by Hilary McKay
‘He did!’
‘Yes, but things were different in those days.’
There was a pause then, and a hot scorching smell, while another sheet was ironed. Violet frowned in thought, trying to understand.
‘Did you have a prince?’ she asked at last. ‘What about Father? When did he come into the story?’
‘Too many questions,’ said her mother. ‘First I have to tell you about the soldier.’
‘What soldier?’
‘Back from the wars.’
‘What wars?’
‘And travelling the country, looking for work.’
‘What sort of work?’
‘Any sort of work because he hadn’t any money.’
‘Don’t soldiers get paid?’
‘If they do, they spend it. They can’t hold on to money. It’s not in their natures . . .’ Violet’s mother held a pillowcase, worn thin as tissue paper, up to the light. ‘It’ll drop to bits if I wash it,’ she said.
‘Throw it away and buy another!’
‘I can’t. I’m saving up.’
*
‘Anyway,’ said Violet, interrupting the ironing once more. ‘You haven’t finished the story at all! What about the soldier?’
‘He came long after the last of the princes, although not before the last of the dancing. He would never have come, but he met an old woman on the road. An old woman, bent under a burden of firewood and kindling. He offered to carry it and she let him. And when the wood was set down at the old woman’s house she thanked him and asked him his plans.
‘“I’m out to seek my fortune,” said he.
‘“There’s a fortune at the palace,” the old woman said, “for anyone that can solve a mystery.” Then she told him the tale of the twelve dancing princesses and the shoes worn to rags and holes by morning, and the King offering a princess and the rule of the country to anyone who could tell him how it happened. And the soldier said, “That’ll do me!”
‘“Well,” said the old woman, “you helped me, and now I’ll help you. So listen! When you reach the palace and you’re shut in for the night, in the princesses’ bedroom . . . if they let you try . . . if you dare . . .”
‘“They’ll let me,” said the soldier. “I’ve a way with words. And of course I dare. What have I got to lose?”
‘“Your noddle,” said the old woman.
‘“It’ll not come to that,” said the soldier.
‘“Not if you do as I tell you,” said the old woman. “Now remember this! Eat nothing, drink nothing, and wear the gift I give you!”
‘And then the old woman took from a chest a thin, grey cloak and she gave it to the soldier because he’d carried the firewood home.’
‘And that night did the soldier get locked in the room with you and the other princesses?’ asked Violet.
‘He did.’
‘And did you give him honey cakes, like each time before?’
‘We did, but we found out afterwards that he hid them all under his hat.’
‘But you gave him hot spiced wine?’
‘We did, but we found out afterwards that he poured it away into his boots.’
‘And then what?’
‘And then he lay back on his white down pillows and closed his eyes. Solid as a tree trunk and snoring like a porker and he never moved nor blinked, even when we poked him. Fast asleep, we thought. So then . . .’
‘What? What?’
‘Off with our nightgowns, and on with the silks and taffetas! Velvet and damask and lace like foam! Buttoned gloves, coral beads, pearl rings, diamond bracelets! Perfumes, powders, gilt tiaras and satin dancing shoes!’
‘And then?’
‘We piled on to the middle bed, all of us in a heap . . . and then, Whoosh!’
‘Whoosh?’
‘Down through the floor it sank . . .’
‘The bed sank?’
Her mother nodded.
‘And in a moment, less than a moment, we had reached the avenues of silver trees and golden trees and diamond trees that led down to the lakeside.’
‘All that was under the bed?’
‘It was. A whole glittering kingdom!’
‘Every night?’
‘That’s right. There was a lot more magic about in those days, don’t forget!’
‘And nobody knew about it all except you?’
‘Nobody knew about it but me and my sisters. Not till that night.’
‘Oh!’ said Violet. ‘I’d forgotten the soldier!’
‘I hadn’t!’ said her mother. ‘Not then. Not ever. Anyway . . .’
