I don't like to write fiction. I much prefer poetry. I have, however, written a few stories that are mainly for children, based on stories I was told, or made up of whole cloth. Here are two of them, my favorite ones. The first is one I made up completely, the second is based on a story my great-granny used to tell my Mom and Aunt Margaret.
I feel this first story needs a bit of explaining. It was written about a time and a place where women were not expected, or perhaps allowed, to be wage earners as they are now. I know the story seems VERY dated and sexist for that reason, but it was written to fit a style and a formula that I was playing with at the time. To fit in with other such tales I had heard and/or read.
The Baker’s Ghost
By Carolyn Kay Armistead
1998
There
once was a good woman who lived with her husband in a tidy little house
somewhere in Scotland. They were an ordinary enough couple. They had a
couple of weans that grew up in the wee tidy house, and they had a
ghost. It was a bit odd, them having a ghost in that wee tidy house of
theirs, with its bright sunny rooms and clean swept floors. But their
ghost wasn’t the ordinary sort of ghost. This ghost was in no way
frightening. Rather, this was a nice, cozy sot of ghost. He was a
jolly sort, always wrapped in a white apron, and with flour smudges on
his nose and cheeks.
The fact that they saw nothing
whatsoever out of the way about having a ghost in the house leads me
to believe that perhaps this wee tidy house was in St. Andrews. After
all, I’ve heard the folks in St. Andrews set great store by their
ghosts, or bogles as they call them.
Anyway, the good
woman was known far and wide for the wonderful good things she baked.
Her bannocks were heavenly, her shortbread near perfection, her cakes as
light as fairy wings. Many folks wondered what her secret could be for
getting all her good things to turn out so well. She would never tell,
because she promised the ghost she wouldn’t. The ghost was a great
baker in his earthly life. He baked for kings and princes so he did,
and his idea of Heaven was a nice cozy kitchen to bide in, and to give a
suggestion, or a bit of help when needed.
Now,
time went on, and nobody but the good woman herself knew that the ghost
was a help in the kitchen. The rest of the family saw him there from
time to time, but the figured he just hung about, they didn’t know he
offered a hand now and then. They may have wondered why the jolly old
sort stood about in the corners of the dining room looking so pleased
with himself as they enjoyed the good woman’s cakes and pastries, but
they thought that was just his way. They never knew that some of their
favorites among the good woman’s baked goods were made from recipes she
learned from the ghost.
By and by, the good woman grew
very old, and so did her good husband. They retired to a wee house in
the country near their oldest son. Their younger son took over the wee
tidy house, and brought his new bride there to live. She knew they had a
kindly ghost about the place, and being a local girl, she didn’t mind a
ghost in the house in the least.
As the new bride was
helping her mother-in-law bundle up the last of the things they’d be
taking to the country with them the lass confided that she hoped she’d
learn to be as good a baker as the good woman herself.
“Och,
dinna fash yeself about that, my dearie.” Said the good woman with a
twinkle in her eye, “I’m leavin’ ye some of my best secrets. They’re
here to be found when you most need them.”
The lass looked a bit
surprised, but thanked the good woman prettily enough, and so the old
couple were settled comfortably in the wee country house, and the
younger son and the lass were settling in to life in the tidy wee house
in St. Andrews.
One day the new wife was to be found
sitting in the kitchen weeping over a fallen cake. Well, even though
they were newly met, the ghost just couldn’t stand to see anyone having
to weep over a fallen cake, so he spoke up to the weeping girl.
“Whist, now, what’s troubling you my lass?” asked the ghost, leaning over the girl’s shoulder.
She
gave a little start until she saw who it was. She almost wanted to
laugh at the kindly soul hovering there with his white apron and his
flour-smudged face. “Och, I’m afraid I’ll ruin my husband’s chance for a
better position in his employment.” Said she. “The man who runs the
firm my husband works for is coming for supper tonight, and he remembers
well my mother-in-law’s baking, and I know I canna do as well as she.
Just look at this terrible flat cake I’ve ended up with! She said she
left me her best secrets, and I’ve searched high and low and I canna
find them anywhere! Whatever shall I do?!” and she commenced to sobbing
again.
