Dr. Do-Diddily and the Dee-Dot's : Blog
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Sunday, 27 December 2009
Abdul Abulbul Amir, and a little bit more for your entertainment. Enjoy xxx Diddilydeedot in Dreamland.
Abdul Abulbul Amir
Written By: Percy French
Copyright Unknown
The sons of the prophet were hardy and bold,
And quite unaccustomed to fear,
But the bravest of these was a man, I am told
Named Abdul Abulbul Amir.
This son of the desert, in battle aroused,
Could spit twenty men on his spear.
A terrible creature, both sober and soused
Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.
When they needed a man to encourage the van,
Or to harass the foe from the rear,
Or to storm a redoubt, they had only to shout
For Abdul Abulbul Amir.
There are heroes aplenty and men known to fame
In the troops that were led by the Czar;
But the bravest of these was a man by the name
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
He could imitate Irving, play Euchre and pool
And perform on the Spanish Guitar.
In fact, quite the cream of the Muscovite team
Was Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
The ladies all loved him, his rivals were few;
He could drink them all under the bar.
As gallant or tank, there was no one to rank
With Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
One day this bold Russian had shouldered his gun
And donned his most truculent sneer
Downtown he did go, where he trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir
"Young man," quoth Bulbul, "has life grown so dull,
That you're anxious to end your career?
Vile infidel! Know, you have trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir."
The rest of this wonderful tale can be found at Cydney's Castle.
http://.diddilydeedotsdreamland. zoomshare.com/
And quite unaccustomed to fear,
But the bravest of these was a man, I am told
Named Abdul Abulbul Amir.
This son of the desert, in battle aroused,
Could spit twenty men on his spear.
A terrible creature, both sober and soused
Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.
When they needed a man to encourage the van,
Or to harass the foe from the rear,
Or to storm a redoubt, they had only to shout
For Abdul Abulbul Amir.
There are heroes aplenty and men known to fame
In the troops that were led by the Czar;
But the bravest of these was a man by the name
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
He could imitate Irving, play Euchre and pool
And perform on the Spanish Guitar.
In fact, quite the cream of the Muscovite team
Was Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
The ladies all loved him, his rivals were few;
He could drink them all under the bar.
As gallant or tank, there was no one to rank
With Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
One day this bold Russian had shouldered his gun
And donned his most truculent sneer
Downtown he did go, where he trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir
"Young man," quoth Bulbul, "has life grown so dull,
That you're anxious to end your career?
Vile infidel! Know, you have trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir."
The rest of this wonderful tale can be found at Cydney's Castle.
http://.diddilydeedotsdreamland. zoomshare.com/
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, all the love he has in his heart,.... oops and a partridge in a pear tree. :)
DIDDILY-DEE-DOT'S DREAMLAND![]()
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On the first day of Christmas my true-love gave to me,
A Partridge in a Pear Tree.
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On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Two Turtle Doves.
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On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Three French Hens.
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On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Four Calling Birds.
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On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Five Golden Rings
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,![]()
Six Geese a-Laying.
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On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Seven Swans a-Swimming.
On the eight day of Christmas my true love gave to me,![]()
Eight Maids a-Milking.
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On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Nine Ladies Dancing.
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On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Ten Lords a-Leaping.
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On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Eleven Pipers Piping.
On the twelth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Twelve Drummers Drumming
- Eleven Pipers Piping
Ten Lords Leaping - Nine Ladies Dancing
Eight Maids Milking - Seven Swans Swimming
Six Geese Laying - Five Golden Rings
Four Calling Birds - Three French Hens
Two Turtle Doves and a Partridge in a Pear Tree
![]()
On the first day of Christmas my true-love gave to me,
A Partridge in a Pear Tree.
Two Turtle Doves.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Three French Hens.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Four Calling Birds.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Five Golden Rings
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Six Geese a-Laying.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Seven Swans a-Swimming.
On the eight day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Eight Maids a-Milking.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Nine Ladies Dancing.
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Ten Lords a-Leaping.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Eleven Pipers Piping.
On the twelth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Twelve Drummers Drumming
- Eleven Pipers Piping
Ten Lords Leaping - Nine Ladies Dancing
Eight Maids Milking - Seven Swans Swimming
Six Geese Laying - Five Golden Rings
Four Calling Birds - Three French Hens
Two Turtle Doves and a Partridge in a Pear Tree
Saturday, 12 December 2009
Ayliyah wants to share one of her favourite Winter rhymes for you.
AYLIYAHS LEGENDS
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JOHNNY'S FROLIC
Ho ! for a frolic ! said Johnny the stout;
"There's coasting and sledding: I'm going out !"
Scarcely had Johnny plunged in the snow
When there came a complaint up from his toe.
"We're cold," said the toe, "I and the rest;
There are ten of us freezing, standing abreast."
Then up spoke the ear: "My ! but it's labour
Playing in winter. Eh, opposite neighbour ?"
"Pooh !" said the nose, angry and red ,
"Who wants to tingle ? Go home to bed !"
Eight little fingers, four to a thumb,![]()
All cried together, "Johnny, we're numb !"
But Johnny was stout wouldn't listen a minute;
Never a snow-bank but Johnny was in it.
Tumbling and jumping, shouting with glee,
Wading the snow-drifts up to his knee,
![]()
Soon he forgot them, fingers and toes,
Never once heeded the ear and the nose
Ah, what a frolic ! All in a glow,
Johnny grew warmer out in the snow.
Often his breathing came with a joke :
"Blaze away, Johnny ! I'll do the smoke."
"And I'll do the fire," said Johnny the bold,
"Fun is the fuel for driving off cold.
SUCH FUN THIS CHRISTMAS FOR EVERYONE.
JOHNNY'S FROLIC
Ho ! for a frolic ! said Johnny the stout;
"There's coasting and sledding: I'm going out !"
Scarcely had Johnny plunged in the snow
When there came a complaint up from his toe.
"We're cold," said the toe, "I and the rest;
There are ten of us freezing, standing abreast."
Then up spoke the ear: "My ! but it's labour
Playing in winter. Eh, opposite neighbour ?"
"Pooh !" said the nose, angry and red ,
"Who wants to tingle ? Go home to bed !"
Eight little fingers, four to a thumb,
All cried together, "Johnny, we're numb !"
But Johnny was stout wouldn't listen a minute;
Never a snow-bank but Johnny was in it.
Tumbling and jumping, shouting with glee,
Wading the snow-drifts up to his knee,
Never once heeded the ear and the nose
Ah, what a frolic ! All in a glow,
Johnny grew warmer out in the snow.
Often his breathing came with a joke :
"Blaze away, Johnny ! I'll do the smoke."
"And I'll do the fire," said Johnny the bold,
"Fun is the fuel for driving off cold.
SUCH FUN THIS CHRISTMAS FOR EVERYONE.
Thursday, 10 December 2009
Here is a lovely poem by Susan Coolidge about Autumn
DIDDILY DEE DOT' S DREAMLAND
HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN
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"Come now, children, all to bed," he cried;
And, ere the leaves could urge their prayer,
He shook his head, and far and wide,
Fluttering and rustling everywhere,
Down sped the leaflets through the air.
