There was a picturesque little house on a high slope near the Swiss Alps. The little house had a steep pitched top so the heavy snows of winter would slough off instead of caving in the roof. It had been built by a young and hale man with calloused hands and a strong back. His name was Aurel. Aurel had built the house so he could bring home a young bride, for without a house, there would be no bride.

After Aurel’s young bride, Greta settled into the little house, she went about making it a home. She planted beautiful flowers in pinks and reds in the planters that she hung from all the windows. She sewed curtains in a blue plaid cloth. And she painted a big yellow sun motif on the heavy wooden front door. She baked the most delicious strudels and made his favorite dinner of sausages and apples.

They were a happy couple. Aurel built beautiful clocks that had birds and forest animals that he carved out of wood. And Greta harvested wild berries from the forest to make jams. Every first Saturday of the month, they would load the wagon up with Aurel’s clocks and Greta’s jams and go to town to sell their goods. 

One first Saturday of the month in October, after they had set up their stall, a customer came and inquired about Aurel’s clocks. He was so excited to tell the customer all the unique features of the clocks and kept her engaged for a long time. Greta tired of hearing about the clocks and ventured away to see other stalls and visit with neighbors. She noticed a new stall because it had a red awning instead of the usual drab canvas one.

As she approached the stall with the red awning, her eyes widened in awe of the varieties and amounts of candies and sweet goods. Her favorite was black licorice and this stall had it in long strings, short sticks, curly ribbons, bowties and little buttons. She looked back at their stall, Aurel was still talking about his clocks. She dipped her hand under her apron into her right pocket and pulled out some coins. Surely, a few coins wouldn’t be missed. She bought one of each shape of the licorice and hid the paper bag under her apron.

That evening, after they had sold every last clock and jar of jam, Aurel hugged his wife and said, “My wife, we have done well today, I think I will get you something. Look around, is there anything that you fancy?”

Greta pretended to scope out all the stalls and then said, “My husband, I think someone is selling licorice. Perhaps you can buy me some?”

Aurel said proudly, “I will treat my wife with a sweet.” But when he came back with only one bowtie, Greta said, “Your wife is only worth one licorice? Don’t you love your wife?” Aurel quickly ran back to the candy stall and bought more licorice.

From that day on, Greta would question Aurel’s love for her on a regular basis and Aurel, desperate to keep a wife by making her happy, would ensure that the little house always had a steady supply of black licorice. 

Greta stopped harvesting berries in the forest. She stopped making jams. She stopped watering her flowers. She stopped sewing curtains. She stopped baking strudels and cooking sausages. All she did day and night, and night and day, was eat black licorice. Soon her teeth turned as black as coal, her tongue like a serpent’s and her waist outgrew her apron strings.

Aurel grew increasingly alarmed at Greta’s condition but every time he would comment on her past accomplishments, Greta would berate him and insinuate his love was not true. Aurel would hang his head and go buy more licorice as she dictated.

Greta kept consuming the black licorice and nothing else until one day she turned into a sphere. She could no longer perch on a chair. She rolled off the bed. Her arms and legs were swallowed up by the sphere that was her body. She couldn’t stay still in place. For she was now a ball.

“My wife, what will happen to us? You no longer make jams to sell. Every clock I make and sell, I spend the money on licorice. We have to buy less licorice.”

At this, Greta was enraged! She yelled at him that she was his number one priority, that his job was to keep her happy and that meant getting rid of the house if need be. The house that he built with his very own calloused hands and strong back? Aurel hung his head and sobbed. What had happened to his happy family? 

Greta sneered at him and called him a weak crybaby. She announced she was going out to get more licorice and emptied the money jar. Aurel begged her not to take all the money but she wouldn’t listen. She stormed out of the house.

Aurel sat in his little house dejected. Then he heard an eerie sound that he had never heard before. He went outside and looked. 

“AUUURELLL, HELLLLP ME OOH!”

To his shock, Aurel saw that Greta was rolling down the mountain at increasing speed as she was yelling, “AUREL, HELP ME OOH!”

And that is where “Yodel lay he ooh” came from. True story.