by Various
‘No – it doesn’t make sense,’ the Hatter insisted. ‘So I have decided to take a new name.’
‘Great – how exciting!’ cried the March Hare. ‘What shall we call you? How about . . . Orion? Or Zanzibar? Or Lutwidge?’
‘Gordon,’ stated the Hatter. ‘I would henceforth like to be known as Gordon.’
‘Right.’ The March Hare sighed. ‘If you say so . . . Gordon.’
‘Good.’ Gordon nodded. ‘Now, how are preparations for this evening’s function going?’
‘All under control,’ the March Hare said with a grin. ‘I’ve just brewed a big batch of cushion juice, the Bolognese tarts are rising beautifully and, as for the marshmallow soufflé, it’s just sublime, if I do say so myself . . .’
‘No, no, no!’ cried Gordon. ‘This won’t do at all! This isn’t what our friends want! Here – I’ve created a plan for tonight’s tea party.’
He handed a neat file over to the March Hare and awaited his impressed reaction.
‘Are you sure?’ said the Hare uncertainly. ‘This is all very . . .’
‘. . . Sensible!’ said Gordon, smiling. ‘So let’s get on with it.’
At six o’clock precisely, the guests arrived in the garden, looking around uncertainly.
‘Welcome,’ said Gordon, who had considered changing for the party, but soon realized he’d risk staining his new clothes. ‘Please, everyone, take a seat.’
‘There are seats?’ muttered the Gryphon, charging towards the table. ‘Out of my way before he moves them.’
‘No, no – each individual has an allocated place, denoted by their name card,’ said Gordon. ‘I have arranged everyone alphabetically.’
‘Makes sense,’ said the White Rabbit, hopping to the end of the table.
‘So what’s for tea?’ said the Cheshire Cat’s grin.
‘I have selected a menu that will meet everyone’s nutritional needs and avoid any allergies, food intolerances or too much saturated fat,’ said Gordon, as the March Hare placed a small plate of celery in front of each guest. ‘There is also significant scientific evidence that small, regular meals are better for one’s metabolism.’
‘What’s for pudding?’ asked the Dodo, eyeing his large celery stick unenthusiastically.
‘Our diet is too full of refined sugar,’ Gordon announced. ‘I thought it sensible to skip dessert in favour of a twenty-minute stroll to aid digestion.’
‘Oh . . . OK,’ said Dormouse through a yawn. ‘Can we at least have some tea?’
Gordon tutted. ‘My research into the side effects of caffeine made terrifying reading. In fact, when I stopped to think about most drinks, they all have sizeable drawbacks. So here you go . . .’
He poured the contents of his teapot into everyone’s cups.
‘H2O?’ spelled the Caterpillar with his smoke.
‘Trust me,’ said Gordon, nodding sagely. ‘Water is the most sensible choice.’
‘So . . . we’ve come for a tea party, and you’re feeding us celery sticks and water?’ the White Rabbit said slowly.
‘That is correct,’ Gordon confirmed. ‘And while you are partaking, I look forward to a vigorous debate about Wonderland’s politics. I have serious concerns over the Queen of Hearts’s justice system . . .’
Gordon saw his guests exchanging uncomfortable looks. He didn’t understand – this was exactly what they had wanted – a sensible tea party.
‘Um . . . Hatter . . . ?’ the White Rabbit began.
‘It’s Gordon.’
‘Sorry . . . Gordon,’ the White Rabbit continued. ‘Are you feeling all right? You don’t seem entirely . . . yourself.’
‘I am very well, thank you,’ said Gordon. ‘Never better, in fact. By the way, who is free to help me clear out my loft this weekend? Senseless keeping all that clutter when the space would be ideal for a home office . . .’
‘I see,’ said the Cheshire Cat, who wasn’t smiling for once. ‘Aren’t you going to spend your weekend painting pencils? Or washing the grass? Or playing the saucepan?’
‘No,’ said Gordon. ‘Those things are . . . silly. There are more sensible ways to spend my time.’
