The lord mayor turned to Jack. ‘Come with me, lad. You will make a fine tailor. In fact someday you may even become the head tailor of Dublin City!’
Jack couldn’t believe his luck! He walked to the door, and as they were leaving the lord mayor turned around to Mr Millet.
‘And you! Be thankful that I don’t have you arrested! You will be lucky from this day forth to be asked to sew sacks of potatoes, never mind clothing!’
The door slammed, and Mr Millet was left standing there, alone in his empty tailor’s shop.
Jack went to work for the lord mayor, and from that day on his life was so much better! He had a beautiful workshop to work in, a warm bed to sleep in, and as much food as he needed to fill his belly.
He continued to make the most beautiful of embroidery pieces. People remarked on the quality of the work, and of course the thread – he had the most unusual thread! It was as if it was made from the skin of a rainbow! When you held it to a blue cloth, it became the colour of the sky, when you held it to a green cloth, it became the colour of the forest, and so on and so on. It was a match to everything. Although many asked him where he got it from, Jack never told his secret. Perhaps you can guess?
Every night, when Jack had finished his work, he would go to his dinner table, and set an extra place for a guest. He would place a tiny plate (made from a metal button), a tiny mug (made from a thimble), and a tiny knife and fork (made from sewing needles and pins).
He’d light a candle, and wait for his guest to arrive. Have you guessed who the guest was? His guest was his old friend the tiny fairy man, still wearing his (mended) moss green jacket and a cap with a feather in it. The two of them would sit and talk about their day. If there was any fairy mending, the little man would leave it for Jack to fix.
Fairies were famous for mending everything in the world, the little man told Jack once, so it was so very nice to have someone else do it for them once in a while. And Jack was happy to help.
The little fairy man would always leave a gift for his friend. Spools and spools of fairy thread, as much as you could ever use in a lifetime. This was the thread that seemed to be made from the skin of a rainbow. When you held it to a blue cloth, it became the colour of the sky, when you held it to a green cloth, it became the colour of the forest, and so on and so on. It was a match to everything.
This was thread that was as strong as an ox, but that could just as easily melt away into air at the soft command of the right song.
Years passed and young Jack did indeed become the head tailor of Dublin City and lived a long and happy life.
To this day, if you are walking up around Merrion Square in Dublin, you might still hear a certain little song in the air, and no one to be seen singing it.
Now if you have brought a mean streak to your day, hold on to your trousers, for you soon may find them in a heap on the ground! But if you have been kind in your day, the fairies themselves might appear at your feet to give you a blessing:
‘Filou filou fil-ay-ree-oh, a fairy-oh, and off we go. Filou filou fil-ay-ree-oh, with silk I sew, fil-ay-ree-oooooooooh ...’
9
G’wan Oura Dat
When I was growing up in Dublin, one of the best places to hear stories was when you’d be out playing with your pals on the street. Sometimes a story was made to rhyme, and kids would use it when they were playing a skipping or clapping game.
Sometimes kids would play a game called ‘Knick Knock’, which was knocking on people’s doors with a ‘rat-a-tat-tat’, running away, and hiding. Now this is all well and good if you like jumping up to answer the door all the time, but not as much fun if you’ve just put on your slippers and are relaxing by the fireplace with a cup of hot cocoa and your favourite book!
There was one game I remember playing called ‘German Jumps’. Now this was a game where you knotted LOADS of elastic bands together into a big long circle. Then two people stood as the ‘posts’, holding the elastics apart like a big long rectangle. When it was your turn, you had to jump over and between the elastics. It started easy, when the elastics were around the ankles (‘anklies’), but got harder as the elastics were moved higher (‘kneesies’ etc.) and made very narrow (one-leg jumps). As you were jumping, everyone else would sing a rhyming story.
German Jumps had a few different names. I’ve also heard it called ‘Elastics’. When I got older, I heard it called ‘French Skipping’, ‘Airplane’, ‘Japanese Jumping’ and ‘England/Ireland/Scotland/Wales’.
Isn’t that funny, all those names for the same game? My friend who studies history and knows loads of other important things said there is a very old game from China that is a bit like it, and that it might have started with that game. Imagine that. This is such an old game that kept being passed on, and kept changing its name.
That game is a bit like stories; passed on for years, with little bits changing every time a new pile of people try it out.
Here I have a rhyming story for you. Of course, you don’t have to jump when you are saying it (but you can if you like)! Some of these rhyming stories have actions (things you might make up and mime along with the story), like saluting every time someone says ‘queen or king’, or tipping an imaginary hat when the rhyme says so. You can make these actions part of the game too, and of course you can try making up your own versions.
If you read it out loud, you can play around with the rhythm of the words, so they fit your jumping. You might have to stretch some words out to make them longer and say some other ones quite quickly to make them fit!
This old man lived up our street,
The grumpiest fellah you ever would meet.
When you knocked at his door with a rat-a-tat-tat,
Sure he’d roar out the window: ‘G’wan Oura Dat!’
He ate fried sausages for his tea,
And he wouldn’t give any to you and me.
If your ball went over, that was that,
You’d never get it back from G’wan Oura Dat.
He had a yellow budgie called Kidney Pie,
Now she was the apple of his eye.
But one day Kidney Pie flew out,
Got stuck in me Nana’s chimbley spout.
We clapped our hands and gave her a fright,
An’ up she flew into the night.
