A treat ...
Friday 9th January 2009 @ 8:08 am / kingdom stuff
Last weekend I had some good friends stay for the weekend. In turn, as is my own wee style, I asked them to deliever a children's talk in church on Sunday morning ... and they wrote the following story ... I love it, I think you will too ...
Thanks stevo & spence ... a pleasure as always.
On Nicholl’s farm there lived some turkeys. They lived a quiet, satisfied life gobbling to each other and eating grain. But every November an odd anxiety would descend on the turkey pen, as farmer Jeremy was seen cleaning his gun.
One turkey was shorter than all the rest, and while most turkeys were bald, this turkey had a crop of curly, ginger hair. Plucky young Julian, for that was the turkey’s name, thought that he knew what the farmers’ gun was for. Very soon he would end up as dinner, unless of course, he could escape.
One day Julian was waddling around the pen trying to think of a plan. He was approached by a cheerful fat turkey, with scraggy white fluff around his beak and some feathers missing on his back -“So I hear you are trying to escape?”
“Yes” gobbled Julian, “ but the older turkeys say it can’t be done”.
“Oh, don’t you listen to them, its been done before. I can show you how. There is just one thing.”
“You’ll have to promise to follow me closely. You mustn’t run off by yourself or you could get hurt. Can you make that promise?”
“I’ll do my very best,” clucked Julian.
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
“I suppose you should know my name is Julian.”
“I know that,” said the larger turkey. “ My name is Christmas.”
And so, Julian began his quest for freedom following Christmas Turkey as closely as he could, putting his feet in the very prints that Christmas had made.
First, Christmas led him in laps of the pen. “Where are we going?” Squawked Julian. “ I thought you were leading us out of here.”
“I am,” said the white bearded turkey, “ but you’re not ready yet. This is just your training.”
In the centre of the pen some older turkeys were looking on. “Ha!” clucked Henrietta. “ Would you look at young Julian over there.”
“What is he up to now?” gobbled Richard.
“He’s fallen in with some bad company,” said John. “ That Christmas is no good.”
“Oi! Julian! What do you think you are doing following a crazy old bird like that?” called Henrietta.
“We’re going to escape” chirped Julian, running up.
“Escape?” asked John sadly. “Oh, I don’t think so. Our fate is sealed.”
“That’s not true,” pronounced Julian, “ you could all escape, any of you, if you really wanted to.”
“I don’t think we should be talking so much about escape,” clucked Richard. “ I think it is important that we, as turkeys, play our part in this very ancient tradition.”
Julian became discouraged. Perhaps escape was impossible, perhaps he really was chasing a crazy old turkey and a crazy idea, but then he heard a reassuring voice in his ear. “ Don’t be discouraged Julian, just keep going. Remember how you promised to follow me? Well now it is time for us to go.”
Christmas led Julian off to the far end of the pen, through a hole into a large wooden building piled high with bird seed. Julian, hungry from all his running, stopped to look longingly at the delicious, golden grain.
“Don’t stop now” gobbled Christmas. “That might look good, but it will only slow you down.”
“Aw, but I’m sooo hungry,” complained ginger Jools.
“There will be time for food later. Remember how you promised to follow me?”
Christmas led Julian through barns, over roofs, and around fields, and again Julian began to doubt that they would ever escape. “Maybe we could build a giant catapult?” suggested Julian. “That would get us out of our situation. Or we could build a plane like those chickens in that film?”
The old Turkey chuckled. “ No Julian, that is not my plan. Just follow me.”
It was nearly sunset when the Turkey called Christmas stopped moving. Julian bumped into him and looked around shocked. “Where are we? Have we escaped? Are we free?”
“No, not yet Julian.” The old turkey raised one tattered wing and pointed. The field ended abruptly in a deep, wide ditch full of sharp stones and on the other side Julian could see the wire fence that marked the edge of the farm. “There it is Julian, our route to freedom.” And with that, the fat turkey took off at a run, leapt into the air and landed gracefully on the far side of the ditch. “Now your turn.”
Julian peered down into the cold, grey sludge at the bottom of the deep ditch. The stones looked very sharp indeed. He looked at Christmas on the far side somewhat doubtfully and shook his head, “ I.. i.. i’m not sure if I can do it.”
“Of course you can Julian. You’ve come this far. All you have to do is follow me. Remember what you promised?”
Julian was still doubtful, and his head was full of the thought of those sharp rocks, but the old turkey had led him this far and so, he gritted his beak, closed his eyes and ran as hard as he could, jumping at the last minute and landing with a thud on his back. He opened one eye and looked up to see Christmas standing over him with a smile. He had made it. “Well done Julian,” Christmas beamed. “I knew you could make it.”
And with that, he was on the move again, leading Julian along the wire fence at the very edge of the farm. Julian followed until they came to a small hole in the wire. Christmas dipped his head and squeezed through the hole, just a little too small for him, leaving some feathers behind him as he did. The hole was more than big enough for Julian and he found himself on the other side of the fence with the old turkey beside him, hardly believing he was free.
Christmas beamed at Julian and then the fat old turkey spread his wings and flapped furiously until he lifted off the ground. Julians’ beak was wide open in amazement. “
But turkeys can’t fly!” he exclaimed.
“I can show you how,” said Christmas, “there’s just one thing”
“What’s that?” Julian asked.
“You’ll have to promise to follow me.”
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