What is a calumniated wife? You may well ask. In the terminology used by folklore scholars, it’s a wife who has been much wronged, spoken against with lies and bitterness and then sent away. One wife who suffered this fate was the mother of Valentine and Orson, vastly popular heroes of the French romance of the Middle Ages. Another calumniated wife is part of the beginning and end of the story I’ve been writing about here over the last few weeks.

How the story begins:

There’s a mighty king, the King of Persia. His wife gets pregnant and gives birth to a son. All would be well except that the queen has two jealous sisters. They snatch the baby away, put it in a basket, push the basket down the river and tell the king his wife has given birth to a dog.

When the king’s wife gives birth a second time,  it’s another son. The same thing happens. Now the jealous sisters tell the king his wife has given birth to a cat.

The third time the king’s wife is pregnant, she has a daughter. The jealous sisters do the same thing again and tell the king his wife has given birth to a mouse.

This time, the king is so appalled (as if his wife had deliberately wronged him!) that he has her taken away and imprisoned somewhere in the depths of the Palace. But meantime, each of the queen’s three babies has been rescued by the king’s gardener, the one who has been making that most beautiful garden. He and his wife take pity on each of the children in turn and bring them up. They are Fariz, Faruz and Farizad.

 So that’s the start of it. Now for the end. You already know the middle. (more…)

So here’s the third of my blogs about that beautiful story from the Arabian Nights which I’m preparing for telling in a fortnight’s time.  The first blog gave a brief idea of the story as I’d remembered it over a number of years. The second itemised the three treasures in the story that I’d completely forgotten about. Now here’s the main body of the story.  I’ve simmered it down to its bare bones. That’s how I work when I’m starting from a written story. Visualisation must do the rest. Here goes.

The set-up:

Farizad and her two brothers, Farid and Faruz, live in the beautiful garden which was created by the gardener and his wife who were their parents.

Now the parents have died.

One day an old woman comes to the garden and says to Farizad: This garden is beautiful but it would be perfect with 3 rare treasures – the Talking Bird, the Singing Tree and the Golden Water. Farizad asks where these can be found? In the mountains on the road into India.

Farizad says she must go and find them. Farid and Faruz say, ‘No, we’ll go.’ But then they agree that one brother must stay to look after Farizad.

Quest of Brother No. 1 (more…)

OK I found the book and identified the story I’d vaguely remembered. I had to search quite hard: the book turned out to be a hardback and bigger than I’d remembered. It’s Stories from The Arabian Nights,  the stories retold by Naomi Lewis with beautiful illustrations by Anton Pieck. I was surprised to see it was published way back in 1987 (Methuen Children’s Books). Did I review it for The School Librarian? I can’t remember and I can’t check – I recently threw out my old copies.

Three images from the story sang out as I re-read The Tale of Farizad of the Rose’s Smile. How could I have forgotten them? They’re what make the story so lovely. Each is something that must be obtained to make the garden where the girl and her brothers live into the most beautiful garden that it could be.

So this week I’ve decided to concentrate on those three items. The rest of the story can come next week. But now it’s time for visualisation. Time for the unspoken words that may come to mind as each of these three special things is really looked at. Time to imagine the scene they might make when they’re finally brought together in that already lovely garden.

Item One: The Talking Bird

If it was in your garden, the story says, all the birds of the air would flock to behold it. The bird is called Bulbul al-Hazar.

Item Two: The Singing Tree

If this tree was in your garden, all the lutes and harps in your home would break their strings with envy. Its leaves make a sound so ravishing that nothing can match its sweetness. (more…)

Nice to be asked back. New stories required. This will be the third time – or maybe the fourth, I must check my notes – that St Stephen’s School in Shepherds Bush has invited me to come to tell stories. This visit will be for a day in their Arts Week in March and I’m thinking fresh stories would be a good idea – for me as much as for them.  Even as this thought occurs, I’m also thinking that the process  of  preparing new stories could be  a good subject for a new series of blogs. So here goes: Repertoire Refreshment (for humans rather than pigeons)! Let me know if my approach appeals. Maybe you have a different perspective.

Step 1 – choosing a story

I’ve already started thinking about a story I read in a book. Now which book was it? It was ages ago. One I reviewed for School Librarian? Was it Middle Eastern tales? Palestinian perhaps? I’ll check my shelves. Meantime, I’m asking myself why this story in particular has come back to my mind. I’m trying to remember what it’s about. 

A young woman with two brothers. Her brothers disappear. There’s evil in the air and also magic. The young woman must get those  brothers back, she loves them, they’re an important part of her life. There’s a mountain she’s going to have to climb – it’s literal and symbolic and a big risk. But she sets out with courage and passion. First she succeeds in saving one brother. Then she manages to save the other. Despair and determination give way to joy. (more…)

One lunchtime in the New Year before we came back to London, we went down to the Sloop Inn, the pub in the village of Porthgain. It’s a popular pub. Over the years, we’ve spent many enjoyable hours there, sometimes sitting inside, sometime out. It’s a place where you can let time be easy.

As we usually do these days, we went to sit at the table in the corner by the bar that’s set aside for locals. Sadly, the number of these has declined of late but, I’m glad to say, I’m still regarded as a local even though I spend more time in London than Pembrokeshire. After all, I grew up in the area and I’m back there  often.

