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:

"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! "

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.

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog

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NEVER MIND THEM WATER-MELONS

An old Ghost story from Alabama


Now, old Sam Gibb, he didn't believe in ghosts, not one little bit.
Everyone in town knew the old log cabin back in the woods was haunted,
but Sam Gibb just laughed whenever folks talked about it. Finally, the
blacksmith dared Sam Gibb to spend the night in the haunted log cabin and if he stayed there until dawn, the blacksmith would buy him a whole
cartload of water-melons. Sam was delighted, if he had one passion in life, it was the water-melon. It was Sam's
absolute favourite fruit, so of course he accepted the dare at once, packed some
matches and his pipe, and went right over to the log cabin to spend the
night in the old cabin. He set about lighting a fire, then he lit his pipe and
settled down in a rickety old arm-chair to read his newspaper.
He hadn't been reading for too long when he heard a creaking sound. Sam looked around until his eyes settle on the chair next to him. On it sat a gnarled
little creature with glowing red eyes, it
had a long, forked tail, two horns on its head, claws at the ends of
its hands, and sharp teeth that poked right through its large lips.
Then it spoke;
"There ain't nobody here tonight except you and me," it said
to old Sam Gibb. It had a voice like the hiss of flames. Poor Sam, his heart almost stopped with fright. He leapt to his feet, knocking the chair over and yelled.

"Aye and there ain't going to be nobody here but you in a minute," As he made straight for the nearest exit, which just happened to be the window. He was off down that lane lickety-split.
Why, he ran so fast he overtook two rabbits being chased by a
coyote. But then he heard the pounding of little
hooves and when he looked round the gnarled creature with the red eyes was quickly catching up with him.
"Phew you're making pretty good speed for an old man," said the creature to old Sam Gibb.


"Oh, I can run much faster than this," Sam Gibb told it, and he took off
like a bolt of lightning, leaving the gnarled creature in the dust.
The Blacksmith came flying out of the forge
to see what was wrong, all he caught was the words.
"Never mind about them water-melons, you can keep them" as Sam Gibb shouted without breaking his stride.


Ha ha ha, poor old Sam Gibb he ran all the way home and hid under his bed for the rest of
the night, and part of the next day.
And you might say that nobody heard him talk about ghosts and spooks ever again in fact, he became a firm believer in ghosts and spooks, and
he refused to go anywhere near the old cabin in the woods, not for a hundred cart-loads of water-melons.

Diddilydeedot, is tucked away every halloween, well that is until about midnight when she has to find her cat Tuppence, and her broomstick

A NURSERYLAND FULL OF NURSERY RHYMES

NURSERY-LAND BRINGS YOU NURSERY RHYMES GALORE

There Was A Man

 There was a man and he went mad,
And he jumped into a biscuit bag;
The biscuit bag it was so full,
So he jumped into a roaring bull;
The roaring bull it was so fat,
So he jumped into a gentleman’s hat;

The gentleman’s hat it was so fine,
So he jumped into a bottle of wine;
The bottle of wine it was so dear,
So he jumped into a barrel of beer;
The barrel of beer it was so thick,
So he jumped into a walking stick;

The walking stick it was so narrow,
So he jumped into a wheelbarrow;
The wheelbarrow began to crack,
So he jumped into a haystack;
The haystack began to blaze,
So he did nothing but cough and sneeze!

A little cock sparrow sat on a green tree,
And he chirruped, he chirruped, so merry was he .
A naughty boy came with his wee bow and arrow,
Determined to shoot this little cock sparrow.

“This little cock sparrow shall make me a stew,
And his giblets shall make me a little pie too.”
                             “Oh, no,” said the sparrow, “I won’t make a stew!”
So he flapped his wings, and away he flew.

There was a king met a king
In a narrow lane.
Says this king to that king;
"Where have you been?"

                             "Oh I've been a-hunting
                                 With my dog my doe,"
                                     "Pray lend him to me,
                                   That I may do so"

"There's the dog take the dog,"
"What's the dog's name?"
"I've told you already,"
"Pray tell me again."

John Cook he had a little grey mare,
      Hee haw, hum;
Here legs were long and her back was bare,
      Hee haw, hum!

John Cook was riding up Shunter's Bank,
      Hee haw, hum;
The mare she began to kick and to prank,
     Hee haw, hum!

