Mr Bambuckle's Remarkables

by Tim Harris

  Mrs Wordsmith leans closer and whispers. ‘The police are involved.’

  Ms Goss looks very serious. ‘It doesn’t surprise me. Those children deserve everything they get.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll go to jail?’

  ‘I’m certain of it. At least some of them, anyway.’

  Mrs Wordsmith checks that no students are listening. ‘I’m hoping for everyone’s sake the news is well received.’

  ‘Mr Sternblast will no doubt have his thoughts,’ says Ms Goss. ‘I’ll chat to him and see what he thinks.’

  ‘Good idea,’ says Mrs Wordsmith. ‘The sooner we know what’s happening, the sooner we can make our plans.’

  Ms Goss turns to leave for the staffroom.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ says Vinnie. ‘Something big is going down.’

  ‘We need to find out more,’ I say. ‘As soon as we get the microphone back from Ms Goss, we need to go for the big fish.’

  ‘A blue whale?’

  ‘No, silly.’

  ‘A whale shark?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘An unusually large dolphin?’

  ‘Think about it.’

  ‘I’m lost.’

  ‘Mr Sternblast, of course!’

  Vinnie and I sneak into Mr Sternblast’s empty office. He’s in the meeting room with some parents, and his assistant is on her lunch break. There’ll be trouble if we get caught. But catching is part of the game. We’re catching words.

  Mr Sternblast’s tweed jacket is hanging on the back of his chair.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ I say. ‘He always wears that jacket to assembly, which is this afternoon.’

  I clip the microphone to the bottom of his jacket and we hurry out of the office before anyone sees us.

  Vinnie and I cram into the same cubicle in the bathroom. We sit on the toilet, sharing the earphones while we wait for Mr Sternblast to make his way to assembly. He’s bound to talk to some teachers before he enters the hall. We just hope the signal from the microphone is strong enough to reach the bathroom.

  The bathroom is empty and it’s easy to hear the earphones. There’s a rustling sound, followed by footsteps.

  ‘He must be walking to the hall,’ I whisper.

  The footsteps stop and we hear a low-pitched rumble. This is followed by a gurgle, another low-pitched rumble and a sigh. ‘That feels better,’ says Mr Sternblast.

  ‘What was that?’ says Vinnie, though her scrunched-up nose suggests she knows exactly what it was.

  ‘More like Mr Stinkblast,’ I whisper.

  The footsteps start again.

  A few moments pass and a second pair of footsteps join Mr Sternblast’s.

  A crackly voice cuts into the microphone. ‘How’s that Bambuckle going? He’s a strange young man.’

  It’s Ms Goss.

  ‘He won’t be around much longer,’ says Mr Sternblast. ‘As soon as another teacher becomes available, he’ll be out the door.’

  ‘He doesn’t teach those poor kids anything useful,’ says Ms Goss.

  ‘Indeed. They haven’t learned a thing since he arrived.’

  Vinnie and I exchange worried glances.

  Ms Goss lowers her voice. ‘How is everything going?’

  ‘Hastily,’ says Mr Sternblast. ‘It needs to be pushed through. I just hope the students don’t find out beforehand.’

  ‘I thought that would be the case,’ says Ms Goss. ‘Leave it to me. The police will be told to keep a distance until we’re ready to break the news.’

  Both pairs of footsteps stop.

  ‘Before I go into the hall,’ says Mr Sternblast, ‘I have to ask: do you think they’ll go to jail?’

  Ms Goss pauses. ‘Do you mean the students?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I believe so. Some of them will.’

  ‘Just as I thought,’ says Mr Sternblast. ‘No doubt we’ll find out more soon. Thank you for all your help organising everything so far.’

  ‘We have to be careful,’ says Ms Goss. ‘The students mustn’t find out until then.’

  Vinnie and I can’t believe our ears. Something huge is going on. The teachers are keeping a big secret from the students. It’s no wonder they always talk in hushed tones and quiet voices.

  ‘I have an idea, Ren,’ says Vinnie.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  ‘You know how the teachers have a big staff meeting each morning?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘We should come to school early tomorrow so we can listen in. Mr Sternblast already has the microphone on his jacket. All we have to do is leave it there and we’ll be able to hear everything that goes on in the meeting.’

