited. And he waited. He knew what he was waiting for.
Back in the palace it was evening and all this beautiful food was brought forward to the king and the queen, and placed before them for their supper. But evening in the olden times came very quickly because these old palaces were all built of solid rock and stone, and windows were just barred. So the king and queen were dining and they had a few lights going. The king said, ‘Bring more light! Bring me my lamp, my special lamp that I got this morning as a present from my old friend, the tinkerman. Bring my lamp! And put it beside my meal where I can see what I’m eating!’
Oh, in these days they filled the lamps with tallow, common oil made from melted down animal fat. And they placed what you call ‘rushie wicks’ in the lamps made from rushes, the insides of rushes plaited together. They didn’t have cotton because cotton wasn’t invented at that time, so they took the natural wild rushes and split them, took the centres from the rushes and wove them together to make wicks. To make a large flame you would use maybe five, to make a small flame for a night light, maybe one. Or, if you wanted a brighter light you used two. So they had special people to make these rushie wicks; not anybody could make one. It could have been a turn for a butler or maybe the cook who made rushie wicks for the lamp. And to make a bright light for their king, the head butler or the head cook had plaited five rushie centres together to make a large wick, and placed it in the king’s lamp. And lit it.
The lamp was placed before the king, right beside his supper. The king was delighted because it was blazing and he could see all around him! Shadows had been climbing up the walls; then they disappeared as everything was lit up inside the palace chamber. The king said to himself, ‘That is a beautiful lamp. I underpaid the old man who made the lamp for me.’
But as he was eating his supper the funniest thing happened: the tallow in the lamp began to leak out and spread across the table. The king was halfway through his meal when he looked and saw the tallow leaking from the lamp, floating right out over the table. And the light of the flame began to get lower and lower as the tallow escaped – the king looked – the lamp went out.
The king was angry, more than angry, because he had told everyone about his special lamp, then it went out! He was so angry he couldn’t eat his supper. And he got so wild he began to shout and walk round the inside of the palace chamber. ‘Go!’ he said to the captain of the guard, ‘and bring me that old tinkerman here at once. Bring him before me! I’ll have his head. I’ll have his head for this!’
So naturally, the old tinkerman was waiting. He saw the guards coming. And he knew what was up. They arrested him immediately and fetched him before the king. And he hung his head before the king, right in the king’s chamber.
By this time the king’s anger had subsided a wee bit. The king was up; he’d only half finished his supper. The queen had retired to her chamber. ‘You call yourself a tinsmith?’ he said to the old tinker.
‘Yes, my lord,’ he said, ‘my king, I call myself a tinsmith.’
‘And,’ he said, ‘you made the lamp?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ he said, ‘I made the lamp.’
‘And you told me that it was the best lamp that you ever made?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ he said, ‘it was the best lamp I ever made. I never made a lamp before like it.’
‘And you promised me that it would give me light – better light than any other lamp that you’d ever made?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ he said, ‘I said it would give you better light than any lamp I’d ever made.’
‘Well,’ said the king, ‘look at my table! And I never finished my meal because of your lamp leaking! It destroyed the table, the oil from the lamp destroyed the table and upset me–I never even finished my meal! And you call yourself a tinsmith!’
‘Well, Your Majesty, my dear lord, my king,’ he said, ‘have I your permission to speak in my own way?’
‘Yes,’ said His Majesty the King, ‘you can speak in your own way. And tell me why that lamp is not fit for me!’
‘Well,’ Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘I work hard, and I made sure that the lamp was fit for you, but it’s not my fault.
‘It’s not your fault?’ said the king. ‘Why is it not your fault – you made it!’
He said, ‘Your Majesty, my king, my lord, I made it. But I couldn’t make it any better than I made it. Because if there’s anyone to blame, it’s not me. It’s the man who gives me the tin to make my lamp that’s at fault, not me. If he’d given me good tin to make a good lamp for you, my lord, I would have made a good lamp.’