John Cook was riding up Shunter's Hill,
      Hee haw, hum;
His mare fell down and she made her will,
      Hee haw, hum!

The bridle and saddle were laid on the shelf,
      Hee haw, hum;
If you want any more, you may sing it yourself,
    Hee haw, hum!

Wonderful

A small intro into Llyfr Del, as we explained we have put this on specially for Seligor. She was very angry the other night over something about Wales, so we have decided to make her a special Llyfr Del - "Nice Little Book."

Llyfr Del

           

DEL

Mae teleffon yng Nghymru
O wifren felen fain,
Un pen y dderbyn straeon
A'r llall i wrando 'rhain;
Wrth un mae bod direidus,
O straeon digri'n llawn,
Wrth y llall mae bachgen boch-goch
Yn ddifyr ddifr iawn.

Chwi glywsoch tam y telegraff ac am y teleffon. Dau air Groeg ydyw'r ddau air; yn Gymraeg eu hystyr ydyw, - y pell-ysgrifennydd a'r pell-seinydd. Pe baech chwi yn un pen i'r telegraff a chyfaill yn y pen arall,  fil o filldiroedd i ffwrdd, gallech wneyd i'r telegraff ysgrifennu eich meddwl yn y pen draw gyda eich bod wedi ei ddweyed. Y mae'r teleffon yn beth rhyfeddach fyth; gallwch siarad yn un pen iddo, y bydd eich cyfaill yn clywed  eich llais yn y pen arall. Meddyliwch am blentyn yn medru clywed llais ei fam, tra mae'r môr mawr rhyngddo a hi.
     Ond nid esbonio'r telegraff a'r teleffon  yw fy amcan yn awr, ond dweyd stori honno y mae llawer o straeon ereill, - rhai na fydd yn hawdd iawn i chwi eu coelio hwyrach. Ond rhaid i chwi gofio fod llawer iawn  o bethau rhyfedd yn y byd yma.
      Mi wn i am fachgen bach bochgoch tew. Un hoff iawn o chwaren oedd; ac yn swn plant y pentref i gyd, clywech ei swn ef yn uchaf. Mab i feistr y post oedd; Cadwaladr oedd ei enw iawn, ond Del y galwai pawb ef.  Un llawn bywyd oedd Del; allan yn chware  y byddai wrth ei fodd. Anodd iawn oedd ei gadw'n llonydd mewn na thy na chapel; chware, chware'r oedd Del o hyd . "Del ni ydyw'r gwaethaf yn y wlad," ebe ei fam, wrth dreio 'i gael i'r ty i fynd i'w wely, "un drwg iawn ydyw Del." Ond buase mam Del yn digio am byth wrthych pe coeliech hi. Gwrandewch arni'n siarad a'i bachgen wrth fynd ag ef i'r ty, - "Del bach ddrwg ei fam, 'does mo'i dlysach o yn y byd, na'r well o chwaith."
Ryw dro daeth newid mawr dros fuchedd Del. Ni chlywid ei lais ym mysg lleisiau'r plant ereill, ni chwareuai gyda hwynt, nid oedd na blodenyn ar y caeau na brithyll yn y nant nac aderyn yn y gwrych fedrai ddenu sylw Del fel o'r blaen. Ni chydiai mewn pel, ni cheisiai ennill botyman, ac nid oedd yn hidio mewn marblen, hyd yn nod mewn marblen wydr fawr iawn o liwiau. Doi i'r ysgol i'r dim at amser dechreu; ae wedi amser gollwrng, ai adref ar ei union, ac ni welid Del y prynhawn hwnnw mwy. Yr oedd yn iach a llon, ond ni ddoi i chware. " Un rhyfedd iawn," ebe'r fam, "ydyw Del bach ni."
    O'r diwedd gwelwyd pam yr oedd Del yn y ty o hyd. Yr oedd wedi digwydd, ryw ddiwrnod, roi pellen y teleffon wrth ei glust, a chlywodd yr ystori ryfeddaf glywodd erioed. A phob dydd ai Del i ystafell y teleffon, a rhoddai'r bellan wrth ei glust, a chlywai stori newydd. Ni wyddai o ble doi'r ystraeon, tybiai mai rhyw angel bach, neu un blant y Tylwyth Teg, oedd yn eu dweyd wrtho yn y pen arall. Ond cewch chwi farnu pan glywch hwy.

