Folk Tales for Health and Wellbeing E-Book

Adam Bushnell

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 259

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

'A charming selection of wonder-filled, bite-sized legends from all over the world, retold in Bushnell's inimitable style ... The kind of book the world needs right now.' - Eleanor Conlon and Martin Vaux, podcasters and authors of The Three Ravens Folk Tales Folk Tales for Health and Wellbeing invites you on a journey of self-discovery and healing, through the timeless wisdom of stories and lessons passed down over many generations. This collection of folk tales from around the world will serve as a gentle guide, leading you to a more mindful, peaceful and present way of life. With over 30 years of training in mindfulness and meditation under various faith advisors, author and storyteller Adam Bushnell has carefully selected and retold these tales to inspire personal growth and wellbeing.

Leseprobe

PRAISE FOR FOLK TALES FOR HEALTH & WELLBEING

‘A real treasure of insightful stories with lessons that have inspired me to be a better person.’

Marie Parkinson, yoga teacher and author

‘A wonderful retelling of traditional folk stories from around the world that will, I am sure, resonate and inform.’

Shakyapada Roberts, the York Buddhist Centre

‘A charming selection of wonder-filled, bite-sized legends from all over the world, retold in Bushnell’s inimitable style ... The kind of book the world needs right now.’

Eleanor Conlon and Martin Vaux, podcasters and authors of The Three Ravens Folk Tales

First published 2025

The History Press

97 St George’s Place, Cheltenham,Gloucestershire, GL50 3QB

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

Text © Adam Bushnell, 2025

Illustrations © Bea Baranowska, 2025

The right of Adam Bushnell to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 1 80399 881 7

Typesetting and origination by The History Press.

Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ Books Limited, Padstow, Cornwall.

eBook converted by Geethik Technologies

Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

1 The Angels in the Tower

2 The Birth and Early Life of Siddhartha

3 King of the Beasts

4 Jack and the Fish

5 The Unicorn

6 The Lonely Lord

7 Rabbit in the Moon

8 The Tiger, the Brahmin and the Dog

9 The Sage of Medicine

10 Silver Hair

11 Judge Cai Fu

12 The Golem

13 An Tiêm and the Watermelon Seeds

14 The King’s Ears

15 Anansi and the Pot of Knowledge

16 The Leprechaun

17 Fafnir the Dragon

18 The Three Crows

19 The Parables of the Lotus Sutra

20 King Sisyphus

21 The Hodja and the Donkey

22 Orpheus and Eurydice

23 The Phoenix

24 Clever Gretel

25 The Wyrm, the Eagle and the Beetle

26 The Gossip

27 Three Eyes, Two Eyes and One Eye

28 Princess Rat

29 The Hunger

30 Raven and the First Humans

31 The Tree of Knowledge

32 Tattercoats

33 The Horse and the Archer

34 Tchang’s Quest

35 Monday, Tuesday

36 Jack and the Giant’s Daughter

37 King Solomon and the Djinn

38 The Soldier and Death

Bibliography

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank Nicola Guy and all at The History Press for their continued support.

My thanks also go to Shakyapada Roberts from the Buddhist Centre in York for her help with the Buddhist sources.

Special thanks to my editors Harry and Dee.

Introduction

I’ve worked in education for more than twenty-five years as a visiting author and as a teacher in both private and state education across the UK and internationally. My degree was in philosophical studies and I’ve trained under several faith advisors on mindfulness and meditation for over thirty years. But I’m also a storyteller. We all are.

We thrive on stories in all of their forms, whether news articles, stories in the pub or experiences at work that we share at the dinner table. We communicate through story. We express our inner selves in the retelling of the story. It holds great power.

We are story animals and we always have been. When our ancestors first developed the ability to communicate, share experiences and pass on knowledge, we became storytellers. Long before writing was invented, early humans relied on oral traditions to transmit knowledge, culture and history. Stories were passed down from generation to generation, serving as a way to teach survival skills, convey moral lessons and explain natural phenomena.

Some of the earliest evidence of storytelling comes from cave paintings and other forms of symbolic art created by early humans. These images, found in places like Lascaux in France and Altamira in Spain, date back tens of thousands of years. The paintings often depict scenes of hunting, animals and human figures, suggesting that early humans were telling stories through visual means, possibly as a way to record important events or share communal myths.

