Cheryl picked up some tubs and helped carry them back to class.
‘Miss? Is it true that you want to be an albatross?’
‘Of course. What about you?’ But the thought of her teacher as a giant seabird was too much for Cheryl and she couldn’t answer.
It took a little while to unload the ambulance and carry all the boxes to the classroom. The children were dying to know what was in the tubs. It wasn’t long before they found out.
‘We’re going to do some cooking today,’ announced Miss Pandemonium. It was greeted by groans from a group of children.
‘Can’t we make our helibikes again?’
‘I think we’ve done enough flying for the time being. It will be a nice change to do some cooking.’
‘What are we going to cook?’ Caroline asked. ‘Can we make ice cream?’
Miss Pandemonium thought for a second. ‘I never thought of that. It would be lovely but I haven’t got the stuff with me today. How about making some Friendship Cake?’
‘Friendship Cake! What’s that?’
‘It’s something people in Germany used to make, and I think they made it in Canada too. We make a special cake using yeast, flour, sugar, milk and water and we share it with everyone else in the school. That’s why it’s called Friendship Cake. It’s nice to share things with your friends.’
Wayne puzzled over this. ‘I shared my black eye with a friend once,’ he said.
‘How on earth did you do that?’ asked Miss Pandemonium.
‘Well he gave me a black eye first, so I gave him one back.’
When everyone had stopped laughing,
Miss Pandemonium handed round a large plastic bowl each. Then she put out several bags of flour, bottles of milk, some big stirring spoons and finally a large, creamy brick. The class stared at it.
‘What’s that?’ asked Theresa.
‘Yeast. Amazing stuff. It’s really alive.’
Luke gave it a poke. ‘It’s not moving,’ he grunted.
‘It’s not even breathing,’ added Karen.
‘I think you should take it to the vet, miss,’ suggested Rebecca.
‘It hasn’t got eyes or legs. How can it be alive?’
Miss Pandemonium picked it up and started to break off big lumps to hand round the class. ‘Yeast is a sort of fungus and –’ She was drowned by a chorus of ‘Yuck!’ from the whole class. They picked up the yeast, sniffed at it and wrinkled their noses in disgust.
‘Oh, it’s not that bad,’ laughed Miss Pandemonium. ‘Every loaf of bread has to start off with some yeast in it. It makes the mixture swell up. Get your bowls and put in some flour.’
It wasn’t long before most of the desks, and the floor too, were covered in flour. The children had white smudges on their faces, halfway up their arms, and all over their trousers, skirts and jumpers where they had tried to wipe their hands clean.
John somehow managed to sneeze straight into his bowl, sending a cloud of flour billowing across the classroom.
‘Urgh!’ cried Sarah. ‘Don’t eat any of that. John’s not making Friendship Cake. He’s making a Sneeze Cake!’
‘Sarah, do you have to be so revolting?’ asked Miss Pandemonium. ‘Just mix up your flour, milk and water, like this.’
The class began to stir away. Some took it slowly and carefully. It was obvious that they had stirred things before. Others whisked round at several thousand miles per hour and were surprised to discover half the contents flying out over the sides and splurging across the carpet.
‘Oops, sorry,’ murmured Amber, as her entire bowl took off from her arm, twizzled about in mid-air and fell to the ground, splattering half a dozen children with soggy flour. But everyone was too busy stirring to take much notice.
‘Now for the magic ingredient,’ announced Miss Pandemonium. ‘In goes the yeast.’
‘How much should we put in?’ asked Kerry.
‘Oh, I don’t think it matters. When you’ve done that add plenty of sugar. The yeast needs sugar to feed on. Now work it all together, cover it with a cloth and we’ll put it on the heater to help it work. The yeast likes a bit of warmth to get going.’
Each child brought a large bowl of mixture and it was placed by the classroom heater. Miss Pandemonium got some of the children to take bowls to other classes. After all, she explained, it was for sharing with other people. Soon every class in the school had a bowl, or two or three, of Friendship Cake, much to their delight and interest.
Miss Pandemonium even sent some across for Mr Shrapnell and Mrs Bunt. The Headteacher glared at his and pushed it to one side of his desk. Mrs Bunt felt quite honoured.
