Mr Majeika and the School Book Week

by Humphrey Carpenter

  “This is dreadful,” said Mr Majeika. “They’ve really all been very naughty. How am I ever going to get them back into the right books?”

  “I shouldn’t bother,” said Pete. “I’d got bored with most of the books in the library, but if they’ve all been changed, I’ll start at the beginning and read right through them again.”

  “Me too,” said Jody. “It’ll make them much more exciting.”

  “Book Week is supposed to make books seem more interesting, isn’t it?” said Thomas. “Well, Mr Majeika, you’ve certainly done that!”

  3. Hello, Europe!

  “Bonjour, Monsieur Majeika,” said Jody. “Parlez-vous français?”

  Mr Majeika sighed and scratched his head. “Oui, Jody,” he said slowly, thinking very hard about the words. “Je speak – I mean, je parle français. Oh dear, what a difficult business it is teaching French.”

  This term, Class Three were having French lessons, to prepare for a day-trip to France. “I thought a wizard would find it easy to speak in a strange language, Mr Majeika,” said Thomas.

  “I can speak in some strange languages,” said Mr Majeika. “See if you understand this: OLLEH, SAMOHT. NAC UOY DNATSREDNU EM WON?”

  “Gosh,” said Thomas. “What language is that, Mr Majeika?”

  “Upsidedownese,” said Mr Majeika.

  “It’s spoken by Australian wizards. Maybe if I wrote it, you’d work out what it meant. It’s much easier than French.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Jody. “Why don’t you cast a spell over the whole class, so that we can all speak French perfectly?”

  Mr Majeika looked doubtful. “I could try,” he said. “But you know how my spells keep going wrong.” He waved his arms in the air, and muttered some strange words to himself. “Now try,” he said. “Just speak normally, and see if it comes out in French.”

  Jody drew a deep breath, and said “Hello!” It didn’t come out in French, but her voice had turned into a deep bass.

  Hamish Bigmore roared with laughter. “You sound really stupid,” he said. And this made everyone else laugh, because Hamish’s voice had gone high and squeaky. When Thomas and Pete tried to talk, their voices had American accents. Everyone else in Class Three spoke in some strange way, too!

  “Well, I did warn you,” sighed Mr Majeika, and he waved his hands again and muttered some more words.

  “Never mind,” said Jody, relieved to find that her normal voice had come back.

  “We’ll just have to work hard at learning French.”

  “What a waste of time,” snarled Hamish. “Isn’t it stupid of the French to speak a different language from us? I bet they all talk English really, when we’re not there. They only pretend to have their own language, just to annoy us.”

  “Something tells me,” said Pete, “that Hamish Bigmore is going to be an absolute pest on this French trip.”

  In fact, on the journey to France he behaved perfectly well. Or rather, no one noticed him being a nuisance. This was because so many odd things were happening on board Class Three’s bus.

  The fun started on the way to Dover, where they were supposed to catch a hovercraft to cross the Channel. The traffic had been very slow all the way from St Barty’s, and now it had come to a complete standstill.

  “Oh dear,” said Mr Majeika, looking at his watch. “The hovercraft leaves in half an hour. I’m afraid we’re going to miss it.”

  “Boo-hoo,” wailed Melanie, bursting into tears, as she always did when anything went wrong.

  “It’s all right,” said Mr Majeika, and he turned to the bus driver. “Have you got a good head for heights?” he asked him.

  “You bet,” said the driver. “I used to be the window cleaner for an office block.”

  “In that case,” said Mr Majeika, “hold on tight, everybody, and up we go!”

  He shut his eyes, waved his hands, muttered some words, and the bus began to rise into the air. Up, up, it went, until it was floating above the tops of all the lorries and cars that were jammed together below. The other drivers stared in

  amazement as the bus began to fly over the traffic jam.

  “Cor,” said the driver, “this beats the telly, it does.”

  “I feel sick,” sobbed Melanie, as the bus swayed up and down in the air. But everyone else was delighted.

  “This is fantastic, Mr Majeika,” said Pete. “We’ll be in time for the hovercraft after all.”