‘Well,’ the king said, ‘there could be something in that. Go find the village tinsmith,’ he told the captain of the guards, ‘and bring him before me this moment!’
Naturally the captain of the guards wasn’t long going to the village and he brought back this tinsmith. And the tinsmith stood before the king, and he bowed.
The king said, ‘You are the tinsmith of the village?’
He said, ‘Yes I am. I am the tinsmith of the village.’
‘Did you sell this old tinsmith,’ he said, ‘some tin today?’
‘Yes,’ he said, my lord, I sold him some tin.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘he made me a lamp and the lamp is hopeless because your tin is hopeless.’
‘Well, my lord,’ he said, ‘if my tin is hopeless it’s not my fault.’
‘Why is it not your fault?’ he said. ‘You are the man who sells the tin to people who make these things that everyone needs, and you turn around and tell me that it’s not your fault?’
‘No, my lord,’ he said, ‘it’s not my fault.’
‘Well,’ he said ‘whose fault is it?’
He said, ‘It’s the man from the foundry who produces my tin that’s at fault, not me.’
So the king sent two guards to the smelter in the small iron foundry who made tin. The man was arrested and brought to the palace. Now the old tinker and the tinsmith were sitting there, and then the man from the foundry who made the tin was called. He was taken before the king and questioned.
His Majesty said, ‘Did you sell some tin to the tin dealer who sold this tin to the tinkerman who made my lamp?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ he said, ‘I did. I supply all his tin.’
He said, ‘Why is your tin not fit to make a lamp for me?’
‘Well, my lord,’ he said, ‘if the tin’s not fit enough, it’s not me to blame.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘who is to blame? Someone has to stand accused for the mistake that was made for me!’
‘Well,’ my lord, it’s not my fault,’ he said.
‘Whose fault is it?’ said the king.
He said, ‘The fault must lie with the man who makes my bellows to blow my fire to make my heat to make my tin!’
‘Well,’ said the king, ‘fetch him! Bring him here.’
So naturally, off went the king’s guards again and brought back the bellows-maker who made the bellows for pumping the air into the fire foundry to melt the ore to make the tin. And he was brought before the king.
The king said, ‘Step before me! Bellows-maker, you’re charged with …’ and he told him the whole story as I’m telling you.
The bellows-maker said, ‘My lord and my king, you must forgive me! Because—’
‘Why should I forgive you?’ he said. ‘You’re the cause of all my trouble, and the trouble of these other men who stand before me – they’re condemned! They’re going to suffer.’
And the bellows-maker said, ‘Well, my lord, my king, it’s not my fault.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘whose fault is it?’
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘it’s the man in the tannery’s fault, who sells me my skins to make my bellows.’ (Now all these bellows that pumped the fire with air were made from skins.)
The king said, ‘Get the man here from the tannery at t
his moment! I want to get to the end of this. Bring him here before me!’
Naturally, the man from the tannery was sent for, who had tanned all the skins and made the leather that was used in the bellows to blow the fire to melt the ore to make the tin for the old tinkerman. And they were all before the king. So the man from the tannery was brought forward, before the king.
The king accused him straightaway and said, ‘Look …’ and he told him the story I’m telling you. ‘You are a man of the tannery?’
‘Yes, my lord, I am from the tannery,’ he said.
He said, ‘You make the skins and tan the skins that makes this man’s bellows that this man uses to melt this ore to make tin to sell to the tinsmith who sold it to the tinker who made my lamp – and my lamp leaks on my table and upsets my supper?’
‘Yes,’ says the tanner, ‘it’s true. But, my lord, it’s not my fault.’
‘Then, who’s at fault?’ says the king. ‘Someone stands condemned for this thing that’s really happened!’
And the man from the tannery said, ‘My lord, it’s not me. My lord, it’s the farmer who sends me the animals, who I get the skins from.’
‘Well,’ said the king, ‘bring the farmer to me! Immediately. I must get to the end of this, to the bottom of this thing tonight!’
