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Stories From
PARADOX THEATRE
MR SPARROW'S SPECTACULAR BOOB
The
Wonderful Story of how St Doughnuts
School Was Able To Buy Some New Computers
by
Mike
Rawlinson

Drawing
by Jane White
Copyright M. Rawlinson 2001
All Rights Reserved.
This story was written by Mike Rawlinson
(aka Professor Paradox) who is the sole copyright holder-. You may save a copy on one computer, and print one
copy, but please don’t abuse this by selling or distributing it in any way,
(unless you know a publisher you could pass it on to!).
It
took a long time to write, and all I ask in return is that if you have a website
that is about families, children, fun, entertainment etc that is
suitable for children that you link to one or more pages of this site.
Alternatively, if you use forums or blogs please spread the word by
posting this link http://www.professorparadox.co.uk/mr_sparrow.htm or
a link to the home page at http://www.professorparadox.co.uk
Please
also visit my other site at www.pardoxtheatre.co.uk
where you will find lots of interesting stories in the education section
Thank
you!
And
do feel free to email me to tell me what you think of the story!
(I
got a note from one site that said it was offensive - from
Australia!)
Please
note, to print this story you'll need about 45 sheets of A4 paper.
Contents:
1)
Meet Mr Sparrow.
2)
And Now Meet Mr Spinks.
3)
No Goblins, And No Rude Noises.
4)
A Mess In A Manger.
5)
When Shepherds Lost Their Flocks One Night.
6)
A Boob In A Manger.
7)
A Bright Star And Three Dim Wits.
8)
Goodbye Mr Spinks.
WARNING.
This story contains disgusting bits that may be unsuitable for some groan-ups.
MEET MR SPARROW
You don't have to be a super sleuth to find out what Mr. Sparrow has eaten for
breakfast. The vital clue might be the marmalade in his moustache,
or a cornflake on his chin, or several baked beans stuck to his bottom;
or, if you look carefully, you might spot the remains of a pizza plastered to
his shirt-front or sticky streams of custard running all the way down to his shoes,
which could mean he had custard for breakfast, or that he's wearing the same
shirt that he wore at suppertime the day before.
He is tall, with sticky-out wispy hair, and his clothes are
always so creased, it looks as though he doesn't take them off to go to bed, if,
that is, he has ever taken them off at all.
The reason Mr Sparrow doesn't pay a lot of attention to
things like eating, or brushing his hair, or ironing his shoes, or polishing his
shirt, or taking a JCB to his bedroom (which is always a tip), is because
he's too busy having brilliant ideas.
People who rush about having brilliant ideas are usually
scientists or inventors, or total maniacs but Mr Sparrow is merely the
headmaster of St Doughnuts School in the small town of Bogmarsh.
Mr Sparrow isn't really suited to be a teacher, and how he
ever became a headmaster is a complete mystery, most of all to himself. It
would have been better if Mr. Sparrow had gone to Inventor's School, because
then he could have invented something useful, like toilet seats that sing
something soothing when you sit on them or remote controls to turn off nagging
parents, but he decided to become a teacher, and think up ways to make
school...well, less school-like.
Sometimes his ideas worked. When he taught the
children to count, instead of counting boring things like buttons and biscuits,
he took them to the zoo, where they could count the spots on the Leopard, or the
stripes an a zebra, or how many rude things the monkeys did in an afternoon. The
children learned to count so well, that the school inspector awarded them top
marks.
Then Mr Sparrow decided P.E. lessons were dull, which they
are of course, so he taught the children to juggle jellies, and walk on tall
stilts, and balance glasses of lemonade and knickerbockers glories on their
heads whilst doing ballet, and not fall over.
Instead of sports day the children did a show for the
parents, which was much more fun than trying to run the fastest, or jump the
highest or get the javelin through the headmaster's window.
Charlie Ramsbottom (of whom you'll hear more later) dressed
as a clown and rode around on a unicycle, which everyone thought was wonderful,
and everyone loved it when he squirted the grown ups with a high powered water
pistol. Mr Sparrow was so impressed, he sent him back to the school to do sums
for the afternoon, but Charlie sneaked back and hid in a tree from where he
fired bits of potato at the grown ups with his spud gun.
You see, Mr Sparrow is sometimes quite impatient, and then
he gets cross and shouts and waves his arms, and threatens terrible punishments,
such as writing out one million times "I must not lock Miss Minim in the
music cupboard with Fred Bragg's rat." You can tell when he's getting
angry, because his moustache starts twitching and his nostrils get bigger; but
that just makes him look funny, so instead of being frightened of him, the
children start laughing, which makes Mr. Sparrow even crosser.
Charlie sometimes makes Mr Sparrow cross on purpose just to
see his moustache twitching. When he's really angry, his ears turn
bright red. That's when it's time to stop teasing, and start behaving.
Sometimes Mr Sparrow's ideas don't work. Once he
decided that the classrooms should be painted in cheerful colours, and he let
the children choose the designs and do the painting. The walls soon shone with
radiant rainbows and enormous beautiful butterflies which looked brilliant until
Mr Sparrow got his big foot stuck in a can of paint. He knocked over several
other tins of paint trying to get it off, and ended up with sticky paint all
over the walls, the carpet, himself, and the children. The chairman of the
school governors was furious and had all the walls painted prison grey again.
Then he thought that a school garden with a large pond with
ducks and fish would be a wonderful way for children to learn about
nature. They all loved it and sat by the pond on sunny afternoons watching
dragonflies lay their eggs on the pondweed. But Mr Sparrow wasn't
satisfied and thought it would be even more educational to have pink flamingos
and a hippopotamus; so he borrowed them from the zoo. But the pond wasn't quite
big enough for a hippopotamus, and as it waddled round and round the pond,
the water got muddier and muddier, until it wasn't a pond anymore. It was a
horrible slimy mud-bath; and a very stinky mud-bath too for, in case you
didn't know, hippopotami don't get out of the water to go to the toilet.
The flamingos objected loudly to the smell and flew onto the school roof, flatly
refusing to come down, which annoyed the pigeons, because they had to move
somewhere else.
Unfortunately, Mr Sparrow hadn't bothered to find out what
hippos eat, so the poor creature was fed on left over school dinners - a sad
mixture of soggy cabbage, limp chips and chocolate granite-cake. This
upset his tummy and he became a grumpy hippopotamus, squelching around the pond
making gloopy shlurpy noises, getting crosser and crosser, and smellier and
smellier. So when Charlie Ramsbottom and some of his friends went down to the
pond one day, and just for fun, started throwing handfuls of stinky mud at him,
the hippo was not amused.
At first he tried to ignore them and hoped they would go
away but they were having too much fun for that. Mudballs make a very
satisfying 'splat' when you score a direct hit on a hippo's head. The laughing,
happy children were soon covered in horrible smelling mud, and so was the hippo
who by now was gnashing his teeth with ill-suppressed fury. In the end he
lost his temper, climbed out of the pond, and chased the children all the way
back to the school.
It wouldn't have been so bad if the children had shut the
door behind them but children at the best of times are not particularly good at
closing doors, and they are even less good about such niceties with a raging
hippo treading on their heels. The hippo charged through the classrooms,
destroying everything in his path, and didn't stop until he reached the canteen.
He chased the dinner ladies away, then set about eating every scrap of food he
could find.
