This is a much longer post than usual because I have written you a story to read. Just warning you about it, in case you don't like long posts, or stories..... oh and it has a little (optional) contest at the end.
I wrote the story because an email popped into my mailbox the other day, suggesting I entered the Walker Books and Mumsnet children's story writing contest. Walker is a major children's book publisher and Mumsnet is the UK's largest website for parents. They wanted stories for an anthology about animals, with a length of up to 1500 words. Ten winners would get £500 each.
Sounded good, and I happened to have a story that exactly fitted the bill. So I dug it out, polished it up, filled in the form, attached the file and was JUST about to press "submit" when I suddenly realised I hadn't read the contest terms and conditions. Oops!
So I clicked, and read the terms and conditions (here) And then, instead of sending in my entry to Mumsnet and Walker Books, I made up another story instead. It's the tale of Poor Little Red Shoes, a lacemaker who lived long ago in the magical Land of Faraway. As with all fairytales, her story might have a modern resonance too.
So here it is, the story of ...
POOR LITTLE RED SHOES.
Once upon a time, there was a young girl called Poor Little Red Shoes who was all alone in the world. Her dear mother and father had died and left her with a ramshackle old cottage to live in,
a few hens to keep her company and a patch of land on which to grow her food. She lived quietly and was quite content, for she spent her time making lace. And what lace it was! For Little Red Shoes had a wonderful talent, and could make the most beautiful lace that had ever been seen.
Not only were her fingers nimble and sure, but her mind was full of marvellous images of animals, birds, fairies, flowers and more. She created designs of astonishing beauty; so beautiful, indeed, that they seemed almost to be created by Nature itself.
But in the humble village where Poor Little Red Shoes lived, nobody could afford to buy her lace, and the villagers' rough, homespun clothes were not the kind of garments to trim with lace anyhow. And Little Red Shoes was so poor that she could not buy the golden and silver threads that her marvellous designs really deserved.
So one day she decided to go and seek her fortune.
"I'll go to the capital city, to the Royal Palace, and show the Queen my work," she said to herself. "Although my work is not created from gold and silver, surely the Queen will want designs like mine to adorn her ball gowns? My satyrs and nymphs will beguile her, my garlands of stars will enchant her. And if only she will buy my lace and give me work, I will be happy for the rest of my life!"
So she packed a fragment of bread and cheese to sustain her on her journey, and carefully wrapped up her very finest piece of work - a lace shawl made only of plain white thread, but seeming almost magically to shimmer with rainbow colours. It was as light as a bird's wing, and when she unfolded it, its silky folds whispered like the winds.
The city was far away, and she walked for several hours, finally arriving in mid-afternoon. She wandered about the streets, hungry and tired, and everything seemed strange, loud and unfamiliar. She was glad when she finally found the Palace, tall and imposing at the top of a flight of stone steps.
She crept up the steps to the dark, towering entrance, and peeped inside. To her amazement, she saw a magnificent room, bright with the light of many lamps....
but before she could look at it all, a young soldier in a red coat stepped in her way, a golden sword in his hand.
"Halt! Go no further!" he ordered.
"I mean no harm," said Poor Little Red Shoes, timidly. "But I was wondering if the Queen might like to look at my lace?" And she took out her beautiful lace shawl, which glimmered and twinkled in the lamps of the hallway so magnificently that even the soldier had to look twice to assure himself that it was not covered in pearls.
The soldier had always been a kind, helpful young man, the joy of his mother's heart,
and he felt sorry for Poor Little Red Shoes. He thought her work was wonderful, but he had to tell the truth. So he shook his head sadly. "No unsolicited submissions are allowed here," he said. "Take your lace away. Perhaps some seamstress will employ you to make clothes for middle class people instead. Someone as poor as you would never even be allowed to meet the Queen, let alone show her any of your work!"
Little Red Shoes could not believe this was true. "Is there no way the Queen would agree to consider my work?" she asked, pitifully.
"I'm sorry - but no," said the soldier. And then, to his dismay (and her own dismay, too) Poor Little Red Shoes burst into tears.
