Bedtime Story: Peter Pan Pt. 5

Hello beautiful souls,

Please enjoy the fifth instalment of Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up, written by Sir James Matthew Barrie.

Let's continue our adventures with Peter, Wendy, and the gang.

You can find all parts of this wonderful story in my Peter Pan playlist on my profile.

I hope you have a wonderful sleep and wake up feeling relaxed and refreshed.

Transcript

Good evening beautiful souls and welcome to tonight's reading of Peter Pan Part 5.

So before we begin,

Finding yourself really comfortable and snugly in your bed,

Taking a moment to stretch your arms overhead and stretching your legs and pointing and flexing the toes and stretching,

Stretching as far as you can and releasing it all and relaxing into your bed and taking some deep breaths,

Really arriving in your bed in this moment,

Knowing it's time to rest and relax.

So inhaling deeply and lengthening your exhale,

Signalling to the nervous system that it's time for rest and taking a big,

Big yawn,

Releasing the jaw,

Any tension you might be holding in your face from the day,

Taking a moment to wiggle out your eyebrows,

Your nose,

Scrunch your face and relax.

Feel the heaviness of your body sinking into your mattress,

Making any last adjustments that you need to truly find yourself in a comfortable position and when you're ready,

We will begin.

The Nether Bird The last sounds Peter heard before he was quite alone were the mermaids retiring one by one to their bed chambers under the sea.

He was too far away to hear their doors shut,

But every door in the coral caves where they live rings a tiny bell when it opens or closes and he heard the bells.

Steadily,

The waters rose till they were nibbling at his feet and to pass the time until they made their final gulp.

He watched the only thing moving on the lagoon.

He thought it was a piece of floating paper,

Perhaps part of the kite and wondered idly how long it would take to drift ashore.

Presently,

He noticed as an odd thing that it was undoubtedly out upon the lagoon with some definite purpose,

For it was fighting the tide and sometimes winning and when it won,

Peter,

Always sympathetic to the weaker side,

Could not help clapping.

It was such a gallant piece of paper.

It was not really a piece of paper.

It was the Nether Bird making desperate efforts to reach Peter on her nest.

By working her wings in a way she had learned since the nest fell into the water,

She was able to some extent to guide her strange craft.

But by the time Peter recognized her,

She was very exhausted.

She had come to save him,

To give him her nest,

Though there were eggs in it.

I rather wonder at the bird,

For though he had been nice to her,

He had also sometimes tormented her.

I can suppose only that like Mrs Darling and the rest of them,

She was melted because he still had all his first teeth.

She called out to him what she had come for and he called out to her what was she doing there.

But of course,

Neither of them understood the other's language.

In fanciful stories,

People can talk to the birds freely and I wish for the moment I could pretend that this was such a story and say that Peter replied intelligently to the Nether Bird.

But truth is best and I only want to tell what really happened.

Well,

Not only could they not understand each other,

But they forgot their manners.

I want you to get into the nest,

The bird called,

Speaking as slowly and distinctly as possible.

And then you can drift ashore.

But I am too tired to bring it any nearer,

So you must try swimming to it.

What are you quacking about?

Peter answered.

Why don't you let the nest drift as usual?

I want you,

The bird said and repeated it all over.

Then Peter tried slow and distinct.

What are you quacking about?

And so on.

The Nether Bird became irritated.

They have very short tempers.

You dudder-headed little jay,

She screamed.

Why don't you do as I tell you?

Peter felt that she was calling him names.

And at a venture,

He retorted hotly.

So are you.

Then rather curiously,

They both snapped out the same remark.

Shut up.

Shut up.

Nevertheless,

The bird was determined to save him if she could.

And by one last mighty effort,

She propelled the nest against the rock.

Then up she flew,

Deserting her eggs,

So as to make her meaning clear.

Then at last he understood,

And clutched the nest,

And waved his thanks to the bird as she fluttered overhead.

It was not to receive his thanks,

However,

That she hung there in the sky.

It was not even to watch him get into the nest.

It was to see what he did with her eggs.

There were two large white eggs,

And Peter lifted them up and reflected.

