Even More Pongwiffy Stories

by Kaye Umansky

  Gaga snorted eagerly and pawed the ground.

  ‘Lady Macbeth wouldnae ride half a horse,’ objected Macabre. ‘It’s noo in her character. Anyway, it’s noo possible tay ride half a horse. There has tay be a front end. For the reins.’

  Pongwiffy sighed. The question of the horse’s front end had been bothering her too. She kept pushing it away, hoping that a solution would present itself – but so far, none had. The trouble was, nobody wanted to be zipped into a dark, stuffy skin with an overexcited Gaga at their rear, doing goodness knows what. And who could blame them?

  ‘Ah’m ridin’ Rory,’ announced Macabre. ‘Ah always ride Rory. He’s ma Haggis an’ Ah’m ridin’ him.’

  Dead on cue, Rory trotted from the wings and stood shaking his orange fringe, doing his best fiery steed impersonation. Macabre climbed on his back and glared down stubbornly.

  ‘All right!’ snapped Pongwiffy, exasperated. ‘All right, have it your own way. “Enter Lady Macbeth riding a Haggis.” Happy now? Don’t worry, Gaga, I’ll fit you in somehow. Tell you what, we’ll give you a whole little scene of your own in front of the curtain. While the scenery’s being changed. You can do a funny dance. All right?’

  Gaga cantered in small, enthusiastic circles.

  ‘Now, can we get on?’ sighed Pongwiffy. ‘Please? We’ve only got until Saturday, you know. Take your places on the stage, twins, and wait for your cue. Remember, you’re tied together with rope. You’ve been kidnapped. You’re frightened. Right, fire away, Macabre. Give it all you’ve got.’

  Macabre fancied herself as an actress. She uttered a bloodcurdling cackle and shook her fist before launching into her big speech.

  ‘The Babes are mine, there is no doubt.

  Ma wicked plan is working out.

  Ah’ll tie them to this nearby tree

  So they cannae escape from me.

  Ah’m off tay write a ransom note

  And then Ah will come back to gloat. Ha, ha, ha!’

  ‘Very good, Macabre,’ said Pongwiffy. ‘Very sinister. Right, you tie the Babes to a tree, then go off to find a pencil. Go on, twins. It’s your big moment.’

  Agglebag and Bagaggle cleared their throats, clutched each other for mutual support, then spoke in chorus.

  ‘Alas! Alack! Oh, boo, hoo, hoo.

  Whatever can we poor Babes do?

  Oh, for a rescuer to come

  And reunite us with our mum.’

  And they looked at each other and giggled.

  ‘Not bad, not bad,’ said Pongwiffy. ‘Try not to laugh, though. Right, now you lie down under some leaves and go to sleep and have a dream about Cleopatra. Where’s Bendyshanks?’

  ‘Here!’ shouted the Queen of the Nile eagerly and bounded on. Slithering Steve was draped around her neck, doing his best to look like a poisonous asp.

  ‘Say your bit, then,’ ordered Pongwiffy.

  ‘I’m Cleopatra from the Nile.

  I have a unique dancing style.

  So while the Babes enjoy their kip

  Sit back and watch me letting rip.’

  Bendyshanks then produced a tambourine and capered around the stage, doing a series of unusual leg-wavings. The twins forgot they were supposed to be dreaming and sat up to watch in fascination. Bendyshanks leapt about until she was purple in the face, then ended up doing the splits.

  ‘So what d’you think?’ she said.

  ‘You still need to work on it a bit,’ advised Pongwiffy. ‘Make it a bit more Egyptian. Try and be more exotic, Steve. Forget grass snake. Think python.’

  ‘I was,’ said Steve miserably.

  ‘We’ll try again, shall we?’ asked Bendyshanks, eager as a puppy.

  ‘No, no. Once is quite enough. We need to move on. Where are we in the script, Hugo?’

  ‘ “Cleopatra exits to rapturous applause,” ’ supplied Hugo doubtfully.

  ‘Right. “Enter the Pied Piper and Dick.” ’

  ‘At last!’ cried Ratsnappy and Sharkadder, hurrying on to the stage with Vernon and Dudley at their heels.

  ‘What about the fairy?’ piped up Sourmuddle testily. ‘I’ve been waiting for ages. I am Grandwitch, you know.’