A hippopotamus covered in smelly mud charging through a
school makes a terrible mess, and it was lucky that no-one was hurt, but the
school was left in an interesting condition. Desks were demolished, bookcases
bulldozed, windows became gaping holes in the wall and the canteen was so badly
wrecked that the children had to make do with porridge for lunch for two
and a half weeks until it could be repaired.
And everything was splattered with disgusting
whiffy,
sticky, slimy mud. The carpets had to be destroyed, the walls had to be
painted (again), and it was only several years later that the heavy odour of
hippopotamus finally lumbered from the school.
Mr Sparrow's moustache trembled like an epileptic
caterpillar, his nostrils flared like black holes in space and his ears flashed
on and off like two enormous glowing red Christmas tree lights. For once the
children were sorry, but it was Mr Sparrow who was really in trouble and he was
summoned to see the chairman of the school governors.
The chairman stood very close to Mr Sparrow, with his great
bulging eyes glaring like the foglamps on a miffed robot. 'You ninny! You
nincompoop! What on earth d'you think you're playing at? This is an educational
establishment, not a theme park!' As he bellowed, gobs of spit flew into Mr
Sparrows face. The Chairman's breath smelled almost as bad as the hippo, but Mr
Sparrow didn't dare move.
"That creature will be returned to the zoo, the pond
will be covered in tarmac, and I will not tolerate any more of your ridiculous
ideas. IS THAT CLEAR?'
'Quite clear Mr Chairman, I'm t-t-terribly sorry,' was all
Mr Sparrow could stammer.
But The Chairman hadn't finished yet. ‘Let me warn you
now Sparrow' he hissed. 'If you cause any more problems with your outlandish
ideas, you will lose your job, and I'll see to it that you never work again. I
don't hold with this modern thinking. Children learn by reading and doing homework,
not by gazing into ponds, and especially not by playing with
hippopotamusses or these stupid computers that are all the rage nowadays.
They should be made to work, and if they don't then they should be beaten
severely about the head and shoulders. Children aren't here to enjoy
themselves.'
"No, Mr Chairman. I'll see that they never do again.'
Said Mr Sparrow meekly.
Now the Chairman is completely hopeless with computers. He
hates it when there's something that other people can do that he can't, and he
especially hates it when it's children who can do the something that he can't.
St Doughnuts School probably has the most ancient computers in the world, but
the Chairman of the Governors will not allow any modern ones to be bought.
Whenever Mr Sparrow mentions the subject of new computers, the Chairman
simply changes he subject and gives Mr Sparrow a telling off.
'And another thing Sparrow - you need to smarten yourself
up a bit. Just look at the state of you. What sort of example do you set for the
children coming in to school looking like a scarecrow with half it's breakfast
slopped down it's front? Now tidy yourself up, and get on with some proper
teaching. This is your very last chance. Do I make myself clear?"
Poor Mr Sparrow is absolutely terrified of the chairman of
the governors, and would do anything to get back into his good books.
So do you think Mr Sparrow went home to iron his shirts and tidy out his sock
drawer? Do you think he has decided to stop having brilliant ideas and just be
an ordinary teacher
Of course he hasn't. Right now Mr Sparrow is sitting at
home trying to think of a brilliant idea that will impress the chairman of the
governors so much that he will have to admit that Mr Sparrow is the best teacher
he has ever met, and maybe, if he really impresses him, he'll allow the school
to buy new computers, instead of more blackboards and chalk and books about The
history of English cricket, or agriculture in the nineteenth century.
So now you know quite a lot about Mr Sparrow, and it's time
to leave him to his ideas, and go and meet Mr Spinks.
AND
NOW MEET MR SPINKS
Mr
Spinks is not a tall man, nor is he a thin man; Mr Spinks is a short fat and
rather unpleasant man. So fat is Mr Spinks, that the buttons on his waistcoat
are inclined to fly off whenever he takes a deep breath. Mr Spinks is an
exceedingly pompous man and, much to everyone’s annoyance, he is an extremely
rich man.
You
won't see any marmalade in Mr Spinks’s moustache. Nor will you see any baked
beans on his tie, nor cornflakes stuck to his chin. You won't see crumbs on his
shoes and you certainly won't see custard spilt down his shirt. If Mr Spinks was
a sloppy eater, you might see caviar or champagne on his suit, but Mr Spinks is
not the sort of man to spill breakfast down his clothes.
Mr
Spinks likes everyone to know how rich and important he is, and takes great care
of his appearance. No boring grey suits for Mr Spinks. Mr Spinks struts around
Bogmarsh wearing designer suits, usually cream or white, but sometimes blue, or
green, and occasionally maroon. His
silk shirts and large colourful bow-tie are complemented by a fresh flower in
his buttonhole, usually a rose the exact colour of his bow-tie, and his shiny
patent leather shoes are far too expensive to have breakfast spilled on them.
Mr
Spinks wears dark glasses most of the time because he thinks it makes him look
like a film star. Actually he looks nothing like a film star. For a start he is
much too fat, and too old, and not in the least bit handsome. His nose is large,
and has several warts on it. When he tries to smile it looks more like a sneer,
as if he’s just eaten something disgusting like kippers and custard. His eyes
are red and bulging, so that he looks like a fish about to explode and his ears,
if you could
see
them, are enormous. You can’t see Mr Spinks’s ears, because the one good
thing about Mr Spinks’s appearance is the thick wavy dark hair, that cascades
down to his shoulders.
Mr
Spinks is immensely proud of his hair. Most men of Mr Spinks’s age are lucky
to have more than a bit of grey fluff, yet despite all his other faults, Mr
Spinks does have a luxuriant growth on his head that would make even some film
stars jealous. He constantly runs his fingers through it, and shakes his
head in order to draw attention to it. On sunny days he likes nothing more than
to drive through town in one of his open topped vintage sports cars, beeping his
horn so that everyone will turn and see his beautiful dark locks streaming
behind him in the wind. If you ever want to get in Mr Spinks’s good books, the
best way to do it is to tell him how wonderful his hair looks.
Mr
Spinks thinks he looks like a film star, but what he actually looks like is a
fat, ugly, pompous twit, trying to look like a film star.
You
might by now be wondering where Mr Spinks gets all his money from.
On
the outskirts of Bogmarsh is a huge factory, and nearly everyone in Bogmarsh
works there. The wages are poor, the work is hard, the days are long, and they
hardly ever get any holidays.
That
enormous factory towers over the town. Its tall chimneys reach up to the sky,
belching smoke and fumes day and night. Its bleak grey walls make it look more
like a prison, than a factory, except these walls have no windows. Only the
workers know what goes on behind those walls, and they would never dare speak of
it. From deep within comes the sound of machines, grinding, rumbling, clanging,
and pounding. And sometimes a faint but terrible squealing can be heard above
the din.
But
the noise isn’t the worst thing. Worse than the noise is the smell escaping
from the factory. It’s hard to describe it. Think of something going rotten,
but worse than that. You know when you’re sitting in class, and someone makes
a funny noise, and then there’s a smell and nobody will admit they did it? If
you can imagine that sort of whiff, and the pong you get when someone’s been
sick, and mix them together, it gives you some idea, but it’s even worse than
that. Now imagine a really stinky old cheese and then your dad’s pongy socks
when he’s forgotten to change them, and mix them in as well, and now you have
some idea of the sort of smell that oozes from behind the factory walls.
