I have had to open a new Faerie Page, so to begin it I have spring cleaned Fiona Flies Into Danger. The complete story at Faerie Fiona Seligor’s Castle.

 FAERIE STORIES

Fiona Flies Into Danger.
Part One. Strange Washing

Here
is a story about a tooth fairy. She is called Fiona and she has quite a
few  tales  to tell about her travels around Fingles Wood.
Maybe you can tell me who else lives in Fingles Wood?
When
you have finished reading the story you might be able to tell me how
they helped Fiona. You will come to know and love all of her friends
very quickly.

 

Fiona Flies into Danger

          It was a cold February morning, a watery sun had just woke up and was shining over Fingles Wood.
There was still some snow left on the ground but now at least the snowdrops could feel the warmth of the sun on their pretty white gowns. 

In
the tree tops the rooks were calling to each other whilst in the bushes
the sparrows and robins were asking everyone to wake up.  Two little
field mice scuttled down their hole to sleep for the day.

Deep under the ground Monty Mole could hear the singing of the birds.
"I can’t for the life of me understand why they have to be so cheerful every morning.”  he said, before going back to sleep.

Flora the old fox was still dreaming of the days when she used to give the huntsmen a run for their money, now she just lay snug and warm in her den and let the young cubs have the fun.

Mrs
Rabbit had been up before the birds, with six children to look after
and the weather  being so lousy,she had to try to get the housework
done before they woke up.

She had just finished washing the clothes and  she went outside to hang it up. 

“Morning Robby, morning Sidney.” she called out as she walked over to the washing line.

“Morning to you to Mrs Rabbit.” the birds sang out together.
“You have been busy this morning, are the children still in bed?”       

“Yes, thank goodness.” She shouted back.

Molly Rabbit looked up at the washing line then stopped in amazement.

She couldn’t believe her eyes, for there, hanging on the clothes line, was a little fairy!

Molly closed her eyes and opened them again, there really was a  fairy stuck to her washing line.

“Well now, how on earth did you end up stuck on here?”

The
little fairy opened her eyes at the sound of Molly’s voice and began to
sob as Molly gently held the wee creature in her paws.
“
Oh do be careful,”  she said in a jittery voice, she could hardly talk
her teeth were chattering that much. “I fear my wings are frozen to the
line, if they snap off I’ll never be able to fly again.”

“Don’t
worry I’ll be very careful," Molly said wrapping her warm paws  around
the fairies body.  "You don’t seem dressed for winter though my
lovely." She said  unfolding her wings and wiped them gently on her
line cloth.

She was only  about six inches high; with fair hair and  blue eyes.

“There you go my dear, you should be alright now”.

Mrs Rabbit gently eased her off the line and popped her gently into her apron pocket.

“Right, lets get you into the house and get you thawed out.”

Continued below; as we go out of the snow and into the warm .

The Seven Wonders of the Muslim World

The Seven Wonders
of the
Muslim
World

 http://www.youtube.com/cp/vjVQa1PpcFNTKiF4lXqb_AQ4HQacKEVLbNPh-nszgkw=

Enjoy the Film. Enjoy the
Text that goes with it below.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox adds what she calls a Poem of Cheer, H’m I’m not sure but I still love it very much, even if we are all MAD> Thinking

        LAUGHTER WITH TEARS …….. FUN

TEARS WITHOUT LAUGHTER……HURTS

A L L   M A D 

"He is mad as a hare, poor fellow,
And should be in chains," you say.
I haven’t a doubt of your statement,
But who isn’t mad, I pray ?
Why the world is a great asylum,
And people are all insane,
Gone daft with pleasure or folly,
Or crazed with passion and pain.

The infant who shrieks at a shadow,
The child with his Santa Claus faith,
The woman who worships Dame Fashion,
Each man with his notions of death,
The miser who hoards up his earnings,
The spendthrift who wastes them too soon,
The scholar grown blind in his delving,
The lover who stares at the moon,

The poet who thinks life a paean,
The cynic who thinks it a fraud,
The youth  who goes seeking for pleasure,
The preacher who dares talk of God,
All priests with their creeds and their croaking.
All doubters who dare to deny,

The happy who find aught to wake laughter,
The sad who find aught worth a sigh,
Whoever is downcast or solemn,
Whoever is gleeful and glad,
Are only the dupes of delusions
We are all of us… all of us MAD.

