REPOST - Understanding History and what it means to be British!

I originally posted this a few years ago, but as an immigrant, I wanted to share, again, what I feel being a privileged white male European living in the USA.

From (slightly edited):

Wednesday, January 02, 2013

Before the holidays took off I began a quest to find more Holiday stories from cultures other than my own.  I mulled over stories from faiths other than Christian.  I was raised with Grandparents who were mostly Christian Scientists, but in late Elementary School years attended Church of England for a while.  In my teens I explored other religions and faiths and I have kept reading about different cultures and their beliefs since then.  I have also been lucky enough to have known people whose faith has been tested beyond 'normal' circumstances and have retained their faith, or had it made all the stronger.  Religion can be a bit of a sticky wicket.  Some people proclaim their faith is the only right one and all others are corrupt, or heathen beliefs.  I once shared a flat in London with a born-again Baptist. He was told me the Catholics had it wrong and would burn in hell for what they thought was right. That was his belief.  The truth is that until we die, none of us will really know - have the solid  fact before us (a fire pit beneath our feet, wings on our backs, or fighting in Valhalla with other great warriors) - if there is indeed anything after death other than nothing!  Reading old myths, legends and folk stories I have seen many religious (and other) bigotries appear, sometimes because of who was transposing, or translating the story, or because of the 'norms' of the day - what was acceptable then and not now.

Being British has some drawbacks.  Hard to imagine, but it is true!  The biggest for me is that as a Nation, Britain colonized the world.  The sun never set on Britain at one time in history.  It was a while back and I should move on, but that history comes with a lot of baggage and for me a heightened awareness of what Britannia did - England even.  England ripped apart Scotland. England caused major problems in Ireland which began over 350 years ago and are not 'fixed'.  Britain did serious damage on the African continent, and in India, and what we did to the indigenous people of America was appalling. I know other countries did similar things, but.  With all of this came exploitation, and... and the suppression of indigenous beliefs.

So when I come to tell tales from other cultures I carry that sack on my back. Especially around the Winter Holidays.  We could begin the winter Holidays with the Eid Al Adha on the 14th and 15th of October and run until the Chinese New Year which [was in 2013] the Year of the Snake and is celebrated on the 10th and 11th of February. Somewhere I wanted to find some great stories I could be faithful to and tell from deep inside. And not be too down - I was going to be performing for kids as well as grown ups.  I looked at some Jewish tales, mainly the story of Hanukkah and the folklore of the driedel.  But I did not feel right telling this story as a non-Jew. Then I remembered a wonderful story written by Eric Kimmel called  Zigazak!: A Magical Hanukkah Night. Because this is an original story I could not, with good conscience, tell it without Eric's permission. So I emailed him via his website and he said: YES.  A friend of mine Tim Van Egmond told me (and others) about a Japanese story. And I had my own stories to draw from.  So over the Holiday period, I was able to tell a story about a couple of Hanukkah goblins (thanks so much Eric), the story of King Wenceslaus from Bohemia (now in the Czech Republic), a Japanese story about New Year and why the seas are filled with salt (thanks Tim), the Winter Cherries (a great Welsh tale set in the Arthurian 'romances' pantheon), and a true story about the truce the soldiers created on the Western Front of World War I, 1914.  (Over the holidays I found another true story about a German pilot who escorted a British bomber to safety!)  It was a nice mix of tales and religions and all of them contained the best part of humankind - our humanity!  Every story I read and told contained our humanity, our ability to make the right things happen, to help others. And every story has it's own little miracle in it.

Oh we ain't got a barrel of money
Maybe we're ragged and funny
But we'll travel along singin' our song side by side
Don't know what's comin' tomorrow
Maybe it's trouble and sorrow
But we'll travel the road sharin' our load side by side

Back to now - 16th September, 2017

When I first came to the States I had to stand in a line with other men on either side of me with my drawers down, along with the rest as a doctor took hold of certain parts and asked each and every one of us to cough. On arriving in U.S. with all the right permits I was questioned about why I was here and what I planned on doing. My answer to marry my American fiancee. Once in America it wasn't over. We had to be married within three months. It wasn't over. We were interviewed together six months later. And a year later. I was given a 'green card' (which was pink and when I asked if boys didn't get blue ones, I realized I should keep my mouth shut) which was to be renewed in five years. Even with nothing to hide, and with all the right papers filled out in advance, it was intimidating.

