by R. A. Spratt
‘Sharing a cake between three hundred people – that’s the most barbaric type of crime there is!’ declared Nanny Piggins, leaping up to make a citizen’s arrest.
‘Shh,’ pleaded Samantha, grabbing hold of her nanny’s arm. ‘If you get the headmaster thrown in jail he’s sure to give us all bad report cards.’
‘It’ll be worth it,’ insisted Nanny Piggins.
‘No, it won’t,’ said Samantha. ‘You know Father docks your pay if we get bad marks. And no money means no chocolate.’
‘All right,’ conceded Nanny Piggins, reluctantly sitting back on her chicken kiev. ‘I’ll let it slide this time. But I’m watching him.’
The auction was even more boring than the chicken dinner. Nanny Piggins had absolutely no interest in bidding for ukulele lessons, or dinner for two at the seediest Italian restaurant in town. So she was under the tables again, crawling across the room to bite Michael’s English teacher, when the auctioneer called out the final item for the night. ‘Headmaster for the day! Who would like to be headmaster for the day?’
Now it just so happened that at this exact same moment Headmaster Pimplestock was patting his pockets, saying, ‘I appear to have lost fifty dollars. I must have dropped it.’ (I do not want to accuse the headmaster of stealing the leftover chocolate cake budget. But one must wonder what a headmaster was doing carrying such a large amount of cash in his pocket.)
Meanwhile, Nanny Piggins was on her hands and knees under the headmaster’s table and she saw a crumpled piece of paper on the floor in front of her. She immediately recognised it as her favourite type of paper – money. She scooped it up and leapt out from under the table, yelling, ‘Fifty dollars!’
‘Sold to the pig with the fifty-dollar note!’ cried the auctioneer.
And that is how Nanny Piggins accidentally bought a day as the school’s headmaster.
She did not cry when the auctioneer took the bank note out of her hand, although she really did want to. She could not understand what was happening. Why would anyone want to be headmaster for the day? Indeed, that was precisely the problem. None of the parents wanted to, and none of them showed any interest in bidding on it, which was why the auctioneer was so quick to snap up Nanny Piggins’ bid.
Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children walked home feeling glum. They were all lost in their own thoughts.
‘What a waste of fifty dollars,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘What a horrible thing to do to a chicken,’ said Boris.
‘Thank you for biting Mr Grant,’ said Derrick.
‘It’s going to be fun having you as our headmaster,’ said Michael.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m not looking forward to growing a beard and wearing ugly clothes.’
‘But that’s not all that headmasters do,’ said Samantha.
‘It’s not?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘No, they set all the rules in the school. They are in charge of all the teachers and they decide what the students are going to study,’ explained Derrick.
‘Really?’ said Nanny Piggins. She was beginning to get interested. ‘Hmm, this might not be so bad after all. I definitely don’t have to grow a beard?’
‘Not unless you want to,’ Samantha assured her.
And so on Monday morning Nanny Piggins accompanied Derrick, Samantha and Michael to school. Boris went along as well, because he did not want to get lonely at home. Headmaster Pimplestock greeted Nanny Piggins at the gate. He opened his mouth to say something about Boris, but then closed it again, deciding perhaps he had better not.
‘Welcome to the school, Miss Piggins,’ called the headmaster.
‘Headmistress Piggins, you mean,’ corrected Nanny Piggins.
Headmaster Pimplestock laughed. ‘Yes, yes, Headmistress Piggins. We’re going to start the day with an assembly where you can address the school.’
‘No, we’re not. I’m the headmistress and I can’t think of anything more stupid than getting five hundred children in a room and boring them,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘That’s what we do every Monday morning,’ protested the headmaster.
‘Not now that I’m headmistress,’ declared Nanny Piggins.
‘You do er … realise that you’re not actually headmistress. ‘Headmistress for the day’ is more an honorary, symbolic title,’ said Headmaster Pimplestock.
‘I paid fifty dollars – that’s eight chocolate cakes worth of money – to be headmistress and I intend to be headmistress,’ declared Nanny Piggins, drawing herself up to the full four feet of her height.
‘I can’t allow anarchy to …’ began the headmaster.
But Nanny Piggins interrupted. ‘Throw him off the grounds, Boris. I don’t even know what he’s doing here. He doesn’t have a job anymore.’
‘You do realise your position is just for one day?’ squealed Headmaster Pimplestock as Boris picked him up and carried him to the gates.
‘You can get a lot done in one day if you set your mind to it,’ said Nanny Piggins darkly. ‘Now hurry along, children, you’d better get to class. I have things to do.’
The first thing Nanny Piggins did was sack the entire maths department. She was very nice about it. She assured the maths teachers she did not hold it against them personally. They had obviously all suffered some terrible trauma in early life for them to go into such a cruel profession. But in her opinion any maths beyond the ability to calculate the cost of a mixed bag of lollies was a waste of time. She replaced them with a staff of chefs to teach the children how to cook, saying, ‘We all eat three meals a day (sometimes more), whereas you can go your whole life without ever doing quadratic equations.’