  ‘You’re a genius, Vinnie!’ I say. ‘That’s exactly what we should do.’

  Hearts pumping, Vinnie and I arrive at school a little earlier than usual. We drop our bags outside the classroom and sneak over to the office building. There is a big bush outside the staffroom window, which is perfect for hiding beneath.

  It doesn’t take long for the teachers to gather. We wriggle under the bush and each put in an earphone.

  ‘Good morning, staff,’ says Mr Sternblast. ‘Ms Goss has a few words to share before we get to business.’

  Ms Goss’s voice cackles in typical style. ‘We must be careful. Some of the students are onto us. Vinnie and Ren have been acting strangely lately. Whatever you do, don’t let them hear you talking.’

  Vinnie and I exchange a nervous glance. They’re onto us.

  ‘I agree with Ms Goss,’ says Mr Sternblast. ‘It is of upmost importance that the students do not find out. With police involvement, it may cause a stir.’

  ‘Be on your guard,’ says Ms Goss. ‘The police are keen to take action soon. But be warned – any leaking of information would ruin the element of surprise.’

  ‘Please be vigilant,’ adds Mrs Wordsmith. ‘Under no circumstance can the students hear us talking.’

  ‘And now to other matters,’ says Mr Sternblast. ‘Mr Vincent would like to talk to us about the shortage of caramel donuts in the staffroom …’

  Vinnie and I sneak away from the bush outside the staffroom and head back to our classroom.

  ‘I’m worried, Ren,’ says Vinnie. ‘Not only are the teachers up to something, they’re onto us. I don’t want to get caught spying. Mum and Dad would kill me.’

  I nod. ‘You’re right. We have to give up the game.’

  ‘No more microphone,’ says Vinnie. ‘It’s too risky.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘No more spying.’

  I put the earphones into the nearest bin. The microphone will have to stay on Mr Sternblast’s jacket. We don’t want to risk being caught trying to retrieve it.

  ‘I have some very upsetting news,’ growls Mr Sternblast during morning assembly. ‘It appears as though some students have been attempting to spy on the teachers.’

  He holds up a little black microphone for everybody to see.

  My throat feels as though there is an entire apple stuck in it. I want to swallow but I can’t.

  Mr Sternblast strokes his moustache and fixes his beady eyes on me. ‘I have my suspicions,’ he says, ‘but until I can prove who did it, I will issue this firm warning. Do not, under any circumstance, listen in on teachers’ private conversations. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.’

  My hands are sweating and I feel as though every teacher in the school is staring at me. I want to look at Mr Bambuckle for help, but I can’t risk getting him involved. He’s on Mr Sternblast’s hit list as it is. I wipe my hands on my shirt and try not to be noticed.

  I want to escape the pressure.

  I want to escape the suspicion.

  I want to escape for good.

  Assembly turns into a blur. My mind races from one thought to the next. Why did I buy the spy kit? Why can’t I mind my own business? Maybe I’m not cut out to be a detective after all.

  At the end of assembly Vinnie finds me. ‘Ren,’ she says, ‘we need to keep a really low profile.
We have to go back to our normal selves. Absolutely no more spying.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘Boy, do I know.’

  A few days pass and we still haven’t been caught. The pressure is off, but something has been bothering me.

  It’s the teachers. They’ve gotten worse. Well, all of them except Mr Bambuckle. He’s his usual cheery self.

  The teachers’ conversations are now over-the-top secretive. They whisper in small huddles. They shoo away students who get too close. They text each other on their phones. They chatter in the hallways. They use sign language to communicate across the playground. They are up to something and it involves the police. I know it does.

  I want to ask Mr Bambuckle about it, but he has enough to worry about with Mr Sternblast on his tail.

  I’m reading in the library.

  A siren’s scream fills the air.

  An emergency assembly is called.

  Mr Sternblast ushers everyone into the hall.

  There are police officers in the playground.

  This is it.

  This. Is. It.