We caught-her-in-me-cousin Johnny’s jacket,
She made an awful squalkin’ racket.
So down we went to G’wan Oura Dat,
And we banged on his door with a rat-a-tat-tat.
‘What’s all this?’ said G’wan Oura Dat.
‘With yiz bangin’ on me door with the rat-a-tat-tat?’
Now under me arm was a bird so black,
Pee-pin’ out from an auld coal sack.
Covered in soot from a chimbley pot,
And happy as Larry that she was caught.
‘Oh Kidney Pie, you’ve come back home,
You didn’t leave me all alone!’
We saw an aul’ tear come to his eye,
And back in the house flew Kidney Pie!
He thanked us all, said we were great,
And he gave us sausages from his plate.
‘That’s your reward for stopping by,
And rescuing my Kidney Pie.’
‘How do youse do, my name is Pat,
No more I’ll say, “G’wan oura dat”.
Now youse are all me nicest friends,
I’ll find a way to make amends.’
Next thing over his back wall,
Came thirty-seven lost footballs.
‘There yiz go,’ said the old man Pat,
An’ he closed the door, and that was that.
Now years they come and years they go,
And some jump high and some jump low.
But I’m never too old to tip me hat,
To the man we called ‘G’wan Oura Dat’.
10
Sugary Tea
Peter O’Reilly was very fond of a good cup of tea. He’d pa
rticularly look forward to one when he came home from his job. He worked as a porter for the ships down on the North Wall Docks.
His wife Mary could tell how hard a day he’d had by the number of sugars he asked for in his tea. On an easy day, he’d only have the one, but if it was a long day, or he came home stressed out, he would ask for more. Two, would be a long day, and the very odd time, even three. But this particular day, in walked Peter and asked Mary could he have five sugars in his tea!
‘Five? Did you say five?’
Of course Mary knew something must have happened, so she got him his sugary tea, sat him down and told him to tell her all about his day at work.
Peter’s day had started out normal enough. He was a bit tired starting off but nothing unusual, as he hadn’t had a great sleep the night before. He knew, though, that his day would get much busier. In a couple of hours there was a ship called the Slieve Bawn coming in to dock. It had sailed from Liverpool, and when it arrived in the port all the cargo would need to be unloaded and inspected.
The ship came in on time as expected, and many workers helped unload all the cargo. It was Peter’s job to walk around the cargo crates, and make sure nothing got broken while it was being unloaded.
He was walking by this big wooden crate, when he heard a sound.
‘Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.’
At first he thought he imagined it (he was a bit tired after all).
‘Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.’
He heard it again! Maybe it was a piece of wood knocking in the wind? But there was no wind!
‘Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.’
It was definitely coming from the crate. Peter was a little bit afraid, but he knew he had to investigate. That was his job, to make sure everything was all right. So off he ran, got a crowbar (a tool for opening things), and began to crack open the wood on the side of the crate.
Well, when he opened up the crate, didn’t he get the shock of his life! Inside the crate, there was an upside-down man!
At first glance Peter thought he was looking at some kind of a white statue inside.
‘Help,’ said the statue.
Peter jumped back for a second in fright, then realised it wasn’t a statue, but in fact a live human being!
After inspecting a bit further, Peter saw that this was a man who was covered head to toe in white plaster. Head to toe, except for a few air holes and his face and hands. That’s how he managed to tap on the side of the crate with his fingers, ‘tap tap tap tapping’ on the wood.
Peter shouted for help, and when his workmates came, they very carefully lifted the man (who was upside down, remember?) out of the crate. They called for an ambulance and carted the man off to Jervis Street hospital, because they had to see if he was all right. They also needed to cut all the white plaster stuff off him.
The plaster was the same kind you’d have on a cast if you broke your arm, except this man had it all over his body. Just like with a cast, it is put on wet and wound around you like a bandage, and when it dries, it is rock hard, like stone. So, any part of you encased inside it couldn’t move at all!
Later that day, Peter found out from his boss why the man had been in the crate in the first place.
The upside-down man was named Maurice de Laboujac. He was a French painter who lived in London. His paintings were to be shown in an Art Exhibition in Dublin, but he wasn’t able to get official visitor papers to come to Ireland himself. He still really wanted to come, though, and to get around the problem of no papers, he came up with the idea of ‘posting’ himself to Dublin, disguised as a statue in a crate.
He had a friend cover his whole body in white plaster so he wouldn’t get bruised and hurt when the ship was moving about at sea. He spent four whole days in that plaster while the crate was on its journey.
His plan was going fine until the ship docked in Dublin. Didn’t some of the ship workers unload the big wooden crate upside down! Poor Maurice was inside, and of course, if you’re upside down all the blood can flow to your head and make you dizzy. Maurice couldn’t move because he was trapped in the plaster, so it was then he realised that he needed help! So he began to ‘tap tap tap tap’ with his free hand. He kept on tapping until eventually Peter found him.
Apparently, Maurice was a little shook up, Peter’s boss said, but he was grand once they cut the plaster off him in the hospital.
‘That’s a very stressful day you had,’ said Mary, when she’d heard the story. ‘Are you all right, Peter?’
‘Ah, I got a bit of a fright,’ said Peter, ‘but it’s nothin’ that a sugary cup of tea can’t fix.’
‘No wonder you asked for five sugars,’ said Mary. ‘But do you know what? I betcha yer man Maurice the Frenchman needed about ten!’
Dublin Folk Tales for Children Page 7
