Stories for Seven Year Olds

by Michele McGrath

  Stories

  for

  Seven Year Olds

  Michèle McGrath

  For my mother,

  Frances McGrath Townley

  A wonderful storyteller

  The Harp that Wriggled

  The First Adventure

  The little harp seemed to wriggle when Shannon looked at it. It stood in a corner, as if it was hiding and peeping out at her. A fine layer of dust lay on its top and one of the strings dangled down. She weaved her way between the rows of musical instruments, until she could reach out a finger and rub some of the dust away. The wood glowed, like her mother’s music box.

  She plucked the C string. The note was out of tune – false. She frowned and ran her fingers across the other strings. Most of them jangled, but some rang true. As she touched the broken string, the harp seemed to wince. Shannon snatched her fingers away. She had definitely felt something strange.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you, little harp,” Shannon said softly, stroking the wood. The harp seemed to tremble under her touch, like a puppy being stroked.

  “Buy me, buy me.”

  Shannon spun round, looking for the person who had spoken. No one had. Her mother and the shop assistant were at the far end of the room. She leaned closer to the harp, touching her forehead to its shoulder. The voice spoke to her again, “Buy me, buy me,” as if the harp was begging. Shannon blinked hard to stop herself from crying. The voice had sounded so sad.

  “Shannon, where are you?” her mother’s voice called.

  “I’m here.”

  “What on earth are you doing? I thought I’d lost you. Come to me, please. I want you to try this harp.”

  “But I want this one, please, Mummy,” Shannon said. The harp wriggled beside her.

  “Which one?” Vickie peered over the other instruments to see what her daughter was pointing to. “That old thing? It's in a terrible state.”

  “Listen.” Shannon put her head next to the wood and whispered, “Don’t let me down.” She touched the strings, hoping she'd remember which ones were in tune. The harp seemed to take a deep breath. Then the pure sound rang out firmly.

  “You’re missing out lots of notes. Why aren’t you playing properly?” Vickie asked.

  “It needs tuning and one of the strings is broken. I don’t think anyone has played it for a long time.”

  “No wonder. What an awful sound. That’s not the type of harp we need, is it?” Vickie turned round and asked the salesman, who had followed her.

  “This is a lever harp like the others. A good one for her until she reaches Grade 3 actually. After that, she needs a pedal harp but they’re too big and expensive for a beginner. A small harp like this is light and easy to carry around. Would you like me to fetch it out for you?”

  “Yes, please!” Shannon cried excitedly.

  The young man moved three of the other instruments aside and reached out to lift the little harp. Shannon gave the wood a pat and the harp seemed to stiffen. The salesman carried it out into the open space. He put it down, beside the harp that he had been showing Vickie. This one was made in a lighter wood, with a pointed neck. It was big and gleaming. The little harp looked neglected beside it.

  “Why is this one in such a poor condition?” Vickie asked.

  “It isn’t really. There’re no splits or warping. It only came in yesterday and we haven’t had time to tune it yet or replace the string. It’s a nice harp or we wouldn’t have bought it.”

  “Who owned it?” Shannon asked.

  “An old lady called Mrs. Morley,” the salesman said with a smile. “She used to be a professional harpist and this was her favourite harp. She died last month and her great niece brought it in to us.”

  “What was her first name?” Shannon asked.

  “Who? The great niece?”

  “No, Mrs. Morley.”

  “Cynthia. She used her maiden name when she was playing – Cynthia Lewis. She was famous once, the niece told me, a long time ago.”

  “Why do you want this harp, Shannon?” Vickie asked. “The other one is so much better.”

  Shannon knew she couldn’t say “because the little harp spoke to me”. Her mother would never believe her. So she replied, “The sound is nicer.”

  “You haven’t even heard this other one yet.”

  “I did, when you played it.” Vickie had plucked a string or two earlier on.

  “Let me tune this one for you. So you can compare the tones,” the salesman said.

  “Please will you repair the broken string too?” Shannon asked.

  “Of course.”

  The assistant came back with a tuning key, a new string and a duster. Shannon thought that the little harp seemed to relax when the broken string was removed. Was a broken string painful? The little harp gleamed when he dusted it. Soon the strings were in tune and the assistant swept his fingers over them. The music rang out sweetly.

  “Would you like to try the harps now?” He asked Shannon, stepping back.

  “Try this one first, darling,” Vickie said, pointing to the other harp.

  Shannon walked over and sat down. As she touched the strings of the other harp, her fingers seemed to stiffen. She played ‘The Jolly Peasant’, a piece she had to learn for her first exam. The notes sounded wooden and lifeless, but she struggled through to the end.

  When she played the little harp, the difference was startling. The harp almost danced to her rhythm. Shannon had never played so well before. She grinned when she had finished.

  “You’re doing this on purpose, because you want the harp,” Vickie said, crossly. “How can you play the same song so differently?”

  “I played better on the little harp, didn’t I?”

  “You did, but I’m sure you meant to. Why do you like this one so much?”

  “It feels better. The sound is so much prettier. Why don’t you try for yourself?”

