Ballard of the Piper
Created | Updated May 30, 2007
RJP sniffed the morning air, it was cold, it was cold and fresh. The sensation in his nostrils was that of a cold burning as the air rushed through en route to his lungs. RJP was the name most people called the man in his mid twenties. He was christened Robert John Page, always he thought a bit of a mouthful, so from an early age he insisted on using his initials. His long blond hair waved in the breeze as he looked over the canopy of the part of Yorkshire know as Dalby Forest.
The smell of the morning due and damp earth filled his senses, for RJP there was no other place in the world to be early on a summers morning. On this summers morning he felt happier then he had for many months. He was in the employment of the Forestry Commission working as a forester on the night shift. Six months earlier he had been lucky enough to land the job. Starting his employment in the previous December he had spent most of his working hours in a hide or a Land Rover. The hours of darkness were long with the solstice coming in only his second week. All was cold and wet, on more then one occasion did he think he’d made the wrong choice of career.
As spring approached the forest started to come alive. RJP was over joyed when on a morning walkabout he split the bark of a birch tree and watched the sap trickle out. Catching a couple of drops on his finger end he tasted the sweet liquid, spring was most defiantly here.
Now six months had past, today was the day he would be out at sunrise, work or not. Today was the longest day, the summer solstice. The sun was just starting to appear above the horizon when he was caught with a humming sensation in his head. Pushing both fingers into his ears he tried blowing out his cheeks as on an aircraft, but this gave him little if no relief. The sun was now almost over the horizon and already it glare blinding to look at. RJP turned through on hundred and eighty degrees and looked into the west. The light slowly crept over the land illuminating all the landmarks as its rays paced. This was without doubt the reason why he had wanted a job such as this. In the air the sent of so many familiar odours where apparent, honeysuckle, bracken and heather, not to mention the numerous spices f wildlife which were now retiring for the daylight hours.
He knew that in a matter of only a few hours the day trippers would descend on the forest wearing their sandals and kaki shorts, bum bags and bib’s. The serenity and stillness would be broken.
He sniffed the air again and sensed a different smell. Instantly he knew what it was. He was suddenly brought back to reality, his spirit which was crying out longing to be free in this land he loved was suddenly back in the mind set of his job and the limitations it put upon him.
Walking down one of the footpaths which made up the Bride Stones walk he saw a small fire burning down in the Adder Stone valley. The smoke rose into the morning air, but not in the normal way. The smoke did not float up and out forming a mist over the valley as he would have expected, instead it rose into the air in smoke rings keeping their shape high into the air before he lost sight of them in the morning sky.
A fire in the forest was more then dangerous. The ground was mainly made up of peat which could smoulder for many months before actually setting alight.
In the bottom of the valley he headed toward where he thought the fire was burning. In this part of the forest he had too be careful where he placed his feet, this was the habitat of the Adder, the only poisons snake indigenes to these isles. Constantly watching where he walked RJP tried to keep a constant eye on were he was heading. The smoke appeared to be due north from his position, he had a bearing and a good reference point. Heading towards it as quickly as possible his attention was suddenly taken by the sound of birdsong coming from nearby, he didn’t recognise the species by its call. Looking around he could not see any sign of the bird. Focusing once again on his quarry he looked up at his reference point. To his dismay the smoke had gone, though not the small, it still hung in the air. RJP looked around then saw the fire, but this time it was to the east of his position, “Strange?” he said to himself, but then thought no more about it.
As he entered a small clearing in the trees he saw a strange little man sitting on a fallen birch trunk. His back was toward him, this made RJP slightly uneasy, why was that?
Slowly he crept up on him try to see what the little man was doing.
“Ah, you here.”
The sound of the mans voice made RJP jump with shock, he hadn’t a sound in his approach, but was still caught out. He had lost the element of surprise so dropped his guard. He sighed heavily and finished his approach, “Could you tell me what you’re doing?”
The seated man did not turn around, instead he raised what looked like a recorder to his lips and ran through a series of chords. RJP had been a musician since he was a child and instantly recognised the phrase, Am, G#, C and D after that he failed to recognise. The tune was slightly haunting, his thoughts were been manipulated by the tune or that was the feeling he was experiencing. This was not an unpleasant experience, more a feeling of peace with himself and nature and not an internal battle to regain control. The whole thing though was slightly unnerving so he forced himself beck into reality. “Excuse me?” he said forcefully while tapping the figure on the shoulder.
The man stopped playing and turned around, throwing both legs over the log with well practiced ease. Now RJP could see him clearly, but at the same time he gave the illusion that, well he couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was a trick of the early morning light. The man seemed to be slightly blurred or at least RJP’s eyes couldn’t quite focus on him.
