The following exercises are taken from workshop discussions. Each one includes the outline of a story journey for you to try to add metaphoric ‘clothes’ and finish the story. These are suggestions only. The stories could be written with many different choices of metaphor and journey.
A story idea to reduce fighting and aggressive behaviour in a group of six- and seven-year-olds. The kangaroo has been chosen as an obvious metaphor – kangaroos love to box and fight!
A story idea for building self-confidence in a shy five-year-old girl.
| • | Two pigeons, one brave and adventurous and one shy and cowardly |
| • | The shy bird is always relying on his friend to be the leader and tell him what to do (build up the story by working in some obstacle metaphors here – giving examples of when, where and how) |
| • | One day the shy pigeon is watching from his perch and sees a cat sneaking up on some baby birds in a nearby tree |
| • | The shy pigeon looks for his friend to help with advice, but his friend is not around |
| • | The shy pigeon finds a way to scare off the cat (use a helping metaphor here) and save the baby birds – this idea needs to be expanded and given detail. |
| • | The baby birds are safe, their mother returns to thank the ‘hero’ pigeon who is now feeling more confident |
This idea of a humorous story arose when I visited a playgroup where the teacher was struggling to get the three and four-year-old children to come to the table for morning tea (morning break or ‘elevenses’ in the UK). Until this new teacher arrived, the children had been allowed to eat their snacks anywhere and anytime and had had no experience of a group mealtime. Something creative was needed to help ease in a new routine.
Morning tea, morning tea,
Time to come and sit with me,
With drink to drink and food to eat,
Time to come and rest your feet!
This section spans a collection of fifty-two stories for commonly identified forms of behaviour. To help you find your way, the pages are organised into the following categories with suggested stories for various, numerous possibilities. These categories have been arbitrarily chosen for easy referencing – I definitely don’t recommend using them as ‘labels’ for behaviour.
| • | Bored / whingeing |
| • | Dishonest / sneaky |
| • | Disrespectful / uncaring |
| • | Greedy / unable to share |
| • | Irritating / impatient |
| • | Lazy |
| • | Pinching / hurting / fighting |
| • | Shy / introverted |
| • | Noisy / disruptive |
| • | Teasing / bullying |
| • | Uncooperative |
| • | Wild / restless |
The stories are from my own writing collection as well as wisdom tales from other cultures, in particular African cultures. Some stories have already been used (with different degrees of success) and have notes documenting their use. Others have been newly written or transcribed for this book. Any correspondence from the use of these stories and/or any of your own therapeutic stories are welcome (see my website at back of book).
The stories are mainly suitable for children aged three to eight, although some have been used successfully with teenagers and adults. Before each story are notes indicating suggested ages and use. In general, the shorter, simpler and more repetitive the story, the more suitable it is for younger ones. The longer and more complex the plot, the more it is suitable for late kindergarten and primary ages (‘Different stories for different ages’ is explored in more detail in Chapter Six).
The suggested stories are the tip of the iceberg of possibilities. With the help of the section on ‘Therapeutic Story Writing’, I hope you will explore many more ideas.
This story was written for children five years old and over. With the message of the importance and fun of ‘play’, it has also been used in parent education courses as a springboard for discussion. I have experienced that in dealing with behaviour challenges (e.g. boredom) we so often need to reach the adults as well as the children.
Mtoto Baboon was bored. She didn’t want to play with her friends. That’s BORING, she would say. She didn’t want to climb trees. That’s BORING, she would say. She didn’t want to go and splash in the river. That’s BORING, she would say. Mtoto Baboon seemed to just want to hang around being bored and she was driving her mother crazy with her boredom.
So Mother Baboon decided to call in old wise Grandfather Baboon to talk to Mtoto and sort out the BORING problem. Grandfather Baboon sat down with Mtoto and made some suggestions. But Mtoto was bored with her grandfather’s ideas. She didn’t want to throw pebbles off the cliffs. That’s BORING, she said. She didn’t want to swing on the long vines. That’s BORING, she said. She didn’t want to roll through the tall grass. That’s BORING, she said.
Then Grandfather Baboon asked her what she really wanted to do. This was a very difficult question for Mtoto, for you see, she didn’t really know the answer. But of course, she didn’t want to admit this, so she said, ‘I just want to sit by myself and do nothing’. And then she ran off from her grandfather, and followed a path into the thick bushes, looking for a comfortable place to sit by herself and do nothing.
As she was running through the bushes, she noticed a box-kind-of-thing next to a tall tree on the edge of the path. It had a smooth floor and a flat roof, and shiny bars all around the sides. And in the front there was a little door, just large enough for her to fit through. And best of all, on the floor at the back, there was a ripe golden banana. Mtoto Baboon’s favourite food!
‘This looks like a comfortable house to sit in by myself and do nothing’, thought Mtoto to herself. And without hesitating she stepped inside, sat down on the floor and started to eat the banana. As she picked it up to take her first bite, the door of the little house slammed shut. At first this didn’t worry Mtoto Baboon, as she was so happy enjoying her golden banana.
By the time she had finished eating Mtoto was feeling tired. So she curled up on the smooth floor and fell fast asleep. She slept for a long time, and when she woke up she was quite stiff and sore. She tried to stretch her long baboon arms and legs, but there was not enough room in this little house for moving and stretching. Next she tried to push open the door so she could go outside to stretch. It was then that she realised that the little house was not a house, but a trap, and the door was locked tight.
All baboons were told at an early age about hunters and their traps, but in her hurry to run away from her grandfather, Mtoto had completely forgotten this vitally important warning.
Oh how Mtoto Baboon wished she had listened to her elders! Suddenly their ideas of climbing trees and playing by the river and swinging on vines seemed like the best things in the world that a child baboon could hope to do! But now, Mtoto could not go anywhere or do anything. Trembling inside the trap, she waited for the dreaded sound of the hunter to return.
Mtoto did not have to wait long. Stamp, stamp, stamp, came the hunter’s boots along the path. Louder and louder the stamping grew, until the boots were right outside the bars, and two long arms were bending down to pick up the trap.
Suddenly Mtoto heard a loud barking and quick as a flash, she saw a large baboon with strong white teeth come swinging down out of the tree next to the trap. The baboon gave the hunter such a fright that he dropped the trap and ran away as fast as his long hunters’ legs could carry him. As the trap hit the ground, the lock fell apart and the door swung open.
Mtoto quickly jumped out and landed right in the arms of the baboon who had saved her. She looked into his face and saw it was her very own grandfather.
‘Grandfather, you are not only wise, but you are strong and brave as well,’ cried Mtoto. ‘I want to grow up to be just like you.’
‘Well’, laughed her grandfather with his deep baboon laugh, ‘you had better run off and join your friends in their play, as playing will make you strong and wise and brave too.’
Mtoto gave her grandfather a big baboon hug, and then ran off to join her friends in their game by the river.
And from that day to this, Mtoto Baboon was never bored again.
So if you go into the African bushland, you may be lucky enough to see Mtoto with her friends, climbing trees, splashing in the river, throwing pebbles off the cliffs, swinging on the long vines and rolling through the tall grass – having fun from morning to night.
Dealing with persistent (and often annoying) whingeing and whining behaviour is a universal challenge, especially for parents who have 24-hour, 7-days-per-week involvement with young children.
The story of Whingeing Whale has been used with ages four years and upwards by a cross-cultural group, from a teacher in Cape Town, to a mother in the slums of Nairobi, to a psychologist in Byron Bay (who is using the story with adults in personal growth counselling). Each time it has had encouraging results, especially with young children when the message is strengthened by the repeated use of the poem. The teacher in Cape Town found it necessary to use a musical pipe to blow some deep notes at the end of the story – her children insisted on hearing what beautiful whale-song really sounded like!
There was once a little whale who did nothing all day long but whine and whinge to his mother. No matter what mother whale did or how hard she tried to please her young one, nothing was ever quite right. She was swimming too fast or too slow, the water was too hot or too cold, his dinner was too much or not enough.
All day long, Whingeing Whale just swam around his mother in their ocean home, chanting his whingeing song:
I don’t like this and I don’t like that,
I don’t want this and I don’t want that,
I can’t do this and I can’t do that, my life is no good any way!
Mother Whale tried to teach her baby the beautiful whale songs that young whales need to learn if they are going to grow up and have families of their own. But Whingeing Whale was too busy chanting his whingeing song to take any notice of learning silly old whale songs.
I don’t like this and I don’t like that,
I don’t want this and I don’t want that,
I can’t do this and I can’t do that, my life is no good any way!
Mother Whale tried to get her baby to play with the other young whales in the ocean. But Whingeing Whale didn’t want to be bothered. And the other young whales in the whale pod were tired of listening to Whingeing Whale and didn’t particularly want to play with him either. His loud whingeing noises were spoiling their ocean home.
One day, as all the whales were swimming near the coastline, they started to move out to sea to reach deeper waters. But Whingeing Whale had been so busy whingeing that he didn’t notice that all the other whales, including his mother, had changed direction. He continued swimming straight ahead, and before he knew what was happening, he had crossed the coastal reef and found himself in a small lagoon.
Then the tide started to turn, and the water in the lagoon slowly started to empty out through the reef passage. Whingeing Whale was left stranded in the shallows, with the water only just covering his whale back, and getting lower and lower with every passing moment.
What was he to do? It was no use chanting his whingeing song as his mother wasn’t around to hear him. Then, deep in his whale memory, he heard the most beautiful sounds. He listened and then tried to repeat them. At first his singing was very weak, but the more he tried, the stronger his voice grew. Soon he was booming out a song, a most beautiful whale song.
The song travelled through the water, over the reef, and out into the deep ocean. The song travelled all the way to where his mother and the other whales were swimming. As soon as the whale pod heard the young whale calling, all the whales turned around and swam back towards the reef. As they swam, they leapt high out of the water, and back down again, and up again, and down again. And as they leapt up and splashed down, they made a giant wave roll on ahead of them. When they reached the reef they stopped and waited. The giant wave rolled over the rocks and filled the lagoon with enough water to help the stranded whale swim out to safety. He found his whale pod waiting for him on the other side of the reef, and was escorted back to their deep ocean home.
His mother was so proud of her young one. ‘At last you have learnt the power and beauty of our whale song’ she whispered to him. And she swam around him and nuzzled him all over his body with her whale snout – which is how mother whales kiss and hug their children.
Of course, the young whale was very happy to be back safe and sound with his whale pod. And now he knew how to use his whale voice to sing such beautiful songs, he never bothered to whinge and whine again. In fact, he made up a new whale song to teach his friends. If you are ever swimming in the ocean and listen very carefully, you may also hear this beautiful song:
I can sing this and I can sing that, I enjoy this and I enjoy that,
I can do this and I can do that, my life is so good every day!
A universal story for all ages to help re-evaluate how good or bad things are in life. Especially valuable to use when a child is continually complaining about something trivial.
I have used this with large groups of mixed-age children and also with adults at conferences – to get them laughing and actively involved. For the adults it has helped provide ‘healing’ entertainment at the end of an intense day or week of thinking and concentration. The story lends itself to the storyteller dividing the audience into ‘animal’ sections and then, as each animal enters the house, there can be much noise and activity as this is acted out. The comparison between the small squeaky noise (made by a chosen member of the audience) and all the animals making their cacophony of sounds is remarkable!
There was once an old woman who lived on a farm. She was very content with her life except for one thing – she didn’t like her squeaky bed. All through the night it made so many different squeaks and noises that she was finding it hard to sleep.
It happened that one night the squeaks grew so loud it was more than she could bear. The next day she went to visit the wise man in the village and told him her problem. The wise man sent her back to her farm and told her to bring the cow in to live in the house.
‘Very strange advice’ thought the old woman, ‘but he is the wise man so I will do as he says’.
On reaching home, she called the cow inside, and that evening, as well as the bed squeaking, the cow was also mooing all night long.
Back went the old woman to the wise man, and this time he advised her to go back to her farm and bring in the sheep.
[The story goes on and on, until her house is filled with all her farm animals – cow, sheep, donkey, pig, rooster, etc. all making their respective noises through the night (the list can be as long or short as the concentration span of the listeners)].
Finally the old woman couldn’t stand it any longer. She had a terrible headache and she hadn’t slept for weeks. She returned to the wise man and told him that she was going to tell all the villagers that he really couldn’t be a ‘wise man’ as he had given such unhelpful, silly advice.
The wise man begged the old woman to accept one last piece of advice from him – ‘Go home old woman, take all the animals out of your house and let them go back to where they belong’.
The old woman went home and put the cow, sheep, donkey, pig, rooster, etc. out of her house. That night, and all the following nights, she slept deeply and soundly.
This story is of unknown origins and is re-written by the author. It is suitable for all ages. It is a positive example of how a child’s boredom can be turned into a wonder-filled adventure, with the first stimulus coming from a creative parent. When I tell this story I usually cut an apple (horizontally, not from stalk to base). I then put the two halves together, and hide them in a cloth in my lap, ready to open and show the star to the listeners at the appropriate time.
There was once a little boy who was tired of all his picture books, tired of all his puzzles and tired of all his toys.
‘What should I do?’ he asked his mother.
Now this little boy’s mother always knew beautiful things for little boys to do, and she said ‘You should go on a journey and look for a little red house, with no windows and no doors – and a star hiding inside’.
Well, the little boy’s eyes grew wide with excitement. ‘But Mother, where could I find such a house?’ he said.
‘Down the lane, past the farmer’s house, and up the hill – but be sure when you find it, to bring it back to show me.’
So the little boy set out. It was a beautiful day – the sun was shining, the sky was blue and he was so happy to be going on an adventure. He skipped down the lane, singing to himself. He hadn’t gone far when he saw the farmer standing outside his big brown barn looking out over his fields of grain and corn.
‘Excuse me, farmer,’ said the little boy, ‘can you tell me where I could find a little red house, with no windows and no doors – and a star hiding inside?’
‘Well,’ said the farmer, ‘I’ve lived here a good many years and I don’t know of such a house. You should ask Grandma – Grandma knows how to knit red mittens and Grandma knows how to make sticky toffee popcorn balls. Grandma will surely know.’
The little boy continued down the lane looking for Grandma’s house. Soon he came to where Grandma was sitting on her rocking chair in the middle of her garden of herbs and marigolds.
‘Excuse me, Grandma,’ said the little boy, ‘can you tell me where I could find a little red house, with no windows and no doors – and a star hiding inside?’
‘Oh,’ sighed Grandma, ‘I should like to know of such a house myself – it would be warm when the nights are cold, and the star would make a beautiful light. You should ask the Wind – the Wind blows over the hills and through the valleys, the Wind blows all around the world, the Wind knows all the secrets.’
So the little boy continued on his journey, looking for the Wind. He started to climb up a hill and he hadn’t gone far when down the hill to meet him came the Wind. It blew once around his head, once more and once again.
‘Excuse me, Wind’ said the little boy, ‘can you tell me where I could find a little red house, with no windows and no doors – and a star hiding inside’.
Well, the Wind laughed, and seemed to say, ‘Follow me’. It blew to the top of the hill to where an apple tree stood. It blew once around the apple tree, once more and once again. It blew an apple off a branch to land in the grass below.
When the little boy reached the top of the hill he bent down and picked up the apple. He held it in his hands and looked at it carefully. It was as round and red as the sun had been able to paint it. It had no windows and no doors. It had a little stalk on top that looked just like a chimney.
‘I wonder’ said the little boy, and from out of his pocket he took his pocket-knife and cut the apple right across the middle.
When he opened the two halves, he saw, hiding inside … a star!
‘Thank you Wind,’ said the little boy.
‘You’re welcome,’ whispered the Wind.
And the little boy carried his little red house, with no windows and no doors – and a star hiding inside – all the way home to show his mother.
This story is a positive example of how finding an answer to a riddle can turn a ‘boring’ nothing-to-do-day into a wonder-filled adventure. As it is quite long, I suggest it is suitable for age five and upwards.
There once lived a little boy who longed to know the secret of Easter. Every year when the hot summer days were cooling down and a white cloud blanket was covering the sky, he knew Easter was coming soon. In his country Easter always came with the clouds and the rain. He would hear his Mother and Father talking about Easter, he would hear his big brother and sister talking about Easter, he knew Easter was coming, he could feel Easter was coming…but he didn’t really understand what Easter was.
‘Mummy’ he would often ask, ‘What is Easter?’
‘Ah, my child’, his Mother would say, ‘Easter is a very special secret.’
‘Mummy, who will tell me this secret?’
‘Only Father Sun can tell you such a special secret, and he will tell you when he is ready to tell you.’ And his Mother would go on with her work.
The little boy would run outside and look up to where Father Sun was smiling down through windows in the white cloud blanket, and he would listen, and wait, and listen, and wait. This year he was waiting and wishing more than ever that Father Sun would tell him the Easter Secret.
One morning he woke very early. Something felt different today – the birds seemed to be singing to him, the sunbeams dancing through his window seemed to be beckoning him outside. He rose and dressed himself and without even waiting to have breakfast he ran outside into the garden. The sky was filled with clouds, but over in the East was a great window and Father Sun was shining right through. He seemed to be reaching his sunbeam arms right out to the little boy and the little boy reached his arms up to meet the sunbeams. He listened and waited, and listened and waited, and then he heard this message from Father Sun…
The secret you seek, in a little house I keep,
Where my golden light, shines day and night.
He listened again….
The secret you seek, in a little house I keep,
Where my golden light, shines day and night.
The little boy was so happy to know at last where to find the secret. He ran here and there and everywhere around the garden, but soon realised it was not going to be so easy to find this little house, where the Sun’s golden light shines both day and night.
‘I know, I’ll ask the Wind, he blows all over the land, surely he will know where to find this little house,’ and he ran down to where the wind was blowing around the bushes at the bottom of the garden.
‘Wind, Wind, dear friend Wind, can you tell me where I can find the little house, where the Sun’s golden light shines day and night?’
But the Wind was too busy blowing. ‘Ask Tree,’ said Wind.
So the little boy ran to where the great fig tree grew in the middle of the garden.
‘Tree, Tree, dear friend Tree, can you tell me where I can find the little house where the Sun’s golden light shines day and night?’
But Tree was too busy growing. ‘Ask Ant,’ said Tree.
So the little boy ran to where the ant holes were, in the middle of the rockery.
‘Ant, Ant, dear friend Ant, can you tell me where I can find the little house where the Sun’s golden light shines day and night?’
But Ant was too busy scurrying. ‘Ask Bee,’ said Ant.
So the little boy ran to where the flowers grew by the back wall of the house.
‘Bee, Bee, dear friend Bee, can you tell me where I can find the little house where the Sun’s golden light shines day and night?’
But Bee was too busy buzzing.
Just when the little boy was beginning to wonder if he would ever find this little house, where the Sun’s golden light shines day and night, he heard his Mother calling him for breakfast.
He ran inside, washed his hands, and sat up at the table. ‘I’ll ask my Mother,’ he thought. So he told her about the message from Father Sun. ‘I’ve looked and looked everywhere, and I’ve asked the Wind and I’ve asked the Tree, I’ve asked the Ant, and I’ve asked the Bee. Can you tell me where I can find the little house where the Sun’s golden light shines day and night?’
His Mother smiled a very warm smile and said: ‘Why, it’s right in front of you.’
The little boy looked down and there, right in front of him, in a little wooden egg-cup, was a smooth, round, shiny, egg-house. His Mother helped him cut it open and inside, cradled in a soft white bed, was a ball of golden light, shining day and night.
