Other campers heard us and wanted to know what was going on. Soon Tomato had half the campsite wandering about shouting out ‘Cecily Sprout!’ at the tops of their voices. I guess they thought it was a real person that had gone missing – not just a carrot with green stalks for hair and wearing a blue bikini.
In the middle of all this a small car drove furiously up to our tent. The door was flung open and out stepped Mr Tugg, our next-door neighbour, the human volcano, and he was already in full eruption.
‘There you are!’ he roared at Dad. ‘I’ve got something for you!’ He reached into the back of the car and pulled out two wire cages. Inside I could see Captain Birdseye, Mavis Moppet, Beaky and Leaky. They looked mildly surprised, as if they’d just been caught spraying graffiti on Mr Tugg’s shed. Schumacher the tortoise was in there too, fast asleep.
‘What’s the matter, Mr Tugg?’ asked Mum. ‘You seem upset.’
‘Upset? Of course I’m upset. Do you know what your wretched chickens did yesterday evening? They invaded our house. That’s right – invaded it.’
‘But how? I mean, why?’ Dad asked, puzzled.
‘That fox of yours came back!’ bellowed Mr Tugg.
‘It’s not my fox,’ Dad put in swiftly. ‘Foxes don’t belong, they’re just, well, foxes.’
Mr Tugg was too worked up to pay any attention to Dad. ‘That fox of yours scared the hens so much they all ran into my house. Your cock-a-doodle-dumbo there knocked over my wife’s aromatherapy cabinet and then walked up and down Mrs Crossbottom’s back just when she was having a quiet massage session with my wife. It was the shock of her life! She jumped up and ran into the garden.’
‘A lucky escape,’ Dad ventured.
‘Not lucky at all!’ roared Mr Tugg. ‘She had nothing on! And I was out there gardening! I didn’t know where to look!’
‘Oh dear, I should think her bottom was very cross after that,’ said Dad, who was beginning to enjoy this. He always seemed to find it funny when Mr Tugg got angry.
‘And then the fox came inside the house and chased the hens upstairs. They’ve left feathers all over the place, not to mention the unmentionable. One of them jumped out of the window and landed on Mrs Crossbottom’s head and that set her off again. She’ll never come back and the house is wrecked. Wrecked! So here are your wretched beasts and you’d better not bring them back, ever. You can pay for all the damage. I’m writing to the council about this, and your pesky goat and pesky tortoise.’
Dad reddened. ‘What on earth has the tortoise done? Eaten your house?’
‘NO! MY BEST PRIZE-WINNING BEGONIAS, YOU IDIOT! I hope they arrest you and put you in prison – and your hens too. Good afternoon!’ Mr Tugg leaped back into his car, gunned the engine and roared off across the grass.
Dad looked at Mum. Mum looked at Dad. Granny looked at Lancelot and Lancelot looked at me.
‘Oh dear,’ we chorused.
9 And Here’s Henry…
Gloom, gloom, gloom. For several minutes we stood there, hardly exchanging a word, while the hens quietly clucked and glanced at us from time to time, like naughty children. The small crowd of campers that had gathered to watch Mr Tugg’s performance drifted away. It was Mum who spoke first.
‘I thought we came on holiday to escape the farm but somehow they all seem to have ended up here too – Rubbish, the hens, the tortoise. I’m surprised Mr Tugg didn’t bring all our lettuces and carrots too.’
‘That man’s a fool to himself,’ growled Dad.
‘All he had to do was keep his doors and windows shut.’
Cheese and Tomato arrived back from the hunt for Cecily Sprout. They had Lewis in tow. Tomato had been crying and was still sniffing a bit.
‘You didn’t find her?’ asked Mum. Tomato shook her head.
‘It’s a stupid doll,’ Lewis stated. ‘It’s a carrot.’
‘A parrot?’ asked Granny. ‘No, dear, these are hens. Parrots are quite different. They have bigger beaks and longer tails and they can talk, some of them. When I was a little girl my uncle had a parrot that used to say “Doughnuts made of dynamite are a deadly danger to Dodos”.’
Lewis looked around for help. He obviously thought Granny must come from outer space.
I took Tomato’s hand. ‘Let’s go and play a game,’ I suggested.
