We could all do with some cheer in the bleak days of January, especially this year, so courtesy of Arts Council England, we are here to do just that.
We are the proud and happy recipients of a £45,000 grant from Arts Council England
This will pay for our next ten books, and (drum roll) audio books! Which means we can smack Covid on the nose by providing another way to enjoy our books without leaving home, and provide some work to actors who aren’t allowed into a theatre just now. I’m anticipating it will also be huge fun. Putting the plans together now with our audiobook partner Listening Books
Thanks to everyone who gave us their thoughts on whether this was the right way to go. It’s one of the fastest growing sectors in literature, but it’s tough to get right, and harder still to market, so the funding will also pay for …
A part-time marketing person, and a (separate) part-time admin person for a few months, so that I can concentrate on finding and supporting new writers and guest editors. We will be advertising these posts very soon. They will be remote working, so if you think that could be you, start polishing your CV, but don’t send anything until you see the advertisment please!
The books that are being supported by the ACE grant are:
Another gorgeous cover from Gordy Wright, and another great printing job from TJ International.
This is the third and final installment of The Naming of Brook Storyteller, and Brook (Brat-Spellbinder-Dragonfriend-Wolftalker) has taken on an apprentice, Cricket; but deadly plots are all around and it takes all her cleverness and resilience to get to the bottom of it all, with a lot of help from Cricket, and her ‘cousin’, the wolf, Drinks-the-Wind.
In the shops from 7th June (the day after Ghillian’s 85th Birthday).
Launch party still in negotiation but I will be able to reveal soon, I hope!
This story is mentioned in Ghil’s forthcoming finale to the Brook Storyteller series, Wolftalker, which is published next month.
The Girl Who Sold Slippers to Snakes
Long ago but not so long as all that, nor so far that you could never reach it, there was a town where lived a woman with one daughter.
The daughter, who was called Stonecrop after the little plant which can flourish even on bare rock, was very clever. She was wise as well as clever; but her mother was not wise. Her mother was very proud of Stonecrop and unwisely she boasted of how clever her daughter was.
“She can cook as well as I can,” boasted the mother. “She can sew with the tiniest stitches you ever saw. She can sing fit to charm the birds themselves and she can talk so well that she could persuade a snake to buy a pair of slippers!”
Now there many other mothers in the town who were quite as proud of their own daughters and they grew very tired of hearing how marvelous Stonecrop was. Perhaps if she had not been as pretty as she was clever, they would not have been so jealous. As it was, three or four of them got together and decided to bring down the pride of Stonecrop’s mother.
They went to the young lord who was the town’s protector and told him that Stonecrop was too clever to be allowed to live in that town.
“Why,” they said, “her own mother says that she can sell slippers to snakes! Whoever heard of such a thing? She must be a witch!”
The young lord did not know that the women were jealous. He did not believe in witches. He just thought that Stonecrop must be very vain and boastful. So he said, “How does one tell a witch? Let her come to my Court of Justice and I will question her. I cannot send her away unjustly.”
The women went away smiling. The first part of their plan was working. Now for the second part! They went to Stonecrop’s mother and told her that the lord himself had heard of Stonecrop’s cleverness and wanted to speak with her next day in the Justice Court.
“You must tell him about her,” they said, “You know how modest she is. She will make no sort of a showing if you don’t speak up for her. But don’t say anything about it to her beforehand; she is so shy!”
Stonecrop’s mother was so puffed up with pride that she suspected nothing. Next day, when the lord’s officers came to tell Stonecrop that the lord wanted her to come to the Court, her mother ran ahead and, as soon as the lord called for Stonecrop to come forward, her mother pushed in front and began to tell him how wonderful her daughter was, just as she always did.
“And she talks so well,” she ended as usual, “that she could surely sell slippers to snakes!”
Stonecrop knew that she could not stop her mother boasting, so she stood quietly waiting in the doorway until her mother finished.
The lord did not see her; he had grown impatient with her mother and now, angry, he exclaimed, “Then she had better go and do so! And never return to this town unless she can prove she has sold slippers to snakes!”
