Bedtime Tale: The Water Babies Ch 2/Part 1

Enjoy this bedtime tale to help you drift off into a peaceful slumber. Tonight we read Chapter 2/Part 1 of the classic, The Water Babies, by Charles Kingsley. This reading describes Tom finally reaching the cottage. This audio is perfect for children or adults who want to relax, discover magic, or find adventure before a great night's sleep.

Transcript

The Water Babies A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby By Charles Kingsley Chapter 2 Part 1 A mile off and a thousand feet down So Tom found it,

Though it seemed as if he could have chucked a pebble onto the back of the woman in the red petticoat who was weeding in the garden Or even across the dale to the rocks beyond For the bottom of the valley was just one field broad And on the other side ran the stream And above it,

Grey crag Grey down,

Grey stair Grey moor,

Walled up to heaven A quiet,

Silent,

Rich,

Happy place A narrow crack cut deep into the earth So deep and so out of the way That the bad bogeys can hardly find it out The name of that place is Vendale And if you want to see it for yourself You must go up into the high craven And search from Bolin Forest North by Ingleborough To the Nine Standers and Cross Fell And if you have not found it You must turn south And search the Lake Mountains Down to Sca Fell and the Sea And then,

If you have not found it You must go northward again by Mary Carlisle And search the cheviots all across From Anon Water to Barrick Law And then,

Whether you have found Vendale or not You will have found such a country And such a people As ought to make you proud Of being a British boy So Tom went to go down And first he went down three hundred feet Of steep heather Mixed up with loose brown grist stone As rough as a file Which was not pleasant to his poor little heels As he came bump,

Stump,

Jump Down the steep And still he thought he could throw a stone Into the garden Then he went down three hundred feet Of limestone terraces One below the other As straight as if a carpenter Had ruled them with his ruler And then cut them out with his chisel There was no heat there,

But First,

A little grass slope Covered with the prettiest flowers Rock rose and sassafras And thyme and basil And all sorts of sweet herbs Then,

Bumped down a two foot step of limestone Then another bit of grass and flowers Then bumped down a one foot step Then another bit of grass and flowers For fifty yards As steep as the house roof Where he had to slide down on his dear little tail Then another step of stone Ten feet high And there he had to stop himself And crawl along the edge to find a crack For if he had rolled over He would have rolled right into the old woman's garden And frightened her out of her wits Then,

When he had found a dark narrow crack Full of green stalked fern Such as hangs in the basket in the drawing room And had crawled down through it With knees and elbows As he would down a chimney There was another grass slope And another step And so on till Oh dear me I wish it was all over And so did he And yet he thought he could throw a stone Into the old woman's garden At last he came to a bank of beautiful shrubs White beam with its great silver backed leaves And mountain ash and oak And below them clig and crag Cliff and crag With great beds of crowned ferns And wood sedge While through the shrubs He could see the stream sparkling And hear it murmur on the white pebbles He did not know that it was three hundred feet below You would have been giddy perhaps at looking down But Tom was not He was a brave little chimney sweep And when he found himself on the top of the high cliff Instead of sitting down and crying for his Baba Though he never had a Baba to cry for He said Ah,

This will just suit me Though he was very tired And down he went By stalk and stone Sedge and ledge Bush and rush As if he'd been born a jolly little black ape With four hands instead of two And all the while he never saw the Irish woman Coming down behind him But he was getting terribly tired now The burning sun on the fells had sucked him up But the damp heat of the woody crag Sucked him up still more And the perspiration ran out the ends of his fingers and toes And washed him cleaner than he had been for a whole year But,

Of course,

He dirtied everything terribly as he went There had been a great black smudge all down the crag ever since And there had been more black beetles in Vendale Since than ever were known before All,

Of course,

Owing to Tom's having blackened The original Papa of them all Just as he was setting off to be married With the blue sky coat and scarlet leggings As smart as a gardener's dog At last he got to the bottom But,

Behold,

It was not the bottom As people usually find when they're coming down a mountain For at the foot of the crag were heaps and heaps of fallen limestone Of every size from that of your head To that of a stage wagon With holes between them full of sweet heath fern And before Tom got through them He was out in the bright sunshine again And then he felt,