The kind hearted soldier shuffled around in his big boots, wondering whether to tell her what was in his mind., for her tears were upsetting him. Finally, reluctantly, he said, "All right, listen to me. There is one chance to get your work before the Queen. You could have a word with one of Her Majesty's Lace Agents. These are very clever people who roam the country looking for the finest lace and fabrics, and stuff like that."
"And they could show my lace to Her Majesty?" asked Little Red Shoes, her face lighting up through her tears.
"I suppose so. The trouble is - " said the soldier, "They're not - " he coughed. "They're not, er, always the nicest. But if you take care to choose a kind looking one, you might strike it lucky. In fact, there is a stall in the market place where all the hopefuls go - though it's not always open. So now you had better leave. I shouldn't actually talking to you," he added, uneasily, for he was now regretting having mentioned anything at all.
"Oh, thank you!" cried Little Red Shoes. She packed her wonderful shawl back into her little bag, and skipped off down the road towards the main square with the soldier looking anxiously after her.
As she entered the square, her spirits lifted. This was the finest market she'd ever seen. Huge, grand stalls sold all kinds of things. There were exquisite fabrics, golden baubles and gilded ornaments
fascinating little novelties like a clock containing a cuckoo that popped out to twitter the hours, and puppets that danced and twirled, and rainbow bubbles which could be blown through a loop of wire into the air.
And, at the far end of the market, she could see a stall that was even larger and grander than all the rest. She hurried across to it and found that it was spread over with the most beautiful fabrics, all covered in jewels and embroidery and lace of the finest quality! The satin, with a sheen like sunrise....
And oh, that lace! Bales and bundles of exquisite gros point, cutwork, bobbin lace, knotted lace, crocheted lace, made from the finest threads in pink and taupe and mauve and eau-de-nil, glittery silver and pure gold.
Proudly displayed at the top of the stall was a carved and gilded Royal Coat of Arms, and in elegant letters beneath was written MRS APPLECHEEK. HER MAJESTY'S LACE AGENT. ORIGINAL DESIGNS URGENTLY REQUIRED FOR THE BALL GOWNS OF HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN. TOP PRICES PAID!
Behind the counter of the stall stood a dignified old lady. Though she was very old indeed, she was elegant and well dressed, she had blue eyes, and lovely red cheeks, and a clever smile.
"When I am old, I hope I look like that," thought Little Red Shoes. "She must be one of the lace agents the soldier told me about. She is smiling so nicely. How glad I am I have met one of the nice lace agents, and not a nasty one! Oh, I do so hope she will like my work."
She felt so nervous that her knees were quite trembling, and in fact she hardly dared approach the woman. So she lingered for a while under a tree, trying to gather her courage together. Before she had quite managed to do so, the old lady (whose eyes were going everywhere) looked directly at her, smiled more widely, and beckoned to her in a friendly way. "Don't be afraid, my dear!" she said. "You have the air of a clever craftswoman who has something to show kind Mrs. Applecheek!"
"Yes," whispered Poor Little Red Shoes. She crept across to the stall. "Do you think my lace is good enough for you, Mrs. Applecheek?" She opened her package, and took out her piece of lace. The old woman's twinkling eyes sharpened as she saw it. She took out her shiny gold spectacles,
grabbed the lace in her thin, rather claw like ands, and examined it minutely.
Little Red Shoes held her breath.
"Is this all your own work, dear/" asked Mrs. Applecheek
Hesitantly, Litlte Red Shoes nodded. "My mother taught me. She's dead now. But she and my grandmother were wonderful with their hands. If they had not been poor, they could have made lace for the Queen themselves."
"Indeed, they probably could!" beamed Mrs. Applecheek. "Well, I have some good news for you! I think this lace is so extremely good that I will suggest you enter it for a competition that Her Majesty is running at this very moment. She aims to find the best lacemaker in the kingdom! I have been collecting all the entries in, and the contest will be judged this very night by Her Majesty in person at a grand and wonderful gathering of the rich and famous!"
"Oh," cried Little Red Shoes, hardly believing her ears.
"Would you like me to put your lace forward for this competition?" asked Mrs. Applecheek.
