← Koala Moon: Kids Bedtime Stories & Sleep Stories for Kids Podcast
Koala Moon: Kids Bedtime Stories & Sleep Stories for Kids Podcast
The Mole, the Vole & The Cosiest Hole 🐭⭐️ Cute Kids Bedtime Story
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In tonight's bedtime story for kids we're joining a vole named Viola Velvet as she prepares her cozy home for a visit from her good friend Walter the Mole. Walter is especially excited, as Viola is the absolute hostess with the most-ess, and he knows he's instore for the comfiest, warmest, loveliest retreat. Relax, get sleepy, and let’s begin!
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Foreign hello and welcome back to Koala Moon, a podcast of original children's bedtime stories and meditations designed to make bedtime a dream. Shout out to Coco Clubber Erin tonight who just got her black bag in karate. Nice one. That is seriously impressive. As I've heard, it takes a lot of time, effort, dedication, just an awful lot of everything to get to black belt level skills. Hmm. It's also just given me an idea. I wonder if Koko could learn a kata or two one day. Koko and Kira learn karate. Hmm, that's a good title. I'll just leave that there for the writers to have a little think about. Well done Erin. Before we begin, a quick message for the grown ups. If you'd like to support our podcast, enjoy ad free listening, unlock four bonus stories per month and much, much more. You can join Koko Club. Subscribe in just two taps via the link in the show notes, but now here's a quick word from our sponsors Parents if your kids love magical, silly what if ideas like what if sharks had legs? Or what if I could talk to donuts? They'll love the podcast what if Stories for kids every week, Mr. Eric takes real kids what if questions and turns them into hilarious, magical stories packed with wizards, talking animals, robots, and a whole lot of heart. With over 300 episodes, it's the perfect way to spark creativity and unwind at the end of the day. And since each episode sneaks in thoughtful lessons about empathy, growth and imagination, it's a win for parents too. One episode that our Koala Moon listeners might love is episode 131, what if kids Could Sleep at School. It's a funny, light hearted tale perfect for before bed. Check out what if World on Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen. That's what if World Stories for Kids. Hey Koala Moon listeners, ever found yourself scratching your head over a big why or how? Then you'll love who Smarted, one of the top rated educational podcasts for kids and curious grown ups too. In every episode, the trusty narrator takes kids on wild adventures to explore science, history, and all kinds of curious topics from what are marshmallows made of? To why are hummingbirds so unique? You'll discover fun facts, play along with interactive quizzes, and maybe even learn something new. Each episode is only 15 minutes, perfect for car rides, snack breaks, or winding down after school. And if you're looking for a fun bedtime listen, check out the special episodes we created with the trusty narrator called the Story of Bedtime Stories. You'll find it over on their feed. Who Smarted is available on all major podcast platforms. Search for WhoSmarted on Spotify, Apple or wherever you get podcasts. Hey Cosy Koalas. The holiday festivities may have ended, but we're just getting started on our new Coco club stories for 2025. And because so many of you loved our December promotion of 30 nights free access, we've decided to extend our special offer into January until January 27th. New subscribers can claim an extended free trial of Coco Club just in time to settle into a soothing bedtime routine after the busyness of the holidays. With Coco Club, you'll unlock over 450 AD free bedtime stories, including a brand new potato and Beans mega compilation coming on January 21st. This special story features all previously released potato and beans Mrs. Pig and Ozzy the Octopus Tales, offering you hours of uninterrupted cozy diner adventures. And if that's not magic enough, join Coco Club as a yearly member and you'll receive a personal shout out from me in an upcoming episode. I can't wait to hear all your names. But hurry. This offer will only be available until January 27th, so be sure not to miss out. Start your free 30 day trial in just two taps on Apple Podcasts or head to CocoClub.Supercast.com for Spotify and other podcast players. The link, as always, is in our show notes. Sweet dreams. Okay, back to tonight's story now. We're going to soon visit a cosy hole where a little velvety vole lives. And what is she doing there? She writes novels, of course, and with another book finished, it's time for a little break from writing. Her friend Walter the Mole is due to visit, and as you're about to find out, Viola the Vole is a hostess with the mostess. And Walter is in for the loveliest, cosiest evening of his life. Before we learn more about Viola and her neat and tidy hidey hole, let's get into our snuggly bed and settle down. You can take a few moments, just move around and arrange things just as you like them all whilst taking some lovely breaths in and out. Breathe in deep if you need and sigh out loudly or blow gently. Just relax your body and slowly your mind will follow. Too lovely. You keep on going. It's time for me to begin. The Mole, the Vole and the Cosiest Hole by Jane Thomas Deep in the heart of sleepy forest, near the meadows of wildflowers that pour down hillsides towards the silver trickle of a stream, lives a Tiny little creature called Viola Velvet. She has the softest fur you can ever imagine. Her dusky grey that almost in the half light of the early morning or late afternoon becomes the grey blue colour of lavender. Viola Velvet is of old and she lives quite alone, exactly as she likes it. Oh, she's more than happy to spend time with friends. And almost every other day she heads along to visit one of her sisters in