  But they weren’t. They floated down into the hoverport, and drove up to the gates, but a cross-looking man had just shut them. “Too late!” he shouted.

  “Haven’t you read what it says on the tickets? Buses must be here half an hour before the flight leaves.”

  “Boo-hoo!” wailed Melanie.

  “Never mind,” said Mr Majeika. “I expect we can manage it without a hovercraft. Do you get seasick?” he asked the bus driver.

  “Not on your life,” said the driver cheerfully. “Before I became a window cleaner I was in the Navy.”

  “Then up we go again,” said Mr Majeika, and shut his eyes, waved his hands, and muttered some more words. The bus rose once more in the air, and in a few moments it was flying across the English Channel, high above the waves – and high above the hovercraft, which they could see churning its way towards France.

  “ ‘A life on the ocean wave,’ ” sang the driver, “ ‘is the only life for me.’ ” He grinned at Mr Majeika. “This is better than the movies!”

  “I’m going to be sick,” snivelled Melanie, but Mr Majeika gave her a magic seasickness pill, and she soon felt fine. After only a few minutes, the bus landed on the beach in France, just as the hovercraft was coming in.

  “We had a much better journey than them,” said Jody, pointing at the passengers, who were climbing off the hovercraft, looking very green in the face because the sea had been rough.

  In a few moments, everyone’s passports had been checked by the French officials, and they drove off into the town, where they were to spend the day. “We haven’t got long,” Mr Majeika explained to everyone, “so please will everybody behave themselves and stick with the class? I don’t want anyone wandering off, so that we have to waste time finding them. The first thing we’ll do is go and see some typical French shops. You can all practise the French you’ve been learning, because you’ll find lots of nice things to buy.”

  They had all brought some French money – all except Hamish Bigmore. “The only real money is English money,” he said. “They only have this French stuff to annoy us. And they’ll take English money when I offer it to them, because they know it’s better than French. You’ll see!”

  The bus parked in a square in the middle of the town, and everyone got out. “You can have fifteen minutes for shopping,” called Mr Majeika. “There’s a pastry shop with lots of nice cakes, a clothes shop which also sells toys, a newspaper shop which sells French comics, and a record

  shop where you can buy French pop music. Don’t spend all your money at once, because you may want to buy something later. See you all back at the bus in a quarter of an hour.”

  Jody, Thomas and Pete decided to go to the record shop and see what French pop music was like. They were a bit disappointed, because most of the records, CDs and cassettes in the shop were by pop groups they’d heard before. So they tried the newspaper shop, but again the comics were ones they knew already, featuring characters like Astérix and Tintin. “This is boring,” said Pete. “France seems just the same as England.”

  “It can’t all be the same,” said Jody. “My dad told me to try the pastry shops. He said they make wonderful cakes and chocolates that you never get in England.”

  “Sounds OK,” said Thomas. “Come on.”

  There was trouble going on in the pastry shop. Two gendarmes, which is the French name for policemen, were dragging somebody out into the street. He was smeared all over with chocolate.

  “It looks like Hamish Bigmore,” said Pete.

  The shopkeeper
was waving his hands about angrily, and chattering away furiously in French. “Don’t be silly,” shouted Hamish at him. “I know you really speak English, so stop that jabbering.”

  The gendarmes were blowing their whistles angrily. They were about to hustle Hamish into a police car, when up rushed Mr Majeika. With great difficulty, he persuaded the shopkeeper and the gendarmes that he was Hamish’s teacher, and he asked them what was wrong.

  The shopkeeper said a great deal in French, very fast. Mr Majeika scratched his head. “Let me guess,” he said to Hamish. “You bought a lot of chocolates and then

  tried to pay for them with English money, and when they wouldn’t take it, you ate the chocolates anyway. Is that true?”

  “You bet it is,” said Hamish, licking his lips.

  “Well, you deserve to be taken to the police station, to teach you a lesson,” said Mr Majeika. “But so as not to spoil our day-trip, I’ll see what I can do.” He waved his hands and muttered some words. “Now,” he said, “if the shopkeeper looks on his counter, I think he’ll find that all the chocolates that Hamish ate have reappeared.”