In Portland, Oregon where my wife and I moved to live, getting in line at the immigration building to be interviewed to stay in the country and renew the visa I was very much in the minority being white. I saw all sorts of people with all sorts of problems. Some of these people were rude and obnoxious to the officers, even when it was the person at fault, so it is not surprising the immigration people were not always happy. It was not surprising that some of the immigrants were pissed off. It was not easy to find the right information, and even when you arrived at 5.30 AM to get close to the front of the line when the doors opened at 8 am (or was it nine?) to find you still needed other info, it was frustrating. Sometimes these folks were very polite despite all this and the officers were rude, for sme unknown reason. Should you talk out, and stand up and defend these folks? What if when it was your turn they refused you admission? Once you left the line, you wouldn't get back in until the next day. The officers I dealt with were sometimes great, and sometimes not so much. As an English speaking, white male I think I was sometimes treated better than others, and saw and heard some pretty poor human relations. No one wants to be in those lines, in those rooms, waiting to see if you could remain here. I chose to come over to America. For those who did not choose, but were brought, I cannot even imagine what the experience would be like for them - young people who have really only known America as their home, brought here by their parents.

I have been here in America for over 20 years and still carry a 'green card' which is now green again! I cannot imagine what it must be like for people trying to move to America now, after the Twin Towers came down, after the hatred that seems to be rife here now. Or for those who are trying to stay. It took me two months to find a job. My skills included 5 years of management experience, and hospitality, I had been a professional photographer - self employed, and ended up at first as a barista in a coffee shop - it was Portland, Oregon! I speak the same language, sort of. There are people coming over here with better skill sets than I had or have, more qualifications who are working the same sort of jobs - coffee shops, cleaners, menial work, if you will as I had when I first arrived. For someone of colour coming here, someone of an obvious different faith than Christian, I can see these folks having a much harder time finding work and settling.

With the garbage I carry of Britain's past colonization, I have the utmost empathy for newer immigrants coming to these shores who welcome "your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
I hope America can stand by these welcoming words, and remember that everyone who is not a Native American is an immigrant or descended from immigrants, who might have arrived homeless, wretched, tired and poor. Have empathy. When the Italians came over they were treated like dirt. When the Irish came over, the same thing. The Polish people, the folks from the Ukraine, each 'last' wave of immigrants begin at the bottom, with a sort of cultural hazing, intentional or otherwise.  I hope we can offer all people entering the United States of America the little miracles I find in the stories I tell. The stories I tell from all over this wonderful and crazy work we live in.

The Richness and Beauty of the Selchidh, and Hiking Boots

From Arthur Rackham's Undine

I have just finished reading a wonderful book about the seal people of Ireland and Scotland. It is a journal of a journey, mainly through Ireland, and the stories collected of the Selkie, the Kane, Silkies, Selchies, Selchidh; the shape shifters. The stories are of another time but not that long ago. The book was printed in 1954, and some stories were told 'in living memory', the rest as ancient as the creatures themselves.  There is something special, timeless about the tales of the seal people.

My brother gave me the book for my birthday this year and it is one of those rare books that are an easy read which do not lose the richness of language. The writing, the narration, has an easy gait to it, but I did not want to rush through it. The stories needed to be savoured, so I would dip in and read a chapter, then sit there and mull it over. I felt I was traveling with the author, David Thomson. My brother had given me a first edition and the pages are now delicate, the dust jacket worn. It is a treasure to enjoy slowly. Sometimes I would look up words I was unsure of, words describing clothing I had not heard of, like bawneen, or the pronunciation of those tricky Gaelic words. Life of the islanders in the 1950's had the old ways upon them; the old men had certain ways of life and attitude the younger folk had started to lose. It was similar in that way to reading Mary Webb's 'Precious Bane'. She wrote of a time passing and the old ways just about hanging on, but a generation earlier in England.  'The People of the Sea' by David Thomson, is a book I will treasure for a long time.

There is something very magical about what I call the Old Stories and Ancient Stories - the folk and faerie tales, the myths and sagas of long ago, but there is something even more magical, or deeper to the Selchidh, Selkie stories. I often wonder what it is. My mother, I think, told me the story of the Woman of the Sea when I was young, or someone did when we visited the Isle of Aran in my very young days. I rediscovered the story in Kevin Crossley-Holland's wonderful book 'Northern Lights, Legends, Sagas and Folk-tales' when I bought it in 1987. It was a great rediscovery. I have been sharing the tale since then. That book got me into folk and faerie tales as an adult in my 20's.

