by Terry Jones
‘Here you are!’ said the fly-by-night.
‘But this isn’t my home,’ said the little girl, looking around at the dark, lonely countryside.
‘Oh! It’ll be around somewhere, I expect,’ said the fly-by-night.
‘But we’ve come miles and miles from my home!’ cried the little girl. But it was too late. The fly-by-night had pulled back on the cat’s whiskers and away he soared up into the night sky, and the last the little girl saw of him was a black shape silhouetted against the moon.
The little girl shivered and looked around her, wondering if there were any wild animals about.
‘Which way should I go?’ she wondered.
‘Try the path through the wood,’ said a stone at her feet. So she set off along the path that led through the dark wood.
As soon as she got amongst the trees, the leaves blotted out the light of the moon, branches clutched at her hair, and roots tried to trip up her feet, and she thought she heard the trees snigger, quietly; and they seemed to say to each other: ‘That’ll teach her to go off with a fly-by-night!’
Suddenly she felt a cold hand gripping her neck, but it was just a cobweb strung with dew. And she heard the spider busy itself with repairs, muttering: ‘Tut-tut-tut-tut. She went off with a fly-by-night! Tut-tut-tut-tut.’
As the little girl peered into the wood, she thought she could see eyes watching her and winking to each other and little voices you couldn’t really hear whispered under the broad leaves: ‘What a silly girl – to go off with a fly-by-night! She should have known better! Tut-tut-tut-tut.’
Eventually she felt so miserable and so foolish that she just sat down and cried by a still pond.
‘Now then, what’s the matter?’ said a kindly voice.
The little girl looked up, and then all around her, but she couldn’t see anyone. ‘Who’s that?’ she asked.
‘Look in the pond,’ said the voice, and she looked down and saw the reflection of the moon, smiling up at her out of the pond.
‘Don’t take on so,’ said the moon.
‘But I’ve been so silly,’ said the little girl, ‘and now I’m quite, quite lost and I don’t know how I’ll ever get home.’
‘You’ll get home all right,’ said the moon’s reflection. ‘Hop on a lily-pad and follow me.’
So the little girl stepped cautiously on to a lily-pad, and the moon’s reflection started to move slowly across the pond, and then down a stream, and the little girl paddled the lily-pad after it.
Slowly and silently they slipped through the night forest, and then out into the open fields they followed the stream, until they came to a hill she recognized, and suddenly there was her own house. She ran as fast as she could and climbed in through the window of her own room, and snuggled into her own dear bed.
And the moon smiled in at her through the window, and she fell asleep thinking how silly she’d been to go off with the fly-by-night. But, you know, somewhere, deep down inside her, she half-hoped she’d hear another tap on her window one day, and find another fly-by-night offering her a ride on its flying cat. But she never did.
THREE RAINDROPS
A RAINDROP WAS FALLING out of a cloud, and it said to the raindrop next to it: ‘I’m the biggest and best raindrop in the whole sky!’ ‘You are indeed a fine raindrop,’ said the second, ‘but you are not nearly so beautifully shaped as I am. And in my opinion it’s shape that counts, and I am therefore the best raindrop in the whole sky.’
The first raindrop replied: ‘Let us settle this matter once and for all.’ So they asked a third raindrop to decide between them.
But the third raindrop said: ‘What nonsense you’re both talking! You may be a big raindrop, and you are certainly well-shaped, but, as everybody knows, it’s purity that really counts, and I am purer than either of you. I am therefore the best raindrop in the whole sky!’
Well, before either of the other raindrops could reply, they all three hit the ground and became part of a very muddy puddle.
THE BUTTERFLY WHO SANG
A BUTTERFLY WAS ONCE SITTING ON A LEAF looking extremely sad. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked a friendly frog. ‘Oh,’ said the butterfly, ‘nobody really appreciates me,’ and she parted her beautiful red and blue wings and shut them again.
