Again a piece of writing submitted as part fulfillment for the second year of my degree in English, this time a much more light-herated affair. The breif was to re-interpret the popular poem 'The Whisun Weddings', into a short narrative aimed at children aged 8 and over.

The Whitsun Weddings

"Now children a treat for you all", said the teacher , quickly organising them into a small circle centered around  two chairs in the middle.
The Children's faces were wide with excitement, they loved Friday afternoons, it meant literacy hour and that could be anything from reading books to surprise visitors...like today.  Mrs. Woodsworth the class teacher had walked to the back of the room and opened the door; sensing an absence of authority, the class began a wave of excited chatter.  This noise was quickly abated however, when Mrs. Woodsworth returned from the back of the classroom with a very tall man walking behind her. 

     He wore a full length leather coat and a Deerstalker hat; he was younger looking than Mrs. Woodsworth, though, somehow, when he appeared at the front of the room, he had an instant calming effect on the gathered children, holding their attention like a magician at the climax of a magic trick.  Indeed, he had not spoken a word since he had entered the room.  The children sat and waited, intently watching the man's intelligent eyes, which were currently scanning each and every child's face.

     Mrs. Woodsworth spoke: "Children, this is Mr. Moonstar, he is going to read us a story about a journey he took on a train, which he then wrote about as a poem.  I want you all to be nice and quiet for him and ask questions - but only by putting up your hand first... can you do that for me children?"

"Yes Mrs. Woodsworth the children chourused together in excited voices".


     Mr. Moonstar, still standing, and without saying a word, took off his deerstalker hat and full length leather coat and placed them on the chair next to him.  He then took a seat at the chair next to that and looked at the children in front of him.  The door shut signalling the departure of Mrs. Woodsworth.  The man spoke; his voice was deep and booming, yet somehow cheerful and kind:  "Good afternoon children, I hope you are all ready for my story.  As Mrs. Woodsworth said, I am going to tell you a tale about a journey I took a few years ago, in 2004 I believe it was.  Well this journey and the things I saw inspired me to write a poem which was called 'The Whitsun Weddings'.  Your teacher, Mrs. Woodsworth, would like you to listen to my short story and then go on to paint a picture of something that I describe in the next hour; so I think maybe I should get on with things."

     Every single set of little eyes were watching Mr. Moonstar intently, he had an almost magical air about him.


    "Right then", he said, "I shall begin, my story starts in the spring of the year 2004, it was Whitsuns...
                                  "What's that", a girl suddenly shouted out.
"What is what?" the man asked looking amused. 
"That Whi-Whitun-Whitunsun?" The girl tried again, struggling with the strange word.
Mr Moonstar smiled to himself, "Agh, Whitsun, well it is a celebration day in the Christian Faith, a celebration of 'Whit', it's a bit like Christmas or Easter, except you don't get presents or eggs.

"Oh", said the girl, apparently satisfied with the answer.

"Right then, I shall continue with my story", Mr. Moonstar said, more to himself than to anyone else.

"That Whitsun, I was quite late getting away; I believe it must have been 13:20 P.M., yes about one-twenty, on that afternoon".

   The children settled down, comfortably, ready to listen to this man's story.  He did not use notes, indeed it seemed that all of this was coming from memory, as he talked he scanned the classroom absorbing every child's face, each one was looking straight back at him, waiting and watching, hanging on his every word.

"I was just in time  fo my train, the 14:00 to London, I had just enough time to find a seat before it lurched forward, the wheels screeching horribly as they skidded into motion on the tracks.  I'll tell you what though children, finding a seat was not a difficult job, the train was almost empty!  I guessed that everybody would be at home enjoying the lovely early spring sunshine.  All the windows on the train had been opened and so a lovely breeze was flowing through, my seat was warm form where the sun had been shining onto it."

  Each child's imagination was being fed vivid images, Mr. Moonstar constructd the story so well that each child imagined it was them sat on the train in the bright sun-light.

  "So sitting as I was on the train, I noticed the scenery passing me by, and would you like to know what I saw children?"  The class nodded to the man, not wanting to break the silence and not wanting him to stop talking.

"Well I shall tell you then", he continued, smiling at them, "as the train moved along the tracks, it passed the backs of houses, crossed a street where the cars stood waiting, reflecting the bright sun into my eyes.  As the train followed a river down into a valley and out again, a smell of fish, strong and salty flooded my nostrils, and as the train speeded on, the source of that smell became evidient, a fishing dock came into view.  In it were boats of all kinds, shapes and sizes, there were red boats and blue boats and yellow boats and one boat that was grey, primed ready for a bright new skin.

