Mary Medlicott, Storyteller and Author - Storyworks

Archive for the ‘All ages’ Category

Storytelling Starters ~ Oh Moon!

Saturday, September 21st, 2019

The recent anniversary of man’s first landing on the moon must be the reason why, of late, I’ve made an extra special point of looking up at the moon when it’s full. It brings to mind an array of moon memories.

For instance, I think about the friend in Wales who, long ago, was given the nickname, Moon – partly, no doubt, because his first name begins with M but also, surely, because of the roundness of his face and the companionable way he smiles.

A little moon ditty:

And then again, seeing a full moon in the sky gets me recalling the little verse a friend once taught me. It’s especially good for retelling because of the expressiveness of voice it invites:  (more…)

Storytelling Starters ~ Stories: Why bother?

Saturday, August 10th, 2019

A tiny pink bird has migrated to my desk from the cupboard in my study where I keep my notebooks, stationery and some storytelling stuff. It perches on a small chrome clip and the other day, I persuaded it to come across to my desk to keep me company. Perhaps I thought it might decorate a present I was planning to give to someone or other. By now it looks likely to stay.

But I like it. I like the birds in my life. Since installing a bird-feeder in our garden, we regularly see a troupe of goldfinches arriving – often eight or ten of them. Not surprisingly, these have attracted a bustling gang of pigeons that gather below the feeder to hoover up the scraps of fatball and grain that drop onto the grass when the little birds feed. Plus a lovely pair of robins arrive quite often, moving quietly round the garden’s edges before visiting the area below the bird-feeder. The bossy green parakeets are not so welcome. (more…)

Storytelling Starters ~ Forgetting

Saturday, July 20th, 2019

Forgetting is the other side of remembering. It has its value. Not remembering unpleasant things can be very health-giving, something which eventually allows unhappy events, emotions or people to slip away.  Sometimes the forgetting happens of itself. Sometimes the techniques for forgetting have to be learned.

The pain of forgetting:

But it’s that involuntary forgetting that can be so annoying. Perhaps it’s the same in many different circumstances or professions. You need to remember. You simply can’t bring whatever it is to mind. You set about trying to find the book or paper or person that may be able to supply the missing piece of information. And when you can’t find it? It’s a pain. Especially, say I, when you’re a storyteller. (more…)

Storytelling Starters ~ The Colours of Colour

Saturday, June 29th, 2019

Ten days of summer down in Pembrokeshire make a very welcome break before the next horrid chemo. I’ve been admiring colour – the orange-red of the poppy that has cropped itself up in the gravel at the back of the house, the purple of the foxgloves like sentinels in the hedges.

Colour is appetising. It makes you look and it makes you savour. Thinking about it has reminded me of a little story I once made up which has also been one I’ve told many times.

The Yellow Blob

The Yellow Blob lived in a world where everything was yellow. Yellow house, yellow grass, yellow fields, yellow sea. One day, the Yellow Blob went for a walk. He closed his yellow door, walked along the yellow brick  road and climbed up the yellow hill. At the top of the hill, he looked down. The Yellow Blob was very surprised. At the bottom of the hill was a huge blue lake. (more…)

Storytelling Starters ~ Chemo dreams

Saturday, June 1st, 2019

One effect of the chemotherapy treatment I’m currently receiving (one treatment every three weeks, six in all and, hooray I’m now half way through) is that, in the early hours of morning, I find myself strangely half-awake, mind wandering wildly through strange images and practical thoughts.

The House of the Wind:

In one of my chemo dreams this week, I was born in The House of the Wind. Throughout the first years of my life, a gentle wind echoed in my inner ear, sussurating like the sound of new leaves unfolding in the trees of spring. Sometimes, a stronger wind became the waves of summer storms riding onto the nearby beaches, the long white hair of their manes endlessly billowing out to sea behind them. Every now and again, the winds became winter gales crashing into my thoughts, demanding expression and action, utterly refusing to be quelled.

So then, so now. But The House of the Wind is not only a place in one of this week’s chemo dreams.  It’s also a place I’ve passed many times, a big old Woollen Mill  not far away from my small Welsh house in the village of Mathri in Pembrokeshire. The mill is called Tregwynt which, translated from Welsh to English, literally means The House of the Wind. It has a long wide area of wooded garden in front which, the last time I passed, was filled with spring flowers.

Tregwynt Woollen Mill:

 Close to the manorhouse of Tregwynt, Melin Tregwynt  is a supreme example of how old tradition – in this case the patterns and making-styles of woollen cloth – can be kept alive and, with work and initiative, transformed into a very successful modern business. Tregwynt Woollen Mill’s cloth can by now be purchased in various forms in all kinds of high-class outlets as well, of course, as online. Cot blankets, cushions, throws, double-bed covers, single-bed covers, coats, dresses, wraps, purses, bags, sandals, slippers: you name it, you’ll find it in the Tregwynt shop only a few miles off the main road from Fishguard where I was born and St David’s where I mainly grew up.

The Art of Storytelling:

What can be done with cloth can also be done – and is being done and must continue to be done – with stories. With hard work and initiative, storytellers keep them going and give them new life. In some of my waking hours this week, I’ve been sorting through old storytelling papers dating back to the early 1980s when I first came to know about storytelling in its more modern forms. Those days turned out to be the early days of the Storytelling Revival. What a lot has happened since then!

