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I have the hardest speaker challenge in the country. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. Hi, I’m Ernie Boxall, and I’m a storyteller…or should that be storyseller. Let me explain… Every school holiday, I become Erine the Wizard of Storytelling at Tudor World in Stratford-upon-Avon, and to be a storyteller in Shakespeare's hometown, you have to be pretty good. The house, built in 1480 and renovated in 1594 after one of the most destructive fires in the town, is a living museum where families can steep themselves into the fabric of Tudor life. The town life, the English Civil War, and the Great Plagues of Stratford, along with smells, videos, and educational notice boards around the museum. In one particular room, Erine awaits as families climb the stairs into the infamous Ship Room, where, for ten minutes or more, they will learn about ‘Otto’, the now famous ‘Headless Knight of Stratford Upon Avon. NOTE: Don’t waste time scouring the history books for him. These slots are relatively easy as a storyteller, a captive audience who, while they have paid to tour the museum, I come for free, and it's all for personal satisfacrion. The challenge is the evening where, at 6 pm and 8 pm, almost every Saturday, you will be met by Wilfred the Warden of Tudor World, one of England’s most haunted Houses. This, ladies and gentlemen, is when I take the victi…visitors around the house, barely lit by a ‘Tudor LED lantern’ and educate and entertain them with the stories of everyone who has died there (and there have been an awful lot of people who have died in many ways, all of them tragic). And this is where it is, in my opinion, the hardest speaking gig in Britain. There will be a number of people pre-book for the hour’s tour because of the historical significance of the house, some will book because of the opportunity to experience the Spirit side of the building (no other actors, or ‘jump outs’ but ‘stuff’ as often happened), and the other will have come off the street after a day out or a hen night.

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In November 1998, Ernie Boxall’s wonderful partner and mother to two of his three daughters decided she was tired of being second to his desire to be a football coach. The years of raising two young daughters, while Ernie spent his free time coaching, proved too much, and he moved out while his partner began a new life with the girls. Ernie had to move out of the home and closer to his work at a local hospital. It was his darkest time, seeking to rebuild life in a new location while still keeping in contact with his daughters. The worst moment came when he arrived home to find that his daughter had been attacked by the partner of the woman who lived opposite, who, it turned out, was a known to the police. He felt a failure, and the pressure grew. The hospital was restructuring, and the change was too much: he was sacked (on a false charge), and the world crashed. The change came on the first day he went shopping after the sacking. He took the wrong turn at a junction and found himself driving past a university and a sign advertising Tai Chi. That wrong turn in the road changed my life. The Tai Chi led to an introduction to Shiatsu Therapy and, over three years, an introduction to the art of listening to people’s stories. Ernie became a Tai Chi and Shiatsu practitioner and set up his own business. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t hard either, because Ernie had a gift for listening and delivering good networking pitches. It gave him the platform to deliver his 60 second presentations with authority. It also gave him an insight into the number of business owners who leave money on the table because of the unwittingly mistakes many make when anxiety and dread hamper their impact. Ernie started a business working with them to deliver presentations with impact. He turned to podcasting to deliver “No Story Stagnates”, with guests from all over the world, and hosted a live “No Story Stagnates” event where storytellers, authors, poets, and musicians entertained the audience.

When I was nine or ten, my grandfather took up fishing. After supper, he and I would get in the rowboat and go out on the lake. He was teaching me how to cast my line as far as possible, and then slowly reel it in, hoping that a fish would bite. This went on for hours: sitting in the boat, each of us casting our lines and reeling them in. He was determined that I should have the thrilling experience of catching a bass, but I never even got a bite. Waiting and hoping was not really a thrilling experience for me, but I tried to accept my grandfather’s assurance that it would be worth waiting for. There was another job on the boat, and that was the net. As one of us reeled in a fish, the plan was that the other would hold the net on the long handle, dip it into the water and scoop up the fish. Finally one evening, my grandfather got a bite. He jerked his rod in just the right way to secure the battling fish on the lure, and started reeling it in. I made ready with the net. As the large bass became visible just under the surface, I slipped the net under it and lifted it up out of the water. It happened that some neighbors were out on the pier, and spotted us with our respectably big fish—five pounds! It was a small enough community, and a big enough catch, that the story was repeated for days. Every single time, my grandfather would gesture towards me and say, “My granddaughter here netted it for me.” I know he wanted me to feel that I had been an important part of the triumph, and I did feel important. I netted it for him! That was almost as good as catching one myself (which never happened). Thank you, Grampa. You were a sweet guy.