The little boy was so happy to find the Easter Secret, and so hungry after his busy searching, that he ate up all his breakfast and one extra hot cross bun, and then ran out into the garden to play. And as he played he sang to himself:
A white cloud blanket is wrapping around,
A secret hiding down on the ground,
A secret hiding in a soft straw nest,
An Easter secret that we love the best.
A traditional Xhosa story researched by Maria Msebenzi and re-written by the author. This story has a similar theme to the Grimm’s fairytale, ‘The Wolf and the Seven Kids’. It addresses the themes of lying and deceit and is suitable for age six and upwards.
A long time ago in the middle of a forest there lived a mother dove. She had her nest at the top of a green leafy tree, and in her nest there were three baby doves.
Every day the mother dove would leave the nest to search for food. Before she flew away, she would remind her children not to open the door of the nest and not to throw the rope out to anyone else except her. The children would know when she returned as they would hear her singing her mother-dove song.
Every day the children would wait inside their nest with the door safely closed. When their mother returned, she would stand at the bottom of the tree and sing. The children would then open the door and throw the rope out for their mother to climb up with their food.
One day the mother dove had returned to her tree and was singing up to her children. Without her knowing it, her singing was overheard by a hungry hyena. He watched as the door of the nest opened and the baby doves threw down the rope and the mother dove climbed up.
The hyena thought how much he would love to have those baby doves for his dinner. So he devised a cunning plan. He waited until mother dove had left the nest the next morning, then he stood at the bottom of the tree and tried to sing. But his song was very coarse. Even when he tried to squeeze his voice to be softer, the baby doves knew it was not their mother and would not open the door and throw down the rope.
The hyena decided to find an apple to soften his voice. He quickly went to a near-by farm and picked a green apple from the orchard. He chewed and chewed and swallowed the apple, even though it tasted quite bitter. Then he went back to the tree and tried to sing again.
But his song was still quite coarse, and even when he tried to squeeze his voice to be softer, the baby doves knew it was not their mother and would not open the door and throw down the rope.
By now the hyena was getting quite angry. He ran back to the farm and frightened the farmer into giving him one of his special red apples that grew on an apple tree right next to the farmhouse. When the hyena chewed and swallowed the red apple, the sweet juices helped to soften and sweeten his voice. He returned to the forest and once again stood at the bottom of the tree and sang to the baby doves. This time the little doves thought it really was their mother returning home. They opened the door and threw down the rope.
Quickly and quietly the hyena started to climb up the rope. He climbed and climbed until he was almost at the nest. Just then the mother dove returned to the tree. She saw what was happening and sang to her children, ‘My beautiful children, quickly close the door’!
Hearing their mother’s voice, the children let go of the rope and quickly climbed back inside their nest, closing the door behind them. The hyena rolled and tumbled, all the way down to the ground, landing with a loud thud and hurting his back.
Since this time the hyena has always loped along with a broken back. And the mother dove has never left her children alone in the house again. As soon as they are old enough, she teaches them to fly and find food for themselves.
This story has been written for seven- to nine-year-olds (a rough age-guide). It has quite strong themes and metaphors. These have been necessary to help address the seriousness of stealing.i The story introduces the positive effect of listening to one’s conscience in the transforming journey from dishonesty to honesty. The story could be used for five- and six year-olds, but is definitely not appropriate for the under-fours. This younger age group comprehend borrowing and ‘taking home to show mum’, but not stealing!
On the red dusty plains in the middle of a wide land, there once lived a dingo called Little D. He had been born in a litter of many dingo pups and was the last and smallest of all his brothers. But whereas his brothers wore yellow coats there was something different about him ... he was shining white!
Because he was the smallest, and because he looked so different, he always had to fight for what he needed. As a baby pup, he had to learn to scramble over all the other pups and push his way through to drink some milk from his mother. Then, as he grew older, he would always be fighting to get any part of the hunt that his father dragged home. He would also have to fight and wrestle to get any spare bones to bury for food another day.
Most of the time, Little D, the smallest and whitest dingo, fought a losing battle with his brothers and never was able to get enough to eat. The constant fighting for food led this young dingo into dishonest ways. He discovered it was easier to steal his food rather than fight for it.
It all happened like this.
One day Little D was rolling in the red dust of the plains and one of his brothers walked by with a large bone in his mouth. To Little D’s amazement the brother didn’t notice him. Because Little D was so covered with dust he blended into the surrounding red plains.
Little D stopped rolling in the dust and started to follow his brother. Into the scrub his brother carried the bone, and once amongst the bushes, he dug a deep hole and buried it.
When the brother had returned to the plains, Little D dug up the bone and took it away to enjoy as his own.
The next day, Little D rolled in the red dust and waited for the next brother to come by with his bone to bury. Again, he followed him – this time to a rocky hill near the scrublands. The brother with the bone then dug a hole amongst the rocks and put the bone inside. Once the brother had returned to the plains, Little D dug up the bone and took it away to enjoy as his own.
As time went on, Little D had collected more bones than he could eat in a day, so he searched for his own hiding place. It took some time to find what he needed, but at last, in a cave next to a dry riverbed, he found a place that was big enough to hold many bones.
Over the next weeks and months, many bones were accumulated in the cave by Little D. Always well disguised by the red dust of the plains, he would not only stalk his brothers but his mother and father as well. Little D was stealing from his entire family!
Now all this time the sky had not filled with clouds and it had not once rained. The plains were getting drier and dustier, and dustier and drier. Little D had no trouble covering himself with his red dust disguise, and continuing on with his dishonest ways.
His cave was soon full to the top with stolen bones. Little D was so happy to know that he would not go hungry anymore. However, all his family members were by now getting quite weak. They had been robbed of their store of bones, and, with no rain for months, they were having difficulty tracking down any animals and bringing home fresh food to share with each other.
Then, one day, the weather brought a change to the land and also to Little D’s dishonest ways. Rain started to fall across the plains. It started with a few drops here and there. Then, with some flashes of lightning and drums of thunder, the sky became like a wide waterfall from heaven. In fact, there was so much water falling down that the plains were soon like a silver sea, and the dry riverbed filled up and flowed over its banks.
Little D ran to higher ground as soon as the rains came. However he was not able to find any shelter up in the rocky hills and so the water washed him clean of all his red dust! Now he was once again shining white. Without his disguise he could no longer plan to stalk his brothers and get up to his dishonest tricks.
Also, with the river flowing over its banks, plenty of water filled Little D’s cave of bones. The next week, after the flood had subsided, the bones were left on the floor of the cave, clean and washed. When the rain had stopped and the sun was out in full glory in the sky, there the bones sat, gleaming white inside the dark hole.
Little D returned to the cave and he saw the bones shining white and clean. When he looked at the bones – shining white and clean and then looked at his coat – shining white and clean, he knew in his heart that it was time to give the bones back to his family. That night he carried them one by one out onto the plains and scattered them over the ground.
The next morning his family found the scattered bones, gathered them up and shared them together. They never knew who had been taking them and where they had been taken to, but this didn’t seem to matter. What did matter however, was that Little D was watching his family as they collected their bone treasures, and he saw how happily they were sharing together. Suddenly, seeing his family happy seemed like the best thing in the world. Had the red dust disguise stopped him from seeing this before?
Little D also discovered that he had now grown strong enough to hunt for his own food. He wasn’t Little D anymore, but a handsome big Dingo! And as time went by, he was soon stalking animals for his family, and bringing home food to feed his own children. And he took care that the youngest and smallest always had enough to eat.
The Anansi stories originated in West Africa and were then taken to the islands of the Caribbean along with the transportation of slaves from Africa to America. They are also known as Spider Stories – ‘Anansi’ was both a man and a spider! Stories of Kweku Anansi are still told by the Ashanti people in Ghana. Similar stories with different heroes are told elsewhere around the world: Rabbit is the main character in the stories in the French West Indies, southern United States, and East Africa; in Nigeria, Tortoise is the mischief-maker. The Anansi / Spider stories are a wonderful resource for six- to ten-year-olds, and an interesting contrast to the Spiderman character from popular movies. As in all communities, not everyone does as she is supposed to, and this is why the character of Anansi came into being. Anansi the Spider Man is lazy, dishonest and very greedy. He is full of naughty tricks, but funny and lovable. Usually his greedy and dishonest behaviour is punished by natural consequences, and humour carries the theme to the end. Included here is an example of how Anansi’s dishonesty meets just deserts.
Once upon a time, Kweku Anansi lived in a small village. The people of this village were very united. One day, the chief of the village called his people to him and suggested the idea of having a farm that would feed everyone in the village in times of famine. Every one embraced the idea except Anansi who said that he was sick. Any time the others called him to join them on the farm, he lied that he was sick.
Fridays were set aside for work on the farm. Work on the farm went very well without Anansi who always lied that he was too sick to work. But when it was almost time for harvesting, the chief and his people realised that someone had started to steal the produce. Each week when they went to the farm they realised that someone was harvesting portions of the food. News of the thefts spread very fast across the whole village. The chief summoned the village folk to work out a plan to help them catch the thief. Anansi himself was not at the meeting because he claimed he was sick.
People suggested various ways of catching the thief, but the simplest and best one was for a big statue made from quick drying glue to be placed in the middle of the farm. Anyone who touched it would get stuck to it.
The next night, Anansi went out to continue his dubious nocturnal activity. He didn’t know what plans the people had taken to arrest the thief. When he arrived at the farm, he saw something like a human being in the middle of the fields.
Anansi quickly shouted, ‘Who is that? Who is that? What are you doing in the farm at this time of the night?’ There was no answer. Anansi continued to question the statue thinking that it was a human being. He got very close and said, ‘Hey man, if you do not answer me I will slap you with my left hand.’ And before he could end his statement, he had slapped the supposed human with his left hand. His left hand got stuck to the glue statue. Anansi thought that the individual was holding him and so he shouted further in anger saying: ‘Look my friend; I asked you a simple question and now you have held my left hand without any provocation. Please let go my left hand else I will slap you with my right hand.’ But before Anansi finished saying this, he slapped the statue again with his right hand and it also got stuck!
Anansi was now becoming furious and also quite alarmed because day was already breaking. He started to kick the statue with his legs in an attempt to free himself. Both of his legs also got stuck. Kweku Anansi was now hanging on the statue with no one to rescue him.
The next morning, the elders of the town travelled to the farm to see if luck was on their side in arresting the mysterious thief. They saw Anansi hanging on the statue. Quickly, word got to the village and everybody rushed to the farm to see Anansi hanging on the statue. It was a big shame for Kweku Anansi and his family. The villagers then set Anansi free from the statue and hooted at him. Unable to bear the shame, Anansi took to his heels and went and hid in the topmost corner of his room. This is the reason why we always find Anansi the Spider in the top corners of our rooms. Also, because of the shame, this is the reason why Anansi always shies away when he sees people approaching.
Once upon a time there was a very poor man called Akimba. He had no money and no food. One day he went to the forest looking for something to eat. Here he met an old man cutting wood and he stopped to help him. The old man was so grateful that he gave Akimba a cow in return. He told him to go home and say to the cow, ‘Coo, coo, coo’.
When Akimba arrived home he said ‘Coo, coo, coo’ to the cow and the cow gave him a gold coin. He kept saying ‘Coo, coo, coo’ until he was a wealthy man.
Then came the time when Akimba had to go away on a journey. He asked his neighbour Bumba to mind the cow, but asked him not to ever say ‘Coo, coo, coo’. As soon as Akimba left, Bumba said ‘Coo, coo, coo’ and the cow gave him a gold coin. Bumba was very pleased with this and decided to keep the cow for himself. When Akimba returned he was given a different cow, and when Akimba said ‘Coo, coo, coo’ all this cow did was moo!
Akimba returned to the old man in the forest to tell him what had happened. The old man gave him a sheep and said to say ‘boo, roo, roo’ when he reached home. The sheep gave him a silver coin and Akimba became wealthy saying ‘boo, roo, roo’. Eventually he had to go on another trip and he left the sheep with his neighbour with the warning not to say ‘boo, roo, roo’. Bumba soon found out that the sheep gave silver coins, and on Akimba’s return he kept the magic sheep and gave him another one in its place. All that the new sheep would do when Akimba said ‘boo, roo, roo’ was say ‘baa, baa, baa’!
As before, Akimba returned to the old man in the forest and this time was given a chicken and told to say ‘cluck, cluck, cluck’. When Akimba reached home he said ‘cluck, cluck, cluck’ and the chicken laid an egg. ‘Eggs are eggs’ Akimba said and since he was hungry he ate the egg. Then he sold many more eggs and eventually became a wealthy man again. Soon he had to go on another journey and left the chicken with his neighbour Bumba and told him not to ever say ‘cluck, cluck, cluck’. As before, Bumba swapped the chicken with another chicken that would not lay an egg when Akimba said ‘cluck, cluck, cluck’.
This time Akimba carried the chicken back to the forest. The old man gave him a stick to take home and told him to say ‘stick dance for me’ and then to say ‘Mamba’ to make it stop. Once back inside his hut Akimba said ‘stick dance for me’ and the stick began to beat him until he remembered to say ‘Mamba’. Akimba had started to suspect his neighbour Bamba and so he pretended he had to go away on another trip. He asked Bamba to mind the stick and not to say ‘stick dance for me’. Of course, as soon as Akimba was around the first corner of the path, Bumba called out ‘stick dance for me’. The stick began to beat him and Akimba heard his cries from along the path. He came back and Bamba agreed to return the cow, the sheep and the chicken if Akimba could stop the beating stick. Akimba cried out ‘Mamba’ and the stick stopped. He took his animals home and was never hungry or poor again.
I wrote this little story for a five-year-old girl who displayed sneaky behaviour when visiting a friend’s home. My friend had a gnome statue in her garden. Although the little girl knew the statue was quite old and should not be touched, she would wait till no one was looking and sit out in the garden trying to peel off its red paint. Instead of addressing negative behaviour, the story tries to bring a positive message to the little girl about how much the gnome liked the colour red. The effect of the story was immediate – the child stopped peeling off the paint.
There was once a little gnome who lived with his brothers and sisters under the roots of a great fig tree. This tree was in the middle of an old rainforest, near a long beach by the sea.
The little gnome loved to wander and gather beautiful things to bring back to show his family. Most of all he loved anything that was the colour red. His mother had knitted him a bright red cap, and soon he was known to all his forest friends as Cherry Red.
Whenever Cherry Red had time to spare, he would wander here and there through the forest, collecting red-tipped leaves, red berries and other red kinds of forest things.
As time went on, he found himself wandering further and further along the paths, until he came one day to the edge of the forest and found a little garden at the back of a red brick house.
Cherry Red could not believe his eyes when he entered the garden – never before had he seen so many beautiful flowers and fruits in one place. He was sure there were many more red things here than in his entire forest! There were red geraniums, red roses and red bottlebrush. Growing up and along the fence, there was a giant tomato vine, all covered with cherry red tomatoes. And in the vegetable patch there were shiny red strawberries poking their little heads out between the green strawberry leaves.
Cherry Red was so happy! He picked two little tomatoes and one strawberry (being very careful to leave enough for the folk who owned the garden) and he ran all the way back along the forest path to show his family.
All the way home he was so happy that he made up a little song and sang to himself:
Cherry Red is a happy fellow,
In hat of red and coat of yellow,
Gathering treasures from the garden today,
Zippity dippity dippity zay!
And do you know, from that day to this, Cherry Red has returned to this special garden every morning. He sits there all day to look out over his red treasures – the tomatoes, the strawberries and the flowers – and every evening he returns to the forest taking a small red gift back to his family.
| i | Stealing in younger children, however, is often not ‘stealing’ at all, but just imitation of adults ‘owning’ things. In older children it can sometimes be a symptom of disturbance related to a need for more attention, rather than just ‘bad’ behaviour. As we have seen, a therapeutic story needs to be combined with enquiry into the child’s home circumstances. |
This simple story was written for an Educare Centre in Cape Town to help children learn to put their shoes together. Refer to Chapter Three for more detail on its use and effect. It has universal value and can be used with children three years and upwards.
Tembe was a little boy who came each day to kindergarten just like you. Every morning when he woke up he would get dressed and put on his favourite red boots that he liked to wear to school.
Tembe’s red boots were the most favourite thing that he liked to wear. He would sit eating breakfast and sometimes take a peep under the table – yes, there his red boots were waiting – on his feet, on the floor under the table, so happy to be side by side, so happy to be ‘friends together’.
If he listened very carefully, he could hear them softly singing:
Friends together, diddley-deather, we’re so happy to be ‘friends together’.
On the way to school, whenever Tembe walked, his boots walked too. Whenever Tembe jumped, his boots jumped too. Whenever Tembe hopped, his boots hopped too. He would often look down at them and smile – he could see how much they liked to be ‘friends together’.
When he was playing in the garden at school he would sometimes sit on the swing and look down at his boots and click them together – how happy they were to be on his feet and be ‘friends together’.
Listen – can you hear them sing:
Friends together, diddley-deather, we’re so happy to be ‘friends together’.
Then came a time each day when his teacher would call the children onto the veranda – it was time to come in for a sleep. Tembe had to take off his red boots and leave them outside – of course, his boots couldn’t come inside for rest time! Carefully he placed them against the wall, to wait for him – ‘friends together’. There they would sit until rest time was finished and it was time to put them back on his feet for the long walk home.
Tembe would lie on his bed in the schoolroom and listen to his teacher singing lullabies. And when his teacher stopped singing, just as he was falling asleep, he could softly, ever so softly, hear his boots on the veranda singing:
Friends together, diddley-deather, we’re so happy to be ‘friends together’.
A story written for an eight-year-old boy who was being irresponsible with tools. I have also used this story in schools and vacation care programs to encourage older children to create things with their hands – in wood or clay or soapstone. I use a special prop in telling this – a small wooden log carved like a jigsaw puzzle – this can be shaken out into a simple castle shape at the point in the story when the boy’s family wakes up and finds what he has made. An improvised, roughly-carved or clay-moulded castle would do just as well.
There was once a young boy who had been given a pocket-knife for his birthday. A brand new pocket-knife, a gleaming shining pocket-knife. A very sharp pocket-knife, that itched to be used.
He kept it in his pocket – and there it stayed, itching to be used.
I am a knife and I love to cut; open me, use me, then shut me back up.
The boy was sure he could hear it singing to him sometimes. But what could a boy use a pocket-knife for?
I am a knife and I love to cut; open me, use me, then shut me back up.
There, he could hear it again. He was sitting in the kitchen, and nobody was around. He pulled out his knife and started to cut away at the table leg. The knife was so happy to be used – but when his mother came into the kitchen she was not happy! She took the pocket-knife away for a month and a day.
Finally it was back in the boy’s pocket, itching to be used.
I am a knife and I love to cut; open me, use me, then shut me back up.
The boy could hear it singing to him again. He was in the lounge room, and nobody was around. He pulled out his knife and started to cut into the cushion on grandmother’s chair. The knife was so happy to be used – but when his grandmother came into the lounge room she was not happy! She took the pocket-knife away for a month and a day.
Finally it was back in the boy’s pocket, itching to be used.
I am a knife and I love to cut; open me, use me, then shut me back up.