  It was true. The shopkeeper was quite astonished, and the gendarmes seemed cross that they couldn’t arrest Hamish, but everyone soon calmed down and the gendarmes drove off in their police car.

  “Now,” said Mr Majeika, “as we’ve finished shopping, let’s all go and have lunch. Then you can see what French food is like.”

  “I bet it’s the same as English food,” said Pete, “just like the pop records and the comics.”

  But it wasn’t. There were some very strange-sounding things on the menu, and they had to spend a long time puzzling over the names of the dishes, with the help of a dictionary. “Look at this!” cried Mr Majeika excitedly. “Escargots means ‘snails’. They’re serving snails for lunch! How wonderful – I haven’t tasted snails since I was a wizard. They used to be my favourite food.”

  “It sounds horrid,” said Jody, making a face. “But snails is a very famous French dish, Mr Majeika, so you ought to try it.”

  “Yuck,” said Hamish Bigmore. “No poisonous French rubbish for me. I’ll have beefburger and chips, with baked beans.”

  “It’s not on the menu, Hamish,” said Mr Majeika. “You’ll have to eat something French.”

  “Well, I won’t,” said Hamish crossly, and got up. “I’m going to see if there’s somewhere in this crummy town that serves decent food, like we have in England.”

  He stormed out of the restaurant, and for a while things were nice and peaceful. Mr Majeika’s snails came, and he said they were delicious. Jody is a vegetarian, so she had mushroom soup and a nice dish made out of potatoes and cheese, and Thomas and Pete had steak with salad. They were all really enjoying themselves, when they heard police whistles blowing outside the restaurant.

  “Oh dear,” said Mr Majeika, “I hope it isn’t Hamish.”

  Pete went and looked out of the window. “Yes it is,” he said. “They’re arresting him again.”

  Mr Majeika hurried outside. This time it took much longer to discover what Hamish had been doing, because it required a lot of long French words for the gendarmes to explain, and Mr Majeika had to keep using his dictionary. Hamish and the gendarmes were surrounded by a crowd of very cross old ladies, who were shaking their fists at Hamish, and chattering away

  very fast in French.

  “I think I understand,” said Mr Majeika at last. “It’s all to do with bread.”

  “Bread?” said Jody, puzzled. “Hamish doesn’t like eating bread, does he?”

  Mr Majeika shook his head. “He hasn’t been eating it. He’s been breaking bits off it. You see, French bread is sold in long sticks, called baguettes, and when people buy them they tuck them under their arms, or put them in their shopping bags so that the ends stick out, or if they’re on bicycles they fasten them to the carrier at the back. And Hamish –”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” said Thomas. “Hamish has been going round the town, breaking off the ends of people’s baguettes.”

  “That’s right,” said Mr Majeika gloomily. “Look!” The old ladies were all brandishing broken baguettes, with the ends chopped off them.

  “Oh dear,” said Jody, “do you think you can do something about it, Mr Majeika?”

  “I’ll have a try,” said Mr Majeika. He shut his eyes, waved his hands, and muttered some words. Suddenly the old ladies stopped their chattering, and there were gasps of astonishment. The broken baguettes were suddenly unbroken again. The missing bits, which Hamish had knocked off, had been magically put back in place.

  The gendarmes stared open-mouthed.

  Then they shrugged their shoulders, and let Hamish go. “You don’t deserve to get away with this, Hamish,” said Mr Majeika. “Now, everyone, before we go back to the bus, we’re going to visit the cathedral. Come along, Hamish, and no more trouble-making.”

  “Cathedral,” grumbled Hamish. “Who wants to see a stupid cathedral?” But he tagged along behind the rest of Class Three as they walked across the square and into the cathedral.

  Inside it was very dark with the only light coming through stained-glass windows, making it difficult to see anything. Class Three and Mr Majeika looked around at the statues and candles. Then Jody said, “Hamish has vanished.”

  “Oh, bother,” said Mr Majeika. “Where did he go?”

  “Outside, I expect,” said Pete. “He’s probably gone to make some more trouble.”