  “You know I can’t play the harp properly,” Vickie said. She played the flute and saxophone instead.

  “You can pluck the strings, as you did before.”

  So, Vickie plucked first the C string on the big harp and then the little. “Not just the way they are tuned, there is a difference,” she said, almost to herself. “You’re right. The little one does sound sweeter. Your ear must be sharp if you can tell the tones apart. How much is the little one, please?”

  “A bit cheaper than the other one, I think, but we haven’t had time to set a price yet. Excuse me a minute, while I go and find out.” He walked away.

  “Mummy, please let me have this one,” Shannon begged when he had left them alone.

  Vickie frowned. “I wish you could have kept your first harp until the exam. Such a shame Mrs. Phillips needed it for a younger pupil. You played on it so well.”

  “I will play this one better,” Shannon promised.

  Chapter Two

  “What’s your name?” Shannon whispered to her harp, as she sat beside it on the back seat of the car.

  “Ceol.”

  “What a strange name.”

  “The word means ‘music’ in Irish. I was made in Ireland.”

  “Do you want me to call you Ceol?”

  “I like it better than ‘harp’, but you can give me another name if you like. Some of my other owners did.”

  “How many have you had?”

  “Lots.”

  “How old are you then?”

  “Old.”

  “How can you to speak to me? You’re only made of wood and strings.”

  “I’m far more than wood and strings, but that’s a secret. I'll tell you when we are alone.”

  “Mummy’s driving and listening to the radio. She can’t hear you.�
��

  “She might. Wait until later.”

  And Shannon had to. The journey took forever and she was in a fret to get home.

  “Can’t you drive any faster?” she asked her mother.

  Vickie cocked an eyebrow at her in the driving mirror. “Why?”

  “I want to go to the toilet,” Shannon said, picking the obvious excuse.

  “We’re almost home, can you hang on?”

  “Yes, but hurry please.”

  As soon as Vickie opened the door, Shannon raced for the bathroom, keeping up the pretence. She came back to find her mother carrying the harp into the lounge, where her first harp had been.

  “Mummy, please can you put him in my bedroom? I don’t want to disturb you when I practise.”

  “‘Him’ is he?” Vickie laughed. “You’ve always practised in the lounge before.”

  “I was only little then and practising never took long. I have to play so much longer now.”

  “I like listening to you,” her mother said with a sigh. Her baby was growing up.

  “You still can. I’ll play especially for you, when I’ve got all my fingers in the right place. Promise.”

  “Very well.” Vickie smiled and carried the harp to her daughter’s bedroom. She looked around. The place was a mess, as usual. Shannon had left her toys on the floor and her clothes heaped on a chair. “Wherever are we going to put it?” Vickie asked. “You can’t even see the carpet in here!”

  “Put him down, please, Mummy. I’ll make room. He can go by the window if I pull my toy box out and tidy up.”

  “Don’t pile everything into your wardrobe like you did last time. All the toys fell out on your head and buried you when you opened the door, remember?”

  “I won’t.”

  Once her mother had shut the door, Shannon yanked off her coat and flung it on the bed. She rushed to the harp and unzipped it from its old leather case. “Can you tell me the secret now?” she asked.

  “Not enough time before your mother calls you for tea. Do what you said you would and tidy up. Otherwise she might put me in the lounge and we’ll never be able to talk then.”

  For a moment Shannon thought about arguing, but she had a feeling that Ceol was probably right. “Okay,” she said.

  For the next half hour, Shannon flew round her room. She pulled her toy box away from the window and stuffed her toys inside. She put all her dirty clothes into the basket and hung up the clean ones. When she was finished, she picked Ceol up and carried him over to the window. She pulled up a stool and began to play. Not the ‘Jolly Peasant’, which she did not like, but the first tune she had ever learned, the ‘Harp Song’. The notes echoed round the room.

  Vickie smiled as she listened. “She really does like that harp. I’m glad I let her have it. Maybe she’ll practise more now.”

  After a while, Shannon had to stop because her fingers were getting sore.

  “The more you play, the less sore you’ll be,” Ceol’s voice said in her head.

  “I like playing you, Ceol. You’re more fun than my first harp. Are you helping me? You make it easy for me to play.”

  “I can do even better than that.”

  “What do you mean?

  “That’s part of my secret, but you’ll have to wait until later to find out.”

  At that moment, Vickie called out, “Time for tea, Shannon.” She put her head round the door.

  “Goodness, what a wonderful job you’ve done. Thank you. Doesn’t the new harp look good in the window? What a funny thing - it's almost as if he’s always been there.”

  Chapter Three

  As soon as she had eaten her tea, Shannon raced back to her room. She shut the door behind her and threw herself down on the stool beside the harp.

  “Will you tell me the secret, please?”

  “Where is your mother?”

  “She’s on the phone to my Auntie Alex. They always take ages. Please, please, please, tell me now.” Shannon begged.

  “I’m an unusual harp. A man called Cian made me. He was a wonderful harpist and he knew many strange things.”

  “When did he make you?”