I saw them; on the ground they lay,
Golden and red, a huddled swarm,
Waiting till one from far away,
White bedclothes heaped upon her arm,
Should come to wrap them safe and warm.
![]()
What a lovely little verse, and this is wrote by Susan Coolidge,
Sarah Chauncy Woolsey who wrote under the name Susan Coolidge, was born in Cleveland, Ohio, on January 29, 1835, she died April 9, 1905. She is also the same lady who wrote all the "Katy Did" story books. A 1990s reading study in Great Britain found the "What Katy Did" series
ranked among the ten most popular reading choices for 12-year-old
girls. The first volumes of the series remain in print in both
countries.
HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN
I'll tell you how the leaves came down
The great Tree to his children said:
"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown,
Yes, very sleepy, little Red.
It is quite time to go to bed."
"Ah ! " begged each silly, pouting leaf,
"Let us a little longer stay:
Dear Father Tree, behold our grief !
'tis such a very pleasant day,
We do not want to go away."
The great Tree to his children said:
"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown,
Yes, very sleepy, little Red.
It is quite time to go to bed."
"Ah ! " begged each silly, pouting leaf,
"Let us a little longer stay:
Dear Father Tree, behold our grief !
'tis such a very pleasant day,
We do not want to go away."
So just for one more merry day![]()
To the great Tree the leafletsclung,
Frolicked and danced, and had their way,
Upon the autumn breezes swung,
Whispering all their sports among;
"Perhaps the great Tree will forget,
And let us stay until the spring,
If we all beg, and coax, and fret."
But the great Tree did no such thing;
He smiled to hear them whispering.
To the great Tree the leafletsclung,
Frolicked and danced, and had their way,
Upon the autumn breezes swung,
Whispering all their sports among;
"Perhaps the great Tree will forget,
And let us stay until the spring,
If we all beg, and coax, and fret."
But the great Tree did no such thing;
He smiled to hear them whispering.
And, ere the leaves could urge their prayer,
He shook his head, and far and wide,
Fluttering and rustling everywhere,
Down sped the leaflets through the air.
I saw them; on the ground they lay,
Golden and red, a huddled swarm,
Waiting till one from far away,
White bedclothes heaped upon her arm,
Should come to wrap them safe and warm.
The great bare Tree looked down and smiled.
"Good night, dear little leaves," he said.
And from below each sleepy child
Replied, "Good-night," and murmered,
"It is so nice to go to bed!"
"Good night, dear little leaves," he said.
And from below each sleepy child
Replied, "Good-night," and murmered,
"It is so nice to go to bed!"
What a lovely little verse, and this is wrote by Susan Coolidge,
Sarah Chauncy Woolsey who wrote under the name Susan Coolidge, was born in Cleveland, Ohio, on January 29, 1835, she died April 9, 1905. She is also the same lady who wrote all the "Katy Did" story books. A 1990s reading study in Great Britain found the "What Katy Did" series
ranked among the ten most popular reading choices for 12-year-old
girls. The first volumes of the series remain in print in both
countries.
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
There's nothing like a Daddy. Or a Mummy come to that, both even
Diddilydeedot's Dreamland
HELLO AND WELCOME ONCE MORE TO SOMETHING NEW
There's nothing like a Daddy
I do not want a puppy-dog, although I know they're nice,
For my papa can romp with me in ways that quite suffice.
He'll bark just like a St. Bernard, and like a mastiff growl,
And you would feel like laughing when he imitates a howl.
I do not want a pussy-cat. I like them very well,
But Daddy beats them all, and plays better than I can tell.
He'll purr and siss like anything; his mewing you should hear;
It makes more noise than any cat, and, oh, I shake with fear !
But what's the use of babies when you're my dear daddy's son ?
He takes me on his shoulders broad, or puts me on his knees
And sets me off a-galloping as madly as you please.
In short, I don't want anything as long as Daddy's here;
He's pretty much of everything, and don't get out of gear.
And best of all the things boys have, I'm sure you'll find it true,
There's nothing like a Daddy who will always play with you ! ....
.
My beautiful Grand-daughter with Jack my son-in-law
Monday, 30 November 2009
Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog
JODIESTREASURE CHEST
Buckets of Rain
- Part One
"Buckets of ra
in!" cried the lumpish crimson-jacketed dwarf trundling down the High street of our town with his ware.
in!" cried the lumpish crimson-jacketed dwarf trundling down the High street of our town with his ware. "Who will buy my buckets of rain - freshly collected this morning before the dawn !"
"Get away with you," called out Thomas the Butcher. "I'll have none of your buckets of rain. I have a hole in my shop's roof and this morning I found my store-room flooded and all my meat perfectly ruined. Move on before I box your ears!"
"Buckets of rain!" cried the dwarf, scowling a little now. "Rain from the edge of the Ancient Forest, freshly dripped from leaf and sky, sweetened with elf song and the dreams of flowers. Who will buy my lovely rain?"
"Bah!" called out Ms. Ethyl Two-Bunions the Post Mistress. as she stood outside the Post Office, searching for the big iron key to its door in his purse.
"How are decent folk to know you haven't just dipped your buckets in the village pond? You dwarfs are a sly and shiftless people always looking for an easy way to gull honest God-fearing citizens out of their well-earned money.
"Selling rain is no respectable way for man or dwarf to make a living. Unless you have a soft chamois-leather with you and care to wash the Post Office windows with your rain-water for a decent shilling, then be off with you!"
The dwarf glared fiercely back at Ms. Two-Bunions.
"This is no pond-water, Mistress," he said "and far too good to wash your dirty windows. Why'd you let them get so filthy in the first place?"
Of course, Ms. Ethyl Two-Bunions bridled at this immediately.
"Clear off this instant, you horrible little vagabond or I'll call the police. If my husband were still alive you wouldn't talk to me like that!"
"Your husband is perfectly alive and living with Good-widow Jenkins over the hat shop in Twistle Town two miles away - everybody in the village knows that... even so, I expect he can still hear your voice from there!
"Buckets of rain!" called out the dwarf, proceeding down the street, his customary native grumpiness lightened considerably by this latest interchange. "Who will buy my buckets of fresh forest rain?"
Thursday, 26 November 2009
Dodies Dream World. at http://dodiesdreamworld.zoomshare.com/ : Blog
Dodies Dream World. at http://dodiesdreamworld.zoomshare.com/ : BlogThis tribute is going to be one of my favourites for a long time. I present Laurel and Hardy
DODIES DREAM WORLD
AND ADAM AND EVE PRESENT
One of the greatest double Acts the World has ever known!
Laurel and Hardy
Laurel and Hardy in a promotional still from their 1937 feature film Out West
Sons of the Desert
Writer Lee Jordan
Photographer Mike Lawn & Roger Scruton
Seventy years ago two gentlemen met on a silent movie film set. One was a large American, the other a thin Englishman. The picture they were filming was a comedy Lucky Dog and this fortuitous casting in 1922 was the genesis of Laurel & Hardy, arguably the greatest comedy pairing the silver screen has ever seen. A partnership that would last for 30 years and an act that would transfer successfully from silent films to talkies.
