Never Say Moo to a Bull

by David Henry Wilson

  ‘Onion rates, eh?’ said the man in the brown coat. ‘What’s your name, then, sonny?’

  ‘Jeremy James,’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘That’s a smart-sounding name all right,’ said the man in the brown coat. ‘But to tell you the truth, Jeremy James, we were really looking for someone a little older and a little bigger.’

  ‘I’ll be getting bigger,’ said Jeremy James. ‘I’ve grown quite a lot since last week.’

  ‘Oh you’ll be growing fast, I’m sure,’ said the man. ‘You’ll be growing at onion rates, won’t you? But you see, we need someone to carry big loads of fruit and vegetables around. And he’d have to be able to carry them on a bicycle to the houses around here.’

  ‘Well I could put them in my saddlebag,’ said Jeremy James. ‘When I’ve got a saddlebag.’

  ‘And when you’ve got a tricycle,’ said the man.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘No, I don’t think that would work,’ said the man. ‘Because there’s an awful lot to carry.’

  ‘I’ll get a big saddlebag,’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘In any case,’ said the man, ‘you couldn’t do the job till you had your tricycle. And you can’t have your tricycle till you’ve done the job. It’s what’s called a vicious circle. Or cycle.’

  Jeremy James’s head dropped down on his chest like a cabbage too heavy for its stalk.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said the man. ‘You try and grow nice and quickly, and when you’re as tall as my shoulder, come back and I’ll give you the job.’

  ‘I’ll never be as tall as your shoulder,’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘If you eat plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables,’ said the man, ‘you’ll be up past my shoulder in no time. And I’ll start you off myself, how’s that? Come here, Jeremy James. Now take this paper bag.’

  Jeremy James took the large paper bag that the man held out to him.

  ‘Now you go round my shop,’ said the man, ‘and fill that paper bag with anything you like.’

  ‘Anything?’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘Anything,’ said the man.

  Jeremy James looked round the shop. Apples, oranges, pears, bananas . . . potatoes, tomatoes, beans, carrots . . .

  ‘You haven’t got any chocolate, have you?’ asked Jeremy James.

  ‘Afraid not,’ said the man.

  ‘Or any tins of mandarin oranges?’ asked Jeremy James.

  ‘No tins here,’ said the man. ‘Everything fresh as God made it.’

  Jeremy James filled his bag until its sides were splitting and he needed both hands and both arms to hold it all together.

  ‘Off you go, then, Jeremy James,’ said the man, ‘and I’ll see you when you’re up to my shoulder.’

  ‘All right,’ said Jeremy James. ‘I’ll be back next week. Thank you very much for the bagful.’

  When Mummy and Daddy saw the bag of fruit, their eyes opened as wide as apples.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ asked Mummy.

  ‘I went for a job at the greengrocer’s,’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘Did you get it?’ asked Daddy.

  ‘Well, not exactly,’ said Jeremy James. ‘He said I should come back next week when I’m as tall as his shoulder.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Daddy, ‘and he gave you all this to help you grow.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jeremy James. ‘I’ll be growing at onion rates.’

  ‘Well, that is a lovely lot of fruit,’ said Mummy, emptying the bag on to the table. ‘Worth a small fortune.’

  An idea came into Jeremy James’s mind, and lit up his eyes from inside.

  ‘Well, it is mine,’ he said, ‘but you can have it for nothing if you give me some money for it.’

  Mummy looked at Daddy, and Daddy looked at Mummy.

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Daddy. ‘If you want free fruit, you must pay for it.’

  ‘How much are you asking?’ said Mummy.

  ‘It’s worth a small fortune,’ said Jeremy James. ‘But I’d like enough to buy a tricycle with a saddlebag.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mummy, ‘now that would be a large fortune.’

  ‘All right,’ said Jeremy James. ‘Enough for a box of liquorice allsorts.’

