It was a Friday on the first day in December. The temperature had plummeted, and the mercury had not risen above zero for a week or more. As darkness fell dense, freezing fog descended upon the crystal, white touch of Jack Frosts fingertips. In my parents red, Nissan campervan we slowly trundled towards Matlock, Derbyshire.
That evening the Imperial Rooms was hosting Matlock Storytelling Cafe presents: Landscape and Longing, tales from Northern Ireland. Resident band, Cage of Crows was also there. We supped on thick warming soup and bread, coffee and cake. Then listened to mystical tales from the Emerald Isle. Olivia Armstrong is an Irish performance storyteller. She took us on a journey across the rough Irish sea, to her homeland, where Saint Patrick (when he was a living breathing mortal) rid Ireland of all its snakes. With the aid of his wooden crook, he rounded them up, and threw them wriggling and writhing into the Irish sea, where to this day they curl and roll, causing the rocky stretch of water to foam and roil. We meandered between this world and beyond, with people from long ago: spirits, fairies, sprites, the banshee.
Here is my retelling of one of Olivia's wonderful stories, about (can you believe it) a man with no story. Yes! as you gasp and clutch your mouth with your hand, it's true.
The Man with No Story
At the end of October, seasonal workers in Ireland who travelled in search of work, returned home. Each night, they would knock on the doors of stranger's houses, who would offer a bed in return for stories and songs. Remember, these were times long before electricity, televisions and computers. Most people were too poor to buy books, which anyhow were difficult to read by candlelight. When the sun went down the night was long, telling tales and singing songs were a valued way to pass the hours before sleep.
Paddy O Hearne was one of these seasonal workers, but when his hosts asked for a story, he always replied "I have none". Word quickly spread about Paddy O Hearne, the man with no story. When he knocked people snuffed out their lamps, and pretended to be asleep. Night after night Paddy O Hearne was left with no choice, but to sleep under the stars.
One night, just as Paddy O Hearne prepared for another night out in the damp and the cold, he stumbled upon a cottage. At the door stood a man. Paddy O Hearne prepared for the man to slam his door shut, but instead the man invited Paddy in with a smile. Inside the cottage, the table was piled high with food and drink. When Paddy and the man were full to bursting, the man smiled and said "go on then Paddy tell us a tale". Paddy wondered how the man knew his name, and then replied "I have none". "Oh!" The man said despondent, then pointed to a corner in the room for Paddy to sleep.
The man dampened the fire, snuffed out the lamp, and went upstairs to bed. But Paddy dd not get a wink of sleep. Shortly after the door creaked open, and six little men wheeling a coffin came into the room. "Who will carry the coffin, who but Paddy O Hearne," they whispered. Terrified! Paddy obeyed. He wheeled the coffin outdoors, until they arrived at the cast iron gates of the graveyard. The six little men spoke again, a little louder this time. "Who will open the gate, who but Paddy O Hearne." To afraid to argue, Paddy once more obeyed, and opened the cast Iron gate with a creak. "Who will dig the grave, who but Paddy O Hearne." The six little men said, louder still. They handed Paddy a shovel, and he began to dig. "Who will open the coffin, who but Paddy O Hearne." Goosebumps pricked all over Paddy's skin, as he lifted the coffin lid. Empty! Relief swept over Paddy. "Who will get in the coffin, who but Paddy O Hearne," the men screeched, and made a grab for Paddy. "Not on your life," screamed Paddy O Hearne. His blood turning to ice, he dropped the coffin lid, ran out of the graveyard, and knocked on the first door he came across. Can you imagine Paddy's surprise, when the man from the cottage opened the door; well, it made poor Paddy drop to the floor in a faint.
When he awoke it was daylight. The man was clearing the table, and asked if Paddy slept well. "I did not," Paddy replied. And he began to tell the man about the events of the previous night. When Paddy finished regaling his tale, he sighed loudly. "Well Paddy," said the man "that's wonderful, now you have a story to tell." But Paddy did not listen, and instead ran out the door. Eventually out of breath, his legs tired, Paddy turned around, but where the man and the cottage stood was only more fields.
Like the man said, Paddy never again had no story to tell, and so had a bed when he needed somewhere to sleep. How do you think the story exists today?
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