The Tailor of Gloucester

We celebrate Christmas with a delightful reading of Beatrix Potter's classic, "The Tailor of Gloucester." Set against the backdrop of Gloucester's charming streets, this episode whisks us back to a time of elegance and artistry, where a humble tailor is faced with the daunting task of crafting a magnificent coat and waistcoat for the mayor, despite missing a crucial skein of cherry-colored silk. So snuggle up in your blankets and have sweet dreams. 

The music in this episode is Open Window by Franz Gordon.

Transcript

Speaker 1: 0:21

Welcome to Dreamful Podcast bedtime stories for slumber. I would like to start off this special holiday episode by thanking Rebecca Kozak, chris Cook and Becca. Thank you all so much and I hope you have the sweetest of dreams and the happiest of holidays. Many of you have been requesting more Beatrix Potter stories and I thought what a better holiday gift to you than to read a lovely Christmas story by Beatrix Potter called the Tailor of Gloucester. So snuggle up in your blankets and have sweet dreams.

Speaker 1: 1:41

In the time of swords and periwigs and full-skirted coats with flowered lapets, when gentlemen wore ruffles and gold-laced waistcoats of pedosoi and taffeta, there lived a tailor in Gloucester. He sat in the window of a little shop in Westgate Street, cross-legged on a table, from morning till dark, all day long, while the light lasted. He sewed and snippeted, piecing out his satin and pompadour and lute, string Stuffed had strange names and they were very expensive in the days of the tailor of Gloucester. But although he sewed fine silk for his neighbors, he himself was very, very poor, a little old man in spectacles with a pinched face, old, crooked fingers and a suit of threadbare clothes. He cut his coats without waste. According to his embroidered cloth they were very small ends and snippets that lay about on the table, two narrow breads for naught, except waistcoats for mice, said the tailor. One bitter cold day near Christmas time the tailor began to make a coat, a coat of cherry-colored corded silk embroidered with pansies and roses, and a cream-colored satin waistcoat trimmed with gauze and green worsted chenille for the mayor of Gloucester. The tailor worked and worked and he talked to himself. He measured the silk and turned it round and round and trimmed it into shape with his shears. The table was all littered with cherry-colored snippets no breadth at all, and cut on the cross it is no breadth at all tippets for mice and ribbons for mobs for mice, said the tailor of Gloucester, when the snowflakes came down against the small leaded window panes and shut out the light. The tailor had done his day's work and all the silk and satin lay cut out upon the table. There were twelve pieces for the coat and four pieces for the waistcoat and there were pocket flaps and cuffs and buttons, all in order. For the lining of the coat there was a fine yellow taffeta and for the buttonholes of the waistcoat there was a cherry-colored twist, and everything was ready to sew together in the morning. All measured and sufficient, except that there was wanting just one single skein of cherry-colored twisted silk.

Speaker 1: 5:24

The tailor came out of his shop at dark for he did not sleep there at nights. He fastened the window and locked the door and took away the key. No one lived there at night, but little brown mice, and they run in and out without any keys. For behind the wooden wainscots of all the old houses in Gloucester there are little mouse staircases and secret trap doors and the mice run from house to house through those long, narrow passages. They can run all over town without going into the streets.

Speaker 1: 6:12

But the tailor came out of his shop and shuffled home through the snow. He lived quite nearby, in College Court, next to the doorway to College Green, and although it was not a big house, the tailor was so poor he only rented the kitchen. He lived alone with his cat at work. Simpkin kept house by himself and he was also fond of the mice, though he gave them no satin for coats. Meow, said the cat when the tailor opened the door. Meow, said the cat when the tailor opened the door. Meow, the tailor replied Simpkin, we shall make our fortune, but I am warned who are raveling? Take this groat which is our last four pence. And Simpkin, take a china pipkin, buy a pen of the bread, a pen worth of milk and a pen worth of sausages and, oh, simpkin, with the last penny of our fourpence. Simkin, or I am undone and worn to a thread of paper or I have no more twist. Then Simkin again said yeah, and he took the groat and the pipkin and went out into the dark.

Speaker 1: 8:10

The tailor was very tired and beginning to be ill. He sat down by the hearth and talked to himself about that wonderful coat I shall make my fortune to be cut by us. The mayor of Gloucester is to be married on Christmas day in the morning and he hath ordered a coat and an embroidered waistcoat to be lined with yellow taffeta. And the taffeta sufficeth. There is no more left over in snippets than will serve to make tippets from ice.