Such was, and, indeed is, their appeal that 70 years on, thousands of Laurel & Hardy fans still curl up in laughter at the adventures of two kind-hearted men dressed in suits and derby hats who, no matter how hard they endeavour not to, always find themselves in trouble. And the resultant attempts to alleviate their problems guarantee hilarious situations.
During the 1960s when Professor John McCabe was writing his authorised biography Mr Laurel and Mr Hardy he wrote to Stan Laurel and asked if he had any objection to a body of enthusiasts being formed on the lines of the 'Baker Street Irregulars', the society devoted to Sherlock Holmes. Stan Laurel was delighted that "celebration" would be its theme and even helped with the groups constitution. The societies name, suggested by a founder member the late Al Kilgore derives from Laurel & Hardy's 1933 film, Sons of The Desert.
Today there are new sons (and daughters) being admitted and each new member joins a "tent" of The Sons of The Desert. Each tent has its own name: The Dirty Work Tent are all Washington firefighters; Midnight Patrol Tent, made up of police officers and Do Detectives Think?, more members of the b blue. These are just some of the hundred plus tents worldwide.
DODIES DREAM WORLD
AND ADAM AND EVE PRESENT
One of the greatest double Acts the World has ever known!
Laurel and Hardy
Laurel and Hardy in a promotional still from their 1937 feature film Out West
Sons of the Desert
Writer Lee Jordan
Photographer Mike Lawn & Roger Scruton
Seventy years ago two gentlemen met on a silent movie film set. One was a large American, the other a thin Englishman. The picture they were filming was a comedy Lucky Dog and this fortuitous casting in 1922 was the genesis of Laurel & Hardy, arguably the greatest comedy pairing the silver screen has ever seen. A partnership that would last for 30 years and an act that would transfer successfully from silent films to talkies.
Such was, and, indeed is, their appeal that 70 years on, thousands of Laurel & Hardy fans still curl up in laughter at the adventures of two kind-hearted men dressed in suits and derby hats who, no matter how hard they endeavour not to, always find themselves in trouble. And the resultant attempts to alleviate their problems guarantee hilarious situations.
During the 1960s when Professor John McCabe was writing his authorised biography Mr Laurel and Mr Hardy he wrote to Stan Laurel and asked if he had any objection to a body of enthusiasts being formed on the lines of the 'Baker Street Irregulars', the society devoted to Sherlock Holmes. Stan Laurel was delighted that "celebration" would be its theme and even helped with the groups constitution. The societies name, suggested by a founder member the late Al Kilgore derives from Laurel & Hardy's 1933 film, Sons of The Desert.
Today there are new sons (and daughters) being admitted and each new member joins a "tent" of The Sons of The Desert. Each tent has its own name: The Dirty Work Tent are all Washington firefighters; Midnight Patrol Tent, made up of police officers and Do Detectives Think?, more members of the b blue. These are just some of the hundred plus tents worldwide.
Naughty Kitten, No! I don't think so, do you? xxx
Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog
BUNS AND BABES WELCOME
for a shilling to pay a man at the door
and there was the knitting
and in it the kitten,
the end of the wool all caught up in its claws!
Carefully she unravelled it,
anxious not to make it skit
but intent as she was on her lip-biting task
she quite forgot the waiting milkman
and rap, rap, rap, he struck her knocker
and up jumped Puss, his two eyes round.In a flash he was out of the drawer
running as he hit the ground,
half a mile outside the pound,
Dozy Dora's unravelled mitten
trailing out behind him.
But at least, thought Dora,
he was safe and sound.
Putting out a bowl of milk
(after paying off the churlish merchant)
she found his little bell and rang it.
Presently the cat came back
with half a moiien wrapped around it.
Oh dear, said Dozy Dora
and put down the old tin mug of coconut milk
and Baileys she was drinking with a loud clatter.
Try as she might she just couldn't remember
who she had been making the mitten for
As it was they were for herself,
to try to stop her fingers achingand to help her take hot cake
from out of the oven
(she was very good at baking).
She remembered eventually of course,
just after the main course,
her guests all now quite anxious for pudding.
Quickly she sent our the cat,
in his best frock and cap
to buy what he could for a shilling.
Imagine her stare when he flew down the stairs
with a tray of cup-cakes and eclairs.
"I was saving them for a rainy day," he purred.
"Is it raining then?" Dora asked the kitten,
"you might have told me earlier,
I might have remembered to bring in the washing."
But the clever kitten had already done itand do you know what?
He had even finished knitting the mitten.
Dear old Dozy Dora and her helpful kitten!
WILLOWDOWN ©2009Saturday, 21 November 2009
A wee rhyme, from a wee thought that began, "fishes leaping River weeping. xxx diddilydeedot's dreamland
Here is a rhyme, that has no sense or reason,
but I rather like it, xxx
diddilydeedotsdreamland.com/
*Here is a rhyme * with NO reason*
Fishes leaping River weeping
Eyes peeping Goblins creeping.
Hours fleeting Heart seeking
Eyes weeping Goblins eating.
Shadows breathing Princess dreaming
Secret meeting Blood seeping.
Trees creaking Stars falling
Flowers forming Early morning..
Children shrieking Bull frogs leaping
Fairies dancing Goblins sleeping.
Rain splashing River laughing
Gods swimming Fish flashing.
River seeking Heart leaping
To journeys end Sheep bleating.
Thunder speaking Clocks one ticking
Midnight weeping Chicks cheeping.
Princess yawning Three is dawning
Satyrs snoring Suitors fawning.
Artists drawing Old men boring
Poets pawing Golden awning.
Scales of the River glittering on a golden dish
River captured in a silver goblet.
Sheep in wolves clothing, just supposing
Heart weeping, speaking the river still seeking
Rainbows end endless repeating.
Old man snoring and scratching his tum
Young girl imprisoned in a big cities slum.
Fishes leaping River weeping
Eyes peeping Goblins creeping
River captured in a silver goblet.
Sheep in wolves clothing, just supposing
Heart weeping, speaking the river still seeking
Rainbows end endless repeating.
Old man snoring and scratching his tum
Young girl imprisoned in a big cities slum.
Fishes leaping River weeping
Eyes peeping Goblins creeping
DIDDILYDEEDOTSDREAMLAND.ZOOMSHARE.COM/
Sunday, 15 November 2009
Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog
Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog: "Sun, 15 Nov 2009
how come Jelly fish are made of Jelly.? I read somewhere that they were able to walk on land and swim under the depths of the sea.....
Ayliyahs Legends
JELLYFISH IN SEARCH OF A MONKEY
THIS IS A TALE THEY TELL IN JAPAN OF THE ORIGIN OF THE JELLYFISH
WE FIND STRANDED ON OUR BEACHES !
Long, long ago, instead of soft tentacles, he had a bunch of legs as graceful as a greyhound's, ans as for his figure the proudest pig in Ireland could not vie with him for firmly arched, well covered ribs.