‘R U SURE?’ the Caterpillar puffed.
‘Utterly,’ said Gordon, pulling the DRINK ME bottle from his cardigan pocket. ‘In fact, I don’t even know why I’m keeping this. The doctor said it would reverse the effects of the EAT ME cake I took to cure the Sillies, but, as that hasn’t done anything, I’m just going to throw this so-called “antidote” away . . .’
‘NOOOOOOOOOO!’ cried all his guests together.
‘Why don’t you, er, give it to me?’ said the March Hare, prising it from his fingers. ‘I’ll throw it away for you.’
‘All right,’ said Gordon. ‘But make sure you recycle the bottle. Far too much refuse ends up as landfill in Wonderland. It’s a senseless waste.’
‘I know just what to do with it,’ said the March Hare, looking around the other guests. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘Excellent,’ said Gordon, picking up a celery stick. ‘Now who has any top tips for bathroom grouting? No sense in having messy tiles . . .’
An hour later, Gordon was tidying up the cups and plates – it made sense to do it straight away or it would be just another job for the next day – when the March Hare approached.
‘Here,’ said the March Hare. ‘A present from your friends to say thank you for the party.’
Gordon was not displeased about this. A present meant they must have enjoyed his event. That just made sense.
Gordon reached for the bottle and read the label.
‘A vitamin-filled, zero sugar, caffeine-free health drink proven to bring out the best in you. So DRINK ME.’
Gordon considered this carefully. He knew it was important not to eat or drink anything if you didn’t know what it was. But, then again, it was a present from his friends. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. There was no sense in it going to waste, especially if it was going to do him good. And, in any case, all that walking had made him thirsty.
Gordon opened the bottle and, seeing the March Hare’s encouraging smile, drank down the contents.
The liquid tasted of cherry tart, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, toffee and hot buttered toast. It was like drinking a liquid smile. Immediately, he felt happier and brighter and – well, back to his old self.
‘Gordon,’ said the March Hare. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Superlicious!’ he cried ‘I feel fabbydoodles! Perfectuous! Tremenderzing! And now I think about it, Gordon is rather dull. I prefer the Hatter!’
The March Hare laughed. ‘So does everyone else.’
‘Now tell me,’ said the Hatter, yanking off his cardigan and using it to wipe the plates. ‘What’s for tea?’
Everyone in Wonderland agreed – it was the best tea party ever. The sardine cookies were a triumph, the cornflake pie was sublime, and the aubergine milk went down a treat.
‘It’s so good to have you back, Hatter,’ said the Dodo, chewing happily on a fondant fishcake. ‘Wonderland just isn’t nearly so . . . wonderful without you.’
The Hatter smiled and tapped his hat. Perhaps the Sillies weren’t so bad after all.
‘Anyone want a drink?’ he said, holding up his teapot.
The White Rabbit laughed. ‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘It’s not gravy, is it?’
‘Of course not!’ said the Hatter, filling the rabbit’s cup to the brim. ‘We don’t have gravy on Wednesdays! That would be ridiculous!’
The White Rabbit looked down at his cup with a smile.
‘On Wednesdays,’ said the Hatter with a wink, ‘we have custard . . .’
The Missing Book
by Swapna Haddow
I first came across Carroll’s Wonderland when I watched the Disney animation as a child. The nonsense of it all had me gripped and it wasn’t too long after that I went hunting for Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland in my local library. I borrowed it so many times on my sis
ter’s library card that I’m still paying her back for the fines!
When I was approached about the Return to Wonderland anthology, I was honoured to be able to play with this timeless classic. I felt immediately drawn to the Mock Turtle. I love how self-absorbed he is. Arrogant characters are so much fun to write. His passion for learning immediately inspired a story about a library. This was my chance to write an ode to all the librarians who encouraged my love of reading and took me to wondrous worlds between the pages, including Wonderland itself.