The bird covered her face with her wings,

So as not to see the last of her eggs.

But she could not help peeping between the feathers.

I forget whether I have told you that there was a stave on the rock,

Driven into it by some buccaneers of long ago to mark the site of buried treasure.

The children had discovered the glittering hoard,

And when,

In mischievous mood,

And when,

In mischievous mood,

Used to fling showers of moedors,

Diamonds,

Pearls,

And pieces of ape to the gulls,

Who pounced upon them for food,

And then flew away,

Raging at the scurvy trick that had been played upon them.

The stave was still there,

And on it Starkey had hung his hat,

A deep tarpaulin,

Watertight,

With a broad brim.

Peter put the eggs into this hat and set it on the lagoon.

It floated beautifully.

The nether bird saw at once what he was up to,

And screamed her admiration of him.

Then he got into the nest,

Reared the stave in it as a mast,

And hung up his shirt for a while.

Then he hung up his shirt for a while.

At the same moment,

The bird fluttered down upon the hat,

And once more sat snugly on her eggs.

She drifted in one direction,

And he was borne off in another,

Both cheering.

Of course,

When Peter landed,

He beached his bog in a place where the bird would easily find it.

But the hat was such a great success that she abandoned the nest.

It drifted about till it went to pieces,

And often Starkey came to the shore of the lagoon,

And with many bitter feelings,

Watched the bird sitting on his hat.

As we shall not see her again,

It may be worth mentioning here that all nether birds now build in that shape of a nest,

With a broad brim on which the youngsters take an airing.

Great were the rejoicings when Peter reached the home under the ground,

Almost as soon as Wendy,

Who had been carried hither and tither by the kite.

Every boy had adventures to tell,

But perhaps the biggest adventure of all was that they were several hours late for bed.

This so inflated them that they did various dodgy things to get staying up still longer.

Such as demanding bandages.

But Wendy,

Though glorying in having them all home again,

Safe and sound,

Was scandalized by the lateness of the hour,

And cried,

In a voice that had to be obeyed.

Next day,

However,

She was awfully tender,

And gave out bandages to everyone,

And they played till bedtime at night,

And the next day,

However,

She was awfully tender,

And gave out bandages to everyone,

And they played till bedtime at limping about,

And carrying their arms in slings.

One important result of the brush on the lagoon was that it made the redskins their friends.

Peter had saved Tiger Lily from a dreadful fate,

And now there was nothing she and her braves would not do for him.

All night they sat above,

Keeping watch over the home under the ground,

And awaiting the big attack by the pirates,

Which obviously could not be much longer delayed.

Even by day they hung about,

Smoking the pipe of peace,

And looking almost as if they wanted tidbits to eat.

They called Peter the Great White Father,

Prostrating themselves before him,

And he liked this tremendously,

So that it was not really good for him.

The Great White Father,

He would say to them in a very lordly manner,

As they grovelled at his feet.

He's glad to see the Pekinini warriors protecting his wigwam from the pirates.

Me,

Tiger Lily,

That lovely creature,

Would reply.

Peter Pan saved me,

Me,

His very nice friend,

Me,

No let pirates hurt him.

She was far too pretty to cringe in this way,

But Peter thought it his due,

And he would answer condescendingly.

It is good,

Peter Pan has spoken.

Always when he said,

Peter Pan has spoken,

It meant that they must now shut up,

And they accepted it humbly in that spirit,

But they were by no means so respectful to the other boys.

They said how do to them,

And things like that,

And what annoyed the boys was that Peter seemed to think this was all right.

Secretly,

They were all in a state of deep silence,

And Peter Pan was not the only one who was in a state of deep silence.

Secretly,

Wendy sympathized with them a little,

But she was far too loyal a housewife to listen to any complaints against Father.

Father knows best,

She always said,

Whatever her private opinion must be,

Her private opinion was that the Redskins should not call her a squaw.

We have now reached the evening that was to be known among them as the Night of Nights,

Because of its adventures and their upshot.

