The Dashing Donkey of Whitney Beach

Magical Realism | Fiction - A summer time fable set in an English seaside resort of the 1980s

Dash, the donkey created in Nightcafe by the author

Whitney Beach was buzzing in the 1980s. Families swarmed to the area each summer like bees to a honey pot. They basked on the yellow sands and squealed in the jade waves. The surrounding aroma was a concoction of saltwater mixed with fresh clams from the nearby stalls.

And there was me, a sprightly young donkey named Dash, giving rides to children along the bay. My big ears, no larger than my heart.

I was accompanied by three other donkeys; Gallop, Nibble, and Bolt. And we all belonged to Mr. Thompson, an elderly gentleman with the whitest hair I’d ever seen. He treated us with loving care, providing hay and carrots to eat, plus pats on the back every evening while nattering away as if he knew I could understand him.

One balmy August night, the moon cast an eerie sheen over the town. The sea murmured past secrets as it lapped against the shore, and tiny diamonds sparkled in the sky. All at once, I felt a supernatural pull toward the water’s edge, as the silence of the beach was almost deafening.

When I reached the tideline, the waves ahead swelled before parting, leaving a path of smooth iridescent sand. My hooves sank into a bioluminescent trail as I followed it, dizzy with curiosity.

At the end, hovering above the water, was the Sea Watcher, a radiant, mermaid type figure with hair of flowing seaweed and eyes as dark as the bottom of the deepest ocean.

I had never seen this mysterious sea creature before, but knew of her legend.

“Greetings, gentle one,” she sang, her voice a soothing melody. “I am the Watcher of these waters, protector of purity and kindness. I have watched over this sea faring town for centuries.”

She emanated old wisdom and benevolence. I bowed my head and brayed, honoured to be in her presence.

“Your Highness, Sea Watcher,” I stammered, ears twitching nervously.

“I have witnessed your kind spirit,” she continued. “Your soul is as pure as the calmest waters I safeguard. For this, I grant you a gift. A magic to change lives.”

“Why me, Your Highness Sea Watcher?”

“You care for others, expecting nothing in return.”

She raised her hand, and a glimmering shell appeared. “This holds my magic. When a child is touching you, their pure-hearted wishes can be granted.”

The Sea Watcher attached the shell to my head collar, and warmth spread from the tops of my large pointy ears to the tips of my hooves. A sense of purpose filled me.

“Use the gift wisely, dear Dash. Your magic will bring hope and joy, but can also attract treachery. Beware and stay true to your nature. May your journey be blessed.”

With that, she fell into the arms of the ocean.

The beach returned to its serene, moonlit state. I stood alone, feeling the weight and wonder of my new purpose, yet still unsure how to use the present I’d been given.

The following morning, a sweet girl named Paula took a ride on my back. Her grandma watching and waving.

I realised I could read Paula’s thoughts. She was full of concern for her little brother, who was very sick in hospital. Her innocent heart wanted him to get well more than anything else in the world. I felt an immediate connection to Paula’s genuine desire, and at that moment I spied the shell on the side of my head collar glow and knew my magic was working.

A week or so later, the little girl was playing on the sand with her now healthy younger brother. She saw me and rushed over. Throwing her arms around my neck. Kids have a strange way of understanding the source of magic and otherworldly secrets.

I was happy. With my new purpose in life, I had fulfilled a wish born of perfect love.

My gift helped many beautiful children and their families. More came, eyes wide with hope. I only granted the pure-hearted needs. I couldn’t fulfil selfish wants. Some kids realised straight away they were not one of the lucky ones and cried or pouted. I paid no mind. Content in knowing the good I was doing.

Many disregarded the tales about me as mere folklore. But some adults wanted to take advantage of the myth, be it true or not.

A businessman with a belly the size of a beach ball tried to buy me, money signs flashing before his eyes. However, Mr Thomson never took to strangers, and sent him away with a flea in his ear.

One sunny afternoon, a shifty-looking man wearing reflective sunglasses approached. His long, thin hair tied back in a ponytail. He reached out to shake Mr Thomson’s hand, and I noticed his forefinger was missing. Instantly, I felt uneasy about his presence.

“Hey granddad. Any chance I could pay you a few quid for this ‘ere donkey to carry a box of my bits to the harbour? My boat’s moored over there.”

“Less of the granddad. What are you transporting?” Mr Thomson inquired.

“I meant nothing by it. I just got some rocks and shells in the box, for my family, like. Have a think while I get myself some food.”

My owner had an uncanny sixth sense and while the guy was busy buying a burger nearby, he peeped into the crate only to find — what turned out to be — stolen jewellery.

The next scene resembled one from a poorly scripted movie. Mr Thomson tried to make a citizen’s arrest, and the crook began stuffing necklaces and such like into his pockets before running away across the sands.

I heard the police caught up with him.

A few weeks later, the storm came. Dark clouds loomed while waves and thunder crashed. The town was in peril. Extensive flooding was likely. People tried to secure their properties from the potential damage as best they could, their faces pale and stark with fear.

Amid the chaos, a boy named Tommy rushed over to where I had been safely stabled, soaked through from the pelting raindrops the size of marbles.

He hugged me and shouted over the noise of the howling gale, expressing his wish for everyone to be safe and, “please don’t let the winds blow the houses down, like the wolf did in the three little pigs’ story.”

Experts had predicted severe destruction.

Tommy was risking his safety by coming to find me. I sensed that his desire was true and knew this storm would have dire consequences; both the town and lives would be lost.

I closed my eyes and harnessed all the magic I could muster to calm the skies and the seas.

Within minutes, the clouds blew away, and the waves stilled. I collapsed on to the straw, totally worn out from my efforts. Knowing my magic had also exhausted itself, and I was once again just a plain, ordinary donkey.

Thankfully, the town was saved. People came together rejoicing, smiling and hugging. They marvelled at the strange events, whispering tales of me, the magical animal who protected them all.

Although I lost my gift, I kept giving rides until only last year when I began my retirement. But while I grazed peacefully in a local farmer’s field along with Nibble, the townsfolk decided they missed my presence on the beach. They built a statue of me on the promenade as a reminder of the innocence and magic found in every pure-hearted child. The story you have read is now a beloved legend told to all children to teach them the importance of kindness and selflessness as they go on their way in life.

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This was originally written for The Medium publication, Kraken Lore Mash Up a few years ago.

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