Nowhere in Bogmarsh is
safe from that smell. It sneaks under doors, climbs up stairs, creeps into
cupboards, and hides under carpets. It lingers in corners, clings to curtains,
and settles on washing that’s hung out to dry. That smell smothers Bogmarsh
like a wet blanket, and on still days, when there is no wind to blow it away,
some people swear they can even see that smell. The townsfolk are so used to it
that they hardly notice anymore, but visitors to Bogmarsh don’t usually stay
for long.
Even
so, the front entrance to the factory is surprisingly grand. Tall white marble
pillars stand to either side of an archway of pink granite, above which is the
sign, ‘MR SPINKS’S FAMOUS PIES.’ Because
of course, the factory is owned by Mr Spinks.
All
day long, lorries arrive at the factory,
and drivers wearing clean white coats load up with boxes and boxes of Mr
Spinks’s Famous Pies.
Mr Spinks’s pies are
famous all over the world. His pies have won almost every award that a pie can
win. Magazine writers rave about how tasty they are, and you may even see food
programme presenters on the television saying that Mr Spinks’s pies are the
tastiest you will ever find. In every town
in the land there is at least one shop that sells Mr Spinks’s Famous
Pies. Every town that is, except
Bogmarsh. The townsfolk of Bogmarsh won’t touch Mr Spinks’s pies. They know
too much about what goes on in that factory. In Bogmarsh, Mr Spinks’s Pies are
known as ‘Mr Stinkey’s Pies,’ and behind his back, Mr Spinks is called
‘Mr Stinks’, or ‘Mr Stinkey Pies’
At
the back of the factory, hidden from view by high grey walls, is an entrance
called the reception area. All day long, huge, black, lorries arrive to deliver
the ingredients for Mr Spinks’s famous pies. The doors of the lorries are
opened, and out pours the latest load of pigs, squealing, grunting and
protesting, as they are driven through the doors into the factory, never to be
seen again. You don’t want to know what happens after that, but out of the
other end of that factory pours an endless stream of those delicious pork pies.
Sometimes
lorries deliver at night too, but there is no sound of pigs squealing. Few
people know what goes into Mr Spinks’s factory at night, but there are rumours
of horses, too old to work, that should have gone to the knackers to be made
into glue. And whispers of stray cats, abandoned dogs, and unwanted puppies,
that end up in Mr Spinks’s famous pies. And even worse are the tales of the
thousands of dead rats left over from the animal testing laboratories, that give
Mr Spinks’s pies their unique flavour.
Whatever
the truth of these rumours, Mr Spinks’s pie factory has made him a very
wealthy and powerful man, somebody you don’t want to get on the wrong side of.
Mr
Spinks likes everyone to remember how important he is. One of his favourite ways
of doing this is to visit the town on
Saturday mornings when everyone is trying
to get their weekly shopping done. He parks his Rolls-Royce on the yellow lines,
right outside the shop, marches past all the mothers and children who are
patiently waiting, and barges in to the front of the queue. And he expects to be
served immediately, even if the shop assistant is busy serving someone else.
Nobody ever dares to say anything. It is not a good idea to get on the wrong
side of Mr Spinks.
Once
a traffic warden saw his Rolls-Royce parked on yellow lines, and wrote Mr Spinks
a parking ticket. Mr Spinks came out of the shop, just as the traffic warden was
sticking it to his windscreen.
‘How
dare you.’ He bellowed, as he thrust his face so close to the traffic
warden’s that their noses were almost touching. ‘How dare you give me a
parking ticket, don’t you know who I am?’ Gobs of spit flew from Mr
Spinks’s mouth as he shouted, spraying over the poor traffic warden’s face.
‘Sorry
Mr Spinks. Same rules apply to everyone you know. I can’t make any exceptions.
Just doing my job that’s all,’ said the traffic warden, stepping backwards
to avoid Mr Spinks’s bad breath.
‘Is
that so?’ Said Mr Spinks as he tore up the ticket. ‘We’ll see about that.
You’ll regret this, you young squirt.’ he yelled, spraying the traffic
warden with even more spit.
A
few days later the traffic warden received a letter from the chief constable
telling him that his work was unsatisfactory, and his services were no longer
required in Bogmarsh. When he tried to get a new job, it seemed that nobody
would employ him, and in the end he had to move to another town to find work.
Mr
Spinks is a very powerful man, and the new traffic warden knows better than to
give Mr Spinks a parking ticket. When he sees Mr Spinks’s Rolls-Royce parked
on yellow lines, he pretends not to notice, and instead gives a parking ticket
to a poor old man who can hardly walk, or a mum with a car full of children who
has stopped for a moment to pick up bags of heavy shopping. ‘Just doing my
job’ he says to himself.
So
now you know about Mr Spinks. He is immensely wealthy, extremely unpleasant, and
very powerful. Not only does he own the factory,
but he is also the chairman of the town council, the chairman of the
magistrates, and in case you hadn’t guessed already, he is the chairman of the
governors of St Doughnuts School, where Mr Sparrow is the headmaster.
So, like everyone else in
Bogmarsh, although Mr Sparrow doesn’t like Mr Spinks, he has to try to keep on
the right side of him.
And if you remember, after the incident with the
hippopotamus, Mr Sparrow was very much on the wrong side of Mr Spinks, and he
was trying to think of a way to get into his good books.
And one evening, shortly before Christmas, while he was
marking the children’s homework, he came up with one of his brilliant ideas.
It was a brilliant idea, because he would be able to impress all the important
people in the town, especially Mr Spinks, and the children from the school would
have lots of fun helping him.
He couldn’t wait to tell his class next morning…
NO GOBLINS, AND NO RUDE NOISES
“I’ve had an absolutely brilliant idea!” spluttered
Mr Sparrow as he burst through the classroom door in a splurge of excitement,
tripping headlong over the shoelaces he’d forgotten to tie up that
morning. The custard pie he’d put in his top pocket a week ago squished as he
landed on the floor
and squirted a jet of slimy stale custard over his face; some even
squirted up his nose so that when he spoke again, he sounded as if he had a
cold.
“D-d-dop laughing at bonce!” he stammered as he
staggered to his feet, only to slide on the slippery custard and fall to the
floor again, this time landing hard on his bottom. “I have something bery
important to dell you.
It’s hard not to laugh when your teacher has just fallen
over twice, and his face is covered in stale custard, and he can’t talk
properly, and you know that when he gets up he’s going to have a sticky yellow
bottom, but the children did their best. Mr Sparrow had to shout to make
himself heard.
“Great
creaky crumpets, will you be quiet!” he squeaked.
That’s another thing about Mr Sparrow. Whenever he gets
cross or excited, his voice gets squeaky, and he makes up silly words. And
when he’s cross and excited like he is at the moment, then he’s even
worse.
“You footling follywobbles,” he continued, “just be
quiet for a minute.
I’ve had a brilliant brainwave, and it’s the best brilliantiful idea I’ve
ever had so please listen.”
Mr Sparrow’s brainwaves usually mean something exciting
is going to happen, so the children tried to be quiet, and almost managed to
stop laughing.
“As you all know, Christmas is coming,” he continued as
he sat in a messy heap on the floor, “and this year we are going to
present a play; the best nativity play that has ever been seen anywhere in
Bogmarsh or beyond. What do you think about that then?”
Mr Sparrow was breathless with excitement. Some of the
children groaned and muttered “boring”, but Mr Sparrow ignored them and
staggered to his feet.
“I shall invite the most important people in Bogmarsh,” he announced. A
large yellow blob slowly oozed out of his nose, crawled over his moustache,
slithered down his chin, and after hanging for a moment, plopped off to join a
splodge of tomato ketchup that had landed upon his tie a few days earlier.
