Why the Skylark Sings

Southland Times, Issue 20044, 4 December 1926, Page 22 (Supplement)

Why the Skylark Sings

—First Prize.— Once in the dim long ago, a skylark was sitting in its nest on the ground near a spot where three shepherds were watching their sheep. The murmur of their voices was like a lullaby to the little skylark, and he was just blinking his eyes and nodding his head when a great commotion among the shepherds, made him look over towards them. They were prostrated on the ground. Looking round to see what had caused their fright he beheld a beautiful angel, who said to the shepherds, “Fear not, I have brought you good news. To-day in Bethlebeim a little babe was born who will be the Saviour of the world. A star in the sky will guide you to the stable." The angel then disappeared and the shepherds picked up their crooks, and followed the gleaming star, singing songs of gladness. The little skylark flew after the shepherds and alighting on one of their crooks waa carried to the stable where the babe was. It flew to a rafter in the roof and w'atched the people bringing gift© to the little child. But the little skylark's heart was sad because not even a song of welcome could he sing. In the early dawn be flew out and flying straight up to heaven’s gates he begged of the angels some gift to carry to the babe.

Some little cherubs were singing and playing on golden harps. “If only I could sing like that,” said the skylark, “I would be satisfied.” “Very well." said an angel, “you will have a song to sing for the Saviour." The little lark flew back and hovered over that stable singing his beautiful song of gladness and welcome. Perhaps that is why the lark still mounts into the sky singing his glorious song—he may still be singing praises to our Saviour. -5/- and 4 marks to Cousin Joan Whitworth (11) 19 Raymond Street, Georgetown. —Second Prize.— When the skylark was sleeping in its c-sy nest among the long grass and daisies, the fairies were playing in the moonlight, chanting their midnight song. The skylark woke to listen. “Oh my,” he thought, “how sweet that sounds. It makes things brighter and everything seems different because of that song. How happy they all seem. I wish I could be as happy as they, then I might be doing some good in the world, too. I must watch closely so that I can learn from them. They are not very big, but they seem to be doing a lot of good.” So he watched them carefully and saw them flutter from flower to flower, from one blade of grass to another, singing all the time. Then they would alight on the shrubs and trees singing in the same way. •lust then the dawn broke and the fairies all flew away so that there was no more singing. “Now,” thought the skylark, “why can’t. I take up the song when the fairies leave off?" Just then the sun broke through and up he rose, singing all the time. The other larks, hearing him, took up the song, too, so that all day long there was sweet music in the air to make this world seem brighter. Now that is why we hear the skylark singing so sweetly early in the morning for the fairies only sing at night and when they disappear the skylarks take up their song for the day. —2/6 and 3 marks to Cousin Elsie Amos (13) Mabel Bush. —Highly Commended.— Rainy days, in the land behind the grey clouds, are always rather fun. This land, ruled by King Sol, is inhabited by two kinds of Fairies—Sunbeams and Dewdrops. In the day-time, the Dewdrops are asleep, for they work hard while darkness and sleep during the day. But the Sun-