  ‘Soon,’ hissed Pongwiffy from between gritted teeth. ‘She’s coming on soon. Right, off you go, you two. Say your lines.’

  Ratsnappy cleared her throat and stepped forward.

  ‘You weren’t expecting me, I’ll bet.

  I’m the Pied Piper, with my pet.

  To comb this wood is our intent.

  We’ll find those Babes, where’er they went.’

  She gave a deep bow and Vernon did likewise. Sharkadder elbowed them aside, swaggered forward with Dudley at her heels and slapped her thigh.

  ‘And I am Dick, the hero bold.

  Full many a tale of me is told.

  I’m here to find those missing mites,

  With sword in hand and long green tights.

  ‘Talking about tights, Pong, when are the costumes arriving? I can’t quite get in role unless I look the part.’

  ‘They’re due to arrive this evening,’ said Pongwiffy to cries of great excitement. ‘But you’re not allowed to wear them yet,’ she added. ‘Not until the dress rehearsal tomorrow. Right, let’s get on, shall we? Start looking for the Babes. Off you go.’

  Sharkadder and Ratsnappy began prowling about the stage, trying hard to avoid trampling over the twins’ recumbent forms.

  ‘No sign of them! Not one small clue!

  Oh, Dick, whatever shall we do?’

  declaimed Ratsnappy, treading heavily on Agglebag’s finger. A most unBabe-like word came from beneath the pile of paper leaves.

  ‘We must go on, that much is clear,

  Although I fear they are not here,’

  Sharkdadder informed her, stumbling over Bagaggle’s foot.

  Pongwiffy sighed. This was stretching the audience’s credulity to the utmost limits.

  ‘You’re not supposed to discover them yet,’ she explained. ‘It’s hardly very realistic if you keep tripping over them, is it? Right, Macabre, ready for your entrance?’

  Macabre was. Mounted on Rory, she cantered on to the stage, brandishing a home-made cardboard sword.

  ‘Aha! Ah know your cunning plan!

  You aim to foil me if you can!

  And then you’ll make me take the blame.

  You hero types are all the same!’

  So saying, she dismounted and advanced upon the Pied Piper and Dick, whirling her sword around her head. The two bold heroes flinched and backed away uncertainly.

  ‘Go on,’ yelled Pongwiffy. ‘Fight! This is a big action scene.’

  ‘There’s not enough room,’ objected Ratsnappy. ‘Not with Ag and Bag lying all over the place.’

  ‘Anyway, she’s got a sword,’ Sharkadder pointed out. ‘We haven’t got our swords yet. It’s not fair.’

  Macabre threw away her sword and adopted a boxing stance.

  ‘Ah dinnae need a sword,’ she informed them. ‘Ah’ll pulverise ye wi’ me bare hands. Put yer fists up, ye pair o’ softies.’

  ‘That’s not in the script, Macabre,’ said Pongwiffy wearily. ‘You’re the baddy. You’re supposed to lose, remember?’

  But Macabre was enjoying herself. Her fighting spirit was up. She forgot she was supposed to be acting. Fantasy and reality became blurred and she advanced, fists flailing.

  Ratsnappy hastily stepped back and tripped over Vernon, who collided with Dudley, who banged into Sharkadder, who fell heavily on to the missing Babes. Everyone went down in a heap and Macabre sat triumphantly on the top.

  ‘There,’ she said emphatically. ‘That’s got that sorted.’

  ‘Does the fairy come on now?’ enquired Sourmuddle plaintively.

  Pongwiffy and Hugo looked at each other and raised their eyes to heaven.

  ‘I think we’ve done this scene enough for today,’ said Pongwiffy. ‘Break, everybody. We’ll all go home for tea. But I shall expect you back here tonight a
t seven o’clock sharp to rehearse the final scene. Yes, Sourmuddle, that’s you. We’re going to do all the songs and dances again as well. Make sure you’re on time, because I’m paying the Rhythm Boys overtime.’

  There was a united sigh of relief and a surge towards the door. Bendyshanks got there first.

  ‘I say, everyone,’ she said, peering out. ‘Guess what? It’s snowing.’

  And, sure enough, it was.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Costumes Arrive

  Now then. You may be wondering what has been happening to the small man all this time. The one who was bringing the hired costumes, remember?

  Well, right now, sad to say, he is lost in the Wood. He was lost in the mountains earlier. And in the bog. He has spent hours and hours going around in circles being lost all over the place – and all because he’d followed Goblin directions.