Then Stonecrop stepped forward and bowed to him and he looked and saw her for the first time and wished that he might take back the words he had just spoken. But spoken they were and nothing could alter them now.
However, that lord never afterwards gave any verdict, no matter how convincing the evidence, until after the accused had spoken. So some good came of it.
Stonecrop was hurt and angry at being banished in this way but she said nothing. She packed some clothes and food in a basket, said goodbye to her mother, who was weeping and wailing, and walked out of the town by the nearest gate. She had no idea where to go, so it did not matter which way she went.
She walked and she walked, and presently she came to a village. She asked if there were any snakes nearby.
“There’s a mound where they lie in the sun sometimes,” said the villagers. “We throw stones at them if we see them.”
“Are they poisonous snakes, then?” asked Stonecrop.
“Don’t know,” said the villagers. “Who cares? A snake is a snake.”
Stonecrop went to look. She saw lizards basking in the sun and then she saw the biggest grass snake she had ever seen.
Some of the village children had followed her. They began to throw stones at the snake.
“Leave it alone! It can’t hurt you. Why kill a harmless snake?” asked Stonecrop.
“It’s a snake!” yelled the boys. Stonecrop didn’t bother to argue. She stood over the snake to shield it. The boys did not dare throw stones at her. They went away.
It was getting late. “I can’t go to the village for shelter now,” she said aloud to herself. “Where shall I go?”
As she stood gazing around her, the huge grass snake uncoiled itself.
Stonecrop started away from it in alarm. Then she remembered that it was only a grass snake and she stood still and watched it.
It reared up its head and seemed to inspect her, then turned and glided between the trees away from the road. Stonecrop hesitated for a moment, then followed it. The snake led her stealthily through the trees, across a small field and into a hollow filled with low bushes.
In the middle, so sunk into the ground and overgrown with mosses that it was almost invisible, was a tiny house.
The snake slid up to the door and drew itself slowly under it, into the house.
Stonecrop watched until its tail tip had vanished, then went and knocked gently on the door. There was a faint scuffling sound from inside, then silence.
Stonecrop called out, “If you please! Your friendly snake led me here. Will you tell me where I may find shelter for the night?”
The door creaked open, just a crack, and someone peered at her. Then the door was opened wide and there stood a little old man, the smallest and ugliest Stonecrop had ever seen.
“If’n you bain’t afraid of snakes,” the old man said, in a voice as creaky as his door, “you c’n stay the night here.”
Stonecrop thanked him. “I’m certainly not afraid of harmless snakes,” she said. “But,” she added cautiously, “I am scared of poisonous ones.”
The ugly old man grinned at her. “I ain’t got no poisonous snakes,” he told her. “Never worry, girl.”
Even the grass snake seemed to have vanished. So Stonecrop spent the night quite peacefully. In the morning she told the old man her story.
“That is why I was willing to follow your snake,” she explained. “I must find some way to make everyone think that I have sold slippers to at least one snake, or never go home again. And what earthly use could a snake have for slippers?”
“No money to pay for ‘em, neither,” said the little old man.
“It’s hopeless,” said Stonecrop. “I haven’t any slippers to sell, in any case!”
“Make some,” said the old man.
Stonecrop thought and thought. Then she took long strong grasses and wove them into slippers.
“I have slippers,” she said to the old man. “Now, how would a snake use them?”
The old man said, “Snakes like warmth.”
Stonecrop thought some more. “Would your snake sleep in a slipper of grass?” she asked.
The old man nodded.
“Will you let me take your snake back to the town with me?”
“You saved him from the stones. He’ll go with you,” said the old man.
“But what about payment?” said Stonecrop. “I can’t say I’ve sold the slipper if I haven’t been paid!”
“Snakes go under the ground as well as on it,” said the old man. He went into the house.
Presently the big grass snake came sliding out. It lowered its head and dropped something at Stonecrop’s feet. When she picked it up, she found it was a ruby as large as her little fingernail.
“But this is far too much!” she said.
The snake glided towards the road. It seemed to beckon impatiently with its tail. So Stonecrop followed it. She called goodbye and thanks to the old man but he did not come out or answer.
