Once upon a time…

Adapted for radio and translated into English by Anna Piwowarska

Once upon a time (but of course!), there was a small town called Tajdarajda where a tailor called Joseph Cotton lived. He was jolly but very thin. But then all tailors in the world are very thin as tailors should look like a needle and thread. However, Mr. Cotton was so thin that he was able to pass through the eye of a needle. He ate nothing but spaghetti because that was all that was able to swallow. He was a good person and always had a smile on his face. His beard was made up of exactly one hundred and thirty six hairs and on special occasions he would wear it in plaits. This hairstyle, or rather beard style, made him look extremely handsome.

Mr. Cotton would have carried on living his simple, happy life if it wasn’t for a chance meeting with a young Gypsy girl. The girl had hurt herself and had the most enormous wound on her leg. So Mr. Cotton sewed it up so beautifully that you could hardly see it. The gypsy girl was so grateful to him that she read his future from his palm.

“If you leave this town on Sunday and carry on walking Westwards, you will finally find yourself in a place where they will make you king.”

Mr. Cotton found this hilarious – he, a king?! What a load of nonsense, he thought to himself. But he thanked the gypsy girl and went home.

 That night, when he went to sleep, he dreamt that he did indeed become king and lived in such wealth and luxury that he grew as fat as a barrel. When he woke up, he thought to himself:

“Who knows? Maybe it is true? Come on Cotton – get yourself up and go westwards!”

So he packed a bundle containing one hundred needles, a thousand kilometres of cotton thread, a thimble, an iron and an enormous pair of scissors. Then, he went into town and asked where westwards was. Strangely nobody in the town of Tajdarajda knew where it was, apart from a very, very old man of a hundred and six who thought for a minute and then said:

“Westwards is probably the direction in which the sun sets.”

It was obvious that the old man was very wise so the tailor took his advice and went in that direction.  He hadn’t gone very far, when suddenly there was a gust of wind. It wasn’t a very strong gust but as Mr. Cotton was every thin, it snatched him up in the air. He flew and flew through the air and chuckled away as it was very fun flying through the air like that. Finally, the wind grew tired of him and dropped him onto the ground. He was a little disorientated to say the least, having been dropped from such a height. And he had a suspicious feeling that he’d fallen onto someone as an angry voice shouted out:

“What is this supposed to mean?”

Mr. Cotton looked down and saw that he was in a cornfield and that the wind had dropped him into the arms of a Scarecrow. The Scarecrow was very elegant, apart from the slightly torn trousers and broken top hat. His legs were made of two sticks as were his arms. Mr. Cotton took off his hat, bowed down and said in his high-pitched voice.

“Dearest Sir, I’m so sorry to have landed on you. I’m Mr. Cotton, the tailor.”

“Pleased to meet you” answered the Scarecrow “I’m Count Scarecrow of the Four Sticks. I am here to make sure that the birds don’t eat the corn but to be honest with you, I can’t really be bothered with them. I’m very brave and I’d much rather fight with lions and tigers but this year they rarely visit. Where are going, Mr. Cotton?

“I’m going to become a king.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I was born to become a king. Perhaps, dear Count, you would like to come with me, as it will be much more pleasant to go together?”

“Alright,” answered the Scarecrow” But you’ll have to mend my clothing before we go as I’d like to find myself a wife along the way so I have to look good.”

“With pleasure,” answered Mr. Cotton.

So the tailor got to work and within an hour the Scarecrow was wearing a beautiful outfit and a top hat that looked like new. The crows in the cornfield laughed at him a bit, but he didn’t seem to notice and happily went on his way with Mr. Cotton. They chatted along the way and grew to like each other very much. In the night time they slept in the wheat and Mr. Cotton tied himself to the Scarecrow who was heavier than him and would make sure that no gust of wind could carry him away again. And when they were attacked by dogs, the Scarecrow would take off his stick leg and chase the dogs away with it, then tie it back again with a piece of string. He was a great friend, was the Scarecrow.

One evening, they saw a light in the forest.

“Let’s go and sleep there tonight” said Mr. Cotton

“Yes, lets.” agreed the Scarecrow.

However, when they got there they saw that it was a very strange house indeed – a house that could walk. It stood on four paws and kept turning around. So, they waited until the door of the house came to them, rather than trying to chase it. When they stepped inside, they saw that although it was the middle of summer, there was a roaring fire and by the fire sat a nobleman who kept picking up the glowing embers with his bare hands and swallowing them whole. When he saw the visitors, he bowed down to them and said:

“Mr. Cotton and Count Scarecrow, I believe”

The two were surprised but didn’t say anything. The tailor bowed down and the Scarecrow took off his top hat.

 “Do stay for the evening - you can carry on with your journey tomorrow.” said the nobleman.

Then he clapped his hands and in a moment his whole family appeared. The daughter of the host was very beautiful although when she laughed she sounded rather like a horse. They all sat down to supper together - Mr. Cotton and the Scarecrow on a bench while the rest of the family sat on metal pots with glowing embers inside them, which was frankly very strange. Their host, the nobleman, noticed their surprise and said:

“Gentleman, don’t be surprised that we’re sitting like this but our family is always very cold.”

Soup was served in an enormous cauldron. Just as Mr. Cotton was about to take a spoonful, the Scarecrow whispered into his ear:

“Don’t eat it, Mr. Cotton. It’s piping hot tar!”