In Will Storr’s book The Science of Storytelling, he describes just how much stories feature in our day-to-day lives, from reading up on people’s life experiences on social media, to listening to podcasts on your way to work to unwinding with a Friday night film. These shared experiences show just how often the art of story features in our everyday lives, giving us something to relate and connect to.

Stories help us make sense of complex realities. By organising information into narratives, we can better understand cause and effect, human motivations and the broader context of events. Stories give meaning to facts and experiences. The stories we tell about ourselves and our lives shape our identities. Personal narratives help us understand who we are, where we’ve come from and what our future might look like.

Stories provide a way to process and make sense of our emotions, which is why I wanted to write this book. These stories have been selected as they can help us to explore our feelings about subjects such as loneliness, anger, fear, jealousy and loss. They might help us to ask questions about what it means to be wise, generous, kind or loving. The tales explore death and immortality and what it means to live a ‘good’ life. Some of the tales are therapeutic and can help us cope with difficult situations too.

We are naturally driven to find meaning in our lives and these tales are a way to construct that meaning.

We must never underestimate the power of stories.

Bruno Bettelheim, the Austrian psychologist, explains how fairy tales educate, support and liberate the emotions of children in his book The Uses of Enchantment. I wholly agree. Fairy tales are powerful developmental tools for children and adults alike.

In this collection of my favourite teaching tales from around the world I have included ones that contain tragedy, comedy and hope.

There will be both familiar and unfamiliar tales here. There are familiar characters like Anansi the trickster spider and Icarus, who doesn’t listen to the advice of his father. We have three tales about Jack, of beanstalk fame. But we also have perhaps unfamiliar characters like Judge Cai Fu, An Tiêm the wise and Sun Xiyao the herbalist. We have stories from Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, Islam and Taoism. Some I have read and retold from books, others I have heard from other storytellers and have reimagined them here. But lots I have collected when visiting countries such as China, Vietnam, Greece, Malawi, UAE, Qatar and more. I have interpreted them in my own way.

The aim of these tales is to empower you to live better lives free from anxiety and stress as much as is possible. Breathe deeply, relax, smile often and be grateful as often as you can.

Enjoy!

Adam Bushnell

September 2024

1

The Angels in the Tower

When we ‘fly too close to the sun’ we do something especially ambitious and daring. But this can ultimately lead to our undoing or downfall. This expression is an allusion to the mythical character Icarus. Here we see what can happen when we become overly ambitious when trying to reach for something that is unattainable without help or advice from others.

On the island of Crete, King Minos’ face contorted with fury, his eyes narrowing into fiery slits. He clenched his fists as veins throbbed at his temples. His breath came in ragged bursts, each exhale a growl. The room seemed to vibrate with his escalating rage.

‘Dead?’ he snarled.

‘MY MINOTAUR IS DEAD?’

The king’s voice shook the stone walls of his palace.

The trembling messenger regretted being the bearer of such news. Minos was not a king to take bad news lightly.

‘And this is the work of that King Aegeus’ son?’ Minos’ furious scowl twisted into a predatory grin, like a crocodile savouring the moment before devouring its prey.

‘I know just what to do. Bring me Daedalus. He will create something truly terrible, something that will show the Greeks no one dares to defy me!’

Daedalus was the king’s inventor. It was he who had created the maze for the Minotaur, an intricate labyrinth of tunnels. The designer and engineer had been happy to create the maze. It would save lives, after all. It would contain a creature that feasted on humans. But Daedalus was now horrified when he learned of Minos’ demand this time. The king wanted a flying machine to rain fire upon villages, towns and cities, a harbinger of death and destruction. Daedalus shuddered at the thought of thousands dying. He could not, would not, build such a monstrous device.

But how could anyone refuse King Minos?

Daedalus began to pace. He and his son Icarus had been kidnapped over a year ago, snatched from their peaceful lives in Athens, where they crafted ingenious inventions. Minos had heard of their talents and brought them to Crete, where they became prisoners on the island in all but name.

Daedalus gazed out from the window of their tower, the highest point on their prison home. From there, he could see the sprawling palace below, the endless sea, and, on clear days, the distant coastline of Greece.

A pigeon landed on the windowsill, interrupting his thoughts, and left behind a single grey feather. If only Daedalus and Icarus could be as free as birds, soaring over the water to return home. He picked up the feather, turning it in this way and that. He smiled.

He would build a flying machine, but not the one Minos envisioned.

Icarus returned home from fishing, looking dejected.

‘Not a single bite today, Dad.’

‘Perfect! Hand me your fishing line,’ Daedalus exclaimed.