  On top of everything, it had begun to snow. Heavy white flakes whirled from the sky, obliterating the narrow path and dulling all sound. The dark trees were taking on a ghostly, skeletal look.

  The small man’s name was Ernest Dribble. He hunched miserably in the driver’s seat, letting the horse pick its own way, while snow piled up on his hat and icicles formed on his moustache. Even worse – the last straw, this – he was getting the definite feeling that he was being followed. Whenever he slowed down, he heard cracklings and shufflings coming from behind him, and once there was the unmistakable sound of a nose being blown.

  It was with a huge sense of relief that he suddenly rounded a corner and came upon a ramshackle building standing in the middle of a glade. Light streamed from the windows and from within came the sound of many voices raised in song, accompanied by a tinkling piano. At last! This must be Witchway Hall.

  ‘Whoa, there, Romeo! Easy, boy!’

  The horse ground to a sulky halt. Ernest Dribble climbed down, crunched across to the main doors, banged the snow from his hat and went in.

  There was a short pause – then seven short, shadowy forms materialised out of the rapidly whitening bushes and swarmed gleefully over the cart like bees around a honeypot.

  Meanwhile, inside the Hall, the final scene was in full swing. The Three Princesses had just finished another graceful dance, and Snoop was kneeling down with a hammer and a mouthful of nails, repairing the large hole in the stage. Everyone was gathered around the piano in the throes of the final song, except for Snow White, who was gloomily pulling splinters out of her foot.

  ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It, Kiss a Priiinnnce,’ warbled the assembled cast enthusiastically. ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It, Kiss a –’

  ‘Hold it!’ yelled Pongwiffy, raising her hand. ‘Where is the flippin’ Prince? He’s supposed to be here.’

  Everyone shrugged. Nobody had seen him.

  ‘Perhaps he’s snowbound,’ suggested Sharkadder. ‘It’s getting very thick out there. You can hardly see a thing.’

  ‘No excuse!’ fumed Pongwiffy. ‘No excuse at all. I told him. Seven o’clock sharp, I said, and . . . yes, yes, what is it?’

  She broke off to glare at a little man with a whuffly moustache who had suddenly appeared at her side and was trying to attract her attention.

  ‘Are you Witch Pongwiffy?’ enquired the little man, stamping his cold feet and shaking snow from his shoulders.

  ‘I might be,’ said Pongwiffy shiftily. She hadn’t paid her gas bill for ages and was expecting a summons any day. ‘Why?’

  ‘Got somethin’ for you,’ said the little man, taking a piece of official-looking paper from his pocket. You gotta sign.’

  ‘Well, it’ll just have to wait,’ said Pongwiffy. ‘Right now I’m in the middle of a rehearsal. Sit down and don’t interrupt. I’ll deal with you when we get to the end of this very important scene. Oh, well, if nobody knows where Ronald is, we’ll just have to carry on without him, I suppose. But I’m not happy. I’m not happy at all. Right, everybody. One, two, three!’

  ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It, Kiss a Priiiince . . .’

  Outside Witchway Hall, the snow stopped falling as suddenly as it had begun. A pale moon swam into view, filling the glade with silvery light and making everything seem quite Christmassy. The only thing that ruined the effect was the sight of the Goblins ransacking the costume hampers.

  ‘Cor!’ hissed Eyesore, brushing off the snow and throwing back a lid. He reached in and yanked out a pair of silk pantaloons which were intended to grace the snake-like hips of the Queen of the Nile. ‘Get a loada these drawers!’

  ‘Look!’ whooped Hog, snatching up Sherlock Holmes’s deerstalker hat and ramming it on his head. ‘Look at me, lads! I’m that there detectin’ bloke! That there Shamrock Houses!’

  ‘What about this, then?’ gloated young Sproggit, throwing open another lid. ‘Swords! Come on, boys, let’s muck about!’

  With cries of enthusiasm, everyone swooped on the cache of cardboard swords and began to muck about, as only Goblins can. All except Plugugly. He didn’t move. He had found something wonderful in one of the hampers.

  It was a horse suit.

  It came in two halves which zipped together around the middle. It was white with huge red spots. The tail was made of raffia and the head came complete with large white cardboard teeth, pointy ears, a mane sporting a ribbon tied in a chocolate-box bow and a pair of huge, soulful eyes with the longest, curliest eyelashes you’ve ever seen.

