Back in the Jug Agane
Page 4
Guide to Grown-ups
Beware of addults, whether parents or beaks. They hav only one wish i.e. to make noble upright boys like them chiz. And look at them! Wot a lot, eh?
And here are the prizes for all the boys who hav not got prizes…
At least st. custard’s turns out a finished product. Mensam!… Yes, you’ve got it, Blatworthy!
I want you to regard this as a challenge, molesworth. The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, mogley-howard one.
Look, boys, here’s Cecily come to tea. I’ve no objection to him having a good hiding now and then.
MOLESWORTH TAKES OVER
Gosh chiz here’s a fine state of afairs, eh? I mean, look at the world it is worse than big skool after one of our super rags full of broken desks (finest chippendale hem-hem i don’t think), cries of ‘you didn’t,’ did, didn’t ect, the fluff from a million pillows and all the beetles taking refuge in the master’s desk which is a poor place to choose, seeing it is full of empty beer bottles and catterpults they hav confiskated from die gallant boy fighters.
Wot would everyone say if we skoolboys behaved like the nations of the globe? I will tell you. They would sa we were stupid, crass, ignorant, hopeless, wet, weedy and sans un clue. And yet it still go on. It is time i took over. I can see it all.
Scene: A tent in Gaul, guarded with fossis and rampartibus maximus fortissimus. Labienus, Cotta, Balbus, Hanibul, Caesar, Hasdrubel and various other weeds are listening to the sweet voices of the gurls.
HANIBUL: (at length) gosh, wot a din it is somethink awful. How is the generalissimo toda?
CAESAR: In a filthy bate. He hav been ever since he turned good and gave up smoking. He is not the molesworth who put 99 consekutive subjects in the ace.
(A flourish of trumpets. Enter Generalissimo molesworth with an old coal bucket on his tawny locks. His breath is coming in short ha-ha hee-hee you hav guessed it and he is dressed in the same.)
ALL: (acclaming) Ave, dux!
GENERALISSIMO MOLESWORTH: And the best of luck. Wot is the situation? Does anybody kno? Put me in the piktchah. G. I?
G.1: i was hoping you would put me in the piktchah, sirra.
G2 to G99: (in sukcession) same here, old top.
GENERALISSIMO MOLESWORTH: oh. Carry on, then.
BRITANNICUS, A DIRTY OLD SLAVE: If i may be permitted a word, sir, the situation is quite intolerable. Porridge Court hav cocked snooks at us, spoken foully of GRIMES, our revered headmaster, called us cowardly custardians and threaten our very existence by pinching our plaing fields. They hav also attacked the ditches with javelins and spears. It really is a tremendously bad show.
GENERALISSIMO MOLESWORTH: File a complante with uno as ushaual. Who’s for conkers?
(The sweet voices of the gurls brake out agane. The generalissimo starteth.)
Gosh, blime, i can’t stand this. We march aganst porridge court! Sound the trumpets, wake the horses, prang the airports, charge ta-ran-ta-rah.
That is the beginning. Despite cries and lamentations from fotherington-tomas st. custard’s declare war on porridge court crying Pax. We must ensure there is Pax at all costs.
Scene: The same tent. Three months later.
GENERALISSIMO MOLESWORTH: Aren’t we ready to move yet? Wot is the piktchah, G.1?
G.1: They are showing marylyn monro oh-ho over the naafi, sirra. Deffinitely worth a trip.
GENERALISSIMO MOLESWORTH: But didn’t we declare bellum? Declare it agane.
ALL: Bellum, bellum, bellum, belli, bello, bello.
GENERALISSIMO MOLESWORTH: o.k. get cracking. Go in heah, heah and heah. Let me kno sometime how the battle goes.
G.I: O.k. sirra we will bring up the engines.
GENERALISSIMO MOLESWORTH: You don’t need engines. You want catterpults. Engines pull tranes: they are 4–6–2 and 4–4–0 ect. Oh, i see. You are referring to bal-lista, like ensa, the siege engine? Why didn’t you sa so?
(Silence except for the sweet voices of the gurls.)
And so the mitey forces of st. custard’s move relentlessly in and occupy a small corner of the plaing fields. The lamentations of fotherington-tomas, who is a gurlie become louder and louder: then uno, the county council and the ratepayers association call for a cease fire. We obay.
Scene: A t.v. screen with the face of Generalissimo moles-worthy blubbing.
