Young Sam

It’s interesting how even the most terrible events can have positive outcomes. The older I get the more life surprises me. It was nigh on thirty years ago, and for a long time it felt like the end of the world, but perhaps if it hadn’t happened Sam wouldn’t have become the Mayor, and the townspeople would still be the miserable, self seeking goblins they’d been for as far back as anyone could remember, while the town would have remained ill-kempt and ugly.

On that fateful day, I’d woken late to the sound of unravelled weeping from somewhere nearby. Thanks to Sam, the street where I lived has since been swept away and replaced with well-built brick houses, but back then it was narrow, and the houses were mean, with damp walls so thin that I must have heard every baby in the street being conceived, except those that were the result of illicit liaisons in the thicket behind the inn a couple of hundred yards down the road.

I washed quickly, got dressed, and walked into the brilliant sunshine to get my breakfast. I hadn’t kept food in the house since the rat problem became so serious.

The sound of crying hadn’t abated, and it seemed to be coming from Mary Simpkins house. Perhaps her dying mother had taken her final breath.

At least her grief seems to have silenced those five noisy brats of hers, I thought, callously.

The cafe where I liked to eat was the other end of town, past curving, litter-strewn back-alleys and along the main street. I kept my eyes out for rats, as I always did, because they terrify me, and only a couple of days earlier they had been everywhere. Now, dispite the continued filth of the town, the rats really did seem to have gone. Thinking about them had kept me distracted, so I was only half-aware of the edgy feeling that was growing in me – that feeling you get when you think you’ve forgotten something important.

There was something wrong, but what was it, why this sense of impending doom? The sky was clear, all the buildings looked the same. I looked around me, trying to discern the cause of of my unease, and I saw young Sam leaning on the crutches his father had made for him out of hornbeam. He was alone as usual, because none of the cruel children in the town had time for a cripple. He looked so forlorn, balancing on his precariously thin legs. I noticed he was staring at something in the distance.

That was when it came to me, all at once. I could still hear the sound of crying, but it wasn’t just one woman – the weeping noises were leaking through the windows of houses all around me. The streets were quieter than usual – only a few men passed by, and all of them looked angry or mournful. There were no children – no little girls playing hopscotch or jacks, no boys chasing each other, kicking stones, picking fights; no childlike laughter or tears. Not one child, except for Sam.

I looked back at the quiet, gentle lad. His gaze hadn’t wavered. I followed his line of sight. He was looking towards the distant hillside with its vast, rocky face. A gap had opened up in the cliff face, exposing a cave behind it, and a man in brightly coloured jester’s garb was dancing towards it, throwing his knees high in the air and jiggling his elbows as he played a merry tune on his pipe, which I had to strain to hear over the sounds of crying, and, just like the rats, all the children of Hamelyn followed behind, happily prancing and jigging in a similar manner to him. He led them into the darkness of the cave. The rock-face closed up behind them, and they were gone forever.

Every single child in the town was lost, except for one – young Sam, the only kind one of the whole bunch of them. His ruined legs would not let him join the throng.

©Jane Paterson Basil


19 thoughts on “Young Sam

      1. Maybe I’m projecting it – I could see the bright colours of the sky, and the childrens clothes, starkly contrasted with the dusty alleys and battered houses of Hamelyn as I wrote it. I love that story, particularly the adult version I have, written by the eccentric Russell Brand.

        Liked by 2 people

        1. That’s a question I wasn’t expecting – the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. It possibly was me, once. It took me a long time to learn that we’re all born into this world strangers, with our own set of joys and sorrows, and our own strengths and weaknesses. While each of us is unique, we all share that likeness. As a child I mistakenly thought I was a different kind of animal – perhaps we all do. In many ways I’ve been lucky in life, maybe more so than I deserved.

          Liked by 1 person

  1. It’s an eerie tale, the Pied Piper of Hamelyn, ultimately odd and with a dollop of gothic thrown in. Poor children, but thatnk heaven’s Sam at least was saved. Love the idea of ‘unravelled weeping’ – that’s great.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I wrote it without thinking, and almost deleted it, worried somehow that readers may think it was a typo.
      Thank you so much for the book – it arrived today, and I know I’m going to enjoy it. I probably need to be absorbed in a fantastical tale at the moment, and I love a a good, long novel, it delays the inevitable – finishing a good read tends to leave me feeling sad, like coming home from Glastonbury festival (not that I go to Glasto any more) xxx 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

      1. Glad it arrived safe and sound. I’m sure you will love it – just such a shame Susanna Clarke doesn’t seem to be writing anymore. It’s a good book to vanish into, so much so you might start believing English Magic is real. 🙂 Yes, nearly Glasto, though the closest we ever get here is watching on the TV and seeing the wave of young folk come and go through the centre of Bristol with their back packs and their wellies. Brave souls X

        Liked by 1 person

        1. I used to work there, and it’s lovely when the sun shines, but those other years, when your your tent is in the middle of a puddle with all your belongings sitting in it, you’re soaked to the skin and freezing cold and there’s nowhere dry to sleep, AND you’re working at an info stand, trying to give advice to people in a similar position – who’ve actually PAID to be there, it’s hard work. Happy days… xx

          Liked by 1 person

    1. I’ve been looking through the comments on this post – have you ever read The Pied Piper of Hamelyn? I thought it was a fairy tale that everyone knew, but now I’m not so sure. Unless you’ve read that fairytale, this story doesn’t make a lot of sense…


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s