The figure wore rough looking clothes, home made almost with pieces of foliage adhering to them. His shoes also where made up of some kind of animal skin. As for his person, his face was pale with wiry sharp features as was his hair.
“What are you doing here? You know that fires are strictly forbidden in the national park.”
The figure sitting on the log smiled, “What fire?” he said.
RJP pointed a finger at the piece of ground in front of the fallen log. “That…” then he stopped dead in his tracks. Where the fire had burnt the ground was green once more, no signs of any burning remained? No ashes, no signs of scorching, no smell of smoke. RJP felt more then a little embarrassed. The figure on the log smiled at his discomfort.
“Anyway,” RJP started again, not put off by the demoralisation of the fire, “What are you doing here at this time in a morning?”
“Oh,” he said swinging his legs like a child sitting on a chair, “I like to keep my eye on events.”
“Events?”
The little man said nothing, instead he played a few more notes on his flute.
RJP became impatient with this off handed person, who did he think he was, sitting there as though he owned the forest. He dressed as though he belonged in this environment, some kind of elf or fairy was the nearest description Robert could come up with. RJP had the distinct impression that he was of a simple persuasion, maybe he should humour him.
“The events she put in progress.” He answered once his tune had floated away through the trees.
“She?”
“Why, The Queen of the May.” He spoke the words in a hushed tone, looking around the immediate area in which he sat. Was he checking that no one had over heard him speaking the words?
“What?” Page asked, “What’s wrong?” he continued also looking around, why he did not know.
“Shh, she’ll hear.”
“Who?”
“I told you, The May Queen. She commands the forest life. It’s she who brings the buds in the spring, sends the sap rising. It is she who rules here. The forest animals and plants, they all know her, depend on her. I dare not speak her name for what she may do to me.”
The man looked genuinely concerned as he shrunk back in on himself almost like a hedgehog defending itself against predators.
“I know of the May Queen, it’s normally a village girl who is dressed up on May Day.” RJP said cheerfully.
“Shh, she will hear.”
The bird Robert had failed to place was once again singing, its tune was drifting through the trees once again. “And you are?” Robert prompted now feeling at an advantage.
“They call me Piper.”
“Piper?”
“Yes, what of it? That is my name and that is my calling.”
“You pipe.”
“Yes.” The single word was said slowly, only a sly smile betrayed his partial lie. He raised his pipe to his lips and ran through a series of chords.
“You know, she told me once, many things.” Smiled the piper.
“Who?”
“The Queen of the May.”
“Oh.”
“She told me of how many things were laid down by her, but as I saw it all her words could have more then one meaning. She always gets what she comes for though. They’ve all gone now.” He sat in quiet reflection for a moment or two before repeating his last words, “All gone?”
RJP did not want prolong the conversation and wanted to return to his duties, “That’s all…”
“Of course, she’s almost finished now, tidying out all the old creatures, that’s what it is you know when you see the hedgerows and bushes rustling. It’s her having a tidy out of the old, a spring clean you could say.” Again he paused in remembrance, “I remember, laughing, does anyone remember?”
RJP didn’t know just what to say, “Do you need anything here, can I take you anywhere?” maybe he needed money, or something. This poor man was not all there in his head, but how could he help.
“Everything I need is here.” He said looking around, “I will tell you this though. If you join me we can stand tall against her and perhaps a new day will dawn on the world, we will be free then, free of here.”
Robert made his farewell to the odd little man sitting on the log, but as he walked away he was sure that he could still hear the pipers voice, “There are two paths you know, but don’t worry there is always time to change your route.”
Robert turned around to look at the man, but the log was empty, he had gone.
The walk back to his office was only around three miles, no distance at all. He took advantage of the time to ponder the events of that morning. Who was this Piper fellow and the May Queen, who was she? In a way he felt sorry for the strange little man, but then couldn’t help thinking about his moments of slight dizziness while taking to him.
As the heat and greenery of summer turned into the reds and browns of autumn he watched the forest with great interest, this was his favourite time of the year, soon Christmas would be approaching and the whole natural cycle of the forest would begin again.
On a cold dark November morning he made himself a cup of tea in the forestry commission office. As he waited the for the kettle to boil he looked through his post. Among the letters he found a postcard. The picture on the front was a picture of what he presumed to be some kind of fairy of nymph. She was floating above the ground looking down at a figure sitting on a log.
The kettle boiled, putting his bundle of letters down he made his early morning cuppa. Scratching his unshaven chin he sat down at his desk and contemplated the tasks for that day.
Suddenly the blood ran cold through his veins, he riffled through the post until he found the postcard once again. He took a magnifying glass out of his draw and trained it on the small seated figure overshadowed by the winged figure.
