The first chilly days of winter have
arrived here at the Hooting Owl. What better way to spend a grey, drizzly
afternoon than in front of the fire in the snug? And while we’re cosy inside,
what better time for a story about a bleak and wintry, windswept place?
Dartmoor is a vast area of moorland in Devon, England.
Sometimes desolate, sometimes lonely, yet often beautiful in its own way, Dartmoor,
has many myths and legends going back to ancient times. But the story I am
going to tell you is true.
Many years ago I visited some friends who lived in a small
village on the edge of Dartmoor. As we sat together by a warm fire, much like
the one we are gathered around now, my friends told me of something that had
happened only a year or two before.
It had been a long, harsh winter in Devon, the worst they
could remember. Day and night heavy snowstorms swept across the moors, piling
into drifts higher than a human being and burying every road and pathway, so
that everything became one huge white wilderness.
Even though the villagers managed to clear the snow from
their doorways, there was no way they could get out of the village. And there
was no way that any kind of vehicle could get in. Children couldn’t go to
school, nobody could get to work. There were no shops in the village, but
usually everyone drove into the town, about ten miles away, or rode on the bus.
But now they were completely cut off from the rest of the world.
At first that wasn’t so bad. Everyone had food in their
larder and wood for their fire. But that was only for a while. Food and all the
other items that everyone usually bought in the town began to run out. Worse
perhaps, medicines that sick people needed couldn’t be bought either. Things
were getting very grim.
There was one farmer who owned a donkey. It was a tough,
sturdy little creature and the farmer had an idea. From odds and ends of timber
that he had in his shed, he built a large sleigh. Then he harnessed the donkey
to the sleigh, climbed aboard himself and set off across the snow-covered
landscape. Neither he nor the donkey could trace where the road was supposed to
be. They just had to trust that they could find their way to the town.
Hour after hour, mile after mile, the donkey plodded through
the snowdrifts, pulling the sleigh behind him. Somehow his little hooves and
strong legs kept going, even in places where a man would have sunk in.
At last they reached the place where a road had been cleared
into the town. The farmer was able to load up his sleigh with food, medicine
and all the other things that the trapped villagers needed. Then the donkey
turned around and began to pull his even heavier load back home. It must have
taken all the strength and courage he had, but that donkey finally made it back
to the village. There he went around all the houses and the farmer delivered the
much-needed goods to the whole community.
At last signs of spring began to appear. The sun shone, the
snow slowly melted and once again the villagers could begin to go about their normal
lives. But they didn’t forget the donkey and what he had done for them.
On a bright, sunny day in early summer, the children made a flower
crown for the donkey. The farmer led him down the street and everyone came out
to cheer their four-legged hero. It was the donkey’s day and he deserved it.
True story!
