(Overnight Music) #5 MRS TIGGY WANKLE - Jasons Bed Time Story Time

Hello and welcome to Jason's Storytime. My name is Jason Newland, please only listen, you can safely close your eyes. And if you'd like to support this free service, please go to paypal.me forward slash Jason Newland.

Thank you very much. Right, today I'm going to... Oh, okay, I'm going to read a book called The Tale of Mrs Tiggiewinkle. Yep, and it says here it was for the real little Lucy of Newlands.

So it's clear it was a relative. According to this, it was written by Potter Beatrix, 1866-1943, and it was written in 1905. Yay! So here we go.

I've got no idea if I've ever heard this one before. So please, please let it be readable. Okay, I'm trying to actually... I've got one, really? Right, I've got the pad working.

So there's a picture of a hedgehog, I think, doing some ironing, but looking in the mirror of the iron, unless it's an actual mirror shaped like an iron. I'm not sure. So here we go.

The Tale of Mrs Tiggiewinkle by Beatrix Potter, author of The Tale of Peter Rabbit, etc. New York, Frederick, Warren & Co, 36 East 22nd Street. Oops.

Wow, I've got this from loc.gov, it's a website, and it's the Library of Congress, September the 23rd, 1905. Wow. So I'm just trying to get... It's quite difficult to navigate this thing, but you probably don't care, do you? Just get on with the story.

Okay, I'm doing it. So there's another picture of, I don't know, a cat or something. Okay, here we go.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Lucy, who lived at a farm called Little Town. She was a good little girl, only she was always losing her pocket handkerchiefs. We all have that problem, don't we? Tell me about it.

One day, little Lucy came into the farm yard crying. Oh, she did cry so. I've lost my pocket handkerchiefs.

Three handkins and penny. Have you seen them, Tabby Kitten? I'm just waiting for the next page to come up. Okay, these are basically photocopies of the original book, so it's a little bit more difficult to navigate, but I'm sure you can just get on with it.

All right. The kitten went on washing her white paws. So Lucy asked a speckled hen, Sally, any penny? Have you felt three pocket handkins? I never called them handkins, handkerchief, handkins.

But the speckled hen ran into a barn clucking. I go barefoot, barefoot, barefoot. Which doesn't make any sense, I don't think.

I go barefoot, barefoot, barefoot. The picture of her talking to a hen. Right.

How many more pages have I got? Is that the end of that chapter, was it? And then Lucy asked Cock, Robin, sitting on a twig. Cock, Robin, looked sideways at Lucy with his bright black eye and he flew over a stile and away. Pretty rude, aren't they, these animals? Lucy climbed upon the stile and looked upon at the hill behind Little Town.

A hill that goes up, up, into the clouds as though it had no top. And a great way up the hillside, she thought she saw some white things spread upon the grass. If I was to read that again, I probably would have stressed the white things.

But no, too late now. So this is page 16. Lucy scrambled up the hill as fast as her short legs would go.

Carry her. She ran along a steep pathway up and up until Little Town was right away down below. She could have dropped a pebble down the chimney.

Really? You have to have quite a good aim, wouldn't you, to actually, if the town's all the way down below, you could drop a pebble, but for it to actually hit a chimney? Maybe, I mean, who am I to argue? I wasn't there. Now it's got a picture of her looking at the mountains and looking down at the Little Town. Okay, so now we're just skipping through some blank pages here.

Okay, now we're on to page 21. Presently, she came to a spring, bubbling out from the hillside. Someone had stood a tin can upon a stone to catch the water, but the water was already running over.

For the can was no bigger than an egg cup. A can the size of an egg cup? No, I mean, I suppose some sweet corn... Why can't I say sss without whistling? Some sweet corn cans are quite little, aren't they? Just trying to... No, but even that wouldn't hold an egg, and the egg would go right through. One of my fruits has got a bomb, a metal bomb, but it wouldn't hold it.

No, I don't know any cans or tins that would be the size of an egg holder, or egg cup, rather. No, I think she's making it up. Okay, another tall story from Mrs. Potter.

And where the sand upon the path was wet, there were footmarks of a very small person. Oh, here we go. So it's going to be a small person.

Everything it has is small. Yeah, so it's going to have a bicycle that's the size of a pea or something like that. Lucy ran on and on.