Back in the classroom there was a strong smell of yeast and flour. ‘Hmmm,’ sniffed Miss Pandemonium. ‘Just like a real bakery, and you are all real bakers,’ she added proudly.
The class grinned back at her, covered in flour and paste. They got out their books and began to write about what they had done, while they waited for the yeast to take effect.
‘She’s really nice,’ Karen whispered across to Jackie.
‘Shrapnoodle’s going to get rid of her,’ Glenn warned darkly. ‘Anyhow, she’s loopy. She wants to be an albatross.’
‘So what? I want to be an army tank,’ hissed Wayne. ‘So just watch it.’
The first sign of success with the mixture came half an hour later when Mark noticed the cloth on his bowl bulging upwards. He took a peek underneath and was surprised to see that the mixture had gone all frothy. Little bubbles kept appearing on the surface and it had risen to the top of the bowl
‘That’s what the yeast does!’ cried Miss Pandemonium excitedly. ‘It makes the whole mixture rise.’
‘Mine’s doing it too!’ yelled Julie.
‘And mine!’
Right round the class there were yells as they discovered what was happening to their cake. The room was filled with a strong smell of fermenting yeast. Unfortunately the yeast did not stop working once it had reached the top of each bowl. It went bubbling on and on. The truth was that the children had put in far too much yeast, not to mention overdoing the sugar.
The little cloths covering each bowl were rising higher and higher, until you could see the pale, frothing mixture beneath. It looked like a row of bald heads with hankies on top.
Then the bowls started to overflow. The floury paste glooped over the edges and dribbled down to the carpet. There it began to spread, bubbles constantly popping to the surface and releasing the strong gas. The children began to move their desks away from the heater as a slow, smelly tide of flour, milk and water crept towards them.
‘Oh dear. I think we may have used too much yeast and sugar,’ said Miss Pandemonium quietly.
The same thing was happening in the other classes. The cake was being incredibly friendly and slopping about all over the place. Children were moving out of their classrooms and taking shelter in the hall.
Over in Mr Shrapnell’s office, his cake was on the march. It had swept across his desk. Now it was dribbling down all four table legs, carrying several important pieces of paper with it, not to mention five biros of different colours, a stapler and a signed photograph of the Education Minister.
‘Mrs Bunt!’ he screamed. ‘Mrs Bunt! Have you found a replacement yet?’
‘Sorry, Mr Shrapnell,’ she shouted back. ‘I’m afraid Miss Pandemonium will have to carry on.’
She watched the Friendship Cake on her desk carry away the telephone, sat back in her chair and laughed until the tears streamed down her face and she had to hold her sides.
5 Not So Friendly After All
‘Don’t you worry,’ Miss Pandemonium told the Headmaster. ‘We have made a bit of a mess but –’
‘Bit of a mess!’ Mr Shrapnell roared. ‘Have you looked down the corridors? There are six tons of porridge creeping round the school. It’s everywhere!’ He tried to pull his hands away from the sticky goo that covered his desk. It clung to his fingers like chewing gum and pulled into long strands.
>
‘It’s not porridge,’ Miss Pandemonium pointed out. ‘It’s Friendship Cake. I was going to say that I do realize we have made a bit of a mess and it is our job to clear it up. Don’t you worry, Mr Shrapnell. We shall soon have the whole building spick and span.’
Mr Shrapnell could hardly refuse this polite offer of help, even though a deep instinct warned him that it would only lead to more trouble. But he felt thoroughly tired and did not know how to argue against this awful woman any longer. Besides, for the moment he was far too busy trying to unstick himself.
Miss Pandemonium carefully made her way back to the classroom, her shoes making loud ‘skwuck-skwuck’ noises as she waded through the Friendship Cake. The children were all huddled together, feeling very nervous and rather scared by the success of their yeast mixture. It didn’t take much imagination to work out what Mr Shrapnell must be thinking.
‘Well,’ began Miss Pandemonium, ‘I think our Friendship Cake has been a little too friendly. That is entirely my fault and I have explained everything to Mr Shrapnell. There is no need for you to worry.’
Luke whispered hoarsely, ‘Will you have to go to prison, miss?’ He seemed to think that anyone who upset Mr Shrapnell would end up in jail.