She then lined the whole school up along the soccer pitch, gave every child a ball and got them to throw the balls at the sports teachers, to see how much they liked dodge ball. There was some squealing and many, many red welts. But the sports teachers soon got the message about bullying not being all right just because you are wearing a whistle.
After that Nanny Piggins burnt down the school cafeteria, explaining that it was wrong to allow the site of such crimes against food to continue to exist.
Then she sent all the children home to get changed. (Now you might think having been told to go home, the children would not come back. But they all did. Because they knew what was going to come next). Nanny Piggins forced all the teachers to wear uniforms. Pink uniforms, because pink looks good on pigs so why not on teachers. Some of the teachers complained. But as Nanny Piggins pointed out, ‘If you like uniforms so much, why shouldn’t you wear them.’ And it made more sense for children to wear regular clothes and teachers uniforms because ‘children have a better dress sense than teachers as far as I can see’.
In short, by lunchtime, the entire student body loved Headmistress Piggins. There were cheers of joy and gratitude everywhere she went about the school grounds.
The staff, on the other hand, were not so comfortable. After lunch the secretarial staff met Nanny Piggins in the headmaster’s office, in tears. ‘What’s wrong,’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘Surely you don’t want that boring old headmaster back?’
‘No, not at all,’ said the most senior secretary. ‘He never let us order chocolate biscuits. And you’ve given us a packet each on your first day. So we’re loyal to you to the end. But we’re concerned. The district superintendent is due to inspect the school at two o’clock this afternoon and we’re worried you’ll get in trouble.’
‘If this superintendent really is as super as his job title implies, then I don’t see how he can be cross with me when I’ve made so many excellent improvements,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘But if the superintendent is unhappy he won’t just take it out on you,’ said the senior secretary. ‘He can withhold funding for the school physics excursion.’
‘What’s so good about a physics excursion?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘All the children get to go to an amusement park and go on the rides to observe centrifug
al force and gravity,’ said the senior secretary.
‘Do the students really do that?’ asked Nanny Piggins suspiciously.
‘No, they eat too much junk food and go on the rides until they’re sick,’ explained the secretary.
‘Then they cannot be allowed to miss out on such a valuable learning experience,’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll deal with this super-person.’
Fortunately, impressing the district superintendent was a lot easier than Nanny Piggins imagined. He was a plump, elderly man who led a quiet life, never having married. But as soon as he saw Nanny Piggins he fell in love. He had always been attracted to short women with peaches-and-cream complexions. It never occurred to him that his perfect woman was a pig until he saw Nanny Piggins.
But it was not just Nanny Piggins’ appearance that won him over. He also fell in love with her educational theories. He approved of her decision to take all the school’s set English texts and run them through a wood chipper. Both because the pages provided excellent mulch for the school gardens and because she allowed the children to read books they might actually enjoy, having formed the radical theory that if children were allowed to enjoy reading they were likely to read more.
The superintendent was equally delighted by Nanny Piggins’ approach to geography. She got the children to make prank calls to foreign countries. If you really want to know the chief imports and exports of Istanbul (not that Nanny Piggins could see why you would), the best way to find out was to ring someone in Istanbul. And, as an added bonus, if you ring them up at three o’clock in the morning their time, you will learn some interesting local colloquialisms.
‘Brilliant!’ exclaimed the superintendent.
And when Nanny Piggins taught a history class by regaling the children with colourful (naughty) stories from her own life, he thought it was a wonderful example of oral history in action.
So by the time he had finished his inspection, the superintendent was convinced Nanny Piggins was the best headmistress he had ever seen (and he secretly wanted to marry her).
‘Headmistress Piggins,’ said the district super intendent. ‘I must insist you leave this job immediately.’
‘But I thought you liked the work I was doing here?’ protested Nanny Piggins.
‘I do. That’s why I want you to leave and join head office. You must institute your brilliant educational theories across the entire school district, then the country. And then, I believe, we should make it our mission to spread your ideas across the entire world,’ gushed the superintendent.
‘No,’ declared Nanny Piggins.
‘No?’ asked the superintendent, trying not to cry.
‘While it is a tempting offer and, goodness knows, schools are the silliest institutions, I’m afraid I’d rather not,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Why not?’ asked the superintendent.
‘I already have a job,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m a nanny. And there is no more important job than that. The three children in my care may grow up to be astronauts, presidents or semi-amateur jugglers. And it’s my job to make sure they do whichever one suits them best.’
‘But the education system needs you,’ pleaded the superintendent.
‘Yes, I know, because schools are cruel, illogical and unfair. But the thing is – life is cruel, illogical and unfair. That is why the education system works so well. If schools and teachers did a good job and inspired children and made them enthusiastic about every subject, they would only be sadly disappointed when they got out into the real world. Better to disappoint them when they’re young. It is more important to learn to cope with disappointment than learn how to do long division.’
‘You are a very wise pig, Miss Piggins,’ said the superintendent.
‘True,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘If you won’t come and work with me to improve the standard of schools, can you at least do me one favour?’ asked the superintendent.
‘What’s that?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘Will you allow me to have one kiss?’ asked the superintendent, leaning towards her cheek.