Naturally, he was the administration of all the other fish, for, besides being nimble and stately, he was the only deep sea thing that could walk on land as well as swim in the water. Unfortunately, he was like too many human beings, who simply rely on their good looks to make them popular, and do not trouble to develop their brains, therefore this handsome creature was exceedingly stupid.
One day Jellyfish was strolling about the shore of a coral island, when a flying fish shot out of the waves, and told him that he was summoned to the palace of the Dragon King.
As he approached the audience chamber he could hear by the clanking of golden scales that the Dragon King was pacing about in the greatest agitation, but his brow cleared as he caught sight of Jellyfish.
' I thought you would never come ! ' he cried. ' And the Queen gets worse every hour ! Listen, the doctors say that she can be cured by swallowing the liver of a wild monkey. You are the only fish who can go ashore. You must swim, as you have never swum in your life, find the bit of land that has monkeys on it and then persuade the monkey to return with you. If you succeeed I will make you Grand Warden of the Indian Ocean, with the right to a coronet of pearl shell and cowrie. '
Jellyfish hardly stopped to bow; in a very little while he was wading out of the breakers on to a lovely island of palm trees and scarlet hibiscus. The first animal he saw was a small grey monkey with a friendly countenance. Jellyfish hailed him gladly :
' Ho, you Master Monkey there ! I am sent by the Dragon King of all the seas; to ask that you come to the palace. '
The monkey's shrivelled face beamed with pleasure. Never had he dreamed of receiving a royal Monkey invitation, and he was all to ready to accept this.
For a little while Jellyfish, with the monkey on his back, swam in silence, for he was short of breath, but soon he asked:
' By the way, I hope you have got your liver with you ? '
Now the monkey was not smart like Jellyfish, but he he kept his wits about him.
'Erm, and why do you ask that ?' he inquired
'Well, ' said Jellyfish, 'the Queen is really poorly and the doctors say she can only be saved by swallowing the liver of a live monkey. '
At this the monkey exclaimed, 'Oh dear me, what a thousand pities ! I left my hanging out to air at the top of the coconut palm. I think we had better hurry back and get it at once.'
'We must indeed, ' said the Jellyfish. And back they went.
A s soon as they arrived back at the palm, the monkey was away to the top, and then he called down.
'Go away, stupid ! I wont part with my liver for any Queen, in the sea or out. '
Then to clinch the argument he threw nut at Jellyfish till he ran into the sea.
All his knees knocked together as he told the tale of his failure, and the Dragon King smoked with rage. When he had stammered out his last word the Dragon King roared to his servants:
' Beat him ! Break him to within an inch of his life ! Break every bone in his body ! In fact beat him to a jelly !'
' And that's it, the end of the story. And poor Jellyfish, ..... well, sad to say, he really did become a jelly-fish."
how come Jelly fish are made of Jelly.? I read somewhere that they were able to walk on land and swim under the depths of the sea.....
Ayliyahs Legends
JELLYFISH IN SEARCH OF A MONKEY
THIS IS A TALE THEY TELL IN JAPAN OF THE ORIGIN OF THE JELLYFISH
WE FIND STRANDED ON OUR BEACHES !
Long, long ago, instead of soft tentacles, he had a bunch of legs as graceful as a greyhound's, ans as for his figure the proudest pig in Ireland could not vie with him for firmly arched, well covered ribs.
Naturally, he was the administration of all the other fish, for, besides being nimble and stately, he was the only deep sea thing that could walk on land as well as swim in the water. Unfortunately, he was like too many human beings, who simply rely on their good looks to make them popular, and do not trouble to develop their brains, therefore this handsome creature was exceedingly stupid.
One day Jellyfish was strolling about the shore of a coral island, when a flying fish shot out of the waves, and told him that he was summoned to the palace of the Dragon King.
As he approached the audience chamber he could hear by the clanking of golden scales that the Dragon King was pacing about in the greatest agitation, but his brow cleared as he caught sight of Jellyfish.
' I thought you would never come ! ' he cried. ' And the Queen gets worse every hour ! Listen, the doctors say that she can be cured by swallowing the liver of a wild monkey. You are the only fish who can go ashore. You must swim, as you have never swum in your life, find the bit of land that has monkeys on it and then persuade the monkey to return with you. If you succeeed I will make you Grand Warden of the Indian Ocean, with the right to a coronet of pearl shell and cowrie. '
Jellyfish hardly stopped to bow; in a very little while he was wading out of the breakers on to a lovely island of palm trees and scarlet hibiscus. The first animal he saw was a small grey monkey with a friendly countenance. Jellyfish hailed him gladly :
' Ho, you Master Monkey there ! I am sent by the Dragon King of all the seas; to ask that you come to the palace. '
The monkey's shrivelled face beamed with pleasure. Never had he dreamed of receiving a royal Monkey invitation, and he was all to ready to accept this.
For a little while Jellyfish, with the monkey on his back, swam in silence, for he was short of breath, but soon he asked:
' By the way, I hope you have got your liver with you ? '
Now the monkey was not smart like Jellyfish, but he he kept his wits about him.
'Erm, and why do you ask that ?' he inquired
'Well, ' said Jellyfish, 'the Queen is really poorly and the doctors say she can only be saved by swallowing the liver of a live monkey. '
At this the monkey exclaimed, 'Oh dear me, what a thousand pities ! I left my hanging out to air at the top of the coconut palm. I think we had better hurry back and get it at once.'
'We must indeed, ' said the Jellyfish. And back they went.
A s soon as they arrived back at the palm, the monkey was away to the top, and then he called down.
'Go away, stupid ! I wont part with my liver for any Queen, in the sea or out. '
Then to clinch the argument he threw nut at Jellyfish till he ran into the sea.
All his knees knocked together as he told the tale of his failure, and the Dragon King smoked with rage. When he had stammered out his last word the Dragon King roared to his servants:
' Beat him ! Break him to within an inch of his life ! Break every bone in his body ! In fact beat him to a jelly !'
' And that's it, the end of the story. And poor Jellyfish, ..... well, sad to say, he really did become a jelly-fish."
