Storytelling Starters ~ Other worlds – Part One
Stories reappear in all kinds of different forms in all kinds of different places. A couple of weeks ago when I raised this theme before, an appreciative comment came through. It’s a recognisable theme with infinite potential. As memories are sparked, one story can end up as a chain of tales. So I wonder if the story I’ve got for you this week will produce some parallels. It popped into my mind while I was mentally sifting through Pembrokeshire tales ready for my session at Waterstone’s bookshop in Piccadilly next Thursday, 26 May. (Details of the event are at the top of my website. Do come along.)
The story:
A fisherman was out at sea. It was a lovely sunny day and he thought he’d take a rest. So he dropped his anchor over the side of his boat. A minute later, he was very surprised when he heard a cross voice shouting at him. When he looked over the side of his boat, he saw a little man climbing up his anchor rope. The little man looked extremely angry and he kept on shouting loudly. ‘You’ve dropped your anchor onto my house and it’s come through my sitting room ceiling.’
The magic:
So that’s the story. My father used to tell it to when I was a small child. To be honest, he kept on telling it to me every now and again until he died, aged 92. Sometimes he’d elaborate a tiny bit, describing how the little man shook his fist at the fisherman when he got to the top of the rope. Sometimes the fisherman may even have said, ‘I’m sorry. ’ But that’s all. The tale remained short.
So why did I love the story so much? Why do I love it still?
I think one reason is to do with its brevity. Because although it is short – and perhaps because of being so short – it is extremely vivid. So its effect is a sudden magic. To the listening child, it produces the reality that there is now another dimension to life, not just the sea and the surface of the sea and the way it stretches out before your eyes or the fact that you might swim in that sea. Now, in front of those eyes that you carry in your mind, there is also a world below the sea’s surface. And that different world is related to ours and ours impinges on it.
What also felt important is that my father generally located that story near one or other place that I knew. As a result, I’ve always assumed it was a local Welsh legend. But the fact is that, during my years as a storyteller, I’ve come across several stories from other places that seem similar or in some way related. So today what I’ve decided to do is to tell those other stories to you over the next couple of weeks. This week, therefore, I’ll hold them back while hoping that, maybe, my tiny childhood tale will remind you of something that’s like it, perhaps from where you grew up.
PS: My photo this week is, of course, of a summertime Pembrokeshire view of a beautiful calm, still sea.
May 23rd, 2016 at 3:03 pm
Hi Mary – Your tiny tale reminded me a story — (can’t remember where i heard it )of a very cross fairy whose home was soaked every evening by a woman throwing her dirty washing water over the garden wall . There was a happy ending I seem to recall once the woman realised the distress she was causing the wee folk, and I’m certain she was rewarded for her care in the future.
I remember as a small child being certain there were wee folk living under the settee – I saw them once, but they saw me watching them and vanished, and of course i never saw them again – funnily enough no one believed me, and my mother was concerned i had too much imagination.
I loved the wee story of the little man and the fisherman —- thank goodness for too much imagination .
Jean XX
May 24th, 2016 at 1:05 pm
Dear Jean, And your tale of the very cross fairy immediately reminds me of the Welsh folktale about the old farmer who regularly throws his dirty washing-up water over the garden wall to the distress of the little people who live the other side. One day, they make him get over the wall to see the results. He sees nothing of them till one of them stands on his shoe. This makes him change his habits. Now, according to the tale, he throws his dirty water outside his front door instead. But I’ve changed that so that he now throws it over his garden, thus getting ever bigger and better leeks. And yes, thank goodness for too much imagination. I love your wee folk living under the settee. I hope they are still there. Mary xx