The boy could hear it singing to him again. He was in the shed, and nobody was around. He pulled out his knife and started to cut notches into the workbench. The knife was so happy to be used – but when his grandfather came into his shed he was not happy! He took the pocket-knife away for a month and a day.
Finally it was back in the boy’s pocket, once again itching to be used.
That night the boy fell asleep in the silver light of the moon shining down through his bedroom window. While in a deep sleep, the boy had a dream. In this dream there was a hill and on this hill there was a castle and in this castle there were some windows and behind the windows there were many rooms and in these rooms there were some …
At this point the boy woke up, sat up in bed and had a wonderful idea. ‘I know what to do with my pocket-knife’ he said. He climbed out of bed, dressed himself, and put his pocket-knife into his pocket. Then he went out into the garden and in the light of the moon found a small log lying down near the compost heap.
[Show the listeners a small log]
He brought the log onto the veranda, opened up his pocket-knife, and by the silver light of the moon he set to work. And all the while he was working, the pocket-knife was singing:
I am a knife and I love to cut; open me, use me, then shut me back up.
And all the while he was working the rest of his family was still fast asleep.
[Ask listeners to close their eyes for one minute]
When they woke up, there on the kitchen table was a beautiful surprise.
[Show the listeners a carved, wooden castle]
On the lounge was the young boy, fast asleep. And in his pocket was a very happy, but very tired pocket-knife!
From that day on, whenever the boy looked through the windows of his wooden castle, he always had a new idea for how to use his pocket-knife. His pocket-knife was always happy, and so was the boy’s family. This young boy grew up to be a wood carver, famous for the castles he could carve out of a simple piece of wood.
A poem can sometimes touch the imagination as deeply as a story. A parent at a Creative Discipline workshop used the following to deal with the challenge of her four-year-old daughter wanting to use scissors to chop things to pieces. Of course, cutting with scissors is a natural skill to master for a four-year-old, but the mother was having difficulty keeping the ‘cutting’ in check. She wrote the ‘Ball of Wool’ to coincide with a $100 order of wool that had arrived for her craft workshops – the poem was tucked into the wool-bag and she pulled it out, feigned surprise at its presence, and then read it out to her daughter. The little girl was so taken by the message that she promptly took her doll out of its cradle and tucked some of the woollen balls into bed. She treated them like babies for the next few days. Cutting into the balls with scissors was never an issue.
A ball of wool brings hours of joy to all who take the time –
Of picking out a treasured ball and learning tricks of mine.
Knit me, weave me, make a doll – Oh, the things we can create,
But being cut in tiny bits … there is no worse a fate!
Scissors really frighten me, please keep me safe at bay,
I’m happiest just right near you, as you work away.
And please don’t let me roll around, all loosely on the floor, I may get kicked or trodden on, and tangled up for sure.
And when you have all finished with me, and cut your length of thread, Please roll me up all snug and neat and place me in my bed.
Instructions: Please find a special bed for your new family of wool!
A story written for a four-year-old girl who had recently moved out of the Nairobi slums to a boarding school in the country. This little girl had never seen flowers growing in gardens before and she delighted in continually picking them. Meanwhile the housemother was getting very upset about this, as was the school gardener. The story was written in an attempt to redirect the girl’s behaviour, and was successful. The house-mother helped by providing some coloured pieces of wool for the rainbow dancing stick.
There was once a little girl called Netty who lived with her mother and many, many brothers and sisters. Little Netty loved flowers. She loved the patterns of flowers, the shapes of flowers, the smell of flowers… but most of all she loved the beautiful colours of flowers …red, pink, purple, yellow, orange, blue… so many wonderful colours.
Little Netty would spend all her spare time wandering the garden and looking for flowers to pick and play with. She would collect them all and spread them on the grass. Then she would sit amongst them, pulling off the petals and playing with them and throwing them up in the air.
One day while little Netty was sitting in the grass, playing with some yellow nasturtium petals, she heard a whispering on the breeze. It sounded as if it was coming from a green daisy bush nearby. Little Netty moved closer, and right inside the daisy bush she saw a tiny bud opening and closing. It seemed to be talking to her!
‘Please don’t pick my sisters and brothers all the time, little girl. Once we have been taken from our green bushes we fade and die. But if you leave us growing then we can keep on dancing in the garden. There is nothing a flower likes to do more than dance’.
Little Netty didn’t know what to say! She also loved to dance so she perfectly understood what the flower bud was saying.
Then she had an idea. She went to her mother and asked her for a piece of wool for every colour of her favourite flowers. Then she tied all the brightly coloured pieces to a long stick and went outside. With her rainbow stick held high she started to dance across the grass and around the garden.
Soon the breeze joined in, gently blowing the flowers backwards and forwards, and all together they danced with little Netty in the garden.
The tiny new daisy bud was very happy to see this, and she smiled such a big smile that all her white daisy petals popped out and spread open. Then she too joined with little Netty in the dance.
A story to encourage litter awareness.
This story was written in 1997 for a puppet show for African children, then toured through kindergartens in the Cape Town townships. The effect was immediate – as the puppeteers were packing up the show, the children would be running up to them with handfuls of litter. I believe the story has a universal message and could be used with all ages. The Xhosa song was written by one of the puppeteers, Maria Msebenzi.
Once upon a time, in the southern lands of Africa, there lived an old grandmother. Her children and grandchildren had moved into the town and she was left by herself on her farm in the country. But grandmother never felt lonely because her favourite child was ‘nature’ itself, and there was always so much to do to take care of nature.
Grandmother especially liked to see her nature child wearing a beautiful dress, a flower dress, and so she spent most of her time tending a garden and growing beautiful flowers. Her best friend and helper was a little brown donkey who worked all day pulling a cart to carry buckets of water for the flower garden. Then on Saturdays he would carry Grandmother on his strong back, pulling a cartload of flowers behind him, and set off for the market at the edge of town. Grandmother would dress him up for the day with a special hat ringed with flowers and a brightly coloured cloth on his back.
At the end of the day, when all the flowers had been sold, Grandmother would use the money to buy food for herself and oats for the little brown donkey. They always had enough to eat, and for a long time they were very happy working and living together. The donkey loved Grandmother and Grandmother loved the donkey. As they worked together in the flower garden she would often sing this song to him:
Oh, a donkey is a wonderful thing; a wonderful thing is a donkey.
Imbongolo yinto entle kahle; into ekahle yimbongolo.
However, as the years went by, Grandmother grew older and older, and there came a time when she was too old to work in her flower garden and too old to live out in the country by herself. So one day she packed all her belongings into the donkey cart, put the flower hat on the donkey’s head and the brightly coloured cloth on his back, and together they set off to town to find a new house, a town house, to live in.
Now Grandmother had not been into town for a very long time, and as she travelled up and down the streets on the way to her new house, she was shocked and saddened to find what an untidy place it had become. There was mess and garbage piled up everywhere. Instead of gardens of flowers there were gardens of mess and garbage.
‘What are the people doing to ‘nature’s child’, cried Grandmother. ‘How can they dress her in such an ugly dress?’ And she sat down amongst the tins and bottles and plastic bags outside her new house and started to cry. While she was crying the little brown donkey came close to her and bent down and whispered a secret in her ear. Slowly Grandmother’s tears stopped and a smile crept across her wrinkled old face. ‘Of course, little brown donkey, what a wonderful idea’ she said, and then she started to sing:
Oh, a donkey is a wonderful thing; a wonderful thing is a donkey.
Imbongolo yinto entle kahle; into ekahle yimbongolo.
While she was singing she unpacked all her belongings into her new house. After a cup of tea for herself and some water and oats for the donkey, she then set off down the street with the donkey and an empty cart. As she walked she started to pick up the garbage and load it onto the cart. And as she worked she sang:
My nature’s child is ugly and grey, She needs a change of dress today.
Let’s pick up the garbage and clean up the mess,
Then plant seeds to grow a flower dress.
It wasn’t long before the children in the street heard Grandmother’s happy singing. They came out of their houses and started to help. By the end of the first day, with the children working hard, all the garbage in the first street had been picked up. It was loaded onto the donkey cart and taken to the garbage tip. Then Grandmother dipped her hand into a bag of flower seeds that she had brought from her country garden, and gave seeds to all the children to take back home and plant in front of their houses.
The next day, with more children helping, the second street was cleaned up. The next day, the third street was tidied. In this way, with the children working with Grandmother and the little brown donkey, every street in the town was soon cleared of all the mess. And with the flower seeds planted in front of all the houses, soon ‘nature’s child’ had a new town dress, a beautiful flower dress.
Grandmother was now able to enjoy the beauty of the flowers in the town. Meanwhile the little brown donkey was kept busy carrying water up and down the streets for all the gardens, and also collecting new garbage every day.
From that day to this, if anyone in the town had any garbage to throw out, they would put it in their bins and wait until the donkey cart came by to load it for the tip. Each day the children would pick flowers from their garden and weave a fresh flower ring for the donkey’s hat.
If you ever visit this town you will hear the people singing praises to the little brown donkey – the little brown donkey who helped Grandmother give their town a beautiful new dress, a flower dress:
Oh, a donkey is a wonderful thing; a wonderful thing is a donkey.
Imbongolo yinto entle kahle; into ekahle yimbongolo.
This is a delightful story that I first heard in an Educare playgroup in Cape Town. It was from an anonymous source and has been re-written for this book. It was being told as a puppet show to three-year-olds. It has a simple message for all ages about taking care of the smallest details in life!
There was once an old woman who always left the top off her sugar jar. Every day when she was taking tea, she spooned the sugar into her cup and then left the sugar jar open on the cupboard.
This old woman had a pet tortoise who lived in her house. The tortoise often said, ‘Take care, old woman, or the ants will come one day and steal your sugar!’
But the old woman just laughed and carried on drinking her tea.
The days and weeks went by, and then one day the tortoise’s prediction came to pass.
The ants, that normally kept politely to themselves out in the garden, came into the kitchen, up onto the cupboard and into the sugar jar. Grain by grain they started to carry off the sugar.
The next day, when the old woman was making her tea, she put her spoon into the sugar jar and was surprised to find that not one grain of sugar was left.
The tortoise was tempted to say, ‘I told you so’, but he was too wise for such comments. Instead he told the old woman that he had watched the ants taking the sugar and knew where their hiding place was. The woman followed the tortoise to a little hole under the steps, and sure enough, when she looked inside, there was a pile of sugar grains.
The old woman was able to reach in with her spoon and get just enough sugar for one cup of tea.
Later that day she took some coins from her drawer and walked to the shop to buy a new bag of sugar. As soon as she reached home, she went straight to the kitchen and poured the sugar into the jar.
Then, do you know what the old woman did? She screwed the lid tightly onto the jar and never again did she lose her sugar to the ants. The ants stayed in the garden and the sugar stayed in the jar.
Garden of Light was written for World Environment Day in 1992 and later produced as a one-hour musical play by Home Grown Productions, Byron Bay. Refer to Chapter Three for details on the uses and effects of this story. Suitable for age 6 and upwards.
There was once a beautiful garden that stretched far and wide, from the valleys to the plains, from the hills to the seaside.
In this beautiful garden grew every flower, every plant, every tree. In this beautiful garden lived every bird, every butterfly, every bee.
In this beautiful garden all the children of the land loved to play, and the garden kept them healthy and happy in their play everyday.
In the centre of this garden, at the top of the tallest hill, was a great shining golden ball. The golden ball shone so bright, it filled the garden with springtime light.
At the foot of the hill lived the caretaker of the golden ball. She was a Nature Weaver and it was her task to polish the ball and keep it shining bright. She lived in a room with a round weaving basket and a weaving loom.
Every day she would take her round basket into the garden and fill it with fresh grasses and flowers and leaves. Then on her weaving loom she would weave a soft nature cloth.
With this soft nature cloth she would climb to the top of the hill and polish the golden ball so bright – until it filled the garden with glorious springtime light.
For a long time all was happy and well. The golden ball needed the garden and the garden needed the golden ball. And the children enjoyed somewhere beautiful to play.
But one day a new King took over the land. This new King was called King-Didn’t-Care and King-Didn’t-Care didn’t care about anything except himself. King-Didn’t-Care didn’t care about flowers and plants and trees. King-Didn’t-Care didn’t care about birds and butterflies and bees. King-Didn’t-Care didn’t care if the children had anywhere beautiful to play.
King-Didn’t-Care only cared about what he liked, and King-Didn’t-Care only liked collecting and storing treasures. So as soon as King-Didn’t-Care took over the land he ordered his workmen to start digging treasure mines and building castles to store treasures in.
And slowly, very slowly, the beautiful garden was chopped down to make way for treasure mines and treasure castles.
*
As the garden grew smaller and smaller, the Nature Weaver found it harder and harder to fill her round basket with fresh flowers and grasses and leaves. She found it harder and harder to weave a soft nature cloth on her weaving loom. She found it harder and harder to polish the golden ball bright, and slowly the golden ball stopped shining its glorious springtime light. Slowly the golden ball started to turn a tarnished grey, the grey of the clouds on a dark stormy day.
Soon, all the beautiful garden was gone. There were no more flowers and plants and trees, there were no more birds and butterflies and bees. And there was nowhere beautiful for the children to play.
All that was left at the top of the tallest hill was a great grey tarnished ball. In the room at the foot of the hill sat the Nature Weaver with an empty weaving basket and an empty weaving loom. The land around was now barren and brown. It was filled with holes where treasure mines had been dug, and covered with castles to store treasures in.
*
Many years passed. The garden was forgotten and the children grew used to having nowhere beautiful to play. King-Didn’t-Care didn’t care that the beautiful garden was gone. He visited his castles and was kept happy counting his treasures. But one day he happened to look out of a castle window and see the hill of the grey tarnished ball.
‘What a terrible sight’, he said to himself. ‘This grey tarnished ball I must try to hide – it makes me feel sort of uncomfortable inside’.
King-Didn’t-Care then ordered his workmen to build a high stone wall around the hill of the grey tarnished ball. The high stone wall had no windows and no doors. No one could get in to see the grey tarnished ball, and the Nature Weaver couldn’t get out. She stayed sitting in her room, with her empty weaving basket and her empty weaving loom.
*
On the morning after the wall was finished King-Didn’t-Care woke up feeling quite ill. When he looked in his mirror he saw that he had turned quite grey, the grey of the clouds on a dark stormy day. The doctors in the land were called to his bedside. They had never seen such an illness before, and no matter what remedy they tried, nothing seemed to help. In fact, King-Didn’t-Care was growing greyer by the day, and his illness became so severe that he didn’t survive to see the springtime of that year.
*
On the day that King-Didn’t-Care died, cracks started to appear in the high stone wall. These cracks in the wall were very small, but playing just near the wall was a child, also very small. The child found that she was able to fit through one of the cracks, and once inside she stood looking up at the hill and the great grey tarnished ball. She then saw the room at the foot of the hill, and walked up to it and peered inside. Sitting in the room was the Nature Weaver with her empty weaving basket and empty weaving loom.
The Nature Weaver smiled a tired but friendly smile. ‘I hope you’ve come in time’ she said. Beckoning the little child to come inside, she told the story of the beautiful garden that once stretched over the land; of the flowers and plants and trees; of the birds and butterflies and bees. She told of her basket that she used to fill with fresh flowers and grasses and leaves. She told of her weaving loom and the soft nature cloth she used to weave. She told of her task to polish the golden ball and keep it shining bright, so that it would fill the garden with springtime light.
The little child’s eyes grew wide with wonder. ‘We must bring back the garden and we must bring back the golden shine to the great grey tarnished ball’ she cried.
‘Well’, the Nature Weaver sighed, ‘there is a way to do this but I am too old to do it by myself. I would need your help and the help of all the other children in the land. You must be prepared to work very hard. Go back through a crack in the wall and gather up all the children you can find – then I will tell you what we need to do. I hope you’ve come in time, I do hope you’ve come in time!’
*
The little child slipped back out through a crack in the wall and gathered up as many children as she could find. They followed her back to the Nature Weaver’s room where they all sat down to watch and listen. The Nature Weaver took out a small box and held it for the children to see. ‘These are my treasures,’ she said, ‘I gathered them from the garden before it was chopped down’. Then she opened the lid of the box and the children saw thousands of tiny seeds inside. ‘With your help and much hard work we can plant these seeds and bring back the garden. Then I will be able to weave a new nature cloth and with this cloth we may be able to bring back the shine to the grey tarnished ball.’
The Nature Weaver showed the children how to dig the ground and plant the seeds, and how to water and tend the new plants with loving care. Every day the children would come back through the cracks in the wall and work in the garden at the foot of the hill of the grey tarnished ball.
When the garden had grown high enough the Nature Weaver gave the children her round weaving basket to fill with fresh grasses and flowers and leaves. She then sat at her weaving loom and once more she was able to weave a soft nature cloth. The children then took the soft nature cloth to the top of the hill and started to polish the grey tarnished ball. This took a very long time – for many days the children came back through the crack in the wall and polished and polished the grey tarnished ball.
And slowly, slowly, slowly (it took a very long time) the children were able to bring back the golden shine. The great ball once again started to shine so bright, it filled the garden at the foot of the hill with golden springtime light. The children kept polishing and polishing the golden ball, until one day its golden light shone so brightly against the high stone wall that it caused the high stone wall … to fall!
The golden light then flooded out over the land, and the beautiful garden was once more able to stretch far and wide, from the valleys to the plains, from the hills to the seaside. And once more, as before, the children had somewhere beautiful to play.
I wrote this story with several aims in mind. It is not a story for three- or four-year-olds – at this young age greed is not a conscious reality! However, in our modern world this story could be quite useful for children aged five or more who want everything and are continually influenced by commercial messages in the media. It is a quite a long story, and highlights the bountiful treasures of nature.
Little possum was not born greedy. She was just born with a love of beautiful things, especially things that shimmered and sparkled and shone. While her mother was teaching her how to find the best fruits and seeds to eat, little possum was looking elsewhere, watching how the silver moonlight shimmered on the dancing leaves.
While her mother was showing her how to look for safe homes high up in hollow trees, little possum was busy looking up in wonderment at all the sparkling stars in the night sky.
While her mother was telling her about the dangers to be aware of in the bushland, little possum was counting all the shiny colours in the early morning dewdrops.
*
Then something happened that changed little possum’s life forever!
Early one morning, when the birds were just waking up and the night animals – like possums – were on their way home to sleep, little possum came across a nest in the grass full of things that shimmered and sparkled and shone. Excited about her discovery, she bent down and reached out to touch the wonderful treasures. There were blue beads of shimmering glass, sparkling marble balls and shiny bottle tops. Little possum had never before been close to such beautiful things – treasures she could actually touch and hold in her possum paws.
Suddenly a dark blue bird flew down from the branch above.
‘What are you doing with my treasures’, squawked the bowerbird and he started to peck and poke at little possum’s head.
‘I was just touching – they are so beautiful’ called back little possum as she ran off into the bush to escape the treasures’ angry owner.
She hid herself under a thick leafy branch, well out of harm’s way. For the rest of the morning, while her possum family was fast asleep, she looked out at the special treasures in the bowerbird’s nest and wished she could have some for herself.
You see, little possum had learnt something new this day – she had learnt that beautiful things could actually belong to someone. ‘This is much better than the treasures in the bushland that can just be looked at’, thought little possum longingly.
*
From that day on, all that little possum could think about was how she could find some treasures of her own. She started to search far and wide for things that shimmered and sparkled and shone – just like the ones she had seen in the bowerbird’s nest. She searched through the bushland valleys. She searched over the bushland hills. She wandered far and wide, until finally she reached the open fields – exactly where her mother had told her never to go.