‘What d’you mean?’ asked the frog. ‘I’ve seen you flying about and thought to myself: that is one hell of a beautiful butterfly! All my friends think you look great, too! You‘re a real stunner!’
‘Oh that,’ replied the butterfly, and she opened her wings again. ‘Who cares about looks? It’s my singing that nobody appreciates.’
‘I’ve never heard your singing; but if it’s anywhere near as good as your looks, you’ve got it made!’ said the frog.
‘That’s the trouble,’ replied the butterfly, ‘people say they can’t hear my singing. I suppose it’s so refined and so high that their ears aren’t sensitive enough to pick it up.’
‘But I bet it’s great all the same!’ said the frog.
‘It is,’ said the butterfly. ‘Would you like me to sing for you?’
‘Well … I don’t suppose my ears are sensitive enough to pick it up, but I’ll give it a try!’ said the frog.
So the butterfly spread her wings, and opened her mouth. The frog gazed in wonder at the butterfly’s beautiful wings, for he’d never been so close to them before.
The butterfly sang on and on, and still the frog gazed at her wings, absolutely captivated, even though he could hear nothing whatsoever of her singing.
Eventually, however, the butterfly stopped, and closed up her wings.
‘Beautiful!’ said the frog, thinking about the wings.
‘Thank you,’ said the butterfly, thrilled that at last she had found an appreciative listener.
After that, the frog came every day to listen to the butterfly sing, though all the time he was really feasting his eyes on her beautiful wings. And every day, the butterfly tried harder and harder to impress the frog with her singing, even though he could not hear a single note of it.
But one day a moth, who was jealous of all the attention the butterfly was getting, took the butterfly on one side and said: ‘Butterfly, your singing is quite superb.’
‘Thank you,’ said the butterfly.
‘With just a little more practice,’ said the cunning moth, ‘you could be as famous a singer as the nightingale.’
‘Do you think so?’ asked the butterfly, flattered beyond words.
‘I certainly do,’ replied the moth. ‘Indeed, perhaps you already do sing better than the nightingale, only it’s difficult to concentrate on your music because your gaudy wings are so distracting.’
‘Is that right?’ said the butterfly.
‘I’m afraid so,’ said the moth. ‘You notice the nightingale is wiser, and wears only dull brown feathers so as not to distract from her singing.’
‘You’re right!’ cried the butterfly. ‘I was a fool not to have realized that before!’ And straight away she found some earth and rubbed it into her wings until they were all grey and half the colours had rubbed off.
The next day, the frog arrived for the concert as usual, but when the butterfly opened her wings he cried out: ‘Oh! Butterfly! What have you done to your beautiful wings?’ And the butterfly explained what she had done.
‘I think you will find,’ she said, ‘that now you will be able to concentrate more on my music’
Well, the poor frog tried, but it was no good, for of course he couldn’t hear anything at all. So he soon became bored, and hopped off into the pond. And after that the butterfly never could find anyone to listen to her singing.
JACK ONE-STEP
A BOY NAMED JACK WAS ON HIS WAY to school, when he heard a tapping noise coming from an old log. He bent down and put his ear to the log. Sure enough, it sounded as if there was something inside it. And then he heard a tiny voice calling out: ‘Help! Please help!’
‘Who’s that?’ asked Jack.
‘Plea
se,’ said the voice, ‘my name is Fairy One-Step, and I was sleeping in this old hollow log when it rolled over and trapped me inside.’
‘If you’re a fairy,’ said Jack, ‘why don’t you just do some magic and escape?’
There was a slight pause, and then Jack heard a little sigh and the voice said: ‘I wish I could, but I’m only a very small fairy and I can only do one spell.’
So Jack turned the log over and, sure enough, a little creature the size of his big toe hopped out and gave him a bow.
‘Thank you,’ said the fairy. ‘I would like to do something for you in return.’
‘Well,’ said Jack, ‘since you are a fairy, how about granting me three wishes?’