Icarus stared at the mess in his father’s hands, a concoction of feathers and wax.

‘What are you making?’ asked Icarus.

‘Making our escape!’ Daedalus beamed, holding up the prototype; a row of feathers bound with candle wax.

‘What’s it meant to be?’

‘Wings!’

‘What for?’

‘We’re going to fly off this wretched island!’

Icarus’ face became wrinkled and soon smoothed to a wide grin.

‘Collect every feather you can find, every piece of fishing line, twine, rope and candle wax. But do it secretly! No one must know.’

Icarus and his father skulked around the island collecting the items needed. Nobody paid them any notice. The pair were often collecting seemingly useless objects and turning them into incredible things as demanded by the king.

In two days, the wings were complete.

King Minos was convinced that Daedalus was working on his war machine. He sat on his throne scowling at his loss but relishing in the revenge he would take.

Daedalus used melted wax to attach the first pair of wings to Icarus’ back, then his own. They looked at each other, the wings folded against their backs.

Daedalus’ wings were a marvel. They gleamed in the sunlight, each feather perfectly aligned to catch the wind. The delicate structure, both fragile and resilient, promised freedom.

‘My greatest invention,’ Daedalus grinned.

Icarus smiled nervously.

‘We’ll leap from the window. Pull the ropes to open the wings, catch the wind and glide to mainland Greece. Don’t fly too low, or the sea spray will dampen the wings. Don’t fly too high, or the sun will melt the wax. Do you understand?’

Icarus wasn’t listening. He stared out the window, imagining the leap into nothingness. What if the wings didn’t work? What if they fell apart? But he trusted his father.

‘I’m ready, Dad.’

‘You go first, son. I’ll be right behind you.’

Icarus closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped off the ledge. He opened his eyes and pulled the ropes. The wings stretched open, and Icarus soared into the sky.

Daedalus followed and they glided past the palace and over the sea. He could only imagine the look on King Minos’ face when he discovered their escape. Daedalus smiled.

Icarus was euphoric, feeling the rush of wind beneath his wings. He soared with exhilaration, the wind rushing past his face as he climbed higher. He laughed, feeling the sun’s warmth on his back and the sheer joy of flight. He looped and dived, revelling in the freedom, his wings slicing through the air. Higher and higher he climbed, basking in the sun’s warmth.

‘Remember what I said!’ Daedalus called. ‘Don’t—’

But Icarus wasn’t listening. He looped and twirled, flying closer to the sun. He felt something wet trickle down his back and thought it was sweat. But it wasn’t sweat; it was wax.

The feathers began to loosen and float away. Icarus’ triumph turned to terror as his wings disintegrated, wax melting in the sun’s heat. Feathers scattered, and he plummeted, flailing helplessly. The wind roared past, drowning his screams. His body struck the sea with a devastating splash, swallowed by the unforgiving waves, leaving only ripples where he once soared.

Daedalus watched helplessly as his son fell. He knew it was too late. Icarus was dead.

Heartbroken, Daedalus didn’t go to mainland Greece but flew on to Sicily, where he lived in mourning, never inventing again.

When Daedalus finally died, he was reunited with Icarus in the Underworld, and there, in the realm of shadows, they found peace together.

Folk tales are stories that usually have people or animals as their main characters, but myths are stories told to explain the world around us. This story is a myth that would have been more of a folk tale of the time. The word ‘myth’ comes from the Greek ‘mythos’, which meant story. Stories teach us many things, in this case why listening to wise and trusted people is essential for our own wellbeing.

2

The Birth and Early Life of Siddhartha

The Jataka tales are a large body of literature in the Buddhist tradition that recount the previous lives of the Buddha in both human and animal form. This particular story from India, often known as ‘Siddhartha and the Swan’, is not found in the Jataka tales, yet it shares a similar purpose: to convey moral lessons and demonstrate the Buddha’s compassion, wisdom and virtue.

More than 2,500 years ago, in the lush kingdom of Kapilavastu, nestled on the borders of what is now Nepal, reigned the noble Sakya king, Sudhodhana. His realm was a tapestry of rolling hills and serene valleys, yet within his splendid palace there lurked a sadness. Despite the lavishness that surrounded them, King Sudhodhana and his beloved queen, Maya, were childless. The absence of an heir weighed heavily upon them.