So very discreetly, pretending that they thought the soup was very tasty; they poured it under the table. Then the main course was brought out – some rats in sauce, a selection of odd looking insects, worms in parmesan cheese that looked like spaghetti and for desert – some rotten eggs. Horrified, they threw everything under the table, onto the floor.

Suddenly their host turned to the tailor and said:

“Did you know, Mr. Cotton that the King of Paconów has died? They are currently looking for a king and the person who becomes king will marry my daughter.”

At that moment, the nobleman’s daughter laughed her horsey laugh again and threw herself around Mr. Cotton’s neck.

“Let's run!” whispered The Scarecrow.

“I can’t tell where the door is,” said Mr. Cotton”the house is always moving!”

“Let’s drink to your health and then sing a song” carried on the nobleman, having not heard what they were talking about. “Do you know any songs, Mr. Cotton?”

“I do,” said the tailor, and then he turned and whispered to the Scarecrow “When the house turns so that the door is behind us, then shout.”

Then Mr. Cotton got up and started to sing in his high-pitched voice, then only song that he knew. Then suddenly something awful happened. The whole family stood up and started to roar and squeal and jump up and down. But Mr. Cotton continued to sing his song and when he finished he started to sing it from the beginning. All the time, the house kept on moving until suddenly it disappeared and turned into dust. The tailor and the Scarecrow were left standing alone in the middle of a meadow.

“Thank goodness we got rid of them” said Mr. Cotton with relief.

“It was me that scared them off,” said the Scarecrow proudly.

So, the pair went on their way, towards the town of Pacanów, where indeed the King had died. They travelled for seven days and seven nights until they saw the wonderful town which was famous for the blacksmiths who shoed goats. Although as they looked at the town, they were surprised to see that although everywhere around it was sunny, above the town was a downpour of heavy rain.

“I’m not going there,” said the Scarecrow “My top hat will get wet”

“I don’t want to be king in such dampness!” said the tailor.

Unfortunately, the town’s people had already spotted them and a crowd ran out to meet them. The Mayor rode up on a goat and pleaded to them.

“Gentlemen, maybe you can save us!”

“What has happened?” asked the tailor.

“We are in danger of a flooding and complete destruction! Our king died a week ago and since then the rain hasn’t stopped pouring down on us. We can’t even light a fire in our house, as the rain comes through the chimney. We are in danger of dying, gentlemen!

“That’s not good” said Mr. Cotton.

“And the worst thing, is the King’s daughter, the Princess, can’ stop crying for her father and that means that there’s even more water!”

“That’s not good either,” said Mr. Cotton.

“Help us, gentlemen, help us!” cried the Mayor “The princess has promised that the person who is able to stop the rain from falling may have her hand in marriage.

“Well, Count Scarecrow,” said Mr. Cotton, “Let’s go and try.”

So the townspeople took them to the weeping Princess. When the Princess saw Mr. Cotton she said.

“Oh, what a handsome young man!”

Mr. Cotton was so pleased with this compliment that he jumped up in the air three times and asked excitedly:

“Is it true, princess, that you will marry the person who manages to stop this rain?”

“It is,” she answered.

“And if I were to do so?”

“I would keep my promise” she said.

“And I’d become king” asked the tailor.

“You would.”

“So, I will stop the rain,” said Mr. Cotton confidently.

He winked at the Scarecrow and they went on their way, as the whole of the town looked at them with hope, waiting to see them perform a miracle.

“How we’re going to do this?” asked Mr. Cotton as they walked together, huddled under an umbrella. They thought and thought – for three days they thought and still it carried on raining. Suddenly, Mr. Cotton slapped himself on the forehead and exclaimed:

“You know where this rain is coming from, don’t you?”

“Where?”

“From the sky!”

“That I know without you telling me.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Cotton “But why is it falling only onto the town and nowhere else?”

“Because everywhere else - it’s sunny”

“Oh silly Count!” said Mr. Cotton “Tell, me how long has this rain been falling for?

“Since the king died.”

“You see! The point is that the king was so great and powerful, that when he died he left a hole in the sky. And from this hole, rain began to fall and it’ll continue to fall unless someone sews it up.”

The Scarecrow looked at his friend.

“I’ve never met such a clever tailor,” he said in awe.

So, Mr. Cotton told the townspeople to bring all the ladders in the whole of the town and tie them all together and hold them into the sky. Then, he took his hundred needles and the thousand kilometres of thread and climbed the ladder, while the Scarecrow unraveled the thread. From high up, Mr. Cotton saw that there was indeed an enormous hole in the sky, right above the town and that the rain was leaking through it. So he got to work straight away and he worked non-stop for two days. Even when he fingers went numb he carried on working until he had sewn up the hole. Then he ironed out the sky and wearily, he made his way down the ladder.

Miraculously, he found that the weather in the town was beautiful. The Scarecrow was over the moon as were all the townspeople. The Princess wiped her tears and threw herself around the tailor’s neck, planting a kiss on his cheek. Mr. Cotton had never been so happy.

The Mayor brought out a glorious crown and gold scepter and handed it to the young tailor.

“Long live, King Cotton,” shouted all the people “Let him marry the Princess and may they live happily ever after!

And so it happened. The cheery tailor King ruled long and happily and there was never any rain in his kingdom. As for his friend, the Scarecrow, he crowned him the Great Guardian of the Kingdom so he could frighten off any crows from the tailors royal head…