‘Whoosh! went the bed,’ prompted Violet, ‘and down you all went to the avenues of silver and gold and diamond trees!’
‘Yes, and we set off, just as we did every night, under the silver trees, and Lilian said suddenly, “What was that?”
‘“What was what?” I asked.
‘“I heard a leaf plucked,” said Lilian. “Right behind me!”
‘Lilian was always a girl to jump at shadows, and there was nothing behind her – we looked. So on we went, hurrying. And under the golden trees Lilian started again, “What was that?”
‘“What was what?” we asked her.
‘“I heard a flower picked,” she said. “Right behind me!”
‘But there was nothing and we told her so, and we left the golden trees behind us, and there was the diamond avenue leading down to the water, every leaf and branch shining, and Lilian stopped and spun around.
‘“I heard a twig snapped!” said she. “Right behind me!”
‘Well, we hadn’t heard it, but to please her we looked along the avenues and amongst the trees and we couldn’t see anything but sparkles and shadows.
‘“Someone is following us, I’m sure they are!” said Lilian, clutching my hand.
‘It was just then that I heard a swish, like a cloak might swish, and I thought perhaps she was right. But still there was no one to be seen and the others were hurrying down to the lakeside, and so we hurried too. We could see the boats by then.’
‘What boats?’ asked Violet.
‘The twelve little boats like seashells that waited by the lakeside to carry us over the water.’
‘Over the water to where?’
‘To the castle in the middle where the dancing was. Even from the lakeside you could hear the violins and trumpets and the flutes and drums. And there were rockets whizzing up and reflecting on the water and a warm smell of spices and perfumes and lilies, but that wasn’t why my sisters started running.’
‘Why did they, then?’
‘Because in each of those boats, except the one at the end, sat a prince!’
‘Not the noddled-off princes?’ exclaimed Violet.
‘The very same! With not a hair harmed. Waving and smiling and nodding their heads, and waiting to row them across to the palace, just as they did every night!’
‘Oh, how wonderful!’ said Violet.
‘I told you,’ said her mother, smiling over the ironing, ‘there was a lot more magic in those days!’
‘But . . .’ began Violet. ‘But . . .’ she said, hastily choosing from a hundred questions. ‘But Mother, who rowed you?’
‘I rowed myself,’ said her mother. ‘But Violet, my boat weighed extra heavy that night!’
‘Did it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And when you reached the island, did you dance all night?’
‘We did.’
‘And then you went home?’
‘That’s right.’
‘How?’
‘Same way as we got there.’
‘And the soldier?’ asked Violet. ‘What happened to the soldier?’
‘He was fast asleep when we got back! Fast asleep and snoring, with his cloak hanging over the end of his bed, all wet about the hem.’
‘All wet about the hem?’
‘As if it had trailed in water.’
‘Had it?’
‘Ah!’
‘And was Grandfather angry in the morning?’
‘Raging. But still we went again the next night.’
‘Leaving the soldier snoring, just like before?’
‘Just like before.’
‘And Lilian?’ wondered Violet.
‘Yes, Lilian! She heard footsteps under the trees, she said.’
‘But nobody was there?’
‘Weren’t they? The princes were there. And that night, when I climbed into my boat, a voice said, “Leave the oars and close your eyes!” And we shot across the water to the castle!’
‘I think it was the soldier!’ said Violet. ‘I’m sure it was the soldier, but why couldn’t you see him?’
‘I could dance with him,’ said her mother.
‘Did you? Did you?’
‘Till my shoes wore out.’
‘And then when you came back,’ prompted Violet, ‘where was the soldier? Still asleep in bed?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And his cloak hung over the end?’
‘It was.’
‘Wet around the hem, as if it had dangled in water?’
‘Clever girl,’ said Violet’s mother. ‘And it was the same the next night too, and that was the third night, and by then we knew each other very well, and he’d shown me the secret of the cloak that the old woman gave him for carrying the wood.’
