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    A Collection Of Fairy Tales
    A Collection Of Fairy Tales
    A Collection Of Fairy Tales
    Ebook116 pages2 hours

    A Collection Of Fairy Tales

    By Peter Morris

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    About this ebook

    From the great haggis drove to the X Factor, these stories were created using the standard elements required for fairy tales. The author has used great skill in creating new fairy tales but keeping them traditional. They will scare and amuse children, as fairy tales are supposed to.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPeter Morris
    Release dateDec 11, 2012
    ISBN9781301199280
    A Collection Of Fairy Tales
    Author

    Peter Morris

    Peter was born and raised in Belfast, Northern Ireland, during a phase that has become known as ‘the troubles’. He was educated at Saint Coleman’s College, Violet Hill, Newry, which he attended as a boarding pupil. He hated it and is proud that he managed to get expelled and escape the place he knew as Violent Hell. After serving in the RAF, for a good number of years, where being included on the crew list for 92 Squadron, the most famous squadron in the RAF, is counted as the high point of his RAF career and not the multiple promotions or awards received from the New Year’s Honours list. Life after the RAF was difficult as Peter tried to establish himself as a professional writer. He was encouraged by Carol Anne Duffy, the present Poet Laureate, and eventually settled as a ghost writer for major celebrities working through a leading London literary agent. Changing direction again Peter has decided to write for himself and embraces new technology and how it can benefit writers and their careers. Under his own name Peter has been published in newspapers and magazines, written for the radio, won numerous writing awards and competitions and is now hoping to attain a certain level of success through new technology. Peter has a BSc (hons) in accountancy and management and when not writing is a very creative candle maker, focusing on a Celtic style. His candle company is known as Celtic Illumination and he declares that he is the only person in the world to make ‘real’ tartan candles.

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      Book preview

      A Collection Of Fairy Tales - Peter Morris

      A Collection of Fairy Tales

      by

      PETER MORRIS

      Published by Peter Morris at Smashwords.

      Copyright 2012 Peter Morris

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Content list

      Driftwood On The Sand

      Why the sea is salty

      Finbar Rua

      D’Koda, Danny, Daemon & Davie

      Prince Llewellyn and Gellert

      Yesterday’s Dreams

      The X Factor

      Broken Hearts

      It’s for you!!!

      DRIFTWOOD ON THE SAND

      Bluey O Neill was a drover from Woy Woy, a small town in Australia. In fact Bluey was a champion drover. One day Bluey received an invitation from the head of the Scottish clans. He invited Bluey to come to Scotland and lead the haggis drove, which would be very important that year. He would have to take a herd of wild haggis, all the way from where they were bred, on the secret mountain in the highlands of Scotland, to the Queen of England, who lived in London. Some people said that Bluey couldn’t find a grand piano in a one-roomed house, but his family were very proud of him and this would be a great honour for them.

      Bluey spent the journey to Scotland reading books and taking notes and studying every fact he could find about the haggis. He learned that the male haggis had longer right legs than left, and that the female haggis had longer left legs than right. This was because when they were hunted in the wild, the haggis used to run away from the hunters and their big clubs. Rather than run up the mountain, to where the piper played, or down the mountain, to where the women waited, the haggis would run around the mountain. As everyone knows, male haggis only come out in the mornings and female haggis only come out in the evenings, unless it is the match mating season. So none of the haggis realised that they were running away, towards each other. Over time their little legs adapted so that they became quite expert at running around mountains, especially away from hunters.

      When he got to Scotland, Bluey was as mad as a cut snake, because there was no sunshine, only clouds of drizzle and midges. Being a fine young Australian man he decided to give it a burl anyway. He was met at the train station, where the train stopped. There were no more tracks, and this made Bluey feel a bit more comfortable. It was like being back home in the Never Never. They travelled for two more days and one night, till they reached the top secret farm of Chief Donald MacDonald of the clan MacDonald. Bluey was tempted to leave a trail of bits of burnt wood in case he got lost, or needed to get away, like an old aboriginal gentleman, he had met on walkabout, had taught him.

      That night there was a great feast, with singing and music and jugglers and drinking. Bluey was introduced to the finest single malt whiskey in the world, but it must have been served to him in a dirty quaich, for he got very drunk indeed. So the following morning when they blindfolded Bluey, so that the location of the mountain remained a secret, he was really quite pleased, because his eyes hurt, his head throbbed, and his teeth were itchy.