“Including,” he continued, ignoring the giggles from
the back of the room, “the Lady Mayor, The Honourable Lady
Hyacynth-Hawberry, the vicar, the Right Reverend Rolleston Rumpletum and Willy
Weasel, the chief reporter from the Bogmarsh Gazette. And guess who the guest of
honour will be? None other than the chairman of our school governors, Mr
Spinks.”
Mr Sparrow beamed as he looked around the room feeling very
proud of himself
“Not Mr Stinks.” Said Charlie, and he and several other
children held their noses pretending someone had made a smell..
“Be quiet Charlie. We are very fortunate that our
chairman is able to attend. He is busy enough working for the benefit of
Bogmarsh. Don’t forget that it was Mr Spinks who so generously paid for the
new blackboard erasers last year.”
Now we know that Mr Sparrow was terrified of Mr Spinks and
didn’t like him at all, but grown ups often fib like this in front of
children.
“We haven’t got long but you know the story, I hope,
and you can each have a Ladybird Nativity Book to take home, so homework this
week will be to learn your parts in the play, and those of you who are not in
the play can help with the scenery.”
Mr Sparrow tried to wipe some custard from his nose with
his tie, but only succeeded in smearing more onto his face.
“Great gibbering gooseberries, this is so exciting. Now, hands up, who’d
like to be in the play?
“Can I be a goblin?”
“Charlie
Ramsbottom, I am organising a nativity play, not a production of “The Lord of
the Rings”. Does the Bible ention a goblin at the birth of Our Lord
Jesus?” asked Mr Sparrow irritably as he blew his nose on a tissue that
promptly went soggy and became nothing more than a splodge as it filled up with
slimy yellow custard.
“But I can do really good goblin faces. Look,” said
Charlie pulling a really lifelike goblin face.
“I’m sure you would make an excellent goblin Charlie; you
can certainly make such a revolting face that if a real goblin saw you he would
think you were his long lost brother, but this is not an occasion for any
of your antics, so shut up and stop being silly.”
“But I want
to be in the play.” Said Charlie.
“If you stop
being silly, you can be one of the Wise Men with Ziad and Robert.”
Mr Sparrow said, as he felt another trickle coming down his nose. It’s
astonishing quite how much custard can hide up someone’s nose when it’s been
squirted in just the right way, and now Mr Sparrow felt a sneeze coming on, a
big sneeze, and he had nothing to catch it in now that his tissue had been used
up.
“William, Ziad, and Tim can be shepherds,” he managed
to gasp while holding his breath, “David is the innkeeper, and to keep
things simple, Joe, you can be Joseph, and Mary Delores can be Mary. Any
questions?” he managed to splutter, but it was no use holding on. There was
custard up his nose, and his nose didn’t like having custard up it, and Mr
Sparrow’s nose was determined to get rid of it. In desperation Mr Sparrow
turned his back on the class as the sneeze exploded, blasting two yellow
gobs of goo onto the blackboard.
The children cried with delight as they said “yuk” and
“disgusting” the way children do when they see something so satisfyingly
horrid. Mr Sparrow tried to wipe it off with the board rubber, but
of course that only made matters worse, and soon the board was smeared all
over with sticky mess.
The children shrieked with glee. This was even better than
the time he’d decided to have a maggot colony as a nature project, which would
have been brilliant if the maggots hadn’t decided to escape and set up a new
home in the school kitchens. The dinner lady, Mrs Bossaway (who everyone
called Mrs Bossyboots) was furious and marched Mr Sparrow off to the kitchen to
recapture them all, which was not an easy task, as a small determined maggot can
easily hide, and there were hundreds of them.
Charlie and Matilda and some of the others went to help Mr
Sparrow, although Charlie only went so he could get up to mischief. He was about
to put a maggot down Matilda’s neck when he saw Mrs Bossyboots looking at him
and thought the better of it. But that’s another story, and right now another
of Mr Sparrow’s brilliant ideas is going horribly wrong, and he hadn’t even
started yet.
It’s difficult to see quite how Mr Sparrow would have
restored order in the class, but it was Matilda who came to his rescue.
“Why is
there only one girl?” she asked, “it’s not fair, girls are just as good as
boys”.
“Because
that’s what the Bible says,” said Mr Sparrow, doing his best to sound
dignified. “There aren’t any other girls in the nativity. You could be the
angel Gabriel if you like; boys never want to wear wings.”
“You could
be the donkey,” said Charlie, “you’d be just right with your big ears and
your big fat b....”
“Don’t be such a neeky
chincompoop!” squeaked Mr
Sparrow, but Matilda was quite capable of speaking up for herself.
“I’m not being a dopey donkey!” she said huffily,
putting her hands on her hips, making the boys giggle. “But I would be
an adorable angel,” she continued, putting her tongue out at Charlie.
“Right.
Settled then,” said Mr Sparrow who was anxious to get on, as he wiped the last
of the custard peeping from his nose on his sleeve.
But it wasn’t, because now several other girls wanted to
have parts, and Mr Sparrow had to agree that there should be equal numbers, so
in the end it was decided that Alice would be the innkeeper, Kate would be one
of the shepherds, and Lisa Jenkins would be a wise man, along with Charlie and
Ziad.
“Can I be Mary then?” asked Charlie, who didn’t seem
to be able to stop being silly, despite his promotion to one of the wise men.
“No you can’t. Girls can do most jobs that boys can do,
and boys can do most things that girls can do, but giving birth isn”t one of
them,” replied Mr Sparrow.
“I can do the birth scene,” piped Emma. “I saw
a baby being born on telly once.”
“I could do
it better,” said Mary. “I was there when my brother was born and watched him
come out - he was all covered in slime and....”
“All right. All right,” gruffed Mr. Sparrow.
“That’s quite enough, thank you. We will not be having any birth scenes in my
nativity play. We will have a
doll, already in the crib, covered with hay, and when the time comes, Joseph
will remove the hay and the baby Jesus will pop out like a holy rabbit. Is that
clear?”
“Yes Mr
Sparrow,” the children muttered.
“Now, who has a doll we can use?”
“I’ve got
a life-size baby doll, that cries and wets his nappy and makes rude noises,”
said Matilda brightly.
“Thank you Matilda, that’s very nice but I don’t want
any rude noises. This play has to give everyone a good impression of the school,
is that clear? Now,” he continued, “because there will be lots
of important people there and I want this to be a very special play, I’m
planning a few surprises. And there will be one extra special super
surprise that is probably the most brilliant idea I”ve ever had, but I’m
going to keep it secret for now, and I’ll tell you all about it on the day of
the play.
Of course the children all wanted to know what the secret
was, and Mr Sparrow might have told them, but at that moment the bell went, and
the children rushed out to play while Mr Sparrow went to find a mop to clear up
all the messy custard.
The rest of the week was a busy one for Mr Sparrow and his
class as they learned their lines, painted scenery, and prepared
the hall for the play.
Some of the parents helped with sewing the costumes,
copying the designs from pictures in the Ladybird Nativity Book ,and two of the
dads had made a manger out of an old rabbit hutch. Everything seemed to be going
smoothly, which, as you can imagine, was most unusual when Mr Sparrow was
involved, but a week later everything was ready.
“Jumping jellybeans, we’ve done it!” exclaimed Mr
Sparrow, his eyes sparkling like tinsel on a Christmas tree. “Tomorrow morning
we’ll have the dress rehearsal, then, the big night that will give St
Doughnuts School the fame it deserves.”
