Stories to Mend the World

Julie Miller

Description

Julie Miller's dramatic short stories are designed to pull children into the wonderful world of the imagination. They are ideal for reading aloud. Some are new interpretations of well-known stories from the Bible, fairy tales and folklore from around the world. Some are completely new. Julie's inspiration has come from such writers as Aesop, Hans Christian Andersen and Robert Browning as well as drawing from her own experiences and memories of her father's words of wisdom. There are also stories taken from history and from the lives of inspirational people, including the Dalai Lama, Helen Keller, Louise Braille, Mahatma Gandhi and the Burgers of Calais.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 12 septembre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780722349496
• Langue: English

Extrait

STORIES TO MEND THE WORLD
Julie Miller
ARTHUR H. STOCKWELL LTD
Torrs Park, Ilfracombe, Devon, EX34 8BA
Established 1898
www.ahstockwell.co.uk




© Julie Miller, 2019
Published in Great Britain by Arthur H. Stockwell Ltd.
The moral rights of the author have been asserted. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means without express prior written permission from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, events and locations portrayed and names used herein are fictitious or used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to or identification with the location, name, character or history of any person, product or entity is entirely coincidental and unintentional. Any opinions expressed herein do not necessarily represent those of the publisher or any other entity.
Digital version by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com



Dedication
I dedicate my book to my family, friends and colleagues who have given me so much time and love.



Minti Nen Mends the World
Written when I realised one group of people decided another group of people were not worthy of respect or consideration because they were different.
Minti Nen was six years old.
She looked at the world and she liked it. She saw floaty white clouds in a blue, blue sky. She saw trees and flowers and grass and thought how green her world was.
Fruit grew and vegetables grew and fish swam in the rivers and seas, and animals lived everywhere. Minti was happy to see all the living, growing things around her.
“Who made this?” Minti asked her mother.
“Some say Yahweh, some say Allah and others say God, but we will call our Maker ‘Creat’ because He created all this,” said her mother.
One day Minti was watching the light catch the ripples made by the noses of fish as they broke the surface of the water.
‘How beautiful!’ thought Minti.
But then . . . another human came by and stood beside Minti.
“What are you doing?”
“Watching.”
“Watching what?”
“Just watching.”
“Boring,” said the other and threw his empty crisp packet and fizzy pop bottle into the crystal clear water.
“That makes the water look horrid,” said Minti.
“Tough!” said the other human, and he went away.
Minti walked home to tell her mother what had happened.
As usual, Minti’s mother was wearing her red scarf, which covered her thick, black, curly hair. It was the same scarf she always wore until Minti’s father came home from work.
“Are you sad, Minti?” asked Minti’s mother, who was scraping bright orange carrots into a very clean bucket.
“Just a little,” said Minti. “A person spoilt the river today.”
“Look at it tomorrow. Nature always mends itself,” said Minti’s mother, and she got on with the bright orange carrots. There was a delicious plop as the carrots dropped into the bucket of very clean water.
Another day, Minti woke early to watch the sunrise.
Minti liked the way a tiny line of light appeared as the sun came to life to start another new day. The light grew into a thousand colours as it lit Minti’s world and seemed to wake the birds as they spread their wings for their first flight of the day.
A noise startled Minti. The noise was big and got thunderingly bigger by the second. A huge – gigantically huge – lorry sped by on the roadway behind Minti.
Minti began to cough. She coughed and coughed and coughed as a cloud of dust and diesel fumes filled the air and settled on Minti.
Minti went home to her mother, who was wearing her red scarf, which covered her thick black curly hair, and who was picking bright green peas from silvery green pea pods.
“Are you sad, Minti?” asked Minti’s mother.
“A lorry spoilt the sunrise,” said Minti, “and it covered me with dirt and made me cough.”
“Never mind,” said Minti’s mother. “It has gone now, and nature is clever at mending the earth.”
And she went on podding the peas, which made a delicious rattly noise as they dropped into a very clean pot.
One day Minti saw a peacock. It spread its tail feathers into a miracle of rainbow colours.
“Beautiful!” said Minti, and she gave a long sigh of happiness as her heart lifted. “I will tell my mother that nothing has made me sad today.”
And Minti walked towards her home. As Minti walked she noticed something red fluttering in a hawthorn bush. The bush was shimmering as light caught its tiny white blossoms.
As Minti got nearer she thought, ‘That is like Mother’s red scarf,’ and that is what it was.
Minti began to run. Minti ran fast. Her heart was beating hard inside her chest and her ears pounded. Her eyes felt sticky and wet and her hair was flat against her forehead and neck.
Then Minti saw her mother sitting cross-legged on the very spot where her house had been.
Three men were standing nearby. They were not smiling. Minti could not understand why men did not smile when there were peacocks in the world.
Minti’s mother was not wearing her red scarf and she was trying to hide her thick, black, curly hair with her hands.
Minti said to the men, “Have you seen the peacock?”
“No,” said the frowning men, looking puzzled.
“You would smile if you saw the peacock,” said Minti, “and you should not make my mother sad. You should not take her scarf. And where is my home?”
Again the three frowning men looked puzzled, and still they did not smile.
“We have torn down your house because we want a proper stone house instead,” said one of the men.
“We will live here now,” said another man.
“And you can find another place to live,” said another.
Minti took the hand of one of the men.
“Come with me,” said Minti, and they all went with her to see the sparkling water where the fish dappled the surface with their noses.
Minti showed the men the trees, the flowers and the animals living freely, and, as they watched the water, the sun settled down, changing the colours and shapes around them as day moved into evening time.
The peacock strutted on the path near their feet. Then it spread its tail feathers into an arc of rainbow colours. The men gasped and sighed that sigh of joy which only grown-ups make when something of beauty reaches their soul.
“Who made that?” said Minti.
“Yahweh,” said the first man.
“Allah,” said the second man.
“God,” said the third man.
“You are all right,” said Minti. “My wise mother said that Creat made all creation, and that is the same as Yahweh, Allah and God. A different name, but the same in every other way. It’s how we look, but we see the same things. The peacock is the same for all of us.”
Then Minti smiled and the men smiled and Minti’s mother smiled as the men helped her to build a new house. Then the men went away.
Minti’s mother waved goodbye and she was wearing her red scarf again – the one she took off when Minti’s father came home.
When he returned this special evening he smiled. He smiled and smiled and smiled. Minti’s father was so happy.
He liked his new house.
He liked the sparkling water and the trees and the flowers and the animals.
He liked Minti sitting on his knee and the peacock’s tail feathers fanning out, but most of all he liked the way the last of the day’s sunshine caught the light in Minti’s mother’s thick, black, curly hair.
All was well.



