GARETH’S DANCE

In the lush green pastures of the wide vale of Llangollen, the young shepherd Gareth tended the farmer’s flocks. It wasn’t a difficult task, in the early morning Gareth drove the dumb animals to the field and, before sunset, drove them back again. A stout blackthorn branch, stones and the sound of Gareth’s flute were enough to scare off wolves, foxes and eagle hawks.
One summer’s day, at the end of the afternoon, the young man was returning with the sheep, desperately trying to play a simple tune on his flute, repeatedly emitting high piping squeaks and squeals so that the sheep were running on ahead in order to arrive at the barn and escape the torture. The path to the farm wound it’s way through Dinas Bran wood, which, some say, was enchanted. There, as the path entered the wood, stood a very old, small, ugly man. This was the ugliest man that Gareth had ever seen; warty, a huge nose (also warty) long scraggily grey beard (also warty, now THAT’S ugly) and dressed in outrageous tones of yellow and green. On the man’s face (aside from the warts) was a smile like the cat in Alice’s story, except that the cat in Alice’s story didn’t have black, twisted and missing teeth. In one hand was a fiddle, in the other a bow.
“I wish you a very good eve…,” the gnome, as Gareth supposed, didn’t complete his compliment as, in an instant, he was on his back being trampled by the feet of 30 sheep. When the woolly stampede had passed, Gareth leapt forward to help the old man.
“Mister Gnome sir! I’m terribly sorry…,” Gareth started.
“Gnome is it?! (Thptphth, thpthphth), I’m no gnome you fool!” the small man screamed, spitting twigs, earth and wool.
“Get your hands off me! Am I THREE FEET TALL?!” he was 4, “Do I have on my head a RED POINTED HAT?!” he got up from the ground and brushed himself off. The hat was green and had been pointed until the sheep had done a merry dance over it. “Have you, by chance, seen me fishing in someone’s GOLDFISH POND?! Am I, by any stretch of your imagination, UGLY?!”. Suddenly the smile returned as if he had remembered something, “I wish you a very good evening young master,” he completed the interrupted bow, “If the young master would permit, I would like to play a little music on my fid…,” his face fell and he looked to the ground, there the fiddle lay in two parts, the bow in three.
“ARRRGGH! Gnome indeed!” and the non-gnome stomped off into the trees, “I’ll show you gnome!” his voice disappeared into thick woods.
Not in the least bit perturbed, Gareth continued on his way through the woods, over the fields on the other side, until he reached the farm where he found the sheep already huddled in terror in the barn.
The next afternoon, at the same time, the same place, again a noise like an aviary being tortured was heard, then the low rumble of a hundred and twenty sheep feet. When they had passed into the woods with Gareth close behind, the man appeared again in the path.
“I wish you a very good evening young master,” he said rapidly, glancing nervously over his shoulder and behind Gareth, “If the young master would permit, I would like to play a little music on my fiddle, erm, I mean harp,” in his hands there was indeed a small portable harp, of the type preferred by wandering minstrels. “The young master likes music, I see, and you play your flute very well, would you like to accompany me in a dance?” Gareth loved dancing as much as he loved playing flute, “Come into the woods where we can dance amongst the trees”, the little old man beckoned and the Gareth followed him into the thick woods.
In the twilight filtering through the trees, Gareth saw hundreds of figures approaching, all types of faeries, elves, dwarves and gno – well maybe not. Dressed in all colours, some with butterfly wings, some not dressed at all, Gareth remembered to close his mouth before drooling. The little old man started to play on his harp, an enchanting melody that floated around in the air and tinkled prettily in the young shepherd’s ears. The Good Folk began dancing in circles around and around, Gareth found his own feet moving to the melody and then he was away dancing with the rest of them. Who would believe it? Dancing with the faeries, shepherd boy Gareth!. Then he remembered his flute and wanted so much to join in the music. Taking it from his back breeches pocket, he lifted the small tin instrument to his lips - PEEEEEEEEEEP PEEEEP PEEP PEEEEEEEEEEEP PEEEP PEEEEEEEEP !!
There were screams and shouts of horror and in a flurry and puff of mists and rosy smells, the faeries and the old man were gone. The boy looked around, there was no-one to be seen, he shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way, “It must have been those mushrooms I ate,” he thought.
Thus, Gareth was saved from dancing for eternity.
And from that day on, no faeries, elves, dwarves, or indeed, gnomes, have been seen in Dinas Bran woods.