Hello and welcome to Super Great Kids Stories.
Wise tales from storytellers around the world which will make you laugh and sometimes cry.
Recommended for ages 5 to 105.
I'm Kim and I love stories.
Today we have a fairy tale called Ashpet, which is a Cinderella-style story from the beautiful Appalachian Mountains in North America.
It's told by Emily Hannah Graysbrook.
Hello, super great kids, and how are you?
I hope you've had a good week and a happy Hanukkah, if that's one of your family celebrations.
One thing that's put a wag in my tail this week is that i've been going to lots of christmas concerts.
I love christmas music.
It's all rather magical and it makes me think of stars angels, sleigh rides and sparkly snow.
There's a lovely piece of music called troika by a russian composer called prokofiev.
It sounds just like a sleigh riding through the snow.
Ask your grown-ups if you can have a listen And imagine yourself wrapped up in furs, being pulled along on a sleigh by jingling horses.
Another of my reasons to be cheerful is that I got to meet some more of you at our Midwinter Magic online show last weekend, where Jason Buck did a terrifyingly realistic impression of some greedy trolls and guest storyteller Sheila Arnold entertained us with a Christmas prayer rabbit story.
So...
Here's some hellos to story fans who I met there.
Hello to Finley, who is eight, from Rutland in England.
And to Athena and Henry from Kildare in Ireland.
Alex and Lena from Pittsburgh in the US.
And Andy in Australia, Valentin in Chile and Cherise and Leaf and Sive, who were all beautifully dressed in matching Christmas jumpers.
And thanks to all of you who came.
I was very happy to meet you and see your beautiful drawings.
The story this week is Ashpet, a Cinderella-style story from the Appalachian Mountains which stretches all the way from Newfoundland in Canada down to Alabama in the US.
The story is brilliantly told by Emily Hannah Graysbrook, who runs a storytelling podcast called Dragonfly Tales.
Emily told us the two silly witches and Mama Draga.
And she sings like an angel.
So we're in for a treat.
Now, just before we hear Emily telling Ashpet, I wonder if you can think of your favourite Christmas story and why you like it while we have a quick word with the grown-ups.
Here's one of my favourites to get you started.
A white bear for the king.
Ready?
Off you go.
Hello!
Did you know?
The Super Great Kids Stories book is available in bookshops and online around the world.
Our stories are designed to inspire families to leave their screens, learn about the world together and be entertained and awed.
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It's beautifully illustrated by artists from across the globe.
The characters you'll meet include a Nancy eating hot pepper soup, Baba Yaga, the bony Russian witch, Molly and the leprechaun and, of course, the ghost of the bloody finger.
Our book will make a memorable Christmas or birthday gift for you to read and enjoy as a family.
Available worldwide, online and in bookshops.
Go to our website, supergreatkidstories.com for details.
Snip, snap, snout.
Our super great book is out.
Hello, super great kids.
I'm back.
Which Christmas stories did you think of?
Here are some of my favourites.
A White Bear for the King because it's set in snowy Norway and Chris Bostock is very good at mimicking an elf.
I also like the boy and the snow wolf because I love wolves and it reminds me of an exciting trip I made once to snowy Siberia, near the tippy, tippy top of the world.
And I like the Christmas spiders because it's all about little spiders who transform a Christmas tree into something really magical.
And I also like Marusha and Father Frost told by Emily Hennessy, because it's set in deep midwinter and it's got Cinderella flavours in it.
And now it's time to welcome this week's storyteller.
So let's give a very warm welcome to Emily Hannah Graysbrook from Dragonfly Tales.
Are you sitting comfortably?
Am I sitting comfortably?
Then let the story come pouring out.
Once upon a time, way up in the Appalachian Mountains there was a mean old woman who had two daughters.
Pretty on the outside but ugly on the inside.
They kept a hired girl as a servant, an orphan.
And they treated this poor girl so mean and cruel.
She did all the hard jobs cooking and cleaning, fetching water chopping, wood making and mending their clothes.
They kept her dressed in dirty rags and they made her sleep in the fireplace in the dirty ashes that got all over her clothes and in her hair and on her face.