So naturally, the farmer was sent for. And he stood before the king. And the king told him the story I’m telling you.
‘You are the farmer,’ he said, ‘who supplies the skins to the tannery?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘my lord, my king, I am.’
‘And,’ he said, ‘the tanner supplies them to the bellows-maker and he sells bellows to the man who melts the ore and the man who melts the ore makes tin to supply tin to the tinsmith and the tinsmith supplies it to this old tinker who made my lamp that destroyed my evening meal?’
‘Yes, my lord, that’s true.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘why is it that your skins are not good enough?’
‘My lord, and my king,’ he said, ‘I hope you will forgive me.’
‘Forgive you for what?’ he said. ‘I know I shan’t forgive you!’ said the king.
He said, ‘My lord, there is no one at fault, if I must tell the truth before my king,’ and he bowed. ‘Your Majesty, if the skins don’t work to make the bellows and the bellows don’t work to heat iron and if the iron doesn’t work tomake the tin and the tin doesn’t work well enough to supply the tinsmith who sells it to the old tinkerman to make your lamp, then, my lord, you’re at fault!’
‘Me,’ said the king, ‘I am at fault?’
Yes, my king and my lord,’ he said, ‘you probably will have my head for this, but I have to tell you – you are at fault.’
‘And why,’ said the king, ‘am I at fault? You mean to tell me I’m at fault for the lamp that I never saw before that spills oil on my table and destroys my evening meal, I’m at fault?’
‘Yes, my king,’ he said, ‘you’re at fault.’
‘Well, tell me,’ he said, ‘truthfully, why am I at fault?’
‘Well, my lord,’ he said, ‘to begin with, I grow little grain and three-quarters of that goes to you. With what I’ve got left I’m not able to feed my animals through the winter. Their skins are so poor that they’re not even fit to make a bellows to blow a fire to heat some ore and make some tin to sell to a tinsmith to make a lamp for yourself.’
And the king said, ‘Is that the truth?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s the truth.’
And the king sat back and thought. And he thought for a while. He turned round and he said, ‘Gentlemen, come, gather round, and sit there beside me. You have taught me something that I didn’t know. Bring forth the wine!’ said the king. And they brought forth a flagon of wine and he gave every single man a drink.
‘Drink to me – but a special drink,’ he said, ‘I want you to give to the old tinkerman.’ And he took his own golden cup, he handed it to the old tinkerman. And the old tinkerman drank half and the king drank the other half.
He said to the old tinkerman, ‘You are the one who taught me to be a real king! From now on, no more taxes on the farmers! What they grow they can keep it to themselves, for what good use is it being a king to rule over people who can’t even make something for me that I need, because of my own fault!’
And from that day on to this day, the king laid no more taxes on the farmers, and they produced grain and they produced animals and produced skins for the bellows-makers. And the farmers produced the greatest of skins and these great skins were given to the bellows-maker and the bellows-maker made bellows past the common, and these were used in the foundries to blow air into the furnaces to melt iron and the iron was made into beautiful sheets of tin and the beautiful sheets of tin were sold to the tinsmiths, and the tinsmiths made the most beautiful things. And for evermore everyone was happy, except the king – he was left with his lamp that leaked from the old tinkerman! And that is the last of my story.
1 I think – I expect
The Boy and the Boots
The travellers believed that there were people who lived in this world long before your time and mine who used to steal people away and take their bodies, kill them and cut them up, and use them for research in colleges for the education of doctors. The tinkers and travellers called them ‘burkers’ – body-snatchers. And they still believe that there are plenty of body-snatchers alive at this present moment, though the demand for bodies is no as much as it was in the olden days.
This was our favourite story that Daddy used to tell us; it was one of his favourites too – he told it to us as children often. We used to say, ‘Daddy, tell us a wee story when you were near burkit with1 the body-snatchers.’