“Now, now,” said the ghost. I’ll tell you a wee
secret about your mother-in-law, but you have to promise ‘twill be our
secret now.”
The girl looked up at the ghost and agreed she’d keep the secret.
“Well,
I was a fine baker in my earthly life, and I haunt this kitchen because
it is a pleasant place for a baker to be about, and I am more than
willing to offer advice and help. Many’s the time I stopped your
mother-in-law from overbeating a batter and reminded her when to check
the cakes in the oven. I’d be glad to do the same for you.”
“Och,
would you?” asked the girl with a smile again, for she normally was a
cheerful sort of person, and she had a bonnie smile.
“I would
indeed my lass,” said the ghost, smoothing his apron. “Now, fetch me
that big mixing bowl, and some sugar, and some flour, and the butter…”
and on he went, giving directions, and guiding the lass through the
baking of the cake.
This time, when she took it out of the
oven, it was a high, light and lovely cake, worth of a king’s table.
The ghost bid her go ahead and cook the supper whilst he frosted the
cake. “Mayhap I’ll even help with the washing up, such a good pupil
you’ve been this day.” said he.
So the lass cooked the supper for
the man her husband worked for, and she just had time to tidy herself up
before her husband and his employer were due home. As she came back
down to set the table, she noticed the lovely frosting job the ghost had
done on the cake, and that all the washing up had been done, so she
could concentrate on being a gracious hostess, and not worry her head
about the state of the kitchen.
The supper went well, and
when she brought out the cake for dessert , her husband and his employer
both had stars in their eyes, such a grand and delicious-looking cake
it was. When she had cut them each a piece, and the men were saying how
wonderful it was, the lass noticed the baker’s ghost standing in the
corner and smiling with pride. She winked at him when no one was
looking, and sent him a wee smile of her own.
After the
employer left, and her husband went up to get ready for bed, the lass
came into the kitchen and said ”Oh, thank you Master Baker! Mr.
MacLendon as was just here says that he will see to it my husband gets
that better position. “Twill mean more money for us, so we don’t have
to be uneasy about the bairn that’s on its way.”
“I am
glad to help, my lass.” Said the baker’s ghost, “And I like your name
for me. Master Baker I was, and I suppose I still am! We’ll have a lot
of work ahead of us in the next month, teachin’ you to make hard
biscuits for the wean to cut its teeth on, and to make fairy cakes for
tea parties, and all the things our husband’s mother used to make for
him.”
The lass smiled again at the baker’s ghost, and
wished aloud that she was allowed to give a ghost a hug, for she felt
the Master Baker deserved one.
“Och, lassie, “ said the
Master Baker, “Your loving thoughts are hug enough for me. Go on and
get your rest now. We can’t let you get too tired! Would ye fancy
French toast for breakfast? I’ll get everything ready.”
The
lass went up to bed and her husband congratulated her on the success of
her dinner. “I didna know ye were such a good cook, my girl.” Said he
with a smile. “ ‘Tis as lucky as my father, I am.”
She smiled
back at him and said “I had a wee bit of help from some of your mother’s
secrets in the kitchen. She left a few for me.”
“Well, I’m glad she did. You’ve surely learned to bake a cake as light as any of hers.”
He yawned, fell asleep, and soon, so did the lass.
So
it was that the lass and her husband also had a pleasant life in the
tidy wee house with their own two weans growing up there. The lass
took over her mother-in-law’s reputation for wonderful baked goods, much
to the delight of the neighborhood. And the ghost of the Master Baker
saw to it that no cakes ever fell, no bannocks burned, and no tea was
ever without scones in that house.
Granny’s Nightcap
Carolyn Kay Armistead
1997
This
is a paraphrase of a story my Great Grandmother Sarah used to tell to
my Mom and my aunts. They didn’t remember too much about the story, so I
made this up out of the pieces.
There once was an
old woman who lived by herself off on the edge of a great big bog.
Bogs are swampy, desolate places, and no one much ever came out to see
her. That suited her just fine, as she liked her own company, and she
was too busy with the few sheep she kept on the bit of dry land she
owned to waste time with visitors.
