A MARY’S FAIRYLAND FAIRY TALE
The Rain Concert at the Yellow Door
Lulu promises Pip a rain concert without getting his tail wet. Their first shelter keeps the instruments dry too.
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A promise before the rain
The first sign of rain was not a drop. It was a beech leaf, turning its pale side towards the sky. Lulu noticed it while she swept the little step outside the yellow door. Far below, between the roots of the Old Oak, Pip was carrying a crumb almost as big as his nose.
‘Rain,’ he said. He tucked the crumb under his blue scarf. ‘Just when I have something worth keeping dry.’ Lulu leaned over the step. ‘I like the sound it makes on the leaves.’ ‘You can like it from inside,’ said Pip. ‘I shall like it from inside too. Very far inside.’
Lulu put down her twig broom. The last time it had rained, Pip had missed the soft tapping outside her door. His home was tucked so deep beneath a root that he heard almost nothing there. She had wanted to tell him about it, but ‘a lovely little plip’ had not explained very much.
‘What if you could hear the rain without getting wet?’ she asked. Pip looked up. ‘Including my tail?’ ‘Including your tail.’ He set his crumb on the dry step. ‘Then I might stay for a little while.’ Lulu had made a promise. Now she needed somewhere to put it.
Three small sounds
They searched close to the oak. Pip found an empty acorn cap, with its rough little scales still neat around the edge. Lulu found a thin strip of fallen bark. One end curled upwards all by itself. Beside the path lay a flat grey stone, no bigger than Pip’s paw.
‘Are we making soup?’ Pip asked. ‘I am not sure I like stone soup.’ ‘We are choosing sounds,’ said Lulu. On a low fern, a drop of yesterday’s water trembled. She held the acorn cap beneath it. Plok. Pip’s ears stood up. ‘That one sounds like a small person falling into a large boot.’
Another drop landed on the stone. Tik. On the bark it made a soft tup. Lulu tried them again. Plok. Tik. Tup. Pip forgot to look at the clouds. ‘The cap is the loud one,’ he said. ‘The bark sounds as if it does not want to wake anybody.’
They carried all three things to the foot of the ladder. Then they gathered four fallen twigs, a length of twine from Lulu’s basket and three broad beech leaves. Pip examined a leaf. ‘Our roof?’ ‘Our roof,’ said Lulu. He pulled his tail close to his feet. ‘Make it a little longer at the back.’
A very dry concert
They fitted the twigs between small stones where the ground was firm. Two narrow crosspieces rested in the forks at the top. Lulu tied the joins. Pip tugged each knot, because he took roofs very seriously. Across the crosspieces they laid the leaves, with one edge covering the next.
Beneath the little roof, they put a piece of dry bark for a bench. They arranged the acorn cap, the stone and the strip of bark beside it. There was room for Pip, his tail and the crumb. Lulu squeezed in too. A cloud slid over the sun. Something cool touched the top leaf.
Pat. Another drop followed. Pat-pat. Pip grinned. Nothing dripped on his nose. Nothing dripped on his scarf. Then he looked at their three instruments. Nothing dripped on those either. The cap waited. The stone waited. The bark waited. ‘It is a very quiet concert,’ Pip said politely.
Lulu peered at the dry acorn cap. She had made a roof that kept the rain off everything. That had seemed exactly right a moment ago. ‘I have put the music in the wrong place,’ she said. Outside, water gathered along the edge of a leaf. One bright drop stretched down, growing heavier.
A place for every drop
‘Wait,’ said Pip. He followed the hanging drop with one paw. ‘It is going to fall there.’ He pushed the acorn cap just beyond the roof. Plok. Lulu laughed so suddenly that she bumped the bench. Pip moved the stone beneath another leaf tip. Tik. They found a third dripping place for the bark.
Now the sounds were outside and the listeners were inside. But all three drops fell almost together. Plok-tik-tup. Then a long silence. Pip tapped his feet while they waited. ‘Perhaps the rain has forgotten the next bit.’ Lulu watched the smallest leaf. Its drop was still only a tiny bead.
She shifted that leaf a little, so more water ran towards its tip. Pip slid the bark to catch the new drip. Plok. Tup. Tik. The sounds began to arrive at different times. They were not tidy. Sometimes the stone spoke twice. Sometimes the cap interrupted. Pip liked that part best.
A breeze lifted the front leaf. Lulu held it while Pip looped the loose end of the twine around a crosspiece. Then they checked the dry patch beneath the bench. Pip stretched his tail across it. There was still room. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘The audience is comfortable.’
The forest joins in
The shower grew a little stronger. Tiny streams wandered down the rough oak bark. Rain clicked on old leaves and whispered through the fern. Close to the bench, the acorn cap answered with a round, cheerful plok. Pip had nearly finished his crumb when the sound changed. Plip. Plip. ‘That is not our loud one,’ he said.
The cap was filling with water. Each new drop landed in a little pool instead of on its wooden bottom. Lulu tipped it out. For a moment it sounded right. Then it began to fill again. ‘We cannot spend the whole concert emptying it,’ she said. Pip thought about his crumb. He had already missed two bites.
He brought two small pebbles from beside the ladder. Together they rested the cap at a slight angle between them. Now extra water spilled over its low edge, away from their feet. They waited. Plok. Pip sat down very carefully. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘we may listen now.’
From somewhere among the roots came a gentle knock-knock. Another door answered, tap-tap-tap. Someone was joining in with a wooden spoon. Lulu listened without speaking. The rain had made their small concert quite large. Pip listened too. For once, he did not ask when the shower would stop.
One more seat
The shower thinned. The fern stopped whispering. There was one last tik on the stone, then a very late plok from the cap. Pip waited with his ears lifted. ‘Is that the end?’ A drop fell from the highest leaf. Tup. ‘Now it is,’ said Lulu.
They stayed on the bench while the forest settled around them. Above the ladder, Lulu’s little lamp began to shine beneath its acorn-cap shade. Its light touched the yellow door and one small patch of moss. Everything beyond it was turning softly blue. Pip put out one paw to feel the air. His scarf was dry. So was the very tip of his tail.
‘We could put the instruments away,’ Lulu said. Pip looked at the three leaves. Water still clung to their edges. He looked at the spare piece of bark beside the ladder. ‘Or we could make another seat.’ He helped her slide it under the roof. Two tiny cups appeared on the step above them. A neighbour had left warm berry tea.
Pip carried a cup down and sat where he could see the leaf tips. ‘For next time,’ he said. The three instruments waited outside. The two seats waited inside. And the yellow door, standing open just a little, let the last sound of the evening into the house: a small mouse humming something that went plok, tik, tup.
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