Swapna Haddow
A book, you must understand, can be a terrible thing. The most terrible of terrible things. Books, you see, are full of stories. They sit on shelves, maybe on floors, perhaps even on desks and tables. They are sometimes large, sometimes wide, sometimes slim, sometimes creased. But all of them sit. Sitting there, unassuming and waiting.
And what sits in wait can be quite terrible.
Which is why you need a librarian.
A librarian is a guide. They navigate the treacherous oceans of words and sentences and steer you clear of all these terrible things.
I happen to be a most marvellous librarian. You see, I am the most knowledgeable of all the Wonderland residents. I’ve had the finest of educations and, quite honestly, if you met some of the other Wonderland creatures, I’m sure you’d agree that they are dafter than a fish without a porpoise.
This was never more evident than when I met a girl with yellow hair and a blue dress at the beach. Her name was Alice. She told me about her adventures in Wonderland, and I, in turn, told her about my life. Alice had never met a Mock Turtle, and I think I came as quite a shock to the dear girl, who had never encountered a shelled creature of such intellect.
As we spoke – and thankfully it was mainly I who spoke, and she who listened, since she didn’t have much of a head for information or for sticking to the point – she reminded me that everyone, even girls with yellow hair and blue dresses, deserved to have the most basic of knowledge, though they may never reach the distinguished level of a mock turtle, like me.
And so I took it upon myself to set up Wonderland’s first library: the Library for the Curiouser and Curiouser.
Luckily for you, I shall be your guide for the course of this story.
Now, come along, because we have a mystery to solve.
I was sorting through the books in the library one day, counting them and checking they were all in their places. There are seven in total. That’s all any library needs. The Gryphon, a regular library user, once commented that this was highly illogical, and I shall tell you what I told him: ‘Never forget, dear Gryphon, that there are stories within stories, and even more within those, which is why seven books is quite enough. Any more, and it’s impossible to keep control of the chattering and prattling of the words, particularly the rhymes.’
It’s very important that a library only stocks obedient books. Obedience is key. A book that misbehaves can easily turn the others, and suddenly there is a rampage of illustrations and sentences, causing havoc and challenging us all. That simply won’t do.
Occasionally you find a library packed to the high ceilings with stacks of books, the weight of which bends the walls and cracks the floor. Stories shouting louder and louder to be heard, prancing about the place, leaving their mark. It’s utter chaos.
That’s why there are only seven books in my library. One mystery story, of course. And then six more. If you count them up, that’s seven in total.
Which is why as I counted the books I was horrified to see a book on the Missing Book shelf. A book that did not tally.
I counted the books again. One, two, three, four, five, six and seven. And another one on the Missing Book shelf.
Again, I counted.
Again, seven in their place, and one in the dark, cavernous shelf that was always empty.
A book on the Missing Book shelf meant only one thing: a missing book.
A missing book!
A MISSING book!
How could this have happened?
I looked around my library. All of it seemed in order, as it always was. The book of woeful tales next to the book full of comedies so it could cheer itself up. The book full of facts sitting happily by the children’s book in the adult section, because adults are always losing sight of their youth, and that’s a fact. And, of course, the dog-eared book was as far as it possibly could be from the book about cats, but near the book about sticks, which was on the opposite side from the book about unsticking, to avoid confusion – you see?
Everything was exactly as it should be and in its place, as any good librarian would confirm.
This could mean only one thing: a horrible crime had occurred, and I had to solve it.
Being very fluent in solving mysteries, thanks to my fine education, I had my suspicions. But when unravelling clues it is important to be logical and to collect evidence. You must not reveal your suspicions too early, just in case you are wrong – and I never like to be wrong.
I thought back through the previous day. When one solves a mystery, it’s important to retrace the events that led to the mystery. And then to use what you have discovered to solve that mystery towards which we have been retracing our steps.