their burrows. But every evening she heads back home and sinks back into the cushions of her armchair and smiles contentedly to herself. She has her favourite pictures on the walls. She has her favourite books on the shelves. The kitchen is filled with her favourite foods. Her mattress is just as soft as she likes it to be. And nobody ever ever leaves a damp tower towel on the floor of the bathroom. Viola Velvet's favourite saying is a place for everything and everything in its place. The candlesticks on the mantelpiece know exactly where they are expected to stand. And the rugs on the floor know precisely which furniture they must line up with. And the mugs and jugs, cans and pans in the kitchen all know in which cupboard they belong. Whenever she does her washing and goes outside to peg it onto the line in her back garden, the socks are always hung up in pairs. The arms of the tops wouldn't dream of being inside out. And her handkerchiefs know how to flutter in unison when the breezes blow. I wouldn't like you to think that Viola Velvet was a boring vole or any such thing. She's actually a terribly interesting vole who has a thousand thoughts whirling in her head at any one moment. And she has found that everything is a little bit clearer if she organises the world around her as much as she can. That way her eye and therefore mind doesn't get distracted by a crooked picture frame or a book that is somewhere it has no business being. Or a pair of pyjamas hanging awkwardly over the end of the bed. When everything around you is organized, your mind can get back to doing what it does best. Imagining things. Viola Velvet is in fact a writer. And funnily enough, the only part of her burrow that is allowed to have a little disorder is her writing room. She uses a typewriter, one of those big old fashioned ones where you have to really push the keys down and where the thing where the paper is rolled in makes a satisfying ching when it hits the end of the line and goes back to start a new one. There are always vases filled to overflowing with flowers in this writing room. Taken from her garden that's allowed to grow wild. The little vole is a big believer in letting plants and shrubs and bushes do their own thing, which means she has flowers and trees growing in her garden that appear nowhere else. In Sleepy Forest. Viola Velvet writes all sorts of books, from cosy mysteries featuring stolen cakes to flights of fancy where anything is possible, to historical stories that dive back into the past and futuristic stories that reach forwards into a world yet to be seen. Today is a very special day to be introducing you to Viola Velvet, because today is a rare day when she breaks from her routine. Today, one of her best friends is coming to visit and he will even stay with her for a few days. Because she so very rarely has anyone near her home, she makes enormous efforts to ensure they have a wonderful, cosy, relaxing time with her. She makes extra trips to the market to be sure of having their favourite foods waiting for them in the kitchen. And she takes the spare blankets from her dresser and places them over the other armchair in the living room so her guest, too can curl up cosy and warm in the evening. One of her quirks, or perhaps it's one of her charms, is that she always sends a list of questions to anyone who will visit. She asks their shoe size so she can be sure to have a pair of fluffy slippers ready by the door when they arrive. She asks if they'd like bigger pillows or smaller pillows and whether they want their head to sink into a pillow or float on top. She asks their favourite color and their favorite scent. And when she has all this information, she carefully files it away in a special drawer, the completed questionnaires, all tied up with a length of golden thread. Today, Viola reaches for this bundle and then goes through the papers, smiling as she sees the names of all her friends at the top, searching through until she finds the right one. There it is. Water. The mole is coming to see her. And there's the questionnaire he first filled out, oh, maybe 20 years ago now. They have been friends for a terribly long time, after all, she almost knows it by heart. That extraordinary brain of hers remembers this sort of thing. But she likes to check and be sure. Whoever is visiting will always feel as if they've visited the loveliest, warmest, snuggest, safest and cosiest hole in the world. Last week, Viola finished her most recent book, a wonderful story all about disappearing around the world on a moonbeam. And she always takes a few weeks off after completing an entire book. The first week is spent enjoying doing nothing much at all. And stretching her back out. After months spent hunched over her typewriter, she revisits the garden and says hello to all the new flowers that have arrived in her absence, and she sniffs the air to remind herself whether summer or autumn or winter or spring is on its way. When you spend your life burrowed away inside the cosiest of holes, it's easy to forget where in the year you are. And after that first week of reacquainting herself with the world, Viola will take up her pen and write a letter to a particular friend asking if they would like to visit. Nobody has ever said no. Everybody loves visiting Viola, and they share stories of what's been happening in Sleepy Forest, and she shares the stories that have been dancing around in her mind, and they tut together at the things that should be tutted at and laugh together at the things that make them smile. Walter's reply to Viola's letter had been a single word. Yes, he'd written in giant letters on a piece of paper so large he'd folded it four times over to fit into the envelope, a huge exclamation mark after the S, to show his excitement at coming to visit. And today is the day Viola will cast a final look around the house. She watches as the candlesticks shuffle millimetres to the left back into their perfect