There are many fun tales to be told, some stories which beg for humour. There are those filled with depth, and those with meaning, but the Selkie tales for me stand out. Is it because of the shape-shifting ability? (My son likes werewolves!) Does this dual life appeal to us because these tales offer a hope of something else when things get rough, life gets tough? Could some of us, the dark haired of us, walk to the coast, dive in and take form of a seal?

I was having lunch with Papa Joe a couple of days ago and we were talking about stories and how there are different types of tales that come to you. I am not talking about motifs or the
Aarne–Thompson tale type index, I am talking about how a story finds you. When I come across a tale I love, there are times the story is immediately lodged into my head and never leaves, like, for me, the Woman of the Sea; and The Goat from the Hills and Mountain, collected by Alma Flor Ada and Isabelle Campoy. There are other stories which I know I want to tell but stay dormant in my mind as I process them, mull them over. Sometimes years pass before I tell them, like Beowulf (still mulling around!), or those which have not yet given me their voice yet like Little Red Riding Hood - she is out and about now! Although Woman of the Sea sank in immediately, but I did not tell it for years. I would share it, but not tell it. As I said to Papa Joe, it is like buying a brand new pair of very good, expensive, leather hiking boots - you would never go hiking the same day, you would break the boots in over days and weeks. The Selkie stories, all of them, to me are like that. I have them in my mind and could tell them, but they need, no, I need to be broken in with the story. The tales need to tell me how to share them, how I personally can best serve the stories and those who listen. Some stories are like sneakers and you can jump into them and start running; some are like dress shoes, you polish them up and keep them polished; and some are like hiking boots that need to be worn for a good while before taking them out. Maybe that's why I like the Selkie stories so much, once you have worn them for a while they will last forever, and will take you to places you never thought you would go.

For a source of Selkie stories, or books with the stories of the seal people, go to my website.
http://www.diamondscree.com/selkies
Peace,
Simon

Recording (Family) Stories

If you have young children, read on.  If you have grandchildren, read on. If you have elders in your family, read on.

We all come from different cultures and each and everyone of us has different life experiences. These experiences, and our heritage, I believe, make us who we are.  These experiences can be told in stories, and the stories from our own culture and heritage can be, and should be told. As our planet, Earth, gets smaller and as we travel further a field to live the life we want to, we sometimes find ourselves leaving family behind and the stories they have within them.

Photo by Simon Brooks, 2014
Showing: Disney's Babes in Toyland LP, a compact disc, an Agfa cassette tape,
the Olympus WS-300M, the Zoom Q3 and Roland's Edirol R-09HR

I was not able to record many stories from my Gran before she died, just a little bit here and there, although I knew a great deal about my Grandad - he also came to America and Canada.  My grandparents on my father's side, sadly passed away before I could get any family stories from them, and it wasn't until after their death I found that I had Irish in me. My Mum, however, shared some great stories of her life growing up, when I last saw Gran, two years ago.  I found out about her jaunts to the jazz clubs of Birmingham and her wild and crazy friend. Her sneaking off to date with boys! I got some of these stories on tape. (To be used later...!)

As a kid, my brother and I recorded on my step-father's Grundig reel to reel machine, and occasionally on the Dictaphones my dad sold from his office supply store in South Wales (before Office Max was invented).  I wonder where those tapes are now, and if they still have a couple of little boys pretending to be police officers or spies on them! I later used that same Grundig to record my rock and band. I moved 'up' to a cassette machine, a Walkman and then an Olympus voice recorder. I have always loved recording sounds, stories, other people!

As Gran grew sick I realized how much I did NOT know about her.  She came from Canada originally, told me we were someway related to Cecil Rhodes, but I can't see how! She lost her brother, James, at a fairly young age. Gran and my Aunt (great aunt really) Andree sold their burial plots because they were worth some money and planned on being cremated! Our family has been Quakers and Christian Scientists. I tried to get over to the UK and record some of her stories but she was reluctant to talk into the recorder.  I wish I had done more many, many years ago.

These days, it is easy to record at very high quality for not too much money. With the ease of getting digital recorders we do not need tapes anymore, we only need free computer space, and we can get more of that with memory sticks, or external drives! For the cost of taking the family out for a meal or two at a restaurant, you can get voice recorders which record nicely. My grandfather was recorded on cassette, but there is a lot of hiss on it, as it was from one of those Jones cassette machines you see libraries giving away!

