The Wandering Minstrel's Soup

There was once a wandering minstrel - actually he was a farmer who loved nothing more than playing his harp and singing for people. He gave his farm to his brothers and began to travel around and around and up and down the land - all over Ireland in fact. He would play his harp and sing for anyone who would listen and always seemed to have enough to eat and a place to sleep. Most people were delighted when he came to their town or village and often asked him to stay forever but he wanted to meet everybody in the land and so he never stayed more than a few days in any place.

Once in a while though, he would have a bad day. A bad day was when no one wanted to listen to a tune or song. Maybe because they were too busy being busy, or maybe they were just in bad form.

This day looked like it was going to turn into a bad one. He'd sung a song for his breakfast but that was hours ago and he hadn't eaten since. The town was busy as it was market day but it was wet and everybody was rushing about trying to get their business done quickly and hardly noticed the minstrel playing and singing in the shelter of an archway. Some children stopped and listened for a while and said that they'd come back later with their parents who might give him some money. The parents must have been too busy because they never appeared. Some horrid children thought it was funny to throw stones at him and run away. One stone almost hit him and he kept it because he liked the shape and colour and the feel of it.

It was beginning to get dark and he was hungry and a bit wet and had nowhere to sleep and no money at all. He was thinking that he couldn't remember a day as bad as this when an old woman passed by, making an unkind remark and, by the look on her face, she was having a bad day too. She was wheeling a barrow with a big bag of logs, when all of a sudden, the wheel hit a rock and fell off. The minstrel saw and had never heard such cursing in his life and, being someone who liked to help others, jumped up and went over to help.

The old woman was very suspicious and said to the minstrel, "What do you want? I'm a poor old woman and I have nothing for you."

The minstrel smiled and asked, "Why don't I carry the logs and we can put my harp and the wheel into the barrow and take a handle each and drag it?"

"I've no money" she said, "I'm a poor, poor woman."

"That's no problem" said the minstrel. "I would be very grateful though, if you have a fire I could dry off beside and maybe even a floor I could sleep on tonight. I could play you some music and even fix your wheel in the morning.'

The woman, realizing that she had no other way of getting her logs home, agreed to let him dry off and said he could sleep in her shed but not to think that he was going to get anything else out of her - her being so poor.

They arrived at her cottage, him carrying the logs and doing most of the work with the barrow and quite wet. When they went inside, he couldn't help noticing that she was not nearly as poor as she pretended to be and thought that she was just being mean and stingy. He asked if perhaps he might have a small bit of supper and she said, "How can I be feeding the likes of you when I haven't had a bite to eat all day myself?" said the old woman crossly.

The minstrel had an idea. He said, "Why that's terrible. Why don't I make something for both of us?"

"How can you make us a meal when we have no food?" she asked.

"I've learnt things in my travels, that you won't learn at college. If you would be so good to lend me a pot and give me some water, then we'll have a splendid meal" he replied, confidently.

Well she was now growing curious and so got him what he'd asked for and watched as he hung the pot from the hook over the fire. She watched as he took the stone he'd kept earlier and held it above the pot - turning it in his hand and she heard him say, "Let's not moan, let's not groan - let us have fine soup from stone." He dropped the stone into the pot and it sank straight to the bottom.

"Now all I have to do," he said, "is stir it occasionally and wait for it to boil and soon we'll have some the best soup you've ever tasted - I'll play some music and it'll boil more quickly."

"How can you make soup from a stone?" she wanted to know.

"Listen to the music and watch." said the minstrel, patiently.

She relaxed a bit, enjoying the music and soon the pot was boiling. "Is it nearly done?" she wanted to know, and the minstrel tasted it.

"Oh, it's wonderful." he said, "The only time I've had better was in Leitrim once, when I added some onions and potatoes. But there's no point in thinking about what we don't have and this will do us fine." He smiled.

"you know, I might just have some onions - and maybe even some potatoes." said the woman. "I'll go and look." She had.

He chopped and added these and then tasted it and said that it was nearly as good as the soup the King's chef - a friend of his - made for the royal family. Of course he would always add a bit of flour to thicken it and maybe even some carrots and a bit of beef. But then there's no use in complaining about what we don't have, is there?" he smiled.

"You know, if you think it would make a difference, I might just be able to find those too." she said and she did.

Soon the minstrel tasted the soup again and announced that it was just about ready and every bit as good as the kings. "Of course, we won't be eating it with crusty bread - or having cheese and wine after - and we won't have a nice table cloth and silverware, like the king's."

"Why not?" said the old woman - now smiling. "If we're having soup, fit for a king,then we'll dine like kings and queens." She went to a cupboard and produced everything the minstrel had suggested, and more besides.

The table could hardly hold all the good things she brought out and after eating and drinking and drinking and eating their fill, all the while laughing and talking and talking and laughing like they were old friends, she noticed him trying to stifle a yawn.

"You're tired." she said, much more kindly now.

"Yes, it's been a long day. Would you mind if I lay down to sleep on the rug by the fire?" he asked.

"Goodness gracious! You'll do no such thing." she said. "Such a wonderful man as yourself will have the fine feather bed in the guestroom."

She hadn't mentioned a guestroom before and it was a lovely room.

He slept well and, in the morning she woke him up with good coffee and gave him a big breakfast. He kept his word and fixed the barrow and when he was ready to go, she gave him three gold coins.

"But you're too generous."he said, not wanting to take all that.

"No," she said, "it's you who've taught me that it's more fun than being mean. That's a very valuable lesson for me. And I don't remember enjoying an evening as much. Wonderful music and company. And such a wonderful meal - and to think, all made with a stone."

"You can make it for yourself, or invite some people to share with you." said the minstrel. "Do remember though, to add some good things to it."

The minstrel had a good day that day, and so did the old woman.

THE END