Monday, 2 November 2009
Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog
Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog
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 A Smiley Moon to start a new month, not long until Christmas comes. Are you all getting excited? |
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CYDNEY'S CASTLE  CYDNEY'S CASTLE CYDNEY'S CASTLE WHAT THE MOON SAW!  seem alike tied, so that I cannot rightly describe or accurately portray the thoughts that are rising within me; and yet I am a painter; my eye tells me as much as that, and all my friends who have seen my sketches and fancies say the same.I am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of lanes; but I do not want for light, as my room is high up in the house, with an extensive prospect over the neighbouring roofs. During the first few days I went to live in the town, I felt low-spirited and solitary enough. Instead of the forest and the green hills of former days, I had here only a forest of chimney-pots to look out upon. And then I had not a single friend; not one familiar face greeted me.  So one evening I sat at the window, in a desponding mood; and presently I opened the casement and looked out. Oh, how my heart leaped up with joy! Here was a well-known face at last—a round, friendly countenance, the face of a good friend I had known at home. In, fact, it was the MOON that looked in upon me. He was quite unchanged, the dear old Moon, and had the same face exactly that he used to show when he peered down upon me through the willow trees on the moor. I kissed my hand to him over and over again, as he shone far into my little room; and he, for his part, promised me that every evening, when he came abroad, he would look in upon me for a few moments. This promise he has faithfully kept. It is a pity that he can only stay such a short time when he comes. Whenever he appears, he tells me of one thing or another that he has seen on the previous night, or on that same  evening. “Just paint the scenes I describe to you”—this is what he said to me—“and you will have a very pretty picture-book.” I have followed his injunction for many evenings. I could make up a new “Thousand and One Nights,” in my own way, out of these pictures, but the number might be too great, after all. The pictures I have here given have not been chosen at random, but follow in their proper order, just as they were described to me. Some great gifted painter, or some poet or musician, may make something more of them if he likes; what I have given here are only hasty sketches, hurriedly put upon the paper, with some of my own thoughts, interspersed; for the Moon did not come to me every evening— a cloud sometimes hid his face from me. First Evening LAST night”—I am quoting the Moon’s own words—“last night I was gliding through the cloudless Indian sky. My face was mirrored in the waters of the Ganges, and my beams strove to pierce through the thick intertwining boughs of the bananas, arching beneath me like the tortoise’s shell. Forth from the thicket tripped a Hindoo maid, light as a gazelle, beautiful as Eve. Airy and etherial as a vision, and yet sharply defined amid the surrounding shadows, stood this daughter of Hindostan: I could read on her delicate brow the thought that had brought her hither. The thorny creeping plants tore her sandals, but for all that she came  rapidly forward. The deer that had come down to the river to quench her thirst, sprang by with a startled bound, for in her hand the maiden bore a lighted lamp. I could see the blood in her delicate finger tips, as she spread them for a screen before the dancing flame. She came down to the stream, and set the lamp upon the water, and let it float away. The flame flickered to and fro, and seemed ready to expire; but still the lamp burned on, and the girl’s black sparkling eyes, half veiled behind their long silken lashes, followed it with a gaze of earnest intensity. She knew that if the lamp continued to burn so long as she could keep it in sight, her betrothed was still alive; but if the lamp was suddenly extinguished, he was dead. And the lamp burned bravely on, and she fell on her knees, and prayed. Near her in the grass lay a speckled snake, but she heeded it not—she thought only of Bramah and of her betrothed. ‘He lives!’ she shouted joyfully, ‘he lives!’ And from the mountains the echo came back upon her, ‘he lives!’”Second Evening YESTERDAY,” said the Moon to me, “I looked down upon a small courtyard surrounded on all sides by houses. In the courtyard sat a clucking hen with eleven chickens; and a pretty little girl was running and jumping around them. The hen was frightened, and screamed, and spread out her wings over the little brood. Then the girl’s father came out and scolded her; and I glided away and thought no more of the matter.  “But this evening, only a few minutes ago, I looked down into the same courtyard. Everything was quiet. But presently the little girl came forth again, crept quietly to the hen-house, pushed back the bolt, and slipped into the apartment of the hen and chickens. They cried out loudly, and came fluttering down from their perches, and ran about in dismay, and the little girl ran after them. I saw it quite plainly, for I looked through a hole in the hen-house wall. I was angry with the willful child, and felt glad when her father came out and scolded her more violently than yesterday, holding her roughly by the arm; she held down her head, and her blue eyes were full of large tears. ‘What are you about here?’ he asked. She wept and said, ‘I wanted to kiss the hen and beg her pardon for frightening her yesterday; but I was afraid to tell you.’ “And the father kissed the innocent child’s forehead, and I kissed her on the mouth and eyes.”  And there you go , the first two little tales from the one and only Hans Christian Anderson, we still have thirty more to go, I hope you will stay awake to read them all. But not all tonight, two is quite enough for one night., by the way there are 14 little chickens. Hugs, Diddilydeedot in Dreamland. xxxx |
| Posted 21:52 |
Friday, 30 October 2009
Seligorscastle's Blog - Windows Live
Seligorscastle's Blog - Windows LiveDorothy Milnes Gilmore, 1952, this was one of the first longish stories I ever wrote, when I was eight years old. I thought Wilma when she was changed looked just like my Grandma.
Wilma's Wishes
Wilma was fed up.
She was fed up with being ugly. She was fed up of traveling everywhere by broomstick and no one caring whether she got splinters in her bottom or not.
Wilma was fed up.
She had somehow managed to change her cat Tabitha into a weasel and no matter how she tried she couldn't change her back again, and now every time she tried to pick her up to give her a cuddle, all she got was bitten or scratched.
Wilma sat at her table, her breakfast before her, her favourite cold porridge with plenty of lumps in it and a cup of hot blackberry tea, she sighed deeply.
Only last month she had flown seventeen miles on her broomstick Spike, to visit the dragons. She desperately needed some dragons’ blood for one of her spells. But when she arrived at their cave, there was only one dragon there, old grandpa Dragon-fire who told her that all the young ones had gone skiing in the alps and they had taken all their spare blood with them incase of accidents.
Wilma was fed up, she sighed again, how was a witch supposed to earn any money for food with no spells to sell and as if that wasn’t bad enough the other day she decided to go and visit the bats that lived beyond the Petrified Forest. To begin with she was almost knocked off her broomstick by some silly Trolls who were playing hoggy in the middle with a live hedgehog. Poor little hedgehog, he was not at all happy.
Then when she finally arrived at the bat cave all she found was a note pinned to the door of their cave, it looked like it had been written in blood.
It read:
And that was it, Wilma stood looking at the small message for ages, they hadn’t even said goodbye, or even thanks for all your custom, why they could have added "We'll bring you back a piece of African rock, IF we return," at least that would have shown that they were going to miss her just a little.
“It's just not fair” Wilma said again while she added more lumps to her porridge.
“It's not right Spike, why can't I be a normal old lady instead of a witch, I am so tired of making spells and potions"
Wilma sat staring into the bowl, she let dollops of porridge drop off the spoon. It looked really dreadful which was usually how Wilma liked it, but not this morning.
She picked up the spoon and scooped out a big green dollop of gooseberry jam from the pot, she let it drop into the porridge and began to stir it round and round.
“Oh dear Spike, what am I going to do?” she groaned.
Wilma pushed the bowl away.
“Oh come on Wilma, stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something positive." she moaned as she sat there for a while looking at the pictures on the walls of her little cottage.
"Now that is what I would do if I had the chance Spike? I would have a lovely cottage like these pictures, with flowers and herbs growing all around.
"What else mistress?" Spike said, brushing up the few crumbs off the parlour floor.
" I really don't know Spike, but I'll tell you what I do know. I'm going for a nice, long walk in the woods." She got up from the chair, took off her pinny, collected her walking stick out of the kitchen and was ready to leave.
Spike started to follow her, he really loved going for a walk with his mistress instead of carrying the old lady everywhere on his handle, so he was a bit surprised when she picked him up and put him back in his corner.
