The Ugly Duckling audiobook for kids
Tales of Hans Christian Andersen
Adapted
by Jeff Capel
Summer had arrived in
the countryside. The fields were green and the birds sang from
morning until night. At the old manor
house, the ducks spent their days
dabbling about in the moat hoping that one of the children might arrive with some breadcrumbs or sitting by the water’s edge preening their feathers in the warm sunshine.
In a quiet place, hidden by long grass and leaves, a
mother duck was welcoming her new
babies into the world. One by one her eggs were hatching. She listened for the
tap tap tap of little beaks against eggshell,
then crack crack crack
as the ducklings’ yellow heads peeped
out, then ‘cheep’, ‘cheep’, ‘cheep’ as the youngsters looked
around at their big new world. ‘You’re the prettiest ducklings I’ve ever
seen,’ the mother said.
There was one egg,
however, that was bigger
than the others and took longer to hatch. The mother duck was getting bored sitting on it to keep it warm
and the ducklings were getting bored too because they wanted to explore and take
their first swim. ‘I’ll just wait a little longer,’ sighed their
mother. ‘It must hatch soon!’
And
it did. First came the tap tap tap,
then the crack crack crack,
then the ‘cheep’
‘cheep’ ‘cheep’.
Proudly, the mother duck looked down at her new baby expecting to see
another pretty yellow head. But, oh
dear! This duckling was very big and, instead
of pretty yellow
feathers, there were boring grey ones. ‘This
one obviously takes
after his father,’ she thought. ‘He’s mine and I’ll look after him, but what
will the other birds say?’
She didn’t have long to find out. The next day the
mother duck waddled down to the moat
with her family in a single file behind her. With a splash, she jumped into the water, and it felt
wonderful having been on her nest for
so long. The ducklings followed, the last to hatch making a bigger splash than
his brothers and sisters, but the mother was
pleased to see that he swam just as
well. At first the water washed
over her babies’ heads, but they soon
got the hang of it and bobbed happily along following their mother. They swam
once round the entire moat before she led them out of the water and up the grassy bank towards the manor
house.
Soon they reached the farmyard where, as well as the other ducks,
there were noisy chickens, bossy
geese and plump posh turkeys. The
chickens scratched around in the mud and ignored the new arrivals. The geese honked a greeting and the turkey
puffed out his feathers to show that he thought he was better than everybody
else.
All the birds had just been fed and as always arguments had broken
out over the best food. ‘Stay close to me, my darlings,’ said
the mother duck. ‘Be nice and polite to the grown ups and keep an eye
out for the farmyard cat!’
‘Such pretty ducklings,’
said the elderly brown duck, ‘apart from the one at the back. He’s far too big and very ugly!’
‘Can’t you
put him back in his egg?’ sneered another duck with a shiny green head.
‘We don’t
want ugly things like you
round here!’
‘What horrible grey feathers!’ quacked another
duck. ‘We won’t put up with him in our farmyard,’
and with that he flapped over to the poor duckling and pecked him hard on the neck.
‘Leave him alone,’ said the mother crossly. ‘He’s
not doing any harm. And I’m sure
he’ll grow into his looks.’
But the other birds didn’t
leave the ugly duckling alone. They
laughed at him and called him names and sometimes even trod on him. Then they started to chase him and peck at him.
His brothers and sisters joined in with the teasing, saying ‘You’re so ugly, we wish the cat would get you!’
which was terribly unkind and made
him cry.
Even the farmer’s
daughter who fed the birds was heard
to say to her father, ‘Have
you seen the new brood of ducklings?
There’s a clumsy grey one!’ and the ugly duckling felt sure that,
when she kicked him, it wasn’t
an accident.
After
a week of name-calling, the duckling could stand it no more. He was all alone
in the world, so he crept away
from the farmyard and into a hedge to spend a lonely, sad night.
The little birds in the bushes flew away frightened because they hadn’t
ever seen such a strange-looking creature. ‘I wish I had never hatched,’ spluttered the duckling as tears slid down his beak.
The next morning he awoke
with a jump. Gunshots filled
the air. Huntsmen were out in
the countryside shooting ducks for dinner and they had big dogs with them that
growled as they bounded through the fields.
The duckling crouched low and stayed perfectly still, hoping not to be seen. Scared for his life,
he closed his eyes and listened to
the bangs of the guns, to the shouts of the men and the barks of the dogs as
they came closer and closer.
The duckling turned his head to hide it under his wing and found
himself staring into the face of a huge black dog. With gleaming eyes, a long wet tongue and a jaw full of razor-sharp teeth, the dog looked at the duckling. It came closer…and closer with a fierce growl and the terrified bird felt the
hound’s meaty breath ruffle his feathers.
