Competition winners… The Flying Pig
Congrats to Tommy Mc Cormick (senior) and Chloe Kavanagh (junior) as teh winners in te Flying Pig on the N2 story.
Herewith today is Tommy’s story. Will be post Chloe’s tomorrow.
The Flying Pig By Tommy Mc Cormick
“Ay! And pigs might fly!” Tom Murphy laughed as he clasped the tiny green clad Leprechaun by the throat. “Do you think for one minute that I am going to let you go now that I have you in my grip? Think again my friend. Three wishes is what I’m told you must grant me since I am the one who has caught you”. The little leprechaun stared at Murphy and realised that he was in grave danger from this slightly manic Castleblayney farmer. Already Murphy had crossed the line between the world of mortals and the world of the little people by cutting down the fairy tree that had stood on the Murphy family farm for more than two centuries. The stories of the dangers of meddling with the world of the little folk had been passed down through the Murphy lineage and while no one knew for sure if this single tree had magical properties or not, it had stood in the middle of the lower meadow, untouched for, well as long as anyone living could remember.
But in the world of Tom Murphy, superstition should not have precedence over progress and as he sought to modernise his farm, he cared little for the feelings of his neighbours, nor was he going to be shackled by the ‘nonsense’ of folklore. In truth, he was a greedy selfish individual who had trod on the toes of so many to purchase the neighbouring farms that had come up for sale in and around his own property. He had no immediate family and the thoughts of taking a bride never entered his selfish little mind as he knew that he would no longer be the sole owner of the farm.
On the day he had commenced his farm modernisation, he began to remove hedges and shoughs right around his ever-expanding acreage. Everything was moving along splendidly well and as the vista across his farm took on a new appearance, Tom inwardly smiled at the speed of the transformation of his farm. Indeed, several times he silently praised the wonders of modern machinery to deal with even the toughest obstacles.
However, as his digger moved closer to the fairy tree, it inexplicably began to shudder and vibrate and then the whine of the engine died. Tom dismounted from the now useless mechanical beast, his temper was uncontrollable and after landing several kicks onto the tyres of the digger, as if this could in some way be punishment for the offending machine, he vowed to finish the work and since the lone tree was all that remained to be removed, he hurried towards the farm’s tool shed and returned equipped with the long handled axe that had in the past removed more sizeable trees than this little weakling.
Removing his waistcoat, Tom drew back the axe, but just before he could land the fatal blow to the tree, a small gentleman, dressed all in green appeared from behind the tree. Tom stood flabbergasted with the axe in suspended animation. “Please! Please don’t strike my home”, a shrill little voice cried, but before he could utter another sound, Tom had suddenly dropped his axe and had gripped the small man by the throat.
A look of sheer bewilderment spread across Tom’s face as he stared into the eyes of this tiny little man. Someone was trying to halt Tom’s plans for his farm, and he felt that this was just the latest attempt by his neighbours. The furthest thing from his mind at this time, was the legend of the lone tree. Quickly, pulling some baler twine from his pocket, Tom tied the little man to the front of the digger and began to question his motives for this intrusion. The little man reiterated that the tree was his home and that something bad would befall anyone who cut it down. Tom laughed and grabbing his axe, he struck the tree one mighty blow and it collapsed to the ground. A piercing shriek filled the air, the exact location of its source completely unknown to Tom. As he turned around to face the little man who was crying uncontrollably, Tom seized him by the throat and laughed into his face.
“Now my friend! If you are who you say you are, then I have three wishes waiting for me.” Tom laughed heartily and in a mocking tone roared out: “My three wishes are: firstly, I want to be always able to watch over my neighbours to see what they are up to. My second wish is for wealth. I want to have as much silver as I’ll ever need. My third wish is the power of flight. I want to be able to fly.” So outrageous did his requests seem, and so full of disbelief that they might ever be granted that Tom burst into uncontrollable laughter for nearly ten minutes. Turning to the little man, he released him and told him to be on his way home to whichever neighbouring farm he had come from and to tell his family that his progress on the farm would continue. The little man shook himself and smiled. As he made his way towards the gap in the field, he turned to Tom and said: “By nightfall, your wishes will be granted” and doffing his hat to Tom, the little man sipped through the gap and seemed to melt into thin air, right before Tom’s eyes.
The next morning, a strange topic of conversation was on everyone’s lips around Castleblayney. A silver, flying pig was discovered along the new motorway watching over all the neighbouring fields and while no one ever heard or saw Tom Murphy again, we know that his wishes had been granted.
And that my friends is how the flying pig is where it is along the N2. If what I write is not the truth, then it was lies that I was told.