One night, under the vast canopy of stars, Queen Maya drifted into a deep and restful sleep. As she slumbered, a dream of unparalleled strangeness and beauty unfolded before her eyes. She envisioned a celestial baby elephant, pure and white as freshly fallen snow, descending gracefully from the heavens and entering her body. In that moment, the air filled with the sweet strains of divine music, trees and bushes burst into vibrant bloom, and lotuses spread their petals across the serene lakes. The entire world seemed to rejoice, enveloped in an aura of profound celebration.

The following morning, Queen Maya recounted her extraordinary dream to the king. The palace buzzed with anticipation as Brahmin priests were summoned to interpret the vision. With solemn faces and reverent tones, they foretold that the queen would soon bear a son, a child destined to become either a mighty king or a revered sage. True to their prophecy, a few months later, the queen gave birth to a radiant baby boy. The joyous parents named him Siddhartha, meaning ‘one who achieves his aim’.

From his earliest days, Siddhartha was enveloped in the lap of luxury. The palace was a paradise for children, adorned with every conceivable comfort and delight. The young prince’s days were spent amidst the sprawling gardens, learning and playing with his cousins and friends. His closest friends were his cousin Ananda, his loyal squire Chandak and his beloved horse Kantak.

Siddhartha grew into a child of exceptional kindness and gentleness, endearing himself to everyone in the palace, save for one. His other cousin, Devadatta, harboured a deep-seated jealousy and resentment towards Siddhartha. Devadatta loathed his cousin’s compassion and the universal love he commanded. Devadatta seized every opportunity to provoke and antagonise the young prince, seeking to undermine him at every turn.

One spring morning, Siddhartha wandered to the river that meandered through the palace gardens. There, he paused, captivated by a group of swans gliding gracefully on the shimmering water. Their pristine white feathers were touched with liquid gold by the bright sunlight, creating a vision of ethereal beauty. Siddhartha gasped in awe as his heart swelled with admiration.

As Siddhartha sat by the riverbank, lost in the tranquillity of the scene, an arrow suddenly sliced through the air with a sinister whistle. It struck the largest and most majestic of the swans, causing the bird to cry out in agony and thrash its wings in desperate fear. Siddhartha rushed into the river to rescue the wounded creature. The swan, unable to swim or fly due to its broken wing, flailed helplessly.

With gentle hands and soothing words, Siddhartha cradled the swan, calming it as he carried it back to the riverbank. There, he carefully removed the arrow and fashioned a splint from a nearby stick, using a strip torn from his own clothing to bind the wing. His compassion and tenderness transformed the chaos into a scene of quiet healing.

Soon, Devadatta arrived, breathless and furious, searching for his arrow. He had seen the swans and, in a cruel twist of envy, decided to use them as targets for his archery practice. ‘The swan is mine!’ he declared, his voice sharp with arrogance. ‘I shot it down and it is mine! Get off it!’

Siddhartha replied calmly, ‘I saved it, cousin. It is mine to care for now.’

‘Fine,’ Devadatta sneered, his eyes narrowing. ‘We’ll take it to our guru and he will tell you that the swan is mine because I shot it with my arrow.’

The two children carried the injured swan to their guru, who listened to Devadatta’s tale with a discerning ear. Then he turned to Siddhartha, his gaze soft but probing. ‘What do you have to say, Siddhartha?’

Siddhartha took a deep breath and then said with a voice steady and filled with conviction, ‘The swan was simply swimming gracefully upon the river. It was minding its own business and doing no harm. Then Devadatta shot it. If he has the swan then he will harm it again. I have healed it and I will care for it until it is well enough to fly again.’

The guru smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling with wisdom. ‘The swan is now Siddhartha’s. Siddhartha saved its life. He healed it and will care for it.

‘Devadatta sought to harm and destroy. Ownership of a living being belongs to the one who loves and protects it. Thus, the swan shall be with Siddhartha.’

Devadatta’s face twisted with rage. He stormed off, vowing vengeance. But Siddhartha remained serene, his heart light with the knowledge that he had done right by the swan. He tended to the bird until its wing healed completely, then released it back into the river, watching it rejoin its flock with a sense of profound peace.

As Siddhartha grew, the prophecy of his birth unfurled. He became a great sage, among the greatest the world has ever known. Siddhartha Gautama, through his compassion, wisdom and quest for enlightenment, became the Buddha, guiding countless souls on the path to inner peace and liberation.

Siddhartha’s actions highlight the importance of compassion and kindness towards all living beings. He instinctively chose to protect the swan, emphasising the value of life. The story teaches that life is precious and should be preserved.