spots, and she opens the cutlery drawer just in time to watch a spoon jump into its rightful place, back away from where it had accidentally been placed with the forks. There are no windows, of course, because Viola lives underground, but she has hung curtains in various places and has them drawn permanently closed so it seems as if there really are windows just behind them. As she watches the curtains hang as straight as they can, flowery patterns lining up perfectly with each other. Content that the house is in order, Viola heads up the passageway to her round front door, a perfect circle of red made from the button of a very large winter coat a person had once worn. The door closes behind her and Viola strolls along the pathway that winds itself through the wildness of her garden, then heads up through the meadow to wait at the bus stop for Walter to arrive. Viola has remarkably little interest in the time of day, and there isn't a single clock or watch or timepiece in her home. But as soon as she goes outside, she knows just what time it is. She sniffs the air to measure for dampness and warmth and which flowers are growing and which are fast asleep, and with that she knows the time of year, and then she looks at the sun and where it is hanging in the sky and with that she knows the exact time of day. So Viola knows she's arrived at the bus stop with seven whole minutes to spare and she spends the time rising and falling on her toes and watching the swallows sweep in great arcs through the sky. Then there the goosebus comes trotting over the hill, back gleaming golden in the late afternoon sun. The white downy feathers of the goose bus are almost turned pink with the sun starting to sink between the hills. Viola hears the little bell tinkle that will be Walter letting the goose know this is his stop, and then the goose is pulling into the side of the road right next to where she stands and Walter is picking up his smart brown suitcase and sliding down the goose's wing to land with a bump and a jump in front of her. The vole and the mole laugh and smile and dive towards each other for a hug, one of those I've missed you, it's so good to see you hugs that we only get when we haven't seen someone for a while. Walter takes his suitcase in one hand and Viola's hand in the other and together they walk down through the meadow of wildflowers towards her bright red button of her front door and towards the setting sun. Walter says that his mum, Beatrice, sends her love and Viola beams outside and glows inside. He tells her of his brothers and sisters, his grandmother and his uncle of the project he's been working on, making an underground treehouse in the twisted roots of a giant oak that dive deep beneath the surface of the earth, and Viola thinks that is the most splendid thing she's ever heard. He tells her how they have burrowed a whole new tunnel that emerges into the world just above a little stream, and how they've polished and sanded and smoothed the curved piece of wood into a slide that goes right from the tunnel entrance to the edge of the stream so they can launch themselves into the cool waters. With a shriek and a splash they push their way down the garden path, saying excuse me and awfully sorry to the various plants and flowers that are reaching across the way, pushing them gently aside and stepping over tendrils, and then they arrive at the red button door. Walter puts his hand on Viola's arm, signaling her to stop for a moment. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, a smile spreading across his face. Then he opens his eyes and solemnly points to himself and then Viola, and then the door, the mole, the vole and the cosiest hole, he says as they go through the door. Walter grins to see his bright red fluffy slippers all ready and waiting for him. This is as much about him being cosy and warm as him not dragging mud through Viola's perfect little home and he knows that, but it's a lovely, kind welcoming gesture that he doesn't get anywhere else in the world. He follows Viola down the narrow passageway, suitcase held firmly in his hand, and they pad along in the soft golden glow, heading further and further underground. She guides him to the guest bedroom and he looks at the same familiar blankets and pillows and breathes in the scent of jasmine and notices how she has tucked his favourite mints into a little package on the pillow alongside perfectly neatly crisply ironed blue and white striped pyjamas. A red dressing gown with golden tassels hangs on the back of the bedroom door and the two have the same conversation they always do. Do you mind? Says Walter. I'll see you in the living room, says Viola, and she heads off with that warm satisfied smile, knowing that everything is exactly as Walter likes it, and he climbs into the crisp pyjamas and wraps himself in the warm dressing gown and reaches into his suitcase for the presents he has brought. No self respecting mole ever visits anyone, least of all a vole such as Viola, without taking presents. He's brought a painting from his mum, just a small one in a little silver frame, and she places it on the table beside her chair. Not many would guess that the voles favourite animal is an elephant, but Viola holds a fascination for these enormous gentle giants and Beatrice has painted the perfect picture of an elephant by a watering hole, trunk arched into a question mark as it sprays water onto its gleaming back. And the second present is a jar of raspberry jam made just the day before by his grandmother, her little label stuck on the side with the date and the exact location of the raspberry bush she has used beneath the westerly weeping willows, it reads. Viola feels a little shiver of delight run down her spine as she remembers how very sweet those particular raspberries are. As Viola disappears into the kitchen to put the finishing touches to their dinner, Walter takes up a log and puts it on the fire, poking it to watch the