The path ended under a big rock. The grass was short and green, and there were clothes props cut from bracken stems with lines of plated rushes and a heap of tiny clothes pins. But no pocket handkerchiefs.

Oh, she's not still on that, is she? Blimey, she's got a one-track mind. Pocket handkerchiefs, pocket handkerchiefs. Yeah, I thought for a second that she was getting excited because it was an adventure, a new adventure.

She discovered something like a tiny little footprint and a tiny little tin the size of an egg cup. But no, no, handkerchiefs, handkerchiefs. All I can think about.

One-track mind. But there was something else at all. Straight into the hill and inside it someone was singing.

I'm going to sing now, so I'll try and do it quietly. Lily white and clean, oh, with little thrills between, oh, smooth and hard, red rusty spot, never here been seen, oh. So there's a picture of her looking at the door.

There's a lot of pictures of the back of her. Oh no, there's now one at the front of her. I hadn't made up their mind what she looked like until they got to page 26.

Lucy knocked once, twice and interrupted the song. A little frightened voice called out, who's that? Lucy opened the door and what do you think there was there inside the hill? A nice clean kitchen with a flagged door. What on earth is a flagged door? Door with a flag on it and wooden beams just like any other farm kitchen.

Only the ceiling was so low that Lucy's head was instantly decapitated. No, Lucy's head nearly touched it and she was only two foot tall herself and the pots and pans were small and so was everything there. Where's my bloody anchor cheese? I want my bloody anchor cheese.

Said Lucy. There was a nice hot singy smell. What's a singy smell? What, a musical smell? Or is that singy, singy smell like burning hair? And at the table with an iron in her hand stood a very stout short person staring anxiously at Lucy.

Her print gown was tucked up and she was wearing a large apron over her striped petticoat. Lucy picked her up and blew her nose with her, mistaking all those clothes for her handkerchief and they lived happily ever after. No, that didn't happen.

Her little black nose went sniffle, sniffle, snuffle and her eyes went twinkle, twinkle and underneath her cap, where Lucy had yellow curls, that little person had prickles. Bit of an imagination this one. I wonder if it really happened.

There's a few pictures of, you know, the lady. Who are you? Said Lucy. Have you seen my pocket handkins? The little person made a bob curtsy.

Oh yes, if you please. My name is Mrs Tiggy Winkle. Oh yes, if you please, ma'am.

I'm excellent clear starcher. She took something out of her clothes basket and spread it on the ironing blanket. So I have the next page to load up.

What's that thing? Said Lucy. That's not my pocket handkins. Oh no, if you please.

That's a little scarlet waistcoat belonging to Cock Robin. And she ironed it and folded it and put it on one side. Looks like a hedgehog to me.

Or a wolf. I don't know. Then she took something else off a clothes horse.

That isn't my penny. Said Lucy. Oh no, if you please.

That's a damask tablecloth belonging to Jenny Wren. Look how it's stained with current wine. It's very bad to wash.

Said Mrs Tiggy Winkle. Mrs Tiggy Winkle's nose went sniffle, sniffle, snuffle. And her eyes went twinkle, twinkle.

And she fetched another hot iron from the fire. How many irons did she have in the fire? Too many? Right, we're now on page 45. Okay.

Okay. There's one of my pocket handkins. Cried Lucy.

And there's my penny. Mrs Tiggy Winkle ironed it and goffered it. Not sure what that means.

I think I'd want something goffered. If I collected something from the dry cleaning and they said, Oh, by the way, we goffered your trousers. I might.

I'd have questions. Okay. And she took out the frills.

Oh, that is lovely. Said Lucy. Oh, and what are those long yellow things with fingers like gloves? Oh, that's a pair of stockings belonging to Sally Hennypenny.

Look how she's wore the heels out with scratching in the yard. She'll very soon go barefoot. Said Mrs Tiggy Winkle.

Okay. Okay. Keep going.

Well, let's get to the next page. The next page. There we go.

Come on. Come on. Well, that's another handkerchief, but it isn't mine.

It's red. Oh, no. If you please, that one belongs to old Mrs Rabbit.

And it did so smell of onions. I've had to wash it separately. I can't get out the smell.

There's another one of mine, said Lucy. Her most elegant voice. What are those funny little white things? That's a pair of mittens belonging to Tabby Kitten.