Now to bring this into a full circle!  I whole-heartedly suggest that you invest in a good voice recorder. Go to a store, take a good pair of headphones and try a few out. Why? The headphones will allow you to hear the sound quality, which you might not otherwise hear in the store.  Buy one and record stories for your children and grandchildren. If you have elders in your family, ask them to share some of their memories with you. Record your own stories! When your kids grow up, and have their own children, they might want to hear stories you might forget! When people pass away, so do their stories, their life experiences and the stories they knew and loved. If your elders are young enough, then they can record those stories and send them to you. Keep them.  Even though young kids might not appreciate the stories now, when they get older and get interested, you will have them.  If your family moved from another country be it England or Ireland, Egypt or South Africa, India or Serbia you might have family still there, embedded in your heritage.  Have them share those stories with your children, or share with other people's children within your community. You might have a rich source of stories that others do not.  Share this source, your heritage, your stories.

Books are great, they can contain so much information, but voices of your own family or of those close to you contain so much more - their own lives and experiences.

(I am doing a workshop on recording stories using voice recorders, computers, microphones and Digital Audio Workstations - DAWs - at Sharing the Fire, the North Eastern Storytelling Conference on Friday, 28th March at UMASS, Amhurst MA. For more details visit the website of the League for the Advancement of New England Storytelling: http://lanes.org/storytelling-conference/friday-pre-conference-intensives/)

Growing Stories

A friend of mine, Marek Bennett, who is an artist, musician and teacher, wrote a blog about his forthcoming graphic (comic) travelog of his visit to Slovakia.  It gave me pause for thought about stories and how they grow. In his blog, Marek likens his book like transplanting cabbage! Read it, it is interesting.

In the vein of nothing now is truly original, and with Marek's permission, his blog inspired me to think about stories in a similar way.  Personal stories more so, because they are, well - personal.  Something happens to us, we see or hear something and a seed is planted inside us - the seed of a story.  If we ignore it, it will die and be lost.  Some stories we want to lose and forget, but sometimes those are the stories we should keep, nurture and try to explore and find meaning in.  Sometimes our hardest work is our most valuable.

So here are my thoughts on stories beginning as seeds:

1/. Choose a seed

Heirloom seeds could be considered our family stories, or historical stories.  But there are also our personal stories as mentioned above like those heard on The Moth, traditional folk and faerie stories, myths, legends, sacred stories, the list can go on forever.

2/. Seeds need to be planted in fertile soil
Our minds need to hold these stories, collect them, and store them, recall them.  We need to be creative for the stories to become strong.  We need imagination.  We need to be able to place ourselves IN the story to feel and see, hear and touch those things in the story

3/. Seeds need the right nutrients to grow
For a story to grow (and by that I do not mean add lies for embellishment) you need to work on it. Going back to school, you need to make sure that you have all the who's, what's, why's, where's, when's which's and the how's! Without these the listener might get lost, find the story confusing, not understand what is happening.  The who, what, why, when, when, which and how are the nutrients of the story and without these the story will become stilted, awkward or stunted.  Sue Black has a great resource for these nutrients on her website (which has a number of other teacher resources).

4/. Keep the seedlings indoors until chance of frost has gone
Stories can trick you and trip you, and likewise if a story is brought outdoors before it is strong enough, you could damage or kill the story.  Tell the stories; at first to yourself, to a voice recorder, a pet, a stuffy, the mirror, on a car ride!  This is keeping those seedlings safe until they have grown stronger. Then tell to a practice audience to get the real feeling of the story.  This is like bringing the plants out during the day, but back in at night.  In Laura Packer's recent blog "Eight Things I Learned From the Kansas City Fringe Festival" she says of working with a practice audience: "Because I am a storyteller and not confined to a word-for-word script, the story shifted each time. I loved hearing how some bits rose to the surface and others fell away as I danced with the audience." Personally I like to find those bits that rise in case this indicates something else I need to bring to the story, and not be surprised, although that is fun too, and how stories grow!

5/. Once frost has passed, plant outside in a steady light
Many traditional cultures say that stories are living things - something I strongly believe - and that they only live, or become alive, when told.  If you have never told a story and been In The Story you are telling, then try it.  Not reciting a story, but telling it. When you do, you will understand what I mean by stories are living things.  By now the story you have been growing and nurturing is strong enough to go outside and into the light of day.  Telling the story truly gives the story strength to grow more.  It's roots will go down deeper, the shoots will become thicker and longer, the flowers more radiant.

6/. It doesn't hurt to learn more about your plant as it grows
Long after I have been telling a tale, I have uncovered older versions, or variants, and by reading, listening or looking over these I might find things that were missing - maybe there was another who, what, why, when, when, which or how that I was unaware of and has been brought to light.  I can choose to add that nutrient to the story, or make the decision that the story is strong enough and the right shape and form, and has the right type and number of flowers for me to make it without those extra bits.

