Gerta and the Silly Billies

Gerta and the Silly Billies

The troll family of the tribe Jeronaka had lived under one particular wooden bridge for as long as anyone could remember. Their Great-Grandtrolls would still be there if they had not gotten a bit too old in their joints and chose to move out to the old troll’s home that was under the larger bridge nearer the town. This was easier for their relations who were either working or bringing up the next generation of trolls. Honestly, the extra space was handy as even when the oldest ones left there were still three generations snugly fitting in the little house disguised by undergrowth and overgrowth, rocks, mud and anything else that would ensure that they were not in view of humankind.

The Great Grandfather troll’s health had started to decline first. His memory was fine as long as you wanted to talk about things that happened over 200 hundred years ago. Trolls have a considerably longer lifespan than us mortals - some living over 350 years - anyway he was the first to become incoherent, a bit more dribbly than normal and as Great-Grandmother troll could not look after him the burden fell to their trolldren. It shouldn’t have been a burden, and they never said it was, however time, space and patience do run thin in these situations and the two old trolls were now settled happily in their new apartment looking out over the river bed where eels and pike happily danced in front of their small windows. A warden was on hand if they rolled out of their mud beds at night or simply forgot which part of the body their troll underwear went on.

The recent construction of bridges across England caused great relief to the Troll community. Trolls need bridges as we need air and the constant stress that humanity may take away their very means of survival was always upon them. Trolls do not need stone or wooden bridges, although these will do and the traditionalist trolls do prefer them, they can live under the new steel ones quite contently and you often hear of young trolls when partnered moving away from the family bridge and bringing up their trolldren in the cities. Newcastle Quayside has at least nine small settlements under the seven bridges that are both old and new and they have lived contentedly and in harmony with their surroundings. The young ones especially like to sit outside on Friday and Saturday evenings watching their human contemporaries, dance, sing and stagger those nights away.

Trolls are beautiful. It is a sad indication of our human knowledge about these fine looking creatures that we only know the tale of the three billy-goats named Gruff who had to go up a hill to get the nutrients needed to fatten themselves. Of course they had to cross over the bridge under which an unassuming troll named Gerta, was minding her own business. To hear the goats talk afterwards the exaggeration was ludicrous! The story we read to our own little ones now is completely unfair, untrue and unkind. Firstly, Gerta is not ugly. Her eyes are not as big as saucers and her nose is definitely not as long as a poker. Like all trolls, Gerta is vegetarian, most creatures and beings who live close to the ground are. They see no need or reason to kill other living things just to suck meat from their bones to sate their own appetites. To state that she shouted ‘I’m coming to gobble you up’ is pure fantasy and needs to be put to bed right now which I in my proud role as a Troll Ally will now endeavor to do.

Once upon a time there lived three billy-goats whose family name was Gruff and all three were named Billy due to their parents being extremely unimaginative as is the wont of the goat. As the winter drew in they had to travel a little more than usual to feast on the succulent grasses that bloomed green and luscious on the hillside above their home field. To get there they had to cross an extremely small, well kept, safe, stone bridge that the lovely troll Gerta lived under. She was unusual for trolls in that she lived alone, liking her own company. Gerta had long brown hair which she decorated with daisies and buttercups, beautiful, large blue eyes and a perfectly sized nose for her perfectly sized face. Her smile came often and had been the reason for many proposals of marriage that she was always grateful for, always considered, and always rejected.

The first Billy Goat Gruff to cross was the youngest one. He had run ahead of the others as the budding ones are inclined to do. As he tap tap tapped over the bridge Gerta popped her head out, smiled her beautiful smile and said ‘Hello wee one, how are you today?’

‘Ahhhhh. Ahhhhh’ screamed the silly little goat. I mean I understand he had a fright but really? ‘Don’t eat me up…my bigger brother’s coming and he… well, he would make a better goat pie than I.’

‘Silly Billy, why would I do that? Off with you, up the hill and enjoy your vitals.’

The smallest Billy Goat Gruff galloped off as fast as his small hooves would carry him, eventually stopping when he could no longer see the bridge or hear the sweet songs sung from the equally sweet Gerta. Gerta went back to her baking. She often made cakes and took them to the local old trolls home to cheer up those whose families couldn’t or wouldn’t visit much. She was just putting the icing on the final cherry cake when she heard a slightly louder tap tap tap of hooves and the middle Billy Goat Gruff came skipping over.

‘Hello there’ she shouted in nothing that could be thought of as an extremely cheery manner.

‘Ahhhhh. Ahhhhh’ screamed the very silly middle sized goat. I mean I understand he had a fright but really? ‘Don’t eat me up…my bigger brother’s coming and he… well, he would make a better goat casserole than I.’

‘Silly Billy, why would I do that? Off with you, up the hill and enjoy your vitals,’ and Greta went back to arranging the cherry on top of the final cherry cake when she not only heard but felt a large tap tap tap over the stone bridge she was under.

‘It’s good to see you, how are you doing?’ she asked the eldest Billy Goat Gruff whose eyes widened and mouth dropped open and he shook as if he were a martini being made. The goat shouted:

‘Oh my goodness, do you have spears?

Please don’t poke out my eyeballs or ears!

The two smaller ones have more skin on their bones,

I’m old and lean and will taste like stones.’

And with that he ran, gallopped, cantered up the hill leaving Greta a little shaken and bewildered but she quickly put that out of her head and carried on with being a thoroughly nice Troll. The Billy Goat Gruffs often dine out on their story of how the small and the middle goat had escaped the troll’s capture and the largest had chased her away with his brave ferocity. The other goats believe them blindly as none are brave or interested enough to check the bridge out and the Gruff’s never returned to it as they all became fathers to their own small, medium and large goats, all of which are called Billy.