Little Red Shoes did not know what to say. She had been so disappointed that the Queen would not consider her - and now, suddenly, it seemed that she would. That took some getting used to.
And also, to be honest, Little Red Shoes was a little nervous at letting Mrs Applecheek actually take her lace away. She did live in the depths of the country, but her mother and grandmother had taught her to have a little care with strangers.
.jpg)
"Hmmm... you seem unsure," said Mrs. Applecheek. She patted Little Red Shoes' arm. "If you prefer not to do it, I will quite understand. But I am afraid that in that case, I will not be able to buy it myself, and you will have to take it away. I am so very sorry, but that is the way it is."
However, Poor Little Red Shoes still hesitated.
"Do you not trust me with it, my dear?" asked Mrs. Applecheek. "Do you not think I am kind?"
"I - I - " stammered Poor Little Red Shoes.
"I have a daughter of my own, a little like you," continued Mrs. Applecheek. "She is grown up now and she has given me a beautiful granddaughter. As it happens, my granddaughter is also very like you." She bent down, so her lips were near Little Red Shoes' ear. "I am a mother and a grandmother, my dear, and so you will understand that I do care! And, for this reason, I am telling you that I think your lace has a good chance of winning the contest tonight. There is a prize of two golden ducats for the winner, and her name will become famous throughout the lace making world!"
She straightened up. "But still, if you're not interested.... "
"I- I - " Of course Poor Little Red Shoes wanted to win the contest. Two golden ducats - imagine how many bobbins and reels of silk that would buy!
.jpg)
Even if I don't get to work for the Queen herself, she thought, I could set up my own stall here in this grand market, where people wear fine clothes and buy fine things! Or maybe this kind motherly lady might let me work on her stall....
So she nodded, took a deep breath, and said, "Yes! Enter my lace for the contest!"
And she handed it over. Then, because she felt like crying, she hurried away without saying another word.
"I'm very hopeful!" called the old lady, after her but Little Red Shoes did not hear.
For the rest of the day, she wandered around in a daze, her feelings a tumult of mingled excitement and fear. She kept imagining the Queen judging the contest. Which lace would she choose?
It grew late. Poor Little Red Shoes had nowhere to sleep and no money, but she crept inside the echoing city church, and stretched out alone in a corner of its cold, marble floor.
She slept fitfully, and dreamed a dream of herself making lace for the Queen.
It was a long night, but eventually, the dawn sunshine crept through the stained glass windows and woke her up. She blinked in the sunshine, and then her heart began to beat fast. She rose and washed in the fountain, but could not afford breakfast. Still it didn't matter, for she felt too anxious to eat.
As the sun rose over the buildings, she hurried to the market, where the first stallholders were just starting to arrive.
She scanned the crowds, and before long, she was relieved to see Mrs. Applecheek coming along, her head high, the plumes on her hat waving in the morning breeze. When she saw Little Red Shoes, her cheeks became even more rosy. "Oh, my goodness! You are up early! Surely you haven't been waiting here all night?"
"No! But I was too anxious to sleep." said Poor Little Red Shoes. "I wanted to know who had won the competition."
Mrs Applecheek stepped up close to her. She took her by both shoulders and looked her in the face. "My dear, I have some good news for you!" she said, with a smile.
"R-really?" Little Red Shoes felt as if she was in a dream. "Oh, I can't believe it! Did I win?" And she thought again of the golden ducats.
"I'm delighted to say that the Queen loved your lace!" said.Mrs. Applecheek. "She thought it was exquisitely made! She was entranced by the design! She will put it on her finest gown."
"So I did win! Oh!" Little Red Shoes thought she would die with happiness. In fact, she was so happy that she began to cry with joy. "I'm so glad. I've worked so hard on it. Do - do you think that she might employ me as a lacemaker at the palace now? I can do lots more beautiful work - !"
"Oh, no my dear, I am afraid you did not win. The Queen's own lacemaker - who is, by pure coincidence, my daughter - won the golden ducats. And I am afraid there are no lacemaker vacancies at the Palace." Mrs. Applecheek's eyes shone like glass marbles.