G. MOLESWORTH: My frends, it is only in a case of national emergency that i would dare to interrupt robin hood. I come to explane the position we are in. It is grim. The skool playing field is vital to our existence. The plaing field must be free for us to come and go, freely. Where else could we be beaten 12 to nil by the village oiks, eh? Now we hav attained our objectives. The plaing fields hav been blown up by porridge court saing yar-boo and sucks. This will mean hardship. Skool sossages will be rationed, skool cheese cut by fifty per cent and lessons will continue all day. There will be less buble gum and if there ever had been any sugar that would hav been abolished too. However, it will be a mater for satisfacktion that the full supply of prunes will be maintaned. good evening.
And wot hapen then? uno, the county council and the ratepayers association anounce that they are making a police force. They sa they are giving themselves TEETH. This is a funny thing for any one to give himself but there it is. And of wot is the police force composed? It is made up as folows:
1 regiment of mice.
fotherington-tomas.
3 tree rats (with pea shooters).
Christopher robin.
The 5th brigade of rabbits.
andy-pandy.
the skool dog.
Well, there you are. There hav to be a first time and this is the best they can do and, as for us wizard chaps, it prove something i.e. when we grow up we will be able to make even a bigger mess than this. So are we downharted? NO. We would not want to be anyone else. So boo to everybody and play up US!
THRO’ HORRIDGES WITH GRAN
‘I have been dealing here for 30 years,’ sa gran to the assistant at horridges stores. ‘Send for mr beckwith at once.’
Tremble, tremble quake quake how can she speke to an Assistant in the sossage dept. like that? i mean he is a perfect gent and wear striped trousis ect unlike headmaster GRIMES and other beaks we could mention and i would never dreme of ragging him. Wot will he do? To my surprise he bow low until his nose almost go warn on the sossage counter.
‘Certainly, madam,’ he sa.
End of part I now for the commercials, also query wot will happen when mr beckwith arive, eh? i am not a funk (cries of o, no, molesworth i do not think, may you be struck ded ect.) i am the goriller of 3 B yet i confess that i xperience a feeling of wishing to slink away and examine a nearby bakon machine, i have a feeling that mr beckwith if he arive at all will take out a gat and shoot gran to the ground, i begin to move when there is a stern cry i.e. nigel, stay where you are! There is no escape we will hav to shoot it out.
Perchance, molesworth, i sa to myself, mr beckwith will decide not to se gran? Perchance he will not obay this imperious summons?
Not a hope, mr beckwith arive who is a kindly old man with silver hair. He is just the sort of customer to whip out a Colt and go BANG! BANG! Got you! before the sherif of dodge city can inform him that killing is WRONG. But, surprise, he also bow low to gran who fix him with an eye of steel.
‘mr beckwith,’ sa gran, ‘i have been dealing with horridges for 30 yrs. You are aware of that?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘I have here my dere grandson, nigel, the pride and aple of my eye. He is a child of grate gifts, sensitive and inteligent, a fine young gentleman.
‘Observe his noble brow, his blue eyes, the aristokratick maner in which he stands.’
i mene, i sa, this is a bit much. Enuff is as good as a feast the way gran go on I mite be fotherington tomas. It is about time that mr beckwith tell the truth and state that i hav a face like a squished tomato. But he bow even lower.
‘Yes, yes,’ he sa, agane.
gran draw herself up to her full height.
‘MR BECKWITH, WHY ARE THERE NO SOPWITHS SOSSAGES FOR MY DERE GRANDSON?’
Mr beckwith turn pale and drop upon his knees for horridges are guilty of this hideous crime. He beg for mercy and sa that he will send out specially and deliver within the hour. He even pat me on the head chiz and sa i am a dere little chap. Gran look as if she will spurn him with her foot but sweep out of the sossage dept. instead.
‘Come, nigel,’ she sa.
Dashed embarassing, wot? i only relate this incident becos lots of grans behave like this in shops also they talk loudly in the bus they seme to hav no idea of the finer feelings of brave noble skoolboys. Also most grans are strikt. You may be a blue-eyed child in the sossage dept. of horridges but once grans get you home it is a v. diffrent story i.e.
WHEN I WAS A GURL little boys always stood UP when a lady come into the room. WHEN I WAS A GURL little hoys always leave wun for mr manners. WHEN I WAS A GURL little boys did not put their feet on the cushions ect.