  And to Jeremy James’s surprise and delight, Mummy agreed. Ten minutes later Jeremy James was hurrying back up the road and round the corner to the sweetshop, and on his face was a smile as wide as a banana. It was the smile of a man who had done a good day’s work.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Christening

  Christopher and Jennifer were to be christened. Jeremy James found the idea of christening a little difficult to understand. Mummy explained to him that the twins would be named and dipped in water, but Jeremy James pointed out that they already had names and that Mummy dipped them in water every day, so why did they have to go to church to be given names they already had and a bath which they didn’t need? Then Mummy said Jesus wanted little children to be christened, but Jeremy James reckoned Jesus couldn’t have known the twins had already been given their names and their bath. Then Mummy said Jeremy James was too young to understand but he could look forward to the party afterwards, and Jeremy James decided that if there was going to be a party afterwards, maybe christenings were a good thing after all and Jesus knew what he was doing.

  There were not many people in the church, which seemed all dusty and hollow, and the people who were there talked in very quiet voices, as if they were afraid to wake somebody up.

  ‘Mummy,’ said Jeremy James in a loud voice that echoed round the walls of the church, ‘why is everybody whispering?’

  One or two heads turned in Jeremy James’s direction and Mummy’s face went a little red.

  ‘Because,’ whispered Mummy, ‘you’re not supposed to talk loudly in church.’

  Mummy looked very smart in a blue suit with a flowery blue hat, and she was holding Christopher, who was wrapped up in a soft blue shawl. Christopher was peeping round him, and didn’t seem to like what he saw. There was a slightly alarmed expression in his eyes, and his lips were turned down at both ends. Although the sun shone brightly outside the church, there was a distinct threat of showers inside.

  Daddy also looked very smart in his grey suit with a neat grey and white tie. He was holding a pink-shawled Jennifer, who giggled loudly as Daddy tickled her under the chin. Daddy had to stop tickling her, because Jennifer didn’t understand that you weren’t supposed to make loud noises in church.

  And between Mummy and Daddy stood Jeremy James, in a suit as grey as Daddy’s, with his face scrubbed clean and his hair well brushed and parted. He gazed round the high, hollow church, and wondered why God chose to live in such a gloomy place. He reckoned God would be a lot happier if someone were to stick paper chains across His ceiling.

  As Jeremy James gazed and pondered, the door of the church opened and in came Uncle Jack, Aunt Janet, and Melissa, who was the same age as Jeremy James. Uncle Jack and Aunt Janet caught sight of Mummy and Daddy, and gave them a cheerful wave. Melissa caught sight of Jeremy James and stuck out her tongue. Jeremy James screwed up his face, put his thumb to his nose, and waggled his fingers. Just as he did so, the Reverend Cole hobbled up the aisle and drew level with Mummy.

  ‘Ah, good morning!’ said the Reverend Cole in a hollow creaky voice, and peered short-sightedly at Mummy. ‘You must be . . . ah yes, of course . . . and this is . . .’

  ‘Christopher,’ said Mummy, ‘and my husband’s holding Jennifer.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the Reverend Cole, ‘Christopher and Jennifer . . . I must remember that.’ Then the Reverend Cole peered short-sightedly at Jeremy James. ‘And what’s this little girl’s name?’

  ‘Jeremy James,’ said Jeremy James. ‘But . . .’

  ‘Jeremy James,’ said the Reverend Cole, bending his tall thin body over like a hairpin, ‘that’s an unusual name for a little girl.’

  ‘I’m a little boy,’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘Ah, that expl
ains it,’ said the Reverend Cole. ‘Now when it’s time, I want you and your family and friends to come to the back and gather round the font. All right? You can’t miss it. So nice to see you. Christopher and Jennifer . . . two for the price of one, eh?’

  And the Reverend Cole hobbled away to begin the service. The Reverend Cole always hobbled, because he was very old and his legs were very rubbery, but today his hobble was mixed with a wobble because yesterday, quite by accident, he had sat on a wasp and the wasp had stung him. The wasp, of course, had died, but the Reverend Cole had been left with a sore bottom.

  When the service began, the Reverend Cole spoke out in a very loud voice, though Jeremy James wasn’t sure what he was saying. Jeremy James whispered to Mummy that she should tell the man he wasn’t supposed to talk loudly in church, but Mummy said ‘Sh!’, and just then everybody started singing at the tops of their voices: ‘Blessed Jesus, here we stand.’ One moment you had to be very quiet and the next moment you had to be very loud – that was typical grown-up topsy-turvy. ‘Blessed Jesus, here we stand,’ they sang, as if Jesus didn’t know already.