She put her finger under Little Red Shoes' chin, and lifted it. "Don't look sad. You must feel very honoured that Her Majesty thanks you so much for your interest, and for your kind gift."
There was a sudden silence.
"But - it - it wasn't a gift" stammered Little Red Shoes.
"Really? I'm so surprised you say that," said Mrs. Applecheek, suddenly letting go of her. "Surely you read my Terms and conditions, clearly displayed on the stalll before you handed your lace over?" She waved her hand at a sheet of paper that was pinned to a piece of wood at the side of the stall.
So Poor Little Red Shoes looked at the terms and conditions, and read :
.jpg)
"By submitting your lace design for consideration by the Palace you hereby (a) unconditionally and irrevocably grant and assign to Mrs. Applecheek throughout the world all right and rights in the nature of usage and all other rights in your submission, together with full title guarantee and all rights of action to the same belonging or accrued and shall hold the same to Mrs. Applecheek for the full period of ownership and all extensions and renewals thereof and thereafter; (b) waive all moral rights as defined by sections 77-83 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1288 or any similar laws of any jurisdiction; (c) warrant you have the power to grant the rights herein stated, that your entry is original to you, does not infringe copyright, moral rights or the rights or licence of any other third person/entity, your design has never been used anywhere in the world, does not contain anything in any way contrary to law and any designs are not in any way injurious or harmful; and (d) indemnify and keep Mrs Applecheek harmless against all loss, risk, cost, damages, claims, liabilities and expense occasioned to Mrs. Applecheek in consequence of any breach of these warranties or arising out of any claim alleging that your entry constitutes in any way a breach of these warranties."
"I - don't understand," faltered Poor Little Red Shoes. The words seemed to jump up and down before her eyes. "D-does this mean I have given away my lace? Because I didn't mean to!"
"But you must have meant to," frowned Mrs. Applecheek, looking puzzled. "The terms of the competition were quite clearly there for you to see."
"I - didn't read them," stammered Poor Little Red Shoes.
"Oh. I can't do anything about that!" said Mrs. Applecheek. "Please don't cry like that, my dear. I can't understand why you're not happier."
"I'm crying because it's mine! I made it! And I didn't want to give it away!" sobbed Poor Little Red Shoes.
Mrs. Applecheek smiled warmly. "Oh, you look so like my dear granddaughter when you cry. Luckily for you, my dear, you have not read the final part of the terms and condition. I'm not heartless, you know. After all, I am a mother - even though I am not your mother."
And her finger pointed at a clause far down in the list.
"If you are on the shortlist but not one of the final winning entries, rights in your submission granted to Mrs. Applecheek under these terms and conditions shall revert to you "
"Revert to me? Does that mean I get it back?" gasped Little Red Shoes. "Because I have other plans - I could set up my own stall - "
"Really? Your own stall? That puts a different slant on it!" cried Mrs. Applecheek. Her finger moved down to the end of the clause
"...at Mrs Applecheek's discretion following written notice from Mrs Applecheek"
"Of course, you understand, my dear, that reversion is strictly at my discretion. That is what the Law says, and you have, after all, entered freely into this contract. I will certainly think about letting you have your lace back, if there is no use for it after all," said Mrs. Applecheek. "But you must excuse me just now. I'm awfully busy today!"
And she turned her back on Poor Little Red Shoes, stepped inside her booth and slammed the door.
As Little Red Shoes stood helplessly by, she saw Mrs. Applecheek behind the stall opening her bag, and taking out the beautiful shawl. As always, it gleamed and glimmered and shone. Its silvery threads caught the light of the early sun, and a passer by stopped to look at it. He was a big strong man in a showy purple hat and jerkin, and he pushed past Poor Little Red Shoes, made her stumble, and called out, "Hey, Applecheek! Save that one for me! I'll give you three ducats!"
"Nonsense. I wouldn't sell at a groat under five ducats!" replied Mrs. Applecheek.
And ....."
