Image: © Rose’s Garden
Rose loved her garden and spent many hours pottering about planting, weeding, propagating and just admiring the results of her handiwork.
She liked her garden; she knew all her plants and their personalities and had over the years developed a great affection for garden frogs. She had by last count over 300 frogs of varying sizes spread throughout her garden.
She could account for all of them remembering where she had acquired it and for how much and when the purchase had been made. All that is, except for Cyril.
She could never remember where Cyril had come from.
She remembered having a dream one night in which she saw Cyril in her garden, his greenness shone out, as did his hands held imploringly towards her. The following morning she spied him in the garden.
At first she was taken aback by his appearance. She had never seen a frog figurine like him. Looking at him she wondered just what might be his story. It was as if he wanted her to help him get away from something. She could never find any like figurines on the Internet so she concluded he was a one off green frog designed to create conversation and intrigue.
She had found him beneath her giant hydrangea bush, his little face looking up her through the shrubs dense leaves.
There was no doubt she felt a tad uncomfortable seeing him there but decided to leave him where she found him.
Though she was always conscious of him from out the corner of her eye.
It wasn’t until the winter that she became more acutely aware of Cyril. There had been some exceptionally cold nights, water left in buckets was solid ice come morning, and she had tipped out one bucket and found it made a cute little seat for Cyril.
Suddenly he became elevated. His little face so sad, so in need of something she wished she could make him talk and so discover his secret.
Rose smiled to herself as she looked down on the tiny Cyril sitting on his icy throne.
Maybe she thought I should make you a small crown to sit on your head and you could be King Cyril, the Ice Frog.
She turned away thinking herself a clever one and wondering if she had the wherewithal to make such a crown.
She heard a shiver behind her. Looking around all she could see was Cyril, looking up in his pleading way, his hands clasped in all humility.
I’m hearing things she thought.
And turning her back she heard the shiver again.
She spun around but all there was was Cyril in his characteristic pose.
She bent down to take a closer look.
She looked at Cyril and Cyril looked back.
She put her ear to him and then she heard it. A distinctive shiver from inside the figurine.
She stepped back immediately this could not be happening.
Then a voice was heard.
‘You’re a heartless old sod aren’t you Rose putting my bum on a block of ice. As if its not cold enough out here freezing my balls off.’
Rose couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She looked around, there had to be someone playing a trick on her. Stone frogs are cute, but they do not talk.
‘I’m not really a frog you know, I’m a Prince. Prince Cyril of the Evermaids.’
Rose was lost for words.
“Your surprised aren’t you,” said Cyril noting her stunned look. “I’m not at all surprised. Most people are. But there is a way out, kiss me and I turn into a handsome prince.”
Rose was not the sort of woman to go around kissing random princes or for that matter anyone. She was for the most part a quiet and orderly woman. She liked everything in its place, her house and in particular her kitchen was always an illustration of her anal attitude to cleanliness.
Nothing in her life was out of place and she made sure everything knew its place.
A talking frog, one claiming to be aristocratic, just wasn’t going to cut the mustard she felt. And she noted Cyril was a whinger.
She turned on her heel and began to march off; she needed time to consider this intrusion into her garden. She felt somewhat affronted by Cyril’s outburst. This was her garden and she was the Queen.
Then she turned back and decided then and there to confront the issue but Cyril had gone. She looked everywhere and began to think she was in a dream and after searching a good half hour went inside to make a strong cup of tea.
There on the kitchen table sat Cyril.
“Sorry forgot to mention I’m a bit magical…can do stuff like this. Can’t get out of the rock though, tired but no luck at all, last chance is a kiss from a princess but they are scarce on the ground these days. Was a time you know when Princesses where a dine a dozen…not much call for them now days what with internet kissing sites and rent a Prince Charming dating agencies.”
Rose stood with her gaze solely on Cyril. “You aren’t Cyril The Smith’s Son are you, disappeared as a small boy from the palace day care?”
‘The one and the same,” replied Cyril his voice now taking on a maudlin quality…
“I remember you,” said Rose, “Checky little blighter. Thought to myself when it all happened no one’s going to miss that little bugger. Right pain you were.”
“So I’ve since discovered,” said Cyril.
“How did you end up in my garden?”
“I get moved around from garden to garden in the hope someone kisses me and the spell is broken.”
“ No luck I see.”
“None, its all so disconcerting.”
“Well I think I’ll leave you in my garden and see if you become a frog I’d like to kiss.”
“Oh I’m a very good frog. Listen to this…Croak, croak croak…convincing eh?”
“Not really,” said Rose.
“They all say that the so called Princesses I front, take one look at me and run a mile. Literally. I think I’m becoming very depressed.”
“Now, now, now Cyril we all have our crosses to bear.”
With that she lifted the little green Cyril and returned him to his block of ice with the words of: “Freeze a little longer Cyril, consider it penance for past sins, you never know I may yet kiss those cute little lips of yours.”
“In my dreams,” thought Cyril and left alone once again he could do little but shiver on his ice throne and worry that his Princely bits might well shrivel into infinitesimal obscurity.
Morpethroad 