  At last, after more singing, talking, mumbling, and one long silence when everybody was supposed to close their eyes but Jeremy James didn’t and nothing happened to him, the Reverend Cole eased himself out of the pulpit and trod painfully up the aisle.

  As Mummy and Daddy were carrying the babies, they had to be very close to the Reverend Cole and the big stone saucer in which the twins were to take their bath. There was no room for Jeremy James as well, and so he found himself standing just behind the tall stooping figure of the Reverend Cole. On the other side of the Reverend Cole stood Uncle Jack and Aunt Janet, and behind them, exactly level with Jeremy James, was Cousin Melissa. She was wearing pigtails and a red and white spotted dress, and she was carrying a doll with pigtails and a red and white spotted dress, and she thought she looked pretty but Jeremy James didn’t think she looked pretty. Jeremy James thought she looked piggy. And he thought her doll looked piggy, too. ‘You both look piggy,’ whispered Jeremy James to Melissa, and pulled the doll’s pigtail.

  ‘Stop it!’ said Melissa, in a loud voice. Heads turned.

  ‘Sh!’ said Aunt Janet, with a frown.

  ‘Jennifer, I baptize thee in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen,’ said the Reverend Cole, and bent over the font like a giraffe picking daisies. He sprinkled her with water, and she came up smiling.

  ‘Aaaah!’ said several voices at once, as the Reverend Cole handed her back to a proud Daddy.

  ‘You’re smelly,’ whispered Jeremy James to Melissa.

  ‘So are you,’ whispered Melissa to Jeremy James.

  ‘Not as smelly as you,’ whispered Jeremy James to Melissa.

  Mummy handed Christopher over to the Reverend Cole. He was scarcely halfway across when the thunderstorm broke. Tears rained from his eyes and a piercing howl gusted out of his wide-open mouth. A shudder ran through the assembly, and the Reverend Cole thought seriously of retirement.

  ‘Your doll is as piggy and smelly as you are,’ whispered Jeremy James to Melissa.

  ‘I’m going to tell on you,’ said Melissa to Jeremy James.

  ‘Just like a girl,’ said Jeremy James to Melissa, and this time he pulled one of Melissa’s pigtails.

  ‘You stop it!’ cried Melissa, and gave Jeremy James a good hard push.

  As Jeremy James had had to lean over to pull Melissa’s pigtail, he was off balance when she pushed him. He staggered, and he would certainly have fallen if he hadn’t managed to hold on to the nearest support. The nearest support was the Reverend Cole, and as the Reverend Cole was at that moment bending over the font to give Christopher his bath, Jeremy James grasped the very part of the Reverend Cole on which the wasp had chosen to make its mark.

  ‘Christopher, I baptize thee in the name of the Faaaaaaaaaah!’ cried the Reverend Cole, and dropped the howling Christopher straight into the font. Mummy swiftly scooped her wet and wailing baby out of the water, the Reverend Cole stood trembling, with one hand clasped to his bottom and the other flapping uselessly in the air, Daddy gaped and Jennifer gurgled, and Jeremy James quickly squeezed in between Mummy and Daddy and stood very still, gazing up at the font.

  ‘Oh dear . . . most unfortunate . . . lively little fellow . . .’ said the Reverend Cole. ‘Um . . . perhaps you’d better hold him now . . .’

  By the time the Reverend Cole had finished the service, Christopher’s squalls had died down into occasional sobs, though they did flare up again when the Reverend Cole muttered, ‘There’s a good boy,’ and tried to pat him on the head. And by the time they all got home, he had fallen into a deep healing sleep, which Mummy piously thanked Heaven for.

  The party was a great success. Jeremy James handed round platefuls of sandwiches and cakes and showed everyone how to eat them. Melissa was sick, and Uncle Jack and two other uncles each gave Jeremy James fifty pence on their way out. Jeremy James reckoned that Jesus really did know what he was doing when he invented christenings.

  ‘Could have been quite nasty,’ said Daddy, when everyone had gone and they were left with nothing but memories and dirty dishes.

  ‘What on earth made him shout like that?’ said Mummy. ‘And fancy dropping poor Christopher in the font!’