So they called her Ashpet.
They never let Ashpet go anywhere.
You see, they were jealous of how pretty and kind she was, even though her clothes were dirty.
When anyone came round to the house they would grab Ashpet, get the big wooden wash tub, turn it upside down and shove Ashpet underneath it.
Then one of the nasty girls would sit on the wash tub hiding her, smiling sweetly at the visitor.
Well, Once a week the old woman and her horrible daughters would put on their nicest clothes and go to church, and then on to a lovely picnic with everyone afterwards.
And when the day came round, they shouted at Ashpet.
You stupid girl!
Have you washed my dress?
You stupid girl!
Buckle my shoes!
You stupid girl!
Put ribbons in my hair!
Ashpet was so busy running around for the three of them, she forgot to tend to the fire.
And it went out.
They had no matches, no way to light another one.
You stupid girl!
You stupid girl!
You stupid girl!
The old woman was furious.
How are we going to keep warm, cook our food, boil our water without a fire?
You, oldest girl, go on through the mountain pass to the witch woman and borrow us some fire.
The oldest girl stamped her foot and shouted and yelled, I ain't going to the witch woman.
But her mother pushed her out the door off.
The oldest girl went huffing and puffing up the mountain pass and when she reached the witch woman's old log cabin she was too proud to knock on the door.
Witch woman, i come after fire, give me some.
From inside the cabin came a voice.
Come on inside and comb my hair.
Then I might be in the mood to share.
But the girl just hollered back.
I ain't coming in your stinky house or putting my clean, pretty hands on your stinky hair.
Then get on home to your mother dear, for you won't get no fire here.
When the oldest girl arrived home with no fire, the old woman was mad as a wet hen.
You, youngest girl, go on through the mountain pass to the witch woman and borrow us some fire.
The youngest girl also stamped her foot and shouted and yelled, I ain't going to the witch woman.
But her mother pushed her out the door.
Off she went up the mountain pass, swishing and a swashing.
And when she reached the witch woman's old log cabin, she was too haughty to knock on the door.
Hey, witch woman, I want fire.
You better give me some.
Come on inside and comb my hair.
Then I might be in the mood to share.
But the youngest girl hollered back.
No way I'm going inside your dirty old house or putting my pretty clean hands near your dirty old hair.
Then get on home to your mother dear for you won't get no fire here.
When the youngest girl got home without fire, the old woman was angry as a hornet.
Ashpet, go on up the mountain pass to the witch woman and borrow us some fire.
Without a word, Ashpet went up the mountain pass.
Oh, it was lovely to be outside.
The wind in her hair, the sun on her face.
When she reached the witch woman's cabin, she went up to the door and knocked politely.
Good afternoon, ma'am.
My name is Ashpet.
I wish to borrow a coal from your fire.
Please, ma'am.
Come on inside and cold my head.
Then I might be in the mood to shave.
Ashpet pushed the door open and went inside.
The old witch woman was sat by the fire, stroking a fluffy cat.
She smiled at Ashpet. and handed her a little silver comb.
Ashpet combed the old woman's hair gently as she hummed and stroked her cat.
And when the girl had finished, the old woman got up and, with iron tongs, she lifted a burning coal from the fire and put it in a dried toadstool cap as hard as wood and handed it to Ashpet.
There you are, child.
You going to the church meeting, Ashpet?
I hear there's a picnic after.
Nice place to meet some nice folk.
Oh, my, no.
They never let me go anywhere.
Besides, I got to wash the dishes and scour the pots.
Won't be finished till the picnic's over anyhow.
You want to go, child?
Why, yes, I'd like that.
Be in a nice place and meet some nice folk.
Well, I might just come pay you a visit.
Ashpet ran back home.
She built up the fire, boiled hot water in a kettle, made food for the picnic, helped the old woman and her horrible daughters get all nicely fixed up and then off they went to church and the picnic without a word of thanks to Ashpet.
She sat down by the fire exhausted, and then was just about to get back up again and start washing all the dishes when she heard Good afternoon Ashpet.
No, no, child, you sit back down there.