And so it go on. It seme a little impertinent posh prose to ask how long ago it was when gran was a gurl, i.e. about 1066 but i refrane. I am, in fakt, pritty GOOD when gran is around as i have found that crime do not pay chiz. On the other hand you get super meals and, if you are lucky you can read an old copy of chatterbox about wee tim who is a wet and a weed. On the whole, however, it is pritty much like prison or skool which parents should remember when they decide to go to the s. of france and leave their offspring with gran.
‘We are too much of a handful for the older generation,’ I muse, absent-mindedly drawing beetles on the drawing room wall. ‘We are—’
‘NIGEL WOT ARE YOU DOING? GO TO BED AT ONCE WITHOUT ANY SUPPER.’
Well, you see wot i mean, eh?
3
N. MOLESWORTH ACE REPORTER
AGGRICULTURE
CLANG-PIP, CLANG-PIP once agane it is the skool bell which sumon the fatheful of st custards also the louts oiks bullies cads wets and weeds who infest the place.
‘oh well,’ i sa litely just like bob cherry, harry wharton ect, ‘old GRIMES, the head, hav caught molesworth 2 eating his mortar board and is going to give him the swish.’
‘Cheese it, molesworth,’ sa peason, ‘that greyfriars stuff is out of date.’
i jab a compass into gillibrand. ‘OW Yaroosh Garoo,’ he splutter so it is not so out of date after all.
Wot hav this to do with traktors and aggriculture? Effort, old spud! Allow me to explane. When headmaster GRIMES come into big skool he hav a most unnatural smile upon his face which make it more dredful than before. Wot can be the meaning of this sinister event? Are we all to be kaned? i simply canot bear the thort, my dere, it is too much on a monday morning, i switch off and think of robin hood on t.v.… Sir guy of GRIMES is about to lash molesworth 2 whom he hav cobbed eating the king’s deer when sudenly an arow WING out of the wood and split the kane in two. A figure in lincoln green emerge from Sherwood forest and vault litely over the skool roller. ‘Ha, Sir guy,’ sa robin moles…
The dreme fade. Not for the ushual reason, i.e. a stuning blow on the head, i am aware that the rest of the skool is cheering, desks are banged, fingers are flicked and fotherington-tomas hav fanted. One would judge them to be pleased. Wot can it be? A half-hol? i switch on agane.
‘And the skool we shal visit,’ sa Grimes, ‘is a TRAKTOR SKOOL.’
WIZZ-Oh! That is better than julius ceasar the silly old geezer ect. In fakt it is super and smashing. Wot can the day-hold for us little chaps?
First we go to a traktor factory where all the men are puting the traktors together. SMASH, BIFF, BANG, WALLOP, AR-Um the noise is colossal just like st. custards on a wet Saturday. Conveyor belts are zooming in all directions and there is an assembly line where chaps are bunging on wheels, engins, paint ect also whistling ‘davy crocket’ and working out football pools. A modern english faktory. It engage my interest and i step up to our guide with my reporter’s notebook and fix him with a steely eye.
‘How many parts are there in a traktor?’ i rap.
‘4672,*’ he repli.
‘Gosh!’
‘And there are 111/2 miles of conveyor belts, we produce 230 traktors a day (approx) and a traktor come off the assembly line every 2 minits.’
‘my dere, you simply stagger me.’
‘Britain is the most heavily mechanised country in the world. It hav more traktors per acre than america or rusia.’
‘Cheers cheers cheers hurrah for st. george and boo to everbody else…’
At this moment there is a suden cry. Where is molesworth 2? A hue and cry ensue. Where can he be? At last the truth is discovered he hav climbed on the conveyor belt and an absent-minded workman is bolting him on instead of a mudguard. molesworth 2 is rescued chiz more fritened than hurt (official communique) a lucky escape for a farmer who mite have got a traktor with 4673 parts one of which was molesworth 2 it would hav been a cranky old grid.
He hav climbed on the conveyor belt and an absent-minded workman is bolting him on instead of a mudguard.
Now to the TRAKTOR skool. Wot do we see? Wizard combine harvesters, traktors, sub-soilers, ploughs and fork-lifters. Everything for the young farmer in fakt. Agane my notebook come out.
‘Why do you hav a skool for traktors?’ i grit.
‘A splendid wizard q.!’ exclame the guide. He turn to GRIMES. ‘Wot a brany, inteligent, outstanding pupil.’