flames sparkle and dance. He settles back into his chair and reaches up for the blanket he knows will be waiting for him. Opening it out and placing it over his knees, he gives the first of many sighs of contentment, looking at the candlesticks lined up just as they should be, scanning the bookshelves and noting that not a single book is out of Place. Viola comes in bearing a tray, one of those with a cushion underneath so it can sit on Walter's knees, and she pours him a glass of deep red cranberry juice that gleams like a pool of rubies in the light of the fire, and then she retreats once more, coming back with her own tray that she settles on her lap, expertly arranging the rug across her knees and popping her feet onto a footstool that is, as you would expect, at the absolutely perfect height. She tells him all about her latest novel, the one where it is possible to travel around the world on moonbeams, and after he has begged perhaps a hundred times, she reads him a few pages and then a few chapters, encouraged by the way he leans forwards and stares into the fire and becomes quite lost in her words. She's always wary of sharing her stories, worried that perhaps this one won't be as magical as the last, but Walter assures her it is wonderful and whimsical and everything a story should be, and she tucks the pages away to read more chapters in the following days. He tells her of a new card game he has learned, and she goes to a bureau and pulls out a pack, shuffling them with practiced skill as she walks back to her chair. He deals the cards and explains the game, Viola leaning forwards and frowning a little as she concentrates. Their little hands move faster and faster as she learns which cards are good and which are bad, how they go together and how they don't, and they play again and again, lost in the world of diamonds and hearts, clubs and spades. This is exactly what Viola needs, she thinks to herself. She loves her time alone, loves the orderliness of her days, loves sitting behind her typewriter and watching her fingers fly about and listening to the Ching as another line is finished and a new one begins. But the friends who visit during her breaks from writing are what give her the ideas for the next stories. They let her mind dance with new thoughts and feelings. Walter, as with so many of the creatures that visit Viola's cosy home, begs for a special story all to himself. She says she will tell him one, but only if he sits back in his chair and pulls the blanket a little higher hand, closes his eyes and feels the warmth of the fire on his face. Walter does as he is told, and so Viola begins. Once upon a time, she says, there was a little vole called Viola Velvet. She lived quite alone in the cosiest hole in all the world, where there was a place for everything, and everything was in its place, and she was a happy Vol, reading her books and writing her stories and making sure socks always stayed in their pairs and the toothbrushes always stood perfectly to attention. But then one day, her friend Walter the Mole came to visit. He arrived on the back of a goose, sliding down its wing with a little brown suitcase in his hand. He stayed with Viola Velvet for three whole days. On the first day they went for a walk in the woods, picnic basket in hand, and they sat in the shade of an ancient elm. A red and white rug spread beneath them, and they counted butterflies and dragonflies and shared tea with a passing bumblebee. On the second day they went to the lake, where they rowed to the very centre in a little wooden boat, and they lay back and looked at the clouds above, feeling the boat rocking gently from side to side on the waves. They stayed there until the sky became the deepest, darkest blue, the sun quite gone and the first stars shining in the darkness, a full moon lighting their way home. On the third day, they climbed to the very top of a mountain. They left early in the morning with everything they needed tucked away in backpacks, and they followed a path that wound its way round and round the mountainside, using little stone bridges to cross streams and following the signs that said this way onwards. And once they reached the very top of the mountain, they were standing where the birds swirled and danced in the sky and they could see the eagles soar and the nightingales floating, and how the geese flew home for the night, a giant V floating gently towards the setting sun. Viola and Walter walked slowly back down the mountainside, heading towards home, where a big red button stood bold against the greenery and led down into the home buried far beneath the surface of the earth. And the two friends sat before the fire with rugs across their knees and they shared stories of the months when they had not met, and dreams of the future and promises and hopes and thoughts and ideas that they knew they would only share with their dearest friend. At this point, Viola heard a snuffling sound and looked across at Walter, seeing he was fast asleep. A contented smile spread across his face, his head nodding a little as he snored and dreamed. She thought of waking him and guiding him back to his room, but instead she buried herself a little deeper beneath her blanket and pulled her feet up so she was curled into the tiniest ball, nestling her head against a cushion and deciding that this is where she would sleep tonight. Let us leave them there. Two tiny, furry, velvet soft creatures curled up in their chairs before the glowing embers of the fire. For it isn't often that Viola has anyone in her home. And it doesn't do to overstay our welcome. Let us leave them there. Two best friends who will spend three glorious days and three wonderful nights together before Viola is once more by herself in a writing room with vases of flowers and piles of shifting paper with her typewriter and her mind dancing from one story to another. Let us leave them there. The mole, the vole and the coziest hole. Satisfaction.