Speaker 1: 8:50

Then the tailor started for suddenly interrupting him, from the dresser at the other side of the kitchen came a number of little noises Tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap-tip. Now what can that be said? The tailor of Gloucester jumping up from his chair. The dresser was covered with crockery and pipkins, willow pattern plates and teacups and mugs. The tailor crossed the kitchen and stood quite still beside the dresser listening and peering through his spectacles. Again, from under a teacup came those funny little noises Tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap-tip. This is very peculiar, said the tailor of Gloucester. And he lifted up the teacup which was upside down, out stepped the little live lady mouse and made a curtsy to the tailor. Then she hopped away down off the dresser and under the wainscot.

Speaker 1: 10:14

The tailor sat down again by the fire, warming his poor cold hands and mumbling to himself the wainscot is cut out from peach-colored satin tambour stitch and rosebuds and beautiful floss silk. Was I wise to entrust my last four pence to Simkin One and twenty buttonholes of cherry-colored twist. But all at once from the dresser there came other little noises tip, tap, tip, tap, tip, tap, tip. This is passing extraordinary, said the tailor of Gloucester, and turned over another teacup which was upside down. Out stepped a little gentleman mouse and turned over another teacup which was upside down. Out stepped a little gentleman mouse and made a bow to the tailor. And then from all over the dresser came a chorus of little tappings, all sounding together and answering one another like watch beetles in an old worm-eaten window shutter Tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap-tip. And out from under teacups and from under bowls and basins stepped other and more little mice who hopped away down off the dresser and under the wainscot. The tailor sat down close over the fire lamenting One and twenty buttonholes of cherry-colored silk to be finished by noon of Saturday, and this, this is Tuesday evening. Was it right to let loose those mice, undoubtedly the property of Simkin Alack, I am undone for. I have no more twist.

Speaker 1: 12:21

The little mice came out again and listened to the tailor. They took notice of the pattern of that wonderful coat. They whispered to one another About the taffeta lining and about the little mouse tippets. And then all at once they all ran away together down the passage behind the wainscot, squeaking and calling to one another as they ran from house to house and not one mouse was left in the tailor's kitchen and Simpkin came back with a pipkin of milk. Simpkin opened the door and bounced in with an angry Grima, like a cat that is vexed, for he hated the snow and there was snow in his ears and snow on his collar, at the back of his neck. He put down the loaf and the sausages upon the dresser and sniffed. Simpkin, said the tailor, where is my twist? But Simpkin set down the pipkin of milk upon the dresser and looked suspiciously at the teacups. He wanted his supper, fat little mouse, simpkin, said the tailor, where is my twist? But Simpkin hid a little parcel privately in the teapot and spit and growled at the tailor Gloucester and went sadly to bed.

Speaker 1: 14:27

All that night long Simpkin hunted and searched through the kitchen, peeping into cupboards and under the wainscot and into the teapot where he had hidden that twist. But still he never found a mouse. Whenever the tailor muttered and talked in his sleep, simpkin said Mia, grrr, and made strange, horrid noises, as cats do at night. For the poor old tailor was very ill with fever, tossing and turning in his four-post bed. And still in his dreams he mumbled no more twist, no more twist. All that day he was ill, and the next day and the next.

Speaker 1: 15:32

And what should become of the cherry-colored coat? In the tailor shop in Westgate Street the embroidered silk and satin lay cut upon the table, one in twenty buttonholes. And who should come to sew them when the window is barred and the door was fast locked? But that does not hinder the little brown mice. They run in and out without any keys through all the old houses in Gloucester. Out of doors the market folks went trudging through the snow to buy their geese and turkeys and to bake their Christmas pies. But there would be no Christmas dinner for Simpkin and the poor old tailor of Gloucester.

Speaker 1: 16:28

The tailor lay ill for three days and nights and then it was Christmas Eve and very late at night the moon climbed up over the roofs and chimneys and looked down over the gateway into College Court. There were no lights in the windows nor any sound in the houses. All the city of Gloucester was fast asleep under the snow. And still Simpkin wanted his mice and he mewed as he stood beside the four-post bed. But it is in this old story that all the beasts can talk in the night between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. In the morning, though, there are very few folk that can hear them or know what it is that they say.