Mr Sparrow was getting carried away as usual, but he was
quite right , for what was to happen the following evening did make both Mr
Sparrow and the school the talk of Bogmarsh for many years to come.
After the children had gone home he sang to himself as he
tidied up the classroom, making up the words as he went along:
“Twinkle twinkle, little pie.
How did you get in my eye?
I put you on the table-mat
Just before I squashed the cat,
I didn’t see him
sitting there,
Curled
up comfy on a chair,
Twinkle
twinkle, no-one knows,
How
that pie got up my nose.”
As the children left for home Mr Sparrow”s face was lit
up by the biggest beaming smile that anyone had ever seen on a teacher. He felt
very pleased with himself.
“It’s
going to be a stupendous success,” he said to himself. “St Doughnuts will be
famous, and so will I, and Mr Spinks will have to stop being so horrid to me.
Next morning
Mr Sparrow was not quite so chirpy.
“Now, pay attention class,” began Mr. Sparrow. “I’m
afraid we won’t be able to have the dress rehearsal today as planned. The
schools inspector has turned up unexpectedly and we have to have normal lessons
instead. Please be on your best behaviour if you can, and that does include you
Charlie. Now you all know your parts, and you’ve got your costumes, so I’m
sure it will all go smoothly. We just need to finalise a few details before the
inspector arrives. Now I did mention a special surprise for the play, so
I’ll tell you now. Mr McHeap, the farmer has very kindly agreed to lend us
some real animals, so we’ll be having a real donkey for Mary to ride –
don’t worry, he’s quite tame, and there’ll be some real sheep for the
shepherds to watch over. I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s an excellent idea
that will make this years nativity play really exciting.”
“Yes Mr.
Sparrow,” they all replied, though some of them weren’t so sure. “The only
problem is that he can’t spare his sheepdog, so if anyone has a suitable pet,
then please bring it tonight. Now the scenery is already on stage, so we just
need to organise precious gifts for the wise men to bring. Any ideas for
that?”
At that moment the inspector arrived so there was no time
for anyone to reply. “Just use your imagination and
bring something suitable.” He managed to say as she swept in.
The inspector sat
up very straight at the back of the class, looking so fierce, that even Charlie
behaved himself. But at the end of the day she told Mr Sparrow that she had been
very impressed, and would send a favourable report to the authorities in London.
“Really?
I’m so pleased,” said Mr Sparrow. “ I didn’t think you’d be so
impressed...although, ahem, we do try to maintain the highest standards, of
course. Um, er, It’s our Christmas Nativity Play tonight, would you like
to come? I’ve directed it personally, you know.”
The inspector accepted the invitation at once.
“Now don’t forget,” he called as the children left to
go home, “Be here an hour before the start so we are properly prepared.”
As the children ran excitedly from the room Mr Sparrow
wearily went to look for a bucket of water and a sponge to clean the last smears
of custard that still clung crustily to various parts of the classroom.
A MESS IN A MANGER
“Sorry I’m
late, I’ve been very busy,” panted Mr Sparrow as he stumbled into the hall
where the children had been waiting for ages. “Have to make a good impression
on our important guests,” he added, trying to flatten his hair down.
Mr Sparrow had indeed been very busy. His sticky out hair
was plastered down with some sort of hair gell, although it would take more than
hair gell to make Mr Sparrow’s
hair behave itself, so now he had sticky out hair covered in gell. His moustache
too had received some attention: It had been trimmed for the first time sine
last Christmas, and it seemed to be a different colour from usual; a sort of
rich chestnut colour, that might have looked alright if it had matched his hair,
but as his hair was black with occasional grey streaks, it simply looked odd.
But it was Mr Sparrows clothes that really made the children stare. They were
used to his usual messy jacket with baked beans and banana milkshake spilt down
it, but there was not a scrap of food, or anything else stuck to Mr Sparrows
brand new outfit. Mr Sparrow had been shopping.
As you already know, Mr Sparrow wasn’t very good at doing
ordinary things, and buying himself a smart new outfit was something he was
clearly very bad at.
His red and green striped suit would not have looked to odd
at a summer picnic by the river about a hundred years ago. Where he had got it
from was a mystery, unless it was from a fancy dress shop. His bow tie was blue
with pink spots that almost matched the pink of the horrid nylon shirt he was
wearing. From the top pocket of his jacket was a yellow handkerchief that almost
looked as if it was embarrassed and trying to hide. His socks wouldn’t have
looked too bad if they had both been the same colour, but in the process of
trying to decide whether to have green to match his suit, or pink to match the
shirt, he had somehow ended up wearing one of each. As for his shoes, well, they
were the sort of embarrassing platform soles your parents used to wear, and as
well as making Mr Sparrow look taller, they made him look quite ridiculous: more
like a clown on stilts than a headmaster.
“Pretty cool eh?” said Mr Sparrow as he looked around
at the group of children who stood open mouthed in disbelief. “Well, don’t
just stand there gawping, we haven’t got time for that, we have a play to
perform,” he said raising his arms in a dramatic gesture.
“Now, where are the Wise Men we need to…” Mr Sparrow
paused in mid-sentence. “What on Earth are all those animals doing here?”
“You said if anyone had a suitable pet to bring it
along,” answered Lisa.
“I meant a suitable shepherd dog!” said Mr. Sparrow in
disbelief as he surveyed the assortment of animals in the school hall.
“Well, it’s too late now, we’ll just have to include
them in the play. That hairy mutt could be the inn-keeper’s dog I suppose.”
“He’s not a hairy mutt!” interrupted Lisa
indignantly, “He’s my Shorts and he’s a first cross between a corgi and a
Jack Russell. And he’s called Shorts because of his sweet little legs. Poor
little Shorts, you’re not a hairy mutt are you.”
“Oh do stop simpering. Now where was I? Ah yes. Shorty
Legs is the inn-keeper’s dog, so the spaniel will have to be the shepherd’s
dog, the tortoise can be a rock, and that tabby cat can hang around the manger
just in case anyone has brought a pet mouse with them. Do those pigeons belong
to anyone, or have they just flown in from outside?”
“They’re my dad’s racing pigeons, Flapp and Peck,”
answered Kate.
“Well they’ll just have to perch in the tree we’re
using for the shepherd scene. Now, I hope you kept the secret about the farm
animals, they should be here any minute. Wise men, have you got your gifts
ready?”
He didn’t have time to wait for a reply because at that
moment, they heard the sound of a tractor arriving in the playground.
“That will be the animals. You all know what to do, so
just make sure you’re ready,” called Mr Sparrow as he dashed through the
doors leading to the playground where Mr McHeap was already unloading his
trailer.
“I brought you four sheep and a donkey like you said, and
Daffodil my tame cow as well, just to make it a bit more lively like,” said
Farmer McHeap.
“A cow!” exclaimed Mr Sparrow. “We can’t have a
cow! It’ll take up the whole stage, and it’s bound to make a mess and stink
the place out. I’ve got the Lady Mayor,
and The Chairman of the Governors, and the school inspector coming. We can’t
possibly have a cow in the school hall!”
“I suppose so, didn’t think of that,” replied Mr
McHeap. “Trouble is I can’t take ‘er with me like, ‘cause I’m a goin’
on to my brothers ‘ouse to move some things with me trailer, and I can’t do
that with Daffodil in the back. Tell e what. I’ll tie ‘er up to these doors
‘ere. She won’t be no trouble. She’ll just moo a bit, create a bit of
atmosphere like. It won’t matter as all the parents and that will be commin’
in the other way, and I’ll pick “er up on me way ‘ome with the other
animals.