‘That’s where the humans live’, her mother had warned. And sure enough, out in the wide clearing little possum saw many two-legged humans – tall and short and fat and thin. She also saw many large wooden houses with beautiful gardens all around.
It was above one of these gardens that little possum saw the bowerbird flying away with a string of shiny blue beads in his beak.
Little possum was so excited. If the bowerbird was collecting treasures from the humans’ gardens, then perhaps at last she had found the place where shimmering, sparkling, shining things came from.
She couldn’t wait to go exploring for her own treasures. However, something her mother had taught her jumped into her possum mind – ‘Wait until night-time, possums are much safer at night than during the day’.
So she curled up in the branch of a tree at the edge of the open fields and waited until it was dark enough to go exploring. And this night was the beginning of little possum turning into greedy possum!
*
Every garden that she dared to enter led her to something that shimmered or sparkled or shone. Lying on the grass or under bushes she found shimmering pieces of glass, sparkling marbles, and shiny coins. On the pathways and in the gardens she found shimmering beads, sparkling spoons, and shiny keys. Greedy possum crept around the houses while all the humans were fast asleep and gathered up as many treasures as she could carry.
And where does a greedy possum carry treasures you may wonder? In her possum pouch of course! And the more treasures that greedy possum stuffed into her pouch, the bigger she grew and the heavier she became and the slower she moved.
By the time she had finished exploring all the human gardens, greedy possum was so big and heavy that it took all her strength to cross the open fields and reach the shelter of her bushland home. As the sun rose the next morning, greedy possum was safely curled up inside a hollow log, deep in the bush.
Greedy possum was very happy. But greedy possum was also very tired, and soon she fell into a deep sleep. All day she slept, and the next night, and the next day.
Finally she woke up, feeling very hungry. But how does a possum with a possum pouch full of heavy treasures go hunting for food?
Just then, greedy possum heard a familiar noise and smelt a familiar smell. She looked out and saw her mother coming along the ground towards her. ‘Little possum, I have been so worried about you. What have you been doing?’ she cried.
‘I have been collecting many treasures’ said greedy possum, and she opened the possum pouch for her mother to peep inside.
Mother possum shook her head. ‘Dear little possum, we don’t need human treasures to make us happy. Your possum pouch needs to be saved for a more special treasure than things that shimmer or sparkle or shine.’
Mother possum then offered to help take everything out of little possum’s pouch so that they could go hunting together. She knew little possum must be very hungry.
But greedy possum did not want to listen to her mother, and definitely did not want to give up her treasures. ‘No,’ she cried, ‘these treasures are mine, all mine’, and she moved further back inside the log and curled up into a tight ball. For a long time she stayed like this till her mother lost interest in waiting and continued on her hunt to look for fruits and seeds to eat.
*
Some time later, greedy possum heard scampering and many possum noises. When she looked up she saw many of her possum friends waiting outside the hollow log. News of her visit to the ‘human’ gardens had travelled fast through the bushland. Her friends had come to see what she had found.
Greedy possum opened her pouch for them to have a peep at her collection of treasures. Of course, when the other possums saw all the things that shimmered and sparkled and shone, they wanted to have some of their own. But greedy possum did not want to share!
‘No,’ cried greedy possum, ‘these treasures are mine, all mine’, and she moved further back inside the log and curled up once again into a tight ball. For a long time she stayed like this till her friends lost interest in waiting and continued on their hunt to look for fruits and seeds to eat.
*
Greedy possum slept and slept – what else was there to do? She was too heavy to go hunting for food, and she didn’t dare take her treasures out of her pouch and leave them behind. Someone might come and take them.
So greedy possum grew more and more hungry. And more and more lonely. Her mother did not return. Her friends did not return. She sat inside her hollow log and looked out at the world and realised that even with all her new treasures she was not a happy possum.
Then, early one morning, through her teary big brown eyes, she saw a dewdrop shining with colours in the wet grass outside. It reminded her of the time when she used to be happy enjoying the natural treasures of the bushland.
‘What a silly possum I have been,’ she cried to herself, ‘it is time to empty my pouch and be free of these heavy things.’ She crawled out of her hollow log and dragged herself through the bushland to where the bowerbird had his nest in the grass.
Bowerbird was very surprised to have a visitor! He watched with glee as the possum carefully lifted all the treasures out of her possum pouch and spread them on the ground. Out came the shimmering pieces of glass, sparkling marbles, and shiny coins. Out came the shimmering beads, sparkling spoons, and shiny keys. Out came all the treasures, until her possum pouch was empty and the grass was covered with things that shimmered and sparkled and shone.
Bowerbird then spent all day choosing the best things – mostly blue of course – to take into his nest. And that night wombat found the remaining treasures and took them underground to brighten up his dark earth home.
Meanwhile, possum (who was not a greedy nor a little possum anymore) scampered off to hunt for food, so happy to be light and free once again.
*
After possum had found many fruits and seeds to eat, she set to work finding a new home for herself, safe and high in a hollow tree. Then she visited her mother to show that she was not laden down anymore by a pouch full of human treasures. She also wanted to tell her mother that she was now big enough to live in the bushland by herself.
Not long after this, just as her mother had promised, possum found something growing in her pouch that was a much more special treasure than things that shimmered and sparkled and shone.
It was a new baby possum!
As baby possum grew and started to venture out of the possum pouch to explore the bushland, new mother possum shared with her baby her love of beautiful bushland things. Together they watched how the silver moonlight shimmered on the dancing leaves, they looked at the sparkling stars in the night sky, and they found shiny colours in early morning dewdrops.
New mother possum also taught her baby how to find the best fruits and leaves to eat, the dangers to be aware of in the bushland, and how to build a home safe and high in a hollow tree. Most importantly, new mother possum taught her baby possum to stay in the bushland and keep away from ‘human’ gardens, especially human treasures that shimmered and sparkled and shone.
Suitable for age six and older, this story is my own version of a well loved Grimm’s fairytale. Also known as ‘The Fisherman and his Wife’, this consequential story is recommended for parents and teachers to use when their children seem never to be satisfied. A strong memory from this story is when one of my own boys, aged six, leant back in his chair after hearing it and sighed a very satisfied sigh, ‘Yes, that’s very fair – no one deserves to have that much!’ I have added a song to the story, and because it was a favourite of the Kenyan women when I worked in East Africa, I include the words of the song in Kiswahili.
There was once a fisherman who lived with his wife in a little hut on the beach at the edge of a lagoon. He and his wife were so poor they had no money to buy any food. However they always had plenty to eat. They lived on the coconuts found on the beach and the fish from the sea. Each day the fisherman would climb into his wooden boat and sing to the wind:
Wind, sail my boat, carry me across the water, wind sail my boat.
Upepo, una endesha mashua yangu, nibebe univukishe maji,
Upepo, una endesha mashua yangu.
The wind would blow into the sails and the boat would move across the blue waters of the lagoon and out onto the great ocean. As he sailed in his boat the fisherman hoped that he would catch at least one fish for dinner that night.
One day, while his boat was rocking on the waves in the middle of the sea, a large fish took the end of his line. The fisherman pulled and pulled and pulled. Suddenly, up and over the edge of the boat and onto the wooden floor, with a large plop and a splash, landed a beautiful shiny fish – the largest fish that the fisherman had ever caught in his whole life. ‘This will last for many dinners’ said the fisherman as he bent down to pick up the fish and put it in his bag.
Then he stopped still and listened – it seemed that someone was talking to him. But he was alone in his boat in the middle of the great sea. The talking started again, and to his surprise he looked down and saw that it was coming from the fish itself.
Fisherman, fisherman, listen to me, I have a secret from the sea,
If you throw me back in the blue, I’ll grant a magic wish for you.
The fisherman carefully picked up the fish and threw it back in the water. He then sailed his boat home across the sea to where his wife was waiting for him on the beach. He excitedly told her about what had happened, and she straight away said, ‘What are we waiting for, let us wish for a better place to live, let us wish for a bigger house’.
The moment she had spoken these words their little one-roomed hut turned into a bigger and grander house, with separate rooms, and a kitchen with cupboards full of food to eat.
For many days the fisherman didn’t need to go out fishing, but finally the food cupboards were empty. It was time to climb into his wooden boat and set sail across the blue waters of the lagoon and out onto the great ocean. As the boat moved across the water he started to sing to the wind:
Wind, sail my boat, carry me across the water, wind sail my boat.
Upepo, una endesha mashua yangu, nibebe univukishe maji,
Upepo, una endesha mashua yangu.
While his boat was rocking on the waves in the middle of the sea, a large fish took the end of his line. The fisherman pulled and pulled and pulled. Suddenly, up and over the edge of the boat and onto the wooden floor, with a large plop and a splash, landed a beautiful shiny fish – the same magic fish that he had caught before.
Fisherman, fisherman, listen to me, I have a secret from the sea,
If you throw me back in the blue, I’ll grant a magic wish for you.
The fisherman carefully picked up the fish and threw it back in the water. He then sailed his boat home across the sea to where his wife was waiting for him on the beach. He excitedly told her about what had happened, and she straight away said, ‘What are we waiting for? I am tired of living in this house, let us wish for a better place to live, let us wish for a grand palace.’
Immediately she had spoken these words their house turned into a grand palace, with many, many rooms, upstairs and downstairs, and shiny towers. The palace also had gardens with many flowers and water fountains, and an even bigger kitchen with cupboards full of food to eat.
For many, many weeks to follow, the fisherman didn’t need to go out fishing. But finally the food cupboards were empty. It was time to climb into his wooden boat and set sail across the blue waters of the lagoon and out onto the great ocean. As the boat moved across the water he started to sing to the wind:
Wind, sail my boat, carry me across the water, wind sail my boat.
Upepo, una endesha mashua yangu, nibebe univukishe maji,
Upepo, una endesha mashua yangu.
While his boat was rocking on the waves in the middle of the sea, a large fish took the end of his line. The fisherman pulled and pulled and pulled. Suddenly, up and over the edge of the boat and onto the wooden floor, with a large plop and a splash, landed a beautiful shiny fish – the same magic fish that he had caught before.
Fisherman, fisherman, listen to me, I have a secret from the sea,
If you throw me back in the blue, I’ll grant a magic wish for you.
The fisherman carefully picked up the fish and threw it back in the water. He then sailed his boat home across the sea to where his wife was waiting for him on the beach. He excitedly told her about what had happened, and she straight away said, ‘What are we waiting for? I am tired of just owning a palace, let us wish for more, let us wish to own everything in the world, even the moon and the sun.’
This time the fisherman knew that his wife was expecting much more than her fair share, but it was too late to stop the wish, as the words had already been spoken. And to their surprise, in front of their very eyes, something different happened. The palace disappeared and all that was left on the beach was the little hut they had always lived in.
From this time onwards, the only food they had to eat was the coconuts found on the beach and the fish from the sea. Every day the fisherman would climb into his wooden boat and set sail across the blue waters of the lagoon and out onto the great ocean. As the boat moved across the water he would sing to the wind:
Wind, sail my boat, carry me across the water, wind sail my boat.
Upepo, una endesha mashua yangu, nibebe univukishe maji,
Upepo, una endesha mashua yangu.
For the rest of his days, the fisherman never saw the magic fish again, but he and his wife never wanted for food to eat. The sea always provided them with plenty of fish and the beach always provided them with plenty of coconuts.
The Anansi stories originated in West Africa and then were taken to the islands of the Caribbean (see Chapter Ten).
Anansi the Spider Man is lazy, dishonest and very, very greedy. He is full of naughty tricks, but funny and lovable. Included here, for seven years and older, are three examples of how Anansi’s greed meets its just deserts.
Once upon a time, there lived a greedy spider called Kwaku Anansi. Such was his greed that he did not care about his wife and children, he thought only of himself. It was always Anansi, Anansi, Anansi – everything for himself.
One day Kwaku Anansi saw three ripe mangoes on a tree by the river. His mouth started watering and he yearned so much for the mangoes that he decided to go and pick them at once. He climbed the tree and soon reached the top. He plucked the first and second mango and was going to the third when he looked down into the water and saw his reflection. Thinking it was another person with some more mangoes, he felt very envious. He wanted to enjoy the mangoes alone so he decided to go down to the river to fight with that person and collect the mangoes from him.
Splash! Anansi fell down into the water. Holding his two mangoes firmly in his hands he started looking around. To his surprise there was no one else there. The swift currents carried Anansi away like a leaf. He struggled without success to get out of the river. Desperately, he released his hold on the mangoes and saw them floating away with the current.
Finally, exhausted and drenched, he came out of the river. His appetite for the mangoes had gone altogether! With bad grace he referred to them as ‘sour mangoes’. With bitterness and anger Anansi went home, and that night he paid for his greed by having nothing to eat.
Once upon a time, Kwaku Anansi lived in a country that had a queen who was also a witch. This queen had a secret name – the word ‘five’, and she didn’t want anyone using it. It happened that she issued a decree that whoever used the word ‘five’ would fall down dead,
Now Anansi was a clever fellow and a hungry one too. Things had been especially bad because there was a famine in the land. Anansi decided to make a little house for himself by the side of the river, just near the point where everyone came to get water. He also made five yam hills next to his house. His plan was to call out to anyone who came along, ‘I beg you to tell me how many yam hills I have here. I can’t count very well.’ He hoped that different animals would come up and say, ‘One, two, three, four, five,’ and then they would fall down dead. Then Anansi would take them and store them in his barrel and eat them, and that way he would always have lots of food, in hungry times and in times of plenty.
After some time, along came Guinea Fowl. Anansi said, ‘I beg you, missus, tell me how many yam hills I have here.’ So Guinea Fowl went and sat on one of the yam hills and said, ‘One, two, three, four, and the one I’m sitting on!’ Anansi said, ‘Cho!’ (sucking his teeth), ‘you can’t count right.’ And Guinea Fowl moved to another hill and said, ‘One, two, three, four, and the one I’m sitting on!’ ‘Cho! You don’t count right at all’ said Anansi.
‘How do you count, then?’ Guinea Fowl asked, a little confused by Anansi’s strange behaviour. ‘Why this way: one, two, three, four, FIVE!’ And on saying this last word, Anansi fell down dead and Guinea Fowl ate him up.
Once upon a time, in the land where Kwaku Anansi lived, there was a big famine and all the animals were struggling to find enough to eat.
Meanwhile all the birds of the land were getting plenty to eat. Each day they would fly across the waters to a special island to feed on the cherry trees. The cherries were so big, sweet and juicy that when the birds ate them, the cherry juices would run down their beaks and stain all their feathers dark red.
Because it was an island, only the birds could easily get there. Every time Anansi heard the birds boasting about the juicy cherries, it made him want to go there more and more. But every time he asked to go, not one of the birds would offer to help. They would say: ‘If God wanted you to go to Cherry Island, He would have made you a bird. Now go away and leave us alone.’
Anansi sat down and thought and thought until he came up with a plan. Finally he had an idea. When the birds returned from the island later that day, he asked every one of them for a feather. As this seemed such a small request, from Hummingbird to Weaver, every bird gave him one of their feathers.
The next morning, when the time came for the birds to return to Cherry Island, Anansi tied on the feathers. He then climbed up a tall cocon ut tree and jumped off and started to fly. Following all the birds, he flew until he reached the island. He landed in the largest cherry tree and he started to eat. And he ate and he ate and he ate!
Meanwhile the birds were murmuring about Anansi’s greediness. They were worried that at the rate he was going there wouldn’t be any cherries left for them. Anansi ignored their comments and continued eating. The more the birds murmured, the more angry they grew, until Weaver Bird said: ‘Anansi, you are ungrateful. Look how we each lent you a feather to come here. Now you are eating all the cherries!’
Anansi just continued eating the cherries and ignoring the birds. So one by one the birds took back their feathers. Soon Anansi had none left. The birds flew back to the mainland at the end of the day and Anansi was left by himself on the island all night. The next day he had to swim the long, long, long way back home.
This story is based on the Grimm’s fairytale called ‘Star Money’ and is suitable for five- to eight-year-olds. Instead of the poor girl in the story, it uses a little bush spirit called the Frangipani Maiden. Taking an approach that seeks positive redress of greediness, it has a theme of giving and sharing. Note: the frangipani tree is most often found in tropical areas, and has a beautiful flower with waxy petals ranging in colour from white through pink and yellow to red.
It once happened that, in the bushland by the seashore, a little frangipani maiden was wandering all alone. The cold autumn winds had blown her far from her mother tree and she now had no home or family around her. The only clothes that she wore were the white and pink petals around her waist, the green leaves over her shoulders and the green leaves wrapped warmly on her head. The only food she had to eat were some wild raspberries that she had found along the sandy path.
But the little frangipani maiden was not worried or frightened. She knew that as long as she was thankful for the little she had, she would be taken care of and would always have enough.
As she wandered along the path, looking for a place to sit and eat her wild raspberries, she met a little bird who called out to her:
‘I have no food, please give me something to eat’. Straight away the little frangipani maiden gave the bird her berries and went on her way.
Presently she saw a little mouse who called out to her:
‘I have no hat, the wind is cold’. So the little frangipani maiden took off the green leaves that were warming her head, and gave her leaf hat to the mouse.
A little further on she met a spider who called out to her:
‘I have no coat, the wind is cold’. The little frangipani maiden took off her leaf coat and gave it to the spider to make a little coat house.
Then she met a little ant, huddled by the pathway. The ant called out to her:
‘I have no clothes, the wind is cold’. The little frangipani maiden took off her pink and white petals and built a little petal house for the ant to crawl inside.
Now the little frangipani maiden had nothing left. She had given away her food and all her clothes. But she was not worried or frightened. She knew that she would be taken care of. She continued on her way, and as it was starting to get dark, she soon found a place to sleep next to the sandy path amongst some leaves and grass.
While she slept, the stars in the heavens above danced and swirled. They swirled and danced, and danced and swirled, weaving for her a shining silken gown.
The little frangipani maiden woke to find herself wrapped in silver silk, with a golden shower falling all around her. At first she thought that the stars, which looked like pieces of glittering gold in the heavens, were falling down. But when the drops reached the ground, she saw they were real gold. She gathered them up and continued on her way. After this time, the little frangipani maiden never wanted for anything more for the rest of her life.
Almost all parents have moments when their child is being annoying or irritating. It can happen at dinnertime when the child is hungry and the parent is tired. It can happen in the car on a long trip when the child is bored and the parent is stressed. At such moments a humorous poem can help relieve the situation.
A parent would be unlikely to know such a long poem by heart. I used to keep copies of selected poems on the fridge door to refer to when needed.
Sometimes just reading through the verses healed the problem, or at least changed the subject, and definitely offered a better approach than direct confrontation!
Pesky Pelican was a bird,
An annoying, irritating, pesky bird,
A bird that lived on the sandy shore,
A bird that always wanted more.
Even with all the fish in the sea,
Pesky Pelican wanted more for her tea!
Pesky Pelican could eat all day,
And always hunted in a pesky way,
She would poke around in holes and nests,
No animal or bird could ever rest,
No one was safe from her peskiness.
Her parents gave her warnings so sound,
Against her pesky poking around.
‘You’ll be sorry one day,
Mark what we say!
Go and catch fish in the waters blue,
This is what PEL-I-CANS should really do.’