“I’ll come back and thank him properly later,” she said to herself.
The snake led her to a short cut. When she was sure of the way, Stonecrop carried it in her basket. It could not travel as fast and far as she could.
At last they came in sight of the town. Stonecrop let the snake coil around her shoulders. “You’ll be safer there,” she told it.
Everyone was very surprised to see her come back so soon and with a snake draped round her.
“Here is the snake I have sold a slipper to,” Stonecrop told them, “and here is the payment.”
When they saw the ruby, they ran to the lord’s house to tell him. He came to meet Stonecrop and she told everyone how she had saved the snake and made it a slipper of grass. The snake coiled itself up in the slipper and everyone could see that it was pleased with it.
“Now,” said Stonecrop, “I have done as you said and am no longer banished. But I will not stay here. I mean to go and live on my own, once I have taken this snake back to the old man.”
And she refused to listen to anyone’s persuasion. She gave the ruby to her mother and went on her way. Some of the townspeople tried to follow her, but the snake hissed at them so loudly that they were scared and ran back.
When Stonecrop got back to the hollow, the hut was gone. The little old ugly man was gone, too. Stonecrop was bewildered. She set the snake down in the grass.
“Can you find him?” she asked the snake. “I must thank him properly.”
The snake reared up its head and looked at her. It seemed to want her to do something. Stonecrop stroked it gently and then looked away. When she looked back, the little old man stood there. The snake had gone.
“I do believe you’re the snake!” cried Stonecrop, staring at him.
The old man grinned at her. “Took you long enough,” he said.
Stonecrop flung her arms around him and kissed him. “Thank you,” she began – and then jumped back with a gasp. The little old man was growing and changing! He was taller than Stonecrop and young and good-looking! He was laughing with joy.
“Thank you, Stonecrop,” he said. “You have broken both the spells that bound me. A wizard set them so that I must be a snake for half the time and an ugly old man the other half. Once someone knew the old man for the snake, I would be the old man all the time; and once a girl kissed me, ugly as I was, I would regain my real form. Will you marry me, Stonecrop?”
Stonecrop said, “I liked you when you were a snake and I liked you when you were an ugly old man. I think I like you enough to marry you! But what shall we live on?”
“While I was a snake,” said the young man, “I found many jewels in the ground. And as a little old man, I polished them. I think we shall have enough to live on.”
So they were married and lived as happily and as long as was good for them.
Previously published in Independent Story of the Year 4: the Ten Winning Stories (Scholastic 1997) There’s a rather mean review of the book as a whole below, which singles out this story as ‘…Outstanding. Its ingredients are traditional but the quality of the writing shines.’
Book two of Ghillian Potts’ young adult trilogy The Naming of Brook Storyteller, Spellbinder, is published on 7th December, and we are celebrating with two readings at Ashburton Library, Shirley Road, Croydon, CR9 7AL on the 7th. The first is for a local school, and the second, at 4pm, is public, anyone can come along, so we hope you will!
Brook, Brat, Spellbinder… storyteller, remembrancer, witness… with as many names as she has titles, Spellbinder is abducted by Westron Lord Arrow, who holds storytellers as hostages to force her to raise the Elder Dragons, but once they are called, Brook cannot control them.
Our reader for both events of the day is Patsy Prince, who has read for us several times before.
Books will be on sale.
Thanks to our friends at Croydon Libraries for their continued support!
A story from Ghillian Potts‘ YA fantasy world, The Naming of Brook Storyteller. With illustrations from the book covers by Gordy Wright, and of the actual story by Flora Fisher.
This tale is told by Brook Storyteller in Brat, but we had to cut the actual story to keep the book at a length that would make it affordable. So here it is, as a warm up for the next in the series, Spellbinder
This is the tale of the Luckstone, and of the luck it brought to a certain lady.
The lady who was afterwards called Carnelian was the Lady of Forlorn Hold. This had once been Fairlawn Hold, when it was prosperous, but for many years the Hold and the lands around had grown poorer and poorer until both the Hold and the village which lay in its shadow were called Forlorn.