  On passing the fishing dock, the river, which had been getting steadily wider, led us into another valley, the river and the train seemed to be racing each other into the sea, following the land until the steady sloping could empty us into the waters of the world.  At one point, the river could be seen, bending away into the distance and it looked as if the water met the sky and at this point Lincolnshire seemed to be a land of water".  He paused, watching the children as they took all of this in, their brains working hard to keep the train moving, when eventually all of them had realised Mr. Moonstar had stopped talking, they looked at him, surprised to see him there, he smiled and continued.

       "All afternoon through the heat of the afternoon sun I travelled inland, big green farms went by, their fields filled with 'moooing' cows and 'baaaing' sheep and 'cluck-cluck-clucking' chickens.  There were also canals criss-crossing here and there, with brightly coloured barges  floating gently along, the lanscape became that of the contryside, hedges dipped and rose as the train cut through the valleys to which they belonged.  This country view was every so often spoiled by the scenes of towns and the outskirts of big cities, where the train would slow to a halt, brakes screeching as the train came to a halt.  The next station it stopped at, I noticed a certain amount of noise, whooping and cheering and the screeching like that of a porter on his whistle".

  He paused agian, this time not looking at the children, but instead apparently searching his brain for the rest of the story, or sorting his memories into order.  Before he could continue however, the girl who had interrupted him earlier asked:

"What are poters?"

"They are people that stand on platforms, when a big train comes in they run up and down its length, ushering people onto the train, when everybody is aboard they blow on their whistle to signal to the train driver that the train is ready to leave".

"Oh", replied the girl, with her finger in her mouth.  Mr. Moonstar laughed at this,

"You are a very inquistive child, what is your name?"

"Poppy", she replied, somewhat timidly.

"Well Poppy, you have a very nice name and although your interest in my story pleases me greatly, it would be much better if you could put up your hand when you want to ask me something, otherwise my story will not get finished before home time.......now you wouldn't want that would you?"

Poppy nodded her head, bouncing up and down on her knees excitedly.

"Now then where was I...ah yes! So the train chugged forward slowly out of the station, breaking into the bright sunny day again, as it moved, slowly gathering speed past the fields near the station, the source of the noise I had thought was coming from porters, became clear.  A spectacle of colour; grinning girls in high heels and veils, all posed as if waving goodbye, and guess what children, after the next station the same cheering and whooping, I saw it all again, the train passed through another wedding-day celebration, and there they were again, different people with different colours and faces but their poses were the same.  Daddies with big belts under their suits and wrinkled, frowning foreheads and Mummies talking loudly; and Uncles laughing and joking rudely."

    "And then the curly hair, the pretty gloves, the jewellery, the yellows, the reds and greens that showed the girls from the rest like the sun from the sky.  There were banquet halls and big marques.  Bunting and little suited men running here and there, the wedding day was coming to an end."  The man looked up, each child was again visibly engrossed in the world that he had created, the colours were so vivid and pretty, the images were so real.

   The girls imagined themselves in pretty little white dresses, with primroses in thier hair; and the boys were running loose around the giant marques pretending to be airplanes.  Mr. Moonstar smiled and continued his story:

"Passing this wedding, we hurried along our journey south, towards London we travelled, the large fields now became building sites and large green leafy poplar trees casting their shadows over busy roads, where traffic snaked its way slowly.  It seemed that in every one of the fields that the train had passed, another wedding was getting under way, so that it had seemed like a dozen or so, that I had been an un-invited intruder to.

   I watched as the landscape changed from leafy greens to metallic greys and cold earthen browns, the train passed an Odeon cinema, the blue neon lights of its name dimmed by the slowly sinking glare of the early evening sun.  The train sped on and the greenery disapeared until at last all that remained was the trees of inner city London and the muddy verges of the broken pavments.  The giant cooling towers of an enromous power station could be seen, white steam, leaving them to join the ever expanding  white fluff in the sky.  This white fluff was quickly becoming pink and orange as the sun was sinking slowly beneath the horizon; men in white uniforms played the last few moments of a cricket match, chasing around the field.

  The train began to slow, the driver applied the breaks and the screeching became insistent, empty carriages, I passed as my train reached its destination." 

  The man stopped, leaning back slightly in his chair. His story was finished, he watched as each child awoke from their own personal reverie.  He hoped they had enjoyed his story as much as he had enjoyed telling it, and thanked them for listening.