On a rocky ledge close to a village,

lived a large colony of snakes.

They were all vicious and vile, that is, all except…

Herbertia.

Herbertia spent her days resting peacefully on the largest rock that overlooked the village, the valley and all the snakes.

When the other snakes practised being vicious by seeing who could fork their tongue most treacherously and spit their venom the furthest, Herbertia stretched out in the soft morning sun and gently warmed her shiny scaly body. She watched the mists playfully tease the mountain tops and dance up and down the valleys. She felt contented.

The other snakes hissed at her and said in despair, “Herbertia, you will never ever be a vicious and vile snake if you don’t practise forking your tongue treacherously. And you will never learn to catch food and protect yourself if you don’t spit venom accurately!”

But Herbertia took no notice of them at all. She just serenely watched the morning sun.

At midday, in the fierce heat of the day, when temperatures soared and village people kept away from rocky places, the other snakes practised being really vicious by rearing their heads and striking with the speed of lightning.

But Herbertia? Oh, no! She just lay coiled up, soaking up the hot sun. She idly watched small lizards as they ran right over her.

The other snakes hissed in disbelief. “Oh dear, Herbertia! See, even the small lizards run over you and tickle your back. You’ll never learn to be vicious unless you fork your tongue and strike with lightning speed. You need to be vicious in order to frighten away your enemies.” Herbertia just yawned and was soon fast asleep.
In the cool evening the snakes practised being vile. They chased little frogs, stole birds’ eggs and, from time to time, even frightened little children. While they practised hard at being vile, Herbertia stretched out and looked like a long black shadow. She dreamily watched the colour of the sky change from pink to red to bright orange. The other snakes hissed at her in disgust.

“Come on, Herbertia, you must learn to be vile so that people and animals will be frightened of you. You will never be safe if they’re not!”

But when they saw the dreamy look on her face as she watched the setting sun, they gave up. Herbertia, they decided, would never ever be vicious or vile.

Now the villagers were unaware of Herbertia on her rock, but they were tired of living next door to all those vicious and vile snakes. They decided to do something about it. They chose Rampopo, the most experienced snake-charmer, to enter the snake colony and play his most magical tune. He was to lure all the vicious and vile snakes away to another valley.

Early in the morning Rampopo crept stealthily toward the snake colony. He chose the very rock where Herbertia was sunning herself. Carefully he placed his flute beside the outstretched body of Herbertia, which he had failed to notice. He settled himself down cross-legged and then reached out to pick up his flute.

Instead of picking up the bamboo flute, he caught hold of the drowsy Herbertia, who got the fright of her life and panicked, spluttering and hissing in all directions.

“Oh, help, help, help! A monstrous vicious snake!” yelled the surprised snake-charmer as he dropped Herbertia and went hurtling down the mountain all the way to the village. Once in the village, he told the tale of how his flute had been magically transformed into the most vicious of all snakes.

The terrified Herbertia, in the meantime, quickly hid in a little crevice. She heard all the other snakes hiss,“Well done, Herbertia, well done! What an excellent vicious snake you are!”

By midday the villagers were even more determined to get rid of their vicious and vile neighbours. This time they decided to send Matilda, their chief rabbiter. Never had a night passed when Matilda had not arrived home with her sacks brimful of rabbits for stew. They sent her on her way to use the same cunning to lure and catch the snakes.

By lunchtime she had reached the hot rocky ledge. Seeing the large rock, she carefully hoisted herself up, put her hat down and started preparing the sacks. A few moments later, Herbertia awoke and slipped out of the crevice. Spying the hat, she crawled into it, coiled up and was soon fast asleep again.

At last the sacks were ready and baited. Matilda would scatter them among the snakes. Already she imagined returning triumphantly to the village with all the sacks bulging and wriggling with vicious and vile snakes. She reached over, picked up her hat, and popped it on her head.

Out tumbled the unfortunate, terrified Herbertia, who immediately wrapped herself around Matilda’s neck. The louder Matilda yelled, the tighter the frightened Herbertia hung on, hissing in all directions.

At last Herbertia freed herself, slipped and slithered down to the ground and slid under a rock. There she lay trembling.

Matilda went scooting down the hill, her skirts catching on the thorny bushes. Once back in the village, she spoke in awe of the most vicious snake that had cruelly grabbed her by the throat and tried to strangle her!

In the meantime, poor Herbertia lay quivering under the rock.

The other snakes hissed proudly, “Well done, Herbertia, well done! What a wonderful vicious snake you are!”

The villagers were even more determined to get rid of those vicious and vile snakes. That evening they decided to send Mr Fester, their mayor. He was a plump, paunchy, pompous little man who loved to make speeches.

Mr Fester was to go along and make a speech, demanding that the vicious and vile snakes leave the rocky ledge. That evening he wore his best robe, waxed his moustache and tucked his speech, which he had written neatly, under his arm.

After all, was he not the most important person in the village or, indeed, in the whole wide world? He puffed himself up and bristled with pride. Already Mr Fester could imagine all the little eyes of the snakes fearfully fixed on him as he threatened them with destruction if they did not leave the rocky ledge.

He sauntered out of the village and up the mountain path in a most important fashion.

“If Mr Fester’s speech doesn’t drive the snakes away, nothing will,” murmured the villagers as they watched him leave.

He clambered onto the rock. What he did not realise was that he was standing astride Herbertia.

He cleared his throat loudly to start his speech.

“Uh, hum, hum!”
This startled the dreaming Hebertia, who immediately looked around for a hollow log to escape into.

Seeing Mr Fester’s trouser leg just above her, she slipped into it, terrified and squirming.

Poor Mr Fester. The more he shook his leg the tighter Herbertia clung.

In one last desperate effort he pulled his trousers off and left them, and the terrified Herbertia, lying on the rock. Without looking back, he ran down the path to the village, his baggy polka-dot underpants flashing brightly in the evening light.

When at last he reached the village, a shaking, embarrassed Mr Fester told of the attack by a most vile snake.

Right then, he and the other villagers decided to keep away from the rocky ledge for ever. After all, rocky ledges were much better places for snakes than humans.

As the sun set, Herbertia lay on the rock, thinking of all the frightening encounters she had had with humans that day. And, as she dozed off, she heard all the other snakes hissing,

“Well done, Herbertia, well done! What a magnificent vicious and vile snake you are!”