Wot will the little chaps do with themselves when they can no longer wake up each day in their beloved alma mater? (SKOOL! SKOOL! SKOOL! BASH ‘EM UP ST CUSTARD’S!) Wot will they do, eh? Frankly i would hardly like to sa it is so unspekeable wot with 3 cokes and a lb of home-made fudge before 10 a.m.
A few, however, of the more thortful types will be planing ahead for lazy days by the sea e.g.
‘i see that striped beachwear is in fashion agane this season,’ sa molesworth 2, laing down his ladies mag hem-hem. ‘Do you intend to be chic this season molesworth 1 in casual slashnecked coton with delectable acessories or do you intend to wear your ushual dirty blue drawers?’
‘Shutup molesworth 2 i am looking at t.v.’
‘t.v. is the curse of modern youth. Wot is on?’
It is a brany chap who hav made a telescope out of a tin of pineaple chunks as a sparetime hoby.’
(3 hours later, plus 2 mins and 6 sees.)
‘The pla is over and i have guesed that it was an etruscan jam jar dated circa 1066a.d.,’ sa molesworth 2. ‘Where shall we all go for our glamorous holiday in the sun? Shall it be breezy ventnor? or rolicking ryde? Do you wish to find health and hapiness at bridlington molesworth one? Perhaps romance will come your way this year, o weedy wet. Or do you prefer the s. of france?’
‘Ah how joli et gai the s. of france would be!’
(He dreameth.)
La France. Beneath an orange umbrela sit molesworth 1 on a chaise on the terace of the hotel magnifique. there is the scent of jasmin and bullseyes in the air, an orchestra pla the minstrel boy softly, Le soleil brille. molesworth turn to his companion, the glamorous hortense –
M. MOLESWORTH: j’aime voo, hortense.
HORTENSE: OO la-la and houp-la. c’est vrai?
M. MOLESWORTH: (souriant soppily) Les loups sont laids, les elephants sont enormes, les girafes sont hauts.
HORTENSE: Wot the blazes hav that got to do with it, mon amour?
M. MOLESWORTH: it is all the fr. i can remember it is potts and pilcher fr. primer ex 9B and wot is a grate surprise to all is that all the adjs hav an ‘s’.
HORTENSE: Why do you always hav to bring the loups into it? The loups are idiotics. they are unnecessaries. they are humides. they are weedys they are unintelligents. (She brake off and stares) Qui est ce beau gars?
m’ sieu molesworth regard autour de lui.
M. MOLESWORTH: Mon dieu c’est grabber the tete de la skool! Je l’ai eu (i hav had it). He gives another quick blow of the eye. Non, j’ai tort egad c’est M. Hubert our fr. master –
M. Hubert sees molesworth and reels with dismay, i supose it is hard chedar when you come on a cheap pleasure hoi and find me there large as life at the other end. Any case in certain circumstances masters seem to feel boys cramp their style e.g. over GURLS.
M. HUBERT. Cor cripes its molesworth 1 must get the blazes out of here. (Il voit hortense) Well this is reel nice, molesworth, is the lady votre mere?
HORTENSE: Mais essayez-vous clot et dites moi qui vous etes etc?
Caption: La France. Beneath an orange umberla sit molesworth on a chaise on the terace of the hotel magnifique
HUBERT: Come again?
M. MOLESWORTH: She was telling you to sit down and give an account of yourself. Pray join us.
(the fr. master so betwitched with the beauty of hortense that he take molesworth’s hand and kiss it chiz chiz chiz.)
MOLESWORTH: As i was saing the loups sont laids..…
But it is no use hortense and the fr. master gaze into each other’s eyes. Finaly armand the boy from the fr. book appear with Papa. Houp-la he sa i see the sea. Big boats go on the sea. Is the sea wet?
PAPA: Non armand but you are.
He push him quietly off the port and join the fr. master and hortense. The dream fades..…
Aktually most boys do not get the chance of a hapy hol in the s. of France. They go on the broads where a steady percentage fall in and are never heard of agane: they go in caravans or camps, they are sent to aged aunts who hav houses au bord de la mer. Anything to save money.
molesworth 2 and me ushually get a lite sentence at a boarding house at Babbling-by-sea e.g.
MON REPOS
frunished accommodation teas. new laid eggs. letuces from own garden. piano taught. Manicure.
Prop. Mrs furbelow.