------------------
And I ask you, dear readers - how would YOU finish the story? Feel free to make a suggestion in the comments box and win a prize. Not quite a contest, more of a giveaway, as I'll do a random draw . ( If you don't want to finish the story, just leave a comment, if you have one)
As for me - no, I never did press that "Submit" button! I thought I'd rather keep my story for myself. Just felt a bit exhausted after reading cosy old Mumsnet's terms and conditions, which bore a strange, one might almost say uncanny, resemblance to those drawn up by the motherly Mrs Applecheek.
:)
Sounded good, and I happened to have a story that exactly fitted the bill. So I dug it out, polished it up, filled in the form, attached the file and was JUST about to press "submit" when I suddenly realised I hadn't read the contest terms and conditions. Oops!
So I clicked, and read the terms and conditions (here) And then, instead of sending in my entry to Mumsnet and Walker Books, I made up another story instead. It's the tale of Poor Little Red Shoes, a lacemaker who lived long ago in the magical Land of Faraway. As with all fairytales, her story might have a modern resonance too.
So here it is, the story of ...
POOR LITTLE RED SHOES.
Once upon a time, there was a young girl called Poor Little Red Shoes who was all alone in the world. Her dear mother and father had died and left her with a ramshackle old cottage to live in,
a few hens to keep her company and a patch of land on which to grow her food. She lived quietly and was quite content, for she spent her time making lace. And what lace it was! For Little Red Shoes had a wonderful talent, and could make the most beautiful lace that had ever been seen.
Not only were her fingers nimble and sure, but her mind was full of marvellous images of animals, birds, fairies, flowers and more. She created designs of astonishing beauty; so beautiful, indeed, that they seemed almost to be created by Nature itself.
But in the humble village where Poor Little Red Shoes lived, nobody could afford to buy her lace, and the villagers' rough, homespun clothes were not the kind of garments to trim with lace anyhow. And Little Red Shoes was so poor that she could not buy the golden and silver threads that her marvellous designs really deserved.
So one day she decided to go and seek her fortune.
"I'll go to the capital city, to the Royal Palace, and show the Queen my work," she said to herself. "Although my work is not created from gold and silver, surely the Queen will want designs like mine to adorn her ball gowns? My satyrs and nymphs will beguile her, my garlands of stars will enchant her. And if only she will buy my lace and give me work, I will be happy for the rest of my life!"
So she packed a fragment of bread and cheese to sustain her on her journey, and carefully wrapped up her very finest piece of work - a lace shawl made only of plain white thread, but seeming almost magically to shimmer with rainbow colours. It was as light as a bird's wing, and when she unfolded it, its silky folds whispered like the winds.
The city was far away, and she walked for several hours, finally arriving in mid-afternoon. She wandered about the streets, hungry and tired, and everything seemed strange, loud and unfamiliar. She was glad when she finally found the Palace, tall and imposing at the top of a flight of stone steps.
She crept up the steps to the dark, towering entrance, and peeped inside. To her amazement, she saw a magnificent room, bright with the light of many lamps....
but before she could look at it all, a young soldier in a red coat stepped in her way, a golden sword in his hand.
"Halt! Go no further!" he ordered.
"I mean no harm," said Poor Little Red Shoes, timidly. "But I was wondering if the Queen might like to look at my lace?" And she took out her beautiful lace shawl, which glimmered and twinkled in the lamps of the hallway so magnificently that even the soldier had to look twice to assure himself that it was not covered in pearls.
The soldier had always been a kind, helpful young man, the joy of his mother's heart,
and he felt sorry for Poor Little Red Shoes. He thought her work was wonderful, but he had to tell the truth. So he shook his head sadly. "No unsolicited submissions are allowed here," he said. "Take your lace away. Perhaps some seamstress will employ you to make clothes for middle class people instead. Someone as poor as you would never even be allowed to meet the Queen, let alone show her any of your work!"
Little Red Shoes could not believe this was true. "Is there no way the Queen would agree to consider my work?" she asked, pitifully.
"I'm sorry - but no," said the soldier. And then, to his dismay (and her own dismay, too) Poor Little Red Shoes burst into tears.