We were just finishing some fantastic crab rillette (it made me think of those poor crabs last week) when my old friend Morgan came and joined us at the table. Morgan has long been the manager of the Sloop and a fantastic job he does of it too. Like Eddie of last week’s crab story, Morgan also has a fund of hilarious tales. Many are descriptions of events in which he himself was involved. Many are stories you could call jokes. Whatever the sort, he makes them all seem so real. The particular story Morgan told on this occasion is a gem in my opinion and his telling of  it accords delightfully with my current thoughts on storytelling.   (more…)

Last weekend, we were trying to find our way round to Door 3 of the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff (we were there to sing on the pitch before the Wales/Fiji rugby game). When we got to Door 5 and the way wasn’t obvious, we asked an official standing in the road: ‘How do we get round to Door 3?’ His answer made us laugh (typical South Wales humour!): 

‘One foot in front of the other is usually recommended.’

I love people’s odd little ways of saying things. In recollection, they often turn into the kind of tiny tale I find so useful in my storytelling. They come direct from people’s perceptions. They’re true-life tales – fabulous for putting into the interstices of a storytelling session as connectors, sometimes because they’re odd or funny, sometimes because they can introduce the theme of a story I’m about to tell.

Maori style:

(more…)

A set of tall tales that were told by the old Welsh storyteller Shemi Wâd provided the theme of the Research Seminar I gave this week at the George Ewart Evans Centre for Storytelling in Cardiff. I loved preparing and giving the lecture.  An added pleasure was when a veritable posse of Cardiff storytellers turned up to join the academics in the audience.

One question that came up after my talk was whether the motifs of Shemi’s stories were shared with other storytellers of his time (he died in 1897) or whether they were special to him. A mixture of both, I’d say. As a sea port, Goodwick where he lived and its twin town Fishguard had plenty of sea-captains among their residents. And, as we all know, stories travel.

Certainly Shemi didn’t get his ideas from books. He was illiterate. The only book in his tiny cottage was a leather-bound copy of the Book of Revelation and, from one of our main sources on Shemi, the eminent Welsh writer Dewi Emrys,  we know that Shemi used it only to strop his razor every other day. When Dewi Emrys was a boy –  for, as a boy, he used to hang out with Shemi – he opened the cover of that leather-bound book and an enormous great cloud of the dust of ages flew out.

How a tradition grows: (more…)

This week I’ve been preparing for a Storytelling evening I’ll be giving in Llangollen on 10th October.  The event is for the Story Circle regularly organised there by storyteller Fiona Collins . My preparations for it feel a bit like the gardening I’ve also been doing in my garden this week. A garden takes time and effort to make and time and effort to maintain. When it’s going right, it gives great pleasure.

From the Land of the Magic

My Llangollen programme is a new one – From the Land of the Magic. The title comes from the Welsh, gwlad yr hud, which is a phrase that has been applied to Penfro, Pembrokeshire, the part of Wales I come from. The light there really is magic. It’s no surprise to me that so many Pembrokeshire stories reflect its enchanting effects.  

My stories for Llangollen will include some smaller ones I’ve often told before as well as one big one I’ve told before but not often, namely the story of Manawyddan which comprises the Third Branch of the early Welsh cycle of  stories, the Mabinogion. I feel this ancient story is extremely relevant to our world today dealing as it does with how to bring a halt to the incessant taking of vengeance.

As for the work of preparing my overall programme, I’ve adopted my normal technique – Mind-Mapping.  Mind-Maps are what work for me. They prompt  me to remember what stories I know, bring them into  fresh focus and enable me to create new programmes and themes. So, how to do it?

Making a Mind-Map (more…)

‘Did you bring anything back from your holidays?’ It’s a good question for inviting stories from children as well as adults. But beware! Whatever little treasures you acquired yourself, they’re likely to remain in your home for a very long time. They start off precious and they go on being precious and they also add to the stuff you’ll one day feel you need to get rid of. Take my word for it. I know.

Meantime, I remain dazzled by the sun-bleached crab shell I picked up from one of my Pembrokeshire beaches on one of my forays back home from London. Its delicacy and intricacy capture my admiration every time I look at it. It has the additional attraction that  it reminds me of one of my favourite Shemi stories.

Shemi’s stories are ones that children of all ages get absolutely hooked by. The fact that Shemi was real – he died in 1897, a well-known tall-tale-teller in his locality (North Pembrokeshire) and by all accounts much-loved – only adds to the huge attraction. So here’s that particular tale of his of which I’m reminded by my crab-shell. You can find it in a fuller version under the title, Crab Meat for Supper, in my book Shemi’s Tall Tales. (And you can order Shemi’s Tall Tales from me if you wish by clicking on My Publications on my website).

Shemi and the Enormous Crab

One day when he was out fishing, Shemi pulled a huge big sewin out of the river. But as soon as he’d hauled it up onto the river-bank, a great big heron flew down and swallowed it whole. Shemi shouted at the heron: not only had his sewin disappeared into the heron’s gullet, his fish-hook had gone there as well.  (more…)

There are many ways in which a person can be haunted. Last week’s ghost story brought a fascinating personal ghost  story from my friend Felice in New Zealand. If you look back to my Blog for last week, you’ll see it at the bottom as a Comment. This week it’s a very different kind of story that’s been haunting me. (more…)