The fairy hung his head and replied: ‘I’m afraid I haven’t the magic to do that – I’m only a very small fairy, you see, and I only have one spell.’
‘What is that?’ asked Jack.
‘I can grant you one step that will take you wherever you want to go,’ said the fairy.
‘Would I be able to take one step from here to that tree over there?’ asked Jack.
‘Oh – farther than that!’ said the fairy.
‘Would I be able to take one step all the way home?’ asked Jack.
‘Farther, if you wanted,’ said the fairy.
‘You mean I could take one step and get as far as London?’ gasped Jack.
‘You could take your one step right across the ocean, if you wanted – or even to the moon. Would you like that?’
‘Yes, please’ said Jack.
So Fairy One-Step did the spell and Jack felt a sort of tingle go down his legs.
Then the fairy said: ‘Now do think carefully where you want to go.’
‘I will,’ said Jack. Then he thought for a bit, and asked: ‘If I have only one step, how do I get back again?’
Fairy One-Step went a little red and hung his head again and replied: ‘That’s the snag. If only I wasn’t such a small fairy.’ And with that he flew off, and Jack went on his way to school.
All that day he hardly listened to what his teacher said, he was so busy thinking of where he would like to step to.
‘I’d like to go to Africa,’ he thought, ‘but how would I get back? I’d like to go to the North Pole, but I’d be stuck there…’ And try as he might, he couldn’t think of anywhere that he wouldn’t want to get back from.
That night, he couldn’t sleep for thinking but, the next morning, he leapt out of bed and said: ‘I know where I’ll go!’
He went out of the house and said aloud: ‘I’ll take my step to where the King of the Fairies lives.’ As soon as he’d said it, he felt a tingle down his legs, and he took a step and found himself rising into the air. Up and up he went, above the trees, higher and higher, and, when he looked back, his home was like a doll’s house on the earth below, and he could see his mother waving frantically up at him. Jack waved back, but he felt his step taking him on and on, over hills and valleys and forests, and soon he found himself over the ocean, going so fast that the wind whistled past his ears. On and on he went, until in the distance he could see a land with high mountains that sparkled as if they were made of cut-glass. And he found himself coming down from the clouds … and down … until he landed in a green valley at the foot of the cut-glass mountains. And there on a hill up above him was a white castle with towers and turrets that reached up into the sky. From it he could hear strange music, and he knew that this must be the castle where the King of the Fairies lived.
There was a path leading up the hill to the castle, so he set off along it. Well, he hadn’t gone more than a couple of steps when a cloud of smoke appeared in front of him. When it cleared away, he found himself staring straight into the eyes of a huge dragon that was breathing fire out of its nostrils.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ asked the dragon.
‘To see the King of the Fairies,’ replied Jack.
‘Huh!’ replied the dragon, and breathed a long jet of flame that set fire to a tree. ‘Go back where you came from.’
‘I can’t,’ replied Jack. ‘I came by one magic step and I haven’t got another.’
‘In that case,’ said the dragon, ‘I shall have to burn you up.’
But Jack was too quick for him. He sprang behind the dragon’s back, and the dragon span round so fast that it set fire to its own tail, and Jack left it trying to put out the flames by rolling in the grass.
Jack ran as hard as he could, right up to the door of the castle, and rang the great bell. Immediately the door flew open and an ogre with hair all over his face looked out and said: ‘You’d better go back where you came from or I’ll cut you up into pieces and feed them to my dog.’
‘Please,’ said Jack, ‘I can’t go back. I came by one magic step and I haven’t got another. I’ve come to see the King of the Fairies.’
‘The King of the Fairies is too busy,’ said the ogre, and pulled out his sword that was six times as long as Jack himself. And the ogre held it over his head and was just about to bring it down, when Jack jumped up and pushed the ogre’s beard up his nose. And the ogre gave a terrible sneeze and brought down his sword and cut off his own leg.