Speaker 1: 17:30

When the cathedral clock struck twelve there was an answer like an echo of the chimes, and Simpkin heard it. It came out of the tailor's door and wandered about in the snow. From all the roofs and gables and old wooden houses in Gloucester came a thousand merry voices singing the old Christmas rhymes, all the songs that I ever heard of and some that I don't know, like Whittington's bells. First and loudest the rooster cried out Dame, get up and bake your pies. Oh, dilly, dilly, sighed simpkin. And now in a garret there were lights and sounds of dancing and cats came from over the way. Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle, all the cats in gloucester except me, said Simpkin.

Speaker 1: 18:44

Under the wooden eaves, the starlings and sparrows sang of Christmas pies, the jackdaws woke up in the cathedral tower and although it was the middle of the night, the throstles and robins sang. The air was quite full of little twittering tunes, but it was all rather provoking to poor, hungry Simpkin Particularly. He was vexed with some little shrill voices from behind a wooden lattice. I think that they were bats, because they always have very small voices, especially in a black frost where they talk in their sleep like the tailor of Gloucester. They said something mysterious that sounded like they said something mysterious that sounded like Buzz quoth the bluefly, hum, quoth the bee, buzz and hum. They cry, and so do we, and Simkin went away shaking his ears as if he had a bee in his bonnet.

Speaker 1: 20:02

From the tailor's shop in Westgate came a glow of light, and when Simpkin crept up to peep in the window it was full of candles. There was a snippeting of scissors and a snappeting of thread, and little mouse voices sing loudly and gaily. Four and twenty tailors went to catch a snail. The best man amongst them durst not touch her tail. She put out her horns like a little kyla crow Run, tailors, run, or she'll have you all in now. Then, without a pause, the little mouse voices went on again Sieve my lady's oatmeal, grind my lady's flour, put it in a chestnut, let it stand an hour.

Speaker 1: 20:58

Mew mew interrupted Simkin and he scratched at the door, but the key was under the tailor's pillow. He could not get in. The little mice only laughed and tried another tune. Mew mew, cried Simkin. Hey, diddle-dinkity, answered the little mice. They clicked their thimbles to mark the time, but none of the songs pleased Simkin. He sniffed and mewed at the door of the shop. Mew mew, scratch, scratch, scuffled Simpkin on the windowsill while the little mice inside sprang to their feet and all began to shout at once in little twittering voices no more twist, no more twist. And they barred up the window shutters and shut out Simpkin. But still through the nicks in the shutters he could hear the click of thimbles and little mouse voices singing. No more twist, no more twist.

Speaker 1: 22:18

Simpkin came away from the shop and went home, considering in his mind, he found the poor old tailor without fever, sleeping peacefully. Then Simpkin went on tiptoe and took a little parcel of silk out of the teapot and looked at it in the moonlight and he felt quite ashamed of his badness compared with those good little mice. When the tailor awoke in the morning, the first thing which he saw upon the patchwork quilt was a skein of cherry-colored twisted silk, and beside his bed stood the repentant Simkin. Alack, I am worn to a raveling, said the tailor of Gloucester, but I have my twist. The sun was shining on the snow when the tailor got up and dressed and came out into the street with Simpkin running before him. The starlings whistled on the chimney stacks and the throstles and the robins sang, but they sang their own little noises, not the words they had sung in the night. Alack, said the tailor, I have my twist, but no more strength nor time than will serve to make me one single buttonhole. For this is Christmas Day in the morning.

Speaker 1: 24:04

The mayor of Gloucester shall be married by noon, and where is his cherry-colored coat? He unlocked the door of the little shop in Westgate Street and Simpkin ran in like a cat that expects something. But there was no one there, not even one little brown mouse. The bores were were all tidied away and gone from the floor. But upon the table, oh joy, the tailor gave a shout. There, where he had left plain cuttings of silk, there lay the most beautifulest coat, an embroidered satin waistcoat as were ever worn by a mayor of Gloucester. There were roses and pansies upon the facings of the coat, and the waistcoat was worked with poppies and cornflowers. Everything was finished, except just one single cherry-colored buttonhole. And where that buttonhole was wanting there was pinned a scrap of paper with these words in little teeny-weeny writing no More Twist.

Speaker 1: 25:35

And from then began the luck of the tailor of Gloucester. He grew quite stout and he grew quite rich. He made the most wonderful waistcoats for all the rich merchants of Gloucester and for all the fine gentlemen of the country round. Never were seen such ruffles or such embroidered cuffs and lappets. But his buttonholes were the greatest triumph of it all. The stitches of those buttonholes were so neat, so neat. I wonder how they could be stitched by an old man in spectacles with crooked old fingers and a tailor's thimble. No-transcript.