“No, not today Spike, today you can stay here and mind the cottage while I'm gone.” Wilma said more cheerfully as she walked through the door. "oh yes and do try and keep an eye on Tabitha, we don't want her eating all our food. There's a good broom?” she added, patting Spike on his bristles.
Wilma smiled to herself, she really must try to change poor Tabitha back soon it can't be very nice being a weasel, especially as she still meowed like a cat.
Wilma closed the door behind her and made her way down the path and into the woods.
She hadn't gone very far when she came to a sudden stop. There, in the middle of the path was a Well, you know one of them round things that have water in them and a bucket and handle over the top.
“Now that’s very funny” she said, “I've never noticed this here before, I wonder where it came from?”
It wasn't a very big well, yet it wasn't very small either. But it was a very pretty well, as though it had not been used for very much, pretty flowers decorated the sides. Maybe it wasn’t a well for water after all.
Wilma leant over the edge and looked inside, oh my, it really was very dark down there.
She bent down and picked up a stone off the path, then leaning back over the edge she threw the stone into the darkness. Not a sound for ages then crack, crunch, plop the stone landed with a splash.
"HOI, what do you think you're doing up there?” a voice bellowed from somewhere deep within the well.
Wilma jumped back almost hitting her head on the roof over the well. She was standing her arms over her mouth, her hair she was sure was standing on end.
Then the well spoke again; “Oh that’s nice, that really is very nice, you tell me if you would like it, if someone came along and threw half a brick down on your head?”
Wilma took a step towards the well all the colour had drained from her face, “phew, I don't believe it” she said straining her neck forward to try and see who was down there, it was probably a grumpy old Genie, who was certain to be the well's spirit.
She crept a little closer then leaning over the edge she whispered. “I'm terribly sorry
Mr. er, mm Well, but how was I to know someone was down there.”
A faint light appeared inside the well, Wilma peered over the edge and into the water below; all she could see was the faint outline of what looked like a little old man and her own reflection and nothing else at all.
"O my goodness me I thought it was a lady I was talking too," the well said with a slight laugh in it's voice, "but now I’m not so sure, I mean you are a bit strange looking, aren’t you?”
Poor Wilma stood there open-mouthed she didn’t know what to say she just continued to look into the well. Then when she got herself together she spoke quite harshly at him.
“I really don’t know what to say to that remark, whoever you are, but I do think it’s time you learnt some manners”.
Wilma heard a chuckle coming up through the dim light. “Ok then,” he said, “I take it you are a witch by the look of you, I’ve heard there are quite a few in this part of Wales?”
“I wish there were, there is only me left now, well this side of Cefn Meiriadog. All the others have left and gone to England. The caves are also empty now the bats have gone to Florida or somewhere like that and the dragons have all up and left to go skiing in the Alps. No Point in anyone staying here any more."
An expression of sadness crossed her face; What the well had said was really hurtful.
She knew she wasn't the prettiest witch around but she wasn't that ugly, more plain and unfussy really.
She wiped away the hair that had fallen over her face, a small tear glistened in the corner of her eye.
The well spoke again.
“Hey if you carry on sitting up there with that sad look upon your face your going to frighten all my customers away.”
“What customers, I don’t see anyone else but me and I’m not going to pay for your mucky water?”
“Mucky water, I'll have you know Witchy Babe that this, here water, is magic water, not just any old muck that you get from the tap.”
“Oh yea, and my Tabitha is still a cat,” Wilma sneered. “You'll be telling me next that you're a Wishing Well."
Wilma began to laugh, she liked the sound of laughter, she hadn’t laughed for ages.
“And what may I ask is wrong with being a Wishing Well? Why its better than being a grumpy old witch and that's for sure.”
“Old witch?” Said Wilma. “I’m not that old and you’d be grumpy if you had had to go through all the troubles I’ve had these last few weeks.
“The thing is witchy, troubles or no troubles, who these days wants a witch when they can have wishes instead?
Wow that has a rather a nice ring to it, don't you think?”
“That is what I mean,” Wilma said. "Who needs a witch any more? Almost no one! I was fed up before I left the cottage and now I am almost past caring. I might as well just throw myself into you and end it all.”
“I wouldn't do that,” declared the well. “I happen to be very fussy about who does and doesn't go swimming about in me.”
“Well what else can I do?” Wilma cried a small tear running down her cheek. “You said it yourself I'm old and ugly, no one wants my spells any more. I can't even get the ingredients to make the recipes up any more. The bats have emigrated to Africa, the dragons are away skiing in the Alps and I haven’t seen a single newt or slimy toad in weeks and all the frogs have become princes." She sighed and continued.
My cat is a weasel, Spike my broom is that old his handle gives me splinters in my bottom.”
She gave another deep sigh. “So I ask you, what is there left for me to do?”
“You could always have those three wishes I offered,” said the well.
“Just like that, no strings attached like Pinocchio.” Wilma raised her eyebrows and frowned.
“Of course there’s a price, there’s always a price you don’t get anything for nothing these days”
“Don't I know it, why ten drops of dragons blood now cost almost two shillings, it has nearly doubled since Christmas. Mind you there are not as many dragons about now as there used to be either.”
Wilma smiled, "yet they can't be short of a few pennies if they can afford to go skiing in the French Alps.”
Wilma cast a thoughtful look down the well.
“What’s your price then?" She asked. “How much does three wishes cost.”
“Oh it won't cost you any money.” The well replied. “All you have to do is tell me what your wishes are and why you want them, and then I decide if you can have them or not.”
Wilma sat and thought for a moment, as a witch she usually worked her own magic but for some reason it was difficult to decide now that someone else was offering them to her.
“Hm well I think for my first wish, I would like Tabitha changed back into a cat again, shedoes hate being a weasel, and it was all my fault she a weasel anyway, the spell went a bit wrong, I think the wind turned the page over."
“Then for my second wish," she stroked her long drooping chin. “Yes for my second wish I would like to change my old broom Spike into a shiny new vacuum cleaner, one with no splinters.”
“Well I’m not so sure about this wish," the well said quietly, "I mean what would you fly around on, you would have to walk every where, and what about Spike would he want to be vacuum cleaner?” said the well.
“Ah yes I know that,” said Wilma smiling. “But you see for my last wish, if it wasn’t too difficult, I would like to become an ordinary lady with lovely curls and gold slippers for my feet, no longer a witch but someone who has her little cottage in the woods. People would come to me for their fresh herbs and spices and remedies for their colds and chill-blains,” she started to dance around as she thought of all the wonderful things she would like, I could sell the remedies and they wouldn’t be frightened of me anymore. I could even invite them in for tea. But then again that is far more than three wishes, it's loads." She said turning round to face the well again, laughing and smiling happily. "Yes they would be my three wishes”
But the well wasn’t there, nothing just the path not a trace of it anywhere, vanished into thin air. Wilma sat on a rock and smiled to herself small tears running down her face.
"It was all a dream," she said wiping her tears away with her handkie, "I mean how does a wishing well appear in the middle of a wood out of nowhere."
