(No repli.)
THE BEAK: MOLESWORTH!
ME: eh? Were you perchance adressing me sir?
THE BEAK (with a vane effort at control) i was asking you the first rool of the 4 concords, rat.
ME: Cor, stone the crows, search me!
THE BEAK: Perhaps some other boy will oblige with the answer — peason, gillibrand, fotherington-tomas? Is any boy reddy with an answer?
(Silence meanwhile the gurls giggle and go mad with xcitement. Finally, the beak turn his beetling brow to them and his xpression become sudenly soft, his stern eye mild) ‘Mavis,’ he whisper, ‘perhaps you——?’
MAVIS: The first of the 4 rools of concord in lat is that a Verb agrees with its subjekt in number and person.
THE BEAK: Excellent, mavis!
MAVIS: Xamples are tempus fugit. Time flies.
THE BEAK: Bravo, now—
MAVIS: Or Libri leguntur. Books are read.
THE BEAK: Thank you, mavis, thank you.
MAVIS: (continuing, nothing can stop her) The second rool of concord is that an adj or participle agree in gender, number and case with the substantive it qualify. Xamples — Vir bonus bonam uxorem habet. The good man has a good wife.
ME: A highly debatable statement, if I may sa so, sir.
We get a bit of a larff for this but the day is lost and mavis continue to the bitter end. And she is only one becos ermintrude, matilda, mary and peggy are all branes of britain, junior quiz champions ect.
Another thing GURLS have difrent standards of behaviour in Klass i.e. if i thro a bit of bungy at peason he will bide his time and thro an ink bomb back which hit me splosh on the nose. But wot hapen if you pull mavis pigtail, eh? You get a speech like this;—
MAVIS: I feel it my duty, sir, to report a trifling incident which hav just taken place. I feel that it will be for the good of the klass as a whole that i should do so. (Cries of ‘snake,’ ‘sneke’) i am not alarmed by doing wot i conceive to be my duty. (loud cheers and interjektions of ‘sit down,’ ‘sit down’) Sir, these vulgar cries do not dismay me — nay (A member: ‘Back her for the Derby’) nay, nay (The price is slipping, six to four the field). This klass, sir, hav always had a reputation for clene living, decency, deckorum, and the preservation of behaviour-standards as recomended in the last phamplet by the min. of edukation obbtainable at the h.h. stionnery office, price 3 gns.
GURLS hav difrent standards of behaviour in Klass.
Wot (sa Mavis) Wot is the result?
A vulgarian whom i do not wish to name (Cries of name him, molesworth, who were you with last nite ect) A vulgarian whom I feel should be brought to book hav now sullied the honor of this mixed klass and brought to o the good name of the skool. By doing wot? He have pulled my pigtail.
Ow! (Once agane the molesworth touch bringeth ressults)
OW! OW! OW!
And now i am glad to sa that mavis turn and swing with a short uppercut, following with a rite cross to the jaw. Human at last! She is once more champion of the world.
Well, there you are. Does ko-edducation work? Who will pla tag with me in the break, eh? Many people point to America and Russia and sa they hav had gurls and boys at skool together there for years. Does that make it any better? We venture hem-hem to think not. Hurrah for st custard’s!
TENIS ANEBODY?
‘Hullo, clouds, Hullo sky,’ sa fotherington-tomas, skipping weedily by. ‘Who’s for tenis?’
i frown with anger, for i am looking at ye olde television chiz and robin hood is in a v. tuough spot indeed i.e. the sherif of nottingham is about to torture him with red hot irons, which is something we little tots are very used to. Anyway, i sometimes hav a feeling of sympathy for the sherif of notingham wot am i saing? Outside, of corse, it is a briliant, fine sumer day with bees buzzing, birds twittering ect.
‘Who’s for tenis?’ repete fotherington-tomas, waving his racket.
‘Go away, clot, You are standing in front of the serene. i can only hear the grones of agony.’
‘Go on, molesworth, o you mite.’
‘If i want tenis i can see it on the television,’ i repli. ‘Besides, it is a game for gurls.’
This is a new thing for the galant boys of the younger generration, they are always being told to pla tenis. Why is this? It is worse than criket becos at criket you can at least get bowled out but at tenis you hav to go on missing agane and agane and agane. i mean i expect it is all right if you can pla like those fierce people at wimbledon who go, well, you kno
PUNG! PING! PING! PING! PUNG! HURRAH!