One day, she saw two
men walking along the path that skirted the bog. She thought it was
strange that anyone would be out that far, and she really didn’t want to
stop her spinning to waste time with them, so she shut up all the
shutters, locked all her doors, and pretended she wasn’t at home. The
two men came up to the house, calling out and looking to see if anyone
was about. The old woman didn’t answer. Once they had decided that no
one was there, the took themselves out to her barn to see what they
could find there. The old woman didn’t like the way they were snooping
about when it was clear as far as they knew that no one was home. They
must be up to no good at all. So she hid herself in an old closet that
had nothing in it but a heavy old pump handle and a whole sheep’s skin
with the wool still on. (The old woman had been going to make a coat
out of the skin, with the warm wool on the inside, but had never gotten
around to doing it.)
By and by the two men forced the lock on the
old woman’s back door and came into the house. She could hear them
moving around, looking at her things. She held herself very still and
quiet in her hiding place.
“Bless me, Jake, but I think we’ve found some old granny’s house. Look at all those little fussy doilies on the tables.”
“Aye,
Tam, me Gran used to make things like that. D’ye think perhaps this
granny hides money in her nightcap, like my Gran used to do?”
“Well, we might find out if we look..” said the other.
They
continued to take things out of the old woman’s cupboards, and to make a
mess of the house. They came into the bedroom, and began to go through
her clothes. She was afraid they would find her in the closet, but she
was saved by Tam’s hunger.
“Jake, there’s good meat here, and
some bread, come let’s eat a bit before we finish here. No telling when
we’ll have food this good again.”
“Ye’re right, tam, we’d best eat while we can.”
So
the two set to eating the old woman out of house and home, and they
found the wine and whiskey she kept for medicinal purposes, and began to
drink rather a lot of both.
The old woman could tell that the
robbers were getting a bit drunk, and that troubled her. If they found
her while they were in that state, they were liable to do her some real
harm besides stealing her food and what little money she had. She began
to think about how best to be rid of them, when her hands found the
pump handle and the sheepskin. She got an idea. She grinned a sly
grin, and eased the door a little to see how dark it was outside. Good.
It was just full dark. The robbers had drunk enough wine to make
their eyesight a bit blurry, and she knew that the one lamp in the place
didn’t make overmuch light. She started bumping her hands and then the
pump handle against the wall of the closet. Then she moaned a low,
mournful moan, like ghosts are supposed to make.
“Tam!” said Jake. “Did you hear somethin’?”
“Only this old house settlin’ for the night.” Tam answered, taking another drink of wine.
“But Tam,” Jake said, “What if that old granny is dead instead of just out visitin’ somebody?”
“Then she can’t very well hurt us, now can she?” Tam answered.
“Tam,
ye know as well as I that the dead walk sometimes. My old granny did,
and she was ever so mad at me for takin’ her money out o’ her nightcap,”
said Jake with fear in his voice.
“Jake, ye great fool! Ye were asleep and dreamin’ about yer granny, she never came after ye.”
“Yes, she did, Tam. She did indeed, and it was only the dawn that saved me that time. I’d no be so lucky a second time.”
The
old woman, hearing the edge of fear in their voices, snuck out of the
closet. She slipped the sheep’s skin over her head, so that it looked
like she was the great ghost of a sheep, and she crept out toward the
men, pump handle in hand, moaning like the ghost of a very unhappy
granny.
“Tam, I tell ye, she’s comin’ fer us. She’s going
to get us, Tam , and take us to an airly grave!” Jake cried, hearing
the new noises made by the old woman.
“Jake, I heard somethin’, and whilst I’m not so sure ‘tis a ghost, I’d still rather be away from this place.”
As
they got up to leave, Tam gathered a few things to take with him. The
old woman jumped up from behind the setee where she’d been hiding, and
moaned “Ye robbed yer own Granny, oh, how could ye?” and she started
towards Jake with the pump handle raised over her head as if to strike.
Both
men were so frightened by the sight of her that they froze for an
instant, until she started toward Jake with that pump handle. Then they
dropped everything they had gathered up to take, and the both ran
screaming from the house, right out into the bog.
“How d’ye like
yer Granny w’her night cap on?” shouted the old woman from the door,
laughing, as the two men disappeared into the bog, never to be seen
again.
