Jimmy, The Glue Factory and Mad Mr Viscous

by Gerrard Wllson

years previous, when he had been equally impulsive, Mr Smith called out to his wife, “Mrs Smith?”

  A door to the rear of the shop opened, “Yes,” she answered, poking her head round it.

  “Mrs Smith,” the old man continued, “can we have something to drink?”

  Mr Smith had no sooner asked, when his wife, a stout, red-faced little woman, emerged, carrying a tray with three tall glasses and a jug full to the brim with a murky red liquid balanced upon it.

  Wondering how she had managed to do it so quickly, Jimmy tried to speak, to ask Mr Smith, but being out of breath the words failed him.

  As if he had read Jimmy’s thoughts, the old man tapping the side of his nose, said, “Witches can do many strange things...”

  Handing the boys a glass each, Mr Smith said, “Drink, drink, it’s very good!”

  Inspecting his drink with some trepidation, Eric asked, “What is it?”

  Examining his drink with some consternation (he was sure he saw darts of white light flashing through it), Jimmy said, “Yes, what exactly is it?”

  Laughing at their innocence, Mr Smith answered, “It’s Fizzing Fruit juice drink, of course, the best that money can buy.”

  “Fizzing Fruit juice drink?” Eric asked.

  “I never heard of such a thing,” said Jimmy.

  After taking a long, refreshing drink from his own glass, the old man said, “Taste it! It won’t bite you!”

  Tentatively raising their glasses, the boys, sipping their drinks, were amazed, gobsmacked by wonderful taste.

  “It tastes of mango!” said Jimmy.

  “And chocolate!” said Eric.

  “And also vanilla,” said Mr Smith, laughing once again at their innocence.

  Gulping down the last of his drink, while chewing on a wonderfully rich assortment of sweets – Mr Smith’s Surprise Mixture – the old man had given him, Eric was in no hurry to speak. Jimmy, on the other hand, most definitely wanted to speak, to tell him about everything they had seen while away from his shop. Yes, he was also enjoying his lemonade and sweets (a packet of sweet cigarettes, and a marshmallow surprise, the surprise being the marshmallow was of a bright blue colour), but he so wanted to get on with it, to tell Mr Smith about their penny errand, their visit to the mysterious factory and the horses.

  “Mr Smith, Mr Smith, I must tell you what happened!” Jimmy cried out, unable to hold back for one second longer.

  “Are you feeling rested?” Mr Smith asked in return. Jimmy nodded that he was. “In that case,” he said, “why don’t you begin?”

  Belching loudly (the Fizzing Fruit juice drink having hit the spot perfectly), Jimmy, embarrassed, though laughing, said, “Sorry!” Beginning his story, he said, “Mr Smith, a most wonderful thing happened to us when we went to the old woman’s house doing the penny errand after delivering the flour and getting a penny each we heard the sound of horses coming from the huge factory next door so we went in to ask about them and we met Mr Gaunt and Mr Viscous and we were told and in no uncertain terms that there were no horses in the factory but that was a lie because there were then Mr Viscous told us to clear off Eric did but I stayed I said that I wanted to know the truth he told me that he was making glue and loads of money to boot then I heard the horses again even though there weren’t supposed to be any I looked out the window and they were loads of them in the yard after that I was chucked out of the factory so we ran all the way here to tell you!” Taking a deep breath, Jimmy added, “Oh, Mr Smith, what shall we do?”

  Breathing deeply, feeling short of breath from listening to such a long preamble to a story, the old man pulled up a crate. Sitting upon it, he said, “Jimmy that sure was some story…”

  “But,” said Jimmy, in dismay, “I can feel a but coming on – I know I can!”

  “No, no,” he replied. “There are no buts coming on. I believe each and every word you have told me.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes,” he continued. “In fact I would have been disappointed if I had heard anything less.”

  Staring at him, amazed at what he had just told him, Jimmy said, “You would?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “You don’t think your little errand was only about flour, do you?”

  Caught on the hop, Jimmy said, “Nah! Not for a second!”

  “It’s my fault,” Eric cried out.

  “There’s nothing to be feeling bad about,” Mr Smith reassuringly told him.

  “But I ran off! I should have been thinking about the horses!”

  Offering him a liquorice shoelace, Mr Smith said, “I think you both did extremely well. And as for those horses, I am sure you will be doing something to help them, real soon.”

  “You do?” the boys asked, wide-eyed and curious.