  They all went outside, but there was no sign of Hamish.

  “What a nuisance,” said Mr Majeika.

  “We ought to be going home in a few minutes. I know, I’ll put a spell on him to keep him in the same place, wherever he is. That means he won’t be able to keep dodging away from us. All we have to do is look for him.” He shut his eyes and waved his hands. “That should do it,” he said. “Now, you all stay here, and I’ll go and find him. While you’re waiting, have a look at the stone carvings on the front of the cathedral. They’re very interesting.”

  Off he went, and Thomas, Pete and Jody looked at the carvings. Strange creatures had been cut in the stone. They were meant to be devils and other monsters, and they were all very ugly. “That one’s really dreadful,” said Pete, pointing to a figure above one of the windows, which was baring its teeth at them.

  “It’s different from all the others,” said Jody. “It reminds me of someone, but I can’t think who.”

  “Can’t you?” said Pete. “I can. It’s just like Hamish Bigmore.”

  “Yes, isn’t it?” said Thomas. “Isn’t that odd? It means that hundreds of years ago, when they were building the cathedral and doing these carvings, there must have been somebody around who looked just like Hamish.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Jody. “I think Hamish must have climbed up that scaffolding, where they’re mending the stonework, to do some mischief. And then Mr Majeika put the spell on him, and he’s turned into a carving.”

  At that moment, Mr Majeika came back, looking worried. “I can’t see Hamish anywhere,” he said.

  “It’s OK,” said Pete, “we’ve found him.” He pointed to the carving. “You can take the spell off him now, Mr Majeika.”

  “All right,” said Mr Majeika, “I’ll do my best.” He thought for a moment, then muttered and waved his hands.

  The carving of Hamish didn’t move.

  “Perhaps it was the wrong spell,” said Jody.

  Mr Majeika shook his head. “I’m sure it wasn’t,” he said. “Perhaps I didn’t say it loud enough, or perhaps –” He stopped, and a worried look appeared on his face. “Perhaps, as we’re in France, I need to say the spell in French.”

  “But you managed to turn him into stone without speaking French,” said Thomas.

  “That spell used international magical words,” explained Mr Majeika. “The one I was trying just now was in English. Come on, we’re going to have to find a French magician.”

  They went off down the street,
looking at the names above the shops. Suddenly Pete said: “Look – isn’t that what we need?” He pointed at a small, dark shop, above which the sign said Pierre Dubois, Magician.

  “Excellent!” cried Mr Majeika, pushing the shop door opened. But then he stopped and shook his head. Inside, the shop was full of conjuring tricks. There was a very ordinary-looking young man behind the counter. “This won’t do,” said Mr Majeika. “It’s just a trick shop. What a pity.”

  “But look, Mr Majeika,” said Jody, pointing at a half-open door which led into the room behind the shop. Through it, they could see a very old man, in a wizard’s tall hat, sitting in a deep armchair. Asking the permission of the shopkeeper (as best they could in their broken French), Mr Majeika and the others pushed open the door. “Bonjour,” said Mr Majeika nervously to the old man, and then, “Why, it’s my old chum from sorcery school, Daniel-Paul Lapin. How are you, Daniel-Paul?” He shook hands with the old French wizard, who smelt strongly of garlic, and quickly explained the problem.

  “Ah, zat ees no problem,” said Monsieur Lapin. “I will be, ’ow you say, de-lighted to come to zee cathedral and work zee spell in French. It ees a long time since I have done ze magic. I just sit here all ze day, watching my grandson sell ze conjuring tricks. Eet ees so boring! Spells are more, ’ow you say, fun!”

  So off they all went to the cathedral, where Monsieur Lapin spoke a long spell in French. Hamish came to life at once, and climbed down the scaffolding, with a grin all over his face.

  “Zere you are, my friend Majeika,” said Monsieur Lapin. “I zink zat, next time you come to France, you ’ad better learn ze French.”

  “I think I had,” said Mr Majeika. “But really, we’ve had far too many spells today. I’m sure I should stick to being an ordinary teacher, and not do any magic, or go looking for French wizards to do it for me. Don’t you agree, everyone?”