The kind hearted soldier shuffled around in his big boots, wondering whether to tell her what was in his mind., for her tears were upsetting him. Finally, reluctantly, he said, "All right, listen to me. There is one chance to get your work before the Queen. You could have a word with one of Her Majesty's Lace Agents. These are very clever people who roam the country looking for the finest lace and fabrics, and stuff like that."
"And they could show my lace to Her Majesty?" asked Little Red Shoes, her face lighting up through her tears.
"I suppose so. The trouble is - " said the soldier, "They're not - " he coughed. "They're not, er, always the nicest. But if you take care to choose a kind looking one, you might strike it lucky. In fact, there is a stall in the market place where all the hopefuls go - though it's not always open. So now you had better leave. I shouldn't actually talking to you," he added, uneasily, for he was now regretting having mentioned anything at all.
"Oh, thank you!" cried Little Red Shoes. She packed her wonderful shawl back into her little bag, and skipped off down the road towards the main square with the soldier looking anxiously after her.
As she entered the square, her spirits lifted. This was the finest market she'd ever seen. Huge, grand stalls sold all kinds of things. There were exquisite fabrics, golden baubles and gilded ornaments
fascinating little novelties like a clock containing a cuckoo that popped out to twitter the hours, and puppets that danced and twirled, and rainbow bubbles which could be blown through a loop of wire into the air.
And, at the far end of the market, she could see a stall that was even larger and grander than all the rest. She hurried across to it and found that it was spread over with the most beautiful fabrics, all covered in jewels and embroidery and lace of the finest quality! The satin, with a sheen like sunrise....
Proudly displayed at the top of the stall was a carved and gilded Royal Coat of Arms, and in elegant letters beneath was written MRS APPLECHEEK. HER MAJESTY'S LACE AGENT. ORIGINAL DESIGNS URGENTLY REQUIRED FOR THE BALL GOWNS OF HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN. TOP PRICES PAID!
Behind the counter of the stall stood a dignified old lady. Though she was very old indeed, she was elegant and well dressed, she had blue eyes, and lovely red cheeks, and a clever smile.
"When I am old, I hope I look like that," thought Little Red Shoes. "She must be one of the lace agents the soldier told me about. She is smiling so nicely. How glad I am I have met one of the nice lace agents, and not a nasty one! Oh, I do so hope she will like my work."
She felt so nervous that her knees were quite trembling, and in fact she hardly dared approach the woman. So she lingered for a while under a tree, trying to gather her courage together. Before she had quite managed to do so, the old lady (whose eyes were going everywhere) looked directly at her, smiled more widely, and beckoned to her in a friendly way. "Don't be afraid, my dear!" she said. "You have the air of a clever craftswoman who has something to show kind Mrs. Applecheek!"
"Yes," whispered Poor Little Red Shoes. She crept across to the stall. "Do you think my lace is good enough for you, Mrs. Applecheek?" She opened her package, and took out her piece of lace. The old woman's twinkling eyes sharpened as she saw it. She took out her shiny gold spectacles,
grabbed the lace in her thin, rather claw like ands, and examined it minutely.
Little Red Shoes held her breath.
"Is this all your own work, dear/" asked Mrs. Applecheek
Hesitantly, Litlte Red Shoes nodded. "My mother taught me. She's dead now. But she and my grandmother were wonderful with their hands. If they had not been poor, they could have made lace for the Queen themselves."
"Indeed, they probably could!" beamed Mrs. Applecheek. "Well, I have some good news for you! I think this lace is so extremely good that I will suggest you enter it for a competition that Her Majesty is running at this very moment. She aims to find the best lacemaker in the kingdom! I have been collecting all the entries in, and the contest will be judged this very night by Her Majesty in person at a grand and wonderful gathering of the rich and famous!"
"Oh," cried Little Red Shoes, hardly believing her ears.
"Would you like me to put your lace forward for this competition?" asked Mrs. Applecheek.
Little Red Shoes did not know what to say. She had been so disappointed that the Queen would not consider her - and now, suddenly, it seemed that she would. That took some getting used to.
And also, to be honest, Little Red Shoes was a little nervous at letting Mrs Applecheek actually take her lace away. She did live in the depths of the country, but her mother and grandmother had taught her to have a little care with strangers.