The story also foreshadows the teachings of the Buddha, who later emphasised non-violence (Ahimsa) and compassion to all living things as central tenets of his teachings.

3

King of the Beasts

Many monarchies have deep historical roots. They have often evolved over centuries, becoming intertwined with national identity and cultural traditions. They can provide a sense of stability and continuity. Different countries have different reasons for maintaining their monarchies, reflecting their unique historical, cultural and political contexts. However, in this story, a king’s authority is challenged by the unlikeliest of opponents …

A long time ago, before the world had been reborn to make way for the humans, the king of all the animals on earth was the lion. He was a majestic and magnificent beast. Each morning his golden mane shone with a thousand shades of bright light. He had a roar that could shake the heavens and this roar would summon all the animals of the earth to come and bow to him as their rightful king.

However, one morning, a rabbit was sleeping soundly on a soft bed of lush, green grass. The rabbit felt so cosy and comfortable that it didn’t want to go and bow to the lion. He really didn’t see the point other than massaging the ego of the already well esteemed lion. Anyway, who would miss a little rabbit? The lion would be too busy basking in his own magnificence to notice if the rabbit was not there. The sun was warm on its fur and the gentle breeze carried the rich scent of blooming flowers. The rabbit soon fell into the deepest, sweetest sleep.

After some time, the rabbit awoke to a slight chill in the air. It had become dark. The rabbit sleepily blinked its eyes open to find it was not night time. But rather a large shadow loomed over the terrified rabbit. It was the lion who towered over the rabbit, casting a cold shadow of fury. The lion’s eyes blazed like molten gold and his mane shimmered like a halo of fire.

‘You lazy, ungrateful, disrespectful little creature!’ roared the lion. ‘How dare you sleep when you are meant to bow to me?’

The voice of the lion was thunder and his eyes were focused with fury. The rabbit’s heart pounded like a drum. What should the rabbit say? What should the rabbit do?

Very politely, it said, ‘I’m sorry Your Majesty but this morning when I got up to go to make my way to bow to you, I came to a river and in it was a huge demon. I was afraid and ran up here a few minutes ago to hide in this grass.’

The lion’s eyes narrowed.

He eventually asked, ‘Did the demon hurt you?’

The rabbit quickly shook its head.

‘No,’ answered the rabbit, trembling. ‘It didn’t hurt me but yelled as I went by. It asked me where I was going.’

The lion sat down as the rabbit continued.

‘I said that I was on my way to bow to the king of all the earth. It asked who that was and I said that it was you, lion.

‘It laughed, lion. It laughed at you.’

The lion stood up and roared so loudly that the clouds shook and the trees trembled.

The rabbit went on, ‘The demon then said that it would be the new king. I was to tell you to go down to the river and it would challenge you there. It would be waiting beneath the water for you.’

The lion roared again.

‘There isn’t anything on this earth or anywhere else that can defeat me!’

‘Should I take you to the river?’ asked the rabbit timidly.

The lion swished his tail and shook his mane. The rabbit took this for an affirmative and led the lion to the river, which glistened like a ribbon of liquid silver under the blazing sun. The water was so clear that it mirrored the surroundings perfectly.

‘Where is it?’ growled the lion. ‘I’ll fish that demon out of the water and tear it to shreds!’

‘Right there,’ pointed the rabbit. ‘Look.’

The lion looked into the river and saw his own reflection in the water. His hair all bristled up and his tail lashed from side to side. The reflection seemed to the lion a formidable opponent. The rabbit began dancing up and down on the bank, yelled, ‘There it is! There it is!’

The lion flew into a great rage. He let out a deafening roar, and with a mighty leap, he jumped into the water to fight his perceived rival. The water churned and frothed as the lion thrashed about, his roars turning into desperate gurgles. In his fury and confusion, he didn’t realise he was fighting his own reflection. The more he struggled, the deeper he sank, until finally, the great king of beasts drowned himself in the depths of the stream.

The rabbit watched as the waters stilled and the ripples faded away. He sighed in relief and hopped back to his soft bed of grass, where he could once again enjoy the warmth of the sun and the sweetness of the day. He soon fell into a deep sleep.