Written of course by the wonderful Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
from her tiny poetry book Poems of Cheer. page 96 a Langton Booklet 1917

Here is a little hug specially for you. xxx xxx

Squeeeeeze!!!!!!!!

You’ve been given a HUG… I WANT ONE BACK!



*HUGS* TOTAL!
give Seligor more *HUGS*
Get hugs of your own



SO START HUGGING!!!!!

The Highway man by special request by many, full poem at Fairy Tales diddilydeedot.zoomshare. video playlist above you to the right. Enjoy xxx

I put this in Dodies Dream World, maybe last year, maybe earlier. Today I was left a link to a page in the Middle East I think. They were using it as a Discussion Poem. Thought I would share it with everyone.   FROM ENGLAND A FAIRY TALE OF SADNESS THE HIGHWAYMAN By Alfred Noyes Part One I The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding- Riding-riding- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door. II He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin; They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh! And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky. III Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred; He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord’s daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. IV And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked; His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, But he loved the landlord’s daughter, The landlord’s red-lipped daughter, Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say- V "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way." VI He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair i’ the casement! His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West. The wonderful vocal version of this poem can be found in  "The Book of Secrets," CD  recorded by Loreena McKennitt. It is so wonderful I will put it in this video playlist below. Remember to look at the bottom of each video for the maker of the same. I am not that good, I can put the videos and songs together but I can’t make the video’s just a playlist from here , there and everywhere.  As I said the wonderful Loreena McKennitt. Not to forget Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofosen and Willie Neilson. Absolutely Brilliant. Enjoy Dodie. xxx

Do you fancy leaving the cold and snow and coming on Safari to Africa? Come on then get your mosquito net and passport. Hurry

ON SAFARI
WITH
Dr DO – DIDDILY
AND THE DEE – DOT’S
WHO PRESENTS
ALL AFRICAN
MAGIC AND MUSIC

This playlist is way down the bottom of
the page so I thought
 I would put it on
twice.

A CURIOUS INCIDENT, THAT COMES FROM THE PEN OF THE WONDERFUL WILLOWDOWN. XXX

SELIGOR SAYS THIS ONE HAS A 12 CERTIFICATE.

 
A Curious Incident.

        A paddle steamer drifted down from the sky, full of revellers and merry-makers dressed in the bright costumes of days gone by:  gentlemen in stove-pipe hats and ladies in bright crinolines, twirling parasols in the early afternoon sunlight: yellow, lavender, pink and jade green.
       As the unlikely vessel came to a gentle rest beside the abandoned and desolate factories along the old canal tow-path, bemused children and office workers on the way back to work after late dinner breaks flocked to gawp at the strange sight,  calling down in wonder from the City’s old stone bridge and even traffic came to a standstill as trucks, buses and taxis stopped,  passengers and drivers disembarking to view this unparalleled thing.
"Are they filming a new series of Dr Who?" asked an old lady peering this way and that but there wasn’t a TARDIS in sight. But soon a police-man did arrive, a puzzled frown upon his face.
"I was told nothing about this," he muttered underneath his breath as he radioed back to HQ for backup.
"They must be breaking any number of city by-laws and regulations. And ere, I’m blowed if it ain’t a gambling ship
without a  license too, most likely!"
        Making his way down the refuse choked old steps towards the filthy canal, kicking with disgust at old cans and junkie’s discarded needles, the police constable was more than astonished to find the paddle-steamer’s broad gangway lowered to receive him, a couple of strong-armed sailors in striped pullovers and blue-peaked caps grinning at him broadly and inviting him on board.
Behind them, smartly dressed toffs smiled pleasantly, bending to whisper quietly into the ears of beautiful women in low-cut dresses,  their faces half-hidden behind fluttering fans.
"Welcome aboard, PC Cooper-Smith!" A neatly uniformed and bearded man came forward to greet him. From the elegent beading on his cap and jacket and the piping down his trousers,  PC Cooper-Smith imagined he must be the Captain of this extraordinary vessel.
"Welcome aboard," said the Captain again and taking the Police Constable’s hand in his he pumped it warmly. "Welcome aboard and Happy Birthday!"
The paddle-steamers great round wheels began to start turning again, a whistle blew sharply three times and amidst shouts of what-ho!  from the distinguished gentlemen and shouts of hurrah! from their lovely companions, the paddle-steamer lifted into the sky again, drifting lazily and leisurely over the grimey streets of London and the bemused crowds beneath it, never to be seen again.