The day,

As if quietly gathering its forces,

Had been almost uneventful,

And now the Redskins in their blankets were at their posts above,

While below the children were having their evening meal,

All except Peter,

Who had gone out to get the time.

The way you got the time on the island was to find the crocodile and then stay near him till the clock struck.

This meal happened to be a make-believe team,

And they sat round the board,

Guzzling in their greed,

And really,

What with their chatter and recriminations,

The noise,

As Wendy said,

Was positively deafening.

To be sure,

She did not mind noise,

But she simply would not have them grabbing things and then excusing themselves by saying that Tootles had pushed their elbow.

There was a fixed rule that they must never hit back at meals,

But should refer the matter of dispute to Wendy by raising the right arm politely and saying,

I complain of so-and-so.

But what usually happened was that they forgot to do this.

They forgot to do this,

Or they did it too much.

Silence,

Cried Wendy,

When for the twentieth time she had told them that they were not all to speak at once.

Is your calabash empty,

Slightly darling?

Not quite empty,

Mummy,

Slightly said,

After looking into an imaginary mug.

He hasn't even begun to drink his milk,

Nibs interposed.

This was telling,

And slightly seized his chance.

I complain of Nibs,

He cried promptly.

John,

However,

Had held up his hand first.

Well,

John,

May I sit in Peter's chair as he is not here?

Sit in Father's chair,

John?

Wendy was scandalised.

Certainly not.

He's not really our father,

John answered.

He didn't even know a father till I showed him.

This was grumbling.

We complain of John,

Cried the twins.

Tootles held up his hand.

He was so much the humblest of them.

Indeed,

He was the only humble one.

Indeed,

He was the only humble one.

That Wendy was specially gentle with him.

I don't suppose,

Tootles said,

That I could be father.

No,

Tootles.

Once Tootles began,

Which was not very often,

He had a silly way of going on.

As I can't be father,

He said,

I don't suppose,

Michael,

You would let me be baby?

No,

I won't,

Michael rapped out.

He was already in his basket.

As I can't be baby,

Tootles said,

Do you think I could be a twin?

No,

Indeed,

Replied the twins.

It's awfully difficult to be a twin.

As I can't be anything important,

Said Tootles,

Would any of you like to see me do a trick?

No,

They all replied.

Then,

At last,

He stopped.

I hadn't really any hope,

He said.

And the hateful telling broke out again.

Slightly is coughing on the table.

The twins began with Mammy Apples.

Curly is taking both Tapper,

Rolls and Yams.

Nibs is speaking with his mouth full.

I complain of the twins.

I complain of Curly.

I complain of Tootles.

I complain of Nibs.

Oh dear,

Oh dear,

Cried Wendy.

I'm sure I sometimes think that children are more trouble than they are worth.

She told them to clear away and sat down to her work basket.

A heavy load of stockings and every knee with a hole in it,

As usual.

Wendy,

Remonstrated Michael,

I'm too big for a cradle.

I must have somebody in a cradle,

She said.

And you are the littlest.

A cradle is such a nice homely thing to have about a house.

While she sewed,

They played around her.

Such a group of happy faces and dancing limbs lit up by that romantic fire.

It had become a very familiar scene,

This,

In the home under the ground.

But we are looking on it for the last time.

There was a step above and Wendy,

You may be sure,

Was the first to recognise it.

Children,

I hear your father's step.

He likes you to meet him at the door.

Above the red skins crouched before Peter.

Watch well,

And then,

As so often before,

The gay children dragged him from his tree.

And,

As so often before,

But never again.

He had brought nuts for the boys as a gift from his father.

And he had brought nuts for the boys as a gift from his father.

And he had brought nuts for the boys as well as the correct time for Wendy.

Peter,

You just spoil them,

You know.

Wendy simpered.

Ah,

Old lady,

Said Peter,

Hanging up his gun.

It was me who told him mothers are called old ladies,

Michael whispered to Curly.

The complain of Michael,

Said Curly instantly.

The first twin came to Peter.

Father,

We want to dance.

Dance away,

My little man,

Said Peter,

Who was in high good humour.

But we want you to dance.

Peter was really the best dancer among them,

But he pretended to be scandalised.