The old witch woman came into the house and she carried a little basket.
She put the basket down, rolled up her sleeves, took the kettle from the fire and went into the kitchen.
The old woman looked at the pile of dirty dishes, cups and forks.
My, my, my.
Then she poured the hot water into the big washing bowl and knocked three times on the kitchen table.
Are you ready?
One, two, three.
All dirty dishes stay off the shelf.
Get in this water and shake yourself.
Wash, dish, wash.
Ashpet could not believe her eyes.
The plates, the cups, bowls, knives and forks and spoons, they all sprang to life.
They ran over and got in a line.
Then they each jumped in the hot water, shook themselves about and hopped out sparkling clean, one after the other.
Then they hopped back onto the shelves clean and dry.
Then the old woman opened the back door.
Pots and skillets, handles and spout.
Down to the crick and scowl yourselves out.
Scrub, pots, scrub.
Ashpet gasped in wonder as the big greasy cooking pots and dirty skillets bounced onto the floor, rolled out of the door, down the hill and into the bubbling creek.
Then they rolled around in the creek where the sand and small pebbles scrubbed them until they sparkled clean as clean.
Then up the hill, they rolled through the door and settled back in their cupboards, where they belonged.
It all happened so quickly that when the house was finally quiet, Ashpet burst out laughing.
I can't believe it.
Oh, believe it, girl.
Now, how about you?
Ain't it time to meet nice folk in a nice place?
Ashpet lowered her eyes to her filthy clothes and dirty feet.
But how?
How?
I look awful.
The old witch woman took out her silver comb.
Sit down, child.
Let me comb your hair.
Close your eyes and imagine the dress and slippers you would wear.
The witch woman hummed as she combed Ashpet's hair.
And Ashpet shut her eyes tight.
In her mind she imagined a pretty red dress with a bow at the waist and a lacy collar, and some soft and dainty red slippers to match.
When the humming stopped she opened her eyes and there, spread out on a chair, was the red dress and slippers.
They are beautiful!
Ashpet took off her raggedy clothes, washed her face, hands and feet and put on the red dress and dainty slippers.
They fitted perfectly.
Now, said the old woman, you go on to church and then to the picnic.
Meet some nice folks and have a good time.
Don't worry about them nasty three.
They won't recognize you like this.
But...
You must get back before them.
Hide your dress and slippers and put on your old ashy clothes again, you hear?
Oh, and here's something for the picnic.
She gave Ashpet the little basket.
Ashpet thanked her again and again and promised to be back before the nasty three returned.
Then, with her heart as light as a bird, she skipped to the church house and walked in the door.
Everybody saw her, but nobody knew who she was.
She smiled politely and shook hands with the folks.
And when the church meeting was over, everyone headed to the green fields for the picnic.
Ashpet sat down next to the old local doctor, his wife and their son, a fine looking young man.
Pleased to meet you, miss, said the doctor's son.
Ashpet opened the basket and inside were the most delicious little cakes.
She shared them around and there was laughing and chatting in that nice place with nice folks.
The doctor's son was nice too, kind and funny.
They talked about birds and cakes and trees and fishing.
She liked the same things he liked.
Ashpat was having such a lovely time walking and talking with the doctor's son well into the evening that she almost didn't notice the old woman and her two awful daughters leaving the picnic.
Oh, she said to the young man.
Oh, I really must be heading home now.
It's getting late.
Nice to meet you.
But please, miss, may I escort you to your home?
Ashpat didn't know what to do.
He was being so nice.
But the old woman and her daughters had started off down the road home.
Then she had an idea.
Well, maybe.
Oh, look over there.
Is that a night owl?
When he turned his head, she kicked off one of her red slippers and it landed in a bush.
Oh my, I seem to have lost a slipper back at the church house.
"'Well, I'll get it for you, miss,' he told her.
"'You wait here now.'
The young man raced back to find the slipper and Ashpet ran and ran and ran as fast as she could.
She avoided the road and ran through the fields, reaching the house first.
Ashpet took off her red dress and the one slipper, hid them carefully at the back of a cupboard.
Then she put on her ashy clothes and was sweeping the floor when the nasty three came in.