"Hmmm... you seem unsure," said Mrs. Applecheek. She patted Little Red Shoes' arm. "If you prefer not to do it, I will quite understand. But I am afraid that in that case, I will not be able to buy it myself, and you will have to take it away. I am so very sorry, but that is the way it is."
However, Poor Little Red Shoes still hesitated.
"Do you not trust me with it, my dear?" asked Mrs. Applecheek. "Do you not think I am kind?"
"I - I - " stammered Poor Little Red Shoes.
"I have a daughter of my own, a little like you," continued Mrs. Applecheek. "She is grown up now and she has given me a beautiful granddaughter. As it happens, my granddaughter is also very like you." She bent down, so her lips were near Little Red Shoes' ear. "I am a mother and a grandmother, my dear, and so you will understand that I do care! And, for this reason, I am telling you that I think your lace has a good chance of winning the contest tonight. There is a prize of two golden ducats for the winner, and her name will become famous throughout the lace making world!"
She straightened up. "But still, if you're not interested.... "
"I- I - " Of course Poor Little Red Shoes wanted to win the contest. Two golden ducats - imagine how many bobbins and reels of silk that would buy!
.jpg)
Even if I don't get to work for the Queen herself, she thought, I could set up my own stall here in this grand market, where people wear fine clothes and buy fine things! Or maybe this kind motherly lady might let me work on her stall....
So she nodded, took a deep breath, and said, "Yes! Enter my lace for the contest!"
And she handed it over. Then, because she felt like crying, she hurried away without saying another word.
"I'm very hopeful!" called the old lady, after her but Little Red Shoes did not hear.
For the rest of the day, she wandered around in a daze, her feelings a tumult of mingled excitement and fear. She kept imagining the Queen judging the contest. Which lace would she choose?
It grew late. Poor Little Red Shoes had nowhere to sleep and no money, but she crept inside the echoing city church, and stretched out alone in a corner of its cold, marble floor.
She slept fitfully, and dreamed a dream of herself making lace for the Queen.
It was a long night, but eventually, the dawn sunshine crept through the stained glass windows and woke her up. She blinked in the sunshine, and then her heart began to beat fast. She rose and washed in the fountain, but could not afford breakfast. Still it didn't matter, for she felt too anxious to eat.
As the sun rose over the buildings, she hurried to the market, where the first stallholders were just starting to arrive.
She scanned the crowds, and before long, she was relieved to see Mrs. Applecheek coming along, her head high, the plumes on her hat waving in the morning breeze. When she saw Little Red Shoes, her cheeks became even more rosy. "Oh, my goodness! You are up early! Surely you haven't been waiting here all night?"
"No! But I was too anxious to sleep." said Poor Little Red Shoes. "I wanted to know who had won the competition."
Mrs Applecheek stepped up close to her. She took her by both shoulders and looked her in the face. "My dear, I have some good news for you!" she said, with a smile.
"R-really?" Little Red Shoes felt as if she was in a dream. "Oh, I can't believe it! Did I win?" And she thought again of the golden ducats.
"I'm delighted to say that the Queen loved your lace!" said.Mrs. Applecheek. "She thought it was exquisitely made! She was entranced by the design! She will put it on her finest gown."
"So I did win! Oh!" Little Red Shoes thought she would die with happiness. In fact, she was so happy that she began to cry with joy. "I'm so glad. I've worked so hard on it. Do - do you think that she might employ me as a lacemaker at the palace now? I can do lots more beautiful work - !"
"Oh, no my dear, I am afraid you did not win. The Queen's own lacemaker - who is, by pure coincidence, my daughter - won the golden ducats. And I am afraid there are no lacemaker vacancies at the Palace." Mrs. Applecheek's eyes shone like glass marbles.
She put her finger under Little Red Shoes' chin, and lifted it. "Don't look sad. You must feel very honoured that Her Majesty thanks you so much for your interest, and for your kind gift."
There was a sudden silence.
"But - it - it wasn't a gift" stammered Little Red Shoes.