7/. Take care of your plant and: Enjoy!

The story has become itself. It has grown from a small seed, and you have nurtured it, but it is it's own being - I believe - and it will continue to grow and change.  It will stay strong if you keep telling it, and will grow weak if you leave it alone with no nourishment at all.  Just like a plant the story will need watering, take it out and tell it once in a while as you learn new stories.  You will never forget it; the story will not die if you have tended it well and look after it well.  And over time your mind will contain a beautiful garden filled with tales and stories to share.  Some will be family stories, some will be personal stories, and some will be the folk and faerie tales we all love so well.

To hear some of my stories, visit my website and go to Free Stuff! And if you are looking for other resources on my website you can find them at: Resources and in the Teacher's Room.

Marek's book is called Slovakia, Fall in the Heart of Europe and you can read some of it and see it's growth on one if his many working websites: http://marekslovakia.wordpress.com

A story coming back to life

Last year my Gran died.  This year, my Aunt died. And this could be part of her legacy.

When I tell my stories to families or for family audiences, I try to leave a message about keeping your family stories safe and sharing them so as not to lose them.  There are stories I know about my Grandad which I need to write down; some of my Gran's stories I have written down and told. My Auntie Gwyneth had a story to tell and she told it.  Well, she wrote it.  About 10 years ago she got cancer and wrote a short biography of her life.  One of the most poignant parts for me was her experience of living in Birmingham during World War Two when Birmingham, along with many other British towns such as Glasgow, Liverpool, Coventry and London were being flattened by bombs.  And the same things were happening in towns in Germany, bombs were flattening towns, bombs dropped by the Allied Forces.

When my aunt passed away, my cousin asked me to do the eulogy. All this happened pretty quickly. Gwyneth's passing, my being asked, preparing for it and doing it.  Gwyneth's life story was to be the basis of the eulogy, but there was more to Gwyneth than was written there.  She was a survivor, or many things. I collected stories from family they remembered, fun stories, stories with joy that showed her human side.  My cousin and I came up with a perfect eulogy, but I kept coming back to her self-penned life story.  All of the players of her early life are mostly gone.  My mother, Gwyneth's half sister, is still trucking and had some memories and experiences to share, and also has memories of the bombing even though she was very young.

Two weeks ago, as I was waiting to set up for the Afterschool program, the upper grades of the elementary school were doing their finishing immigration project.  And later, last week, I was at a school and there were photos of World War Two in the classroom and I shared some of the things I had read about Auntie Gwyneth's wartime experiences as a child. I also began talking to the teacher about immigration, prompted by some other photos and the project at my child's school.  I asked my cousin if I could share Aunties Gwyneth's story with the teacher and she was thrilled to share it. Then an idea hit me.  This is a primary source of both immigration to America and Canada, and wartime experiences. So my cousin and I have been writing to one another to make my Auntie Gwyneth's story into a book for school children who can learn from my Aunt's life.  This will be part of her legacy.  We are lucky that my Aunt wrote her stories down.

I encourage everyone reading this to have family members to write down their own stories, record the stories to save them for our younger generations.  Maybe this way a more personal past can help a global future of understanding.

If there are any teachers who might be interested in helping my cousin and I on my aunts book project, please get in touch with me.

Many thanks,
Simon

Untold stories - Elephants, Native Americans and my Grandad

This is my grandfather, Samuel Horrocks Williams in the 1920's.  He took to farming in Canada instead of following the family mill business in Manchester, England.  My great grandfather told him he has to start, like everyone else, at the bottom sweeping the floor. Grandad had schooling and did not want to start at the bottom so took off for fields a new and became a farmer in Ontario, Canada.

My grandmother, his second wife (his first wife Mollie died of T.B.) had most of his photograph albums and some other things of his that were not tossed out or passed on to other members of the family.  Last year, Gran died.  Almost a year after my mum was able to ship over some of Grandad and Gran's things, reminders of them that have no real value, other than sentimental and keepsake memories.  But Mum threw in a photo album from which the photo above is from.  The album has opened a few questions in the family which cannot be answered, but one of my favorites is this photograph.

Grandad is, I think, the one with what looks like a tan shirt and silly hat on!  This photo, as with all the photos in the album, are from Ontario, Canada.  Look at the houses in the background.  And here he is, presumably in one of the farm's fields with a small herd of elephants and a Native American.  And we are left with this great question: What on Earth is going on here?  The only thing we have come to is that the elephants and maybe some of the people in the photo are from a traveling circus.  The elephants, I presume, have been let off the trailers, be they pulled, or from a railway locomotive, to eat and stretch.  But I wish I knew the story of this image.