But Pesky Pelican didn’t care,
She just flapped her wings and flew up in the air.
She flapped her wings and made pesky sounds,
Then landed somewhere else on the ground.
Mother crabs could not leave their babies alone,
Could not safely leave their babes in their homes.
If they heard Pesky Pelican making her sounds.
They would cry out as PP came poking around:
‘You’ll be sorry one day,
Mark what we say!
Go and catch fish in the waters blue,
This is what PEL-I-CANS should really do.’
But Pesky Pelican didn’t care,
She just flapped her wings and flew up in the air.
She flapped her wings and made pesky sounds,
Then landed somewhere else on the ground.
Mother birds could not leave their babies alone,
Could not safely leave their babes in their homes,
If they heard Pesky Pelican making her sounds.
They would cry out as PP came poking around:
‘You’ll be sorry one day,
Mark what we say!
Go and catch fish in the waters blue,
This is what PEL-I-CANS should really do.’
But Pesky Pelican didn’t care,
She just flapped her wings and flew up in the air.
She flapped her wings and made pesky sounds,
Then landed somewhere else on the ground.
The fishermen could not leave their bags on the beach,
If they knew Pesky Pelican was close within reach,
If they heard Pesky Pelican making her sounds.
They would cry out as PP came poking around:
‘You’ll be sorry one day,
Mark what we say!
Go and catch fish in the waters blue,
This is what PEL-I-CANS should really do.’
But then, one day,
Mark what I say,
Pesky Pelican came unstuck,
Her behaviour had really run amuck,
In less time than a nod and a wink,
She carried her peskiness over the brink.
She was poking around near a fisherman’s bag,
Having a Pesky Pelican look,
When she saw a fish that looked so fine,
Hanging in the air,
It looked so fine,
And she swallowed it whole,
With its hook and its line.
The hook and line were attached to a rod,
And the rod was attached to a fisherman’s hand,
A fisherman standing close by on the sand.
Now Pesky Pelican had to care!
She couldn’t flap her wings and fly up in the air,
She could only stand very still … and despair!
But lucky the fisherman was a kind old man,
And good at helping pesky birds on the sand.
He gently pulled on the line with his hands …
Slowly and gently he pulled with his hands,
Until up Pesky Pelican’s throat slid the fish,
And landed plop in the fisherman’s dish!
Pesky Pelican flapped her wings and flew high,
She flew up and across the bright blue sky,
She flapped her wings and flew high in the air,
Then out and over the ocean fair.
This time she didn’t land back on the ground,
And she didn’t make pesky pelican sounds.
Once she was alone and over the sea,
A different pelican she came to be.
She began to catch fish in the waters blue,
(Following her parents’ good advice of course)
She did what PEL-I-CANS should really do!
Originally written as a nature story for Kenyan children, this story is about an impatient zebra who has to learn to wait for his black stripes. It is based on the observation of baby zebras having golden brown stripes for their first year of life. Their stripes only turn black as they grow older. ‘Impatient Zebra’ is a therapeutic story for children and adults. For the adults it has a message of slowing down and allowing children time to be children.
Little Brown Zebra was not happy. He didn’t want to have brown furry stripes like all the other baby zebras. He wanted to have black stripes like his mother and father and all his older brothers and sisters. He thought there was something wrong with him. Why were his stripes brown and white, when everybody in the whole world knew that zebras were supposed to be black and white?
Little Brown Zebra thought and thought about this all day long. In fact he couldn’t think about anything else. His mother would get cross with him as he never seemed to be concentrating properly on what little zebras were supposed to be learning – important things like the best grasses to eat and how to sniff the air and tell if ‘simba’i was close by. Instead he would mope around singing his impatient song:
I’m a little zebra and I’m feeling so down;
My stripes should be black, but they are all brown.
Little Brown Zebra was so concerned about his dilemma that he decided he was going to find a way to turn his brown stripes into black ones. He looked and looked around until he found some thick black mud by the edge of the dam. Then he tried to roll around in it, only letting the black mud get on his stripes. But you can imagine what happened – Little Brown Zebra ended up black all over, and looked more like a baby buffalo than a zebra. When his mother saw what he had done she sent him straight into the water to wash off the mud. After this his brown stripes seemed to be shining even more brightly.
So Little Brown Zebra continued to mope around for the rest of the day singing his impatient song:
I’m a little zebra and I’m feeling so down;
My stripes should be black, but they are all brown.
The next day he had a different idea. He found a burnt-out tree stump and started to rub the stripes on his back against the blackened wood. Stripe by stripe he kept on rubbing. This seemed to be working at first. Then Little Brown Zebra grew so excited that before he knew what he was doing he was rubbing too hard and he ended up with very sore patches all over his back. He had been rubbing his skin off altogether!
It took a long time for his skin to heal over, and all this time Little Brown Zebra continued to mope around singing his impatient song:
I’m a little zebra and I’m feeling so down;
My stripes should be black, but they are all brown.
His next idea was to try to stay under the shade of the acacia trees – at least this way his brown stripes looked darker than if he was out in the bright sunshine. But the grass didn’t grow sweet and long in the shade of the trees, and Little Brown Zebra soon grew hungry.
After many hours of standing in the shade, he finally grew tired of being hungry. He was also growing tired of worrying about having brown stripes. It suddenly seemed more important to have a full tummy, so he left the shady trees and joined his family eating sweet grass on the sunny plains.
Some months later, he was travelling with his mother down to the river to have a cool drink. While he was standing on the riverbank, he looked down into the water, and to his surprise he saw that his stripes seemed to be the same colour as his mother’s. He turned his head around to look at his stripy back, and sure enough, his stripy back had turned black! He wasn’t a Little Brown Zebra anymore.
‘What has happened to me?’ he asked his mother. His mother smiled, nuzzled her nose into his neck, and whispered into his ear, ‘You have grown. You are not a little zebra anymore.’
Little Zebra breathed a big sigh – of course, now he realised, all he had to do to turn his brown stripes into black ones was to GROW!
He galloped and gambolled round in circles singing a new song:
I’m a growing zebra and I’m happy to say,
my zebra stripes are black today!
| i | ‘Simba’ is the Kiswahili word for lion |
While living in the African bush I enjoyed watching the weaverbirds spending hours building their intricate nests. Their differing efforts reminded me of the timeless classic ‘The Three Little Pigs’ and so I re-wrote this story with an African theme. ‘Kisulisuli’ means ‘a small whirlwind’ (whirly-whirly) in Kiswahili.
Although it is not a story written to address a specific negative behaviour, it has general therapeutic use as it encourages concentrated work and commitment to a task. It was one of the most popular stories in the kindergarten in Nairobi the year it was written. Its positive effect was observed one day with one of the five-year-old boys who was prone to being quite lazy and not willing to finish tasks. He was overheard in creative playtime encouraging his friends to help him build a very strong house – just like the third weaver brother!
It was the first time I had observed this boy playing in a committed manner, and his concentrated work improved on a daily basis after this.
Once upon a time there were three weaver brothers who had grown old enough to fly from their parents’ nest and build new homes.
‘Goodbye,’ said their mother, ‘make sure your new home is high off the ground’.
‘Goodbye,’ said their father, ‘make sure your new home is woven strong and sound’.
The first weaver brother landed on the low branch of an acacia tree. ‘This will do me,’ he said, not bothering to look further. He then started to collect some twigs and grass to weave his home.
It was hardly finished when along came a tall giraffe and with a single lick of his long tongue he swallowed the branch and nest, all in one. The first weaver brother just managed to fly off in time.
The second weaver brother flew around for a while, then landed on the high branch of another acacia tree. ‘This will do me,’ he said, and started to collect some twigs and grass to weave his home. After a short while he grew tired of his work and began to quickly fix his twigs and grass together. He didn’t bother to make it strong and sound.
It was hardly finished when along came a Kisulisuli Wind and blew around the acacia tree. ‘I’ll whirl and I’ll twirl and I’ll swirl your house down’ said the Kisulisuli. But the second weaver brother just laughed and said ‘Go ahead little Kisulisuli, you don’t scare me.’
So the Kisulisuli whirled and the Kisulisuli twirled, and sure enough it swirled the nest right out of the tree and down to the ground. The second weaver brother just managed to fly off in time.
The third weaver brother landed in another acacia tree. Before he started to weave his nest, he remembered the advice his mother had given him and looked for the highest branch of all. Finally he found a branch right in the middle at the top of the tree, far too high for the giraffe’s tongue to reach. This will do me, he said, and started to collect some twigs and grass to weave his home.
This weaver brother was a hard worker – he had listened to the advice of his father. He took a very long time to find the right twigs and grass, and he took a very long time to weave them together – in and out, over and under, in and out – all the time singing as he worked:
Here I am, a busy little weaver, busy little weaver, busy little weaver,
Here I am, a busy little weaver, weaving my nest all day.
Finally after many, many days of hard work, his new home was high off the ground and was woven strong and sound. When it was ready, along came a Kisulisuli Wind and blew around the acacia tree. ‘I’ll whirl and I’ll twirl and I’ll swirl your house down’ said the Kisulisuli, but the third weaver brother just laughed and said ‘Go ahead little Kisulisuli, you don’t scare me.’
So the Kisulisuli whirled and twirled, and it twirled and it whirled. But no matter how hard it tried, it wasn’t able to swirl the strong nest out of the tree. Eventually the Kisulisuli whirled away to find something else to annoy or destroy.
The third weaver brother lined his strong nest with some feathers to make a soft bed, then he crawled inside and had a long rest. When he awoke, he found his two brothers waiting outside his nest. Seeing the wonderful home their brother had made, they had come to ask if he had room for them too.
The third weaver brother told them that he needed space for a wife and new babies to live. He sent his other two brothers off to try once again to make their own homes, saying to them: ‘Make sure your new home is high off the ground. Make sure your new home is woven strong and sound.’
This time the other brothers listened to this good advice. Soon the bushland was ringing with their weaving songs as they busily made nests high off the ground and wove them strong and sound:
Here we are, the busy little weavers,
busy little weavers, busy little weavers,
Here we are, the busy little weavers, weaving nests all day.
A ‘Lou’ tale from the shores of Lake Victoria (Western Kenya), suitable for ages 6 – 8. This consequential story deals with the theme of ‘laziness’, and is included by permission of the author, Elizabeth Aoko.
Once upon a time there was an old fisherman who lived by himself in a little hut on the lakeshore. Every day, early in the morning, before the sunrise, the old man walked down to the edge of the water. There he put his little canoe into the waves, climbed in, and with a long rod he pushed the canoe out into the deep waters of the lake. Then he cast his fishing net, and, leaving it in the water, he sailed back to the shore to wait. Sitting in the shade of the tree, he would fill in his time by singing:
Nyamgodho wnod Omaber; Nejachani, ncayudo dhako majakibaya.
(Nyamgodho son of Omaber, he was poor but he met a fairy lady)
Then, after a while, the old man would get back into his canoe, and sail through the waves into the deep water to pull up his net.
One day, when he was pulling in his net, he was surprised to find that it was unusually heavy. ‘This is a big catch of fish’ he thought to himself as he pulled and pulled on the ropes. Eventually he was able to pull the net beside his boat. To his surprise he found that it was not full of fish, but inside was a beautiful young lady.
‘Don’t shake me out of your net,’ she pleaded with the fisherman. ‘Please carry me home with you’. The fisherman happily agreed, and the beautiful lady climbed aboard the canoe and sailed with the fisherman to the shore. Once they were ashore, the old man lit a fire, cooked some sweet potatoes and made some tea.
After they had shared a meal together, the young lady asked the man to build a boma (fenced yard) for some cows, goats, sheep and chickens. For three days the old fisherman worked hard, sawing and tying and hammering, sawing and tying and hammering, sawing and tying and hammering – building a strong home for animals to live in.
When the boma was ready, the young lady walked back to the lakeshore, and called out across the water:
Dhoga biabia; dhoga biabia
(All my animals come out of the sea)
Suddenly many cows came out of the waves and walked up onto the shore and followed her into the boma.
The next day the young lady walked back to the lakeshore and called out again:
Dhoga biabia; dhoga biabia
This time many goats came out of the waves and walked up onto the shore and followed her into the boma.
The next day the young lady walked back to the lakeshore and called out again:
Dhoga biabia; dhoga biabia
This time many sheep came out of the waves and walked up onto the shore and followed her into the boma.
The next day the young lady walked back to the lakeshore and called out again:
Dhoga biabia; dhoga biabia
This time many chickens came out of the waves and walked up onto the shore and followed her into the boma.
The old fisherman was so happy. He had a beautiful lady to share his house and many animals in his boma. But, as time went by, the man started to get lazy and lie around. He stopped attending to the jobs that were needed to look after the house and the animals. At first he forgot to feed the cows, then the goats, then the sheep and then the chickens. And then, when the boma fence needed repairs, he didn’t want to bother with this.
The young lady was not pleased that the man was growing lazy and not taking care of her animals. So she sat down one day under the mango tree to think about what could be done. Finally she decided it was time for her to return to the waters of the lake where she had lived before.
Early the next morning, after the sun had risen, she stood at the boma gate and once again sang her song to her animals:
Dhoga biabia; dhoga biabia; Dhoga biabia; dhoga biabia;
Dhoga biabia; dhoga biabia.
One by one all the cows, the goats, the sheep and the chickens started to walk out through the gate and down to the water. The old fisherman tried to chase and grab hold of the animals, but his lazy legs could not move fast enough to catch them. Slowly he followed them to the lakeshore, just in time to watch the young lady dis appear into the waves followed by all the cows, goats, sheep and chickens. He stood at the edge of the water, watching helplessly as he listened to the lady’s song slowly fade away:
Dhoga biabia; dhoga biabia [sing very softly]
Sadly he turned and walked back home, and was surprised to find that the boma that he had built for the animals had also disappeared. All that was left was his little hut, just like before.
From that time on, the old fisherman continued to fish in the lake. Every day, early in the morning, before the sunrise, he walked down to the edge of the water. There he put his little canoe into the waves, climbed in, and with a long rod he pushed the canoe out into the deep waters of the lake. Then he cast his fishing net, and, leaving it in the water, he sailed back to the shore to wait.
Sitting in the shade of the tree, he would fill in his time by singing:
Nyamgodho wnod Omaber; Nejachani, ncayudo dhako majakibaya. Then, after a while, the old man would get back into his canoe, and sail through the waves into the deep water to pull up his net and collect his catch of fish. He never saw the young lady again. But sometimes, on days when the wind was still and all was quiet, he was sure he could hear a faint song coming up from the deep:
Dhoga biabia, dhoga biabia; Dhoga biabia, dhoga biabia
This story has the potential to be used with many different age groups. It was written during a year when my five-year-old group was extremely rowdy in their play. I had observed some of the shyer children having difficulty coping with the noise levels, and my assistant and I were also struggling with the daily noise. The light-hearted humour of the story gave us a way of addressing the challenge. In fact one of my quiet little boys, who hardly spoke in the bigger group, was heard calling out to the noisy boys in their dens: ‘Dear oh dear, I can’t bear it any more, my rub-a-dub ears are much too sore!’
The little rhyme was used by the teachers for many weeks after the story to suggest quieter play. It was a successful approach, and certainly more productive than simply saying ‘Play more quietly please.’ The emphasis on ‘noise’ in the story also helped bring an awareness of the pleasures of ‘quiet’ to the room. I extended the story by bringing in many river stones to clean and polish. The children grew to love quiet moments when they could listen to the stones ‘singing’.
Once upon a time there were four little gnomes and they lived together in their rocky cave home. Three of the gnome brothers were like peas in a pod – they looked alike, they dressed alike, and most of all they loved to make lots of noise. With their picks and hammers they would work together all day long, digging for crystals and making a very noisy song.
There was Hump-dunk and he went hump, dunk, hump, dunk.
There was Brink-a-brac and he went brink-brink brac, brink-brink brac.
There was Clinken-clank and he went clinkety-clank, clinkety-clank.
Together they sounded like this:
Hump, dunk, brink-brink brac, clinkety-clank; Hump, dunk, brink-brink brac, clinkety-clank; Hump, dunk, brink-brink brac, clinkety-clank.
There was a fourth gnome brother and he was very different from all the others. He looked different, he dressed differently, and his work was very different. His name was Rub-a-dub-gnome and his job was to polish the crystal stones that had been dug out of the rock cave by his brothers.
Rub-a-dub-gnome didn’t like noise! He would sit in the corner of the cave with his polishing rag and work away quietly. He rubbed and polished the crystal stones until they shone with silver light. Whenever it happened that his brothers were away for a while and all was quiet in the cave, Rub-a-dub-gnome was sure that he could hear the stones singing.
The four gnome brothers lived together and worked together in their rocky cave home. But it was a very difficult life for Rub-adub-gnome. He was always calling out to his noisy brothers, ‘Please, please, not so much noise, my Rub-a-dub ears are getting sore.’
But Hump-dunk, Brink-a-brac and Clinken-clank loved making noise. They just kept on digging and hammering and making a hump, dunk, brink-brink brac, clinkety-clank sound, all day long!
One day Hump-dunk, Brink-a-brac and Clinken-clank were making such a racket that Rub-a-dub-gnome had to stop work and sit and hold his hands over his ears. So no more stones were polished for the rest of the day.
The next day, as the hump, dunk, brink-brink brac, clinkety-clank sound continued just as loud as before, Rub-a-dub-gnome decided he had had enough.
‘Dear oh dear’ he exclaimed, ‘I can’t bear it any more.
My Rub-a-dub ears are much too sore!’
Rub-a-dub-gnome gathered up his polishing rags and all his stones and put them into a large sack. He said goodbye to his noisy brothers and left his cave home in the hill. With his sack on his back he set out to look for another home where it would be quiet and still.
From that day to this, Rub-a-dub-gnome has lived by himself. But often his brothers come to visit him in his quiet cave and bring him new stones to polish, and sometimes he goes to visit his brothers in their noisy cave home.
When the three brothers come to visit Rub-a-dub-gnome they try very hard to be quiet, and when Rub-a-dub-gnome visits his brothers he tries very hard to enjoy their noise. But he never stays for very long!
This story was written ‘on the spot’ by a Canadian early years teacher when a 5-year-old boy labelled ‘mildly autistic’ was creating havoc in pre-school. He was threatening other children and the teachers, and was basically in control of the mood in the room. Sandra’s colleague said, ‘I think he needs a story about an animal.’
They immediately set up benches in a diamond shape in the middle of the room. Sandra wanted a ‘different’ set-up from the usual storytelling place as this was not the usual story time. She swooped the boy up in her arms and cradled him and they called the others to sit down for a surprise. Sandra began after a quick silent prayer and a deep breath. She recounts having no idea what she was embarking on – she just let the story tell itself. ... The children were completely quiet and engrossed in the story. The boy was subdued too. According to both teachers it seemed a transformative experience.
Since this time, Sandra has used the same story for a boy who bit another child, and for when she feels a particular child, or the whole group, needs to be ‘brought in’ to themselves. The story gives a sense of warm enclosure and protection.
Once upon a time there was a puppy that lived with his brothers and sisters and his mummy in a kennel. Never-Get-Enough was the last to be born in the litter. He was the runt of the litter.
Never-Get-Enough whimpered and whined when he got squashed under his big fluffy roly-poly brothers and sisters. They were always rolling around, biting each other’s necks, and tumbling over each other.