Me,

My old bones would rattle and mummy too.

What?

Cried Wendy,

The mother of such an harmful dance.

But on a Saturday night,

Slightly insinuated,

It was not really Saturday night.

At least it may have been for they had long lost count of the days.

But always,

If they wanted to do anything special,

They said this was a Saturday night and then they did it.

Of course,

It is Saturday night.

Wendy said,

Relenting.

So,

They were told they could dance,

But they must put on their nighties first.

Ah,

Old lady,

Peter said to Wendy,

Warming himself by the fire and looking down at her as she sat turning a heel.

There is nothing more pleasant of an evening for you and me when the day's toil is over other than to rest by the fire with the little ones nearby.

It is sweet,

Peter,

Isn't it?

Wendy said,

Frightfully gratified.

Peter,

I think Curly has your nose.

Michael takes after you.

She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

Dear Peter,

She said,

With such a large family,

Of course,

I have now passed my best.

But you don't want to change me,

Do you,

Peter?

No,

Wendy.

Certainly,

He did not want to change.

But he looked at her uncomfortably,

Blinking,

You know,

Like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep.

Peter,

What is it?

I was just thinking,

He said.

I don't know.

I was just thinking,

He said,

A little scared.

It is only make-believe,

Isn't it,

That I am their father?

Oh,

Yes,

Wendy said.

You see,

He continued apologetically,

It would make me seem so old to be their real father.

We are ours,

Peter,

Yours and mine.

But not really,

Wendy,

He asked anxiously.

Not if you don't wish it,

She replied,

And she distinctly heard his sigh of relief.

Peter,

She asked,

Trying to speak firmly,

What are your exact feelings for me?

Those of a devoted son,

Wendy.

I thought so,

She said,

And went and sat by herself at the extreme end of the room.

You are so queer,

He said,

Frankly puzzled.

And Tiger Lily is just the same.

There is something she wants to be to me,

But she says it is not my mother.

No,

Indeed,

It is not,

Wendy replied,

With frightful emphasis.

Now we know why she was prejudiced against the Redskins.

Then what is it,

Wendy?

It isn't for a lady to tell.

Oh,

Very well,

Peter said,

A little nettled.

Perhaps Tinkerbell will tell me.

Oh,

Yes,

Tinkerbell will tell you,

Wendy retorted scornfully.

She is an abandoned little creature.

He is a man,

A creature.

Here,

Tink,

Eavesdropping,

Squeaked out something impudent.

She says she glories in being abandoned,

Peter interpreted.

He had a sudden idea.

Perhaps Tink wants to be my mother.

You silly ass,

Cried Tinkerbell in a passion.

She had said it so often that Wendy needed no translation.

I almost agree with her,

Wendy snapped.

Fancy Wendy snapping.

But she had been much tried and she little knew what was to happen before the night was out.

If she had known,

She would not have snapped.

None of them knew.

Perhaps it was best not to know.

Their ignorance gave them one more glad hour.

And as it was to be their last hour on the island,

Let us rejoice that there were 60 glad minutes in it.

They sang and danced in their nightgowns.

Such a deliciously creepy song it was,

In which they pretended to be frightened at their own shadows.

Little knowing that the night would come and they would be alone.

They would be alone in their shadows.

Little knowing that so soon shadows would close in upon them from whom they would shrink in real fear.

So uproariously gay was the dance and how they buffeted each other on the bed and out of it.

It was a pillow fight rather than a dance and when it was finished the pillows insisted on one more bout.

Like partners who know that they may never meet again.

The stories they told before it was time for Wendy's goodnight story.

Even slightly tried to tell a story that night but the beginning was so fearfully dull that it appalled even himself and he said gloomily yes,

It is a dull beginning.

I say let us pretend that it is the end.

And then at last they all got into bed for Wendy's story the story that they loved best the story Peter hated.

Usually when she began to tell this story he left the room or put his hands over his ears and possibly if he had done either of those things this time they might all still be on the island but tonight he remained on his stall and we shall see what happened.

Reviews

I have to listen again because your gentle voice lulled me into sleep 😆