Now Jack used to play the melodion. He played very well, and he used to join in the
sessions at the Old Ship, with the other musicians from the village and all the step
dancers from miles around. Famous sessions they were, and people used to come along
to watch, or just to listen to the fine music.
As I said, Jack was a fine player. He could play the jigs and the reels and the
waltzes with the best of them, but what he never quite could manage was hornpipes.
Those of you who've tried will know the kind of thing I mean, where the note you
need seems to move around so it's never quite where your fingers expect. And of
course, the type of music the step-dancers most like is hornpipes. I guess that if
Jack had lived in Wales, where the step-dancers like waltzes, it would have been
waltzes he couldn't manage - that's just the way of the world. Well anyway, Jack
would play for most of the evening, when they were playing jigs, and when they played
reels, and the odd waltz or two, and he was reckoned as one of the best players
around. But as the evening started to smoke, and the hornpipes started, Jack would
put the melodion into its case and sadly wend his way home.
Now one dark night, as is the way with such tales, Jack was walking home when he
met the Devil. He could tell it was the devil, because of the horns and pointy tail:
besides, who other than the Devil and Jack would be anywhere other than in the Old
Ship when there was a session on? And, again as is the way with such tales, as Jack
walked home with the devil beside him, they fell to talking. And by the time they
reached Jack's house, they'd struck a deal. Jack tried to invite the Devil in for a
wee dram to celebrate, but the Devil politely declined, making the excuse that he was
worried about damaging the upholstry.
Now, the next Friday, the dancers were back. And Jack took his melodion down to
the Ship as always, and sat in his usual space on the bench, and he started to play.
And the dancers started to dance - first the jigs, and then the reels, and then the
occasional waltz or two. And Jack had a drink or two, and then the hornpipes started
up. And Jack was there, playing the hornpipes with the best of them, such music as
you'd never heard before, beautiful it was, and it inspired the dancers to the finest
dancing and the most complicated stepping. And the onlookers whooped and cheered and
yelled encouragement, and someone brought Jack another drink, and so it went on. And
as the evening progressed, gradually, one by one the dancers stopped, and just sat to
listen to the music. And gradually the musicians stopped, as musicians do after
they've been on free drinks all evening.
But still the evening carried on, with everyone listening to Jack playing the
hornpipes. And such fine tunes they were, that the Landlord didn't want to break
the evening up, but he had to sleep for he had to open up early, Saturday being
market day. And, this being a tale, the landlord said to everyone "I've left the
till open, just take what you like and leave the money." So, they carried on, but
eventually, one by one they drifted away, until at last only Jack remained, the sweet
tones of the hornpipes filtering out of the bar.
And in the morning, as is the way of such things, the landlord came downstairs,
and found that the till balanced exactly. And all of the pots had been washed. And,
where Jack had been sitting on the bench, was an empty melodion case, and a scorch
mark.
And, next to it, a Juke Box.