  When we are all seated in the hall, Mr Sternblast addresses the assembly. ‘Students,’ he begins, ‘you may be wondering what the fuss is about. You may be wondering why police officers have come to our school.’

  The students stare wide-eyed at the lectern. Mr Sternblast stands between two policemen with serious looks on their faces. A third police officer – a lady with her hair in a ponytail – is whispering with Ms Goss.

  ‘I have some important news,’ says Mr Sternblast. ‘This is going to be a little upsetting for some of you. For others … well, you’re in for a surprise.’

  Vinnie and I swap knowing glances. We suspected something was brewing. We just didn’t know what.

  ‘First, let me get to the good news,’ continues Mr Sternblast. ‘Today I am initiating a very exciting police excursion. It’s the first of its kind in this town.’

  The police officers break into grins.

  I notice a man in a suit standing to the side of the stage. He’s watching Mr Sternblast and taking notes. He’s wearing a nametag with the crest of a posh school in the city.

  Mr Sternblast glances at Mr Bambuckle. ‘This fantastic excursion is my idea, and I arranged the whole thing – with a little help from Ms Goss.’

  Mr Bambuckle smiles, though his eyes don’t sparkle the way they usually do. I remember the conversation we had in class about a police excursion.

  Mr Sternblast puffs out his chest and glances at the man in the suit. ‘The police have arranged for one hundred of their cars to arrive at Blue Valley School within the next hour. According to my excellent plan, each and every student will have a personal tour in a police car – siren and all – before heading to the police station!’

  Everyone cheers.

  Vinnie and I high-five.

  Even Vex is impressed. ‘I love cars!’

  Mr Sternblast wiggles his moustache and looks proudly at the students and teachers. He avoids eye contact with Mr Bambuckle.

  ‘So, that’s what all the whispering was about,’ says Vinnie.

  ‘However, as I was saying earlier, there is some upsetting news,’ continues Mr Sternblast. ‘The police officers can only allow some of you to do a tour of the jail. There is simply not enough time to allow each of you through, so we have selected year six for that privilege.’

  There are a few groans from the younger students. Year six howls with happiness.

  Mr Sternblast invites Ms Goss to the microphone.

  ‘We have some extra special news,’ cackles Ms Goss, sounding as witchy as ever. ‘Two students will be chosen to spend the afternoon working with Senior Detective Stacey here.’ She gestures to the female officer with her hair in a ponytail. ‘The lucky pair will find out how a real detective operates and spies.’

  Hundreds of excited gasps fill the hall.

  Senior Detective Stacey waves and smiles.

  Ms Goss picks up a large bowl filled with tiny bits of paper. ‘We can’t show favouritism when selecting the winners, so we’ve decided to draw the names and let chance decide.’ She thrusts her hand into the bowl and pulls out the first name.

  Vinnie is poking me in the side. ‘Ren, she just called your name!’

  I can’t move. I’m in shock. There must be another Ren in the school. But there isn’t. I find myself walking to the front of the hall.

  ‘And the second lucky winner is …’ says Mr Goss. She pauses. ‘Vinnie.’

  I can’t believe it. Vinnie and I have been chosen to work with a real detective.

  Ms Goss is flustered and frowns. She hastily checks some of the other names in the bowl and frowns again. ‘What are the chances?’ I hear her mutter.

  Mr Bambuckle winks at me. I’m not sure how, but I get a sneaking suspicion he has something to do with Vinnie and I being chosen.

  ‘There’s one more thing,’ says Senior Detective Stacey, moving to the microphone. ‘The icing on the cake, if you will. Everyone knows how much police officers love eating donuts, so each and every student will also receive a caramel donut to celebrate the day!’

  Mr Vincent bursts into tears of joy.

  Ren bowed as the class erupted into a round of applause. Even Sammy and Slugger – who had been passing notes to each other at the back of the room – clapped loudly in appreciation. Much to the delight of Mr Bambuckle, they had taken his advice and kept an ear on the story.

  ‘My dear Ren,’ said Mr Bambuckle, taking the diary from her, ‘your writing has improved in leaps and bounds. To think you wrote all this in a week.’