  ‘Whatcha got there, Plug?’ asked Lardo.

  ‘A horse suit,’ whispered Plugugly.

  Impressed by his awed tones, the Goblins dropped their swords and clustered round.

  ‘Cor!’ said Slopbucket. ‘That’s good, innit? Imagine if we went to the ball in that.’

  ‘We can’t all fit in,’ said Plugugly. ‘Dere’s only room fer –’ Carefully, he counted both bits. ‘Two. Yes, two. One at de front and one at de back. An’ I’m at de front,’ he added firmly.

  The two unoccupied front legs trailed limply on the ground as he cradled the head in his arms, stroking the mane and staring deep into the melting eyes.

  ‘You’re too fat,’ announced Eyesore. ‘You’ll never fit in ’im.’

  ‘Yes, I will,’ said Plugugly. ‘An’ iss not a him. Issa her. She’s got a bow, look.’

  Carefully, he stepped into the dangling leg tubes and pulled them up, making sure he straightened all the creases. He then raised the head and lowered it over his own.

  ‘How do I look?’ came his muffled voice from inside.

  ‘Good,’ conceded Hog, with his head on one side. ‘But there’s somethin’ missin’, I dunno what . . .’

  ‘The bum end!’ shouted Sproggit, jumping up and down excitedly. ‘You gotta have the bum attached, see, else it don’t look right. Tell yer what, I’ll be the bum. I’ll put the back legs on, an’ bend over an’ grab Plug round ’is middle, then we can get the final effeck.’

  And before anyone could say anything, he’d done it.

  The Goblins had to admit that it looked good.

  ‘Zip us up round the tummy, then,’ came the muted instruction from the depths of the nether regions.

  The Goblins hastened to oblige.

  ‘Cor,’ said Hog, standing back and admiring. ‘That looks great, that does. Try movin’ about a bit.’

  The Pantomime Horse hesitated, then its front feet moved cautiously forward. There was a stretching effect in the middle of the body, followed by a sudden squeezed concertina effect as the two back legs careened forward in a shuffling little run.

  ‘Oi!’ protested Plugugly, as Sproggit’s head cannoned into his substantial bottom.

  ‘Don’t go so fast, then,’ protested Sproggit from the rear end. ‘I can’t see back ’ere. We gotta get a rhythm goin’. We gotta count. Er – wot comes after one again?’

  ‘Two,’ said Plugugly with the confidence of one who has worked that out earlier.

  ‘Right. ’Ere we go, then. One, two, two, six, two . . .’

  All this time, Romeo the carthor
se had been standing stolidly between the traces, stamping the snow from his hooves and wishing he was back home in his warm stable, getting stuck into a nosebag. Now, however, he glanced over his shoulder – and did a double take. Hey! What was this? Another horse, no less! And, phwoaaar! What a babe! That exotic colouring – that cute bow – and, ooh, those eyes! Those melting, long-lashed eyes!

  Eagerly, he shuffled round to get a better look.

  Plugugly and Sproggit were beginning to get the hang of walking around in tandem now. It only took a bit of practice.

  ‘Try trottin’,’ suggested Lardo.

  Plugugly and Sproggit tried trotting. The front legs employed a sedate, high-stepping sort of gait, whilst the back legs kicked about in a skittish fashion. The watching Goblins clapped and guffawed. Say what you like, this was entertaining.

  It was all too much for Romeo. This wasn’t just a crush. This was Love. Yellow teeth bared in a soppy grin, he edged sideways up to his dream girl and playfully nibbled her ear.

  ‘I say,’ said Eyesore. ‘I fink you got an admirer.’

  ‘Eh?’ said Plugugly from inside.

  ‘ ’E fancies you!’ crowed Slopbucket, clutching his sides. ‘You made a conquest there! Look, boys! The ’orse is in love!’

  At this the Goblins laughed so much that they had to hold on to each other for support. Overcome with hilarity, they hooted and pointed and staggered around in the snow, tears streaming from their eyes.

  But their glee was short-lived.

  At that very moment, sudden light flooded the glade as the doors of Witchway Hall burst open – and out came Pongwiffy with Ernest Dribble scurrying in her wake!

  ‘You should have told me you’d brought the costumes,’ Pongwiffy was saying. ‘There was I, thinking you were from the Gas Board, and all the while –’