The Grumble’s Tale

Once in a dark, dark forest, in the darkest shadows of a black, black mountain, on the shores of the gloomiest, doomiest lake, there lived a grumble.

Now, a grumble is not an animal like an owl or a cat or a frog in the strictest sense. It’s a creature that lives in the little line between where your shadow ends and where the sunlight starts. And grumbles can only live in the blackness or they blur and blow away like dust.

But this grumble was sad. His name was Grumbledum and he was all alone. Sometimes he would walk out of the forest and sit on the shores of the lake and talk to the weepfish, in all their brilliant greys, about how sad he was.

One weepfish, called Wailsford would drift close to the surface and listen, and Grumbledum’s tears would sprinkle down into the oily waters and make soft ripples above Wailsford’s scaly head.

One day he drifted right up to the surface and popped his fishy lips above the water.


“Grumbledum. Every day you come here and you cry in our water. What is wrong with you?”


Grumbledum let out a booming sob.


“No-one understands me. So I sit here on the shores of the gloomiest, doomiest lake and make water come from my eyes.”



“Oh dear” said that the fish. “Why don’t you try to go to the very edge of the forest and look at all the meadows and fields on the other side flooded with sunshine and think that there are still good things to be seen?”


“Because,” said Grumbledum quietly, “I will be jealous of the bunnies, of the birds and of the foxes that can play and chase in the long grass and smell the flowers and feel the sunshine on their furry faces”.


“But if you did that” said the wise weepfish, “If you played in the sunshine, you wouldn’t be a grumble. And that’s what you are. A grumble.”



Grumbledum sniffed. And then he walked back into the forest, slowly and sadly, and sat in the sorrowful sorrowful cave by the tantrum tree.



The weepfish watched him go, and they agreed that without his tears, they would not be there, and the doomy gloomy lake would be dry.

And the doubtgulls chattered on the low branches that without the grumble’s groans and sadness, the dark, dark forest wouldn’t be there and they would surely be homeless.

And the despairfrogs that jumped and ribbited in the rockpools at the foot of the black black mountain all concluded in their slimy way that the mountain would be too hot, bathed in sunlight in the grumble’s absence.


So they made a pact, to thank Grumbledum for everything around them.


The weepfish dredged midnight pearls from the oysters in the deepest cracks in the lake and strung them on a creeping sadvine to make a beautiful necklace.

The doubtgulls flew up and plucked the bitterest bitterberries from their clusters beneath the sharpest leaves and made precious jam for Grumbledum.

And finally the despairfrogs practiced their ribbits in time to make a hymn to Grumbledum’s gifts, a strange and sorrowful melody.


And one day, they gathered at the edge of the lake and waited for Grumbledum to come out of the dark dark forest.

When he came at last, he sat on a cold stone and sure enough, he started to cry once more.

But the weepfish swam close and presented him the beautiful necklace.

And then the doubtgulls swooped down and gave him the bitterberry jam.

And then the despairfrogs started their tune which reverberated into the very corners of the dark dark forest.


And Grumbledum smiled.

And the clouds parted and sunlight beamed down, and swept him away like smoke.

And in time, the lake ran dry, and soft yellow daylight came again to the mountain and the forest thinned out.


All that is left, on a still cool day, if you listen carefully, at the mouth of the odd little cavern by the peculiar tree is the faint sound of sploshing fish and ribbitting frogs and cawing birds.

And beyond it all, if you strain to hear, and crane your neck a little closer to the dark, dark cave, is a rare and precious thing.


Like the smile of an old friend, an unexpected letter, a tiny tickle on your ribs.

Like a present, a ladybird, a rainbow or a sunny day.

It’s the sound of a grumble that turned into a giggle!