Mary Medlicott, Storyteller and Author - Storyworks

Archive for the ‘Ghost story’ Category

Storytelling Starters ~ How weird is that!

Saturday, August 12th, 2017

Anyone who’s read A Long Run in Short Shorts, my recently self-published book, will know that synchronicities of all kinds are one of my interests. How do they come about? What do they mean?  Wowee! Thinking about two comments that arrived this week on two different postings I’d written, one last year, one this, produced a connection that made my mind go ping!

Two Comments: No. 1

The first comment to arrive was about the haunting poem, The Grey Dog of Rhu Arisaig, which I’d put into my blog of August 20th, 2016.  I’d seen the poem in a frame on a wall in Arisaig on the west coast of Scotland and, a number of times thereafter, had made it the centre of storytelling sessions with older children. Written by Roy Ferguson, the poem refers to the turbulent time of the Highland Clearances when crofters were cleared off the land by land-owners. Evidently, one of the local families that were evacuated by boat from Arisaig accidentally left behind a favourite collie dog. Afterwards, it was often said in the area that, at dusk on certain evenings, the grey ghost of the dog would appear, searching the shoreline for the family that had left it behind. (more…)

Storytelling Starters ~ Think of a tree

Saturday, October 1st, 2016

Think of a tree: draw a tree

15Tree barkDraw a tree. This tree is you. You can think of the trunk as yourself in your daily life. You can think of the roots in terms of where you come from, family and place and social class. You can think of the branches in terms of your aspirations and interests.

Call this an exercise or consider it as a chance to think and connect. I’ve done it quite a few times with storytelling groups and for  the occasional person, it doesn’t appeal. For others, it becomes deeply engaging as their tree fills out, becoming ever more rich and elaborate.

Think of a tree: recall a personal experience

This week was the end of an era. For years, my husband and I have looked out of our bedroom window at a beheaded tree a few gardens away. The original tree had become very high and wide and heavy and whoever it was, I don’t know who, obviously decided it must be cut. But only the top part got cut, not the trunk. Afterwards, it looked like something on Easter Island or a totem pole in the making. Then, over time, the headless tree became a lookout place for our local magpies and a climbing frame for our local grey squirrels. Gradually, it lost all colour, its trunk hollowed out and it became a ghost tree. One day this week, it was cut down. Now it’s not there. It’s gone.

Think of a tree: recall a story for telling (more…)