  Chuckling, he replied, “Yes, of course I do. That’s why they picked you.”

  “They?” said Jimmy.

  “Picked?” said Eric.

  “You mean the old woman behind the marquee, don’t you?” said Jimmy.

  “She and her sister, to be precise,” the shopkeeper replied. Producing a piece of paper, an incredibly familiar looking piece of paper, a flyer advertising the circus, he handed it to Eric, saying, “Go on, read it!”

  Eric began reading the words, “The Circus of Grotesques – It will change your life forever!”

  “Well?” he asked. “Has it?”

  Looking up from the flyer, the two boys whispered a terrified yes.

  “There’s no need to be frightened,” he chuckled. “You wanted adventure, and now you have it!”

  Remembering how many times they had yearned for adventure, watching ship after ship pass down the estuary, the boys relaxed, allowing their fears to subside. Replacing fear with eagerness, they looked forward to their grand adventure. “Mr Smith, we do want an adventure, we really do!” they cried out. “But what about the horses?” they asked.

  Smiling an aged, sanguine smile, Mr Smith told them without uttering a single word that their adventure was indeed about the horses, and then some.

  Raising an eyebrow, Jimmy said, “She, that old woman, wanted us to find those horses, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, yes she did,” he admitted. “She knew you had possibilities – she told you so!”

  Although they were still somewhat confused by what he was saying, and as to what he and the old woman had meant by possibilities was anyone’s guess, there was an adventure in the offing, and that excited them. Jimmy desperately wanted to stop Mr Viscous from rendering the unfortunate animals into glue, so he said, “Come on, Eric, I think it’s about time we paid that factory another visit.”

  Jingling, jangling and then jingling again, the little bell over the door signalled the boys’ departure from the shop.

  Reappearing through the doorway at the rear of the shop, Mrs Smith, collecting the empty glasses, said, “I think you and your sisters made a good choice in those two.”

  “Yes, her husband replied, “I almost feel sorry for the factory owner, almost, but not quite.”

  The Glue Factory Revisited

  When they returned to the industrial area where the glue factory was located, the boys, Jimmy and Eric, were shocked to see the witch’s mansion was gone. The only sign that anything had ever been there in the now overgrown and weed infested plot were the crumbling ruins of a house.

  Entering the plot, confused by what he was seeing – or not seeing, Eric asked, “Where is it, the house?” Eric. Stumbling on a brick poking out from the ground, he said, “It’s like it disappeared into thin air!”

  “By the look of it,” Jimmy mumbled, “that is exactly what it has done.” Picking up a brick, one of ever so many scattered across the rough ground, he inspected it. Tossing it aside, he said, “Witches, you know!”

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, never mind,” he mumbled. Making his way through the derelict plot, he said, “Keep your head down – we don’t want to be spotted by any guards who happen to look this way!”


  Crouching low, Eric followed Jimmy to the rear the plot. “I don’t like it,” he grumbled, “I don’t like it at all. An hour ago this was a lovely garden – but now?”

  “I told you to forget about it, at least until later,” Jimmy told him. Catching a hand on a bramble, he hissed, “Now look what you’ve made me do! There’s blood – everywhere!”

  Eric looked, but all that he saw was a small scratch and just a hint of blood. “Baby,” he joked. Throwing himself to the ground, he shouted, “Duck!”

  Jimmy fell to the ground so fast his chest hurt when it struck it. “What is it?” he asked, spitting out a mouthful of grass, rubbing his chest.

  Pointing to the factory, Eric said, “A guard, I saw a guard!”

  “Where?”

  “There, close to that gate, the one at the side of the building.”

  Jimmy saw him, a guard patrolling the factory grounds, checking a gate. “How many on them do you think there are?” he asked.

  “Gates?”

  “No, no!” Jimmy snapped. “Guards!”

  Shrugging, Eric said, “Sorry, I have absolutely no idea.”

  Acting on the side of caution, the boys assumed there were several. Edging, creeping furtively towards the chain link fence dividing the two plots – domestic and industrial – they felt more like commandos than children. Lying on their stomachs, reconnoitring the scene before them, Jimmy and Eric watched the guard until he disappeared from sight around the back of the factory.

  Rattling the fence, Eric said, “Well, no holes in this one.”

  “Yet,” Jimmy answered, sporting a mischievous grin. “There are no holes in it yet!” Withdrawing from the fence, he said,