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The Storyteller and the Ravens of the Tower of London
The Storyteller was on his very first visit to London. He had no idea what it would be like and was bubbling with excitement as he travelled up on the train. The other passengers couldn't help wondering who this little old man with the red bobbly nose, the long red coat, yellow hat and lop-sided glasses was....that is until he decided to start telling a tale to the man who came along with the refreshment trolley, a tale of magic tea urns and a spell involving a mixture of digestive biscuits and crunched up salt and vinegar crisps, to the point where they were muttering and moaning and threatening to high-jack the trolley for themselves.
His mind turning what he might see and who he might meet in London, as the train pulled into Waterloo Station, the Storyteller hopped, skipped and jumped his way along the platform until he reached the main part of the Station. There he stopped. He looked left and right, right and left, up and down then (yes you have guessed it) down and up. Where to start? He saw a sign which said London Bridge. That rang a bell - wasn't there a song about it falling down? Sounded hopeful, so off he set.
He wandered along by the side of the Thames, looking across the great river as he went. There was the Globe Theatre - he had heard that Storytellers were welcome there and made a mental note to call in on the way back. He carried on. As far as he could see London Bridge wasn't falling down at all - in fact, to be quite honest, it looked quite new, solid and boring so he decided to keep going.
A much more interesting bridge could be seen a little further down the river - it had kind of towers at each end and as he approached it he could see it was called Tower Bridge (well, it would be wouldn't it?). Over the other side of the bridge he could see what looked like a castle with turrets and all sorts. He trotted across and headed for some men dressed in strange clothes holding what looked like pitchforks in their hands.
"Excuse me?" he asked "Where exactly is this?"
"It's the Tower of London," replied one of the men "and we are Beefeaters."
The Storyteller thought about this for a while but managed to stop himself making some kind of corny joke and went to the ticket office to buy himself an entrance ticket.
As he handed over his money he thought he heard a voice whispering:
"Look out for the ravens, make sure they are there
"If you see nothing but blackbirds
"You must surely beware."
He looked around him in surprise but could see nothing so he went on through the gate.
He looked around in awe - so many old bits of building surrounded him he didn't know where to go first. As he wandered around he noticed a number of big black birds and, thinking back to what he thought he had heard, he wasn't quite sure if they were the ravens or the blackbirds mentioned. He hoped very much that they were ravens and, just to make sure, he asked another Beefeater who took a good look at them and said:
"Yes, you are alright - they are ravens, we have hundreds of them here."
The Storyteller saw a sign saying "Dungeon" and thought that he would take a look since he told all kinds of tales about dragons, castles, lovely young princesses and handsome young princes who always seemed to end up in a dungeon (as well as the ones involving spells using a mixture of......oh, sorry, said that before....) and he had never really seen one before. He went very carefully down the steep staircase and, at the bottom, stepped back in fear. He could hardly see a thing and the smell of damp, mouldy stone was quite overpowering. He crept along the narrow passageway peering into the darkness - he couldn't see much but, every so often, a clanking sound could be heard somewhere over to his left. He hugged the right hand wall and stumbled ever onwards. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard that whisper again:
"You think you are safe down here in the depths
"You really have no idea
"The ravens are gathering at the top of the steps
"Getting ready to get out of here."
The Storyteller turned round and positively sprinted back along the passage, ignoring the clanking noises which were getting ever louder, jumped up the steps nearly tripping over his long red coat as he went, and burst out of the door at the top. He fell on something which squeaked painfully and he quickly scooped it up and shoved it in his pocket.
There they were, line upon line of them, silently waiting. The ground looked black from where the Storyteller stood and, as he watched, the ravens as one launched themselves into the air and flew gracefully away over the tops of the towers.
"Oi, come back!!! Where do you think you are going!"
"Oh my goodness, they've gone, COME BACK!!!"
"What are we going to do? WHAT are we going to do?"
The cries came from all around the Storyteller as the Beefeaters rushed into the courtyard, faces white with shock and mouths wide open with fear.
