Here Comes Treble: Four-and-Twenty Hadedas
...This bird is surprisingly clumsy and with a loud humanlike voice shouts as it flies: ‘ha – ha – ha-deda,’ as if saying, ‘I’m afraid of heights, I’m going to fall! Aaaah!” They are incredibly noisy, and far from welcome when they rouse one from sleep at dawn...
But it was the tiny "human Hadedas''who caught and held Isabel Bradley's enthusiastic attention at the year-end nurery school concert.
In South Africa, one of our large indigenous birds is known as the Hadeda. It is a glossy ibis, and is rather lovely when the sun shines on its iridescent feathers. In the shade, it is a drab, brown bird, a little smaller than a goose, with a longish neck and a very long, curved beak, designed for digging in the ground to find juicy crickets and other insects.
This bird is surprisingly clumsy and with a loud humanlike voice shouts as it flies: ‘ha – ha – ha-deda,’ as if saying, ‘I’m afraid of heights, I’m going to fall! Aaaah!” They are incredibly noisy, and far from welcome when they rouse one from sleep at dawn, overpowering every other birds’ liquid calls with their raucous calls. However, they are an integral part of life in our country, and in an odd way, we are all fond of these ungainly creatures.
When we went to the year-end concert at our great-niece’s nursery school, it was a delight to see that the title of the performance was ‘Eight-and-Forty Hadedas’. Kendra is all of two and a half years’ old and has only been at school since April this year. Nevertheless, though one of the smallest children there, she was determined to be the centre of attention, her hair up in high pigtails, mouthing all the words and following all the actions.
A short time before the beginning of the performance, a little chap of about four was led onto stage by a teacher. His arm was in plaster from finger-tips to shoulder, and he looked a little pale. He sat on a chair, with his arm propped on a cushion next to him. For about ten minutes, he sat quietly, gazing out at the slowly filling hall. Then he started meeting people’s eyes as they looked at him. Someone must have winked at him: he tried hard to wink back, using both eyes simultaneously. Then he gave wide grins and little waves as his family arrived, but throughout the evening, he sat quietly and behaved like an angel.
After a twenty minute delay waiting for parents to arrive through the rush-hour traffic, forty-eight little ones, ranging in age from two to six, were led on-stage by their teachers. Forty-eight excited nursery-school children certainly made as much noise as a flight of Hadedas.
They recited, they sang, they waved their arms, they danced for us, in large groups and small, and our little Kendra sparkled, the brightest of all these little stars.
The little ones had not yet learned much about discipline, and certainly knew little of team-work. Each personality shone from the stage for all to see, from the befuddled and confused little angel who gazed around wondering what she was supposed to do next, to two born performers in the older group who swung their hips and sang their loudest in grand imitation of every famous pop diva imaginable. There were boys who swung their hats and canes with great zest, endangering those closest to them, and those who strode through the formation of children as if they’d been on-stage all their lives. There were the show-offs and the natural talents, like Kendra, who knew all the words and went about the business of entertaining their parents with joy.
When the smallest children were taken to one side to allow the bigger children to strut their stuff, each little one was given a lollipop. Kendra ambled amongst her friends, licking her lollipop, waving and grinning at her parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents and great-aunt-and-uncle, showing off her purple tongue. Her relatives far outnumbered those of any of the other children.
Throughout the show, parents rushed to the front, clogging the centre aisle, cameras rising and falling, trying to frame their particular little darling. Flash lights blazed, and there was a continuous jostling for position. This was no silent audience, parents called encouragement and cheered their children on.
What a delight to see all that enthusiasm, packed into one short hour.
The thrill of the show? This is the South Africanised version of Sing a Song of Sixpence, which the children recited to open the show. It is not my own work, but that of one of the clever teachers who worked so hard to achieve a perfect concert:
Sing a song of five cents
A pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty Hadedas,
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to call;
Oh, how they screamed and squawked,
It did annoy us all.
Dad was at the ATM,
Drawing out some money.
Mom was in the kitchen,
Eating toast and honey.
Gran was in the garden,
Hanging out the clothes,
When along came a Hadeda
And pecked off her nose!
At the end of the programme, exhausted teachers took the children back to their classrooms, accompanied by delighted applause. Soon Gareth, Kendra’s father, went to fetch his daughter, his chest puffed out like that of a proud peacock… Or maybe, a Hadeda.
Part of the joy of children is in watching them grow and achieve success from moment to moment, and in marking those achievements with milestones such as this concert, enjoyed by every member of the family.
Until next time … ‘here comes Treble!’
The End
© Copyright Reserved
by Isabel Bradley
**
To read more of Isabel's sparkling columns please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/here_comes_treble/