beams are wide awake, and, while we mortals grumble at the pattering raindrops which fill the many pot-holes and trickle flown our coats, King Sol calls them round him and they have what they call “Talks." These talks are something like school, which all little mortals attend, but King Sol does no: bother his happy little Sunbeams with such foolish things as reading, writing and arithmetic! Oh, no! Instead, he lets them ask him questions and he does his best to answer them. (Of course, let me whisper, King Serf’s knowledge ia not too good, and he does not always answer the questions quite correctly, but still, he does his best. But please, please, don't let him know I told you that, or he might never shine again and, goodness knows, he’s lazy enough about charing away the raindrops, as it is!) Well, one day, when we mortals were looking and looking in vain, for any stray little Sunbeam, King Sol was answering the question—“ Why the Skylark Sing??” “Well,” he was saying, in his mellow voice, “you and I and the springtime are the reasons why the skylark rings! You Sunbeams are one reason because you all burst forth happily in the springtime, as a sign that old man winter,” here King Sol looked fiery, for he has no love for old man winter, “has gone. He is so happy to think that once more the flowers and trees will soon be gay and bright and ths whole earth happy and carefree. The mortals consider him the Herald bf Springtime for his is the first joyous note to ring out, after the snows have disappeared from the ground," King Sol paused and the Sunbeams all cried, “But you have told us only why he sing* on account of the springtime and ourselves! What do you do to make him sing? Please tell us!” “Well," said King Sol, “in the spring, the skylark is always the first bird to ring his joyous song. He is soaring in the air as soon as I have risen over the hill, in my chariot of pink and gold. Now, Sunbeams, I was angry with the Dewdrops for going to sleep and staying too long long on the grass and Howers, after I had risen.” “Yes! Yes!” cried the Sunbeams. “Well,” continued King Sol, “I determined to make them wake as soon as I rose, and come back here at the proper time, so. one morning,l called to the skylark, who had soared up specially high. Skylark,’ I said, ‘will you do something for me?’” “ Treep cherr-rup!’ he answered. “Well,” I said, “will you, in the early morning, as soon as I come over the hill, sing extra specially loudly? My naughty little Dewdrops sleep too long in the mornings and I want you to wake them with your joyous song'. Will you? “ ‘Treep! Tweet! Tweet!’ he answered, and thereupon trilled forth the moot lovely melody. The Dewdrops woke and soon the grass flowers were quite dry! “Now, Sunbeams, do you see why the skylark rings? Firstly, because he is so happy when the Sunbeams dance in all the. corners, secondly, because he is the Herald of Springtime and, thirdly, to w r aken up the Dewdrops in the morning!" “We understand now, thank you!" cried the Sunbeams, “and shall we go and help you chase away the raindrops so that the skylark will sing for joy when he sees us?” —2 marks to Cousin Anita Tapley (15), 77 Dalrymple Road, Invercargill. —Highly Commended.— in the deep, dark forest lived a dwarf, who had a tiny daughter. She was only one inch tall and was most lovely and delicate. Her father, Minu, called her Dolores after the great singer, and, as Dolores means sadness, rightly named was this little child, for sadness indeed was her poor wee life. Spici, the neighbouring dwarf, who had great possessions in the forest, was quarrelling with Minu and, as Minu was too cunning to allow Spici to take any of his possessions. Spici planned to take Dolores. He had been keeping a sharp look-out all morning and as the little girl was out gathering flowers and a bundle of little sticks to light the fire he intended to capture her. She was just bending over a pretty pink and white daisy when she heard the sticks cracking behind her. There was Spici. He was going to take her away and oh! he would be kind to her! She picked up her little bundle of sticks and the few’ flowers she had gathered and fled towards her home screaming “Daddy. Daddy. 7 But Spici was very close to her and he stretched out his arm and grabbed her.