The Storyteller stayed where he was, calm and collected as the Beefeaters rushed round in ever decreasing circles, winding themselves up into a complete state of panic.
The sky darkened and thunder bounced around the Tower. Every so often, lightning lit up the old stones and the fearful, haggard faces of the Beefeaters.
"Excuse me?" asked the Storyteller. "What exactly is the problem with the ravens going?"
He hadn't been sure whether the whisperings were anything to take much notice of (apart from being frightened out of his wits at being whispered at by something he couldn't see of course) but on seeing the reaction of the Beefeaters he realised that things must be a whole lot more serious.
The Beefeaters explained that legend (and, let's face it, if there was one thing the Storyteller knew all about it was legend and the like) had it that if the ravens ever left the Tower of London, chaos and mayhem would fall upon the city.
The Storyteller went over to a convenient bench and sat down carefully. His mind was flitting this way and that trying to find a solution and his red bobbly nose turned quite blue with concentration.
Suddenly there was a flash, bang, wallop and a shrieking, cackling laugh. There, silhouetted against a flash of forked lightning stood a black, motheaten figure, its yellow teeth shining in the gloom. It was Lord Lilyfield of London, that notorious criminal (known to his friends as Lily, actually, which didn't go down too well as he preferred to be called by his second name Orrible Oliver) and nearly assassin (nearly assassin because although he had always tried very hard something always seemed to go wrong).
"Doom and gloom!!" he shouted hoarsely. "DOOM AND GLOOM!!" and coughed splutteringly as he was just getting over a nasty case of the sniffles.
The Storyteller smiled slowly to himself.
"Well, if all we have to worry about is Lily......the matter is practically resolved already."
He stood up and sauntered sneakily across to Lily and whispered:
"Oooooh, Lily, ravens now eh? What was it last time? Magpies - going on and on about how unlucky they were but you got it wrong didn't you? Sent them out in pairs didn't you? What was it again, tee hee? One for sorrow and TWO for joy? Such a shame really. Instead of misery and mould we all got joy and jollity! So now you have decided to work with the Ravens! Wonder just quite what will go wrong this time?"
Lily quivered and quaked with rage:
"You......you don't know what you're talking about you silly little old man...yes I got it wrong with the Magpies but this time, THIS TIME.....DOOM AND GLOOM!!!!"
Just at that precise moment a loud squawk and squeak could be heard coming from the Storyteller's pocket and something started to wriggle furiously which was really quite uncomfortable. The Beefeaters heard the noise and came closer. The Storyteller carefully opened his pocket, Lily bent right down with his craggly nose close to the opening (even thought the lightning lit up the sky at regular intervals it was still quite difficult to see). Suddenly, with a flurry of feathers, a bird flew out of the pocket, grabbed on to the nearest object with its very sharp beak and hung there looking confused. Lily screamed, leaped in the air at least three and a half feet and shook his head wildly trying to dislodge the creature from his nose..
In the light of the forty-fifth flash of lightning (but hey, who is counting?) the bird was revealed as a very sorry looking specimen of.... wait for it.......Raven!
The Beefeaters cheered, the Storyteller smiled widely and Lily, well Lily dashed the poor little chick to the ground (it recovered quite quickly from its ordeal) and stomped off in the most awful huff. You see, it meant that not all the Ravens had left after all and therefore no more "Doom and Gloom".
Sheepishly the other Ravens returned one by one, their eyes looking every which way but at the Beefeaters who eyed them sternly. The skies cleared, the Beefeaters cheered the Storyteller and, in the distance could be heard:
"Doom and blooming gloom indeed, blooming birds, can't trust any of them...I told them that they would have all the cheese in the world if they agreed to leave and what blooming happens? Blooming one gets left behind that's what blooming happens. Don't talk to me about doom and gloom..................."
PS The Storyteller did remember to call in at The Globe Theatre on his way back. Actually he had quite an adventure there.....but perhaps we shall keep that one for another time.