"Really? I'm so surprised you say that," said Mrs. Applecheek, suddenly letting go of her. "Surely you read my Terms and conditions, clearly displayed on the stalll before you handed your lace over?" She waved her hand at a sheet of paper that was pinned to a piece of wood at the side of the stall.
So Poor Little Red Shoes looked at the terms and conditions, and read :
.jpg)
"By submitting your lace design for consideration by the Palace you hereby (a) unconditionally and irrevocably grant and assign to Mrs. Applecheek throughout the world all right and rights in the nature of usage and all other rights in your submission, together with full title guarantee and all rights of action to the same belonging or accrued and shall hold the same to Mrs. Applecheek for the full period of ownership and all extensions and renewals thereof and thereafter; (b) waive all moral rights as defined by sections 77-83 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1288 or any similar laws of any jurisdiction; (c) warrant you have the power to grant the rights herein stated, that your entry is original to you, does not infringe copyright, moral rights or the rights or licence of any other third person/entity, your design has never been used anywhere in the world, does not contain anything in any way contrary to law and any designs are not in any way injurious or harmful; and (d) indemnify and keep Mrs Applecheek harmless against all loss, risk, cost, damages, claims, liabilities and expense occasioned to Mrs. Applecheek in consequence of any breach of these warranties or arising out of any claim alleging that your entry constitutes in any way a breach of these warranties."
"I - don't understand," faltered Poor Little Red Shoes. The words seemed to jump up and down before her eyes. "D-does this mean I have given away my lace? Because I didn't mean to!"
"But you must have meant to," frowned Mrs. Applecheek, looking puzzled. "The terms of the competition were quite clearly there for you to see."
"I - didn't read them," stammered Poor Little Red Shoes.
"Oh. I can't do anything about that!" said Mrs. Applecheek. "Please don't cry like that, my dear. I can't understand why you're not happier."
"I'm crying because it's mine! I made it! And I didn't want to give it away!" sobbed Poor Little Red Shoes.
Mrs. Applecheek smiled warmly. "Oh, you look so like my dear granddaughter when you cry. Luckily for you, my dear, you have not read the final part of the terms and condition. I'm not heartless, you know. After all, I am a mother - even though I am not your mother."
And her finger pointed at a clause far down in the list.
"If you are on the shortlist but not one of the final winning entries, rights in your submission granted to Mrs. Applecheek under these terms and conditions shall revert to you "
"Revert to me? Does that mean I get it back?" gasped Little Red Shoes. "Because I have other plans - I could set up my own stall - "
"Really? Your own stall? That puts a different slant on it!" cried Mrs. Applecheek. Her finger moved down to the end of the clause
"...at Mrs Applecheek's discretion following written notice from Mrs Applecheek"
"Of course, you understand, my dear, that reversion is strictly at my discretion. That is what the Law says, and you have, after all, entered freely into this contract. I will certainly think about letting you have your lace back, if there is no use for it after all," said Mrs. Applecheek. "But you must excuse me just now. I'm awfully busy today!"
And she turned her back on Poor Little Red Shoes, stepped inside her booth and slammed the door.
As Little Red Shoes stood helplessly by, she saw Mrs. Applecheek behind the stall opening her bag, and taking out the beautiful shawl. As always, it gleamed and glimmered and shone. Its silvery threads caught the light of the early sun, and a passer by stopped to look at it. He was a big strong man in a showy purple hat and jerkin, and he pushed past Poor Little Red Shoes, made her stumble, and called out, "Hey, Applecheek! Save that one for me! I'll give you three ducats!"
"Nonsense. I wouldn't sell at a groat under five ducats!" replied Mrs. Applecheek.
And ....."
© Copyright Jenny Woolf
------------------
And I ask you, dear readers - how would YOU finish the story? Feel free to make a suggestion in the comments box and win a prize. Not quite a contest, more of a giveaway, as I'll do a random draw . ( If you don't want to finish the story, just leave a comment, if you have one)
As for me - no, I never did press that "Submit" button! I thought I'd rather keep my story for myself. Just felt a bit exhausted after reading cosy old Mumsnet's terms and conditions, which bore a strange, one might almost say uncanny, resemblance to those drawn up by the motherly Mrs Applecheek.
:)