“Oh! Spici. Spici,” she sobbed, “take me home to Daddy. He will break his heart if he loses me and he might die." Poor wee Dolores sobbed pitifully but Spici had no mercy. He held her roughly in his arms and scampered as quickly as possible through the forest to his home. He stood Dolores on the ground and ordered her to pick up a big stick lying by the door, f'he did so. She was too frightened to disobey. She held it up to him as if to say “Here it is,” but he angrily said ‘Oarry it yocrself, you lazy little brat.” He grabbed little hand and hit it hard with the stick he was holding “Now,” he said, “don’t you ask me to carry anything for you again.” He picked her up in his arms again and carried her through a long dark passage to the door of a little room. Here he let her fall plump on to the hard stone floor. There she lay. She couldn’t get up—it hurt so. “Stand up you little idiot,” he cried; but she could not. “If you won’t I’ll make you,” said he, whereupon he caught hold of her, grabbed the stick she had picked up by the outer door, and beat her till the poor’ child could not scream for pain. “Pick up that box,’ said Spici; but the box was two inches square, and of course our poor little one-inch-tall'could not lift it. “Lift it,” he cried. “I can’t,” said Dolores. Spici picked it up and told Dolores to go before him into that horrible little room. He came in after her stick and all. He put the box down on the floor and opened it. It was full of the tiniest little beads, which Dolores could hardly see. “Now,” said Spici, “you must thread all those on that string. If you don’t do it you will get nothing to eat. And,” he continued, “do you see those holes in the wall?” ‘Yes," said Dolores. “Well, if you try to escape through them I will send my enchanted dogs after you.” The he slammed the door, leaving Dolores to herself. The poor child sat down on the floor and wept; but what good could that do? Presently she opened the box, threaded the needle and began to thread the beads. All this time her father, Minu, had been waiting for her to return with the sticks to light the fire and cook the dinner. When she was so long in returning, Minu set out to inquire if Spici had seen her. Spici told the truth whereupon Minu fell on the ground—dead. Spici never told Dolores—perhaps it was just as well. Spici then went in to have his dinner. Afterwards he went to see how Dolores was getting on. She had almost half finished her task which quite surprised Spici. He left her alone to finish her task and when he returned again she was finished. He snatched the string

from her and went out slamming the door as usual. He came back in a few minutes with some dry bread and a small drink of water. When she was almost finished a skylark fluttered in through one of the holes in the wall .and fell on the floor quite motionless. Dolores took off her pretty white apron and rolled it carefully round the skylark. Spici did not come back all the afternoon and for this Dolores was very grateful. After a few hours the skylark opened its eyes and looked up at Dolores as if to say, ‘Thank you.”

Dolores told it all her troubles and after a moment’s thought the skylark said, “What can‘l do for you little miss? Will you ride on my back and Hl take you right away?” “Oh! I would love, I would love you to,” said Dolores sobbing, ‘‘but I must not. He will send his enchanted dogs after us and they won’t spare you, even you. All you can do for me, dear skylark, is to sing—to ring a pretty song up in the sky in the early morning—all day long—then I’ll know there is someone thinking of me—loving me I’ll know there is someone yet I’ve got to love me, dear skylark.”

“I will,” said the skylark; but just then they heard footsteps coming up the hall and off went the skylark up into the blue sky and sang. It told other skylarks of the little girl who had saved its life and those skylarks told other skylarks and now all skylarks sing, because for all they know that little girl might still lie down in that horrid little room and they might be cheering her poor wee heart. —2 marks to Cousin Jean Playfair (13) “Bonniefield,” Gummies Bush. —Highly Commended. — Once upon a time there was a pedlar who made a wonderful musical instrument. Although not much bigger than a marble it could play the most wonderful tunes in the world. The pedlar prized this very much, and put an absurd price on it. A certain king passed that way and stopped to listen to the wonderful tunes. Then, after listening for a while, he asked the pedlar if he might buy it. On hearing the price was two thousand guineas he was rather taken aback, but, as he was very keen on possessing it, paid the money and went on his way. Next morning he on going to get his wonderful treasure, thinking to entertain his guests, found it was gone. He was in a terrible state and offered great rewards to all his people to induce them to search, but it was all in vain for the wonderful thing had completely vanished. Great was his disappointment but there was nothing else to be done about it. Two years afterwards when the king was sitting in his drawing-room he heard a wonderful trill of music outside. Jumping up he ran to the window and looked out, but could see nothing. Once again the sound came anti this time he recognised the tune of his wonderful instrument. Looking up in the air he saw a little bird soaring away. Surely the music could not be coming from it! Once again the beautiful trilling sound and this time there could be no mistake. The valuable instrument had really been stolen back by the pedlar who felt its loss very much. But he had not had it more than a week when he lost it in some long grass. A skylark coming along mistook it for a large slug and swallowed it. As it soared into the sky the flapping of its wings caused the instrument to play. And even to-day the same sound it made by every skylark, bringing enjoyment and happiness to everyone who hears it. —2 marks to Cousin Bert Lilico (11) “Lammermoor,” Drummond. —Highly Commended.The sun was setting in the west, and all was hushed and quiet in Fairyland. The garden was beautiful, but the fairies didn’t dance or sing as they went about their work, while the birds no longer chirped and sang, as they flew from tree to tree. Just then, there was a great shadow over Fairyland, for their beloved Queen Fay, was very ill. In her bed in the heart of a lily, she had lain for manydays as though dying, while her loving subjects were extremely grieved and sad, at the thought that she would die. Although many remedies were tried by the wise old medicine man, dear Ititle Queen Fay grew gradually worse. At last the medicine man called all the birds and fairies together and said, “Loyal subjects, there is but one resource to save cur beloved Queen. We must send a bird to Cloudland, to ask the Cloud Queen for some of her violet rays, that are lost by the sunbeams while at play on the clouds at sunset. Now, which bird will volunteer?” he asked. Several birds eagerly stepped forward, but the eyes of the medicine man rested on the shy little tweeter who was able to fly much higher than any other bird.