Daddy turned around and said, ‘Well, I’ll tell you a wee burker story that happened to me a long time ago when I was very young.’
ME and my mother and father and the rest of the children were in this town. We had travelled all over the country and we were in a new town every day, and this was a strange town to us because we had never been here before. I was about fourteen at the time. We landed in the town and my mother was selling some baskets, my daddy was making and selling some tin. We always used to go and sit on the village green. My daddy would maybe go and have a wee drink and my mother would make us some tea. We could play ourselves in the village green but we didn’t interfere with the rest of the children that inhabited the village, we kept to ourselves.
But I got very curious, because I had never got much room to be on my own for a wee while. I said to myself I would have a wander through the town, see all the beautiful things that I had never seen. Because naturally, travelling people like us never had much chance to come to the town unless it was the week-end, when my daddy had something to sell. So I wandered through the town.
There were shops full of clothing, beautiful clothes that I would love to own but had no way of getting, and there were shops full of toys and shops full of food, butcher shops full of meat – it just made my mouth water! And I passed my time in the town for a long long while. But time had passed so fast for me I never realised that, looking at all these things in the town, hours had passed, and I had to go back. I made my way to the green where my mummy and daddy were supposed to be waiting for me. But when I landed back my mummy and daddy were gone! They had packed their little hand-cart with the tent – they went and left me.
I’m left in the middle of the town, and I never knew in a million years what direction my father went! He could have gone south, he could have gone east, he could have gone west, he could have gone in any direction. So I said to myself, ‘Now, I’ll have to find my mother and father,’ because I was only fourteen and I’d never been left by myself before and I’d never spent a night away from my father and mother in my life. And my father had told me all the stories about evil people who were burkers with coaches who would take my body and sell it to the doctors for money – I was terrified.
But anyway, I thought I’d
take the main road out of the village because I thought, ‘That’s the road my mummy and daddy would take.’ And I travelled on and travelled on, by the time I got to the end of the town it was getting dark. And I said to myself, ‘I’ll never catch my mummy and daddy tonight, what am I going to do? I can’t stay by myself,’ because I was afraid.
So I travelled on and I travelled on and I travelled on, and the farther I travelled the darker it got, because it was the winter months and it got darker by the minute. It was very very dark when I came to a long straight piece of road between two forests with not a house in sight. Then I listened! And I heard coming behind me – the patter of horses’ feet – the thought dawned in my head, the stories my daddy had told me, the burkers’ coach! I said, ‘This is bound to be a burkers’ coach!’
And I got in the ditch among the long grass, I hid down in the ditch. Then I heard the horses’ coach coming, the patter of horses’ feet … they passed me by. There were two horses on the coach and the coach was all in black except for one light on the roof. I waited and waited and waited, till the coach got well on before me. I said, to myself, ‘As sure as God in heaven, my daddy told me, that is a burkers’ coach out looking for bodies tonight. Well, they’re not going to get me!’
So I travelled on, I travelled on, I travelled on, and I came to this piece of road going up a wee piece of hill, and lying in the road was a pair of boots – the most beautiful boots I had ever seen in my life – long brown leather boots! And they were tied together with a pair of laces. I picked up the boots and said, ‘This’ll do me,’ because all my life I had wanted to own a pair of boots like this. And I put them across my shoulder. I travelled on for about ten yards.
And I looked: there was a gate. The moon began to come up. I looked in the gate and I saw all these things standing up, all these white things standing up. But I wan’t afraid! The moon got brighter – and I saw that it was a graveyard, and the gates were open. Now my daddy had always told me, ‘You’re safe enough passing a graveyard if you don’t pass it by between twelve and one.’ I knew that I had left the village when it was only getting dark, that now it could only be about nine or ten o’clock. It couldn’t be evil time in the graveyard. So I naturally walked past the gates of the graveyard, about ten yards from where I had found the boots – they were on my back. I travelled on, I travelled on, this long weary road.
The King and the Lamp Page 10