I only have to iron them. She washes them herself. Oh, there's my last pocket hankin', said Lucy.

She's obsessed, isn't she? Hankin', hankin', handkerchief, handkerchief. She's not interested. She's just met a new friend.

All this new information, all she cares about is her handkerchiefs. I don't know. If nothing else, she's found someone to do her laundry.

And what are you dipping into the basket of starch? Oh, they're little ticky shirt fronts belonging to Tom Tick Mouse. Most terrible, particular, said Mrs Ticky Winkle. Now I've finished my ironing, I'm going to air some clothes.

And then a motorbike went past in the distance, as often happens in children's stories. What are these dear, soft, fluffy things? Said Lucy. Oh, those are woody coats belonging to the little lambs at Shellgyle.

Will their jackets take off? Asked Lucy. Oh, yes, if you please. Look at the sheep mark on the shoulder.

And here's one marked for the gate scarf. And three that come from Little Town. They're always marked at washing.

And missing. And said Mrs Ticky Winkle. All right.

And she hung up all sorts and sizes of clothes. Small brown coats of mice, and one velvety black moleskin waistcoat, and a red tailcoat with no tail belonging to Squirrel. And a very much shrunk blue jacket belonging to Peter Rabbit.

Oh, I have to mention Peter Rabbit. Oh, yeah. Yeah, publicize, advertise your other book.

Yeah. And a petticoat, not marked. That has gone lost in the washing.

And at last the basket was empty. At last. Then Mrs Ticky Winkle made tea.

A cup for herself and a cup for Lucy. They sat before the fire on a bench and looked sideways at one another. Sounds a bit awkward.

Lucky one, they didn't have bad necks. It's real good. Mrs Ticky Winkle's hand holding a teacup was very, very brown and very, very wrinkly with the soap suds.

And all through her gown and her cap, there were hairpins sticking the wrong end out. So that Lucy didn't like to sit too near her. Plus, she smelt of fabric softener.

I've added that bit. I've never fancied doing someone's laundry, really. No, I don't like touching my own underpants.

Okay, so when they had finished tea, they tied up the clothes in bundles and Lucy's pocket handkerchiefs were folded up inside her clean penny and fastened with a silver safety pin. And then they made up the fire with a turf and came out and locked the door and hid the key under the door sill. It's not really hidden if you do it in front of someone, is it?

Then away down the hill trotted Lucy and Mrs Ticky Winkle with the bundles of clothes.

All the way down the path, little animals came out of the fern to meet them. The very first they met were Peter Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny. There's a picture of a rabbit.

Yeah, I'm just trying to get to the next page. Page 75. And she gave them their nice clean clothes and all the little animals and birds were so very much obliged to dear Mrs Ticky Winkle.

Sounds like a nice neighbour. So, that at the bottom of the hill, when they came to the stile, there was nothing left to carry except Lucy's one little bundle. Surprised she wasn't already holding it herself.

Never letting these go ever again. I love my handkerchiefs. Okay.

So, page 80. Lucy scrambled up the stile with the bundle in her hand and then she turned to say, Good night, and to thank the washerwoman. The washerwoman.

That's a bit rude, isn't it? After all that. Yeah, let's call her a washerwoman. But that was a very odd, there was a very odd thing.

Mrs Ticky Winkle had not waited either for thanks or for the washing bill. She was running, running, running up the hill. And there was, and where was her white frilled cap? And her shawl? And her gown? And her petticoat? Ah, there's a picture of Lucy there.

And she's standing holding her handkerchiefs. But she looks a bit bewildered, a bit, a bit torn between. Well, she kind of doesn't want to think about anything else but her handkerchiefs, but she's intrigued.

She doesn't quite know what to do because her whole life, all she's ever really thought about was her handkerchiefs. And now it's like, oh, it's weird. So this is the last page.

And how small she had grown. And how brown and covered with prickles. Why, Mrs Ticky Winkle was nothing but a hedgehog.

There's a bit here that says in brackets. Now, some people say that little Lucy had been asleep upon the stile. But then how could she have found three clean pocket handkins and a penny pinned with a silver safety pin? And besides, I have seen that door into the back of the hill called Cat Bells.

And besides, I am all well acquainted with dear Mrs Ticky Winkle. The End