‘No, of course not. People don’t go to prison for little things like this. However, we’ve made a mess, so it’s our job to clear it up.’
‘But that will take weeks!’ cried Amber. ‘We’ll be here for ever!’
‘Don’t you worry. We shall need plenty of hot water and soap powder. We’ll need buckets galore and mops and cloths and the vacuum cleaner. Right then, Cleaning Party – Attention!’
The class stood up straight and waited for orders. One group was sent off for mops, another for buckets and water. Some searched for cloths and soap powder. The last three went off to capture the vacuum cleaner and bring it safely back to base camp. It was a dangerous mission. Wherever those children went they had to overcome the terrible creeping cake that was still slowly spreading through the school.
Then the hard work began. Bucket after bucket of hot water was thrown against the oncoming tide. Soap powder was poured on in a white waterfall. The children seized brooms and mops and scrubbed away in their battle against the flour paste. A thick lather of bubbles began to form. The very large ones broke away and drifted slowly down the corridor or popped against the walls. The foam grew and grew until it almost reached from floor to ceiling.
Cheryl and Caroline gave a shout and vanished right into the bubble mixture. They reappeared covered in froth that glistened with all the colours of the rainbow and did a little dance. Soon everyone was doing the same. They walked up and down showing off to their friends until suddenly they came face to face with Mr Shrapnell.
For one second the Headmaster thought
aliens from a distant galaxy must have invaded the school.
He almost turned tail and ran for safety. Then he dimly caught sight of Wayne’s round face, masked by sparkling bubbles. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he hissed.
‘Oh, um, sorry, sir,’ trembled Wayne, and as he spoke bubbles came from his mouth and floated away. ‘We were just trying to clear up the mess.’
‘I suppose this was Miss Pandemonium’s idea? I’ll get rid of her if it’s the last thing I do!’ His eyes narrowed to thin, dangerous slits. ‘Well, was it? Speak up, boy!’
Wayne was silent. He stared at his feet, not that he could see them beneath a thick layer of foam. He just stared at where he thought they were most likely to be found. Mr Shrapnell gritted his teeth, turned on his heel with a loud ‘skwuck!’ and went to find Miss Pandemonium.
The children started to breathe again. They looked at each other anxiously. ‘Poor old Miss P. She’s going to catch it,’ murmured Theresa. Peter nodded.
‘If she goes …’ he began, but couldn’t finish. The others knew what he meant, but even they could not put into words the despair that was chilling their hearts.
‘Come on!’ cried Anthony. ‘At least we can clear this lot up for her!’ He grabbed a mop and went back to work. The rest of the class quickly joined in. It was a team effort against the monster cake, and slowly, bit by bit, they began to push back the tide and gain some ground.
Meanwhile, Mr Shrapnell was fighting his way through the building in his search for Miss Pandemonium, determined to bundle her back into the ridiculous ambulance himself, if necessary, and good riddance. He heard a distant whining noise and set off to investigate, only to walk straight into a ceiling-high mass of froth and foam. He plunged on, half blind, until at last he emerged on the other side, squeaky-clean and smothered in bubbles. Through the froth he saw Violet Pandemonium, vacuum cleaner in hand, trying to suck globs of Friendship Cake from the carpet.
‘Miss Pandemonium!’ he shrieked. ‘What is happening? What are you doing to my beautiful school!’
‘Oh, you do look a sight, Mr Shrapnell,’ said Miss Pandemonium. ‘You’re covered in bubbles. Don’t you worry though. I shall soon have you nice and clean. We can blow them away with the vacuum cleaner. You stand quite still now, don’t move …’
Miss Pandemonium switched the vacuum cleaner on to BLOW. The machine roared, whined, coughed and suddenly spat out huge dollops of Friendship Cake. They blasted through the bubbles and thudded against Mr Shrapnell’s chest. He staggered back until he hit a wall, then slowly slipped to the floor.
Miss Pandemonium switched off the vacuum cleaner. ‘Oh dear. I think there must have been some cake still stuck down the tube Mr Shrapnell. Sorry about that.’ She took a cloth and started to wipe the Headmaster’s suit clean. ‘There you see, it does come off. Mind you, it’s left your jacket a bit streaky. Still, it’s nice to be different, isn’t it? You know, I think we’re actually winning our battle, Mr Shrapnell.’