Robert stirred at the figure, he knew who it was, he recognised him immediately. It was the Piper.
Turning the card over he read the small lettering alone the right hand edge, ‘The Piper at the Gates of Dawn meets the May Queen.’
The smell of the morning due and damp earth filled his senses, for RJP there was no other place in the world to be early on a summers morning. On this summers morning he felt happier then he had for many months. He was in the employment of the Forestry Commission working as a forester on the night shift. Six months earlier he had been lucky enough to land the job. Starting his employment in the previous December he had spent most of his working hours in a hide or a Land Rover. The hours of darkness were long with the solstice coming in only his second week. All was cold and wet, on more then one occasion did he think he’d made the wrong choice of career.
As spring approached the forest started to come alive. RJP was over joyed when on a morning walkabout he split the bark of a birch tree and watched the sap trickle out. Catching a couple of drops on his finger end he tasted the sweet liquid, spring was most defiantly here.
Now six months had past, today was the day he would be out at sunrise, work or not. Today was the longest day, the summer solstice. The sun was just starting to appear above the horizon when he was caught with a humming sensation in his head. Pushing both fingers into his ears he tried blowing out his cheeks as on an aircraft, but this gave him little if no relief. The sun was now almost over the horizon and already it glare blinding to look at. RJP turned through on hundred and eighty degrees and looked into the west. The light slowly crept over the land illuminating all the landmarks as its rays paced. This was without doubt the reason why he had wanted a job such as this. In the air the sent of so many familiar odours where apparent, honeysuckle, bracken and heather, not to mention the numerous spices f wildlife which were now retiring for the daylight hours.
He knew that in a matter of only a few hours the day trippers would descend on the forest wearing their sandals and kaki shorts, bum bags and bib’s. The serenity and stillness would be broken.
He sniffed the air again and sensed a different smell. Instantly he knew what it was. He was suddenly brought back to reality, his spirit which was crying out longing to be free in this land he loved was suddenly back in the mind set of his job and the limitations it put upon him.
Walking down one of the footpaths which made up the Bride Stones walk he saw a small fire burning down in the Adder Stone valley. The smoke rose into the morning air, but not in the normal way. The smoke did not float up and out forming a mist over the valley as he would have expected, instead it rose into the air in smoke rings keeping their shape high into the air before he lost sight of them in the morning sky.
A fire in the forest was more then dangerous. The ground was mainly made up of peat which could smoulder for many months before actually setting alight.
In the bottom of the valley he headed toward where he thought the fire was burning. In this part of the forest he had too be careful where he placed his feet, this was the habitat of the Adder, the only poisons snake indigenes to these isles. Constantly watching where he walked RJP tried to keep a constant eye on were he was heading. The smoke appeared to be due north from his position, he had a bearing and a good reference point. Heading towards it as quickly as possible his attention was suddenly taken by the sound of birdsong coming from nearby, he didn’t recognise the species by its call. Looking around he could not see any sign of the bird. Focusing once again on his quarry he looked up at his reference point. To his dismay the smoke had gone, though not the small, it still hung in the air. RJP looked around then saw the fire, but this time it was to the east of his position, “Strange?” he said to himself, but then thought no more about it.
As he entered a small clearing in the trees he saw a strange little man sitting on a fallen birch trunk. His back was toward him, this made RJP slightly uneasy, why was that?
Slowly he crept up on him try to see what the little man was doing.
“Ah, you here.”
The sound of the mans voice made RJP jump with shock, he hadn’t a sound in his approach, but was still caught out. He had lost the element of surprise so dropped his guard. He sighed heavily and finished his approach, “Could you tell me what you’re doing?”
The seated man did not turn around, instead he raised what looked like a recorder to his lips and ran through a series of chords. RJP had been a musician since he was a child and instantly recognised the phrase, Am, G#, C and D after that he failed to recognise. The tune was slightly haunting, his thoughts were been manipulated by the tune or that was the feeling he was experiencing. This was not an unpleasant experience, more a feeling of peace with himself and nature and not an internal battle to regain control. The whole thing though was slightly unnerving so he forced himself beck into reality. “Excuse me?” he said forcefully while tapping the figure on the shoulder.
The man stopped playing and turned around, throwing both legs over the log with well practiced ease. Now RJP could see him clearly, but at the same time he gave the illusion that, well he couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was a trick of the early morning light. The man seemed to be slightly blurred or at least RJP’s eyes couldn’t quite focus on him.
The figure wore rough looking clothes, home made almost with pieces of foliage adhering to them. His shoes also where made up of some kind of animal skin. As for his person, his face was pale with wiry sharp features as was his hair.