Mr Sparrow didn’t think this was a good idea at all, but
as he was about to say so, a large black car drove through the school gates.
“Oh all right. Must go. The Lady Mayor is here.”
“Mary,” he called as he ran through the hall.
“You’ve got a pony so you can be in charge of the sheep and the donkey.
Don’t worry about the cow, It’s staying in the playground.” And with that
he went to greet the Lady Mayor and the other local dignitaries who were
arriving.
“Lady Hyacinth, our most excellent Mayor, how good of you
to come. And you, Vicar. And our inspector, how nice to see you again. What a
pleasure! I’ve reserved seats on the front row for you of course. Ah, Mr
Spinks. We are extremely pleased to welcome you as guest of honour this evening.
I must say your hair is looking particularly wonderful today. How do you manage
to look so young?”
“Thank you Sparrow. Never trust a man without a good head
of hair eh? Must say I’m rather looking forward to this evening. It’s about
time you did something sensible for a change. None of your silly ideas tonight I
trust?” said Mr Spinks twisting his mouth as he attempted to smile.
“Ah ha, just wait and see. I’m sure it will be an
evening to remember. The children have been rehearsing all week, and all in your
honour Mr Spinks. Well must go and get things organised,” burbled Mr Sparrow.
“Mr Sparrow is such a sycophant.” Mary said to the
other children as they tried to persuade the sheep and donkey to keep still
backstage.
Charlie pretended to be sick.
“It doesn’t mean that, it means he’s a
groveller.”
Said Mary, who enjoyed showing off the big words she knew.
Before long the school hall was full. In the front row sat
all the people Mr Sparrow wanted to impress. Behind them were all the parents,
step-parents, and friends of the children. Some dads were grumbling a bit about
having to come to a boring nativity play and stood at the back wishing they
could go to the pub instead, but most were looking forward to it, and sat next
to their wives.
Mr Spinks was, as usual, trying to impress everyone, and
was wearing a particularly expensive cream satin suit, white shirt and a large
yellow bow tie. His hair looked as if he had been to the hairdresser that very
afternoon, and for once, he seemed to be in a remarkably good mood as he chatted
to the vicar and Lady Mayor who were sitting on either side of him.
When everyone was seated, Mr Sparrow spoke to the children
who were getting ready behind the stage curtains.
“Now you all know your parts, and I want this to be the
best school nativity play anyone has ever seen. You know what to do, and I will
be here, either at the edge of the stage in the wings where the audience can’t
see me, or I’ll be hiding behind the scenery, so if anything goes wrong, you
know I’ll be there to sort it out. Is that clear?”
“Yes Mr Sparrow.” The children whispered.
“Good. I shall now introduce the play. Good luck, and do
your best.” And with that Mr Sparrow stepped through the curtains and after
waiting a few moments for the audience to become quiet, he began:
“Once again we are here to celebrate the birth of our
Lord Jesus with our annual Nativity play. I know some of you out there have been
busy all week sewing costumes, and helping the children to prepare themselves,
and the children too have worked very hard, so I’m sure that this evening will
be something special that you will all remember for a very long time. I am sure
you will wish to thank our guest of honour the Chairman of the governors and the
other dignitaries for giving up their valuable time to attend this evening.”
Mr Sparrow paused for a moment while the grown ups clapped politely, then
continued: “The first scene begins with Joseph and Mary, searching for an inn
in Bethlehem. Alas all rooms are taken, and it seems that there is nowhere for
Mary to stay and give birth to Our Saviour, for she is heavy with child “
Behind the curtains Mary was struggling to get onto the
donkey. This was proving difficult as, wanting to look like a grown up woman
about to have a baby, she had stuffed two small balloons, and one very large one
up her dress. She found it very awkward having a large bump in front of her,
especially as she didn’t want to burst it. She scrambled onto his back just as
the curtains opened, and Joseph led the donkey slowly onto the stage with Mary
balanced precariously upon it.
Mr Sparrow, who was now at the side of the stage behind the
curtain, was horrified to see Mary bulging with balloons. “What will the
parents think?” He muttered to himself, but he couldn’t do anything about
it.
The Dads at the back thought it was funny and sniggered,
but Mary tried not to be put off.
“Oh Joseph, I am so tired. We must find a place to rest
soon.”
“I see a small inn ahead, we will try there” answered
Joseph.
“Oh I do hope there will be room.”
The dads at the back had stopped sniggering, and the
audience was now quiet, except for a strange gurgling, sucking noise. Mary
wondered what it could be, and looked to see where it was coming from.
As she looked around the audience, she was horrified to see that her mum
was sitting just behind Mr Spinks, smiling happily, and breastfeeding Mary’s
little brother Matthew.
Mary was horrified. She knew that these days people don’t
mind so much about breastfeeding in public, but she still felt terribly
embarrassed. She knew her mum was never embarrassed about anything, probably
because she used to be an actress, so she looked away, and tried to remember
what she was supposed to say next.
At that moment, the innkeeper appeared at the far end of
the stage, accompanied by Shorts who wagged his tail and gave a little bark of
delight when he saw Mary.
“Have you any room?” asked Joseph.
“We have no rooms, but we have a stable at the back that
you could use. You’ll have to share with the animals so it’s a bit pongy,
but there’s plenty of straw so you can keep warm,” answered Alice the
innkeeper. Mr Sparrow was a bit annoyed to hear Alice say the stable was pongy
as that wasn’t supposed to be in her lines, but he soon forgot about that as
something else was happening, or rather wasn’t happening on the stage.
Joseph had stepped forwards, but the donkey didn’t move.
Like most donkeys, he didn’t like dogs, and at the sight of
Shorts, even if he was only a small and not very scary dog, was too much
for the poor creature, and he refused to go any further. Joseph pulled, and Mary
tried to encourage him, but he simply wouldn’t budge. Some of the parents
giggled a bit, but most of them managed to keep a straight face.
Mary knew what to do; her mum had been an actress. She knew
that when things go wrong you just have to make something up. She thought it was
called improvisation.
“Oh Joseph. The donkey is tired.. He can’t go on. I
hope it isn’t far to the inn.” The grown ups started to laugh which made
Mary feel a bit miffed as she thought
she was doing very well under the circumstances
Mr Sparrow knew he had to do something, but what? Then he
had one of his brilliant ideas, so while Joseph tried pushing, then pulling, the
reluctant beast, Mr Sparrow stood at the side of the stage, out of sight from
the audience, but where the donkey could see him, and held up an apple.
As soon as he saw the apple, the donkey forgot about the
dog and leapt forward. Unfortunately, Joseph was pulling hard at the time, and
fell over backwards. Even worse, Mary was so startled that she didn’t have
time to hold on and fell off the back, landing face down on the floor. She
wasn’t hurt because she landed on the balloons, but there were two loud bangs
as the large balloon, and one of the smaller ones burst.
The poor donkey was terrified by the bangs, and tried to
run away, but there was nowhere to run to, so it ran in circles around the
stage, then stopped in the middle and started making that loud he-haw noise that
only a donkey can make. Shorts thought this was a great game, and barked and
wagged his tail, and Daffodil the cow, who had been quietly mooing to herself
outside, began to bellow. Some of the dads at the back found all this terribly
funny and started cheering.
