Peter and the Little People

By David J. O'Brien

You've heard stories about Little People: leprechauns and their like. Ireland is full of people who've had strange experiences out in the fields in the early morning. All just tall tales and myths, of course.

At least, we assume so...

But Peter knows better.

A boy with a love of wildlife and talent for spotting animals, Peter often sees what he calls elves in the fields as he travels Ireland with his dad. Sometimes it's just a flash as they drive by, but he catches sight of something too swift for most people to keep their eye on. And Peter is young enough to trust his own eyes more than the adults who tell him these creatures are not real.

When his family go to spend the summer with his granny on her farm, Gemma from the farm next door offers to show him the badger sett under an old Ring Fort. Peter accepts gladly. To his surprise and delight he finally gets a chance to do more than catch a glimpse of the Little People. Will the Little People be just as happy? Perhaps, when Peter learns about some plans for the farm, they might be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David J. O'Brien
• Release date: Aug 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9798223518839

David J. O'Brien

David J O’Brien is an Irish ecologist, poet, fiction writer and teacher. He was born in Dublin, studied environmental biology and zoology at University College Dublin. He taught English in Madrid for four years, biology in Boston for seven years and now teaches English and science in Pamplona, Spain, where he lives with his wife, daughter, and son. He is still involved in deer biology and management, and has written about deer watching for Ireland’s Wildlife and deer management for the Irish Wildlife Trust. His non-academic writing is often influenced by science and the natural world—sometimes seeking to describe the science behind the supernatural. His poems have been published in several anthologies and journals, such as Albatross, Houseboat, and Misty Mountain Review. His paranormal horror trilogy, Silver Nights: Leaving the Pack, Leading the Pack and Unleashing the Pack, contemporary adult fiction novels Five Days on Ballyboy Beach, and The Ecology of Lonesomeness, have been published by Tirgearr Publishing. His young readers fairy tale novel Peter and the Little People and paranormal YA The Soul of Adam Short were published by MuseItUp Publishing and are now self-published, as is his dystopian novella The Logical Solution and short story collection, Last Light on the Sage Flats. More of his writing, including poems and blogs about nature, rewilding and wildlife management, can be found at http://davidjmobrien.wordpress.com/

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Acknowledgements

THANKS TO PAUL AND Fiona for testing the first draft out on Nicole back in the day, and thanks to Kate for liking it and giving good advice.

Chapter One: Away with the Fairies

Peter had always seen the Little People. Not always, of course. That would’ve been strange. Just sometimes, like he sometimes saw rabbits and squirrels. He just never told anyone.

From the backseat of his dad’s car, on the way to the beach, for example, he might spy one, leaning against the trunk of a hawthorn tree, or sitting on an old stump.

Spotting creatures from the car window was Peter’s favourite thing to do when he and his family were driving anywhere. It was much better than singing songs—especially Ten Green Bottles—or playing I Spy, or trying to see more red cars than his younger brother Andrew. He was now an expert. Even with the car going extremely fast, Peter could spot so many animals that he didn’t even bother to keep count anymore. Already he’d seen almost every type of furry animal in Ireland, as well as quite a number of the birds: and not just the ones you can see in your back garden.

Peter wasn’t able to spot animals any better than anyone else, really. He had no amazing, unique gift. He simply looked more. It was all the practice that made it easy, like practicing riding a bike made it easy. He only saw animals that anyone else could spot if they, too, practiced a lot.

Most people, however, don’t look for animals. When they travel in cars, adults look at the road; to make sure that whoever is driving is doing it as well as they would if they sat at the steering wheel. Or else they watch for the signposts that tell you how far you are from the next town, or where to turn off for Tullamore or Termonfeckin. Most children only look at the other cars—to see if they can spot a red one, or count how many white cars there are. Everyone looks at the houses and people by the roadside, but few look at the trees and fields, and hardly any look for animals.

Peter was an observant passenger, though. For this reason, he was more likely than most children to see the Little People. To Peter, seeing the Little People became very much like spotting a stoat or red squirrel. You had to be watching hard, to know what you were looking for, and to be able to pick it out from the leaves and twigs and grass around it. And you have to be satisfied with just a very quick glimpse.

And, you can’t tell anyone that you’ve seen one.

Peter never bothered to tell anyone about any creature he saw. Not any more. The rest of the family were useless – away with the Fairies, as his daddy said.

He’d tried, several times, when he was younger.

Look! Rabbits, he’d shout, when they passed a field full of rabbits.

Where? his daddy and mammy, and Andrew, when he learned to talk, would ask.

There!

But by the time his mammy turned to look, it was always too late – even if Andrew could see anything much except the sky. So Peter finally decided there was no use trying. He kept his observations to himself, content with the fact that he knew they were there.

Today Peter and his daddy were going to Peter’s granny’s farm. This was one of those places that to get to you needed to drive down smaller and smaller roads. From the motorway, you changed to a dual carriageway, then a main road. Next, you drove along a road with dashed white lines but with no room for two cars, and after, a road with room for only one car. Finally, there was a long bumping ride down a long lane that instead of tarmac had small stones with grass growing in the centre. That made it perfect for spotting animals – and not just the ones you’re likely to come across on a farm like sheep, goats, cattle, chickens, and horses. These were too easy for Peter now.