Slowly she got up from the rock and as she did so, something glittered on her feet. Gone were her old black pair of boots, instead she was wearing slippers of golden thread, sparkling in the suns rays as they shone through the trees. Then she noticed her skirt and her blouse, Her skirt was a lovely grey like Tabitha and she had a cardigan of red and a blouse of yellow with little flowers round the borders. “Oh my goodness,” cried Wilma as she started running back along the path towards her cottage.
She stopped running as she turned the bend in the path for there sitting on the doorstep of Wilma's little cottage, purring loudly was Tabitha. She was surrounded by little gardens full of herbs and flowers.
“Its so pretty, so, so pretty,” she kept saying over and over again as she walked around admiring all her new plants. Tabitha followed her rubbing her body along her new skirt, “oh Tabitha it’s so good to have you back again," Wilma said, bending down and picking her up.
Tabitha purred loudly and gave a long meeeooowww as Wilma opened the cottage door.
Slowly, very slowly Wilma walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall at the bottom of the stairs, she had to feel her way around her furniture for she had her eyes tight shut. Then holding her breath she slowly opened them.
"Oh my, thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr. Well.”
For there in the mirror stood a beautiful, white haired lady with smiles in her eyes and dimples in her cheeks, and a chin that was round and smooth and no longer pointed. Wilma started to cry but then she heard some one coughing in the corner.
“Spike, Spike, you’re still here, you’re not a vacuum cleaner.” She picked him up and spun him round the room like they were dancing. “Oh I am so glad it is you I was beginning to wish I had never wished for you to be changed.”
“Shush” said Spike quietly, “never say anything about wishes, you never
know what might happen" and with this he gave a quick flick of his bristles and went to put the kettle on in the kitchen.
Wilma just sat there in her chair, reading her book, in her beautiful cottage, with it's beautiful gardens thinking that she was the happiest witch, no lady in the whole wide world.
Wilma's Wishes
Wilma was fed up.
She was fed up with being ugly. She was fed up of traveling everywhere by broomstick and no one caring whether she got splinters in her bottom or not.
Wilma was fed up.
She had somehow managed to change her cat Tabitha into a weasel and no matter how she tried she couldn't change her back again, and now every time she tried to pick her up to give her a cuddle, all she got was bitten or scratched.
Wilma sat at her table, her breakfast before her, her favourite cold porridge with plenty of lumps in it and a cup of hot blackberry tea, she sighed deeply.
Only last month she had flown seventeen miles on her broomstick Spike, to visit the dragons. She desperately needed some dragons’ blood for one of her spells. But when she arrived at their cave, there was only one dragon there, old grandpa Dragon-fire who told her that all the young ones had gone skiing in the alps and they had taken all their spare blood with them incase of accidents.Wilma was fed up, she sighed again, how was a witch supposed to earn any money for food with no spells to sell and as if that wasn’t bad enough the other day she decided to go and visit the bats that lived beyond the Petrified Forest. To begin with she was almost knocked off her broomstick by some silly Trolls who were playing hoggy in the middle with a live hedgehog. Poor little hedgehog, he was not at all happy.
Then when she finally arrived at the bat cave all she found was a note pinned to the door of their cave, it looked like it had been written in blood.
It read:
"To whom it may concern
We are very sorry about this but we have decided
to emigrate to Africa to stay with our African cousins.
We are fed up with this cave it’s so cold in wintertime.
We don't really know when, or even if we shall
return but we’re afraid there will be no more Bat wings or
any more of our spare parts for years, maybe! "
We are very sorry about this but we have decided
to emigrate to Africa to stay with our African cousins.
We are fed up with this cave it’s so cold in wintertime.
We don't really know when, or even if we shall
return but we’re afraid there will be no more Bat wings or
any more of our spare parts for years, maybe! "
And that was it, Wilma stood looking at the small message for ages, they hadn’t even said goodbye, or even thanks for all your custom, why they could have added "We'll bring you back a piece of African rock, IF we return," at least that would have shown that they were going to miss her just a little.
“It's just not fair” Wilma said again while she added more lumps to her porridge.
“It's not right Spike, why can't I be a normal old lady instead of a witch, I am so tired of making spells and potions"
Wilma sat staring into the bowl, she let dollops of porridge drop off the spoon. It looked really dreadful which was usually how Wilma liked it, but not this morning.
She picked up the spoon and scooped out a big green dollop of gooseberry jam from the pot, she let it drop into the porridge and began to stir it round and round.
“Oh dear Spike, what am I going to do?” she groaned.
Wilma pushed the bowl away.
“Oh come on Wilma, stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something positive." she moaned as she sat there for a while looking at the pictures on the walls of her little cottage.
"Now that is what I would do if I had the chance Spike? I would have a lovely cottage like these pictures, with flowers and herbs growing all around.
"What else mistress?" Spike said, brushing up the few crumbs off the parlour floor.
" I really don't know Spike, but I'll tell you what I do know. I'm going for a nice, long walk in the woods." She got up from the chair, took off her pinny, collected her walking stick out of the kitchen and was ready to leave.
Spike started to follow her, he really loved going for a walk with his mistress instead of carrying the old lady everywhere on his handle, so he was a bit surprised when she picked him up and put him back in his corner.
“No, not today Spike, today you can stay here and mind the cottage while I'm gone.” Wilma said more cheerfully as she walked through the door. "oh yes and do try and keep an eye on Tabitha, we don't want her eating all our food. There's a good broom?” she added, patting Spike on his bristles.
Wilma smiled to herself, she really must try to change poor Tabitha back soon it can't be very nice being a weasel, especially as she still meowed like a cat.
Wilma closed the door behind her and made her way down the path and into the woods.
She hadn't gone very far when she came to a sudden stop. There, in the middle of the path was a Well, you know one of them round things that have water in them and a bucket and handle over the top.“Now that’s very funny” she said, “I've never noticed this here before, I wonder where it came from?”
It wasn't a very big well, yet it wasn't very small either. But it was a very pretty well, as though it had not been used for very much, pretty flowers decorated the sides. Maybe it wasn’t a well for water after all.
Wilma leant over the edge and looked inside, oh my, it really was very dark down there.
She bent down and picked up a stone off the path, then leaning back over the edge she threw the stone into the darkness. Not a sound for ages then crack, crunch, plop the stone landed with a splash.
"HOI, what do you think you're doing up there?” a voice bellowed from somewhere deep within the well.
Wilma jumped back almost hitting her head on the roof over the well. She was standing her arms over her mouth, her hair she was sure was standing on end.
Then the well spoke again; “Oh that’s nice, that really is very nice, you tell me if you would like it, if someone came along and threw half a brick down on your head?”
Wilma took a step towards the well all the colour had drained from her face, “phew, I don't believe it” she said straining her neck forward to try and see who was down there, it was probably a grumpy old Genie, who was certain to be the well's spirit.
She crept a little closer then leaning over the edge she whispered. “I'm terribly sorry
Mr. er, mm Well, but how was I to know someone was down there.”