Whenever their mummy lay down with them his brothers and sisters would clamour over each other to get a teat to suckle milk from. Never-Get-Enough had to wait until one of his brothers or sisters had fallen asleep and he could nuzzle in. He would suck and suck but he couldn’t get enough sweet warm milk before Mummy got up for a stretch. Then he would be dropped from her belly – cold and hungry.
One day a lady came to visit the kennel. ‘I’m looking for a nice little puppy’ she said. Never-Get-Enough looked up at the lady looming over the wall of the kennel. His brothers and sister were busy rolling and clamouring and yipping and yapping.
The silver-haired lady looked right into Never-Get-Enough’s eyes and she scooped him up in her hands and put him right next to her heart.
‘I would like this puppy’ she said. The silver haired lady put Never-Get-Enough into the cosy red pocket that was over her heart. She put her soft warm hand over his head.
‘I like his puppy smell,’ she said as she breathed him in. She put her finger to his mouth. Never-Get-Enough closed his eyes and put his sharp little teeth and his wet tongue around her finger.
‘I will look after him,’ she said to his mummy. Never-Get-Enough snuggled into the pocket and fell fast asleep as the lady walked home and he rocked back and forth and back and forth in her cosy heart-pocket.
This story was written for a university student who was enrolled in my Storytelling unit but proved to be too ‘talkative’ on our internet ‘chat’ line. One of the other students commented on this person’s dominance of the chat space, and the talkative student then emailed me privately for some help with learning to listen.
The story could easily be used with children aged five and older who are too talkative in class.
Once upon a time there was a bird that sang so beautifully she filled the garden with her birdsong from morning to night.
Many other birds lived in this garden but they weren’t able to sing over the top of the beautiful songbird. Even if they tried to sing, their sounds just seemed to disappear into nowhere. The songbird filled the air and the garden with her non-stop singing and there was no room for any other songs. If the other birds wanted to practise their singing, they had to fly out of the garden and high up into the mountains where there was no competition.
One day, however, the beautiful songbird grew very sick and was unable to sing any more. She rested in her nest, day after day. The garden around her was very quiet, and each day when the birds returned from the mountains they wondered what had happened.
One by one the other birds began to stay behind in the garden and take turns to sing. Soon the garden was filled with the sound of many birds with many different songs.
The sick bird was very surprised to listen to so many other birds – all their songs were very different and very beautiful. She had never heard anything like this before. The more she lay in her nest and listened to the new sounds the stronger she grew. The singing was helping to heal her.
Soon the songbird was feeling better and she was able to sing once more. But she decided to sing only every so often and not all the time so that she could enjoy the songs of the other birds. She was also learning so many new bird sounds by listening to the others, and gradually her own singing became richer and better because of this.
As time passed this garden became well-known for its beautiful bird songs and its rich variety of bird sounds. People came from far and wide to spend time here to walk, sit and listen. Some even found healing in such a wonderful place.
A child therapist used this story with a four-year-old girl who often pinched other children. Gloves of the child’s favourite colour became a strengthening ‘prop’. After hearing the story, the child wanted to wear the gloves and keep her pinching fingers warm and cosy inside. The story helped the child get the message in an imaginative and fun way, and the problem was slowly healed.
Parents, therapists and teachers could use this story theme for other kinds of aggressive behaviour, using a different animal in place of the crab (e.g. a scratching cat).
Little Crab was not very popular with the beach-boy group.
His friends were tired of him always being in a cranky mood and using his claws to nip and hurt them.
One day, Turtle decided to call a meeting to put a stop to it all.
Octopus, Starfish, and Seagull came along to give their ideas.
‘We should cut his claws right off’, said Octopus, who was still nursing one of his tentacles from a nasty nip last week.
‘Perhaps we should glue them together,’ suggested Starfish, who now had two shorter star legs because of Crab’s bad behaviour.
‘Or tie them behind Crab’s back – with a very strong piece of string!’ cried Seagull, whose foot had been bitten by Crab just that morning.
‘But what if we can help Crab learn to stop hurting us’, said Turtle, who always tried to be the most understanding of all the beach friends.
‘That’s a very nice idea, Turtle, but what do we do while he is learning?’ all the friends cried out together. They had had enough of Crab’s cranky moods. They also didn’t believe that Crab would ever be able to change his hurting ways.
Turtle wandered slowly backwards and forwards along the sand, thinking in his wise turtle way. Suddenly he stopped next to a pile of seaweed. ‘I have an idea’ he announced to the group. ‘I will knit some thick seaweed mittens for Crab to wear on his claws. These might help him learn to be more careful.’
Turtle was very excited by his idea. He went straight back to his cave in the rock pool to get his pair of driftwood knitting needles. Meanwhile the other beach friends reluctantly agreed to collect some long strands of seaweed. When Turtle returned, there was a big pile of seaweed ready for him, and he set to work knitting a pair of mittens for Crab to wear on his claws.
Just as he finished the second mitten, Crab arrived. ‘What’s happening, guys?’ asked Crab. Of course he was very curious to know what his friends had been up to all morning!
Quickly Turtle said, ‘We have a present for you Crab’. And he held out the mittens for Crab to try them on. Well, Crab was so surprised, you could have knocked him over with a fish-eagle feather. Never before had anyone given him a gift. Straight away he pulled the mittens on over his claws, and they fitted perfectly!
For the rest of the day the beach friends played together – with no nipping and no hurting, just happily together. Crab’s friends could not believe it. And Crab could not believe it. You see, for Crab something else happened that day. Once his claws were both tucked away inside the mittens, held together in a warm and cosy kind of way, he didn’t feel as cranky as he used to feel.
Of course, when Crab was hungry he had to take his mittens off so he could hunt in the rock pools for his dinner. But before playing with his friends again, he would always put the mittens back over his sharp claws. The mittens seemed to help him feel happy, and they certainly helped him be more careful.
However, seaweed mittens cannot last forever. One day the mittens were so full of holes that they simply fell off Crab’s claws and the waves washed them out to sea. Fortunately, by this time, Crab had learnt to use his claws only for hunting and eating. He now knew how to keep them tightly closed when he was playing with his friends.
The beach friends were very impressed by how wise Turtle had been. From that day on, whenever they had a problem to sort out, they would always ask for his suggestion. And more often than not, Turtle’s idea was the best one.
A traditional Xhosa story researched by Maria Msebenzi and re-written by the author. It is suitable for age seven and over.
Once upon a time there was a young boy called Maxabela. This boy had an unusually long fingernail, and nobody could get him to cut it off.
Maxabela wanted to keep his very large and very long nail. He enjoyed using it to pinch and scratch other children. His nail was like a weapon!
His parents were both annoyed and concerned about their son’s behaviour. But when they asked him to stop hurting other children, Maxabela would not listen to them.
The days and weeks went by and Maxabela kept on with his hurting behaviour. Finally his parents decided that something needed to be done. Together they made a plan.
In a field far away from their village, they built a little thatched house for Maxabela. When it was ready, they told him that he must stay there to watch over the crops and vegetables. Maxabela was very excited about this, as he knew that his enormous nail was going to work for him and make sure he had enough to eat.
As soon as his parents left him alone, Maxabela set off to the garden and used his long strong nail to help him dig up some vegetables. He took them back to his little house and put them to cook in a pot on the fire. Soon the delicious smell of the cooked food attracted a passing giant.
Maxabela heard a big gruff voice outside his door. ‘Hey Maxa bela, whose food is this?’
‘It is mine’ called back Maxabela, trembling with fear.
‘Don’t you mean, it is mine?’ cried the giant, and he pushed open the door, came inside and ate up all the food. Then he went on his way.
That night Maxabela went to bed with an empty stomach.
The next morning Maxabela set off to the garden again and used his nail to help dig up some more vegetables. He took them back to his little house and put them to cook in a pot on the fire. Soon the delicious smell of the cooked food attracted the giant.
Maxabela heard a big gruff voice outside his door. ‘Hey Maxabela, whose food is this?’
‘It is mine’ called back Maxabela.
‘Don’t you mean, it is mine?’ cried the giant, and he pushed open the door and came inside.
This time Maxabela decided he didn’t want the giant to eat his food, and he started to fight back. He tried to use his enormous nail to pinch the giant, but the giant’s skin was as hard as stone and caused Maxabela’s nail to break off at his fingertip. The giant ate up all the food, then left Maxabela’s house with the broken nail in his hand.
That night, under cover of darkness, the giant delivered the broken nail to Maxabela’s parents’ home. The next morning the mother found her son’s nail on her doorstep. She quickly walked across the fields to visit her son and found him trembling inside his little thatched house.
Maxabela’s mother hugged her son and took him back home with her. Since this time Maxabela has never hurt anybody again, and he plays happily with his friends.
This story was written to introduce a series of knitting lessons to a class of aggressive and unsettled eight-year-olds. See Chapter Three for an explanation of the use and effect of this story.
Jeremy was not a happy boy. Nothing could please him and nobody could make him smile. He almost seemed to enjoy being grumpy and hurtful. His mother and his teacher would shake their heads in despair – they didn’t know how to handle him and how to help him co-operate.
Today Jeremy was particularly grumpy. It was holiday time and he was at home on the farm all by himself. His sisters were away at the coast with friends, so he had nobody to tease and nothing to do. His mother was busy harvesting on the vegetable patch. She had no time to pay attention to his ‘down-in-the-dumps’ grumps.
Round and round the house Jeremy walked, hitting walls and banging cupboard doors, then out on to the veranda to find the dog and pull his tail. In the garden he threw gum nuts at the chickens then, armed with a handful of pebbles from the driveway, he headed off in the direction of the stream at the bottom of the farm.
From a high position on a large rock, Jeremy busied himself trying to hit every tree and flower that grew by the water. He then spied a little grass house amongst the fern bracken. ‘My silly sisters probably built this’, he thought to himself, laughing about their crazy idea of making houses for the fairies to live in. Picking up an extra large pebble he hurled it at the little house.
To his absolute amazement, as soon as the pebble hit the grassy roof, out jumped a tiny man, about the size of Jeremy’s hand. Jeremy almost fell off his rock in surprise. He was even more surprised to see the little man coming through the grass towards him. And the little man didn’t look very happy. In fact he looked extremely upset! For a moment, Jeremy actually felt a little frightened.
The little man came right up to the rock, and with his hands on his hips and a very cross voice he said, ‘Who dares to throw giant rocks on my house?’
Jeremy opened his mouth to argue that it was not him, but instead he found himself saying, ‘I’m very sorry, but it was me.’
With this apology, the little man calmed down somewhat, and asked Jeremy why he didn’t have anything better to do with his time. ‘Are you perhaps bored?’ he asked the bewildered boy.
Now this was a new experience for Jeremy. He was so used to everyone getting cross with him, and not ever asking him questions. In fact Jeremy had never even heard of the word ‘bored’ before. In an unusually polite manner, he answered, ‘Excuse me, little man, what do you mean by the word ‘bored’?’
The little man hopped up onto the rock and sat down next to Jeremy. ‘Being bored’ he said, ‘means not knowing how to be busy … and not knowing how to be busy is a terrible, terrible thing! Indeed, if I didn’t keep my hands busy making things and fixing things my fingers would probably grow cold and just fall right off!’
On saying this, the little man reached out, right in front of Jeremy’s eyes, and took hold of a shaft of golden sunlight shining down through the branches next to the rock. With very quick fingers he started to knot it and loop it and make it into a long golden chain. ‘Look at this’ he said, ‘during the day I keep myself busy collecting extra sunlight from the hot summer days. Watch how I can knot it into a long golden chain to store away for cold winter nights.’
Jeremy watched with fascination as the little man’s fingers worked quickly with the golden thread of light. When the chain was finished, the little man popped it into his pocket. Then he looked up at Jeremy and said, ‘Young man, this is exactly what you need to do. If your fingers were working like mine, doing busy finger work, then they wouldn’t have time to throw stones, would they? Show me what your fingers can do.’
Jeremy showed a few funny finger movements that made the little elf man laugh out loud. He reached out to take hold of another shaft of golden light and handed it to Jeremy. ‘Show me how you can tie a knot’ he said.
Jeremy proudly tied a little knot in the golden thread. ‘Well done! Now tie a knot onto this branch, and I will teach you how to make long chains with your thread.’
The lesson continued for some time. Finally the little man suggested Jeremy return home to practise with threads from his mother’s wool basket.
‘Come back to this rock tomorrow and I will teach you how to work with magic sticks to make many more things’. On saying this, the little man disappeared into the tall grasses, leaving Jeremy to ponder the exciting events of the morning.
When Jeremy reached home he asked his mother for some scraps of wool. Needless to say, his mother was very impressed with the sudden change of behaviour in her son. She was especially delighted to watch him busy that night making long wool chains. She took out her sewing basket and helped him sew the chains onto a round piece of felt. Jeremy proudly put his new spiral mat on the table next to his bed, and that night both Jeremy and his mother slept very well.
The next day Jeremy returned to the rock for a second lesson with the little man. This time, before his lesson began, he was sent to look for two smooth sticks. When he returned with his sticks, the little man helped him sharpen two ends on the rough rock and find two gum nuts for the other ends. Then from his pocket he pulled out his own pair of magic sticks and set about showing the most amazing work with a long golden thread.
The work was called ‘knitting’ and as the little man knitted he sang a little song:
In, over, out and off we sail, to weave a magic golden veil.
Jeremy couldn’t wait to start using his magic sticks. He needed several lessons before he could knit as beautifully as the little man but every day he practised and practised with his mother’s wool. Soon his knitting had grown long enough to take it off the needles and sew into a little hat.
By the time his sisters returned from their holiday, Jeremy had knitted two hats for their dolls and a scarf for his mother. Of course his sisters wanted to learn how to make things with magic sticks, and Jeremy proudly offered to be their knitting teacher. He never saw the little man again, but the little man had taught him some thing he would never forget for the rest of his life – how to keep his hands busy making beautiful things.
Jeremy’s mother and teacher never knew about the little man, but they were sure an angel must have paid the farm a visit that year!
Sometimes children’s aggressive behaviour is directly connected with their stressed, depressed or anxious parent and/or teacher. I wrote the following story for a single mother of three angry, fighting children. The mother had no feeling of self-worth and needed help to rediscover her beauty. Not only did the story help the mother feel good about herself, but after reading it many times she decided to read it to her children (aged 13, 9 and 5). They all wanted to hear it again and again. Harmony re-entered the house during the newly established story ritual.
There was once a queen who lived in a castle with many children. This queen was wise and ruled her kingdom very well. This queen was also very beautiful. When her children were young they loved to sit on soft cushions around her throne, listen to her beautiful singing and look up at her beautiful face.
However, as the children grew older, they started to fight and argue and there was much yelling and shouting in the castle – so much so that the queen, whose ears only liked to hear beautiful sounds, started to wrap herself up in many coloured veils, around her head, and around her shoulders, all the while trying to cover her ears, trying to keep out the loud noises. The queen did not like harsh and loud noise, and as the fighting and shouting grew louder she would add more and more veils to protect her ears from the ugly sounds. She didn’t know what else to do! The fighting and arguing continued and the children grew used to seeing their mother all wrapped up in coloured veils, with only her sad but beautiful eyes looking out at them. After many years it happened that the children forgot what their mother really looked like.
As the fighting and arguing grew worse, the queen also found a way to escape the children and their unbearable noises. Sometimes she would creep out of the castle and go down to the deep stream at the bottom of the garden. Here she would cross the water over the many stepping stones and then wander in the forest. She knew the children could not follow her into the forest as the stepping stones were magic ones. They only appeared when they heard her sing to them, and then disappeared again after she had crossed over.
Oh how this queen loved the forest! She would wander for hours along the paths beneath the shady trees, enjoying the peaceful forest sounds, collecting wild flowers and watching the animals and birds. Her favourite place was a deep green pool at the bottom of a sparkling waterfall. The pool was surrounded by rock gardens. Here many pink and white orchids grew in the golden sunlight that filtered down through the surrounding tall trees. The queen would sit on the rocks, and weave flower chains. On hot sunny days she would take off all her veils and swim in the cool green water.
One day when the queen was walking in the forest the children were out playing in the garden with their golden ball. One of the children kicked the ball so high that it landed at the bottom of the garden and rolled into the deep water. The fast flowing stream took the golden ball and it disappeared round the corner and into the forest. The children started to fight and argue about this, but no matter how much they argued and shouted, they realised that the golden ball would not come back unless someone fetched it.
As the golden ball was the favourite of all their toys, the older children who could swim decided that they would follow the ball down the stream and fetch it back. So they dived into the water and before long they were swimming under tall, shady trees, and in and around rocks and low hanging branches. The golden ball kept bobbing along ahead of them, all the way through the forest, until it reached a waterfall that fell far below into a deep green pool. The children stopped on a rock just before the waterfall and carefully reached out and looked over the edge. What they saw took their breath away. Sitting on the rocks far down below, amongst pink and white orchid flowers, was the most beautiful lady they had ever seen. This beautiful lady was playing with their golden ball, throwing it into the air and catching it again. As the children watched, she threw the golden ball into the water, dived in after it and continued to play and swim.
For a long time the children sat on the rocks at the top of the waterfall, not making a noise in case the lady should hear them and be frightened away. They watched till she had finished swimming and started to dress herself. To their amazement, they saw her wrap many veils around her, just like their mother the queen would wear. ‘Perhaps she is a queen – perhaps veils are the clothes that all queens wear’, they wondered as they watched her getting dressed. Then they saw her pick up the golden ball and follow a pathway that led away from the pool and deep into the forest. Before long she had disappeared from sight.
The children decided it was time to get home. Fortunately they found a path that followed the stream back through the forest to their side of the garden, a path they had never noticed before. On the way back nobody said a word. They were all busy with their own thoughts about the beautiful lady – who could she be, they wondered? Perhaps she was the queen of the forest? And if so, where did she live? They all knew that they wanted to see her again, she was so beautiful.
When they returned they told their brothers and sisters about what they had seen, and of course the younger children also wanted to see the beautiful forest lady. The next day all the children crept along the newly found path that led all the way through the forest to the top of the waterfall. There they waited, quietly lying on top of the rocks and peering over the edge so that they could see the green pool below. Before long the beautiful lady arrived, still carrying their golden ball. She took off all her veils and sat on the rocks, smelling the orchid flowers. Then she dived into the water and started to swim and play with the ball. For a long time all the children sat together on the waterfall watching the beautiful lady (whom they now thought must really be the forest queen), and then they crept back up the path and all the way home.
For many weeks the children went every day to the waterfall, and the more they journeyed into the forest the less fighting and arguing there was back at the castle. The children not only enjoyed watching the beautiful forest queen, but also the quiet of the forest and all the wonderful forest sounds.
Then one day, when they arrived at the waterfall, they waited and waited for the forest queen to appear at the pool below, but the whole day went by and nobody came. As it was getting dark they decided it was time to return, and sadly they followed the path towards home and arrived back at the castle just in time for dinner. The queen was sitting on her throne at the end of the large dining table where they all shared their meals – they were worried that she would ask them where they had been, but she said nothing. The children all sat down and ate their dinner and as nobody knew what to talk about nobody said anything. So the meal was shared in silence.
