Sir Pot And The Goat

Peter was famous in the small town of Leapington for fixing the king’s teapot and being knighted as “Sir Pot of Saucepan Hill”.

Though Peter loved his little cottage in Leapington, he grew restless. He knew there was more to the world than Leapington. And he wanted to see it all.

Peter had been intending to leave Leapington for some time, and had been mending all the old pots and pans left lying around by the former blacksmith. Finally, one day, loaded with all the mended pots and pans he hoped he could sell along the way, Peter set off on his journey of discovery.

He wanted to leave Leapington quietly, but the crashing and banging the pots made as he walked through the town, soon brought the people to their doors. They realized that their friend, Peter, was leaving. All joined in a song of farewell as he went past, many wiping away tears as they were sad to see Peter leave:

Peter journeyed for many days. He sold his pots and fixed things to pay for food and lodgings. Indeed, he did see many strange things and had many adventures.

He climbed through fields of snow to the top of a looking-glass mountain. He passed through a land of flying dragons, and dined with a talking camel in the middle of the desert.

One day, Peter was lost, or so it seemed. One moment, he’d been walking along a gently winding path through some woods with his normal bang, crash, and rattle. The next moment, the path disappeared, and he found himself in a deep, dark forest.

Peter wandered around for hours, going deeper and deeper into the forest, which got darker and darker until the trees blacked out the sky.

Suddenly, he came upon a small clearing, in the middle of which stood a very small, nasty-looking house. Now, in all stories, such houses are the homes of witches or other such creatures. This one was no exception.

Peter knocked on the door. An old witch, not an exceptionally ugly one, but a witch all the same, opened it.

“Can you help me?” asked Peter. “I seem to be lost.”

“What’s it worth,” whined the witch, “if I do help you?”

“Well,” said Peter. “I have these pots and pans, and I will gladly try and mend anything you have that is broken.”

The witch gave an ear-piercing cackle, as only witches know how to do. “Come in,” she said. “I have just the job for you.”

She led him into the dark cottage. The air smelled like bad eggs and burnt cabbage. All kinds of pots and jars filled dust-covered shelves and strange objects hung from the ceiling. In the corner, stood a very thin and sad-looking goat.

At this point, she gave the poor old goat such a whack with her broom that Peter could swear he heard the goat’s horns ring.

“Excuse me, Madeira,” said Peter in his very best knightly voice, “but you did say you had something for me to fix ...”

“Oh yes,” said the witch, Madeira, as she stopped beating the poor old goat. “Come with me, boy.”

The witch took Peter to the corner of the cottage, where stood a huge metal cauldron.

“My number-one cauldron, big enough for cooking goats ... or boys,” she added under her breath. “Mend it by tomorrow, and you will go safely on your way. Fail, and you will see what I can cook in my number-two cauldron. To make sure you can’t run away,” said the witch. “I will place you inside the number-one cauldron, as it is much too big for you to climb out of and escape, and the hole too small.”

With that, she muttered a few silly words, waved her broom, and Peter found himself standing inside the cauldron.

“Anything you require to help you fix the cauldron, just ask the goat,” said the witch, letting out such an evil laugh that everything in the room shook, and the goat hid his head in a bucket.

The witch then started singing a little song:

She thought this song most funny and, still cackling, climbed on her broomstick and set off to cast her nasty spells far and wide.

“Well, Mr Goat” said Peter. “It would seem it’s either you or me for the witch’s next meal.”

Peter inspected the hole in the cauldron. It was a very nasty hole and did not look as if it could be mended. “Gracious!” gasped Peter, scratching his head as he inspected the hole more closely. “Looks as if it’s me!”

Suddenly the goat started to butt the number-one cauldron.

“What are you doing?” shouted Peter, as the cauldron started to rock, backwards and forwards.

“Rock backward and forwards!” Peter repeated the words. Suddenly, as if a light bulb lit up over his head, he had an idea. “Of course!”

Each time the goat butted the cauldron, Peter tried to help rock it a bit more. By this time, the poor old goat was not only seeing stars but several small planets as well, and Peter was starting to feel seasick. At last with a huge crash, clang, wallop! the cauldron tipped over and out fell Peter, flying right over the goat. The goat let out a loud bleat, part in greetings and part in complaint at being hit by a saucepan-clad knight.

“Oh, well done, Billy Goat,” exclaimed Peter, hugging the head of the still dazed goat. “Yes, that is what I will call you, Bill.”

The goat, gradually coming to his senses, seemed to like his new name. After all, how many goats were named by a knight.

“Right,” said Peter. “The next thing we need to do is to plan how to get rid of the witch.” Peter paced around the room and soon started to sing a little song:

Suddenly he stopped. Of course! A witch stew instead!

With a great deal of huffing and puffing, and with help from the now fully recovered Bill, Peter managed to put the cauldron back on the fire. Then he fastened an old frying pan over the hole as a temporary fix, and set about filling the cauldron with water. Taking his jacket off, Peter floated it on the top of the water.

Once done, he hid behind a pile of smelly rubbish in the corner of the hut. Bill, playing his part in the plan, just stood in the corner, munching hay.

Not long after, the witch returned, cackling loudly and looking forward to her meal.

She burst into the house, ready to fill herself with goat or man stew. In the dimly lit room, she saw Peter’s coat floating in the now bubbling cauldron. She was peering closer to see what was in the pot, when suddenly Bill, with all the strength he could muster, charged and butted the old witch straight into the cauldron, where she disappeared in a cloud of smelly smoke.

Peter hugged the goat, whose head was once again ringing, this time from butting the witch. “Well done, Billy. That really was a noble thing to do. In fact, that’s exactly what I will call you, not just Bill, but Noble Bill.”

So our hero and newfound friend, ‘Noble Bill’ set off along the path leading out of the forest in search of fresh adventures.


- Storyheart
http://4tenderheart.com