Ashpet, we're thirsty.
Bring us cold drinks.
I want a hot drink.
Add hot drinks now, you hear?
Well, the young man searched and searched for the slipper.
When he finally found it in the bush, the mysterious lovely girl was gone and he didn't know what in the world to do.
He'd never met anyone as kind or as pretty, and he liked the same things she liked.
The next week he asked everyone at church if they knew her and he showed everyone the slipper.
But no one knew to whom it belonged and none of the young ladies could fit into it.
So he took the little red slipper, got on his horse and went all over the mountains looking for the one it would fit.
And after about a month of searching far and wide and still not one girl could fit the slipper, he ended up coming back home.
And he passed by the house of the old woman and her horrid daughters.
I wonder.
And when they saw the handsome doctor's son riding up on his horse, they grabbed Ashpet and shoved her under the washtub.
The doctor's son came in and politely said Ma'am ladies, I'm looking for the person who fits this here, slipper.
The one it fits is the one I shall ask to be my bride.
Now, the old woman liked the idea of having a rich doctor's son marry one of her girls, and the girls also liked the idea of being married to this fine young man.
The two girls started squabbling over the slipper and snatching it off each other.
I'm the oldest, so I should try it first.
Your feet are too big anyways.
Let me try.
No, give it to me.
The old woman was mad as a wet hen and angry as a hornet.
Quiet!
Oldest girl, you try first.
The oldest daughter took the little slipper and stuck her tongue out at her sister.
It was very little, she thought.
It's never going to fit.
Be right back.
And she ran out behind the house.
She pulled and she pushed and she squeezed and she squashed.
But her foot was far too long for the dainty slipper.
So she came back inside.
Mama, it don't fit.
Hush now.
You had your turn.
Youngest girl, make it fit.
And she glared at the youngest daughter.
Yes, ma'am.
The youngest daughter snatched the slipper from her weeping sister, sat down on the floor and tried to pull the slipper onto her foot.
She pushed and she pulled.
She squashed and squished.
Her mother joined in trying to get the slipper to fit.
Hold still, you stupid girl.
I don't care if it hurts.
But the girl's foot was far too wide for the dainty slipper.
Mama, it don't fit me neither.
By this time, the doctor's son was very, very relieved that the slipper didn't fit these two awful girls.
He took it back and was just about to leave when...
The two awful sisters ran over to the upturned washtub and they sat on it.
There ain't nothing here.
That's right.
Nothing to see here.
I guess you best be on your way now, sir.
But the young man strode over to the washtub.
Would you mind standing up?
Meek as kittens, the sisters stood up and moved away as the doctor's son lifted the washtub up.
And there...
Cowering beneath was Ashpet.
What are you doing under there, miss?
They always put me under here.
Come on out now.
Oh, no, sir.
I'm too dirty.
Well, will you try this slipper on, please?
So Ashpet timidly stuck out her foot and he put the slipper on it.
It fitted perfectly.
And you know what happens next.
But I'll tell you anyway.
Ashpet rode off with the doctor's son, leaving those three nasty women crying and moaning with all the chores that they would have to do now for themselves.
Ashpet went to live in a nice place with nice folk.
But she visited the witch woman every week. to sit by her fire and comb her hair.
The witch woman suggested Ashpet should choose a new name.
I don't know what it was.
I wonder what name she chose for herself.
I do know she married the doctor's son and the two of them lived happily ever after.
The End Ah, thanks so much to Emily Hannah Graysbrook for that fairy tale.
I loved the song and I liked the way Emily made Ashpet sound as if she came from the southern part of the US.
Have you ever tried imitating someone else's accent?
It's useful for telling a story if you can do it.
Maybe you could try out a British accent if you're not from here.
If you like that story, there are many more on Emily's podcast, which you can find on dragonflytalesuk.
There are hundreds of different versions of Cinderella around the world, and the fairy godmother is not always a kindly old lady.
In this one from Appalachia, the fairy godmother is a witch woman.
A good witch, obviously.
And in the Indian version, she's a goat.
And in Botswana, she's a purple fish.
