Stories

Hostel

During an almost sleepless night I arose to the putrid sounds of a drunken male.  I peered down to a lower bunk to be sure no one was choking on their own vomit.  There he was, a wide bodied Scotsman, sprawled across the bed, with tight yfronts displaying his entire manhood.  His uneasy gagging, unflattering snoring and unsettling stream of doom based musical satire had an occasional unconscious cough of broken tuba coming from a sub orifice like an upside down Tibetan throat singer.  At this point it would have been easier to sleep through a person dying on the doorstep or one thousand cockroaches crawling across my face.  I tried to block out the sound with music but that only drew attention to the ever encroaching smell of beer sweating from his pores and kebab inching its way towards his anus via the spaghetti obstacle course I must assume was his digestive system.  As I pulled the duvet over my face the snoring reached earth-quaking volumes.  So, I clothed and exited the room with haste, avoiding one final glance at his glimmering salty white flesh.  The fresh  air revealed seven crows, who I imagined must have also presumed his near death.  I explained to them that he, in fact, was not in the process of  his demise but merely sleeping off a heavy night of cider and beer.  The disappointed faces confirmed to me that I had not had enough sleep.  

Bird Noise

Outside Huckum manor there’s a bird that keeps the king from sleeping

He looks out of his window but he cannot see what’s cheeping

“What is this noise?  What is this noise?”

So he gathers all his people round

To scour the woods in all his grounds

Catch the little bird

Throw her in a cage

Catch the little bird

She starts singing

“What is this noise? What is this noise?”

Feathers of yellow on the basement floor

The bird kept squawking till her voice was no more

The king was fishing but fifty miles away

When a fair, fair maiden did come up and say

“Bring me a beast that I can hear sing

And tonight I will wear your wedding ring

Bring me a beast that I can hear sing

And tonight you can be my king”

Gallop through the meadows pushing royal horse and carriage quicker
Picking up the cage without a glance he went straight back to see her

Put it in her hands

Told them both dance

“She’ll sing you a song
So we can romance”

Feathers of yellow stripping off the poor bird
Her stress was seen but couldn’t be heard

The king started shouting, his face going red

But the fair, fair maiden reached out and said:

“This bird will not sing til I let it free

So tonight old king, you will not see

Your wedding ring locked on my hand

Tonight you must flee back to your land”

Outside Huckum manor there is silence

But in the maiden’s meadow there’s a birds song that they sing together
“What is this noise?  This beautiful noise?”

Barbit’s Ramble

The story of Ben Barbit

Ben Barbit, from Digberdale resided in a grand old church spire where everything he desired was in plenty.  The elders of the village all had a difficult youth and felt that Ben needed to learn the lessons that they had done.  They sent him to Ethanroyde and instructed, “Teach what you know and learn what you don’t.”

A two-week trek was four for the lad.  With his lazy boots and privileged coin, Ben stopped at every farm and cabin to warm his nose and rest his legs. 

Ethanroyde was where the Ipia lived, high in the hills and deep in the valleys.  The Ipia were functionalist people and a funny looking outsider had no benefit to their community, they worked long and hard as a tight knit group and were as tough as their surrounding conditions. 

Ben had to stay for the raining season, as the path home would be treacherous until it dried.  So six months he did stay to teach and learn with the Ipia that were interested.  Most though were hostile towards him; “What can this young lad teach us of any use?” They laughed and ignored his words.

From sun rise to dusk Ben worked tirelessly to abide by the elders’ rules, “Teach what you know and learn what you don’t.”  He demonstrated the Digberdalian way of life to the Ipia but they did not see its purpose, to them it seemed lavish and wasteful.  When he tried to learn what the Ipia had to offer they simply replied, “do what works, live and learn.”  Each day wore Ben out, as he tried relentlessly to follow the elders’ orders, he slept on the hard ground alone.  He felt that he achieved so little that failure and disappointment lingered on his mind.  The Ipia friends he made were the most resilient he’d had known but even they weren’t enough for him to want to stay.  Ben counted the days to his departure. 

After a draining six months, the clouds parted and the sun, once again, did shine.  He bid fair well to his friends and left Ethanroyde with haste.  But although the rain had surpassed the track was not yet dry.  Ahead was still thick with mud but his boots were stronger and coin was none. So on he did wade.

He made it back to Digberdale in only a fortnight, walking all day and sleeping rough.  As he stood at the gates of the village, exhausted, disappointed and covered in dirt Ben had no idea what to tell the elders. Those words, “teach what you know, learn what you don’t” were whirling round his mind but didn’t believe he’d taught or learnt anything.  

The people of Digberdale all welcomed him home with smiles on their faces.

“Why do you smile?  I have accomplished nothing in my time.”

“With a taste of our youth,” they replied, “You have grown strong, like us.”

Ben stared in disbelief and said goodnight.

Over the next few weeks Ben achieved more, helped with the work without being asked and lived simpler than he had before.  The elders were right, Ben’s journey had been a success and that, in turn, helped the community.  For the first time, Ben saw the value of the surrounding area and the true grandeur of his home.  By leaving the village to teach about his way of life, he’d learnt much more about them both.