Other animals were much more difficult to spot - even big ones, like deer. Unless you were in the Phoenix Park, of course. Red stags, and smaller, spotted fallow does weren’t like cows or sheep—black and white and easy to see from far away. They blended in with the trees around them.

Can we stay the night at Granny’s? Peter asked his daddy as they drove, and he watched for rabbits and hares dancing and boxing one another around the short grass of the meadows.

No, Peter. We’re just popping in for a minute to collect a letter. Two minutes is all it’ll take. So don’t go wandering off. As far as the duck pond will do you.

Okay, he said, disappointed. Peter’s granny’s farm was his favourite place. He’d been hoping to explore, and add some more creatures to his list of wildlife he’d spotted. Smaller animals were a big challenge, but Peter was quite good at this, too. He’d got a glimpse of a stoat standing upon an old stonewall. He’d once seen a pine marten entwined in the twigs of a witch-hazel, and watched a mink slinking between ditches in a swampy bog. Even in the dark, he’d often caught sight of rats and mice streaking across the road in front of the car.

The farm was near the sea, and had lots of very high dunes that he and Andrew loved to jump from and roll down the hot sand. The dunes were filled with rabbits and crickets and wonderfully-coloured butterflies. There he’d seen field mice making nests in the tall hay, nests of birds: robins, wrens, and blackbirds. He’d also discovered the trails and sleeping hollows of shrews and voles and caught lizards and frogs.

Peter brightened up as they reached the narrow farm lane and he spotted a fox sneaking along a hedgerow. When his daddy slowed down to park the car he smiled widely to see his granny, standing at the garden gate.

His granny was very old. Peter didn’t know how old. But she didn’t go for the long walks she used to when he was Andrew’s age. Now she only walked to the duck pond. Mostly, she sat in her armchair in the kitchen, or, when it was sunny, on the bench in the little garden surrounded by fuchsias and hydrangeas, primroses and pansies, daffodils and tulips, snowdrops and crocuses, and lots of other flowers Peter didn't know the names of.

Peter ran up to her now and hugged her tightly. She kissed his head and asked him if we wanted to see the ducks and geese.

Yes, please, he answered, and took her hand as they walked to the pond behind the house.

The letter’s on the counter, son, she said to Peter’s daddy after he kissed her on the cheek.

Is there any tadpoles in the pond? Peter asked, at the same time wondering why a letter for his daddy had arrived here. Perhaps it was from someone he knew when he was a boy and lived here.

I’ve no idea, Peter, she replied. I need someone with good eyes like you to spot them for me.

There weren’t but there were dragonflies and a few new ducklings. His granny said the goslings would be along in a few days, and he’d see them when they came back for his summer holidays, which was soon enough.

Peter was about to ask if he could feed the chickens, since it was taking his daddy a long time to find the letter, when the back door opened.

I can’t see this letter anywhere, Ma, his daddy called.

Well, I didn’t move it, she replied.

The elves took it, then, did they?

Peter frowned when he heard that word. His granny chuckled and shook her head, however. Elves would be useful around here with me being on my own. The fairies, on the other hand, are divils for hiding things, just to be annoying you.

There’s no such thing as fairies, Ma.

Then who took my ring on me?

It’s away with the fairies you are, Ma, came the reply.

Peter frowned deeper. Away with the fairies?

Peter knew what a fairy was. They were little and had wings, like the character in Peter Pan. But his dad meant that his granny’s mind was going, that her brain wasn’t working all right.

Is that true, granny?

Yes it’s true, Peter. My engagement ring disappeared before your father was born, and I never found it.

"No, I mean, are you getting away with the fairies? Is your brain not working properly anymore?’

She turned to Peter and chuckled again. Not at all, lad. The body’s a bit slow, but the mind is fine. It’s your father’s eyes that are not working properly: too much television as a child. Always watching it, he was: had to be hooshed out the door to help his father on the farm. I hope you don’t stand in front of the goggle box like he did.

Peter shrugged. He didn’t watch very much telly. Mostly only the wildlife programs that showed animals on the African savannah. His mammy did tell him to sit on the couch, though, rather than sit on the floor like Andrew liked to. He’d heard the story of how his daddy had to get glasses when he was only eight, and that Granny blamed the fact he stood very close to the telly. I prefer to be outside, he replied.

Good for you, chicken, his granny replied. You’d have made a grand farmer, so you would.

I wish we lived here, and daddy was a farmer.

It’s not much of a farm, love, anymore.

That wasn’t true, at least in Peter’s opinion. All around the farmhouse were lots of little hills: drumlins, his teacher had called them in geography lessons. These had stopped Peter's grandfather and other farmers from bothering to remove the hedgerows, leaving the landscape a bumpy patchwork of small fields. The farmer next door, Mr Murphy, did all the work for his granny, except feeding the fowl and collecting the eggs. Mainly this was taking sheep from field to field every few days, in a constant circling of the farm.

Perhaps your dad needs your help looking for the letter, his granny suggested.

Found it! his daddy called just then, and came out, a white envelope in one hand. "Are you right, Peter? Let’s get going so we’re home for bedtime. School in the morning.

I’ll ring you later, Ma. He kissed Peter’s granny on the cheek, and Peter did likewise before they got back in the car.

Did you see the ducklings? his dad asked