Perhaps the moral of this Tibetan folk tale is that the mighty lion was no match for his own pride. But it also raises the question of how the rabbit could be so morally disengaged as to watch the lion drown then sleep so peacefully? Which then could raise the question of why people do bad things without feeling guilty about them. Psychologists have suggested that feeling guilt is good for you. Guilt leads to shame but this gives us the capacity to confront, learn from and heal from it. Those who cannot do this have either suppressed their awareness or lack it altogether, leading them to distract themselves, dismiss their feelings, and live in denial of their true selves. Guilt can help us to become self-aware and can help us to grow.

4

Jack and the Fish

Jack features in many folk tales. He’s usually a foolish character but wins in the end through charm, wit and trickery. However, in this particular tale we see how an act of kindness can have a far-reaching effect on the protagonist’s good fortune. Good deeds lead to good things!

Jack was a lazy man. The trouble was he just didn’t like working. When he got home one day after losing yet another job his wife said to him, ‘Oh Jack. I’m sick of this! We can’t live on the money you bring home. The fishing trade is booming. Why don’t you go and try to get a job on one of the boats?’

‘Oh, but I don’t like fish!’ moaned Jack. ‘They’re all wriggly and slimy and they haven’t got any eyelids, they look at you all the time. Blurgh! No, I don’t like fish!’

‘Go and be a fisherman or we’ll starve!’ his wife shouted.

Jack went out of the front door and trudged down the road towards the harbour. Once there, he soon got a job on board a boat and was out to sea that same day.

But Jack made a useless fisherman; he threw his rod into the water as soon as he had caught a fish, claiming that he didn’t like the way it looked at him. So, the captain of the boat gave Jack a net to see if he’d get on any better with that. In no time at all Jack had caught a huge ball of mackerel. He hauled the net on to the deck of the boat and opened it up.

The mackerel danced and flitted around the deck and there in middle of these jumping fish was a fine salmon. This fish didn’t move, it lay perfectly still and seemed to be looking up at Jack.

‘I can’t kill this animal. It’s beautiful!’ thought Jack to himself.

He then picked up the salmon, made sure no one was looking, leant over the side of the boat and let the fish go. It disappeared into the water but not before it made a ‘plop’ sound.

‘Are you throwing away my haul!’ bellowed the captain. ‘That’s it, I’ve had enough Jack! You’re sacked! Here’s a couple of pennies, that’s all you’ve been worth to me today.’

Once back at the harbour, Jack trudged slowly along the road home. As soon as he got through the door his wife looked at him and said, ‘Well I know that look. You’ve lost another job again, haven’t you? Here, take my wedding ring. Head down to the market and sell it.’

‘I can’t sell your wedding ring!’ exclaimed Jack. ‘It took me, you know, days to save up for it.’

‘Go and sell the ring or we’ll starve!’ shouted his wife.

Jack took the ring and trudged once more down the road. As he walked, he wondered who on earth could help him. There surely must be someone who would understand his plight.

As Jack thought this he bumped into a tall man.

‘Oh I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t see you!’ said Jack.

‘That’s quite all right, Jack,’ the man smiled.

This tall man was dressed in a fine black suit, he was wearing a top hat, carried a cane and had a dark goatee beard.

‘How do you know my name?’ asked Jack.

The man flashed a dazzling smile and his green eyes burned brighter.

The man spoke in smooth and silky tones. ‘I know a lot about you. I know you are having money trouble. Perhaps I can be of assistance. Perhaps you would like to borrow my cow?’

The man clicked his fingers, and there standing in the middle of the road was a fine Jersey cow with bulging udders that needed milking right away.

‘Wow!’ blurted Jack. ‘I’d love to loan your cow! That’s a healthy-looking animal that. But what do you want from me?’

‘Oh, nothing much,’ smiled the man. ‘You can borrow my cow for, let’s say, one year. At the end of the year, I’ll come back and ask you three questions. If you get the questions right, you can keep the cow. If you get the questions wrong … then I’ll take your soul!’

‘That sounds like an excellent idea,’ laughed Jack. ‘You’ve got a deal.’

Jack shook hands with the man and took the cow by her collar up the road. When Jack looked back the man had disappeared. Jack shrugged and skipped up the lane, leading the cow home.

‘Blimey Jack!’ said his wife. ‘You’ve done well there! That cow for my wedding ring!’

‘Even better!’ laughed Jack. ‘Here’s your wedding ring back. I met a man who has loaned us this cow for a year. At the end of the year he’ll ask me three questions. If I get them right we keep the cow! Good eh?’

‘What if you get them wrong?’ asked his wife suspiciously.

‘Then he takes my soul.’