‘What secret?’
‘When he took it off, there he was!’
‘Yes?’
‘And when he put it on, there he wasn’t!’
‘A magic cloak, which made him invisible?’
‘Well done!’
‘But what happened with Grandfather in the morning?’
‘Grandfather in the morning said, “Three nights running! And each night twelve pairs of satin shoes, worn to rags and holes!”
‘“Satin doesn’t wear well,” said the soldier, grinning.
‘“Neither does my temper!” your grandfather roared at him. “And now it’s off with your noddle!”’
*
‘“It is not off with my noddle,” said the soldier to your grandfather, “because I’ve found out what happens to them satin shoes!” Then he took from his pocket a silver leaf and a golden flower and a twig all set with diamonds, and he told your grandfather the story I’ve just told you.’
‘I bet he was surprised!’ said Violet.
‘He was so surprised he stopped roaring and raging, and he said, “Well lad, choose your princess!”
‘“I already did,” said the soldier.’
‘And it was you?’ asked Violet.
‘And it was me.’
‘And he was Father?’
‘Yes he was.’
‘And so then you lived happily ever after?’
‘Happily,’ said her mother, ‘but not ever after.’
Then, except for the thump of the iron and the rustle of the sheets, the kitchen was quiet for a while.
‘Oh,’ said Violet, and she gave a great sigh.
Her mother folded the last of the sheets. The cat rolled over in front of the fire. The Old King opened his eyes.
‘I miss my old noddle-offer,’ he murmured, and fell back asleep again.
‘He’s a shocker,’ said the Queen, Violet’s mother. ‘But we’ll not change him now. I’d best get back to the bedrooms.’
‘Not yet! Not yet! Not yet!’ cried Violet, running after her as she left the kitchen. ‘I need to ask you things.’
‘You’d better come help with the beds, then!’
‘Making beds is boring,’ grumbled Violet. ‘I don’t know why we do it.’
‘I told you, we’re saving up!’
‘Should we sell the music boxes?’
‘No, we shouldn’t.’
‘Could we sell the noddle-offer?’
‘No, we couldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well for one thing,’ said her mother, ‘I dropped it in the moat the day I met your father.’
‘You should have dropped it before,’ said Violet.
‘I should, but I never thought of it, I was that busy running after my sisters.’
‘What happened to them after the silver leaf and the golden flower and the twig all set with diamonds?’
‘They vanished.’
‘Where to?’
‘Where do you think?’
‘Back to their princes,’ said Violet, ‘and the shining trees, and the little boats like seashells and the dancing in the castle.’
‘I often think,’ said her mother, ‘that they’ll be dancing barefoot by now.’
‘They won’t care,’ said Violet, kicking off her boots and twirling, barefoot herself, not helping at all. ‘Oh what lovely times you had! I wish that it was me! Why is the room with the twelve beds kept locked? What happened to Father’s magic cloak? Do you think we could fish the noddle-offer out of the moat?’
‘Violet!’
‘Just for fun!’
‘Fun?!’
‘I do get bored.’
Her mother had been sweeping dust into piles under the lodgers’ beds. Now she stopped and looked at Violet. She looked at her for a long time, very thoughtfully, and she said, ‘You’d like that cloak, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes I would!’
‘You’d fish out the noddle-offer?’
‘If I could.’
‘You’d be on to that middle bed and off down the avenues and over the lake to that enchanted castle?’
‘I’d LOVE to!’ said Violet, still twirling.
‘And lost like the others,’ said her mother. ‘Well. It’s a good thing I saved up.’
*
Soon after this, things changed for Violet and her mother and grandfather, and even the cat. They exchanged the castle for a very small house in the city. Violet was sent to a school with navy blue uniforms, lots of homework, and hockey on Saturday mornings. There she learned to do a hundred things she’d always supposed girls couldn’t do, and her mother had always supposed they could, if only they had a chance. Once she got used to it, she enjoyed it very much and was never ever bored. The Old King, her grandfather, went to live in a home for tired old men, where he had porridge every morning and cake and ham at teatime and lots of things to grumble about and nurses to wipe his chin.