If i pla there is dead silence becos i never hit the pill at all they are all air shots chiz. Besides, am i likely to play a game at which fotherington-tomas can beat me, eh? i hav some pride.
Acktually fotherington-tomas is super at tenis, as he hav been coached by a pro at home i.e. he twiddle his raket and sa ‘ruff or smooth?’ and when he win he consider the direction of the wind, position of sun, met. forecast for next twenty-four hours, trend on the stock xchange, his horoscope for the week and sa finaly, ‘i shall pla aganst the kool shade of the aple trees.’ This mene that i am blinded by the sun and can only see fotherington-tomas crouched like a tiger on the other side of the net. Gosh, it take a bit for him to look like that it is strange wot a tenis raket can do. If i get a pill over at all he warn it back at 90 m.p.h. so there is not much of a game at all.
It is strange wot a tenis raket can do.
Gurls, of corse, pla a lot of tenis at skool so i expect this explane the matter.
You kno wot hapen at gurl’s skools they always discover a gurl who is the uggly duckling who can get into the skool six when pritty antonia trumpington brake her leg. Need i add that the olde skool de mademoisells always win the match?
‘O, you juggins,’ sa miss trent, the games mistress, crossly. Mavis bit her lip and faced the next ball with determination written all over her freckled face. Miss trent’s powerful serve came into action agane but this time mavis faced it calmly and swept the pill into the far corner. On the next serve it hapened agane, then agane. ‘Bravo, mavis,’ cry miss trent. ‘Well plaed, sir!’ ect.
Personally i think in reel life miss trent would probably be furious if any gurl swept her best serve into the far corner but that do not seme to hapen in books. Insted, miss trent put mavis in the tenis six and due to her briliant pla ect well, you kno.
Now that they hav pro tenis, in fakt, it would be a joly good wheeze if mavis and fotherington-tomas plaed a world tenis circus. Everyone would be agog when the skore stood at 499 matches each. Which will win the decider? Over to humphrey, the wet, in the commentator’s box.
‘mavis is serving. She hav thrown up the pill. It is still going up, up, up. Now it is in orbit. No, it is coming down. Plunk! Wot’s this? O, ha-ha. v. funny i must sa. It landed on mavis head. They’re picking her up now. Second serve and the ball is up. Lovely style, mavis has. Now it’s coming down. Oh dear, dear me, that is bad luck. It hav landed on mavis head agane.
GAME TO FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS.
fotherington-tomas to serve and he is standing on the tips of his toes. He semes fascinated by clouds and sky. Bends to pick up the ball. Goodness gracious, how unfortunate. He hav split his trousis. He is covered in confusion and that is all. But who is this uncooth skoolboy who is roaring with larfter at the poor little chap’s plight? Who can it be?
i give you 1 guess it is me, molesworth, the goriller of 3B, delited at the fate of ickle pritty fotherington-tomas. It is a hard life to be a tenis star and, if mavis is an xample, you need a thick head which make me wonder why i am no good at the game. Oh well, back to the telly i must have mised 2 murders, 3 suicides and a few loonies. Still, we’ll be getting them tomorrow.
MIND MY BIKE!
Well i mean to sa gosh chiz wot next, eh? Wot next? Sitting in the old skool bibliotheque among the cobwebs and reading the newspaper as is my wont my eye leave the strip-cartoon and i see a headline. ‘TESTS FOR CHILD CYCLISTS,’ it sa.
‘
GAD!’ i exclame, crumpling the paper into a ball and buzzing it at ye old mappe of the world which adorn the walls. ‘GAD!’
Peason look up from the chair where he hav been drawing beetles on his knee.
‘Don’t you kno there is a Silence Rool in the lib, molesworth?’
‘There is also a rool aganst chucking books, aganst building forts out of the colekted works of lord macaulay, aganst shooting peas at the bust of w. shakespeare. Probably there is a rool against drawing beetles on the knee also, thou weedy wet.’
‘So wot, clot?’ he retort, litely.
‘Clearly you do not realise the importance of wot hav taken place. They are going to test child cyclists. They are going to give us weedy little badges if we pass and if we fale — you will never guess, peason. i canot bring myself to tell you.’
‘Go on, molesworth, o you mite.’
‘L-Plates,’ i whisper.