  ‘And to think Mr Sternblast stole your excursion idea in a week,’ said Vinnie.

  ‘He is our principal,’ said Mr Bambuckle gently. ‘Remember, due respect.’

  ‘June respect,’ said Harold.

  Stomachs bursting with sausages, the students congratulated Ren once more before delving into their maths books, something previously unheard of in room 12B. Under the direction of Miss Schlump, maths was a chore – the sort of thing only Albert and Victoria took an interest in. Mr Bambuckle had opened up a world of numbers, shapes and possibilities.

  ‘I like maths now,’ said Vinnie. ‘I never used to.’

  Mr Bambuckle took a moment to survey the room. Fifteen pairs of eyes blinked at him expectantly. In a short period of time, he had felt an extraordinary change come over the students. He had also felt a change come over himself – one that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. What he did know was that the itch in his feet had disappeared the moment he first rode his unicycle into room 12B. His time with this quirky group, he thought, was only just beginning.

  Even Vex was enjoying himself at school. He still took delight in causing problems for others but, deep down, the young troublemaker was forming respect for his new teacher. Of course, he wouldn’t admit this to anyone, including himself.

  Evie Nightingale tackled her sums that morning without chewing her fingernails.

  Harold finished his work early and drew a picture of a kilt.

  Ren worked so enthusiastically she had enough time to write another diary entry.

  By the end of the day, the students had learned more maths than they had during the previous two years put together.

  Albert Smithers was in his element, and even volunteered to present his favourite topic to the class: algorithms.

  Mr Bambuckle was impressed. ‘That is indeed why numbers are the universal language,’ he said, congratulating Albert on his presentation.

  ‘That was actually pretty interesting,’ said Scarlett Geeves. ‘Thanks, Albert.’

  Albert beamed at his classmates, grateful for the opportunity to finally find his voice at school.

  This was why the students of classroom 12B so enjoyed being taught by Mr Bambuckle. He had a way of bringing out the best in each of them.

  ‘What are we going to do tomorrow, Mr Bambuckle?’ asked Myra.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ said the teacher. ‘Well, tomorrow,
you’ll begin work on a very exciting project.’

  ‘What project?’ ordered Vex, his cranky attitude still on show despite the fuzzy changes he felt happening within.

  Mr Bambuckle smiled at his students. ‘The information is inside your school bags. I expect you’ll find it tonight.’ He winked at Sammy and Slugger. ‘I believe you two note-passing boys may already know a little something about it.’

  Both boys gave a silent thumbs up.

  Carrot Grigson put his hand in the air. ‘What’s it all about?’

  Mr Bambuckle’s green eyes twinkled as brightly as ever. ‘That, dear Carrot, is for you to find out.’

  I get teased a lot. Mostly because I have orange hair. Sometimes I get teased because I live with Pop. And sometimes I get teased because I have a pet pigeon. But I don’t mind. I’m used to it.

  Having orange hair is ‘unique’, as Pop puts it. ‘You stand out from the other kids,’ he says, ‘so they’re jealous.’

  My pet pigeon doesn’t care that I have orange hair. He likes me because I feed him. His name is Jones.

  I’m busy feeding Jones when Pop walks over to the aviary.

  ‘Carrot, I need to ride into town,’ he says. ‘Can you put dinner on for six o’clock?’

  ‘Sure, Pop,’ I say.

  I love my Pop a lot. He’s getting old and he’s a bit sick. We don’t have a car so he has to ride his bike into town to get medicine. I wish I could help him. I wish I could go and get the medicine for him, but you have to be over eighteen to buy the type of medicine Pop needs.

  I catch the bus to school because Pop needs his bike. We can’t afford to buy another bike just yet. Though Pop’s been dropping hints about getting me one for my birthday.

  Jones pecks the last bit of feed from my hand and I put him on my shoulder. He likes sitting on my shoulder. When he’s happy he nibbles my ear. When he’s cold he snuggles up to my neck. Sometimes he goes to the toilet on me, but that’s okay. It’s just part of life.

  I head inside to prepare dinner, but almost trip over my school bag in the hallway. Jones flutters his wings to steady himself.