‘What – sniff – game?’ she asked.
‘We can play Catch the Duck!’ shouted Lewis, diving towards the hens. Lancelot just managed to grab Lewis before he could open a cage.
‘No you don’t, laddie,’ said Lancelot firmly.
‘Those animals are hens and they’re pets.’
‘Put me down or I’ll tell my mum!’ shouted Lewis, waggling his legs and trying to wriggle free. Lancelot put him back on the ground and scratched his head.
‘I used to be a Hell’s Angel,’ he murmured, giving me a pathetic look. ‘I’m supposed to be scary.’
I laughed. Lancelot is about as scary as a teddy bear.
‘I’m sure someone can think of a good game to keep you all busy,’ he suggested hopefully.
‘You could play safari park,’ I said, and Cheese and Tomato and even Lewis began to shout like crazy.
‘Yeah! Safari park! We can play safari park! Hooray!’ They began jumping about and laughing until they suddenly stopped and Tomato looked at me solemnly.
‘How do we play safari park?’ she wanted to know.
Lancelot and Granny looked at me too. ‘Yes, Nicholas. Do tell us. How do you play safari park?’
I shrugged. I didn’t know. It was just a kind of idea that popped into my head when I saw the hens and Schumacher. Then I had a thought – maybe that was it! ‘We’ve got a goat and a tortoise and some chickens. You can pretend they’re animals in your safari park and you have to look after them. You must make sure they have enough to eat and they don’t run away.’
‘Yes!’ shouted Lewis. ‘And we all have to wear caps!’
‘Caps?’ repeated Mum in bewilderment.
‘I think he means like a zookeeper or something,’ I suggested.
‘I’m in charge of the goat,’ Lewis declared. He seemed to think that because he was the biggest child he should have the biggest animal. I thought that was unfair, but Dad smiled broadly and said that of course Lewis could look after the goat. Dad winked at me. He knew perfectly well that Rubbish wouldn’t let anyone look after her. She had a mind of her own and did what she wanted.
Granny said that the three safari park officers could have their safari park outside their yurt. ‘There’s more room over there,’ she pointed out. ‘Come on. You come too, Nicholas. You can help keep an eye on things and then your mum and dad can have a bit of peace and quiet for a change.’
I love Granny and Lancelot’s yurt. It’s amazing. It’s SO different from the other tents and caravans. Loads of people stop to stare at it.
Some of them even ask if they can have a tour inside.
We carried all the animals across to the yurt.
We didn’t carry Rubbish, of course; she trotted after me. She often follows me around because I’m the one that usually milks her. Lancelot let the chickens out so they could peck over the ground and showed Lewis how to hold Mavis Moppet without squeezing her like bagpipes.
‘This is a good safari park,’ said Tomato, who seemed to have forgotten all about the disappearance of Cecily Sprout.
‘We should have lions and tigers and a big snake,’ complained Lewis.
‘What would you put in the lake, dear?’ asked Granny.
‘What lake?’ Lewis gazed around.
‘The lake you just mentioned,’ Granny smiled.
Lewis’s mouth dropped open but he couldn’t think what to say.
‘He said snake, babe, not lake,’ laughed Lancelot, shaking his head.
‘Oh! I do beg your pardon!’
Lewis looked at her blankly. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, or even if he was thinking at all. He was, because he suddenly announced that there
should be some proper big animals in the safari park.
‘You’ve got a goat,’ Lancelot pointed out.
‘We can have my dog, Henry,’ Lewis said.
‘He’s big.’ Before we could say anything Lewis had dumped Mavis Moppet and run off to his parents’ caravan. Cheese watched him go.
‘Lewis has got a big dog,’ he told us proudly.
‘It’s this big!’ Cheese stretched as high as he could, exaggerating as usual.
‘That’s huge!’ I laughed. ‘That would be a giant dog.’
Cheese nodded. ‘Yes. Henry’s a giant, giant, GIANT dog.’
At that moment I spotted Lewis walking slowly back towards us. He had his father with him, and Henry. My eyes almost fell out of my head.
Henry really was a big dog, and I mean he was BIG, the most gigantic dog I have ever seen, practically as tall as ME!