After they had finished eating, the queen surprised them all by asking if she could play ball with them. The children were busy trying to think of an excuse for why they didn’t have a ball to play with. Then, from under the folds of her gown, the queen lifted out a beautiful golden ball, just like their beautiful golden ball. She then slowly started to take off her coloured veils, until her face was in full view. Now the children saw that the forest queen and their mother were one and the same person! They came close and sat on the soft cushions on the floor around her throne. Then the queen started to sing, just as beautifully as they remembered from long ago when they were little children. As she sang she threw the golden ball to each one of them in turn:
Up in the sky my ball so high,
Landing like a butterfly,
Gold as the sun, light as the air,
Come back to me – my ball so fair.
This consequential story arrived in my email inbox via a story-chat line, an anonymous gem. It has a very powerful message for anger and aggression for primary school classes and beyond into adulthood, and could be used as the basis for a class or family discussion.
Once upon a time there was a little boy with a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he should hammer a nail in the fence. The first day the boy had driven 39 nails into the fence. But gradually, the number of nails per day dwindled. He discovered it was easier to keep his temper than drive those nails into the fence.
Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He proudly told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to keep his temper.
The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone. The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence.
‘You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. If you put a knife in a man and draw it out, it won’t matter how many times you say “I’m sorry”, the wound is still there.’
Suitable for ages three to five, this story was written to encourage shy and/ or ‘clinging’ children to explore their pre-school or home garden – it can be modified depending on the adventures possible in the garden, whether at school or at home.
There was once a little boy (just about your size!) who wanted to have some adventures, so he climbed into his sailing boat and set sail across the sparkling blue sea. He hadn’t sailed very far when he reached an island covered with giant rocks. He left his boat on the shore and started to climb the rocks – he climbed up and down, and up and down, and all around – but after a while he grew tired of playing on the rocks:
‘Climbing giant rocks is lots of fun, but I want more adventures under the sun’ he said, and climbed back into his boat and kept sailing over the sparkling blue sea.
Soon he came to an island covered with golden sand. Luckily he had his red spade with him, so he left his boat on the shore and started to play in the sand – he dug holes and rivers and tunnels, he made roads, and he built castles – but after a while he grew tired of digging in the sand:
‘Digging in the sand is lots of fun, climbing giant rocks is lots of fun, but I want more adventures under the sun’ he said, and climbed back into his boat and kept sailing over the sparkling blue sea.
Soon he came to an island covered with tall green banana trees. On one tree was a bunch of ripe yellow bananas. As he was feeling quite hungry this was just what the little boy needed. Leaving his boat by the shore, he walked to the tree and picked two bananas and sat down in the shade of the tree and ate them both. Then he said:
‘Eating bananas is lots of fun, digging in the sand is lots of fun, climbing giant rocks is lots of fun, but I want more adventures under the sun’ and climbed back into his boat and kept sailing over the sparkling blue sea.
Soon he came to an island where there was a deep green pool. He left his boat by the shore and paddled in the cool waters (he was feeling very hot by now!) For a long time he paddled and splashed in the water, but after a while he grew tired of playing in the water:
‘Splashing in cool water is lots of fun, eating bananas is lots of fun, digging in the sand is lots of fun, climbing giant rocks is lots of fun, but I want more adventures under the sun’ he said, and he climbed back into his boat and kept sailing over the sparkling blue sea.
Soon he came to an island that was covered with forest. Leaving his boat on the shore he followed a little path through the shady trees until he came to a clearing. In the middle of the clearing, built of logs and branches, was a beautiful bush castle – it had a little cubby house and lots of ladders, and a slippery dip to slide down and a swing to swing on. So the little boy started to play on the bush castle – he played in the cubby, he climbed the ladders, he ‘whooshed’ down the slide, he swung high and low. But after a while he said:
‘Playing on the bush castle is lots of fun, splashing in cool water is lots of fun, eating bananas is lots of fun, digging in the sand is lots of fun, climbing giant rocks is lots of fun, but now I am so tired (YAWN), I don’t want any more adventures under the sun. And when I am tired and need to rest, my little bed-boat is what I like best.’
So he climbed back into his boat and sailed all the way home. His mother was waiting for him. She gently lifted him into his little bed and tucked a soft blue blanket around him. Then she sang him a lullaby – it went like this:
A little boy went sailing across the sparkling sea
He had so many things to do, so many things to see.
And when the day was over, he sailed his way back home
And snug inside his bed-boat, through dreamland he did roam.
By the time his mother had finished singing, the little boy was fast, fast asleep.
This story was written to encourage a self-conscious eight-year-old to stop hiding under her clothes at the beach, put on her swimmers and come out into the sun to swim and play. Although the story didn’t have any noticeable effect on the child (apart from her liking the story very much) there was positive feedback from her parents. The story helped them to realise that they had been making too many negative comments about their slightly overweight daughter.
Strawberry Shy didn’t start out life as a shy little strawberry. Her shyness came later, once she had started to grow and change from being a tiny green berry to a middle-sized white berry. It was then that she noticed all the other strawberries in the strawberry patch were not white like her. They were slowly turning a beautiful shade of pink or red.
‘There must be something wrong with me,’ she thought. She then decided from this time on she would hide herself amongst the green strawberry leaves. Strawberry Shy didn’t want anyone to see her.
The longer she stayed hidden, the redder all the other strawberries became, and the whiter she seemed to remain. Finally came the day of the springtime strawberry harvest. Farmer Brown walked up and down the rows of the strawberry patch, picking the ripe red strawberries. Soon her basket was filled to overflowing and the strawberry patch was empty.
Except for Strawberry Shy! She was still hiding amongst the green strawberry leaves. She was too shy to poke her head out. She watched from her hiding place as Farmer Brown carried the basket back to the farm shed, leaving Strawberry Shy all alone in the strawberry patch.
But not for long! Reaching through the fence at the edge of the strawberry patch was a branch of wild raspberries. At the end of the branch was the reddest raspberry of the whole bush. She was soaking up the springtime sun and loving every minute of its warmth and light.
Each day the branch grew longer and Raspberry Wild was carried further and further into the strawberry patch. One day she looked down to see Strawberry Shy, still hiding under a large green leaf. ‘Goodness, gracious me,’ said Raspberry Wild, ‘Why are you hiding under a strawberry leaf?’
‘I’m too shy to poke my head out – I have been hiding here because I don’t have a beautiful red coat like my sisters,’ whispered Strawberry Shy. ‘But,’ said Raspberry Wild, ‘Don’t you know that you need the help of the golden sunbeams to become a ripe red strawberry?’ And the next minute, with a puff of wind to help her, she had knocked the leaf away from the little white berry and left her sitting in the sunlight.
After a few days in the warmth and light of the springtime sun, Strawberry Shy had lost her white coat and turned into a ripe red strawberry. She was soon as beautifully red as Raspberry Wild, although Raspberry Wild thought she was wearing a more stunning colour of red. However, before they had time to argue about it, Farmer Brown returned to the garden to look for a lost gardening glove. She saw the two red berries waiting in the sunlight and picked them both.
That night Strawberry Shy and Raspberry Wild were used to decorate Farmer Brown’s birthday cake. Everyone at the party agreed they were the most beautiful red berries they had ever seen.
This story was not written intentionally for challenging introverted behaviour. However it was a strong favourite amongst the four- to five-year-olds at pre-school and led to the idea of a school fair based on the theme of ‘pumpkins’ – with pumpkin stories, pumpkin games, pumpkin dolls, and a pumpkin café that sold pumpkin soup, pumpkin cakes and pumpkin scones.
Interesting feedback from one of the parents who helped organise the fair was that she had taken the Pumpkin Munchkin story as a positive theme for her family. Apparently the story helped to lift the mother out of depression. She also felt its golden theme and sense of achievement helped bring the whole family out of a despondent mood. It is therefore included in this section on shy and introverted behaviour as positive encouragement that the almost impossible can be achieved!
Little Munchkin lived in the wide world of open fields, where the clumps of tall bamboo creaked and swayed all day, and the long grasses by the roadside whispered pink messages to passing travellers. All through the summertime Little Munchkin was busy – busy doing her munchkin jobs. There was always so much to do, helping care for Mother Nature’s little children. She was kept busy with butterflies whose wings were caught in spiky bushes and with lizards that had lost their tails – Little Munchkin would sew them back on again with her special mending thread. And there were always the many wildflowers that needed dewdrops brushed away so their petals could open each morning.
In the evenings Little Munchkin would wrap herself up in a leaf and fall asleep under the bright summer stars. How she loved living in the wide world of open fields, under the bright summer sky.
But Summer was coming to an end and the Autumn wind was blowing. The days were growing colder and the nights were getting longer. As the wind blew around little Munchkin, it whispered to her:
Autumn is here, Summer has gone,
You’ll need a home for the winter long.
So look for a home, so warm and bright,
Where a golden light shines day and night.
‘But where can I find a home so warm and bright, where a golden light shines both day and night?’ Little Munchkin asked the wind.
‘Follow the path of the Sun, follow the path of the Sun’, whispered the wind.
So little Munchkin set off through the fields, following the path of the Sun. She hadn’t gone far when she met a silver snail, who was carrying his home on his back.
‘Hello Silver Snail – I’m looking for a home so warm and bright, where a golden light shines both day and night’.
‘Well, well,’ said Silver Snail, ‘This is my home and I live here alone. There is only room here for one – keep following the path of the Sun’.
So little Munchkin kept on, following the path of the Sun through the fields. Soon she met a brown spider sitting in his web.
‘Hello Brown Spider – I’m looking for a home so warm and bright, where a golden light shines both day and night’.
‘Well, well,’ said Brown Spider, ‘This is my home and I live here alone. There is only room here for one – keep following the path of the Sun’.
So little Munchkin kept on, following the path of the Sun. Soon she came to an overgrown vegetable patch. As she climbed the rocks at the edge, she noticed a bright golden light, shining like the sun itself. She looked up and saw Great King Sunflower shining down at her.
‘O Great King Sunflower, I’m looking for a home so warm and bright, where a golden light shines both day and night’.
The Sunflower King smiled, nodded his giant golden head and seemed to say,
‘Look ahead, on the ground.’
Little Munchkin looked ahead, and there, sitting amongst large green leaves, was a round orange pumpkin. She was puzzled!
‘Could this be my home, so warm and bright, where a golden light shines both day and night?’
Little Munchkin went up to the pumpkin, looking for a little door. She knock-knocked here, and she knock-knocked there, but she couldn’t find an opening door anywhere. She walked right around the pumpkin, knocking here, and knocking there, but no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find a little door anywhere.
By now Little Munchkin was feeling very tired, and night was on its way. She wrapped herself up in a pumpkin leaf and fell fast, fast asleep, snugly sheltered by the large wall of the pumpkin.
*
As she slept, she had a dream. She dreamt that a golden star came sailing down out of the night sky, over the swaying bamboo, across the fields and past Great King Sunflower. It landed right inside the orange pumpkin, making a star door on the top.
Next morning, when Little Munchkin woke up, she remembered her dream and climbed up to the top of the pumpkin. And there, just as in her dream, was a star door. She opened the door and peeped inside. To her delight she saw a little room glowing golden bright.
Little Munchkin was so happy. She climbed down and snuggled into her new pumpkin home, so warm and bright, where a golden light shines both day and night. And as far as I know, she is living there still.
Every morning she travels to the wide world of open fields to help care for Mother Nature’s little children, and every evening she returns to her warm and snug pumpkin home. From that day to this she has always been known as ‘Pumpkin Munchkin’.
This was written as a birthday story to help give confidence and encouragement to the smallest and shyest child in the kindergarten. It was also told one year at a Spring ‘Bubble’ Festival which was held in the forest on the banks of a bubbly stream. After the storytelling, children, parents and grandparents blew bubbles under the trees using different-sized bubble blowers – giant, middle-sized and tiny. The children were impressed how the smallest bubbles could so easily slip through their hands and not get popped!
This is a story about a bubble. A little bubble. In fact this bubble was the littlest bubble ever seen. This bubble could only be seen by a fairy’s eye.
‘It’s not fair, nobody cares,’ the littlest bubble whispered and sighed as it floated on down the stream with all the other bubbles. ‘It’s not fair that I’m so small, it’s just not fair, at all, at all. Look at my great big bubble brothers. Look at their beautiful rainbow dreams. My rainbow dream can hardly be seen.’
For a long time the bubbles floated on down the country stream – the big rainbow bubbles and the one sad littlest bubble – leaving their bubbly waterfall ‘mother’ far behind. They floated past green willows and grass rushes, past large brown cows drinking from the sloping banks, past dark platypus burrows and rabbit furrows, around hills and through valleys.
They floated on and on, until they came to the edge of a wide green field. Here laughter and voices could be heard where happy children were picnicking under the shade of a spreading tree.
‘Look!’ cried one little boy, ‘Bubbles, let’s catch them.’
‘Bubbles!’ cried all the children, and they jumped up and ran to the edge of the stream. ‘Bubbles, bubbles, the most beautiful bubbles we’ve ever seen, Bubbles, bubbles, let’s catch a rainbow dream.’
Some children waded into the water, some children lay down on the bank and reached out far. All were enjoying catching the bubbles, catching their rainbow dreams. And soon all the beautiful big bubbles were gone. They were nothing more than a wish in the children’s hands, nothing more than a rainbow for the children to take to dream land.
But what about the littlest bubble? The children hadn’t seen him, the children hadn’t caught his rainbow dream. And suddenly there he was, all alone, floating on down the stream.
‘Why’ he thought, ‘because I’m so little I didn’t get caught.’
On and on he floated, now feeling happy and brave. On and on, until the stream met the sea. There the waves took this littlest bubble far, far out into the misty blue, far, far out to where the sea fairies danced and played.
One sea fairy was busy stirring a pot of pearl when the littlest bubble floated by, the littlest bubble that could only be seen by a fairy’s eye. His littlest rainbow dream caught the sea fairy’s eye.
‘Just what I need to colour my pot of pearl,’ she said. She picked him up and popped him in her pot. And with a this-away whirl and a that-away swirl, the littlest bubble helped to make a beautiful pot of rainbow pearl.
This story was written for an eight-year-old girl who was suffering from low self-esteem. She was in a class of mostly girls, many of whom were cleverer and more beautiful than she was, and their teasing was starting to affect her everyday life. This was a marked contrast to her time two years before in kindergarten when she was one of the happiest and most popular children, and a child known throughout the school for her wonderful smile.
The child’s favourite animal, the dolphin, was used in the story as the wise helper. ‘Princess Light’ was made into a picture book by the girl’s older brother and sister and given as a Christmas present. The girl loved her new story and asked for it again and again. The story, and the making of the book, also helped clarify the family’s awareness of the youngest child’s predicament.
There was once a princess who lived in a grand castle in the forest with a beautiful garden all around. There were flowers and birds in her garden of every rainbow colour, and she had kittens and ponies and many friends to play with.
This princess was known far and wide for her beautiful smile. She had a family who loved her very much, and who knew that her smile was so beautiful because it was coming from her inner, shining light. They used to call her Princess Light and when she played and danced in the garden, even the flowers turned their heads towards her, thinking it was the sun itself that was smiling so brightly.
As Princess Light grew older, she began to travel to visit other parts of her land. Her favourite friend was a princess who lived in a castle in the sand dunes by the sea, and Princess Light loved to spend time there in the summer months, playing and dancing on the beach and swimming with the dolphins in the clear blue water.
For many years the two princesses had a happy friendship. But as time passed Princess Light began to notice that her friend, who was called Princess Clever, seemed to do so many things better than she could. When they were running together, her friend could run faster; when they were drawing together, her friend could draw more beautiful pictures; and when they were swimming in the sea, her friend could swim much better and faster than she could.
The more Princess Light thought about this, the sadder she became. Sometimes it even made her cross, and when she was sad and cross, it was not so easy for her inner light to help her smile. And when Princess Light couldn’t smile, she wasn’t good for any thing. She couldn’t run or swim or draw or do anything if she wasn’t able to smile and feel happy about herself.
One day, when Princess Light was visiting Princess Clever, it was very hot, so they decided to go for a swim in the cool blue sea. They drifted far out, over the reef and into the deep ocean, where the dolphins danced and played. The two princesses had a wonderful time all morning playing with their dolphin friends. But when it was time to go back to shore, Princess Clever called out, ‘Lets race.’ She then swam so fast ahead that she left Princess Light all by herself in the deep waters.
Princess Light felt sad and cross that her friend seemed to be so much cleverer and faster than she was. And the sadder she became and the crosser she became, the slower she swam, until her legs and arms just stopped working altogether. Then something terrible happened, for as she stopped moving in the water, she started to sink down.
Down, down, down she went, away from the sunny clear waters of the ocean surface and down to the dark murky waters of the ocean bottom. Down, down, down, she went, until she could feel hard cold rocks under her and all around her, and she found herself trapped in a deep dark hole. She couldn’t see to the right of her, she couldn’t see to the left of her, and she couldn’t see above her.
Then she heard a noise, and saw the silver flash of a tail. It was one of her dolphin friends who must have been following her all this time. ‘Hold on to my tail,’ whispered the dolphin, ‘and I will try to take you back to the top. But you must kick your legs and help me, or we will not reach there together!’
So Princess Light took hold of the dolphin’s silver tail and started to slowly move her legs, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, until she could feel herself rising out of the dark rocky hole. Faster and faster she kicked, and up, up, up she travelled, up, up, up towards the clear waters of the ocean surface. And as she burst up through the water and out into the sunshine, she took the biggest breath and then gave her dolphin friend the most beautiful smile that she had ever smiled.
‘Climb on my back,’ said the Silver Dolphin, who was so happy to see the princess smiling once again. ‘Climb on and hold tight and we will ride the waves back over the reef.’ And so Princess Light climbed onto the dolphin’s back and had the ride of her lifetime all the way back to shore. Princess Clever was waiting on the beach. She couldn’t believe it when she saw her friend riding on the dolphin’s back across the lagoon!
When the Silver Dolphin delivered Princess Light safely to shore, he whispered to her a special message:
When you are sad or cross, don’t despair and don’t hide,
You have a shining light – deep inside.
This light inside will help you smile,
And your beautiful smile will shine the way,
Through darkest night and cloudy day.
For the rest of the holiday by the sea, Princess Light played happily with her friend. She never saw the Silver Dolphin again, but whenever she felt that Princess Clever was running or drawing or swimming better than she was, she remembered the special message. This helped her to keep smiling a beautiful smile and just simply trying her best!
When summer came to an end, Princess Light returned to her family in the castle in the forest. She kept her special message from the Silver Dolphin all to herself, and it always helped her through difficult times. As she grew older, she continued to play and dance in the castle garden, and the flowers still turned their heads towards her, thinking it was the sun itself that was smiling so brightly.
A Kikuyu Story from East Africa suitable for age five and older. This is an empowering wisdom tale for victims of teasing and ridicule. It is included by permission from the author, Catherine Karu.
Once upon a time, there lived a chief called Muugi. He had one daughter called Mweru. Mweru was as beautiful as the new moon and was loved by all who knew her.
Near chief Muugi’s house was a great lake with water as clear as crystal. This lake was so special because a wonderful feather rose up out of the middle of its clear waters.
One day the chief declared, ‘Whoever wants to marry my daughter must bring the feather from the lake’. Many men tried but they all failed. The water was too deep and the feather too far to reach.
There was a certain man called Giako in the chief’s village but he was very poor. Everyone despised him and laughed at him for his poverty. Giako heard about the chief’s promise and at once he decided to try his luck. His mother tried to dissuade him, saying, ‘We are poor people. How could you be the one to marry Mweru?’