* I’d seen the Gryphon first. He’d come in as he always did to sing and distract me from my librarian duties
* Next to come to the library was the Frog-Footman. He needed to deliver an invitation from the Duchess
* He was closely followed by the Dormouse, who wasn’t here long at all
* Finally, the Pigeon visited, because it’s not a story without a pigeon
The Gryphon was a beast of a creature, who I often feared would damage my books as he unfurled his feathered wings and waved his long, heavy tail about. He had, as he always did, mistakenly visited the beach to look for me, before arriving at the library to tell me he’d forgotten I was no longer on the beach. And then, as he always did, suggested that perhaps the library should move to the beach so it would be closer to the sea.
‘What a silly idea,’ I’d said angrily. ‘That would make no sense at all. No good library should have any books with words starting with the “C”.’
Of course, he apologized profusely, and we got to talking about our yellow-haired friend Alice.
‘Alice was a sweet girl, but she could never have been a librarian,’ I said to the Gryphon, who was rather soft on the girl. ‘Though her adventures in Wonderland would have made a good story. I would’ve stocked a book like that here.’
The Gryphon nodded. It’s hard for him to agree that I’m right, due to his problematic arrogance, so I appreciated his nod. ‘You’re right, Mock Turtle,’ he said. ‘I do miss the stories she told about her escapades.’
‘If you want to read adventures, you’ve come to the right place,’ I replied.
I pointed out two stories: an addition story and a venture story.
The Gryphon had looked at me, confused. I remembered the look because it made him look rather cross-eyed, and I thought I might have a book to correct that too.
‘What am I to do with these?’ He took the hefty tome full of essays on ventures and exploits. ‘I’m looking for adventures.’
‘That’s why you need the book on addition too,’ I said, handing him the maths book. ‘A venture without the “add” is simply just a venture.’
His eyes lit up, finally understanding. Do you see what I mean about the Wonderland residents being simple folk? They really are lucky to have me and my library.
We bade each other goodbye, and I got back to arranging my books.
It is clear that the Gryphon had nothing to do with the missing book.
The morning had been quiet after the Gryphon left, as it often is in Wonderland. I had busied myself by singing a song that left me quite emotional, and then I had busied myself drying my tears, which left me quite tired.
I must have dozed off, as most librarians can expertly do, before I was awoken by the Frog-Footman, in hi
s full livery, bursting through the library doors.
He barrelled in, as he always did, never bothering to knock, and thrust an invitation on my desk, which I thought to be rather rude, considering a moment before I had been resting my tired head there. If you have ever been struck on the head with an invitation, you’ll know this to be a most painful thing.
‘For the Mock Turtle,’ he announced. ‘An invitation from the Duchess to dinner.’
I like invitations, so I decided to forgive the intrusion. Then I remembered what a hideous human the Duchess was, so I went back to resenting the appearance of the Frog-Footman at my desk. He repeated the exact same message, as he always did, with only the slightest of difference in the order of the words.
‘From the Duchess. An invitation to dinner for the Mock Turtle.’
‘I heard you,’ I replied, annoyed.
Having made his announcement twice, he observed me, the eyeballs of those eyes that sit far too high upon his head, rolling about the sockets as he watched me go about my duties in the library. I needed time to find a way to decline the invitation. The cook at the Duchess’s house was a bit of a brute with the peppermill, and I had never liked the way she looked at me whenever she mentioned wanting to perfect her Mock Turtle-soup recipe. In my opinion, it is rather uncouth to talk of recipes that your guests could feature in.
‘I await your reply,’ the Frog-Footman said. ‘I will stay.’
He sat down, and I didn’t doubt for a moment that he would happily wait all day for my answer.
‘Shall I sit here?’ he asked, having already sat down without my permission. ‘I can sit here for however long it takes.’
His inane chatter was giving me a headache, so I was rather pleased to see a small squirrel-like creature scuttle into the library when it did.
‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to attend dinner with the Duchess. I’m far too busy with the library,’ I blurted out, quite pleased that I had found the perfect excuse. ‘I bid you goodbye, Footman, as I must tend to the Dormouse now.’