Small wonder that peason grow pale benethe wot is his tan (i hope) Do not get me wrong, brothers and sisters, I am all for Road Safety ect becos it seme to me that the roads are v. dangerous places, especially when you see how GRIMES (headmaster) and SIGISMUND THE MAD MATHS MASTER drive their cranky old grids. But TESTS for veterans like me who have been awheel since my first fairy cycle at the age of 4! Curses! I know wot it will mean it will only be something more for me to fale becos the only thing i hav ever passed is molesworth 2 on his bike at mach. 1.
Wot with this and the II plus it seme that brave noble and fearless children are never going to be left alone until they become fearless metallurgists, clump press minders ect. You can imagine how it all hapened.
Time: 1839.
Scene: the headmaster’s studdy at No. 10 Downing Street. A kabinet meeting is in progress and GRIMES the prime minister is in the chair — altho i do not hardly think you could hav expected him to be sitting on the floor.
GRIMES: There’s one more thing, gents, and strate i don’t kno wot we’re going to do about it. A scotish blacksmith called kirkpatrick macmillan hav invented a thing he call a bicycle.
THE MINISTER OF AGRICULTURE AND FISHERIES: Gosh!
GRIMES: TWO wheels joined together with a bar and a saddle on top. Wheels within wheels ha-ha!
ALL: That’s joly funny, sir. Ha-Ha!
GRIMES: Wheel, wheel, I’m glad you think so!
ALL: That’s funy, too ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
GRIMES: He must be a wheel proper inventer.
ALL: Stop it, sir, you’re killing us!
GRIMES: All’s wheel!
(The Ministers disolve in fits of faned larffter. GRIMES strike the table with his kane.)
GRIMES: That’s enuff. It’s not as funy as all that. The point is — wot are we going to do about it?
THE MINISTER OF TRANSPORT: We must hav action!
ALL (thundering): Action! Action!
GRIMES: Wot action are we to take?
THE MINISTER OF TRANSPORT: There’s only one thing. We must set up a working party to report on the problem.
ALL: He’s got it!
The P.M. get up, and shake him warmly by the hand: a decanter of port bursts like an H-Bomb, 6 topp hats sale into the air, the fr hav had it, the Gauls are at the gates of rome, Wellington hav got his boots off, all’s well with the world.
THE MINISTER OF AGRICULTURE AND FISHERIES: (chortling): Wheel, wheel! That’s really v. witty. Wheel, wheel!
The future of the BICYCLE is still at stake.
We pass now from this unsavoury episode from the hist. books (and how many, let’s face it, there are, how many) to the present day. This is the age of elektronick branes, of deisel-electrick locos, of atommick power stations ect, ect: all these added to the ink darts, kanes, lat. grammers, headmasters, boys and beasts which have been going for a long time. Wot hav been going on in the meantime? The working party is still on the job and the future of the BICYCLE is still at stake. Now, indeed, it is more at stake than ever for they have come to consider the report on st. custard’s, my dere old skool hurrah hurrah hem-hem. Here is the report:
C/3342./MG/(357. st. custard’s. Behaviour of skolars and tiny tots on bicycles.
Our spies hid in the bushes for weeks and were really upset by the spiders which did their best to hinder their observations. (We refer to the spies observations, not the spiders.) Wot our spies did observe was disstressing. i.e.
(a) One youth with pink bike, underslung handlebars, crash helmet, waterbotle, speedo, full tool kits detachable wheels ect ect. He appered to be known as grabber, head of the skool, wet, weed, sneke, monkey-face, owing to the strukture of his machine this youth rode with his nose near the ground and his hem-hem in conjunktion with the planet jupiter. He semed to hav contempt for those around him. We recomend L-Plates.
(b) A small boy of elfin appearance who employed a fairy cycle. His golden locks streamed in the breeze and he kept saing ‘Hello clouds! Hullo, sky!’ L-Plate recommended.
(c) molesworth 2 who zoom about on his bicycle with nose on the handlebars at 90 m.p.h. When questioned he repli that he is the last of the manned fighters and hav just brought down a guided missile.
(d) But who is this brave, staunch fellow who hav just finished oiling his machine? He mount, he ride steadily, he look left, right, left ect., he sound his bell, he is the pikture of quiet control. Who is it, eh? It is me, molesworth 1.