Then….. ‘Yuk! What an
ugly duck! I don’t think my master would find you very
tasty.’ Laughing cruelly,
the dog turned tail and trotted off. ‘I’m not even worth eating,’ sighed
the ugly duckling, “but I can’t stay round here, it’s too dangerous.’
After hours of wandering,
the ugly duckling looked for
somewhere safe to spend the night. He came upon a little cottage that was so ancient and rickety,
with a door hanging off its hinges and a front path overgrown with brambles,
that at first he thought nobody could live
there.
In fact it was home to
an old woman, who couldn’t see very well, and her two companions; a
purring cat called Sonny and a hen
which she called Chicky Low Legs.
‘Mmm,’ said the old
woman, ‘now I can have duck eggs as
well as chicken eggs! You can live here with us, though I have
to say you’re not the most handsome of birds, are you?’
‘You mean he’s ugly!’
grinned Sonny the cat to the hen.
‘Can you purr?’ he asked the duckling.
‘No!’
‘Then you’d better keep your
mouth shut!’ and he curled up in his
basket and showed off his own purring
skills.
‘Can
you lay eggs?’ clucked
Chicky Low Legs.
‘No!’
‘Then you’re not much
use round here, are you?’ she said
spitefully. ‘What can you
do?’
‘Well, I can float on water,’ said the duckling, ‘and it’s
a fantastic feeling to duck your head
under and down to the bottom.’
‘You’re quite
mad!’ replied the hen. ‘Our mistress
is the wisest person in the whole world and I’m sure floating on water or ducking under it is the last thing
she would want to do!’
‘I
don’t think you understand me,’
said the duckling.
Sonny the cat opened
his eyes and said: ‘Well, if we don’t understand you, who
would? You’re not welcome here!’
‘Then
I shall go out into the world again,’
said the duckling. And that is what he did.
The
next morning, before anyone was awake, he slipped out of the old cottage.
He spent his days on
the water, gliding across the surface or ducking his long neck down to
the bottom. This made him happy but he still had no friends because all the
other animals and birds said he was
ugly.
Summer passed into autumn and the leaves turned golden. The duckling wondered what the birds were
doing back in the farmyard and whether they ever thought about coming to find him.
‘Sadly,’ he thought, ‘they won’t have
noticed I’m gone. Not even my brothers and sisters.’
It was getting colder
and some of the birds were preparing to fly
away to warmer countries where they could spend the winter. One evening,
as a beautiful crimson sunset made the countryside glow red, the duckling saw a flock of the loveliest birds he had ever
seen. Although they too had long necks like
him, they were an exquisite white, like
the purest snowfall, not his grey,
and they moved with such grace and elegance.
‘What
are those birds?’ he asked a sparrow.
‘Please
don’t look at me,’ it chirped, ‘but I can tell you they are called Swans.’
‘Oh
I wish I could look like that!’ thought the duckling.
‘I
bet you do,’ laughed the
sparrow and off it hopped.
As the duckling gazed
at the splendid white swans, the
birds stretched their necks high, cried out to each other, and lifted into the air on strong, powerful wings.
The duckling stared after them, marvelling at the wonderful sight they made as they soared beneath
the clouds in a vast V-shape across the sky. ‘I wonder where they’re going,’ thought the duckling. ‘I’d like to go wherever it is.’
The winter was cold,
so very cold. The duckling shivered and paddled in the water to stop itself freezing. There was little to eat and so he suffered and was miserable
through the days of heavy frost and sleety showers, trying to keep warm
in the reed- beds of a bleak and unfriendly marsh.
When the spring came and the sun warmed his feathers, he flapped
his wings and thought to himself that they somehow felt stronger than before. Trees were in bloom now and flowers had
peered through the earth and, although he was
alone, the duckling enjoyed his first taste of spring.
One day he was gliding down a canal when straight ahead of him he caught sight of the
beautiful white birds he had seen all those months ago and which he now knew
were called Swans.
‘I must talk to them,’
he thought. ‘They must be royal birds, being so proud and lovely.
Even though they will call me ugly
and possibly peck me and hurt me, I must tell them how beautiful I think they
are.’
So the duckling swam
towards the swans and bowed his head to them, waiting for the insults. As he dipped his head towards the water
he caught sight of his own reflection.
What looked back at him was not an ugly, clumsy grey bird but a fine, white swan.
He was a swan! He was
a swan! The others gathered around
him to admire his fine feathers and
striking yellow and black beak. ‘How
handsome you are!’ they agreed.
Some
children were walking by the canal.
‘There’s a new one!’ they shouted happily.
‘Mum, Dad, look. There’s
a new swan and he’s the prettiest one of all. We love
him the best!’
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