Barrington Frog's Legs

Once upon a time there was a big forest, and in this forest was a small and secret pond, and by the side of this pond was a tiny village, and in this village lived frogs.

Don’t listen to what teachers or the television tell you, frogs live in small houses made of tiny mud bricks. They boat on ponds on lily pads, hold markets every Saturday morning and on Sundays hop around their villages visiting their neighbours with gifts of fly-pie and fried-fly.

However it is true that all frogs hop.  All except one.

Barrington Frog’s legs were just as long as those of other frogs.  However instead of keeping them bent ready for hopping, Barrington kept his straight and walked on them upright.  He didn’t know why, he’d always done it.

​

Barrington Frog’s lived in a particularly small house at the back of the village.  It didn’t have a view of the pond but it did have a back garden that opened up onto the forest.

​

When his neighbours came to call on a Sunday he’d sit in his chair in the garden with his long legs elegantly crossed while his neighbours would squat on the grass like frogs are supposed to.  Often his neighbours exchanged uncomfortable looks – it pained them to see a frog behaving so…unusually.

“It isn’t right,” they’d mutter as they hopped off to the next house.

“Legs are made for hopping, not walking!”

​

Barrington didn’t mind much that his neighbours didn’t understand him and his legs.  He had a wonderful secret.  Every Sunday, once the last of his neighbours had left, Barrington would saunter to the bottom of the garden, his hands idly in his pockets.

​

There, hidden by bushes and long grass was a little path into the forest. He’d take a quick look around to see if anyone was watching and then with a mighty spring he’d set off running.

With his long powerful legs, Barrington could run very fast, faster than any other creature in the forest.  The trees and flowers would become a beautiful blur as he whizzed along. In the Summer the colours were rich greens and yellows, in Autumn the forest was a swirling mix of reds and browns and burnt amber, in Winter the colours were drained away in a white haze of snow, except for splashes of red from passing holly bushes.  

But Barrington’s favourite season in the forest was Spring when the speed he ran at turned the forest into a smear of bluebell blue and cherry blossom pink and the air was sweet.

He’d run and run and his heart would sing for the joy of life!

​

One day though he was so excited as he ran that he took a wrong turn and that wrong turn led him back to the village.  He was going so quickly that he found it difficult to stop.

He skidded across the village green, digging up the turf, he crashed through Mr Hardwick Frog’s Pots and Pans shop, he knocked over elderly Mrs Cressella Frog in the street and came to a halt in the middle of the winning pie in the third annual Fly Pie contest that was taking place in the market square.

The frogs in the village were angry.

“Barrington Frog, look at the state of the village green!”

“Barrington Frog, you’ve ruined my pan display and dented my big skillet!”

“Barrington Frog, look at my shopping everywhere and look at this bruise!”

“Barrington Frog, what are you doing in my prize Fly Pie?!”

​

But what really made the frogs angry was that they’d never dreamt that a frog could run so quickly.  They were very frightened of what it could mean.

They called a town meeting that night to debate the situation. Barrington wasn’t invited.  

Now when a lot of people get together they can do a lot of good, but they can also get strange ideas and do bad things without really meaning to. Together the frogs made a decision and while it was a cruel decision, because there were thirty four frogs who voted for it, they each felt only one thirty fourth of the guilt, which isn’t very much at all.

​

That night the frog villagers hopped up to Barrington’s little house, pushed in his front door and carried him to the market square.  There they tied up his beautiful long legs in heavy chains so he couldn’t move them.  Then they threw him on a lily pad and rowed him out to the exact middle of the pond. And left him there.

​

Frogs eat flies, but they are more used to the cooked variety, or at least served in a salad.  Its not often they are forced to eat flies raw and live.  Barrington found them pleasant enough once he got used to the buzzing and wriggling in his tummy, and in this way he survived out on the lonely lily pad.  He was very sad but he didn’t feel angry because he knew that some of it was his fault. But he did miss his runs.

​

Time passed and pulled the seasons along with it and the villagers all but forgot about poor Barrington out in the middle of the pond.  He sat there watching the little plumes of smoke coming from the chimneys reaching up into the sky only to the blown away and scattered so thin they might never have existed at all.

​

Winter came and the nights got longer and colder and the days shorter and darker.  One day Barrington was watching the village in the distance when he saw a party of young frogs, just the right side of being tadpoles, being led on a school party into the woods.  At the back was the smallest frog, hopping and waddling trying to keep up. Barrington smiled to himself remembering his own awkward school days, coming last in the hopping exams and generally frustrating the teachers.  He leaned back to shift the weight of the chains and looked up. 

There above the wood was a bird circling.  The school party hadn’t seen it but the bird had seen them and had its beady eyes on the back of the party – on the smallest frog.

Barrington tried to shout but it was a gusty day and the children and teacher couldn’t hear him.  In panic he kicked at his chains.  Then with a huge effort he flexed his legs and the chains broke.  Kicking them into the icy water Barrington shakily stood up. The water in the pond was frozen in places so he took a deep breath and ran.

He ran, landing on a wobbly bit of ice before springing with a splash onto the next one.  Plash, Plash, Plash!  He ran as fast as he could across the frozen pond as the bird began to swoop.

“Look out!” he yelled as he sprinted up onto the bank.  He reached the smallest frog just as the bird did. Barrington crashed into the bird which made an almighty squawk and was sent spiralling off in a cloud of feathers into the woods.

​

Back in the village the other frogs realised how cruel and unjust they had been.  They asked Barrington politely if he’d mind sitting in his chair in his garden while the whole village lined up to apologise to him one by one and ask his forgiveness.  And because frogs are by nature easy going and only occasionally prone to rash behaviour Barrington said that he didn’t mind a bit, as long he could go running again.

​

And he did! Every day he blurred through the forest, the happiest frog there ever was, through the rest of winter and then when Spring came he became even happier.

​

Some days after his run he’d go and visit the smallest frog who he’d saved to see how school was and if she was learning to hop any better.  And after he’d gone the smallest frog (whose name was Sarah) would look around to see if anyone was watching and then would tentatively get up on her back legs and walk around like her hero.