(aply within)
Mon repos is a pritty tuough place and make even st. custard’s seem like the ritz. It always rain when we arive and all in a bad temper. Inside front door is a mat which sa ‘Welcom’ and a huge hairy lady spring out at us and below ‘Wipe your shoes’. In fact this is all you are alowed to do in mon repos the rest e.g. sliding down banisters, having baths, bunging cushions etc is stricktly forbidden. There is no future in wiping your shoes forever so it is beter to brave the elements outside.
You kno how they describe hols in the childrens books e.g. as soon as mummy and daddy had unpacked the eager little chaps ran off with their bukets and spades to the seashore. If you do this at babblington-on-sea you get blown sixty miles inland the wind is so ferce. You hav to hang on all the way if you want to get down to the beach.
And then wot do you see? Babies. Nothing but babies. Some sit in pudles, some stager drunkenly across the sand, some beat pat a cake with a spade but most just sit there with their mouths open looking loopy. And when you pass it is always the same thing the mum sa: ‘Baby sa helo to the nice little boy.’ Me nice? Hem-hem.
‘But you were,’ sa molesworth 2, weedily. ‘my first recolection as i opened my blue baby eyes was you molesworth 1 you were shaking a ratle and sa ‘ickle pritty brudder.’
‘i was only saing my lines.’
‘That may be but mum always sa i was a beautiful baby.’
‘time molesworth 2 works grate changes.’
Ho for beach criket! As the tide recede leaving vast expanse of seaweed, old bottles, planks and oil wot can be nicer than a joly game of criket? All the fathers encourage their little ones and the little ones gaze at their fathers with their white hary legs and become depresed about the future. If we are all to grow up like that wot is the use of going on, eh? Paters are oblivious of this and encourage all.
‘Come on cyril you are in … don’t blub … timothy is not blubing … hit a six old chap … well tried … next man ect ect ect ect..… until all the children are blubing and all the paters are plaing it is the same old story. Wot is left for the new boyhood? They dash into the sea with glad cries and drown themselves. So boo to boarding houses, cliffs, bukets, spades, water wings, windmills, model boats seaweed and striped beachwear – roll on thou grate and restless ocean roll over the LOT.
Roll on thou grate and restless ocean roll over the LOT
5
THE CRUEL HARD WORLD
WHO WILL BE WOT?
Fellow weeds, hav you ever cast those blue eyes of yours – just like your mater’s hem-hem – into the grimy future? Wot i mean is, we are YOUTH chiz chiz whether we like it or not and as every weed who come to give us prizes sa – The Future is in yore Keeping.
n.b. it is no use saing We don’t want it. You can keep it etc. Nobody wants the future and we are left holding the baby chiz chiz chiz.
These Grate and FEARLESS thorts come to me the other day in prep as i stare gloomily at the imperfect subjunk of avoir. From that i allow my gaze to wander out of the window at those little feathered creatures who kno tru freedom. Next i draw a wizard H-bomb xplosion and then i look around me at my felow weeds.
All these oiks, tuoughs, weeds, wets, bulies, snekes, cads, dolts and knaves – Wot will Become of Them?
Hav they tried their best? No. Hav they put the Subjekt in the Nom? No! Hav they kept their eye on the pill at criket? No! Hav they been well-manered and respecktful to the masters? No! Hav they heeded warnings and pi-jaws? Absolutely not!
Wot is to become of them? The molesworth Daydream Service now merged with Bets, Wagers and Prophesies Inc. produce the answer.
089281 GRABBER. Everyone kno grabber he is head of the skool and winner of the mrs joyful prize for rafia work. He also win every other prize and is collosally rich etc. Everyone now would sa wot a bright future lies before him, the world is at his feet. Ah no, the grate buly hav an ugly fate. First, his pater lose all his money so grabber drift from bad to worse and as he could not be worse now this is joly difficult. First it is the pin-table halls, then pepsi-cola, then dogs, then GURLS and then horses. In fact the only good thing to be said of this wastrel product was that he liked the horses better than the gurls.
In the end a mere empty husk grabber came back one night to st. custard’s, the scene of his brilliant triumps as a youth. He climb in through the ushual window and gaze at the darkened classrooms. Alas, the scene do not soften his callous soul. No tears glisten in those beady eyes. In the morning the skool come down and gaze open-mouthed at the Blakboard. Some words hav been rudely chalked hem-hem.