‘er… Yes,’ sa GRIMES, (thinks: i hav always said molesworth would turn out well. A late-developer.)
‘We hav a skool for traktors,’ sa the guide, ‘becos it is no use for a farmer having a traktor unless he kno how to use it and how to keep it in good repare. So we trane people from all over the world how to plow, ridge, avoid soil erosion and other worthy things. The result is more of everything -wheat, beet, turnips, cabage—’
CABAGE! At the mention of the word the whole skool think of cabage and give a groan. More skool CABAGE! And full of beetles and slugs even molesworth 2 will not eat slugs.
‘CABAGE?’ sa molesworth I, the ace reporter. ‘i supose we shall get more spinach as well?’
‘Yes, yes.’
At the very thort the skool groan agane. Wot is the use of traktors if they get more CABAGE and spinach, eh? We shall get more skool sossages next. Our guide see that he hav made a bish. ‘Who would like to drive a traktor now? Our traktor can be driven by a child of eight.’
A mighty cheer rend the air.
‘Goody goody,’ sa fotherington-tomas, jumping up and down. ‘Hullo clouds, hullo sky here i come, trusty and true, a joly farmer who plow the good rich earth, who, simple soul that he be…’
WAM! 91 boyish hands are raised aganst him, but it is too late.
‘You look a sturdy little chap,’ sa the guide to fotherington-tomas. ‘You shall drive the traktor and now i want a volunteer from the masters to ride behind.’ There is silence, ‘How about you sir?’ sa the guide to GRIMES.
‘Me? Wot me?’
‘Anybody else?’
With a cry like a hyena sigismund the mad maths master spring upon the traktor and stand behind the saddle with straws in his sparse hare, fotherington-tomas grasp the steering wheel zoom the throttle and away they go cheers cheers cheers cheers. ARUM ARA ARUM mud fly in all directions and fotherington-tomas dash into a shed. Will he make it? Out the other end, turn left, zoom through a hay stack then round in a circle.
‘Stop him stop him,’ yell the guide.
fotherington-tomas turn three more circles and make for the open country, then reverse back scattering all, heading for the mane road. Wot will his fate be? But he hit another haystack and stop chiz chiz chiz just when it was getting interesting.
‘Most stimulating,’ sa sigismund the mad maths master.
‘Goody goody,’ sa fotherington-tomas. ‘May I drive a combine now?’
Well you kno a combine it is a mighty thing which harvest the corn and put it into sacks you
can imagine wot would hapenwe should all be harvested and put into sacks too. Anyway, the guide sa something but it is not ‘yes’ it sound quite different. Conduct mark? ‘Lack of control?’ He seme quite pleased that we canot stay any longer.
‘Any free traktors?’ sa headmaster GRIMES. ‘i am very poor the skool do not pay and business in jellied eels is friteful and wot with the cost of living going up—’
Agane the answer is ‘no.’ A pity. All the same the traktor skool was wizard and a boy of 8 can drive one if he is not utterly wet like fotherington-tomas. And don’t forget that traktors hav helped to double the harvest of wheat in this country. Which is wizard if you like wheat. And i expect it is the same for CABAGES too. If you like CABAGES.
CURRENT LIVING. That is wot it is called. It is better than lat. fr. algy. geom. ect., tho, and our next visit is to an AGGRICULTURAL SHOW.
Cheers cheers zoom out of the bus and dash into a large place with a lot of cattle, sheep, implements, BEER, ice creams, fleas, straw, beetles, bottles of pepsi-cola, fat ladies and FREE LEAFLETS. In fakt it is a shambles wot with all the cows mooing and the farmers jumping about becos somerset hav won victory in the killed meat competition.
st. custards descend upon the free leaflets it is every boy for himself. But molesworth i hav a sterner task i.e. to report the show without fear or favour. Wot do he see, eh? Look for a joly farmer going to raspberry fair ect. but only a lot of posh chaps smoking cigars. Then sudenly— GRRHHMOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Gosh chiz! Jump six feet in the air and turn round to see an extraordinary sight. The objekt have a huge face, whiskers and long hare in fakt i mite be looking in a mirror and it is ME! We look at each other. Then i see a notice ‘ABERDEEN ANGUS FIRST PRIZE COW also mrs joyful prize for rafia work.’ Promptly i grab my notebook and lick my h.b. pencil for the interview—