Brook telling the tale of Lady Carnelian
Then, quite suddenly, things got better. A spring that had dried up began to flow again and the water-mill could once more be used.
The orchards bore more fruit, the fields seemed more fertile and the Lady Forlorn smiled once more. She could even afford to rebuild several of the more tumbledown houses in the village. She also bought a carnelian necklace and earrings, which she wore daily.
It was this that persuaded a certain scholar called Wordhoarder to visit her. He had for a long time been certain that the Luckstone really existed and he had found a description of it in an ancient record. It was said to be ‘about the size of a man’s little finger nail and in colour most like a carnelian but somewhat redder’. How better to hide such a stone than amongst a string of carnelians?
For the Luckstone can only be used when it is worn by its owner. It will not bring you luck if you lock it away in a strongbox or bury it in the cellar. It can be hidden in one’s pocket or worn under a tunic but for a Lady who must often wear jewellery, the safest place was clearly around her neck.
Wordhoarder determined to go to the Lady’s Hold, now once more called Fairlawn, to try to steal the Luckstone. From long brooding upon it, he had almost persuaded himself that it ought to belong to him.
He knew that the Luckstone may not be bought (though who would be so foolish as to sell it?) or it loses its power. Yet it may be stolen or given or inherited or simply found by chance and still bring its new owner good luck. So he set out.
But Lady Carnelian was cleverer than he had expected. She had caused the Luckstone to be set exactly as all the carnelians in her necklace were set and likewise those in her earrings. Every setting could be unhooked from the next so as to re-arrange the necklace or exchange the stones of the earrings for some of those of the necklace. You could never be sure where in the necklace or the earrings the Luckstone might be.
The only certain way to get the Luckstone would be to steal the necklace and the earrings together. But since the Lady wore both every day and kept them in her room at night, it seemed impossible to steal them without being caught.
So Wordhoarder presented himself to Lady Carnelian as one who was anxious to study the records of her Hold and got permission to work in the Records Room. He hoped that he would be able to tell the Luckstone from the carnelians if he saw the necklace closely and often and he knew that the lady was interested in the history of her family. She might well spend time with him in the Records Room.
And so indeed it befell. Lady Carnelian spent more and more time in the Records Room, telling Wordhoarder the stories of her family and hearing of his discoveries, for he was indeed a scholar and one who, despite himself, became immersed in the study of the Fairlawn records.
Yet, strange to say, he no longer stared at her necklace and tried to guess which stone might be the Luckstone. Instead, he gazed at the face of Carnelian herself and listened to her voice. Instead of making plans to rob her of the Luckstone, he found himself dreaming of her smile and her kindness.
In the end he forgot all his plots and only wished for her love. And as she loved him in return, they were wed and lived long together in joy until she died.
Then at last Wordhoarder inherited the Luckstone. But the only luck he now wished for was that of following his lady. He took the Luckstone and flung it into the mill-stream for the next finder, should it ever be washed ashore.
And then died.
copyright: Ghillian Potts, Gordy Wright and Flora Fisher
You can buy both Brat and Spellbinder from our online shop – perfect Christmas presents for anyone age 9 to 16, and not bad for us adults either!
This is what happens when you drop in on an interesting building for open house: you get talking to one of the trustees, who happen to mention that one of their resident organisations are doing a book event for children, so you send an email, and have a meeting and suddenly someone is reading the book in a library!
I like the serendipity of how this happened. A semi staged version has also been produced for which the video is on its way, but here in the meantime is John Handscombe taking on clever advisors, selfish dukes and wily old women.
We’ve decided to cancel the reading at Shoreham Library on Saturday 14th October due to lack of take up. Sorry to disappoint anyone who was planning to come.
But we have a reading byGood Wolf theatre company at Stanley Hallsin South Norwood on Saturday 28th October at 1pm as part of their Story Time day for younger children. From what they say they seem to be planning to semi-stage it, I am so disappointed I can’t get there to watch, but they’ve promised to video it! Please go along so you can tell me how it went!
There will be a pop up bookshop which will have all our children’s books on sale.
£3 per child per session. Book via Stanley Halls – last time they had an event it filled up in 15 mins, so advisable to book!