Once for all and suddenly As people generally do That he was B-E-A-T Beat You must expect to be beat a few times in your life,

Little man If you live such a life as a man ought to live Let you be as strong and healthy as you may And when you are,

You will find it a very ugly feeling I hope that that day you may have a stout,

Staunch friend by you Who is not beat For if you have not,

You had best lie where you are And wait for better times,

As poor Tom did He could not get on The sun was burning And yet he felt chill all over He was quite empty And yet he felt quite sick There was but two hundred yards of smooth pasture Between him and the cottage And yet he could not walk down it He could hear the stream murmuring Only one field beyond it And yet it seemed to him As if it was a hundred miles off He laid down on the grass till the beetles ran over him And the flies settled on his nose I don't know when he would have got up again if the gnats And the midges had not taken compassion on him But the gnats blew their trumpets so loud in his ear And the midges nibbled so at his hands and face Wherever they could find a place free from soot That at last he woke up And stumbled away Down over a low wall And into a narrow road And up to the cottage door And a neat pretty cottage it was With clipped yew hedges all around the garden And yews inside it too Cut into peacocks And trumpets And teapots And all kinds of queer shapes And out of the open door Came a noise like that of frogs on the Great A When they know that it's going to be scorchin' hot tomorrow And how they know that I don't know And you don't know And nobody knows He came slowly up to the door Which was all hung round with clematis and rose And then peeped in,

Half afraid And there sat by the empty fireplace Which was filled with a pot of sweet herbs The nicest old woman that ever was seen In her red petticoat And short dimity bedgown And clean white cap With a black silk handkerchief over it Tied under her chin At her feet sat the grandfather of all the cats And opposite her sat On two benches Twelve or fourteen neat,

Rosy,

Chubby little children Learning their criss-cross row And gabble enough they made about it Such a pleasant cottage it was With a shiny clean stone floor And curious old prints on the walls And an old black oak sideboard Full of bright pewter and brass dishes And a cuckoo clock in the corner Which began shouting as soon as Tom appeared Not that it was frightened at Tom It was just eleven o'clock All the children started at Tom's dirty black figure The girls began to cry And the boys began to laugh And all pointed at him rudely enough But Tom was too tired to care for that What art thou?

And what dost want?

Cried the old dame A chimney-sweep?

Away with thee!

I'll have no sweeps here Water!

Said poor little Tom,

Quite faint Water?

There's plenty in the beck,

She said quite sharply But I can't get there I'm most clemmed with hunger and drought And Tom sank down upon the doorstep And laid his head against the post And the old dame looked at him Through her spectacles one minute And two And three And then she said He's sick And a bairn's bairn,

Sweep or none Water,

Said Tom God forgive me And she put by her spectacles and rose And came to Tom Water's bad for thee I'll give thee milk And she toddled off into the next room And brought a cup of milk And a bit of bread Tom drank the milk off at one drot And then looked up,

Revived Where didst thou come from?

Said the dame Over fell There,

Said Tom And pointed up to the sky Over hearth over?

And down luth-way crag?

Art sure thou not lying?

Why should I?

Said Tom And leaned his head against the post And how ye get up there?

I came over from the place And Tom was so tired and desperate He had no heart or time to think of a story So he told all the truth in a few words Bless thy little heart And thou hast not been stealing then?

No Bless thy little heart And all warrant not Why,

God's guided the bairn Because he was so innocent Away from the place And over hearth over fell And down luth-way crag Who ever heard the like?

If God hadn't led him Why dost not eat thy bread?

I can't It's good enough,

For I made it myself I can't,

Said Tom And he laid his head on his knees And then asked Is it Sunday?

No,

Then,

Why should it be?

