The Legend of the Frog People

 They were so happy before the hadeda came.

Some of the older ones still remember the first time they heard that harsh cry high above them. They had turned their eyes skywards, squinting into the sun. They had seen the clumsy flight and the long, curved beak. They had thought nothing of it.

Until then, they’d been a contented community. They lived comfortably in the shade of the ancient trees which grew next to the stream. The gnarled roots of these trees dipped their toes in the water, and served as their homes.

There was never any unhappiness, and the children had no need to cry. Their laughter was heard throughout the day. Most adults hummed or sang as they went about their daily chores; pausing occasionally to smile at a happy memory, or in pleasant anticipation of the coming evening’s festivities.

Oh yes, the evenings! So happy and carefree! The air filled to overflowing with the sound of their beautiful voices, echoing across the valley. Each family with its own distinctive melodies, harmonising with the voices of other families; all blending and raising the level of the sound. On and on they would sing, rising towards a tumultuous crescendo, filling the night air with joy and gratitude and laughter.

It was so lovely to watch the children trying out their voices for the first time. Getting it wrong and giggling shyly. Then trying again and again, until they got the sound Just Right.

The frog people were simple souls. They were not wealthy, but because they shared their gift of beautiful music so freely and willingly, all the other creatures helped out wherever possible, often going out of their way to say a kind word or do a good deed. As a result, the valley was filled with happy families who slept well at night. Everyone had sweet dreams and woke well-rested, looking forward to the day ahead.

But then the hadeda came.

It seemed innocent enough at first, keeping to itself, and eating only the worms and snails on the grasslands. It was not a pretty bird, and didn’t involve itself in the affairs of the community. Despite its ugly voice and ungainly manner, it was neither rude nor unpleasant, so everyone let it be, and life carried on as usual.

But one night, about three weeks after the hadeda made its appearance, some of the children didn’t come home. The parents weren’t too concerned though, as they thought their children were with friends, and had lost track of time. They would surely return home the following morning? But they didn’t. And the next day, more children didn’t come home, so parents started to worry, calling their children across the valley. Calling, and calling again, in those beautiful voices. By day three, the whole village was frantic with worry, and the evening symphonies had come to an end. How could anyone sing if a child were missing? The darkness smothered the valley at night, and the heaviness of worry permeated everything. Parents started keeping their children at home, and as the days passed, the sounds of sadness filled the village, numbing everybody. The silence was deafening.

They knew that something had to be done. So they huddled together and held long discussions in low, quiet voices. It didn’t take them long to discover what had been happening: Each day, as the children had returned from school, hopping and skipping across the grasslands, the hadeda had moved closer and closer to them; occasionally greeting a few of the children by name. Sometimes, a child would cross the field alone. These children, they realised, were the ones that had gone missing. It slowly dawned on them that the hadeda was looking a lot healthier than when he had first arrived, and now they knew why. It had been eating their children. After much discussion and many suggestions, they realised that no-one had the strength or courage to chase the hadeda from the village. They’d never had to deal with such a vile situation before, had they? So how would they know if they were doing the right thing anyway? And besides, they reasoned, it had such a fearsome beak, and had done so much damage already, it hardly seemed worth suffering more losses, did it?

So a silent, icy gloom settled over the village once again. The frog people stayed inside, night and day, protecting what was left of their families, saying very little to each other, and even less to their neighbours. The other creatures became suspicious and bad-tempered, lashing out at each other at the slightest provocation. There was much bickering and many tears were shed. All trust was lost, and the sound of laughter was heard no more. It was a very bad time for everybody.

As time passed by, the hadeda lost its ruddy complexion and eventually left the village, hungry again. Screeching in disgust, it flapped its enormous wings noisily, took off, and flew in slow circles over the village, shrieking its displeasure as it made his way back north, from where it had first come.

It took a few days before the sound of voices was heard again. Quietly at first. Tentatively, the frog people peered around doorways in the daytime, then emerged briefly, only to do the most urgent of chores, before retreating hastily indoors again. In time, the village got back into its daily routine. But the joy had gone. There was no more music. No more singing. The frog people forgot how to use their beautiful voices, and their melancholy ways filtered through the village, affecting the other creatures. Families split up scattered across the countryside. There was a dullness in the sunlight, even on the brightest day. The only time anyone laughed was when a new child was born.

And the nights were so empty. So silent. It was a heavy, clammy silence broken only by an owl or distant cricket. And the frog people could bear it no longer. They knew that the solitude had destroyed their once vibrant community, and urgent action was needed. So some of them started to call out, call across the water, across the valley; calling for their friends and family to return. Calling them all, to return to the way it was so long ago, to return to the days filled with the laughter of children, and evenings filled with the music of happy families playing together, on those nights so long ago.

So now, if you sit outside on a summer evening, watching the sunset, sit quietly. And if you listen very carefully, you’ll hear the frog people warming up their voices. And when darkness falls, they’ll be in full voice, calling hopefully to their scattered family and friends. “Come back! Come back! Come back, and we’ll make it beautiful again. We’ll make it the way it was…”