LATIN IS SOPPY. MATHS ARE MAD. FRENCH IS FRITEFUL. ALG IS AWFUL. WOOD WORK IS WET. THE FOOD COULD DO WITH IMPROVEMENT.
This terible crime so shoked the nation that the whole resources of Scotland Yard were thrown into tackling the criminal. grabber was caught and sent to Wormwood scrubs were he met several old custardians. The governor put him straight on to rafia work ignorant that this had been the cause of his downfall. Soon the inmates were shoked by another outrage in the Health and Beauty Hall.
WARDERS ARE WEEDS. GOVERNORS ARE GURLIES. RAFIA WORK IS ROTEN. THE CELLS ARE DISGRACEFUL AND THE FOOD COULD DO WITH IMPROVEMENT.
The eye of the prophet molesworth
For this grabber get another 7 years but he sa he do not care so boo there is no difrence between st. custard’s and wormwood scrubs anyway.
The eye of the prophet molesworth next lite upon dere little fotherington-Tomas. Wot does the cristal ball reveal for this gurly? Can it be true? AIR VICE-MARSHAL SIR BASIL FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS, V.C., D.S.O. Clubs: Spaceman’s, Ovalteenies.
Air Vice-Marshal Sir basil fotherington-Tomas lowered himself into the cockpit of the gleaming space jet (complete with all parts £2 mill.)
Is the atomic reactor set to zero, Huggins?
Yessir.
Anti-gravity boosters to half-cock?
Yessir.
Pressure reading 8?
Yessir.
Radial dynaflow in parallel?
Yessir.
That’s it then. Can’t afford to make a mistake. Only a fifty-fifty chance I’ll make mercury. So long, Huggins.
SHoo-SHoo-SHoo
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooSH
OBITUARY. (By a pal.)
All those who knew basil fotherington-Tomas will mourn the death of a very brave space pioneer. He won a v.c. for shooting down 99 spaceships off mars and this was folowed by the d.s.o. for beating up the bauxite in Betelgeuse. Sir basil was educated at st. custard’s where he is still remembered for his skipping and liteness of foot. ‘He skipped everything,’ said his headmaster, reminiscently..…
O goody sa fotherington-Tomas peeping over my shoulder
O goody molesworth you hav put me in and made me brave.
How can i thank you enuff? i’m brave i’m brave hurra.
I should not count on it, i sa. It is only a flite of fancy.
Thanks all the same. You are super molesworth 1 you really are. Now wot is yore future?
Another splendid creation by NIGEL
Who me oh i sa gosh no.
Fearfully i put my grate nose towards the cristal ball.…
Another splendid creation by NIGEL is this daring cocktail frock in burned orange and squashed muskrat. Note how Nigel has modelled bodice and waist in crashed chipmunk and a flaring skirt with matching beads. No wonder that Nigel’s B-line is the sensation of the season. Nigel has flair! Nigel will be showing his spring colection..…
CURSES! I take the wretched cristal pill and punt it out of the window. It take few things to drive me back to the imperfect subjunk of avoir but this is one of them. J’eusses tu euse..… But wot’s the good of any of it?
WORKER No. 12345/c NYE MOLESWORTH
‘5 rats eat 6 seed cakes in 43 mins, 9 secs. They pause for twenty minutes. Then they eat 29 rock cakes in 15 secs (dead). They pause for 1 minute, 13 secs. Then they eat a cheese in 33 minutes.
How long do the rats take to eat the seed cakes, the rock cakes and the cheese?”
Wot a question, eh, to ask a boy! But that’s the sort of thing you get faced with in exams and if you don’t pass exams in this brave age you DON’T GET ON. chiz. Of corse it is quite easy to see why a weed who kno the height of Ben Nevis also that vertically oposite angles are equal is a beter bet for a bank or dog biscuit firm than me who kno o less than o cheers cheers cheers. But wot ocasionally depress me in my few leisure moments, my dear, is that you hav to go on taking exams all through your life chiz chiz chiz chiz
e.g.
THE BOSS: Ah, fotherington-Tomas, wot is the population of grater london eh?
F-TOMAS: 44 million and a few odd thou.
THE BOSS: Are the oposite sides of a parallelogram equal?
F-TOMAS: Indeed they are, sir.
