An Golonn : The Courage

There was once, there was once, and once there was not. In the little village of Rescrowan there lived young Davey Dewings with his Mother and his Gran’fer; in a cottage up on the higher side, not far from the stream. Most evenings there would be a bit of a gathering for gossip and droll tales; in the summer around the Old Mens’ Bench by the ford, and in the winter by turns around the fire in one or other of the cottages. The old folk kept alive the ancient stories of feats of great courage and love and the scrapes and disasters that had come to the district many years ago. They told everyone who they were, all the people they had been, and who they would become. The villagers who listened felt a great belonging to the very soul and soil of the village.

Davey loved the tales and his neighbours who brought them to life once again, their faces laughing in the fire light or in the warmth of the setting sun if it was good enough to sit out. There’d be Billy Blake, Mrs Biddick, William and Molly Warne, Uncle Bob and of course Mother and Gran’fer. Davey would close his eyes and be transported to distant times and lands, to giants and witches and piskies and even to a young lad like himself having great adventures. Sometimes his head would nod and try as he might to follow the story he couldn’t keep awake. Then he would be gently shaken by Gran’fer, saying, ‘c’mon boy, time to wake up and go to sleep!’ Davey grew up with the tales, year upon year.

One evening, when Davey had grown out of his boyhood, Old William Pascoe leaned across and said, “ Yer Davey, all these years you’ve sat and listened to our droll tales, ‘tis now time fur you to tell us one!” ‘Come-es on Davey’ they all cried.

“I can’t do that,” stammered Davey, “I -I only listen, I wouldn’t know where to begin!”

“That’s easy,” smiled Old William, “You just says, ‘There was once, there was once, and once there was not ,’ which do mean that what’s true once and twice might not be true a third time. Or may be it do mean what’s true for two people aan’t certain for a third.”

“There was once, there was once, and once there was not…..aw I can’t do it,” he groaned, “I can’t even read properly!”

“No more can I,” said Old William, kindly,” people who read lock their tales up in books. We d’ keep ‘em alive in our hearts; start again.”

“But what if I forget the words?”

“We’ll all ‘elp ‘ee to fill un in”.

Davey looked round at all the faces he knew so well, some young and some ancient and wrinkled and not much longer for this life. A lump of ice began to form in the pit of his belly and his mouth stuck in a silly grin. No words came and he stared at the floor in his shame.

The smiles faded as everyone stared at Davey with great sadness in their eyes. There was a long silence, then Old William ‘aved out a great sigh and said:

“Them as listens to stories but never passes ‘em on, they’m like somebody who reaps a harvest but never teals the seed. Like them as likes a drop of cyder but never thinks of plantin’ a apple tree, or is full up with wishes but never works to make ‘em come true! You best tell us a one, or be off to yer bed Davey Dewings!”

With that Davey took hold of his courage and squeezed it into the shape of the first tale he really wanted to tell. As he began all the smiles returned!

And this is the story he told………….