Well, there you are chiz. It isn’t a state of affairs I am looking forward to but i supose if we had all ridden our bikes better in the past we shouldn’t hav to go through all this now. If we all behave ourselves and do not zoom down hills they may set up another working party to consider whether fairy badges and L-Plates are not bosh and worth o. That at least is something to work for. Honk, honk, tinkle-tinkle and ho, for the wide open road. WITH YORE EYES OPEN.
Fr. and english are divided by more than the chanel.
FR. AND ENGLISH
You kno the trubble with paters and maters chiz, and particularly maters is that they are always trying to improve their dere little chicks. Hence the numerous corektions which we all kno at home i.e. you hav to hold yore knife properly, not make treakle pools in poridge, get clene hankerchiefs and take off yore hat to mrs Jenkins ect. If you do all these things you will grow up to be as good a man as yore pater tho this statement makes your mater look a bit thortfu.
Behold, then, the scene at ye olde molesworth brekfast table when there come the chereful rat-tat of the postman’s knock.
‘That’s the postman,’ sa the molesworths all together, for they are a brilliant family and full of branes hem-hem.
‘Go and get the letters, nigel dere.’
‘Wot me? Me? Why shouldn’t molesworth 2 get them i got them the last time did didn’t did ect.’ (We don’t kno why children go on like that but they do i am afrade.)
Eventually after this unsemely debate of which we ort to be thoroughly ashamed i do not think the letters arive at the table amongst the swete smell of korn flakes, marmalade ect.
‘Ah!’ sa yore mater. ‘Here it is.’
She hold aloft a weedy letter written in purple ink with a fr. stamp which is not worth a d. as a swop.
‘Armand is coming to sta with us in the hols,’ she sa.
‘Who, pray, is armand,’ i repli, dealing a mitey blow to my hard-boiled egg. ‘As far as i kno he is the weedy wet in the fr. book who sa the elephants are pigs.’
‘He is a fr. boy who is coming to us to learn eng.,’ sa mater with a swete patient smile. ‘And you are to be v. nice to him as the pore boy will be far from home ect.’
Well, you can immagine wot any noble british boy would sa to that i.e. o no, mater, must we, gosh, wot a chiz ect. but it is no use. It is not any good pointing out that ‘chez molesworth’ he may learn a lot of things but one of them won’t be eng. We kno when we are licked.
Interval of 3 weeks. Then ARMAND arive you can well immagine him only he is worse than anything you can immagine.
Armand is 6 ft tall, wear short pants, and look upon molesworth 2 et mo
i as if we were a pare of shoppkeepers (c.f. napoleon in the hist, books). The trubble is he can speke eng.
‘So ziz is yore owse?’ he sa, glancing around with amusement.
‘Oui, oui,’ molesworth deux et moi.
‘Eet eez so pretty.’
‘Exquisitely so,’ sa molesworth deux.
‘My parents have a chateau, a flat in paris, a villa in the s. of fr. and a rolls-royce. Zizz is all you posess?’
‘We have also a pen, a piece of india ruber, un morceau de papier, a cranky old car and a bag of bulls-eyes, my little cabage,’ we repli. And with this riposte we zoom away into the bushes.
Things do not look good for the future chiz and mater is very cross with us ect. for our cruel and unfeeling behaviour but when she see wot armand eat she change her tune. Armand, in fakt, eat more than molesworth 2 and that is saing a v. grate deal: also we do not seme to like cotage pie, bread and butter pudding, spotted dick, corned beef and other kinds of homely food. He always zoom up to vilage shop on his bike and come back with pokets stuffed with food chiz which he eat all himself it nearly drive molesworth 2 mad.
‘Last nite,’ armand sa, ‘i am having a beautiful dream.’
Wot can it be about? Hav he routed the beaks, stolen GRIMES the headmaster’s kane, pinched ye old matrone’s gin, placed a sukkessful booby trap on the door of the master’s common room. No, it is none of these things which would delite the heart of the healthy english boy. Armand hav dreamed of fresh pineaple, lobsters, duck, sweet, cheese, fruit, cream, three wines and a brandy. Well, i mean to say, wot a thing to dreme about! Anyway, give me a good suck at a tin of condensed milk every time.
Anyway, he like GURLS aussi, so something must be wrong. Anyone who can get on his bike and ride 10 miles to meet angela winterbottom becos he kno she must pass along the lane on her pony must be bats, i supose i could manage lobsters but not angela winterbottom who giggle all the time and is uterly wet. It seme, konklude the grate sage molesworth, that fr. and english are divided by more than the chanel.
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