Half-a-Chicken and the Mystery of the Steeple’s Weathercock

What’s a rooster doing on top of a church? A surprisingly old story of faith, wind, and stubborn birds.

When I was in primary school, learning to read meant diving into a world of strange and wonderful tales — some sad, some funny, some completely absurd.

They weren’t just about spelling or grammar; they were about imagination, mystery, and meaning.

Here’s one story that stuck with me — and, oddly enough, it explains something you’ve probably seen all your life… without ever really noticing it.

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Half-a-Chicken: One Eye, One Wing, No Clue!

You might have heard the story of a little half-a-chicken who was always kind and helpful and ended up becoming a queen. But not all Half-a-Chickens are quite so generous…

Image by Open AI and retouched by the author

Once upon a time, in the French countryside, a proud mother hen hatched a large brood of beautiful chicks. They were all strong and fluffy—except one.

This one was only half a chicken: it had one eye, one wing, one leg, half a head, and just half a beak.

“Oh dear!” clucked the mother hen. “My youngest is only half a chicken. It will never come to anything.”

Off to see the King

But despite his odd appearance, Half-a-Chicken was full of energy.

He hopped around on his one leg with more daring than all his brothers and sisters.

He was cheeky, lively, and not at all happy with his fate.

One day, he went up to his mother and said:

“I’m tired of this dull old farmyard. I’m off to Paris to see the King.”

“You’re nothing but a silly little chick,” clucked the mother hen. “Even a grown rooster would think twice before setting off on such a journey.”

“I’m going anyway,” said Half-a-Chicken, puffing out what little chest he had. “Why should I stay cramped in this little coop? When I get to Paris, the King will give me a fine chicken yard of my own. I might even invite a few of you to visit.”

“Suit yourself,” sighed the mother hen. “But at least try to be polite and kind to those you meet. Who knows? That might bring you luck, poor little half-a-chicken that you are.”

“We’ll see about that!” shouted Half-a-Chicken, and off he hopped at full speed.

Half-a-Chicken is not helpful

That same day, Half-a-Chicken came to a stream tangled up with tall grasses.

“Please help me,” begged the stream. “Pull out a few weeds so I can flow freely again.”

“Help you?” clucked Half-a-Chicken. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve no time to waste helping others. I’m on my way to Paris to see the King!”

And he hopped along.

Soon he came to a dying campfire left behind by some travellers. The flames were low and fading.

“Please help me,” whispered the fire. “Bring me a few sticks, or I’ll go out.”

“Help you? And what do I get in return?” grumbled Half-a-Chicken. “I’ve more important things to do. I’m off to Paris to see the King!”

And he hopped along.

The next morning, he came across a big chestnut tree where the wind had become tangled in the branches.

“Please help me,” moaned the wind. “Set me free—I’m stuck in the leaves!”

“Help you?” snapped Half-a-Chicken. “I’ve told you all—I’m going to Paris to see the King!”

And again, he hopped along.

That evening, Half-a-Chicken finally reached Paris.

“I’ll wait here in the palace courtyard,” he said to himself. “The King is bound to come out and welcome me soon.”