My journey to become a storyteller: They say the art of storytelling is dead. That may be so in general, but I am here to tell my story, a story that will show storytelling is in fact, alive, and well, and kicking. My particular journey began 60 years ago in an English Language classroom. English was one of my favourite subjects made even more so by the adoration I had for the English teacher at that time. Mr Crannigan was by all accounts a wizened, frail old man who had trouble breathing. His respiratory system had been permanently damaged owing to ‘gassing’ in the Second World War. I loved him dearly as he always opened his lessons with a small anecdote pertaining to his long life. One day he announced a class project. “I would like you all to have as a homework assignment task to write a short story, the topic as you wish, but let me be enchanted by your imagination.” We all did as bid and brought in our stories the next day. The following day he broke his opening lesson tradition of telling a personal anecdote, “Thank you for all your excellent stories. I am going to read out one of them to open our lesson. He then proceeded to read one story out, and, to my utter shock, it was mine. After the story he paused seemingly in great reflection before saying gravely and somewhat prophetically. “That was a story by Tom Kissack. Mark my words: Class one day he will be a great storyteller and writer.” Much water has run under my bridge since then: there has been a good deal of happiness, many successes, love and laughter and also deep sadness, shame, regrets and abject failure. You can continue learning more about my story by clicking on the read more button below.

It was almost 30 years later I had some great news. After 10 years of marriage my wife and I were blessed with a beautiful baby girl. I was then enjoying a great second career as a London University Marketing Manager. Strangely, Mr Crannigan’s prophetic words so many years previous started to come true. I began telling stories on two fronts. In my job I would curate graduate success stories each year. Write a bi-annual magazine of these stories and tell them proudly at open days, higher education fairs and school visits, not just in Britain, but a number of countries abroad. I also when my daughter was six years old began telling her bedtime stories.

It was the case that my second marriage did last a long time. Twenty-seven years in fact. But I, in time due to several reasons, took steps to dissolve the marriage. My daughter was fourteen at the time. She, on me leaving the family home, expressed sympathy with my departure, details I will not share. But then after several months a bombshell hit me. She refused to meet or speak to me. Years passed and I met her only by accident living in the same town once or twice. That was a tragedy for sure, but tragedy had not yet done with me. Out of the blue it struck across my life and this was more than once. I was holidaying in Prague for a week, on the last two days with my new wife and three-year-old son, Jonathan. My wife was with my son in a crystal shop with her Chinese friend who had accompanied us on holiday. I was lingering outside when I heard my phone ring. Who is ringing me here I thought? I had just left my job, taking retirement a year early, so it could not be work. I answered and it was a vicar, a gentle, kind, sincere man, pastor of the church I attended with Sarah, my second wife, and daughter, so many years ago. He asked me if I was on my own. I replied no and explained. “Well, I am deeply sorry to tell you, Tom. Your daughter has died. She passed away peacefully and unexpectedly in her sleep a few nights back. The entire world and its dog has been looking for you. Your former work gave a head’s up to the police who eventually contacted me and I had your number.” My mind was numb listening to Andrew. Along with a sense of deep shock, she was only twenty-one, the same age as my brother when he passed away, I listened to his comforting words almost separate from myself. He said by way of closing, “I will let you know more if I find out and of course the funeral arrangements when known.” When the phone went dead I realised I was crying. Tears tumbling down my face. I always thought when Christina left University, she was in her final year, and with a greater degree of maturity we might pick up and be friends. “Not so,” said Life cruelly, “You now have to wait an eternity.”

After the funeral I met Sarah, Christina’s mum, for lunch. I had not seen her for many years. We both tried to help each other that day, sharing and supporting one another in our mutual grief, But she went one step further as again tears cascaded down my face. “Tom, Christina did love you. She only recently said I miss my dad’s stories at bedtime.” I could not speak through upset for a few minutes as I held my former wife’s hand across the table. Eventually I said, “Sarah, your talk of bedtime stories. It is so incredibly sad as there is no comfort owing to the fact I cannot remember the details of even one single story.” After that meeting I never saw Sarah for a number of years.