Jack dashed inside, and shut the door. The castle was very dark, but in the distance Jack could still hear the fairy music that he had heard before. So he crept through corridors and down passageways, expecting at any moment to meet another monster. He found himself walking past deep black holes in the wall, from which he could hear horrible grunts and the chink of chains, and he could smell brimstone and the stench of scaly animals. Sometimes he would come to deep chasms in the floor of the castle, and find himself looking down thousands of feet into seething waters below, and the only way across was a narrow bridge of brick no wider than his shoe. But he kept on towards the fairy music, and at length he saw a light at the end of the passage.
When he reached the door, he found himself standing in the great hall of the Fairy King. There were lights everywhere, and the walls were mirrors so that a thousand reflections greeted his gaze and he could not tell how large the hall really was. The fairies were all in the middle of a dance, but they stopped as soon as they saw him. The music ceased, and at the end of the hall sat the King of the Fairies himself. He was huge and had great bulging eyes and a fierce beard and a ring in his ear.
‘Who is this?’ he cried. ‘Who dares to interrupt our celebration?’
Jack felt very frightened, for he could feel the power of magic hovering in the air, and all those fairy eyes, wide and cold, staring at him.
‘Please,’ said Jack, I’ve come to complain.’
‘Complain!’ roared the King of the Fairies, turning first blue and then green with rage. ‘No-one dares to complain to the King of the Fairies!’
‘Well,’ said Jack, as bravely as he could, trying to ignore all those glittering fairy eyes, ‘I think it’s most unfair to leave Fairy One-Step with only one spell – and that not a very good one.’
‘Fairy One-Step’s only a very small fairy!’ bellowed the King of the Fairies, and he stood up and he towered above all the other fairies. Then he held his hands in the air, and everything went deathly silent.
Jack felt even more frightened, but he stood there bravely and said: ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Just because you’re the biggest of the fairies, that’s no reason to treat the small ones badly.’
Well, the King of the Fairies went first green then purple then black with anger. But just then a little voice at Jack’s elbow said: ‘He’s right!’ and Jack looked down and found Fairy One-Step standing by him.
Then another voice at the other end of the hall said: ‘That’s true! Why should small fairies be worse off than big fairies?’
And suddenly another fairy said: Why?’ and soon all the fairies were shouting out: ‘Yes! Why?’
The King of the Fairies drew himself up, and looked fearfully angry and roared: ‘Because I’m more powerful than any of you!’ and he raised his hands to cast a sp
ell.
But the fairies called out: ‘But you’re not more powerful than all of us!’ and do you know what happened then? In a flash, all the other fairies disappeared and, before he could stop himself, the King of the Fairies had cast his spell right at his own reflection in one of the mirrors. The King of the Fairies shook and trembled, and first his beard fell off, then he shrank to half his size and fell on all fours and turned into a wild boar and went charging about the hall of mirrors.
Then the other fairies reappeared, and threw him out of the castle. And they made Fairy One-Step their king, and granted Jack one more magic step to take him home.
And that’s just where he went.
THE GLASS CUPBOARD
THERE WAS ONCE A CUPBOARD that was made entirely of glass so you could see right into it and right through it. Now, although this cupboard always appeared to be empty, you could always take out whatever you wanted. If you wanted a cool drink, for example, you just opened the cupboard and took one out. Or if you wanted a new pair of shoes, you could always take a pair out of the glass cupboard. Even if you wanted a bag of gold, you just opened up the glass cupboard and took out a bag of gold. The only thing you had to remember was that, whenever you took something out of the glass cupboard, you had to put something else back in, although nobody quite knew why.
Naturally such a valuable thing as the glass cupboard belonged to a rich and powerful king.
One day, the king had to go on a long journey, and while he was gone some thieves broke into the palace and stole the glass cupboard.
‘Now we can have anything we want,’ they said.
One of the robbers said: ‘I want a large bag of gold,’ and he opened the glass cupboard and took out a large bag of gold.
Then the second robber said: ‘I want two large bags of gold,’ and he opened the glass cupboard and took out two large bags of gold.
