Feature: Frogs, Just Frogs
Hampton, Middlesex. 1980. Seven year old Alexandra Taylor is praised for her excellent classwork and awarded a small, wooden pencil sharpener in the shape of a frog playing the flute. An innocuous event in itself, but little was teacher Mrs Allcock to realise that this minor event would alter the course of little Alexandra's life.
So pleased was I with this gift that, when I saw a similar frog on a shop shelf, this time clutching a tiny baton, rigidly conducting a silent frog orchestra, I knew it had to be mine. Soon a drummer was also added to the small band of brothers, and my collection began.
I often wonder if my obsession with frogs is based on some kind of irrational belief that one day one of them will turn into a handsome prince. On reflection I usually reject this theory - I don't recall ever kissing any of them, and it's more likely that I just have an obsessional personality. If it hadn't been frogs it could have been spiders, snakes, or even earwigs.
But even this doesn't ring entirely true. There's something charming, familiar and friendly about frogs. From domestic greenies to the blues, yellows and reds of the tropics, they gaze naively on the world with open eyes and a simplistic delight in their watery home.
My love of the humble frog doesn't end with slimy skin and hopping legs, it extends to wood, pottery, paper, plastic and metal. The inhabitants of many a woodland pond can be brought into the home for a few pounds or pence. They are, admittedly, not as nimble as their lively counterparts, but are easier to control and just as cute.
However, the connoisseur of artificial frogs must be discriminating - there are many ugly, leering, foul-coloured and low-quality specimens out there. As a household ornament the humble frog is popular, and the indiscriminate collector could end up with a house full of expensive undesirables. After my first couple of over-enthusiastic years, have honed my purchases to the bare minimum and only invite beautiful, reasonably priced and well-mannered creatures into my home. As a result, wherever I look I see happy, smiling, froggy faces which give me a great deal of pleasure.
The popularity of manufactured frogs never ceases to surprise me given the relative unpopularity of their living templates. Over the years the humble frog has attracted many an uncomplimentary connotation: 'hop it', 'to croak' and 'spawn of the Devil' are just a few of these slurs. Even in fairy stories, mind food for every impressionable youngster, they are associated with wicked witches and foul potions.
With such blatant discrimination drummed into us from an early age, is it any wonder that our slimy chums receive such a raw deal?
There is however evidence of genius in the froggy gene pool. It is said (mainly by me, admittedly) that the mildly amusing 'cockerel/frog:book/reddit' joke* is based on a real tadpole prodigy who frequented the libraries of Birmingham in the late 1960's.
There are also several froggy celebrities, the three most eminent being Jeremy Fisher, Toad of Toad Hall and the irrepressible Kermit. But even these giants of gregarious greenness have had their troubles. Jeremy Fisher almost got eaten alive in his own home, Toadie would have been either locked up or killed by weasels without his other riverbank pals, and as for Kermit, his waking hours must be haunted by visions of what could happen should Miss Piggy ever catch him.
But between them, Jeremy, Toadie and Kermit have brought much happiness to the world, in the same way that my many froggy friends have brought me domestic pleasure. I will continue to sing the praises of the humble frog and remind cynics everywhere that, while a frog's life may seem simplistic, it isn't easy being green.
*Explanation of above mentioned joke:
One day a librarian was surprised to see a cockerel come up to the library counter."Book", it said. So she handed it a book. The cockerel returned the next day. "Book", it said, and once again she gave it a book. The next day it was back again. "Book", it said. She handed it another book and this time followed the cockerel out of the library. She followed it across the street and down a disused alleyway. At the bottom of the alleyway there was a huge pile of books, and sitting on top was a small frog. "Book", said the cockerel, and placed the latest book on the pile. "Reddit" said the frog.
(Published in 'Ars Magique' 1996)
So pleased was I with this gift that, when I saw a similar frog on a shop shelf, this time clutching a tiny baton, rigidly conducting a silent frog orchestra, I knew it had to be mine. Soon a drummer was also added to the small band of brothers, and my collection began.
I often wonder if my obsession with frogs is based on some kind of irrational belief that one day one of them will turn into a handsome prince. On reflection I usually reject this theory - I don't recall ever kissing any of them, and it's more likely that I just have an obsessional personality. If it hadn't been frogs it could have been spiders, snakes, or even earwigs.
But even this doesn't ring entirely true. There's something charming, familiar and friendly about frogs. From domestic greenies to the blues, yellows and reds of the tropics, they gaze naively on the world with open eyes and a simplistic delight in their watery home.
My love of the humble frog doesn't end with slimy skin and hopping legs, it extends to wood, pottery, paper, plastic and metal. The inhabitants of many a woodland pond can be brought into the home for a few pounds or pence. They are, admittedly, not as nimble as their lively counterparts, but are easier to control and just as cute.
However, the connoisseur of artificial frogs must be discriminating - there are many ugly, leering, foul-coloured and low-quality specimens out there. As a household ornament the humble frog is popular, and the indiscriminate collector could end up with a house full of expensive undesirables. After my first couple of over-enthusiastic years, have honed my purchases to the bare minimum and only invite beautiful, reasonably priced and well-mannered creatures into my home. As a result, wherever I look I see happy, smiling, froggy faces which give me a great deal of pleasure.
The popularity of manufactured frogs never ceases to surprise me given the relative unpopularity of their living templates. Over the years the humble frog has attracted many an uncomplimentary connotation: 'hop it', 'to croak' and 'spawn of the Devil' are just a few of these slurs. Even in fairy stories, mind food for every impressionable youngster, they are associated with wicked witches and foul potions.
With such blatant discrimination drummed into us from an early age, is it any wonder that our slimy chums receive such a raw deal?
There is however evidence of genius in the froggy gene pool. It is said (mainly by me, admittedly) that the mildly amusing 'cockerel/frog:book/reddit' joke* is based on a real tadpole prodigy who frequented the libraries of Birmingham in the late 1960's.
There are also several froggy celebrities, the three most eminent being Jeremy Fisher, Toad of Toad Hall and the irrepressible Kermit. But even these giants of gregarious greenness have had their troubles. Jeremy Fisher almost got eaten alive in his own home, Toadie would have been either locked up or killed by weasels without his other riverbank pals, and as for Kermit, his waking hours must be haunted by visions of what could happen should Miss Piggy ever catch him.
But between them, Jeremy, Toadie and Kermit have brought much happiness to the world, in the same way that my many froggy friends have brought me domestic pleasure. I will continue to sing the praises of the humble frog and remind cynics everywhere that, while a frog's life may seem simplistic, it isn't easy being green.
*Explanation of above mentioned joke:
One day a librarian was surprised to see a cockerel come up to the library counter."Book", it said. So she handed it a book. The cockerel returned the next day. "Book", it said, and once again she gave it a book. The next day it was back again. "Book", it said. She handed it another book and this time followed the cockerel out of the library. She followed it across the street and down a disused alleyway. At the bottom of the alleyway there was a huge pile of books, and sitting on top was a small frog. "Book", said the cockerel, and placed the latest book on the pile. "Reddit" said the frog.
(Published in 'Ars Magique' 1996)
love it, very real reflection.xx
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