“What are you doing here? You know that fires are strictly forbidden in the national park.”
The figure sitting on the log smiled, “What fire?” he said.
RJP pointed a finger at the piece of ground in front of the fallen log. “That…” then he stopped dead in his tracks. Where the fire had burnt the ground was green once more, no signs of any burning remained? No ashes, no signs of scorching, no smell of smoke. RJP felt more then a little embarrassed. The figure on the log smiled at his discomfort.
“Anyway,” RJP started again, not put off by the demoralisation of the fire, “What are you doing here at this time in a morning?”
“Oh,” he said swinging his legs like a child sitting on a chair, “I like to keep my eye on events.”
“Events?”
The little man said nothing, instead he played a few more notes on his flute.
RJP became impatient with this off handed person, who did he think he was, sitting there as though he owned the forest. He dressed as though he belonged in this environment, some kind of elf or fairy was the nearest description Robert could come up with. RJP had the distinct impression that he was of a simple persuasion, maybe he should humour him.
“The events she put in progress.” He answered once his tune had floated away through the trees.
“She?”
“Why, The Queen of the May.” He spoke the words in a hushed tone, looking around the immediate area in which he sat. Was he checking that no one had over heard him speaking the words?
“What?” Page asked, “What’s wrong?” he continued also looking around, why he did not know.
“Shh, she’ll hear.”
“Who?”
“I told you, The May Queen. She commands the forest life. It’s she who brings the buds in the spring, sends the sap rising. It is she who rules here. The forest animals and plants, they all know her, depend on her. I dare not speak her name for what she may do to me.”
The man looked genuinely concerned as he shrunk back in on himself almost like a hedgehog defending itself against predators.
“I know of the May Queen, it’s normally a village girl who is dressed up on May Day.” RJP said cheerfully.
“Shh, she will hear.”
The bird Robert had failed to place was once again singing, its tune was drifting through the trees once again. “And you are?” Robert prompted now feeling at an advantage.
“They call me Piper.”
“Piper?”
“Yes, what of it? That is my name and that is my calling.”
“You pipe.”
“Yes.” The single word was said slowly, only a sly smile betrayed his partial lie. He raised his pipe to his lips and ran through a series of chords.
“You know, she told me once, many things.” Smiled the piper.
“Who?”
“The Queen of the May.”
“Oh.”
“She told me of how many things were laid down by her, but as I saw it all her words could have more then one meaning. She always gets what she comes for though. They’ve all gone now.” He sat in quiet reflection for a moment or two before repeating his last words, “All gone?”
RJP did not want prolong the conversation and wanted to return to his duties, “That’s all…”
“Of course, she’s almost finished now, tidying out all the old creatures, that’s what it is you know when you see the hedgerows and bushes rustling. It’s her having a tidy out of the old, a spring clean you could say.” Again he paused in remembrance, “I remember, laughing, does anyone remember?”
RJP didn’t know just what to say, “Do you need anything here, can I take you anywhere?” maybe he needed money, or something. This poor man was not all there in his head, but how could he help.
“Everything I need is here.” He said looking around, “I will tell you this though. If you join me we can stand tall against her and perhaps a new day will dawn on the world, we will be free then, free of here.”
Robert made his farewell to the odd little man sitting on the log, but as he walked away he was sure that he could still hear the pipers voice, “There are two paths you know, but don’t worry there is always time to change your route.”
Robert turned around to look at the man, but the log was empty, he had gone.
The walk back to his office was only around three miles, no distance at all. He took advantage of the time to ponder the events of that morning. Who was this Piper fellow and the May Queen, who was she? In a way he felt sorry for the strange little man, but then couldn’t help thinking about his moments of slight dizziness while taking to him.
As the heat and greenery of summer turned into the reds and browns of autumn he watched the forest with great interest, this was his favourite time of the year, soon Christmas would be approaching and the whole natural cycle of the forest would begin again.
On a cold dark November morning he made himself a cup of tea in the forestry commission office. As he waited the for the kettle to boil he looked through his post. Among the letters he found a postcard. The picture on the front was a picture of what he presumed to be some kind of fairy of nymph. She was floating above the ground looking down at a figure sitting on a log.
The kettle boiled, putting his bundle of letters down he made his early morning cuppa. Scratching his unshaven chin he sat down at his desk and contemplated the tasks for that day.
Suddenly the blood ran cold through his veins, he riffled through the post until he found the postcard once again. He took a magnifying glass out of his draw and trained it on the small seated figure overshadowed by the winged figure.
Robert stirred at the figure, he knew who it was, he recognised him immediately. It was the Piper.
Turning the card over he read the small lettering alone the right hand edge, ‘The Piper at the Gates of Dawn meets the May Queen.’
