The received wisdom is that 'storytelling' has started to be taken seriously as an art form only in the last 20 years or so... The first person I ever saw who described themselves as a 'storyteller' was Hugh Lupton and that was when I booked him for an evening at the folk club I ran in Eaton Bray, near Dunstable back in 1985/6. At that time I'd started telling stories but wasn't really taking it very seriously. The following is from a book called 'STORIES TO TELL & HOW TO TELL THEM' by Elizabeth Clark which was written in 1927! Some of the stories are a bit 'twee' but much of the introduction still makes very good sense...

"This little book of stories is in part an attempt to furnish some fresh material for telling to children of about six to ten years of age... None of the stories claims to be what is known as original. All are founded on legends and scraps of folklore or history. I have re-told them because I enjoyed them - one of the very best of good reasons for telling a story - in the hope that others will enjoy them also....

Now, as to the advice which follows each story. It has been written with considerable diffidence, because story-telling is such an individual affair that at first it seemed hardly possible to give any directions as to how each story should be told. Moreover, I had especially in mind the inexperienced and probably nervous Story-teller, to whom a story is apt to present itself as something to be memorised and afterwards discharged, with more or less accuracy and as much expression as anxiety will permit. To burden such with many details as to pauses, emphasis, inflexions, would be only to add to their troubles. Also I am sure that "expression," in story-telling of the homely, intimate kind for which these little stories are intended, comes best and most freely when it springs from the Story-teller's own enjoyment and understanding. It cannot be dictated word by word. So I have aimed at establishing a bond of friendship and intimacy between Story-teller and story, believing that this is the surest road to remembering and telling with freedom and delight.

Freedom and delight! - these are the birthright of the story. For consider: we are all story-tellers at times. Do we not all love to recount our own experiences - especially the more distressing and grievous ones - to all who will listen? Some of us, it is true, tell with more vivacity than others. Some of us have a greater gift of words. But on the whole, to the average person, story-telling "comes natural" when applied to personal experience. And we enjoy it....

Why do even those of us who believe themselves utterly incapable of telling stories nevertheless find no difficulty in holding forth upon personal experiences? The reason, I think, is threefold, and each part will be found to have a bearing upon the craft of the Story-teller. The first reason seems too simple for statement, but it lies at the very root of all good story-telling. First and foremost: we want to tell.... And because it is our story, because we are so interested, the other two reasons follow of themselves. We remember so clearly and we see so plainly.

We remember so clearly. Nobody knows the details of that particular absurdity, surprise, thrill, or grievance so well as do we to whom it happened. We have all the facts at our finger-ends. And we see so plainly. The scene passes again before our mind's eye; we watch as we tell and the experience unrolls before us like a picture.

In fact, to sum up: we have a living interest in our story and a complete command of the essential details, and spontaneously the narrative breaks forth in words.

Can we apply these principles to the art of story-telling? I think we can. First, as to the question of interest. Let us start with the intention of always having an interest, a personal share, in the story. Wise Story-tellers will, as far as possible, choose a tale for their own delight - no less than for the pleasure of the children. They will refuse a story which does not appeal to them...

...and now as to grasping and handling the material of the story. Remember, we need the facts at our finger ends - the picture before our mind's eye.

It is here that systematic, intelligent preparation comes in, and many of us do not do enough of that. Some of us sit down with a grim determination to learn the story by heart. Some of us with quick memories read the story once or twice and are satisfied that we know it. And neither method is what we need. The first gives us the words and the words only. If we lose them we are lost indeed. The second gives us merely a shallow impression of the facts. We gain little, consequently we shall have little to give.

Really, of course, we shall have done much of our preparation in thinking over our story, in considering its appeal, in making friends with it, in fact. One does not readily forget the ways of a friend. But it is necessary to have a firm hold on facts, to be able to call to mind quickly and clearly the events which are the structure of the story. It is a good plan at this stage to take pencil and paper and jot down the outline as briefly as possible.... presently, details will slip into place, the facts will grow, as they should, to pictures, especially if we take our time and watch each event as it happens....

Last of all comes the stage of trying over words - telling the story to ourselves.... Nothing shows us so clearly what steps we have left out, where the thread is tangled or the conversation lame when it should be direct and clear....

And now we are ready to tell. One word of advice about this: we Story-tellers must look and sound as if we enjoyed the story. It is true this sometimes seems difficult. There are days when, as Mr. Jarndyce would say "the wind is in the east," when the children are restless, we are tired, head-achy, or nervous - but if we are friends with our story we can meet them all...."

Reprinted with permission from 'STORIES TO TELL & HOW TO TELL THEM' by Elizabeth Clark pub. University of London Press 1927.

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