5-10 minutes - Perfect for bedtime - Magic & adventure
Tonight’s story is about Mr Bubble Beard, the Bubbly Bearded Man - but perhaps you know him? After all, he lives just around the corner.
Well if you’d seen him, you’d already know exactly why he’s called Mr Bubble Beard, the Bubbly Bearded Man. You can hardly miss it. But just in case you haven’t seen him - yet - I’ll describe him.
Mr Bubble Beard is an ordinary man of ordinary height, who walks his ordinary dog and calls out ‘good morning’ in the mornings and ‘good afternoon’ in the afternoons in quite an ordinary voice. And yet there is something extraordinary about… well, not about him exactly, but about…
His beard.
It is a very strange thing. A thing of curiosity, of spectacle, of mysterious marvel and wibbling wonderment. Nobody, but nobody, can make tufts or tails of this beard - because indeed there are no tufts or tails to be made. The peculiar thing about this beard, you see, is that it’s made entirely of bubbles.
Bubbles. I’ll say that again. It’s very hard to imagine but the closest thing to do is, in a very bubbletastic bubble bath, submerge the bottom half of your face (be sure to close your mouth first, bubbles are not often the tastiest of treats) and when you arise - there you have it. A bubble beard. Some days Mr Bubble Beard sports just a light covering of froth, others he has long droopy spheres that spool down to his chest. Sometimes, it’s been known that one of two beard bubbles have escaped on a strong wind and floated away. Once, it was said that he sneezed and popped three on his top lip in one single ACHOO! But, before you could blink, more bubbles reappeared in their place.
In the bath, you can take off your bubble beard with a simple swipe of your flannel. Mr Bubble Beard, however, is not so lucky. He’s stuck with it. No matter how many times he swipes or pops or sneezes away, or how long he stands in strong winds, they keep growing back.
Many have wondered how it ever came to be, how a man ever grew a bubble beard, and here’s exactly how it came about…
When Mr Bubble Beard was a boy, a little bit older than you but not much, he really fancied a girl in his class. Ooh, he thought she was the cleverest, funniest, prettiest girl he’d ever seen - and he decided that if he could grow a beard, she’d be so impressed at how manly he was that she’d fancy him back. A bit of a strange idea for a boy, maybe, but once he’d decided on it, it was all he could think about.
But even though he reaaally wanted to grow a beard, it just wouldn’t grow. He wasn’t old enough. He stared in the mirror and looked this way and that way, far away and right up close to the glass, but there wasn’t even a tiny wisp of a beard. Not a single hair. His face was as smooth as smooth can be.
He was so disappointed.
But then, one day - and this is where it gets interesting - his mum and dad took him to a fairground. It was a normal fairground, just like the last one you went to, with rides that span and rides that shot up and plunged down, and loud music and candy floss and all the usual fairground things. Off to one side, just inside the gate, a tent caught his eye. On the stripy door, a funny crooked sign read “Spells £1 each. Any wish you want granted.”
He stopped for a moment and looked at the door. Spells? What was this - fairyland? Spells weren’t real. Neither were wishes. What a lot of nonsense. What a silly tent. Who on earth would open up such a silly tent as that?
Well, that’s the thought that encouraged him inside - just to see.
And inside the tent, was a tall man, sitting on a stool behind a table. He didn’t look magical. He looked a bit bored actually, and he was stroking a very fat black cat.
“Every spell, just one pound.” He said.
“Are they real?” Of course they couldn’t be real.
“Yes.”
“And it’ll grant my wish?”
He paused. “Not always exactly, but usually more or less.”
It was too intriguing to resist. The boy slid the coin across the table. Without a word, the man produced a big black cauldron and a huge wooden spoon. From underneath the table came all sorts of things that he stirred into the pot, quickly one after the other, as casually as if he was making a cup of tea. A splash of clear liquid, a pinch of red powder, a shake of black curls that fizzled as they fell and finally a spoonful of something slimy.
Just as the boy began to wonder if he’d have to drink this gelatinous gloop, the man slapped a little plain notepad on to the table top next to his pot. Steadily, he tore out a single page and, pinching it between his finger and thumb, he lowered it into the swirling liquid.
As he pulled it out, the boy could see that now it was covered with writing. The man gave it a good shake, blew on it and then held it up to the light and peered at the words.
“Ah,” he said. “A beard. It’s a bubble one, I’m afraid.”
He passed the paper to the waiting boy.
“A bubble one?” The boy echoed, bewildered.
“Yes.” The man replaced the cauldron out of sight behind the table and went back to stroking his cat. “Afraid bubble’s the only beard we’ve got today.”
The boy blinked. “But…”
“Look,” the man sounded a bit annoyed, “I said it grants them more or less. And yours is less. Or perhaps more - do you like bubbles?”
The man had asked the question so hopefully that the boy could barely answer. “Umm. Not really as a beard, I don’t think.”
The man bristled again. “Well, take it or leave it. Up to you. Cast it or don’t. Your choice.”
The man slid the pound coin pointedly off the table into a little coin bag.
“Off you go.” He ordered.
The boy found himself back outside, in a bit of a daze, still holding the damp paper. He looked at it. What a lot of nonsense. A spell, indeed. He looked over at the bin, and then put it safely in his pocket.
All the way home and while he ate his tea, he told himself very firmly that magic is not real. Of course, he already knew that. Spells are make believe. Who did that man think he was - a magician? A wizard? How ridiculous! How daft he had been to spend a whole pound on a silly con.
In fact it was so silly, and so ridiculous, and such a con that even if he cast it, nothing would happen. Well, of course it wouldn’t. It couldn’t possibly. Could it? What do you think?
Well, that night, the boy stood in front of his mirror, holding his spell, and smirked. And then he read the words.
Once he finished, he threw the paper into the bathroom. Then he gave his beardless chin one last look and turned the light off. He went to bed.
And that was the very last time he would ever look in the mirror and see a beardless chin, ever again. The very next morning, a POP woke him up. He rolled over to the other side - POP again. From that day, and for every day and every minute since, Mr Bubble Beard has had a beard - more or less. A beard made of bubbles.
So beware the next spell you come across, and the next time you make a wish, and be sure you always, always believe in magic for it could be just around the corner.
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