‘No,’ declared Nanny Piggins, putting up her trotter to block the path of his lips.
‘No?’ said the superintendent, feeling rather crushed.
‘I can see you are already in love with me. It is a common effect I have on men. Maybe one day, years from now, you will get over it enough to settle down with another woman. But if I let you have one kiss – no other woman will ever live up to me and you will be sad and lonely for life. So it is for your own good that we shall just shake hands,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Thank you, Nanny Piggins,’ said the superintendent, taking her trotter in his hand. ‘It has been an honour and a privilege and I shall never wash my hand again.’
‘That is a lovely, if disgustingly unhygienic compliment, so I thank you,’ said Nanny Piggins.
And so, in just one short day, Nanny Piggins became the most successful headmistress of all time, and then retired so as not to disturb the educational system of the entire world. This made Derrick, Samantha and Michael happy because, while they loved her as a headmistress, they really, really loved her as their nanny.
Nanny Piggins and the children were playing Native American Indians. Which involved crawling under hedges, around garbage bins and over fences as they stalked the postman. When they caught him they were going to scalp him. I know it sounds gruesome, but the postman did not mind because they never actually scalped him, they just gave him a very short haircut. Plus Nanny Piggins always gave him a cup of tea and a slice of cake before they sent him on his way again. Indeed, since Nanny Piggins moved into the neighbourhood, the postman had saved a fortune on going to the hairdresser.
On this particular morning Nanny Piggins and the children were distracted from their bloodthirsty task. Just as they were about to swoop on the postman, pull him off his bicycle, tie him up and start snipping, they saw him deliver a letter into their very own letterbox. Nanny Piggins was torn – she did enjoy giving the postman a haircut (she was going to give him a flat-top this month) but she was also burning with curiosity about the letter. So she called together her Native American Indian warriors (just in time because Michael was about to drop onto the postman from out of a tree) and they ran over to look at the mail.
Nanny Piggins’ curiosity was rewarded because there was one letter addressed to her. It was obviously very important because it was typewritten and did not smell of animal droppings (which is what all the letters Nanny Piggins received from her circus friends always smelled like).
‘Open it,’ suggested Derrick.
‘What if it’s booby-trapped?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘Who would send you a booby-trapped letter?’ worried Samantha.
‘A very long list of people,’ admitted Nanny Piggins.
‘I know!’ said Michael. ‘Let’s trick Father into opening it for you.’
‘That wouldn’t be very fair. What if there is a venomous snake or an ancient Egyptian curse inside?’ said Nanny Piggins. Then she thought about how, only that morning, Mr Green had forbidden her from holding a tango marathon in his living room, and she changed her mind. ‘Let’s do it!’
They rushed inside. Mr Green just happened to be at the house that morning because the office building where he worked was being fumigated. The building had a terrible infestation of cockroaches, which had spread from Mr Green’s very own desk, because he ate all his meals there and he never cleaned up properly.
So Mr Green was sitting in the living room reading the newspaper and desperately trying to ignore the existence of his children. He did not even look up when Nanny Piggins handed him the letter. He just grunted and, without taking his eyes off the paper, he started opening it. Nanny Piggins and the children took cover behind the couch with their fingers in their ears, just in case. But when Mr Green tore the envelope open, there was no explosion or wild animal jumping out. Mr Green did not even shrivel up in a puff of green smoke. He
simply slipped out some folded sheets of paper.
‘Thank you,’ said Nanny Piggins, snatching them out of his hand and running out of the room.
Upstairs in the safety of her bedroom, Nanny Piggins and the children looked at the letter. The letterhead said it was from the government. Nanny Piggins hid her head under the quilt because she was afraid to read any more. She had always worried what would happen if the government found out about any one of the number of technically not quite legal things she did on a daily basis. So Samantha kept reading for her.
‘It says that you, Sarah Piggins, are required to report for jury duty,’ read Samantha.
‘Jury duty? What on earth is that?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘When they have court cases, they get twelve people to come in to decide whether or not the person is guilty,’ explained Derrick.
‘You mean I’ll get to decide whether to send someone to jail?’ asked Nanny Piggins excitedly.
‘Yes,’ said Derrick.
‘That’s easy,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’ll just write a letter now saying that they’re innocent.’
‘But you don’t know what the crime is or who’s standing trial yet,’ protested Samantha.
‘But I’m sure even if they did it, they didn’t mean to,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I break rules all the time and I never mean to get caught.’
‘That’s not how a jury works,’ said Derrick. ‘You have to go to the trial and listen to everything all the lawyers have to say.’
‘I don’t know about this,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘It sounds awfully like work.’
‘You don’t have any choice,’ said Samantha. ‘You’ve been summonsed.’
‘I’ve been whatsied?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘It means you’ve been officially told you have to go by the government,’ said Samantha.
‘Really?’ said Nanny Piggins, beginning to look very mutinous. ‘I have to, do I?’
‘They’ll give you free sandwiches for lunch,’ said Derrick, hastily trying to defuse the situation.
‘Oh well, that’s all right then. They really should put that in the letter,’ said Nanny Piggins, suddenly cheering up. ‘Let’s go.’