And in Russia, she's a tree, which provides Cinderella's dresses.
So, here's my question.
If you were telling a Cinderella-style story from your country, what fairy godmother would you choose?
The slippers are not always glass ones either.
In some versions, they're made of green silk or rose gold or even blue ram's wool.
Maybe you could send us a picture of the fairy godmother you'd have in your version of Cinderella.
Send it to storyowl at supergreatkidsstoriescom or to our Facebook page at facebookcom.
Forward slash supergreatkidsstories and we'll post it for everyone to enjoy.
And now.
It's time to fly around the world with Story Owl to say hello and thank you to all the owlets who've recently joined our storytelling club.
Let's start in Devon, here in the UK.
Ocean has just turned seven and his Lithuanian grandparents subscribe for him.
Hooray!
His favourite stories include The Hairy Toe, Molly and the Skeleton and The Billy Goes Gruff.
And heading west now, across the Atlantic, to the US, let's say hello to Ruth and Renly, who are seven-year-old cousins, born only one day apart.
Ruth lives in Coralville, Iowa, and Renly lives in Galena in Illinois.
They listen with their granny while they're travelling.
And one of their favourite stories is Stick Woman.
And now up to Michigan to greet Owlet Phoenix, who was four earlier this month.
And Phoenix got an Owlet subscription as her birthday gift.
Hello too to Julie, who is six, and 11-year-old Jiraiya.
Their favourite story is Maui and the Giant Fish.
Over to New Jersey next to say hello to James, who's just turned eight.
And Juliana, who will be six next month.
Nana and Papa wish you a happy Christmas and hope you enjoy the wonderful stories.
Oh, that's lovely.
West again.
Now back to Illinois, where Cleo and June, who turned six earlier this month, and Raffy, who is two, live in Chicago.
Their favourites include Bonita, the Tricky Sheep Bring Me a Light and The Ghost of the Bloody Finger, which Raffy has listened to many times.
Staying in Chicago, and hello to Veo, who is seven, Theo is a big fan of all the Anansi stories.
Me too, Theo.
Now to Asheville in Carolina to greet Julian, who is seven, who also likes the Anansi stories, especially Anansi and Tigerfat.
And his favourite storyteller is Toop.
James has a very newly arrived baby sister called Elida.
Perhaps you can practice your storytelling on your new baby sister James.
And on now to Shepherdstown in West Virginia where seven-year-old Evelyn Rue lives.
She recently returned home from a long trip during which she listened to stories for no less than five hours.
Wow!
Just think how many new words you're learning with all of that listening.
More welcomes to Owlets next week, and thanks to everyone who's hopped into our nest and is supporting us on Apple or on Patreon.
We depend on your generosity and support to keep making this podcast.
It helps us to pay our storytellers and it gives you access to lots of extras, like all the super great scary stories.
And, depending on your level of subscription, to loads of bonus stories and to 150 stories in our new archive.
Plus, you'll get access to our Super Great Kids Stories Express, which cuts straight to the story.
Great for listening back to back.
Visit our website for more details at supergreatkidsstories.com.
And our Pick of the Week picture comes from eight-year-old Colette, who lives in Fallbrook in California.
Colette has sent us her beautiful illustration of the story The Tramp and the Boots.
I love the way you've drawn that tramp sitting on a mossy bank underneath the oak tree resting his very sore feet.
And you've included the little fairy man carrying a new pair of buttercup yellow boots for the tramp.
Just lovely.
Thanks for sharing it, colette.
You can see that picture on our facebook page, facebookcom forward slash super great kids stories or on our new picture gallery on our website, supergreatkidsstoriescom.
And if grown-ups are looking for present inspiration, that story is in our super great book and it's beautifully illustrated by sally agar.
We also have T-shirts of Baba Yaga and the Ghost of the Bloody Finger and Story Owl, all available on our website through Shopify.
And of course, there's also our super great kids stories colouring books.
That's it for now.
Keep telling those stories and singing your songs.
Have a happy week.
This podcast was produced by Kim Normanton and David Smith at Wardour Studios in festive Fitzrovia in London.
.
Thank you.
