I MET A PIPER

Press, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22459, 21 July 1938, Page 8 (Supplement)

I MET A PIPER

■, iQn a spring day very recently, so that most people would still call it a winter day,-1 was out walking; quietly and dreamily, in the country. I was walking quietly because I was out lamb-hunting; and I must,explain that lamb-hunt-ing, especially so early in the season, needs very quiet walking indeed; I think it wouldn't be exaggerating to say that it heeds as qUiet walking as . rabbit-hunting does.. And I was walking dreamily because it was one of those days on which you feel that a story might happen to you if you don't breathe too gustily or think too much about homework, the state of your money-box, or why men go to war. Now, when I say I was out lambhunting I should explain that I was not out on a mere wild goose chase; for I had read about two new lambs that had been seen skipping in a paddock where the snow still lay in a shady corner. So if there were new lambs in a snowy paddock I had an idea I could find some more in a place I knew. I climbed a hill, a small one, and zig-zagged in the sunshine down the other side. There was a good scent in the air, for the gorse was getting ready to open its new green buds and soon the fences would be yellow gold and gleaming in the sun. And at the foot of the tufts of dry tussock there was vivid green, and I knew that sxtoh. the young needles would pei.thrusting up and soon after that tfte white hair-bells and the yellow buttercups and the delicate wild white violets would be springing uiraugh. the grass to make the earth fascinating to anyone who walked with ipenriiead. ' That; was how I walked on this lay I went quietly and dreamily walking; with my head bent. And so . * w,as almost down to the stream +Im the sun snone so not and the little brown stones gleamed under' the moving water and the wng grasses waved lazily at the eagffand. the huge round boulders jutted on the banks, their grey surfaces here and there covered in greenish-yellow matted stuff that jph EJeel off as y° u sat ' * was to the stream and my

ears were listening *for the small sound of the water, when, suddenly I lifted my head and looked about me: for I had heard the, most sweet music, fluting and piping in that sunny valley. I looked, and I looked, and then I saw him. He was small and he had black hair which swooped in a curve on to his cheek on one side and left his pointed ear bare on the other. He was sitting with his knees hugged under his chin on one of the round grey boulders with the crinkly yellowish lichen; and he held in his long-fingered hands a golden pipe into which he was blowing. The music he made ran up and down and in and out a scale and sounded now like the birds, now like the stream, and now like the whoosh of the smallest of winds. He had not seen me. He put down his pipe, slipped off a long green shoe he wore, and dabbled one foot in the stream. • Now, it is not my habit .to sing; but I

thought to myself, "How can I get this sweet creature to stay and pipe some more?" And suddenly I thought of Blake's piping song; and so* I sang it, very softly, and to a tune I made up as I went along (so for" once it was my own affair if I went flat, you see). The piping boy looked up; and when I. finished the first verse he picked up his pipe and went with me through the next (and if I went flat he was kind enough not to mention it). "Pipe a song about a lamb!" So I piped with merry cheer. "Piper, pipe that song again;" So I piped: he wept to hear. We finished the song 'and by that time I had very quietly moved nearer until I had seated Myself on another large and fat and grey and lichen-covered boulder. The sun fell generously down, the piper boy's black hair gleamed with gold and blue lights, the little stream sang a song, and the grasses waved softly about our feet. My eyes

were terribly jealous because they could not look at the same time at the piper boy's lovely face with the horn of hair curving round and at the golden pipe lying on the' ground. "Here! You can touch it if you like." His voice was soft and husky and he laughed gently at the end of his words. - I took the pipe out of his beautiful hand. . "It's made from bamboo," I said. "And then it's painted a golden colour," said his soft voice. " "Are you real?" I asked him. "Don't think about it," he advised me. So I stopped wondering and asked him to show me how he blew the pipe. He covered the six round holes with his fingers (both little fingers stayed free) and one little : one underneath with his left thumb. ~ "Your pipe is fine," I said. It reminds me of the,willow whistles my father makes." "He can't make them now," said the piper boy. .

"Indeed, he can,". I told him, feeling a little indignant. "No, he cannot. Not till the sap rises in the willows. That will be in about a month. Then you cut a length of green stick. And you lick all round* it and tap for a long time all over it gently with the handle of your pocket-knife. And at last the skin comes off and you have the wet creamy willow stick. You cut notches in it and.then you put its gresn jacket on again. And you cut smaller notches in the skin, and there's your whistle. But not for another month at least." "You know all about it. -That is exactly what my father does. Now play me some more music." He covered all the holes and blew the marvellous sweet note again. "That's d natural," he said. "If I want to play d sharp I say 'toot' as before, but I lift my thumb off this little hole underneath. And sometimes I say 'toot-toro' and that makes a double note; and when I say ■ 'toot-tora-ka' that makes

a triple note. It's very important to keep all the fingers down that are meant to be down. Half measures won't do. I'll play you my morning song." "Adonis goes a-hunting!" I cried. "Who's Adonis?" "That song is Dr. Blow's hunting song for Adonis," I explained. "Who's Dr. Blow?" "He isn't anyone. He died more than' 200 years ago. But he was a great teacher and organist and he wrote that music." I saw that the piper's ear was growing pink. "He did nothing of the kind," he said, and his voice was squeaky now. "I tell you that tune's been the morning song in my family for 3000 years. You and your Dr. Blow. Huh!" And he began to play the song over and over, with incredible tooting and speed. "Please," I said, let us quarrel On such a day. I read it in a book that Dr. Johm Blow wrote it, but perhaps the book was wrong." "Of course it was wrong. In fact, I just about remember my grandfather telling me how he had let old John Blow use the song because old John gave him a bit of green leather for his shoes —the ones I'm wearing, as a matter of fact." I gave in. ' "Yes," said the piper boy dreamily, "been in our family for 3000 years, that song has. we always play it first thing in the morning and whenever we want the lambs to dance." "Lambs?" I asked, staring up. "Look!' There! and there! and there" laughed the piper boy, and he pointed with his pipe to the sunny hillside- ■ and as "he began to play his family's morning song or Dr. John Blow's hunting song, : three long-tailed new white lambs began to frisk among the tussocks. Down went their heads and up waved their tails; they leapt in the air and came down with their funny legs as stiff as stilts; and, waving to the piper boy, I followed them and followed them until I came again to the gorse fence and the road. And quietly and dreamily I walked along home; and the piper boy's music followed me and followed me and follows me still.—J."