Mae Del yn gwenu'n hapus,

Fi ddwed y llygad llon

Fod stori felus felus
Yn dod o'r bellen gron.

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog
Hello to everyone out there who has knowledge of the Welsh language, from Patagonia to Australia, Spain to the USA, and don't foget my beautiful Wales as well. Here is a small collection of stories specially delivered to this page by Diddilydeedot's Dreamland. XXX

LLYFR DEL(1906)

 rhodd - Owen Edwards.

Owen Morgan Edwards 

(26 December 1858 – 15 May 1920) 

was a Welsh historian, educationalist and writer. 

He was often known as O. M. Edwards. Owen Edwards was born in Llanuwchllyn near Bala, the eldest son of Owen and Beti Edwards. Just down the road I live as the deryn ddu flies

He gives a vivid description of his early education in his autobiography Clych Adgof ("Bells of Remembrance") published in 1906. Llanuwchllyn was then and remains a strongly Welsh-speaking area, but the Welsh Not was in use at the local school and usually found itself round Owen's neck,as a punishment for speaking Welsh. He went on to change all this as his career developed. The first story "DEL" will explain some of this .

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog* * * Diddilydeedotsdreamland ***



To see many more paintings visit. http://www.paintingsilove.com/

THE MIDNIGHT HORSE

The gardener looked around him in horror. "He has been here again !" he cried.
His wife ran out. the flowers were trampled , the fruit trees torn. They looked at the havoc almost pitifully, for this was Japan, and the land of loving gardeners and artists.

As they stood there gazing at the destruction of the broken flowers a peasant man came walking by.
" Oh, yes," he said. "My place has been trample as well, and some wild beast has trampled through the rice-fields. It has happened for three nights running now. We must do something soon or we shall be ruined."
"What is that ?" cried the gardeners wife, catching sight of a little blue Kimona among the bushes. There lay her son on the ground fast asleep. They woke him with a scolding for spending the night lying in the earth.
" Oh but father ! " he cried. I watched for the beast, and I saw him ! He is a big black horse. He came stamping in, nibbling a bit here and a bit there, but by then I was so sleepy that I fell asleep and didn't see which way he went."
His father patted his shoulder, "you are a good boy but we still are left with the mystery of who this horse belongs to. There is no one here owns a black horse."
" We will catch him tonight, " said the peasant in a determined voice.
And so as soon as it was dusk the villages hid themselves in little groups around the village. About midnight a cloud drifted over the moon, and presently a great black horse came trotting noiselessly along on the grass.

The people ran out with their ropes and sticks and lanterns. The horse wheeled this way and that, there were men on every side But then the horse set off like the wind, rushed past its assailants and vanished into the temple.
Everybody chased after it, but when they reached the temple there was no horse to be seen anywhere.
Then the silence was burst by a scream from the gardeners young son. " Look ! Look ! There he is !"
The child held his lantern up to the newly painted picture on the wall. A Black Horse - and it was steaming from his running !
All the peasants stood there mouth's wide open gaping at the picture.
"Come we must go and fetch Mr Kanaoka; it is his horse he painted it. "
Poor Mr Kanaoka, he was almost dragged from his bed, but he hurried back to the temple with his brushes and colours. When he gazed at the wonderful horse, it looked so spirited that he could not bear to paint it out.
At length he came upon the idea of painting in a tethering post and halter for the runaway steed, and after that there was no more harm done. But the gardener's son often thought he caught a vicious look in the horse's eye, as though its hoofs itched to take vengeance on its betrayer.

*I have know real knowledge of this story from a 1930's encyclopedia for children, but there was a famous painter, whose name was Mr Kose Kanaoka, I wonder if this wee bit of mythology could have come from the 9th century A.D. Gosh Diddily may have made a connection here in Dreamland.

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog Diddily-dee-dot's Dreamland, Welcome's You All.

THE MYTH OF PAN

In a very far-away country, a long time ago, there lived a man who loved music and little children and the birds and flowers. And the little children loved Pan--for that was his name--because he told them such beautiful stories and played on a set of pipes which he had made from the reeds which grew by the river.