10 A Small Victory
‘Henry is an Irish Wolfhound,’ Lewis’s father smirked. ‘Wolfhounds are the tallest dogs in the world. There’s no need to be scared. Henry is as gentle as a lamb and very well behaved.’
Henry spotted the hens and decided he wanted to sniff them. However, Captain Birdseye didn’t want to be sniffed by a dog the size of a lorry, and I can’t say I blamed him. The cockerel uttered a shrill squawk and flapped in Henry’s face. Henry barked a lot and Rubbish looked at the dog angrily and decided it was time to act.
The goat lowered her head and charged. The hens scattered in fear, flying and flapping in all directions. Henry leaped out of the goat’s path, whirled round and galloped after her. Rubbishs skidded to a halt and charged back at him.
Meanwhile the rest of us were trying to gather up the chickens and the air was filled with a rising chorus of squeaks, squawks, grunts, growls, barks, bleats and, quite suddenly, the awful sound of tearing canvas. Henry and Rubbish had just ploughed straight through someone’s tent.
‘Get out!’ screamed a bearded man, whirling his arms in the air so hard I thought he might take off. The dog and the goat went careering off and soon they were carving their way through one tent after another, leaving a trail of destruction. It wasn’t long before the entire campsite was up in arms, yelling and screaming and hurtling after the two beasts, both of whom now had bits of tent flapping about them like strange flags.
‘Stop them!’
Lancelot and Granny leaped on to their motorbike and went roaring off after the two maddened animals. Granny was driving and Lancelot was standing – yes, standing! – on the seat, giving directions. As they caught up with the thundering pair Lancelot leaped from the bike and hurled himself on to the wolfhound. They crashed to the ground, rolling over and over.
Henry had been captured.
Rubbish skidded to a halt and turned to see what had happened. A crowd gathered round and began to press in. She looked at them nervously and kept lowering her head as if she was going to charge. I seized the moment and grabbed someone’s washing-up bowl. I crawled between everyone’s legs until I came out into the little circle where the goat was now standing.
Rubbish had managed to spear a large section of tent with one of her horns and she had someone’s shopping bag draped over the other.
‘It’s OK, Rubbish,’ I said quietly.
‘You watch out, sonny,’ growled Lewis’s father. ‘That goat’s a killer.’ Someone in the crowd suggested she should be shot.
‘Don’t listen to them, Rubbish. Everything’s all right.’ By this time I was right next to her. I scratched her between the ears. She likes that. She closed her eyes several times. She has such amazing, long eyelashes – you should see them! I patted her back gently, slipped the basin between her legs, squatted down and began milking her.
‘Heavens above!’ cried somebody. ‘Take a look at that. The boy’s milking her!’
‘Don’t be daft,’ snapped Lewis’s dad. ‘Milk comes from cows.’
‘And goats,’ the woman next to him said. ‘My father has a farm. He keeps goats for milk.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ muttered Lewis’s dad.
‘All mammals make milk,’ a child’s voice said.
‘We learnt about that at school.’
‘All mammals?’ queried Lewis’s father, who was having great difficulty accepting the revolutionary idea that it wasn’t just cows that produced milk.
‘Even mice?’
‘Yep,’ said the boy.
‘Elephants! Ha! I bet elephants don’t make milk.’
‘Of course they do,’ said the boy.
‘OK then, how about squirrels?’
‘Yep.’
Lewis’s dad’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head in disbelief. Gradually the crowd moved away, all except for the people whose tents had been ripped apart. They wanted to know what the campsite owner was going to do about all the damage. We soon discovered the answer to that, because he threw all of us off the site! He told Lewis’s family to leave as well. They were furious and said it was all our fault.
‘But your dog chased our goat and hens!’ said Dad.
‘You shouldn’t have a goat!’ growled Lewis’s father. ‘Whoever heard of anyone taking a goat camping? A milk-squirting goat? It’s revolting, and you can take your horrible carrot as well. I found my son playing with it. Your family’s weird – fancy putting a carrot in a bikini.’
Lewis’s father practically threw Cecily Sprout at Mum. So that was what had happened to Cecily. Lewis had kidnapped her! Tomato was over the moon. ‘Mummy, mummy! Cecily Sprout has come back! She went to play with that big boy!’