THE BOSS: i won’t ask you about the rats.… you hav satisfied me. You are now export manager.
F-TOMAS: O goody!
You see wot i mean? Except for a couple of peaceful years doing national service the brave new clots hav got nothing but EXAMS EXAMS EXAMS. And it’s the same for the gurls, too.
Aktually there is one comfort for clots like me who are not brany we can always get a job in a factory. In fact factories are glad to get anybody to judge from their notices:
BLITHERING M’FAKTURING COY
WANTED
Toggle adjusters, clump press minders, tigglers, snorer hoisters, glug drillers, swarf wipers, troggers and cricks.
SKILLED, SEMI-SKILLED, CLOTS, MENTALLY DEFICIENT. IDIOTS, NUMSKULLS.
ALL WELCOME.
CANTEEN, PENSION, PROFIT SHARING, SONGS AT THE PIANO. FREE SHAMPOO. SHADY TERACES. ALL WELCOME
AND WE PAY YOU FOR IT, TOO!
O.K. No need to wory if you canot pass your Eleven Plus or Comon Entrance to an extremely tuough public skool, all you hav to do is to wait until you are 15 and cash in at the dere old plant.
This is wot hapen. You catch the old works bus and clock-in, put on your overalls, chaff the gurls, turn on the air conditioning, open the marshmallows and switch on the old precision tool. Any fool kno how to work a precision tool it’s pappy. You feed in a piece of steel at one end and the machine grab it, hoist it over, punch, turn it back, punch it, press it, heave it upside down make a right-hand thread, squeeze it in two and there you have a finished snibber ready to rivet into the crocks of the cramp thus marrying the prip with the creech in the finished end-product.
But wot make work in the factory so fasscinating is the GOOD CONVERSATION in the shops. Effie on the glug driller next door tell you all that she sa to her boyfriend last nite and you tell her wot you see on the telly you’ve just bought and all the machines go –
A puff-a grab – sizzle – grunt – screeeeeee – ow – gosh – sizzle – screeeee – ow – help – gosh – and agane – screeeeee———
In fact, all are hapy turning out milions of snibbers when in come die shop foreman.
All right, he sa, switch off we’re downing tools. Send for the manager and quick. Tell him I’m waiting. Jump to it, molesworth, i just seen another nine snibbers drop off. If you’re not careful they’ll be making a profit.
‘Wot,’ you sa, throing an oily rag at Effie, ‘seems to be the trouble, horace?’
‘Felow called peason without a union card in the paint shop. Manager won’t sack him so i am calling you out.’
So it’s no more snibbers and out with the old cards and a nice game of pontoon. Pity really becos it’s not as if you were doing much work in the first place. Anyway imagine wot it would be like if this sort of thing spreads –
Scene 3B. Master is reading his ushual book of love and passion while form swot at fr. verbs, dab criket, NOUGHTS and crosses, pools, free verse and other trifles of the boy mind.
Enter GILLIBRAND, foaming at the mouth.
GILLIBRAND: All right. That’s enuff. We’re out. Down yore potts and pilcher fr. primer.
BEAK: (reciting dreamily) She galoped across the desert hem-hem in his strong tawny arms..… (he gives a start) Wot is the meaning of this?
GILLIBRAND: a stoppage.
BEAK: No no, not that. How ghastley! Let the production lines of avoir, etre, donner, aimer and recevoir roll on. After all, you’re a reasonable boy. (thinks: i must be polite to the twirp tho i would like to give him six).
GILLIBRAND: a tick in IB hav exceeded his algy quota yesterday. We can’t hav that, you kno.
The Beak fall down on his knees.
it is by such an example as i, like those other brave, clear-eyed workers in the documentary films that britain will win its export batle
BEAK: Don’t go out. Stay on the jobs. i’ll do anything to put this injustice right ect. ect.
Well, imagine that if poss. There is a grate deal of thortful work to be done on labour relations between beaks and boys though i expect it will be the same old story do wot you’re told or 6 of the best.
Back to the factory now and 12345/C nye molesworth hav been shifted from the machine shop and is now working in asembly as a reward for his zeal promise and enthusiasm. Let us prick our grimy ears and listen. The forman speaketh.
‘molesworth!’
‘wot me? it was me the last time.’
‘you ’eard. get up there, lad, and give it a turn on the left-hand creep. Why you looking like that?’
Whizz for Atomms Page 6