Violet used to visit him on Saturday afternoons.
‘The cat is getting fatter and Mother is much happier,’ said Violet, telling him the news. ‘She doesn’t have to work so hard now we haven’t any lodgers.’
‘Did you off with their noddles?’ asked her grandfather.
‘No of course we didn’t!’ said Violet.
‘I’d have offed them,’ said her grandfather, his voice quavering with sadness and regret. ‘I’d have offed them with my little noddle-offer.’
‘I know you would,’ said Violet, patting his trembling hands.
‘I’m not paying for any more of them satin shoes, if that’s what you’ve come to ask for.’
‘I haven’t come to ask for anything,’ said Violet, all at once sorry for her wicked old grandfather, still worrying his ancient worries. ‘I don’t wear satin shoes. Me and my friends wear hockey boots.’ And she stuck a foot out to show him.
‘’Ockey!’ he murmured, and dozed for a bit while Violet sat quietly, thinking.
‘There wasn’t no ’ockey when I was King!’ he said, suddenly awake again.
‘Poor Grandfather,’ said Violet. ‘Poor Old King!’
‘Poor old king,’ he agreed. ‘Poor old noddle-offer. Poor lost pretty maids all in a row.’
Violet nodded.
‘Poor princes,’ he said, and bowed his head.
‘Yes,’ said Violet gently. ‘Poor princes. But Grandfather, things were different in those days. And don’t forget,’ she added, as she mopped his tumbling tears, ‘there was a lot more magic about!’
9
What I Did in the Holidays and Why Hansel’s Jacket Is So Tight (by Gretel, aged 10)
or
Hansel and Gretel
Her name was Fraulein Angelika Maria and none of the children could say it. She was twenty years old, and everything about her, from her sea-green shoes (they had gold heels and gold linings) to her astonishing hair (it was dark red and wildly, expensively, shockingly short) looked entirely wrong for a one-roomed school house in the middle of a forest. It was not a nice school house. Fraulein Angelika Maria had never dreamed of such smothering, stifling dullness as she had found in that classroom. It was like a heavy blanket over her head.
However, that was where she was, and this was the third day of the term. Before she arrived she had planned to stay for a year.
But I didn’t sign anything, thought Fraulein Angelika Maria with deep, deep relief.
It was a very long way from the city.
Fraulein Angelika Maria and her class of children were halfway through their morning. They had sung a song about all things that were bright and beautiful (or at least Fraulein Angelika Maria had sung it while the children watched in baffled amazement). They had endured a story about a tortoise and a hare. They had been hauled from their desks to stretch their arms, touch their toes, and hop from foot to foot. They were patient children, and so although they looked at each other in bewilderment, they had obediently hopped. And then at last the morning had settled down into a more familiar pattern. Fraulein Angelika Maria was marking the essays that her class had written the day before. The children were toiling through arithmetic.
‘Ask me if you need help,’ she had told them. ‘Don’t sit and struggle.’
But they were sitting and struggling.
The schoolroom was heated by a smouldering iron stove. It smelt of damp wood, damp clothes and damp children. Fraulein Angelika wore a delicious perfume named Parisian White Morning, but its smell was not as strong as the schoolroom’s, and so it was soon overpowered. The sounds were of hammering rain, heavy breathing, the creak of wooden seats, the rattle and tick of the schoolroom clock, and sniffing. The sniffing and the rain were the loudest. Also there was a drip from the roof.
The problem of drips from the roof had never happened to Fraulein Angelika Maria before. She wondered how to deal with it. The sensible way, she supposed, would be to climb up and locate the hole. The polite way would be to ignore it. Neither seemed possible.
Luckily, the children were used to leaky roofs.