Grandad died in the 1980's and I had never seen this photograph album.  Most of the photos taken pre-Gran were not let out or looked at. And Gran has gone so I cannot ask her.  My one surviving aunt from my grandfather's marriage to Molli also has no idea, as most of the photos in the album are from Grandad's first trip which he made before coming back to get Mollie.

I love the photo and the mystery it has created.  Grandad loved animals and the letters of recommendation we have from this time period state this categorically.  And I love the fact that Grandad could ride a horse sans saddle.

Peace,
Simon

Understanding History and what it means to be British!

Before the holidays took off I began a quest to find more Holiday stories from cultures other than my own.  I mulled over stories from faiths other than Christian.  I was raised with Grandparents who were mostly Christian Scientists, but in late Elementary School years attended Church of England for a while.  In my teens I explored other religions and faiths and I have kept reading about different cultures and their beliefs since then.  I have also been lucky enough to have known people whose faith has been tested beyond 'normal' circumstances and have retained their faith, or had it made all the stronger.  Religion can be a bit of a sticky wicket.  Some people proclaim their faith is the only right one and all others are corrupt, or heathen beliefs.  I once shared a flat in London with a born-again Baptist. He was told me the Catholics had it wrong and would burn in hell for what they thought was right. That was his belief.  The truth is that until we die, none of us will really know - have the solid  fact before us (a fire pit beneath our feet, wings on our backs, or fighting in Valhalla with other great warriors) - if there is indeed anything after death other than nothing!  Reading old myths, legends and folk stories I have seen many religious (and other) bigotries appear, sometimes because of who was transposing, or translating the story, or because of the 'norms' of the day - what was acceptable then and not now.

Being British has some drawbacks.  Hard to imagine, but it is true!  The biggest for me is that as a Nation, Britain colonized the world.  The sun never sets on Britain, or at one time in history it did not.  It was a while back and I should move on, but that history comes with a lot of baggage and for me a heightened awareness of what Britannia did - England even.  England ripped apart Scotland. England caused some major problems in Ireland which may have taken over 350 years to 'fix'.  Britain did serious damage on the African continent, and in India, and what we did to the indigenous people of America was appalling. I know other countries did similar things, but.  With all of this came exploitation, and... and the suppression of indigenous beliefs.

So when I come to tell tales from other cultures I carry that sack on my back. Especially around the Winter Holidays.  We could begin hte winter Holidays with the Eid Al Adha on the 14th and 15th of October and run until the Chinese New Year which is the Year of the Snake and is celebrated on the 10th and 11th of February. Somewhere I wanted to find some great stories I could be faithful to and tell from deep inside. And not be too down - I was going to be performing for kids as well as grown ups.  I looked at some Jewish tales, mainly the story of Hanukkah and the folklore of the driedel.  But I did not feel right telling this story as a non-Jew. Then I remembered a wonderful story written by Eric Kimmel called  Zigazak!: A Magical Hanukkah Night.    Well, because this was an original story I could not with good conscience tell it without Eric's permission. So I emailed him via his website and he said: YES.  A firned of mine Tim Van Egmond told me (and others) about a Japanese story. And I had my own stories to draw from.  So over the Holiday period, I was able to tell a story about a couple of Hanukkah goblins (thanks so much Eric), the story of King Wenceslaus from Bohemia (now in the Czech Republic), a Japanese story about New Year and why the seas are filled with salt (thanks Tim), the Winter Cherries (a great Welsh tale set in the Arthurian 'romances' pantheon), and a true story about the truce the soldiers created on the Western Front of World War I, 1914.  (Over the holidays I found another true story about a German pilot who escorted a British bomber to safety!)  It was a nice mix of tales and religions and all of them contained the best part of humankind - our humanity!  Every story I read and told contained our humanity, our ability to make the right things happen, to help others. And every story has it's own little miracle in it.

Oh we ain't got a barrel of money
Maybe we're ragged and funny
But we'll travel along singin' our song side by side

Don't know what's comin' tomorrow
Maybe it's trouble and sorrow
But we'll travel the road sharin' our load side by side

So with all of that said, I wish that you all have a great New Year, and that every day you find a little miracle and that you can share it with our fellow human beings, no matter what race, colour, creed, faith, or non-faith they are.

Peace,

Simon