Come closer, dear ones, young and old, wise and curious alike. Gather 'round, beneath the sheltering arms of Old Oak, where the lanterns are lit, and the moonlight filters through the leaves like silver threads.

Leave your worries behind and let your imagination soar as high as the stars above. Tonight, we embark on a journey through the whispers of the past, the mysteries of the deep blue sea, and the enchanting tales of creatures great and small. In this sacred space of storytelling, every word is a key, unlocking doors to unseen realms.

So snuggle in close, open your hearts wide, and listen well, for the tale I am about to tell will carry you on the wings of wonder to places where the land meets the sea and the world's magic comes alive. Are you ready? Then, let us begin.

Listen closely as Wise Owl unfolds a tale. It is a tale of how the humble Herring became the King.

Snuggle in, and let your imaginations swim far and wide with the currents of this story.

Once upon a time, when the world was young, and the sea was wild and free, the fish of the ocean found themselves in a great dilemma.

They had no leader, no wise fish to guide them through the trials and tides of life. So, they decided to convene a grand meeting off the Shoulder, south of the Calf, to choose a king among them.

Oh, what a sight it was! The sea bubbled with anticipation as fish from every corner swam to the meeting place, each dressed in their finest scales. Captain Jiarg, the Red Gurnet, arrived in his splendid crimson coat, shimmering like rubies beneath the waves. Grey Horse, the Shark, glided in with a menacing grace, his eyes cold and calculating. The Bollan flashed his brightest colours, flicking his fins with elegant precision. And Dirty Peggy, the Cuttlefish, adorned herself in her most enchanting hues, her tentacles swirling with mesmerising patterns. Poor Athag, the Haddock, fretted over the devil's black spots on his sides, scrubbing them futilely in an attempt to look his best. Each fish secretly harboured the hope of being chosen.

Among these grand fish was Brac Gorm, the Mackerel, who stood out with his beautiful lines and stripes of pink, green, and gold, shimmering with all the colours of the sea and sky. He looked so magnificent that the other fish whispered, "Surely, this splendid fish must be artificial," and thus, dismissed him from their consideration.

As the debates and discussions swirled like the ocean currents, it was Skeddan, the Herring, the Lil Silver Fella, who caught their attention. With his modest and unassuming demeanour, his silver scales glimmered softly under the water's light. There was a quiet grace and simplicity about him that won the hearts of all the fish. And so, by unanimous decision, Skeddan was proclaimed King of the Sea.

But just as the celebration began, up came the Fluke, too late to cast his vote. His scales were adorned with touches of red, for he had been so preoccupied with perfecting his appearance that he lost track of time. Upon learning that Skeddan had been chosen, he twisted his mouth to one side and demanded, "And what am I to be, then?"

Before anyone could respond, Scarrag the Skate flicked his tail and slapped the Fluke across the mouth, leaving it permanently crooked. "Take that," he said with a mischievous grin. And ever since, the Fluke's mouth has remained twisted.

Thus, peace reigned in the sea with its new King. Perhaps that is why the Herring is highly esteemed among men. Even the wise deemsters, the judges of the land, take their oath with the words: "I will execute justice as indifferently as the herring's backbone doth lie in the midst of the fish." The Manx people, with great reverence, never burn the Herring's bones in the fire, lest the Herring should feel it.

To this very day, the finest Herring in the world are caught off the Shoulder, near the spot where the fish held their grand meeting, close to Manannan's enchanted island. And that, dear ones, is how the Herring became King of the Sea, a tale remembered with each silver catch, shimmering like the moon's reflection on the waves.

Now, wasn't that a delightful story? Knowing that sometimes, the most modest and unassuming among us can become the greatest of all.

And now, as the sun sets and the stars begin their twinkling dance, I must return to my perch high in the tree. But before I go, let me offer my heartfelt thanks to you.

Thank you for welcoming me into your homes and hearts, for your kind ears and open imaginations. It is a joy beyond measure to know that these stories, woven with the threads of the past, find new life in your mind and dreams.

I invite you all to follow along on this grand journey through tales untold and wonders yet to be discovered. For there are many more stories in the whispering winds and murmuring streams, in the rustling leaves and rolling waves, waiting to be shared with friends old and new.

May your nights be filled with dreams as bright as the stars and your days with adventures as boundless as the sea.

⁕This story is inspired by the rich and ancient Manx folklore and drawn from the pages of Sophia Morrison's Manx Fairy Tales, London, 1911