* * *

        The papers refused to print the story, not wishing to look foolish and the Home Office insisted that no such incident ever took place.
        But I was one of the children that witnessed that strange event thirty-five years ago and I still recall it clearly and vividly. Ten years ago I even tried to conduct my own private investigation into the affair, going as far as locating, after an extensive search, the then young police constable’s wife.
"Yer what?" she belched through heavily painted and drink-loosened lips, her breath reeking of gin. "I ain’t seen’im now for twenty bleedin’ years.  What do you want comin’ round here dredging up old stories?  Pox off!"
      The local police were equally unforthcoming.
"I’m sorry Sir," the stony-faced Desk-Sergeant explained, "but we have no record of any such incident.  And even if we did I’m not sure we’d want to discuss it with the public. You haven’t been drinking have you, Sir?"

                 But I had not.        
      Leaning now upon the parapet of the old stone bridge in one of the less salubrious parts of Hackney I can’t imagine how a full-sized  Yankee paddle-steamer could have possibly fitted in the narrow waters of the sad and neglected canal beneath me…

         But it did!

Eugene Field and his wonderful SUGAR-PLUM TREE IN http://dodiesdreamworld.zoomshare.com/

ANOTHER OF MY FAVOURITE PIECES OF CHILDREN’S POETRY BY THE WONDERFUL EUGENE FIELD.

DODIES DREAM WORLD THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE HAVE you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree? ‘Tis a marvel of great renown!  It blooms on the shore of the Lolly-pop Sea In the garden of Shut-Eye Town; The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet (As those who have tasted it say) That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit to be happy next day. When you’ve got to the tree, you would have a hard time To capture the fruit which I sing; The tree is so tall that no person could climb To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing! But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat,  And a ginger bread dog prowls below- And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar-plums tempting you so:  You say but the word to that gingerbread dog And he barks with such a terrible zest That the chocolate cat is at once all agog, As her swelling proportions attest.  And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around From this leafy limb unto that, And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground- Hurray for that chocolate cat! There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes With striping of scarlet and gold, And you carry away of the treasure that rains, As much as your apron can hold! So come, little child, cuddle closer to me In your dainty white nightcap and gown, And I’ll rock you away to the Sugar-Plum Tree In the garden of Shut-Eye Town. NO NEED TO ASK WHO THIS IS BY, ONE OF MY FAVOURITE POETS. THE WONDERFUL EUGENE FIELD, I DO SO LOVE HIS POEMS FOR CHILDREN.

Posted 19:08

Classical Poetry of a different kind.

  http://www.youtube.com/cp/vjVQa1PpcFOzXg14n5XkADmtnn8GWQxQ9aJ8RFXKtFc=

Have you ever thought how wonderful it would be to hear some words of wisdom instead of just reading it.

Well here you can do both. Enjoy Dodie. xxx

Calico Cat and Calico Dog, Calico Mouse and Calico Frog, Calico Drum and Calico Chair,Calico Children, hurrah for Edward Lear

Sun, 07 Feb 2010

Calico Pie and Calico Jam, Calico Mice and Calico Drum and Calico Chair, Calico Hurrah, for  great Edward Lear.

TRUDI’S TALES AND CALICO PIE  Calico Pie, The little birds fly Down to the calico tree, Their wings were blue, And they sang "Tilly-loo!" Till away they flew,– And they never came back to me! They never came back! They never came back! They never came back to me! Calico Jam, The little fish swam Over the syllabub sea. He took off his hat, To the Sole and the Sprat, And the Willeby-wat,– But he never came back to me! He never came back! He never came back! He never came back to me!   Calico Ban, The little Mice ran, To be ready in time for tea, Flippity flup, They drank it all up, And danced in the cup,– But they never came back to me! They never came back! They never came back! They never came back to me! Calico Drum, The grasshoppers come, The Butterfly, Beetle, and Bee, Over the ground, Around and round,     With a hop and a bound,–              But they never came back!         They never came back!      They never came back!                                         They never came back to me! By the One and Only Edward Lear, Gosh he is (was) so wonderful and his poems are gggggggrrrrrreeeeeaaaattt!!