However, in spite of the warning from his mother, Giako knew that he must at least have a try. He went to the chief and bowed before him, ‘Dear chief, I have come to propose marriage to your daughter’.
‘Ah’ said the chief, ‘you must bring the feather from the lake before we talk of marriage.’ And with that the chief left the court.
So Giako set off towards the lake. When he reached the lakeshore the sun was almost setting. He started slowly wading into the water and as he swam towards the feather, he sang:
Beautiful feather from the lake, please come to me, Come to me.
He moved on until the water covered his waist, and then his chest, then his shoulders and his neck. He sang again:
Beautiful feather from the lake, please come to me, Come to me.
Slowly the feather began to move in his direction. The more he sang the more the feather moved towards him. Finally he was close enough to take hold of the feather. He turned to swim back to the shore, singing as he crossed the clear waters with the beautiful feather held high in his hands:
Beautiful feather, beautiful feather, I am taking you to the dear chief.
As he reached the lakeshore he heard some noise from behind. Turning around, Giako saw a herd of cows, a tribe of goats, a flock of sheep and a flight of birds following him from the lake. ‘Oh,’ thought Giako, ‘If all this is mine, then I am indeed the one to marry Mweru.’
When the chief saw Giako with the feather in his hands and all the animals and birds following behind, he called the elders to him. A great council was held in the village.
The next day the wedding was conducted and Giako and Mweru were married and lived happily ever after.
An American Indian folktale re-written by the author. This is one of my favourite versions of the classic ‘Cinderella’ fairytale, and an excellent ‘bullying/victim’ story for six- to eight-year-olds.
Long, long ago, on the edge of an Indian village, by the shores of a wide bay, there lived an old Indian warrior whose wife had long since died. He shared his wigwam tent with his three daughters, who had the tasks of cooking and cleaning and dressing the skins while he was out all day hunting.
The two older daughters were proud and lazy and considered themselves above such work. While their father was away they would beat and bully and push their youngest sister around, and make her do all the jobs.
The father had called his youngest daughter Little Rising Sun, but she was not joyful any more like the rising sun. She was thin and sad-eyed, and was often so tired from working from dawn to dark that she fell asleep from sheer weariness. Sometimes she would fall asleep over the fire and her face was scarred from the hot cinders. Her long black hair looked dull from the ashes, not shining and sleek like that of her sisters. And since there never seemed to be enough skins from the father’s hunting to clothe the whole family, Little Rising Sun had only scraps to wrap about her.
One evening, when the father came home, he gathered his daughters by the fire, as he had a special story to tell them. It was about Te-Am, the Invisible One, who lived in a hunting lodge at the far end of the village with his mother. Because he was such a mighty warrior and hunter, Te-Am had been given the special power of being invisible by a great ‘Chinu’. It was because of this power that none of the maidens in the village had ever seen him, although he was said to be very handsome, and his lodge was always well provided with food and soft furs.
The father continued his story: ‘The mother of Te-Am, the Invisible One, has announced that Te-Am wishes to be married. He will take as his wife the first maiden who can truly see him. Many maidens have already come to his lodge, but none have been able to see him. Now you, my daughters, may have your turn.’
The two older sisters were very excited and stayed up way into the night talking about this news and what they would wear. The next morning the eldest sister dressed herself in her best robes with strings of shells around her neck and walked through the village to the great lodge of Te-Am, the Invisible One.
Te-Am’s mother was waiting at the door to greet her, and said: ‘My son, Te-Am the Invisible One, is out hunting. If we walk together by the shores of the lake we will soon meet him as he comes over the hills.’
So the eldest sister set out walking with Te-Am’s mother, who carried a small drum with her. They hadn’t walked very far when Te-Am’s mother started to sing and play on the drum:
The hunter is coming, over the hills he comes,
The great hunter comes now, do you see him, do you see him?
The eldest sister looked ahead and although she could not see anyone she pretended she could. ‘Yes, yes, I can see him,’ she answered.
‘If you can truly see him’ said Te-Am’s mother, ‘of what is his great hunting bow made?’
‘It is made from the wood of the birch tree’ said the eldest sister, and from the girl’s answer, Te-Am’s mother knew that she had not seen her son.
Then Te-Am came closer and handed his hunting bag to his mother. The eldest sister could see the hunting bag once it was in the mother’s hands, but she could not see Te-Am, and she knew she had failed her task. She sadly turned and walked back to the village.
The next morning the second sister dressed herself in her best robes with strings of shells around her neck and walked through the village to the great lodge of Te-Am, the Invisible One.
Te-Am’s mother was waiting at the door to greet her, and said: ‘My son, Te-Am the Invisible One, is out hunting. If we walk together by the shores of the lake we will soon meet him as he comes over the hills’.
So the second sister set out walking with Te-Am’s mother, who carried a small drum with her. They hadn’t walked very far when Te-Am’s mother started to sing and play on the drum:
The hunter is coming, over the hills he comes,
The great hunter comes now, do you see him, do you see him?
The second sister looked ahead and although she could not see anyone she pretended she could. ‘Yes, yes, I can see him,’ she answered.
‘If you can truly see him’ said Te-Am’s mother, ‘of what is his great hunting bow made?’
‘It is made from the wood of the ash tree’ said the second sister, and from the girl’s answer, Te-Am’s mother knew that she had not seen her son.
Then Te-Am came closer and handed his hunting bag to his mother. The second sister could see the hunting bag once it was in the mother’s hands, but she could not see Te-Am, and she knew she had failed her task. She sadly turned and walked back to the village.
The next morning Little Rising Sun rose early and wrapped herself in scraps of birch bark and put her father’s old moccasins on her feet. Her sisters made fun of her as she started out, but she ignored them, thinking to herself: ‘Of course I shall not be able to see Te-Am, but just to meet his mother and see his hunting lodge will make me happy.’
At last she came to the great lodge of Te-Am the Invisible One.
Te-Am’s mother was waiting at the door to greet her, and said: ‘My son, Te-Am the Invisible One, is out hunting. If we walk together by the shores of the lake we will soon meet him as he comes over the hills.’
So Little Rising Sun set out walking with Te-Am’s mother, who carried a small drum with her. They hadn’t walked very far when Te-Am’s mother started to sing and play on the drum:
The hunter is coming, over the hills he comes,
The great hunter comes now, do you see him, do you see him?
Little Rising Sun looked ahead, and her eyes opened in wonder. ‘Yes, yes, I can see him’ she whispered.
‘If you can truly see him,’ said Te-Am’s mother, ‘of what is his great hunting bow made?’
‘Why, it is made from the rainbow itself!’ said Little Rising Sun.
‘Ah, then you do truly see my son – come, let us hurry back to the lodge and prepare for his coming.’
On returning to the lodge, Te-Am’s mother filled a basin with warm water and sweet smelling oils. She bathed Little Rising Sun and washed away the ashes from her hands and face until her cheeks began to glow. Then she dressed her in a fine robe of soft white buckskin decorated with shells and beads. Finally she brushed and combed Little Rising Sun’s hair until it was sleek and shiny, and plaited in ribbons and little shells.
When she was dressed and ready, Little Rising Sun was invited to sit on the mat by the fire. Scarcely was she seated when Te-Am entered the lodge and came over to her. He smiled and said: ‘So we are found, are we?’ Little Rising Sun smiled back. Te-Am then asked her to stay in the lodge as his wife, and his mother began to prepare the wedding feast.
Meanwhile, Little Rising Sun’s father had returned from the day’s hunting and was concerned that his youngest daughter was not at home. When he asked her sisters where she might be, they told him they didn’t know. So he set out to search for her.
All through the village he wandered and finally came to the lodge of Te-Am, where he could hear sounds of laughter and rejoicing from within. He looked in through the doorway and at first he didn’t recognise the beautiful maiden as his daughter. But when Little Rising Sun saw her father she ran to him and hugged him and told him the story of her wonderful day. He was then invited to stay for the wedding feast, and Little Rising Sun sent for her sisters to also join the celebrations. Later that evening Little Rising Sun and Te-Am were married, and together they lived a long and happy life.
An Egyptian fairytale re-written by the author. This is one of the oldest versions of the classic ‘Cinderella’ tale. It is an excellent ‘bullying/victim’ story for six- to eight-year-olds. The story can be enhanced by involving the class in puppetry or drama.
Long, long ago, in a land where the green river waters flowed into the great blue sea, there lived a young maiden named Rhodopese. She was a humble servant girl who had been captured when she was a child and carried far down the river away from her home. Her master was an old man who spent most of his time sleeping the daylight away under a shady tree. Because of his lazy habits he never saw how the other servant girls in the house bullied and teased Rhodopese.
They teased her because she looked so different to them. Their hair was straight and black while hers was curly and golden brown. They all had brown eyes and she had beautiful green eyes. Their skin was dark and rough, but Rhodopese had smooth brown skin and rosy lips, causing the other girls to call her Rosy Rhodopese. The servant girls also made her work hard and shouted at her all day:
Wash, wash, wash the clothes;
Mend, mend, mend the robes;
Chase the geese and scrub the floors;
Bake the bread and polish the doors.
Rhodopese had no friends except the birds and the animals. She had trained the birds to eat from her hand and a monkey to sit on her shoulder. An old hippopotamus would slide up on the bank out of the mud to be close to her while she was washing the clothes each morning.
Every day was the same for Rhodopese. The other girls would shout at her from morning to night:
Wash, wash, wash the clothes;
Mend, mend, mend the robes;
Chase the geese and scrub the floors;
Bake the bread and polish the doors.
At the end of the day, if Rhodopese wasn’t too tired, she would go back down to the river to be with her animal friends. If she had enough energy she would sing and dance for them. One evening as she was twirling around lighter than air with her feet barely touching the ground, the old man woke up from his sleep and watched as she danced. He greatly admired her beauty and skill and thought that one so talented should not be without shoes.
So the old man ordered Rhodopese a pair of slippers – they were guilded with rose-red gold and the soles were made of soft leather. Now the servant girls really disliked her for they were jealous of her beautiful slippers.
One day, word arrived that the king of the land was holding a grand gathering and all in the kingdom were invited. The king was looking for the most beautiful woman in the land to be his queen. Oh how Rhodopese wanted to go with the servant girls, for she knew there would be dancing, singing, and lots of wonderful food. As the servant girls prepared to leave in their finest clothes, they turned to Rhodopese and gave her more chores to do before they returned.
Then they all climbed on to the raft and sailed away down the river to the king’s palace, leaving a sad Rhodopese on the bank. As she began to wash the clothes in the river she hummed a sad working song. After a while the old hippopotamus grew tired of this little song and splashed back into the river. The splashing of the water wet Rhodopese’s slippers. She quickly took them, wiped off the water, and placed them in the sun to dry. As she continued with her chores the sky darkened. Looking up, she saw a falcon sweep down, snatch one of her slippers, and fly away. Rhodopese was in awe, as she knew it was a magic bird that had taken her shoe. The remaining slipper she put away in her pocket.
Meanwhile the king was sitting on his throne, looking out over all the people, and feeling very bored. He would have much preferred to be riding in his chariot. Suddenly the falcon swooped down and dropped the rose-red golden slipper in his lap. Surprised, but somehow knowing that this was a sign, he announced that all the maidens in the land must try on the slipper, and the owner of the slipper would be his queen. By the time the servant girls had arrived at the celebrations, the king had left in search of the owner of the rose gold slipper. They turned their raft around and followed the royal boat back down the river.
Rhodopese heard the sound of a gong, and trumpets blaring. Then she saw the purple silk sails of the king’s royal boat. She ran and hid in the rushes and watched as the royal boat pulled into the shore and the servant girls came running from their raft to try on the shoe. When the servant girls saw the shoe they recognised it as Rhodopese’s slipper. They said nothing and tried to force their feet inside.
Then the king spied Rhodopese in the rushes and asked her to try on the slipper. She slid her tiny foot into the slipper then pulled the other from her pocket and began to dance. The king, overwhelmed by her beauty and her talented dancing, asked her if she would be his queen.
The other girls cried out that she was a servant like themselves and not worthy or beautiful enough to be a king’s wife. The king replied; ‘She is the most beautiful of all the women in my land – her eyes are as green as the river, her hair as feathery as papyrus, and her lips the rose colour of a lotus flower.’
Rhodopese and the king were married with a celebration that lasted all day and all night and far into the next day, and they lived happily together for a very long time.
A folktale from Brazil, rewritten by the author. This story is suitable for six-year-olds and over. It emphasises respect, and being non-judgmental, and counteracts bullying.
A long time ago, in a land far away, Beetle was just plain brown. Beetle made her way slowly through the rainforest, minding her own business and not bothering anyone.
In this same forest there lived a Rat that used to tease other small animals and insects that lived there. Rat thought she was superior to all the animals because she could move so fast. Best of all she liked to laugh at and make fun of the beetle. Rat had a gang of other small animals who followed her, and joined in with her mean jokes.
Also in this forest, high up in the treetops, there lived a parrot. This parrot was colourful and beautiful and wise. And this parrot had magical powers!
For a long time Parrot had been watching Rat being mean and rude to Beetle. Parrot now thought it was time to teach her a lesson.
Parrot went to Rat and told her he had been watching her behaviour from the treetops.
‘You’re always teasing and taunting Beetle and the other animals, acting as if you are better than everyone else. We should have a contest and settle things once and for all,’ said Parrot. ‘I will organise a race between you and Beetle. Whoever wins will get to choose a beautiful new coat, of any pattern or colour.’
Now Rat was very happy about this. It would be a chance for everyone to see how fast she was. And what an easy race this would be. She had big strong legs, and could move quickly, while the beetle could only creep along on her skinny ‘stick’ legs.
The next day the animals met at the big fig tree, and Parrot pointed ahead to an old stump further down the path. ‘Whoever gets there first will win a new coat,’ said Parrot.
Parrot called the signal and the race began. Off raced Rat, streaking ahead. As she ran along she thought about how she was going to look in her new coat, and which colours and patterns she should choose. Whenever she looked back beetle was nowhere in sight, but this didn’t bother Rat. She presumed that Beetle was right back by the starting line. But when Rat reached the old stump, there was beetle, sitting on the other side of the path. ‘What took you so long, Rat? I’ve been waiting for you.’
Rat was astounded. ‘How did you get here so fast?’ she shouted.
‘Oh, didn’t you know that I can fly?’ Beetle asked quietly.
‘You fly? I didn’t know you could fly,’ said Rat, feeling very confused.
Parrot flew down and landed on the tree stump. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know, Rat. If you would take time to get to know the other animals, you would learn a lot. You always judge others by their appearance so you never learn about who they really are. As they say, ‘Never judge a book by its cover.’
Rat went grumbling off into the forest. As for Beetle, for her prize she chose a coat of blue and green – the blue of the sky and the green of fresh leaves after the rain. And she also chose to have wings that sparkled golden like the sun when it shines on the river.
To this day, beetles have colourful coats, and rats are just plain brown or grey.
A Norwegian story re-written, with rhyme and repetition, by the author. Suitable for the younger children (aged three to five) this classic tale seems an appropriate one for teasing and bullying. There is a simple message – the bully gets his just punishment and the little ones can trust in bigger and stronger family and friends for protection. I have found great therapeutic effect from dramatising this story, especially if a very shy ‘victim’ child can play out the big Billy-goat, and a bossy, bullying child can play out the troll (and then change parts the next day).
Once upon a time there were three Billy-goats and their name was Gruff. The first Billy-goat had a little beard and little horns. The second Billy-goat had a middle-size beard and middle-size horns. The third Billy-goat had a great big beard and great big horns.
Now the three Billy-goats wanted to get to the mountains to eat sweet mountain grass. But to do this they had to cross over a bridge, and under this bridge lived a troll. This troll had eyes as round as pewter plates and a nose as long as a rake handle, and this troll didn’t like anyone coming his way!
The first Billy-goat to cross the bridge was little Billy-goat Gruff.
‘Trip-trap trip-trap, over my bridge trip-trap
I hear the sound of running feet,
Someone is crossing my bridge I fear – Now whom shall I meet?
Who is it comes this way clip-clap?
Who dares to cross my bridge trip-trap?’
‘It is I, little Billy-goat Gruff, and I am on my way to the mountains to eat sweet mountain grass.’
‘I’m coming up to get you!’ roared the troll, and he stuck his long nose up over the edge of the bridge.
‘Oh please don’t eat me – I am so thin my bones show through my skin. Wait until my next brother comes, he will make a much better meal for you.’
‘Very well,’ said the greedy troll, and he went back down to his home under the bridge. And little Billy-goat Gruff continued on his way, trip-trap trip-trap, all the way to the mountains to eat sweet mountain grass.
The next Billy-goat to cross the bridge was middle-size Billy-goat Gruff.
‘Trot-trot trot-trot, over my bridge trot-trot
I hear the sound of running feet,
Someone is crossing my bridge I fear – Now whom shall I meet?
Who is it comes this way bot-clot?
Who dares to cross my bridge trot-trot?’
‘It is I, middle-size Billy-goat Gruff, and I am on my way to the mountains to eat sweet mountain grass.’
‘I’m coming up to get you!’ roared the troll, and he stuck his long nose up over the edge of the bridge.
‘Oh please don’t eat me – I am so thin my bones show through my skin. Wait until my next brother comes, he will make a much better meal for you.’
‘Very well,’ said the greedy troll, and he went back down to his home under the bridge. And middle-size Billy-goat Gruff continued on his way, trot-trot trot-trot, all the way to the mountains to eat sweet mountain grass.
The next Billy-goat to cross the bridge was great big Billy-goat Gruff.
‘Tramp-tramp tramp-tramp, over my bridge tramp-tramp
I hear the sound of running feet,
Someone is crossing my bridge I fear – Now whom shall I meet?
Who is it comes this way bamp-clamp?
Who dares to cross my bridge tramp-tramp?’
‘It is I, great big Billy-goat Gruff, and I am on my way to the mountains to eat sweet mountain grass.’
‘I’m coming up to get you!’ roared the troll, and he stuck his long nose up over the edge of the bridge.
‘Very well, come up, I’m waiting for you,’ said great big Billy-goat Gruff.
So the troll climbed up on the bridge. Then, with one BUTT from his great big Billy-goat horns, the great big Billy-goat pushed the greedy troll off the bridge and down, down, down into the waters below – down to where trolls should really live, never to be seen again. And great big Billy-goat Gruff continued on his way, tramp-tramp tramp-tramp, all the way to the mountains to eat sweet mountain grass.
And do you know, the three Billy-goats ate so much that they grew so fat they could hardly walk home. And as far as I know, they are still as fat as that!
This example comes from the writings of an eight-year-old girl, who was a new child at a school and the victim of some class bullying. She was encouraged by her teacher to write a story about her first term at the school. The teacher reported that the story seemed to make quite a difference for the child in the next school term, in both her attitude towards herself and towards others. It is a wonderful example of involving an older child in using creative writing to help with her/his own problem. The ‘bones’ of the story are included here.
The story is about a truck that had newly arrived in a car yard and all the other vehicles were making fun of it. Then one night, under cover of darkness, the truck decided to paint itself a bright shiny red. The next day it was not recognised by any of the others as the old shabby truck, and was now treated with respect. Over time the red paint washed off in the rain, and the others realised it was really the old truck underneath. But the bullying had stopped and the truck was never given a hard time again.