A faint light appeared inside the well, Wilma peered over the edge and into the water below; all she could see was the faint outline of what looked like a little old man and her own reflection and nothing else at all.
"O my goodness me I thought it was a lady I was talking too," the well said with a slight laugh in it's voice, "but now I’m not so sure, I mean you are a bit strange looking, aren’t you?”
Poor Wilma stood there open-mouthed she didn’t know what to say she just continued to look into the well. Then when she got herself together she spoke quite harshly at him.
“I really don’t know what to say to that remark, whoever you are, but I do think it’s time you learnt some manners”.
Wilma heard a chuckle coming up through the dim light. “Ok then,” he said, “I take it you are a witch by the look of you, I’ve heard there are quite a few in this part of Wales?”
“I wish there were, there is only me left now, well this side of Cefn Meiriadog. All the others have left and gone to England. The caves are also empty now the bats have gone to Florida or somewhere like that and the dragons have all up and left to go skiing in the Alps. No Point in anyone staying here any more."
An expression of sadness crossed her face; What the well had said was really hurtful.
She knew she wasn't the prettiest witch around but she wasn't that ugly, more plain and unfussy really.
She wiped away the hair that had fallen over her face, a small tear glistened in the corner of her eye.
The well spoke again.“Hey if you carry on sitting up there with that sad look upon your face your going to frighten all my customers away.”
“What customers, I don’t see anyone else but me and I’m not going to pay for your mucky water?”
“Mucky water, I'll have you know Witchy Babe that this, here water, is magic water, not just any old muck that you get from the tap.”
“Oh yea, and my Tabitha is still a cat,” Wilma sneered. “You'll be telling me next that you're a Wishing Well."
Wilma began to laugh, she liked the sound of laughter, she hadn’t laughed for ages.
“And what may I ask is wrong with being a Wishing Well? Why its better than being a grumpy old witch and that's for sure.”
“Old witch?” Said Wilma. “I’m not that old and you’d be grumpy if you had had to go through all the troubles I’ve had these last few weeks.
“The thing is witchy, troubles or no troubles, who these days wants a witch when they can have wishes instead?
Wow that has a rather a nice ring to it, don't you think?”
“That is what I mean,” Wilma said. "Who needs a witch any more? Almost no one! I was fed up before I left the cottage and now I am almost past caring. I might as well just throw myself into you and end it all.”
“I wouldn't do that,” declared the well. “I happen to be very fussy about who does and doesn't go swimming about in me.”
“Well what else can I do?” Wilma cried a small tear running down her cheek. “You said it yourself I'm old and ugly, no one wants my spells any more. I can't even get the ingredients to make the recipes up any more. The bats have emigrated to Africa, the dragons are away skiing in the Alps and I haven’t seen a single newt or slimy toad in weeks and all the frogs have become princes." She sighed and continued.
My cat is a weasel, Spike my broom is that old his handle gives me splinters in my bottom.”
She gave another deep sigh. “So I ask you, what is there left for me to do?”
“You could always have those three wishes I offered,” said the well.
“Just like that, no strings attached like Pinocchio.” Wilma raised her eyebrows and frowned.
“Of course there’s a price, there’s always a price you don’t get anything for nothing these days”
“Don't I know it, why ten drops of dragons blood now cost almost two shillings, it has nearly doubled since Christmas. Mind you there are not as many dragons about now as there used to be either.”
Wilma smiled, "yet they can't be short of a few pennies if they can afford to go skiing in the French Alps.”
Wilma cast a thoughtful look down the well.
“What’s your price then?" She asked. “How much does three wishes cost.”
“Oh it won't cost you any money.” The well replied. “All you have to do is tell me what your wishes are and why you want them, and then I decide if you can have them or not.”
Wilma sat and thought for a moment, as a witch she usually worked her own magic but for some reason it was difficult to decide now that someone else was offering them to her.
“Hm well I think for my first wish, I would like Tabitha changed back into a cat again, she
does hate being a weasel, and it was all my fault she a weasel anyway, the spell went a bit wrong, I think the wind turned the page over."“Then for my second wish," she stroked her long drooping chin. “Yes for my second wish I would like to change my old broom Spike into a shiny new vacuum cleaner, one with no splinters.”
“Well I’m not so sure about this wish," the well said quietly, "I mean what would you fly around on, you would have to walk every where, and what about Spike would he want to be vacuum cleaner?” said the well.
“Ah yes I know that,” said Wilma smiling. “But you see for my last wish, if it wasn’t too difficult, I would like to become an ordinary lady with lovely curls and gold slippers for my feet, no longer a witch but someone who has her little cottage in the woods. People would come to me for their fresh herbs and spices and remedies for their colds and chill-blains,” she started to dance around as she thought of all the wonderful things she would like, I could sell the remedies and they wouldn’t be frightened of me anymore. I could even invite them in for tea. But then again that is far more than three wishes, it's loads." She said turning round to face the well again, laughing and smiling happily. "Yes they would be my three wishes”
But the well wasn’t there, nothing just the path not a trace of it anywhere, vanished into thin air. Wilma sat on a rock and smiled to herself small tears running down her face.
"It was all a dream," she said wiping her tears away with her handkie, "I mean how does a wishing well appear in the middle of a wood out of nowhere."Slowly she got up from the rock and as she did so, something glittered on her feet. Gone were her old black pair of boots, instead she was wearing slippers of golden thread, sparkling in the suns rays as they shone through the trees. Then she noticed her skirt and her blouse, Her skirt was a lovely grey like Tabitha and she had a cardigan of red and a blouse of yellow with little flowers round the borders. “Oh my goodness,” cried Wilma as she started running back along the path towards her cottage.
She stopped running as she turned the bend in the path for there sitting on the doorstep of Wilma's little cottage, purring loudly was Tabitha. She was surrounded by little gardens full of herbs and flowers.
“Its so pretty, so, so pretty,” she kept saying over and over again as she walked around admiring all her new plants. Tabitha followed her rubbing her body along her new skirt, “oh Tabitha it’s so good to have you back again," Wilma said, bending down and picking her up.
Tabitha purred loudly and gave a long meeeooowww as Wilma opened the cottage door.
Slowly, very slowly Wilma walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall at the bottom of the stairs, she had to feel her way around her furniture for she had her eyes tight shut. Then holding her breath she slowly opened them.
"Oh my, thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr. Well.”
For there in the mirror stood a beautiful, white haired lady with smiles in her eyes and dimples in her cheeks, and a chin that was round and smooth and no longer pointed. Wilma started to cry but then she heard some one coughing in the corner.
“Spike, Spike, you’re still here, you’re not a vacuum cleaner.” She picked him up and spun him round the room like they were dancing. “Oh I am so glad it is you I was beginning to wish I had never wished for you to be changed.”
“Shush” said Spike quietly, “never say anything about wishes, you never
know what might happen" and with this he gave a quick flick of his bristles and went to put the kettle on in the kitchen.Wilma just sat there in her chair, reading her book, in her beautiful cottage, with it's beautiful gardens thinking that she was the happiest witch, no lady in the whole wide world.
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