  “A long time ago. I don’t have a calendar or a birth certificate - I’m a harp. As you said, I’m only made of wood and strings.”

  “Then how can you talk to me?”

  “Cian did something to me. I never knew what exactly, a type of magic perhaps. He was dying and he didn’t want me to be lonely without him. His daughter wasn’t a good player and she preferred the flute. He thought I might be left in a corner to gather dust, so he gave me a hope.”

  “What sort of a hope?”

  “That when someone special bought me, I would be able to talk to them. My last owner, Cynthia, was special too, but her great-niece isn't musical. That’s why she sold me.”

  “You said you can do so much more than play.”

  “I did.”

  “What else can you do?”

  “Let me show you but, first, I need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything."

  “Do you remember the tune, ‘Autumn’?”

  “How do you know the tunes I’ve learned?”

  “‘Autumn' is at the front of the ‘First Harp Book’ which is sitting on your music stand. You’re half way through the book if you are working on ‘The Jolly Peasant’, so you must have played ‘Autumn’”.

  “I did.” Shannon picked up the book and turned back to the beginning. She found the tune, which had seemed hard once, but was easy now.

  “Play it, please.”

  Shannon plucked out the notes and suddenly she was no longer in her room, but in a green park beneath some trees. The leaves were falling and a little girl with long fair hair was kicking up the golden piles and laughing.

  “Where are we?” Shannon asked anxiously.

  “Don’t you know?”

  Shannon looked more closely. The place was familiar but, for a moment, she couldn’t think. Then the little girl turned round.

  “Lara, my cousin Lara!” Shannon jumped to her feet and ran as fast as she could to the little girl. She threw her arms around her and hugged her.

  “Lara, I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Shannon? What are you doing here? Where’s Auntie Vickie?”

  “She’s at home.”

  “She let you come alone?”

  “My harp brought me.”

  “Your harp?”

  Shannon grabbed her cousin’s hand and pulled her over to where Ceol was sitting. “This is Ceol, my harp. This is Lara,” Shannon introduced them.

  “Hello Ceol. How did you bring Shannon here?”

  “Lara, Lara!”

  “That’s Auntie Alex.”

  “She mustn’t find us. Don’t tell her, will you, Lara?”

  “No I won’t, if you promise to come again.”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Run to your Mummy, Lara.” Ceol said, “Shannon and I must go home.”

  Lara scampered off through the trees, calling, “I’m coming, Mummy.”

  “How do we get back?” Shannon asked anxiously.

  “If I am with you, play the same tune you played to bring us here, but this time you play it backwards.”

  “And if I’m not with you?”

  “You whistle. You can whistle, can’t you?”

  “Of course I can.”

  “Play the tune now.”

  “It’s difficult.” Shannon thought hard. She’d never had to play a song backwards before, even a simple one. She fumbled for a moment, before she managed to get it right. The song sounded strange, but it brought her straight back to her bedroom and only just in time.

  Her mother was tapping on the door and calling, “Are you ready for bed, Shannon?”

  “Not yet.”

  Vickie came in. “Surely you’re not still playing? You’ve been doing so all evening.”

  “It’s fun.”

  “If I’d thought a new harp would make you
practise so much, I’d have bought you one before.”

  “Ceol’s not just any harp, Mum.”

  “Ceol?”

  “That’s his name.”

  “I see.” Vickie smiled. What a strange imagination her daughter had. “Like Old King Cole, I suppose. Well, why shouldn’t you give your harp a name, if you want to? Bedtime now. Get ready and I’ll read you a story.”

  Shannon washed her face and brushed her teeth. Then she got into her nightdress and climbed into bed. Vickie sat down beside her and read a tale from the Arabian Nights, full of magicians and flying saucers and magic lamps. When she had finished, she kissed Shannon and turned the light out.

  “Sleep well, darling,” she said.

  “Thanks, Mum. You too.” Vickie closed the door behind her. “Ceol, can you hear me?” Shannon hissed.

  “Of course.”

  “You’re wonderful. Thank you for taking me to see Lara. Can we go again?”

  “Yes, but on one condition. You must promise me never to tell anyone or else I’ll turn into an ordinary harp that only plays music.”

  “You let me tell Lara.”

  “Lara’s too little for anyone to believe her, if she says she’s seen us. They’ll think she’s making up stories. You can tell baby Toby, for the same reason.”

  “What about my friend, Lizzie?”

  “Lizzie’s old enough to be believed, which might break the spell. If it's broken, I wouldn’t be able to talk any more until I go to another owner.”

  “I want to keep you for ever.”

  “Well, you must never tell anyone else, unless I say you can. Do you promise to keep the secret?”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay. Where shall we go to next?”

  “Arabia? I want to fly on a magic carpet, like Prince Hassan did in the Arabian Nights.”

  Ceol gurgled, a deep sound as if he was laughing. “I’ll see what I can do. Go to sleep now and dream about our next journey."

  Chapter Four

  Next morning was Saturday, so Shannon woke up slowly with a feeling something wonderful had happened, but she couldn’t remember what. She got up and went to pull back the curtains and tripped over Ceol. He swayed.