humbly.
‘Neither do I,’ he said. ‘I am not a vain amphibian. I have adopted solitary habits during my long, long period of mourning but I have not been able to avoid overhearing the admiring remarks of other lesser toads and inferior frogs. I repeat, I am not vain, but I do have eyes, and whilst circling the pond by moonlight I have observed my own reflection. It is a wonder I am not vain, because I have never seen a Bufo bufo as beautiful.’
‘A Bufo bufo?’ said Rebecca. ‘I thought you were a toad.’
He croaked contemptuously.
‘And I thought you were knowledgeable! A Bufo bufo is the correct Latin term for the species common toad. Although badness knows I am not common. I, the Great Glubbslyme, familiar to the wise and wicked witch Rebecca Cockgoldde, the largest, wartiest, moistest, and most magical of toads.’
‘You belong to a real witch?’ said Rebecca. ‘But I didn’t think there were any left.’
‘Alas! You are correct,’ said Glubbslyme, and his hideous head drooped right onto his knobbly knees. There was no mistaking his tears now. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed. ‘Oh how I miss my wonderful weird witch, my own Rebecca. But they seized her, in spite of all my most venomous efforts, they tortured and tormented her, and then they threw her down into the depths of this very pond.’
‘But she should have floated if she was a real witch.’
‘She had a seizure at the shock of the cold water and expired,’ Glubbslyme sobbed.
‘I knew it was horribly unfair,’ said Rebecca. ‘But my Dad said it was hundreds of years ago.’
‘He is correct,’ said Glubbslyme. ‘My Rebecca was cast down to the depths in the seventeenth century. I am not certain of the exact date. No matter, all days have been black since dear Rebecca departed this world. I will show you her memorial tablet.’
He puffed up a little and hopped down the bank of the pond. He scrabbled at the overhanging ferns and managed to push them aside. There was a large stone embedded in the earth and when Rebecca hung precariously over the edge she saw that someone had scored the stone with rather shaky lettering. Rebecca Cockgoldde, R.I.P.
‘Rebecca Cockgoldde, Rest In Peace,’ she read.
‘Rebecca Cockgoldde, Rotting In Pond,’ Glubbslyme corrected her. He traced the letters lovingly with his little black fingers. ‘At first I did cast myself down into the dark depths with my poor mistress and determined to rot there too. I lay motionless for many years, mourning bitterly. But I could not die. Magical toads are notorious for their longevity. And then my mistress slowly sank down into the deep mud and the pond dried out and became unpleasantly overcrowded and I could no longer languish in solitude. Eventually a fool of a female frog festooned me with frog-spawn and no one can mourn immobile whilst tormented by tickling tadpoles. So I swam to the surface and carved the memorial, and whenever I do catch a particularly tempting morsel of dragonfly or whatever, I leave it in front of the tablet as a small token of respect.’
‘How nice,’ said Rebecca.
‘Your vocabulary seems very impoverished,’ said Glubbslyme severely. ‘Although I am not surprised. I read the potato crisp packets and comic papers carelessly cast into the pond.’ He shook his head in disgust. He sounded like a little old man. But then he was old – hundreds of years old. Rebecca’s Dad told her she should try to be extra polite and patient with elderly people. Glubbslyme was very elderly indeed – and she hadn’t treated him with the right sort of respect.
‘I don’t think you’re a bit u-g-l-y now,’ she said, trying to make amends. ‘I think you look very . . .’ She tried hard to think of the right word. ‘Very distinguished.’
It was exactly the right word. Glubbslyme puffed and preened, practically doubling his size.
‘Quite’, he said. ‘I do so agree. You will never see a toad even half as distinguished.’ He
‘Neither do I,’ he said. ‘I am not a vain amphibian. I have adopted solitary habits during my long, long period of mourning but I have not been able to avoid overhearing the admiring remarks of other lesser toads and inferior frogs. I repeat, I am not vain, but I do have eyes, and whilst circling the pond by moonlight I have observed my own reflection. It is a wonder I am not vain, because I have never seen a Bufo bufo as beautiful.’
‘A Bufo bufo?’ said Rebecca. ‘I thought you were a toad.’
He croaked contemptuously.
‘And I thought you were knowledgeable! A Bufo bufo is the correct Latin term for the species common toad. Although badness knows I am not common. I, the Great Glubbslyme, familiar to the wise and wicked witch Rebecca Cockgoldde, the largest, wartiest, moistest, and most magical of toads.’
‘You belong to a real witch?’ said Rebecca. ‘But I didn’t think there were any left.’
‘Alas! You are correct,’ said Glubbslyme, and his hideous head drooped right onto his knobbly knees. There was no mistaking his tears now. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed. ‘Oh how I miss my wonderful weird witch, my own Rebecca. But they seized her, in spite of all my most venomous efforts, they tortured and tormented her, and then they threw her down into the depths of this very pond.’
‘But she should have floated if she was a real witch.’
‘She had a seizure at the shock of the cold water and expired,’ Glubbslyme sobbed.
‘I knew it was horribly unfair,’ said Rebecca. ‘But my Dad said it was hundreds of years ago.’
‘He is correct,’ said Glubbslyme. ‘My Rebecca was cast down to the depths in the seventeenth century. I am not certain of the exact date. No matter, all days have been black since dear Rebecca departed this world. I will show you her memorial tablet.’
He puffed up a little and hopped down the bank of the pond. He scrabbled at the overhanging ferns and managed to push them aside. There was a large stone embedded in the earth and when Rebecca hung precariously over the edge she saw that someone had scored the stone with rather shaky lettering. Rebecca Cockgoldde, R.I.P.
‘Rebecca Cockgoldde, Rest In Peace,’ she read.
‘Rebecca Cockgoldde, Rotting In Pond,’ Glubbslyme corrected her. He traced the letters lovingly with his little black fingers. ‘At first I did cast myself down into the dark depths with my poor mistress and determined to rot there too. I lay motionless for many years, mourning bitterly. But I could not die. Magical toads are notorious for their longevity. And then my mistress slowly sank down into the deep mud and the pond dried out and became unpleasantly overcrowded and I could no longer languish in solitude. Eventually a fool of a female frog festooned me with frog-spawn and no one can mourn immobile whilst tormented by tickling tadpoles. So I swam to the surface and carved the memorial, and whenever I do catch a particularly tempting morsel of dragonfly or whatever, I leave it in front of the tablet as a small token of respect.’
‘How nice,’ said Rebecca.
‘Your vocabulary seems very impoverished,’ said Glubbslyme severely. ‘Although I am not surprised. I read the potato crisp packets and comic papers carelessly cast into the pond.’ He shook his head in disgust. He sounded like a little old man. But then he was old – hundreds of years old. Rebecca’s Dad told her she should try to be extra polite and patient with elderly people. Glubbslyme was very elderly indeed – and she hadn’t treated him with the right sort of respect.
‘I don’t think you’re a bit u-g-l-y now,’ she said, trying to make amends. ‘I think you look very . . .’ She tried hard to think of the right word. ‘Very distinguished.’
It was exactly the right word. Glubbslyme puffed and preened, practically doubling his size.
‘Quite’, he said. ‘I do so agree. You will never see a toad even half as distinguished.’ He
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