      At the foot of the secret mountain, or as Chief Donald MacDonald called it The Ben, the men of the clan MacDonald fanned out forming a circle around the base. Slowly they began to walk up the mountain, keeping as quiet as they possibly could. They each had a spoon and a saucepan, for as Chief Donald MacDonald had explained, and as Bluey had read in the books, the sound of metal on metal was the most humane way of driving the haggis out of their burrows. At the bottom of the mountain the women of the clan MacDonald, with their sleeves rolled up and their feet bare, waited with huge nets and sacks.

      Chief Donald MacDonald was a fierce big man with a full face of red hair to match the unruly mop of red curls on his head. He wore a kilt of clan MacDonald tartan and he had a knife down each of his thick woollen socks, which made his hairy legs seem like ivy covered tree trunks. He looked a fine figure of a man leading his men on such a dangerous mission. The previous night, Chief Donald MacDonald had sent the clan piper to stand at the top of the secret mountain. When he felt that they were in the correct position, Chief Donald MacDonald waved at the piper who immediately began playing his pipes. Every man began banging his spoon against his saucepan. Bluey was terribly excited, in fact he was grinning like a shot fox.

      Within seconds, about twenty, or twenty five, yards, feet and inches ahead of them, appeared the first haggis. Bluey was fair gobsmacked. They were about the size of a hedgehog but covered with short fur instead of spikes. Each had two legs, on one side, longer than the other. They had tiny little pink snouts, like the tied end of a balloon and each had a curly wee tail. Their eyes were dark but very bright, and their ears seemed to grow and shrink with the noise that was clattering around them.

      Before he had enough time to study them, they were off. The boy haggises were belting off to the right, while the girl haggises were charging to their left. Eventually as more and more haggis emerged from their burrows those charging either one way, or the other, would bump into a bleary eyed haggis emerging from its burrow or a fellow haggis, of the opposite sex, thundering towards them from the reverse direction. The result of the collision being that both would roll, concussed, down the mountainside. The waiting women of the clan Macdonald, with their milk white arms and feet, would scoop them into sacks; put the sacks on to carts, then take them off to holding pens where the herd would wait before Bluey could begin his drove.

      Five and a half hours later, the task was complete and the long barns were full to overflowing with lively young haggis that leapt about like spring lambs, except with two feet shorter than the other, the haggis would generally fly off in a sideways direction. It was like watching popcorn in a pan. The women collected the spoons and saucepans and went back to the kitchens to prepare lumpy porridge for their lunch while Bluey and the men went among the little beasties.

      Chief Donald MacDonald lifted a gigantic sack of mushrooms, for he was as strong as seven men, and began to feed the haggis. The herd settled down and Bluey realised that not only were they being fed but they were being controlled, which is one trick any drover worth his doovalacky should know. These beasties had to arrive in London in the best condition possible. That night the women of the clan MacDonald brewed a huge pot of cabbage soup. They added some secret ingredients while howling magic incantations and spells that would encourage long legs to shorten and short legs to lengthen. This would allow the haggis to balance themselves out, so they wouldn’t have a wobbly walk for the drove.

      For two days Bluey stayed with the haggis in the long barn, feeding them, sleeping with them, telling them stories. He needed them to recognise his voice; he needed to smell like haggis. He needed to feel how they thought, and he needed to be accepted by the haggis. The women of the clan MacDonald brought him as many slices of cold porridge as he could eat and he even learned how to chew the lumps so that each meal would last a lifetime and nothing was wasted.

      On the morning of the day of the beginning of the drove Chief Donald MacDonald introduced Bluey to his son, Douglas, the youngest of the seven MacDonald boys. The most handsome man in the clan and the best dancer, north of the great glen, for the past six years. Douglas would drive the waggon which held their store of mushrooms for the haggis, three small barrels of cold porridge for them and some gold coins and whiskey in case they had to bribe any trolls they might come across.

      Chief Donald MacDonald brought them over to a cloutie tree and advised Bluey that he should tear a piece from his clothing, tie it to a branch and make a wish. The wind would take the wish to the fairy folk and he would have a safe journey. As was said before, local people in Woy Woy thought that Bluey had kangaroos loose in the top paddock, so Bluey did as was asked of him; almost. He ripped a small piece of cloth from his shirt and tied it to a branch, but he didn’t wish for a safe journey. Being a drover he was only used to being with cattle, or sheep, or goanna’s. The sight of all those healthy young women with milky white bare arms and feet fair nearly drove him mad. So he wished for a pretty girl to be his wife. But not wanting to be stuck in Scotland for the remainder of his days he wished that she wasn’t from this land. Soon he would be home in Australia in the sunshine, droving herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, and battalions of goannas and he would finally be with his girl, life couldn’t be better.

      Bluey waited about fifteen yards and

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