Once there was a small town with a big problem. Well, it was actually lots of little problems, but I shall get to that in a bit. Hamelin, in case you’ve never had the chance to visit, or even google it, is a quaint little town in the rolling hills of the German countryside. It’;s a little different nowadays, but many moons ago, when this story took place, the houses didn’t have a right angle to share between them and the cobblestone streets tripped up the town elders daily with their bumps and dips, dips and bumps.  One fine bright morning the grumbling, mumbling and positively huffy townsfolk shuffled into their seats to fill the isles beneath the dusty wooden beams of the old town hall. They were there to discuss the town’s big problem: Rats. Huge brown, hairy rats with long pink tails as thick and hairy as a wrestler’s fingers. Not just a few here and there, mind you, but thousands and thousands of the blighters, and despite every person doing everything they could, those pesky rats just kept on coming.  Now, rats are clever creatures. You might not see them, but you know they’re there. Hiding, scuttling and scratching. Apparently if you live in a major city, you’re never more than a stone’s throw from a rat. I don’t know about that but I do know about Hamelin. Out of the corner of your eye you might spy a tail here, a whisker there, and this was the problem, these smart little rodents were almost impossible to catch. I'm sad to say it but in the once pleasant town of Hamelin, there were now more rats than people. “Order!  Order!” Wilfred Schnapps,  the town clerk, a scrawny wisp of a fellow with a surprisingly large voice was trying to rally the unhappy townsfolk to silence. “Order I say! Please be seated. The Right Honourable Mayor wishes to commence this meeting!” “Yes, yes, that’s quite enough, Schnapps,” ordered the Mayor, rising to his feet. He was a squashy gentleman with an oily moustache that he took great pains with. “Now, let us begin with this major issue of the wobbly cobblestones…” At the Mayor’s words the hall exploded with a kerfuffle of chair shuffling and angriness. Schnapps actually had to stand on his chair and wave his arms about for a minute until the people of Hamelin were all back in their seats. Once there was quiet, the Mayor pointed to a friendly looking orange haired lady in the front row. “Frau Dengel, what say you?” “Well, forgive me, your honour,” said Frau Dengel apologetically, “But…the cobblestones?” A growl of agreement rose from the crowd. “We want to know what you’re doing about the rats. My house is full of them, so is my shop. There are rats in my garden, in my kitchen. Not only that, I went to run a bath last night, and guess what I found?” The townspeople and the Mayor knew what was coming next. “Seven bloomin’ rats!” Shouted Frau Dengel, her voice trembling with worry. “Bold as brass, they were. Havin’ a proper shindig there in my tub.”  The Mayor shook his head and tutted loudly. “Terrible business. I can only imagine!” “Well,” said Fraud Dengel, getting to her feet. “That’s the problem right there! You’ve hit the nagel right on the kopf. You have no idea what it’s like for us down in the town. What with you being all fine and dandy, and dare i say it, rate-free, up on the Haupt-strasse.” The crowd erupted once more into shouts and cat calls. Wilfred Schnapps was ignored as he tried to regain order and the mayor’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish but no sound came out. “So?” said Frau Dengel, pointing her finger at the sweating man. “So, what are you going to do about it?” The townspeople all cheered heartily in agreement, and quietened down to a low rumble to hear the Mayor’s solution. But before he could answer, there was an awful screeching sound echoing from the back of the hall. Everyone turned, and many covered their ears to stop the unbearable screeching.. The sound stopped as soon as it had begun, as out from the shadows stepped a slight man wearing a curious bright red and gold chequered outfit. All eyes were upon this strangely dressed man in a jaunty pointed hat with a single green feather. In his hand there was a wooden flute which carried mysterious markings. Across one shoulder was a small leather knapsack.  He lifted his head to reveal pale, pointed features. The corners of his mouth were slightly upturned as if he were just about to smile, but not quite. ​ ...