Knjigice
Fairy tale · Funny stories
Cautionary Tales for Good Children
Rhymes about children who did not obey — and what became of them
Also in: Svarilne zgodbe za pridne otroke (Slovenian) · Výstražné príbehy pre dobré deti (Slovak)
Step closer, ladies, gentlemen small,
lest you regret it later, one and all.
This book contains — I do not jest —
three solemn tales — a moral test:
Matilda told the dreadfullest lies,
Rebecca slammed the doors likewise,
and Tony, in broad light of day,
escaped his nurse and ran away.
All strictly true, my friend.
Well. Mostly. Nearly. In the end.
1
Matilda told such shocking lies,
they made her Aunty's eyeballs rise.
"An elephant is on the roof!"
she said. There was, of course, no proof —
nor elephant. And since she lied
each blessed day, her aunt replied
with less and less belief, until
her plainest truth fell flat and still.
2
One night Aunt went out to see
a play. Matilda, home at tea,
picked up the telephone and cried:
"A FIRE! Come quickly!" — so she lied.
The firemen came, moustaches grand,
with brimming buckets, hand to hand.
They drowned the parlour and the hall,
the grand piano, rugs and all —
but fire? No fire. Not one spark.
It took an hour in the dark
for Aunt to make them understand
Matilda's fire was merely planned.
3
Some weeks went by. Then, late at night,
the chimney really did ignite.
Matilda screamed: "A fire! It's true!"
The household sighed: "Of course it's you.
Back off to bed, you little fibber."
And no one stirred, and no one leapt,
and no one, no one, lost their sleep.
So lies revenge themselves, you see:
the world goes deaf entirely.
4
But smoke, thank goodness, cannot lie:
a fireman saw it climbing high.
"Lads! That one's real!" he roared, and then
the whole brigade came back again.
One splash — and out the fire went.
(One saucepan, rather badly bent.)
Matilda, singed and soaked and small,
said nothing whatsoever at all.
And from that day — believe it, do —
she never lied. Not once. It's true.
5
There was a boy — Tony by name —
and everybody loved the same:
he got his tea, his cake, his bun,
a chocolate lion — every one.
His nurse then took him by the hand
to see the beasts in Zooland.
But Tony slipped his hand from hers
and bolted off among the firs!
(The wiser reader shakes his head
right here. And rightly so, well said.)
6
But scarce had Tony turned the bend
when there — a LION! Not a friend:
enormous, groomed and rather grand,
his mane brushed out as if by hand.
He yawned. He stretched. Then — careful grip —
he took one trouser leg (not hip).
"HELP!" howled Tony, thin and high.
And high time too, we grant. Oh my.
7
The keeper came, moustached and stern:
"Leo! Let go! At once! Return!"
The lion sighed, released the hem
and, deeply hurt, withdrew from them.
The moral, children, is not terse:
that ponies bite, and lions worse —
so hold the hand of she who's hired.
Always. Naturally. As required.
8
A habit all the world abhors
is that of slamming shut the doors.
Rebecca — mild in other parts —
perfected this above all arts:
BANG! till the very house would ring,
BANG! till the mouse forgot to sing.
And every time a grown-up leapt,
Rebecca's laughter round her crept.
9
Above the parlour door there stood,
high on a shelf of polished wood,
a bust in marble, white and stern:
Great-grandpapa, who'd had to learn
to bear the banging, year on year.
Then came a BANG — the worst to hear:
it rocked, it tipped, it took the fall
and smashed BESIDE the girl — that's all.
A thousand pieces on the ground!
Rebecca? Whole. Not one scratch found.
10
Rebecca stood there, white as chalk,
and stared, and did not try to talk.
From that day on — a wonder rare —
she shut each door with utmost care.
And so our tales are told, my dears:
Matilda's truthful now (for years),
Tony holds his nurse's hand,
Rebecca's slamming days are banned.
All three are good — well, nearly good.
Their grown-ups sleep as grown-ups should.
At least on Tuesdays. Now and then.
11The End