  ‘He’s obviously past it,’ said Daddy. ‘Should be made to lie down in green pastures if you ask me.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Mummy, ‘everything else went well. And I thought Jeremy James was a very good boy today.’

  Daddy put his arm round his son. ‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘Never heard a word from him right through the service. There’ll be a bonus on your pocket money this week, my boy.’

  Jeremy James gave a big smile, and gazed innocently up at his proud Mummy and Daddy. The fact that grown-ups live in a topsy-turvy world can sometimes have its advantages.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Timothy’s Birthday Party

  Timothy was the boy who lived in the big house next door. He was a year older than Jeremy James, and he knew everything there was to know, and he had everything there was to have. Timothy went to school, though Jeremy James wasn’t quite sure whether Timothy went there as a pupil or as a teacher, since he knew such a lot. And although on every day of the year Timothy was more important than anybody else, today he was doubly more important, because today was his birthday. He had long ago invited all his friends to the best birthday party they would ever be lucky enough to attend, and Jeremy James was one of the chosen few.

  ‘Ding-dong!’ said the front doorbell of Timothy’s house, and a moment later the door had opened and there stood Timothy’s mummy.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Smyth-Forcitick,’ said Jeremy James. (The name was Smyth-Fortescue, but Jeremy James couldn’t quite get his tongue in the right position.)

  ‘Ah, hello, Jeremy,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue.

  ‘Jeremy James,’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘That’s right. Do come in, Jeremy.’

  And a moment later, Jeremy James was face to face with the great hero himself.

  ‘Happy birthday, Tim,’ said Jeremy James, handing over a large box-shaped parcel wrapped in thick brown paper and tied up with string. It was a very exciting parcel, and Jeremy James knew just what was inside it and he wished it was for him and not for Timothy.

  Timothy pulled the string apart and tore open the brown paper (which he simply dropped on the floor and left – perhaps as a special treat for his Mummy). Inside was a box, and inside the box was a tank. It was a brown and green tank with a gun that could swivel and fire matches, and it had an engine of its own which meant it could roll along the carpet all by itself, and as it rolled it sparked and made a loud grinding noise, just like a real tank. Jeremy James had seen it working in the shop when he and Mummy had bought it, and he’d seen it again in the living room when Daddy had tested it (for three-quarters of an hour), and Timothy was very lucky to get a tank like that because a tank like that was the bes
t present anybody could ever have.

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve got one like this already,’ said Timothy. ‘Only the one I’ve got is bigger.’

  A little light of hope shone through Jeremy James’s eyes: ‘Don’t you want it, then?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh yes, I’ll take it,’ said Timothy. ‘I don’t mind having two.’

  Out went the little light of hope.

  When Timothy had shown off all his presents to all his friends, and had made it clear to them that he had more presents and better presents than they were ever likely to get, and they were very lucky to have a friend like him, all the boys went out into the Smyth-Fortescues’ huge garden. There they whooped and warbled, hid and sought, and swung and slid until teatime. Tea was a rich feast of sandwiches, crisps, cakes, jelly, ice cream and fizzy drinks. Jeremy James’s arms, hands and jaws worked almost continuously as he reached, grabbed and chewed, and with all the other boys doing the same, it wasn’t long before the dining table was as bare as old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.

  ‘Finished, everybody?’ asked Mrs Smyth-Fortescue.

  ‘Is there any more?’ asked Timothy.

  ‘No, dear.’

  ‘Then I suppose we’ve finished,’ said Timothy, with a glance at the tableful of bare plates.

  ‘Well, I’ll just clear the table,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue, ‘then we can play some nice games, hm?’

  While she was clearing the table, Mr Smyth-Fortescue came home from work. He had ginger hair and freckles just like Timothy, and he poked them round the door.

  ‘Are you all enjoying yourselves?’ he asked.

  Nobody took the slightest notice of him, so he went out and wasn’t seen again.

  ‘Games now, children!’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue. ‘And there are lovely prizes for the winners.’

  ‘It’s bars of chocolate,’ said Timothy. ‘And I’m going to win them all.’

  ‘I hope I can win one,’ said Jeremy James as the prize bars emerged from the sideboard.