'Piobalaun the Leprechaun'
’Tis well known, by those in the know, that leprechauns hide their pots of gold at
the end of rainbows. The leprechaun that concerns us here was called Piobalaun
and lived in a wee house in a fairy ring, under a hill by a meadow.
One summer morning Piobalaun, who was a cobbler by trade, was sitting on his
three-legged stool mending the sole of a dancer’s shoe. He whistled as he worked
for ‘twas a glorious June morning. Nature was in full bloom. The skylark had risen
off her nest and was showering the world with unimaginable sweetness. Piobalaun
was lost in his own wee world, when suddenly he was grabbed roughly and gripped
by the long snaking fingers of one of the human-folk. (“They’re not ordinary
fingers”, he thought quickly to himself.)
“Put me down!” shouted Piobalaun. “You great amadawn! Can’t you see I’m busy
repairing the most delicate stitching of these elegant boots? Do you have eyes in
your head or are you a being totally devoid of any sensibility?”
This caused the human to be taken aback. It bothered him to be thought of as a
person of base character. “I heard that leprechauns hide their gold under
rainbows and I’d like to have your crock of gold,” he blurted out.
“To be given it or to take it?” asked Piobalaun. “There’s a big difference
you know. Be given it and you will never again have a want in the world. Take it
and you’ll never have a day’s peace. By the way, what have you got in that box
under your oxter?” The box he referred to was a long leather case which the
human was carrying. ”I’d hazard a guess you’re a piper”.
“I am a piper,” he said. “How did you know?”
“By your fingers. Where are you from and where are you to?” said Piobalaun
showing neither dread nor fear.
“I am on the way home through this meadow. I’ve been up all night playing
at a wedding.”
“You’re not much of a musician then,” said Piobalaun . “For if you were, and
had half a brain, or even a quarter of an ear, ’tis asking me about that tune I was
whistling you’d be, because if you learned it, ’twould bring you more joy and
fulfilment than a miserable crock of gold would. And isn’t it about time you put
me down?”
The piper apologised and asked Piobalaun to whistle the tune again. The wee
man produced a set of uilleann or elbow pipes of exquisite craftsmanship and
played a tune of such dulcet melody, the honey-dew dripped off each note. The
human listened spellbound and learned the tune as it sweetly streamed out of
the leprechaun’s pipes. He had the gift of learning a tune at one hearing, through
careful listening over many years.
“What’s it called?” he asked.
“The Piper through the Meadow Straying,” said Piobalaun.
“And what are you called?” ventured the piper.
“Piobalaun” said the wee man.
“I can see why”, said the Human, “for you’re truly a piper of some
distinction. By the way, I’m Liam”.
Liam bade good morrow to Piobalaun, saying how sorry he was for making
such a fool of himself. He went on to become famous throughout the countryside
from the playing of that tune. There wasn’t a fair, festival or festivity that he
wasn’t invited to for many a long year and true to Piobalaun’s word, the tune
kept him and his family in health and happiness throughout his long, lyrical life.
Leprechaun, pronounced lepracawn, one of the Little People
Piobalaun, pronounced Peebalawn, a person who plays the pipes a lot
amadawn, pronounced ommadawn, a person of small intelligence
uilleann, pronounced illinn, the elbow
oxter, the armpit, the inner side of the upper arm
Figures of Speech
Amrit and his friend Blake ate the cherry pie.
“Nice,” said Amrit. “I like blackberry pie as well. And now for some work.”
Amrit and Blake were helping in the garden. “Can we have a drink of
lemonade before we start weeding the vegetable bed, please?” asked Amrit.
“Weeding is thirsty work.”
Amrit’s Mum arrived with two glasses of home-made lemonade. The boys
drank the lemonade. When she had gone indoors Amrit said, “I don’t like that
lemonade. It tastes of lemons and it tastes too bitter. I prefer the stuff we buy
in the supermarket.”
“So do I,” said Blake. “It tastes better because it’s got lots of sugar in it
and no lemons.”
“But sugar rots our teeth,” said Amrit.
“I’ve a sweet tooth,” said Blake.
“What’s a sweet tooth?” asked Amrit. “Does that mean your other teeth
are sour or something?”
“No,” said Blake. Blake was older than his friend Amrit. “It’s what is known
as a figure of speech.”
“A what?” said Amrit.
“A figure of speech, a way of saying things. Instead of saying ‘I like sweet
things’, we can say ‘I’ve got a sweet tooth’.”
“Who makes these things up?” asked Amrit. “Sometimes I don’t know what
people are on about. I wish people would speak plainly. It drives me crackers.”
“It drives you what?” said Blake.
“It drives me crackers?”
“What does that mean?”
“It drives me round the bend.”
“Which bend?”
“No bend. There’s no bend. It’s just a way of saying it – it’s a figure of
speech!”
“Let’s get stuck into the gardening”.
The Sled
Dan sat at a flat desk and held a hammer in his hand. He was mending the sled
with a plank of timber. “I wish it was lunch,” he said. “I think I’ve banged and
whacked all day. Time to munch a sandwich from my lunch box.”
It was still just half past eleven so he had a drink of water and did some work.
Colin, his best friend, entered the workshop for a visit. “Want any help?” he
asks.
“Splendid. Grab a clamp and a drill,” said Dan. “I want to cut, press and
bond this wood. Then I’ll rest.”
Together Dan and Colin work hard. They put ash and elm wood in the sled. It felt
strong. No gaps.
“Lift it off the desk,” said Dan. The friends slid the sled on the floor, put
it on the truck and took it to the shed, slotted it snug on a shelf and went to
lunch in the kitchen.