“Oh, please let me go,” pleaded the little grey bird, “I’ll fly ever so quickly if you’ll only trust me.” The medicine man smiled, and taking a rose leaf he wrote on it a few words. “Here brave little tweeter,” he said, “give this to the Cloud Queen, and renxomber that our dear Queen is fast sinking.” The tweeter took the rose leaf in his bill, and like a flash he flew up, up, up, until he was right out of sight. Oh! What a long tiresome journey that was for the little tweeter. But he fought bravely on till he reached the gold tipped cloud, and then he delivered the message to the Cloud Queen. She quickly gave him a phial and taking it in his bill, he started on his downward journey. In a very short time, he was back among his friends in the garden and the medicine man hastened to administer the contents of the phial to the Queen. In a moment the colour had returned to her face, and she fell into a deep sleep. “She is saved,” whispered the medicine man. In an instant joy had returned to Fairy land. The fairies flitted and danced amongst the flowers while the birds sang softly in the trees. Little tweeter had not the gift of song so he could only “tweet tweet” as he hopped about the ground. At dawn next morning Queen Fay awoke quite well after her peaceful sleep, much to the joy of all her beloved subjects. Calling little tweeter to her she said, “I have learned of your brave and loving deed, dear little tweeter, and as a reward, I will fulfil your greatest wish.”

“Oh, Queen Fay,” he exclaimed, “my greatest wish is to be able to sing as well as the thrush and nightingale.” “Then be it so,” said Queen Fay as she waved her wand. “Henceforth you will be known as the skylark, and your joyful song will gladden the hearts of all who hear it” The skylark rose into the air, and broke into joyful song, which thrilled and thrilled, just when the first rays of the morning’s sun dawned o’er Fairyland. That is why the skylark sings. —2 marks to Cousin Mabel Wright (14) Makarewa. —Highly Commended.— On the island of Songsters, in the Pacific Ocean, lived all the birds who sang. Each family of birds had a tree of its own, and a host of fairies to tend to it. All was tranquilly and happiness. For so long had the one tree been occupied by the one family, and no more trees being required, that all the trees, save those occupied, became withered and bare. Here reigned perpetual spring. One day a moat unusual thing happened. It was the fairy queen’s birthday, and she had been promised a gift by the gods. At noon a terrible storm raged round the island. The sea boiled and foamed, leapt to fearful heights and sank back into the depths. On the isle of Songsters, itself, however, all was as usual. The birds and fairies watched from the shore in fear. Suddenly all gave a shrill scream. Not far from the shore, tossing about on a piece of board sat two small birds. “Oh!” screamed one fairy, “they’ll be dashed against those rocks and killed ” Then something happened. One little fain’—the special tender of the nightingale —fluttered from the ground, and out towards the birds. Her frail beautiful wings were buffetted by the wind, yet she flew on. After a fierce battle she reached the two birds, to find them fluttering their wings unable to rise from fatigue. Stretching a

hand to each, she picked them up and turning about commenced once more to battle against the gale. She was almost spent, when, suddenly she felt herself caught in a great gust of wind and blown right, on to the isle. One wing was badly tom, but the birds were safe! Now Gaily—for that was the fairyrescuer’s name—looked at the birds, and asked, “But why were you out there? Why we did not know that there were any other birds besides those here.”