Mary’s mum, who liked everything to be quiet when she was
breastfeeding, tried to calm Matthew as he began to cry, and turned round and
told the dads to shut up.
Mr. Sparrow stood at the side of the stage waving his arms.
“Somebody do something!” he hissed as his moustache began to twitch.
It was Mary who came to the rescue. Still with one small
balloon up her dress, she gave the Donkey a cuddle. He nuzzled up to her and
calmed down, and she led him off the stage. Shorts stopped barking, Daffodil,
became quiet, and Matthew returned to his feed.
Mr Sparrow was
about to walk on to the stage to announce the next scene, when he noticed a
peculiar smell. He wasn’t the only one. Some of the children were holding
their noses, and Mr Spinks and the other dignitaries looked as if they
had just eaten something disgusting like a bowl of frogspawn soup. He saw
why when he looked at where the donkey had just been standing. Donkeys after all
are not house trained like cats and dogs, and there, in the middle of the stage,
was a steaming, smelly heap of what donkeys normally do outside.
“Oh no.
I’ll find the caretaker. Won’t be long.” Said Mr Sparrow as he dashed off
to look for Mr Cuthbert.
Most grown-ups were amused, and started to chuckle, but
this was interrupted by Lisa’s dad, Mr Jenkins, leaping from his seat, and
running up the steps at the side of the stage, shouting: “Don’t panic.
Marvellous stuff. Wonderful for the garden,” as he began to clear up the mess.
Everyone thought this was very funny and started cheering.
Everyone that is except the dignitaries, and Lisa, (who found her dad
embarrassing at the best of times), and Mrs Jenkins, who began to wail.
“But that’s my hairbrush you’re using! And my
handbag!
“Oh stop fussing woman. It’ll soon wash off. Just think
of the marrows I’ll be able to grow next year. I’ll win the prize at the
show so I will,” called back her husband, who was indeed using his wife’s
handbag and hairbrush as if they were a dustpan and brush. As he filled her best
handbag with manure.
Mrs Jenkins became hysterical and waved her arms shouting
“Roger. How could you? In front of all these people!”
Lisa, who was backstage waiting for her part as one of the
wise men, couldn’t stand any more and drew the curtains, just as Mr Sparrow
returned without the caretaker, who was having the evening off.
“Ah well done. All sorted out are we?” he said,
stepping through the curtains and speaking to the audience. “Well ha ha. Act
one didn’t go quite as planned, but, the show must go on. So, er, there will
now be a short interval while we set the stage for Scene Two. The Shepherds.
Thank you.”
The audience clapped, and the dads at the back, gave a loud
cheer, as Mr Sparrow disappeared behind the curtains to organise the next scene.
HOW
SHEPHERDS LOST THEIR FLOCKS ONE NIGHT
After a rather long interval, the curtains opened to reveal
Kate, Tim and Ziad as the shepherds sitting around a realistic looking campfire.
Each was wrapped in a blanket, and wore a head cover made from a tea towel.
Beside them lay Mr McHeap’s sheep, looking warily at Ziad’s spaniel Buster,
who was doing his best to look like a sheepdog.
Behind them, perched on a large branch propped up to look
like a tree, the two racing pigeons, Flap and Peck looked about them wondering
what on earth was going on.
Mr Sparrow had thought it would be good to have the manger
ready for the next scene, so it sat at the side of the stage with Matilda’s
doll, Isobel, hidden under a pile of hay.
The campfire in the middle of the stage was one of Mr
Sparrow’s special surprises.
The pile of sticks was illuminated from underneath by an
flickering orange light that he’d taken from an electric fire, and the thin
column of smoke came from some joss sticks hidden underneath. It looked very
effective, but made the hall smell of incense.
The shepherds were chatting:
‘Rum do with that star the other night.’ Said Tim in a
shepherd like tone.
‘Some say it was a sign,’ answered Kate
‘What sort of sign?’
‘Dunno. Just a sign.’
‘I heard wise men were a following it to a special place,
some sort of king’s palace,’ said Ziad.
Kate started to giggle.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Ziad, who forgot he was
supposed to be a shepherd.
‘The donkey. Look. He’s eating the hay.’
Nobody had thought to tie the donkey up behind the stage,
and he had wandered back on and was eating the hay from the manger.
‘Shush,’ said Tim. ‘Just pretend nothing has
happened. We’re supposed to be shepherds two thousand years ago.
‘Fear Not!’ came a voice from above the shepherds, who
did their best to look frightened. ‘Fear not, for I bring you good tidings.’
The Shepherds looked up as Matilda, dressed in a costume of
gold sequins complete with wings, was lowered on a rope, so that she dangled
above them.
‘We are filled with mighty dread, who are you?’ asked
Ziad, trying hard not to giggle.
‘I am the Angel of The Lord,’ answered Matilda.
Some of the audience had seen the donkey and began to
giggle too. Mr Sparrow, who was lowering the rope holding Matilda, looked around
to see what was happening.
‘Oh no! Carry on shepherds while I get rid of him,’
said Mr Sparrow, and tying the rope to a hook, he ran over and tried to pull the
donkey off the stage. It wouldn’t budge of course, so he tried pushing
instead. By now the shepherds were forgotten as everyone watched Mr Sparrow
pushing and pulling as hard as he could, but the donkey didn’t move and simply
stood there eating hay. Matilda meanwhile was becoming uncomfortable.
‘Help. I’m stuck. I want to
get down!’ Matilda struggled to free herself from the rope.
‘Just hang on a minute,’ replied Mr Sparrow. ‘Sorry.
Minor technical problem.’ He continued, speaking to the audience, who apart
from Mr Spinks, found the whole thing very funny. Even The Vicar smiled to
himself.
‘I can’t. The rope is too tight and I feel faint. Get
me down at once!’ shouted
Matilda, who could be quite assertive when she wanted to be.
‘Oh all right,’ said Mr Sparrow deciding that, as he
couldn’t move the donkey anyway, it might as well stay where it was. He ran to
untie the rope and lower Matilda, but her struggling had pulled the knot tight,
and it wouldn’t undo.
‘Let me down. I’m too hot and I need a drink of
water!’ Matilda yelled as she kicked and struggled.
‘How do you expect me to untie you if you can’t keep
still?’ said Mr Sparrow irritably as he fiddled with the knot.
But Matilda couldn’t keep still, and became even more
angry when she saw what the donkey was up to.
‘He’s eating Isobel! That stupid donkey is eating my
doll!’ she shrieked.
All eyes turned to see that the donkey had eaten all the
hay, and all that was left of Matilda’s doll was a leg sticking out of his
mouth.
Ziad tried to rescue the doll, but it was too late. As
there was nothing left to eat, the donkey now trotted off the stage, and as
Mary, who was supposed to be looking after him, wasn’t anywhere to be seen,
Joseph tied him up out of sight where he couldn’t cause any more trouble.
‘My poor Isobel.’ Matilda cried. ‘Get me down. I hate
this play.’
‘Stop whining. It’s only a doll, and you are supposed
to be an angel. Just act the part for a minute until I get you down., said Mr
Sparrow impatiently, his moustache twitching. ‘And don’t just stand there
gawping shepherds. Ziad, go and get her some water.’
‘I’m not drinking that. Get some clean water you turnip
head!’ shouted Matilda as Ziad ran back carrying the bucket that had been left
backstage for the animals to drink from.