Every evening, when it was time for the sun to go to sleep and all the little stars to wake up, Pan would take his pipes, go down to the river side, and play all the songs he knew. Everybody could hear Pan's music for miles and miles, but many of them did not like his music, and wished that he would not play.

Once some of these people gathered together and planned how they could stop Pan from playing his pipes, and while they were talking, some beetles near by heard their plans. Now, one of these beetles had hurt his wing at one time and had fallen down in the dust on the road, and could go no farther. It was a very hot day, and the poor little beetle was almost dead from the heat. Soon Pan came walking along and saw the beetle, and, picking it up very carefully, he carried it on some green leaves to a shady place, where he left it to rest and get well. The beetle had never forgotten Pan's kindness, and when he heard the plans these bad people had made he said:

"Come, friends, and go with me, for we must hurry and tell Pan what the wicked people have planned, so that he will not be there when they go to push him into the river."

The beetles had only one day in which to reach Pan, for the evil people were going to carry out their plans the next night, so they spread their wings and flew as fast as they could fly. They could not travel far at a time, because their wings grew very tired and their bodies were so heavy. When they could fly no longer they would walk, and when they were tired walking they would fly again. In this way they hurried on and on, for the day was growing into night, and they could hear Pan playing his beautiful songs way down by the river bank. They had almost reached him when they heard what seemed to be a crowd of people running through the bushes and among the trees, and it seemed that they were going toward the river. Next there was a big splash and many voices talking loudly, and after that--silence.
When the beetles reached the place where Pan always sat they could not find him; but there in the river were his pipes, which he loved so well.

The people had reached Pan before the beetles, and had pushed him into the river, and his pipes fell in too, but Pan did not wait to get them.
He climbed out and ran as fast as his feet would carry him. The people
ran after him, but he leaped and bounded over the bushes and flowers,
and ran on and on. Sometimes they were almost upon him, but he always
out-ran them.
He wished to hide, but could find no place. He could not climb the trees, for the people could climb trees, too, and he could not hide in the grass or under the bushes, for they would be sure to find him there.

At last, along the river bank, he spied the little violets that had
closed their eyes, but were still gazing at the stars. One little violet seemed to say to him,
"I will hide you," and it folded its little petals around him. Pan was safe now, and from his hiding place he could hear the people searching for him. They looked for a long time, but they did not find him. He was happy and thankful, and, as he was very tired and the soft petals of the violets made a pleasant resting place, he was soon fast asleep.

Away back on the river bank, where Pan always sat, were the beetles.
They were very sorry that they had not reached him in time to tell him that the people were coming, and that they could not get his pipes out of the water, where they had fallen. And, though they never saw him
again, they always remembered him and the beautiful music he used to play.

One day some little children were picking violets by the river, and they found one little violet that had eyes just like Pan's eyes. They took it home and named it Pan's Eye, in memory of their old friend, but, as that was rather a hard name for the little children to say, they called it Pansy.

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog

Diddilydeedot's Dreamland presents!

 RELICS AND RATS

Relics and rats
cantrips and cats
giraffes with short necks
and kangaroos without flaps.
Teapots and toads
dead skunks and stoves
terrible journies
on ramshackle roads.
Wombats with wings
see-saws with stings
these are just some
of my favourite things.
 Relics and rats
imps in straw hats
maidens with cherries
and silken cravattes.
Kettles and kippers
vicars and strippers
chocolate ice cream
and ladies with flippers.
Fairies and foam
griffin and gnome -
fine in their place,
but not in the home!
Teapots and toads
leprechauns in brogues
cucumber coffee
and squid a-la-mode.
Owls baked in omelettes
cats stuck in pelmets
children on stilts
and grannies in helmets
Pigs in pink dresses
tarts with dark tresses
lime-flavoured ladders
and foreign addresses
Daisies that sing
button that ping
these are some more
of my favourite things.

I bet your favourite things aren't as exciting

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog

Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere : Blog Disney with a difference
A is an Apple round and Red.    B is a Bunny tucked up in bed.

A. is and APPLE round and Red.
            
B is a BUNNY tucked upin Bed.


C is a CATERPILLAR out for a Walk.

D is two DOGGIES having a Talk.


E is an ELEPHANT drinking his Tea.