‘I wasn’t playing with her,’ snapped Lewis, turning bright red.
‘Your dad said you were,’ nodded Cheese.
Lewis huffed and puffed, not sure what to do or say. At last his eyes settled on Rubbish, and a smug smile crept on to his pudgy face. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘your goat is stupid.’ And he marched off with a toss of his head.
For a moment Cheese watched him go. Then he ran after Lewis, stopped him, looked straight at the older boy and folded his arms across his little chest.
‘I think,’ my brother said firmly, ‘I think your dog is very, VERY BIG!’
‘Huh. Of course he is, stupid. He’s the biggest dog in the world,’ Lewis sneered.
‘Yes,’ agreed Cheese. ‘He is very, VERY BIG, but he is VERY STUPID!’
Lewis’s eyes bulged. Cheese sensed that he’d gained an advantage and pressed on with his withering attack. ‘And so are YOU!’ he finished off.
I hurried over and took Cheese by the hand before Lewis decided to launch an attack of his own. A five-year-old battling with a three-year-old would not be much of a contest at all.
‘Come on, Cheese,’ I said. ‘You need to pack your toys before we go.’
Lewis gazed after us, clenching and unclenching his fists. It was only a small victory, but Cheese and I enjoyed it an awful lot. Not only that, but Tomato had been reunited with Cecily Sprout. However, it didn’t change the fact that we had to leave. We’d only been camping for three days.
We’re back home now and I don’t think it’s the end of our problems. There was a letter from the council waiting for Dad. They’d received Mr Tugg’s complaint and they’re coming to investigate. If they don’t like what they find they can tell us to get rid of all our animals. It’s not fair.
11 Startling Events
It was such a muddled afternoon yesterday that we forgot to have any supper. We didn’t get home from the campsite until the evening and then we had to unload the car, settle the hens back in the coop, milk Rubbish AND water the vegetable patch. I don’t think I’ll be a farmer when I grow up. There’s too much looking after to do. I mean, you even have to look after cabbages and lettuces and stuff!
I was so tired by the time all that had been done I went straight to bed. It was only when I woke in the middle of the night that I realized how hungry I was. I tried to get back to sleep but my tummy felt as if several mice were nibbling away inside it. My bedside clock said quar
ter past two. It was hours before breakfast. I’d die of starvation before then! The only thing to do was to get up and creep downstairs, trying not to wake anyone, and find something to eat.
If you’ve ever gone on a food hunt in the middle of the night you’ll know what it’s like. There are all those floorboards and stairs that squeak and creak. The noise sounded like thunder to me, but everyone slept on. Dad was snoring quietly. At least, I think it was Dad. I suppose it might just as easily have been Mum.
I got to the kitchen safely and hunted around for some food. I decided to have a whopping bowl of cereal because it was easy to sort out.
I fetched a bowl, filled it up and got some milk from the fridge. Then I sat down at the kitchen table and began to chomp my way through it all. Wow! There’s nothing like a midnight feast – magic!
Outside, the hens started clucking, which was odd because it was still dark. I know Captain Birdseye likes to crow early in the morning, but half past two is way too soon for him. I was sort of eating and looking out of the kitchen window at the same time and that was when I saw the figure in our garden, down near the hen house.
Whoah! I was so shocked I dropped my spoon. It fell into my bowl making the biggest splosh ever. My hands automatically shot out to try and catch it and I managed to catapult it right out of the bowl instead, flicking milk in my face and all down my pyjamas. Nice one, Nicholas. Why don’t you drown yourself in milk!
The spoon fell to the floor and clattered on to the tiles. Whoever it was in the garden turned and looked towards the house as if they’d heard something. I ducked down and stayed there a few seconds. Then I crept closer to the window to get a better look. I was beginning to wonder if it was Mr Tugg out there, creeping about, but if it was, what was he up to?
When I saw the figure climb over our fence and into next-door’s garden I was sure it was Mr Tugg. He was obviously heading home. Mind you, he seemed to be having a lot of difficulty getting into his house and was struggling with the back door. Eventually he gave up and decided to try a window instead.
My Brother's Famous Bottom Goes Camping Page 4