Wind forward 3 years and my son, having completed his night time toilet, announced, “Daddy, tell me a story like you told my half-sister Christina in Heaven.” I looked at him shocked. “What story would you like me to tell you?” I asked. “Any, Daddy. What about The Dragon and the Window?” I thought for a minute and smiled. “OK. Here we go: Once upon a time…” But this second bout of storytelling to my children was different. This time I allowed my son to choose each night a binary theme, and so was born wonderful stories like The Parrot and the Woodpecker, The Hammer and the Shoe, The Watch and the Light, to give a few examples. There will be soon forty published stories when Volume 4 is released. But there were two other fundamental differences to the stories I told my son. Firstly, I recorded the stories on my android. And so were born Jonathan’s Tales and over three years I recorded over one hundred. The other difference is I wanted to exploit this second chance by making the stories not just bedtime entertainment. I imbued the stories with moral lessons: these stories spoke of the importance of love, of kindness, of honesty, the gift of friendship, of forgiveness, and several story narratives focused on difference, not as a challenge, but as a celebration. The first of this latter emphasis on difference was in an epically beautiful tale, The Squirrel and the Fish. There was, however, one last thing I wove into the storytelling, education: Education on many fronts: culture, science, evolution, anatomy, geography, geology, history, famous people, poetry, and idioms, sayings, proverbs and we might as well throw in many general wisdoms. I flagged this education up as notes in the narrative and gave explanation at the book’s end in a comprehensive glossary. So, Jonathan’s Tales is not just a remembrance of my bedtime stories with my son, but a veritable encyclopaedia when Volume 4 is released of over 1500 idioms, sayings, proverbs and facts.

When my son was 9 years old, just before bedtime stories were discontinued as a natural break with him growing up, something happened. I always regretted not remembering one story I told my daughter. But I was not to be left with sadness on that count. One night Jonathan, or perhaps someone above looking over us that night helped me. “Daddy, can you tell me a story about a Robin and a Penguin?” I fell into silence. After a while my son anxiously said, “Daddy! Daddy!” “Son, I have a better idea. I have just remembered one story I told your half-sister, so the story tonight is The Robin and the Black Mole.”

When I began authoring the stories up from the audio it was usually in a pub chain, Wetherspoons, or a coffee shop that I frequented. As the Volumes increased, so did my work to translate the stories from audio to the written word, which incidentally involved a duality of creativity beyond the verbal storytelling. I did however in all cases try to remain faithful to the latter in transposing the audio version. Sometimes whilst writing I became inexplicably overwhelmed in these public places. I was, of course, remembering the beautiful times my son and I shared, but always beside me was a memory, a memory of Christina, and each time that memory surfaced so did tears. Some acquaintances, bordering on friends, in the establishment sometimes came with a tissue to dry my eyes. I always smiled then. When I had published three books I realised it was a fact that I had deliberately tried to ignore translating the story of The Robin and the Mole. But suddenly one day I decided this story MUST feature in my fourth Volume as a tribute and honour to my beloved daughter. So, of all the books, Volume 4 will be the most poignant on publication. And it will be now a shared legacy for Jonathan when he gets older and my daughter in Heaven.

But there is one last thing about this storytelling I must tell you. It is said storytelling across the millennia has acted as a uniting, co-joining force for the good. When my first book was published as I had acknowledged Christina in the front I thought it fitting I should give my daughter’s mother a copy. I knew where she lived. One day, I took a 45-minute drive. Knocking on what I thought was her residence a woman opened the door. She looked at me with thoughtful, kind eyes. I was surprised. “Is Sarah living here?” “No,” smiled the woman, ”She lives in the next block, Number 7.” “Oh?” I said a little confused, “I have a book I want to give her. It is a very personal book and has a connection with her and my family history.” “Tom,” she said, “My name is Miss Noble. You do not remember me do you? I was at Christina’s funeral. Let me have the book. I promise to give it to Sarah. She is working at the moment. I know this as we had a cup of tea in this very location this morning. Please write your telephone number on the envelope housing the book.” That night Sarah rang me, and we spoke for nearly an age. I had not seen Sarah for many years, but when the second book was published we met for lunch. And this was repeated for my third Volume recently. Jonathan’s Tales has worked its magic as an impossible thing has happened. Although so much water has passed under both our bridges Sarah and I have become friends, serving as a good example that storytelling has been for centuries a unifying force, don’t you think?

And so, I look back upon 60 years I began with this, and reflect on my blessed English teacher, Mr Crannigan’s fateful words, “One day Tom Kissack will be a great storyteller and writer.” He could have no idea the form that would take, that Jonathan’s Tales are many things, but essentially metaphors for my own very ‘interesting’ and long life. I leave it to you reader to judge whether Mr Crannigan’s words are true."

I hope you enjoy the audio version of the first Tale in Volume 2, The Glass and the Jumper.