‘Battle?’ moaned the Head. ‘Battle?’ It certainly had been a battle. He’d been battling against Miss Pandemonium from the moment she had first set foot in the school.
‘Yes, our battle against the cake. There, you’re quite clean again.’ Miss Pandemonium gave his nose a quick wipe and polish and helped him to his feet. ‘Now, shall we go and see what Class Three have been doing?’
Mr Shrapnell hung back. ‘I don’t think so, no, I can’t take any more of this. I just want to go home and sleep.’ But Violet Pandemonium had him firmly by the elbow and was guiding him along the corridor.
A few stray bubbles clung to the walls. There was a strong smell of damp carpet and it squelched underfoot, but the Friendship Cake had gone. The children had steadily pushed it back until it was right outside the building. That was where Mr Shrapnell and Miss Pandemonium found them. They were pouring bucketloads of water over the last smudge of goo, until it had all trickled away down the drains.
‘There we are, all gone. Well done everyone, back to class.’
The children smiled at her and hurried off to the classroom, while Miss Pandemonium walked the Head back to his office. He kept mumbling that he didn’t understand anything any longer. Miss Pandemonium called to Mrs Bunt and asked her to make the Head a nice strong cup of tea. ‘He’s had a bit of a shock,’ she pointed out.
Once he was in his office Mr Shrapnell began to recover. Sitting in his old chair – now nice and clean, though a touch damp – his head started to clear. Beyond Miss Pandemonium he could see the school timetable, still firmly stuck to the wall. The school timetable! There was his great strength. Already he could feel it giving him new life.
He rose to his feet, pushed past Miss Pandemonium and ran a keen eye over it. ‘I knew it! I knew it, Miss Pandemonium. It doesn’t say anything here about cookery. Mr David’s class is never supposed to cook at all!’
Violet Pandemonium came over and glanced at the timetable. Mr Shrapnell pointed out the whole week of work that was laid out for Class Three, not to mention all the other classes in the school. There was even a timetable for Mr Shrapnell himself. Miss Pandemonium carefully read it through.
‘Do you see? NO COOK
ING!’ repeated the Head.
‘But how do you manage, Mr Shrapnell?’
‘What? What are you going on about now?’
‘Your timetable here – it must be so awful for you.’ Miss Pandemonium looked at Mr Shrapnell with a childlike expression of wonder. ‘Your day is quite full up and you’re not allowed one visit to the toilet. How do you know when to go? And what about blowing your nose? How do you manage?’
Mr Shrapnell stared at her. Then he stared at the timetable. He read his own timetable again and again. He stared back at those twinkling grey eyes. Suddenly he was scrabbling at the wall, tearing down the beautiful piece of work, scrumpling it up, shredding it with his bare hands, smashing it with his fists, throwing it to the floor, jumping on it and kicking it violently to all corners of the room.
He stood there, breathing heavily and staring wild-eyed at Miss Pandemonium. At last he opened his mouth.
6 Little Things – Big Problems
‘Telephone for you, Mr Shrapnell,’ called Mrs Bunt. ‘I’m putting you through now.’
The Headmaster picked up the receiver and listened. The colour drained from his face. His right eye began to twitch. ‘Tomorrow? Tomorrow afternoon? Well, of course, no problem at all. We look forward to seeing you, Mrs Donovan.’ He slowly put down the phone. That was it. That must be the last straw. Mrs Donovan was a very important School Inspector, and she was going to visit Dullandon Primary School tomorrow afternoon.
It must mean the end of everything. Mrs Donovan would take one look at Miss Pandemonium and close the entire school. He’d be sacked, thrown out on his ear after ten years of spotless headship. He walked aimlessly through to Mrs Bunt’s office.
‘Mrs Bunt? I suppose Miss Pandemonium is here today?’
‘Didn’t you hear the ambulance, Mr Shrapnell?’
‘Yes, yes, though I did try very hard not to. I take it there is no word from Mr David? He won’t be in tomorrow?’
Pandemonium at School Page 3