Minti Nen Gets Sorted
Written in order to give comfort to young people who find the concept of mortality difficult to deal with.
Minti Nen’s mother was very good at saying, “Never mind,” but Minti Nen’s father was very good at really fixing things – so it was to her father that Minti Nen went to fix her rabbit, Aristotle. Minti’s rabbit was called Aristotle because he was always so wise.
Aristotle knew when the food was coming. He knew the difference between a juicy dandelion and an old twig pushed through the wire netting; and also he always pooed in the same corner, making the cleaning of the rabbit hutch much easier for Minti.
Aristotle hadn’t been eating for quite a few days. His eyes weren’t shining, his whiskers weren’t twitching and he only moved a little and not very often. Nothing would coax him out of his corner. His nose didn’t move from side to side and there was a kind of droopiness about him.
“What’s wrong with him, Father?” asked Minti.
“He’s old,” said her father.
“Yes, but Grandmother is old; but she doesn’t look as droopy as Aristotle.”
“Yes, but Grandmother isn’t poorly. If you are old and poorly it’s a big problem,” said Minti’s father.
“Aristotle doesn’t want to be a problem,” said Minti Nen. “What will happen to him? Will he get better soon?”
“I think Aristotle has had a very long and happy life with you looking after him. Perhaps he won’t get better,” said Minti’s father.
“If he doesn’t get better what will happen to him?” asked Minti.
“He will go to sleep and not wake up,” said her father.
“I could shake him and make him wake up,” said Minti.
“That would be cruel,” said Minti’s father. “We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”
The next morning when the dawn light was peeping through Minti’s bedroom curtains, Minti crept out of bed, through the very clean kitchen and into the backyard. Everything was quiet – very quiet. Minti’s feet padded across the flagstones and she peeped into the rabbit’s hutch. Aristotle was in the same place, but he was flatter-looking and his eyes were closed.
Minti said, “Hello, Aristotle.”
There was no twitch of a nose, no flick of a floppy ear – just nothing.
Minti held her breath. Did anyone’s heart burst with sadness if something they loved couldn’t open its eyes again?
A gentle hand rested on Minti’s