“Oh, yes,” answered one of the birds, “There are other isles besides yours. There is the Isle of Beauty, and also the Isle of Insignificance. That is where we came from. You see, we went for a fly for a lark and got caught in the gale, and were blown here.” “Lark?” asked the fairy queen, “What is that?” “Oh, for fun,” answered the bird. “What is your name?” asked Gaily. “We haven’t any,” returned the birds, “and we can’t go back to our Isle, because, you see, we don’t know where it is.” ‘You may stay here,” returned the queen, “But,” she added in perplexity, “you must have a name. What shall it be ?” “Oh, I know,” cried Gaily, “we’ll call them Larks!” “Oh, yes!” agreed the queen, “that will do lovely.” The newly-named Larks beamed with joy, at their new name, and the beautiful isle which was now to be their home. “Come,” cried Gaily, “we will give you a ho .” she stopped in dismay, and glanced uneasily at the queen. She also was frowning. “We are very sorry, Larks,” she said, “but we haven’t one spare tree! Whatever shall we do?” “Oh that will be quite alright,” returned the Larks, ‘You're isle is so beautiful that we can sleep in the grass if we build a nest there.” “Oh, yes, that will do so well, if it will suit you,” came from the fairy queen, “and I am sure each family of birds will spare you one /of their attendants. You yourself, Gaily, may be their chief tender.” “Oh, how lovely,” cried Gaily. A host of fairies being set aside, for the Larks’ use, they began to build a wonderful, snug little home. Months passed happily. The Larks had become quite at home on this isle of Songsters, and would have been perfectly happy, but for one thing. If ever they found out where the Isle of Insignificance was, they knew that they must return to it, for here amongst the Songsters was not their rightful place, for they had no voice, only a tiny squeak. One day, however, a bird flying higher than the rest sighted an island away to the west, and when he told the others they agreed that it must be the Isle of Insignificance. The Larks now felt in duty bound to leave this island, and consequently became very sad.

That night a meeting was held by the rest of the birds, with whom the Larks had become very popular. After much discussion they received a bright suggestion. It was that every bird should give part of its voice to the fairy queen—just a little, which would not be missed—and ask her to mix them together and give them to rhe Larks, so that they also would become songsters.

The birds acted upon this, and that evening the queen was busy blending the different pieces. Just before dawn she finished, and slipping down to where the Larks had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion she placed the concoction in the throat of the male, and slipped away once more.

The sun rose, and the Larks awoke. The male with a heavy heart, began to fly high up into the air, towards the sky, to get thedirection in which they would have to travel. As he flew up he looked down at the isle below, taking in all its beauty. He opened his beak to emit a sob, and lo! from his throat burst a clear stream of exquisite music, as clear as the bell-bird’s, and as pure as the nightingale’s. For sheer joy at the unexpected gift he flew higher, still singing, pounng out his very soul in that song of thanks. Below the birds and fairies sighted him in relief and rapture. Listening- they marvelled at that clear, beautiful hymn of thanks, as many, many more in the world have listened and marvelled. “See how near the sky he has flown,” cried some of them. “Yes, we cannot see him, but we can hear him,” cried others. “We must call him the ‘Skylark,’ ” said Gaily, and so they did, so they do to this day. lor the skylark continues to pour out. thanks and gladness, continues to praise that wonderful Isle of Songsters. marks to Cousin Eileen Mclntosh (15) 59 Ness Street, Invercargill.