The Leprechaun Who Wished He Wasn't

The Leprechaun Who Wished He Wasn't

‘A story that will extend the imagination
of the reader'
The Leinster Leader

‘Lavishly illustrated … ideal … for young readers'
The Longford Leader
  

‘A brilliant adventure story'
The Offaly Topic

Review
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE: Two Wishes
CHAPTER TWO: A Cool Dude
CHAPTER THREE: A Gremlin in the Works
CHAPTER FOUR: A Golden Opportunity
CHAPTER FIVE: A Happy Ending
About the Author
OTHER BOOKS BY SIOBHÁN PARKINSON
Copyright
Other Books

For ‘Murricans' and Other Aliens

amadán
: fool, idiot, half-wit (pronounced
omodhaun
)
báinín
: a whitish (undyed) wool or woollen material, part of traditional Irish dress (pronounced
bawneen
)
begobs and begorrah
: words that people
think
Irish people say
buachallán
: ragwort. There is a folk tale about a leprechaun who buried his crock of gold under a
buachallán
, a very good hiding place, as every Irish meadow is full of them (pronounced
booakallaun
)
eejit
: an Irish way of saying ‘idiot'
ogham
: a script consisting of small lines drawn at various angles to a central vertical line, used in ancient Ireland for marking runes on stones (pronounced
ogum
)
raiméis
: rubbish, nonsense (pronounced
rawmaysh
)

Laurence was fed up with being a leprechaun.

He was tired of sitting under a boring old rainbow, guarding a mouldy old crock of gold and making endless shoes.

He wanted to be a human being.

And besides, he longed to have a Best Friend. But nobody is ever Best Friends with a leprechaun. Leprechauns spend all their time tricking people and laughing wickedly and stealing things and not letting people have their crocks of gold.

If he wanted to have a Best Friend, Laurence would have to REFORM HIS CHARACTER. But first, he had to get bigger. That was why, on this summer's morning, he was doing his stretching
exercises in the sunshine. Regular exercises would surely bring him up to the right height to pass for a small boy. And he was practising his English very hard too.

The other leprechauns jeered. ‘You'll snap in the middle one day,' they growled, ‘and that will be the end of you. Leprechauns aren't supposed to be tall. Anyway, what's
wrong with being a leprechaun?'

‘It's too corny,' explained Laurence. ‘It's just not cool. All the really hip people are huming beings.'

The others didn't agree.

‘Well, name one hip person who's a leprechaun,' Laurence said. But of course they couldn't.

Laurence had marked out a watch-yourself-grow chart on a
buachallán
. He'd marked it in centimetres, because it's much more encouraging to watch yourself grow in centimetres than in inches.

He was just standing very still up against the stem of the
buachallán
, holding his breath and concentrating on being a centimetre taller, when a huge
shadow fell across the field.

Laurence shivered with cold. He wondered where the sun had gone. What could have happened?

He came out from under the
buachallán
, looked up towards the sky and straight into a pair of very large grey eyes, with long brown lashes, and pudgy pink cheeks under them.

Oops! He was cornered.

Now the one thing a leprechaun dreads is being spotted by a human being. It usually means having to cough up a crock of gold.

‘Good morning.' Laurence grinned hopefully at the owner of the eyes.

‘What's good about it?'

‘I didn't say it
was
a good morning,' said Laurence. ‘I just
wished
you one. It's not the same thing.'

‘Humph,' said the fat girl sourly and sat down with a bump that made the
buachallán
tremble. ‘Anyway,' she went on, ‘leprechauns aren't supposed to say Good morning. They're supposed to say Top o' the mornin'.'

‘
Raiméis
!' (This was Laurence's favourite word.) ‘You've been reading too many silly books about leprechauns. And who says I'm a leprechaun?'

‘Well, if you're not, you're a mighty strange-looking whatever-it-is-
that-you're
-supposed-to-be.'

‘Well, I'm
not
a leprechaun,' said Laurence stoutly. ‘I'm huming. Just like you.'

‘Have it your own way. What's your name? Mine's Phoebe.'

‘Phoebe!' said Laurence. ‘
Phoebe
! What sort of a name is that?'

‘You shouldn't be rude about people's names,' said Phoebe primly. ‘What's yours?'

‘Laurence.'

Now, Laurence's name was really Larry, but he thought that sounded too leprechaunish altogether, so he'd changed it to Laurence. That had a definite human ring to it.

‘Huh! That proves it!' said Phoebe.

‘That proves what?'

‘That you really
are
a leprechaun. All
leprechauns are called Laurence.'

‘No, they're not. They're mostly called Larry, actually.'

‘Same difference. Laurence is long for Larry.'

‘What?'

‘Or at least,' went on Phoebe thoughtfully, ‘Larry is short for Laurence, which comes to the same thing. What age are you? I'm eleven.'

‘Me too,' said Laurence. ‘Eleven hundred next birthday.'

‘Oh you big fibber!'

Big! She'd called him
big
! Laurence swelled up importantly. ‘Am I?' he asked, delighted.

‘Yes, of course you are. You must be fibbing, because nobody can live to be
eleven hundred. Unless … unless … unless they're a
leprechaun
, of course.'

‘But I'm not eleven hundred yet. Not for another month. I'm still only one thousand and ninety-nine.'

‘And eleven months,' added Phoebe. ‘Same difference though. You're way too old to be a human being.'

‘Well, OK, OK, perhaps I am a leprechaun then,' Laurence admitted. ‘But that doesn't mean I have a crock of gold!'

Phoebe stretched out her plump legs. ‘That's what they all say. Anyway, I don't want your crummy old crock of gold.'

Now Laurence had been brought up to believe that human beings are always on
the lookout for crocks of gold. But here was his first-ever human being and she didn't want one!

‘I'd much rather have three wishes,' Phoebe went on. ‘Even one wish would do, actually. You don't happen to know any wishing-fairies, do you?'

Laurence shook his head. ‘No such thing.'

‘Are you sure? I thought that if there are leprechauns, there'd surely be wishing-fairies too.'

‘No,' said Laurence firmly. ‘At least, I
don't know any.'

‘That's really too bad,' said Phoebe crossly. ‘Can you do magic?'

‘A bit,' said Laurence cautiously.

‘What can you do?'

‘I can disappear,' boasted Laurence.

‘Well, that's not much use, is it?'

‘I suppose not,' agreed Laurence sadly.

‘Anything else?'

‘No,' said Laurence in a small voice. ‘Sorry. You make me sound quite useless.'

‘Well, you are a bit. It's a shame you can't grant me any wishes. Have
you
got a wish?'

‘Of course I have. I wish I wasn't a leprechaun. I wish I was taller. Tall enough to be a huming being.'

‘Isn't it nice being a leprechaun?'

‘No, it isn't. It's awful. But what's
your
dearest wish?' Laurence asked.

‘Well,' began Phoebe, ‘do you promise not to tell anyone else?'

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.'

‘Well, then,' Phoebe confided, ‘I wish I was thin!'

‘THIN!' exclaimed Laurence. ‘THIN! What on earth do you want to be thin for?' That was the daftest wish he'd ever heard.

‘They're all thinner than me at school,' said Phoebe.

‘Probably,' said Laurence. ‘But who cares about that? Who wants to be like everyone else?'

‘You do, for a start,' said Phoebe. ‘But
you see, the real problem is this. My big sister wants me to be bridesmaid at her wedding this summer, and I look so stupid in frilly dresses! I look like … I look like … a hippopotamus in a tutu!'