PS: The top picture is Tregwynt Woollen Mill. The bottom one is their cloth pattern called Knot Garden. (more…)

Storytelling Starters ~ Frog talk

Saturday, May 18th, 2019

Human minds! You see something, it reminds you of more. Since yesterday, it’s been frogs for me.

The frog in the park:

 

Going for a walk in Brockwell Park, all part of my recovery programme (and thanks to everyone for good wishes) we were greeted near the entrance by a very large wooden frog, arms endearingly outstretched towards us. Of course, this frog  brought back to my mind all kinds of stories (well, it would, wouldn’t it?).

One was of Lil who used to live down the road with her sister Sarah. Lil would call out to you on the street, ‘Ere, Missis Whatsisname?’ Then she’d follow up with something like, ‘Yer got no idea what ’er upstairs as gorn an done now.’ On one occasion she came to my door and quietly murmured, ‘Sarah says as can you come down and get the frog (frog as in frawg) outa the kitchen.’ Of course I went armed with rubber gloves and a bucket. I remember it well.

Then there’s the little frog folk-tale I used to tell.

 

Frog talk:

(more…)

Storytelling Starters ~ Recycling

Saturday, May 4th, 2019

It’s my second chemotherapy session on Tuesday. I do not look forward to it or its aftermath. But some nice things keep the spirits raised: kindnesses from friends, the freshly blooming Mary Rose in the garden, the pleasure of the Great Tit at finding our bird feeder tubs have been refilled and, of course, stories.

Where’s the creativity?

Whenever I read about the state of schools across the country – how some teachers are voluntarily buying food or books for children with money from their own pockets or, just as bad or worse,  how so many teachers feel that all emphasis on creativity has been lost as a result of focus on exams – I find myself wanting the children to have more stories. Young people are disillusioned, turned off, self-harming, depressed. I want them to hear stories, do self-motivated work that is based on stories, talk about stories, tell their own stories. Who is a storyteller to say this should happen? Well, all of us storytellers who’ve seen what powerful effects it can have. Particularly this last week, I’ve been recalling the attention and engagement that  hundreds of children have shown to the daftly innovative stories of Shemi Wâd.

The story that follows is one I found in the handwritten book of Shemi stories I was recently lent. The stories in it were written down by Bili John who had himself known Shemi since boyhood. He wrote down the stoies in Welsh.  The one that follows is in my English version.

The big clock and the tricycle:

One day Shemi dug out from his garden a wooden box that contained what looked like the wheels of a clock. Shemi had never seen anything quite like these wheels before. They were very big – as large as saucers – and without more ado, he got ready to use them to make a clock. (more…)

Storytelling Starters: The link

Saturday, April 13th, 2019

Some books sell thousands,  millions, of copies. If you’re the author, it must be wonderful to experience such success. But to me right now, it feels like it’s the personal links that are the most wonderful thing.

My story from yesterday:

In yesterday’s post arrived an envelope containing two hand-written postcards and a photograph. The photo was of two boys, Ethan and Isaac, standing in front of a gravestone. The two boys had written one each of the cards, the writing in both cases carefully done along pencil lines ruled onto the cards.

The boys were writing to tell me how much they’d enjoyed the stories in a book by the name of  Shemi’s Tall Tales which I’d published a few years ago. The stories in the book were all ones originally told by an old North Pembrokeshire character known as Shemi Wâd. All of them are very daft and marvellous tales and in my experience of telling them in schools, they are especially loved by boys.

Two boys and a grandfather: 

(more…)

Storytelling Starters ~ Gold

Saturday, April 6th, 2019

When you think about it, it’s sometimes very hard to say what makes a particular topic come to your mind. For instance, I have no idea what started me thinking about nightingales this morning. Not blackbirds but nightingales. Or perhaps instead of nightingales (plural) I should say nightingale (singular). For to my knowledge I’ve only ever encountered one. And it was one of the most memorable experiences of my life.

My personal experience:

It was on the island of Iona off the north-west coast of Scotland. Paul and I were visiting Oban on the mainland (my maternal grandfather hailed from Oban). In the course of our visit, we took a trip across to Mull and thence on to Iona where we were able to spend a few days staying in a remote little guesthouse where, each night, our host would call upstairs to say that the electricity was about to go off because he was about to turn off the generator. (more…)

Storytelling Starters ~ Cat-you-like

Saturday, March 30th, 2019

Are you familiar with the story of how the cat got its purr? I was reminded of it while thinking about the elegant black, beautiful cat who came up to our room  in my husband’s arms a couple of days ago. Paul had been out on the doorstep, talking with our neighbour. Meantime, our front door was open, the cat emerged as if from nowhere and promptly walked into our house. Paul followed it in, picked it up and brought it up for my admiration.

Wow! The cat was obviously ‘owned’ – if ever a cat can be owned – with a smart collar and bell. He was in the most beautiful condition and at once I was reminded of all our past cats and how I’d like to have a cat again. After the death of Minky, our last lovely cat, we felt we couldn’t replace him with another. Then time went on and, several years later, we remain catless. Perhaps that beautiful black cat will bring about a change here. Who knows?

How the cat got its purr: the story

Meantime, that story of how the cat got its purr has winkled its way back into my mind. The story tells of how one of the animals, perhaps it was cat, somehow got hold of a big beautiful drum. Whoever he was, he loved to play it and when he did so at parties, the other animals were full of envy of the sounds it made. So envious did the other animals become that one of them – was it fox? – wanted to get it for himself. (more…)