Because I hear the church bells ringing so Bless thy pretty heart The bairn's sick Come with me and I'll help thee up somewhere If thou wert a bit cleaner I'd put thee in my own bed For the Lord's sake But come along here But when Tom tried to get up He was so tired and giddy That she had to help him And lead him She put him in an outhouse Upon soft,

Sweet hay And an old rug And bade him sleep off his walk And she would come to him When school was over In an hour's time And so she went in again Expecting Tom to fall asleep at once But Tom did not fall asleep Instead of it he turned And tossed and kicked about In the strangest way And felt so hot all over That he longed to get into the river And cool himself And then he fell half asleep And dreamt that he heard The little white lady crying to him Oh,

You're so dirty Go and be washed And then that he heard The Irish woman saying Those that wish to be clean Clean they will be And then he heard the church bells Ring so loud Close to him That he was sure it must be Sunday In spite of what the old dame had said And he would go to church And see what a church was like Inside For he'd never been in one Poor little fellow In all his life But the people would never Let him come in All over soot and dirt like that He must go to the river And wash first And he said out loud again and again Though being half asleep He did not know it I must be clean I must be clean And all of the sudden He found himself Not in the outhouse on the hay But in the middle of a meadow Over the road With the stream just before him Saying continually I must be clean I must be clean He had got there On his own legs Between sleep and awake As children will often get out of bed And go about the room When they are not quite well But he was not a bit surprised And went on the bank Of the brook And lay down on the grass And looked into the clear,

Clear Limestone water With every pebble at the bottom Bright and clean While the little silver trout Dashed about in fright At the sight of his black face And he dipped his hand in And found it so cool Cool Cool And he said I will be a fish I will swim in the water I must be clean I must be clean So he pulled off all his clothes In such haste that he tore some of them Which was easy enough With such ragged old things And he put his poor,

Hot,

Sore feet Into the water And then his legs And the further he went in The more the church bells rang in his head Ah Said Tom I must be quick And wash myself The bells are ringing quite loud now And they will stop soon And then the door will be shut And I shall never be able To get in at all Tom was mistaken For in England The church doors are left open All service time For anybody who likes to come in may Churchman or dissenter Ay Even if he were a Turk or a heathen And if any man dared To turn him out As long as he behaved quietly The good old English law Would punish that man As he deserved For ordering any peaceable person Out of God's house Which belongs to all alike But Tom did not know that Any more than he knew A great deal more Which people ought to know And all the while He never saw the Irish woman Not behind him this time But before She had stepped down Into the cool clear water And her shawl and her petticoat Floated off of her And the green water weeds Floated round her sides And the white water lilies Floated round her head And the fairies of the stream Came up from the bottom And bore her away And down upon their arms For she was the queen Of them all And perhaps of more besides Where have you been,

They asked her I have been Smoothing sick folks' pillows And whispering sweet dreams Into their ears Opening cottage casements To let out the stifling air Coaxing little children Away from gutters And foul pools where fever breeds Turning women From the gin shop door And staying men's hands As they were going to strike their wives Doing all that I can To help those Who will not help themselves And little enough,

That is And weary work for me But I have brought you A new little brother And watched him safe All the way here Then all the fairies Laughed for joy at the thought That they had a little brother coming But mind,

Maidens He must not see you Or know that you are here He is but a savage now And like the beasts Which perish And from the beasts Which perish He must learn So you must not play with him Or speak to him Or let him see you But only keep him from being harmed Then the fairies were sad They did not play with their new brother But they always did what they were told And their queen Floated away down the river And whither she went Thither she came But all this Tom Of course Never saw or heard And perhaps if he had It would have made little difference In the story For he was so hot and thirsty And long so to be Cleaned for once That he tumbled himself as quick as he could Into the clear Cool Stream And he had not been in it two minutes Before he fell fast asleep Into the quietest Sunniest Coziest sleep that he had ever Had in his life And he dreamt about the green meadows By which he had walked that morning In the tall elm trees And the sleeping Cows And after that he dreamt Of nothing at all The reason of his falling into Such a delightful sleep Is very simple And yet hardly anyone has found it out It was merely That the fairies Had taken him And that is the end of our story This evening Until next time Sweet dreams

Reviews

Stranger still… but at last a nice old lady and the beautiful stream…

Another great story and so beautifully read with your (by now) familiar voice. Thank you 🙏🏻