Ziad was looking up at Matilda as he ran, so he didn’t
see the wire from the electric camp fire that tripped him up, sending him
sprawling. The bucket flew from his hands and landed on Buster who yelped with
surprise. Most of the water landed
on the sheep, who didn’t particularly mind as they were used to being left out
in the rain, but some of it splashed onto Mr Sparrow’s electric camp fire.
The grown-ups thought that the play was becoming more like
a clown show than a nativity play, but Tim didn’t laugh.
‘That’s really dangerous. My dad says if you get water
on electrical things you get a short circuit, and it will explode and catch
fire,’ he said to Kate. ‘Mr Sparrow,’ Tim shouted, ‘the fire has got
wet. What shall we do?’
But it was too late to do anything. There was a sudden
flash and a loud explosion from the campfire and a cloud of black smoke rose
slowly upwards. The animals were terrified. The sheep all ran, leapt off the
stage, and hid under the chairs on the front row. Buster the sheepdog ran around
barking, then, knowing he was supposed to be a sheepdog, but not being able to
see any sheep to round up, he chased the shepherds into a corner, and barked and
growled at them instead. Flap and Peck, the pigeons took to the air and flew
around over the audience, and outside, Daffodil started bellowing again. As if
that wasn’t bad enough, Tim had an asthma attack because of the smoke, but had
left his inhaler in the changing room, and couldn’t get off the stage to get
it because Buster wouldn’t let him.
Mr Sparrow was in despair. His wonderful play was being
completely ruined. Mr Spinks was furious, the inspector of Schools didn’t look
quite so pleased as she had earlier that day, and even the Vicar, who was
usually very understanding, didn’t like to see the Nativity Play turning into
such a disaster. Of course the dads at the back found the whole thing hilarious,
and most of the other grown ups were smiling too, apart from Matilda’s mum,
who was getting quite upset herself. Mr Sparrow strode to the front of the
stage, and half hidden by the cloud of smoke which was drifting slowly upwards,
tried to make himself heard above the barking, mooing, and yelling of Buster,
Daffodil, and Matilda.
‘Well. Er. Things never go quite the way you plan them do
they? Bit of a mishap, but the show must go on, so in a moment…’ The rest of
the sentence could not be heard because the smoke had by this time reached the
smoke detector on the ceiling, and his voice was drowned by the ringing of the
fire alarm.
‘Don’t panic. Everybody stay seated. There isn’t a
fire, it’s just a bit of smoke. Somebody get Matilda down and, I’ll go and
turn off the alarm,’ flapped Mr Sparrow as he dashed off.
Tim drew the curtains, and while some of the parents helped
get Matilda down, Mr Sparrow went to the caretaker’s room, found the switch
for the fire alarm, and turned off the bell.
‘Now where
was I?’ said Mr Sparrow as he returned to the stage. ‘Oh yes. Slight mishap
or two, but, never mind. Thank you all for your patience, and I’m sure that
nothing else will go wrong. In a few moments we will have the last scene in
which we follow the journey of the Three Wise Men who are following a bright
star in the East, which is guiding them to their Saviour. Mr Sparrow saw Mr
Spinks looking at him, and thought that he had never seen anyone look so angry,
and made a hasty exit to prepare for the next scene.
What Mr Sparrow didn’t know, was that the fire alarm was
a special type of automatic alarm connected to the fire station, and it had
already sent a signal to tell the fire brigade that the school was on fire.
A BOOB AT THE INN
Behind the curtains the children were preparing for the
last scene. The Three Wise Men were dressed in wonderful coloured costumes that
Charlie’s mum had made. She had copied them from Charlie’s wizard book
because Charlie had thought that the pictures in his wizard book were better,
and hadn’t told his mum they were supposed to be copied from the Nativity
book. Each had a pointy hat with stars on it with a flashing light at the top,
and long robes covered in magical designs with moons and suns in brilliant
colours. Charlie’s was red, Ziad’s purple, and Lisa had an orange one with a
blue trim at the bottom. They all wore false beards that they had bought from
the joke shop.
‘Have you remembered the gifts for The Baby Jesus?’
asked Mr Sparrow.
‘Yes, we’ve got them ready in the store room.’
answered Lisa.
‘Jolly good. You run and get them while I announce the
last scene. And remember. We’ve had quite enough disasters for one evening so
I don’t want anything else to go wrong. Is that clear?’
The children couldn’t help feeling that if it hadn’t
been for Mr Sparrow’s brilliant ideas to have real animals, and dangle Matilda
from a rope above a home made electric camp fire, nothing would have gone wrong,
but it wasn’t the best time to say so.
‘Yes Mr Sparrow,’ they answered.
‘Good. I shall make the introduction now while you go and
get the gifts. Don’t mess it up!’ And Mr Sparrow stepped through the
curtains once more.
‘The Lord Jesus has been born in a manger, and is wrapped
in swaddling clothes.’
‘What are swaddling clothes?’ asked Ziad
‘Dunno,’ answered Charlie. Maybe they’re like giant
nappies so you waddle when you walk.
‘Don’t be silly. Babies can’t walk,’ said Lisa.
Mr Sparrow could hear the children whispering behind the
curtains, but couldn’t tell them off, so he just spoke more loudly.
‘The shepherds have come to the manger to pay homage to
Lord Jesus.’
‘I wonder what homage is,’ said Lisa.
‘Probably some sort of cheese,’ said Charlie, and the
three of them started giggling.
‘And from a distant land came Three Wise Men following a
bright star in the East, which is a sign that a saviour is to be born,’
continued Mr Sparrow, even more loudly, trying to drown out the giggling coming
from behind him.
‘Hey. We’d
better go and get the gifts, or we’ll be late,’ said Lisa. So they dashed
off while Mr Sparrow continued to bellow his introduction to the audience.
When the curtains opened a few moments later, Mary and
Joseph were standing by the manger. The shepherds sat nearby on a bale of straw,
Joseph’s cat, Tabatha, sat curled up fast asleep next to them, and Flap and
Peck the racing the pigeons took turns to fly around, then perch on a ledge at
the back of the hall.
‘Where’s the baby?’ whispered Mary.
‘The donkey ate it in the last scene,’ answered Joseph,
‘Where were you?’
‘I was in the loo if you must know. How can we do the
manger scene without a baby? I’m supposed to hold it,’ she continued in a
loud voice, forgetting to whisper.
‘Get on with it. You’ll just have to use your
imagination,’ whispered Mr Sparrow from the side of the stage.
By now the grown-ups were laughing again, and the dads at
the back were really enjoying themselves.
‘Don’t worry,’ came a voice from near the front.
‘Matthew’s just finished his feed, so you can have him for a bit.’ And
before anyone could stop her, Mary’s mum rushed forward up the steps and
placed baby Matthew in the crib. Unfortunately she’d been in such a rush that
she’d forgotten to do her blouse up after Matthew’s feed.
‘Mum. Your boob is hanging out!’ hissed Mary
indignantly, turning bright red.
But Mary’s mum didn’t hear her, because all she could
hear was wild cheering coming from the dads at the back. Mary looked up and was
horrified to see that her dad was cheering louder than any of them!
‘I’m going,’ was all she said as she left the stage
feeling more embarrassed then she’d ever been in her life.
Nobody noticed, because everyone was looking at Mary’s
mum. (Except the vicar who politely put his hands over his eyes, although of
course he was peeping between his fingers).
Mary’s mum didn’t realise why the dad’s were
cheering, but she used to be an actress, and couldn’t resist showing off, so
she did one of her old song and dance routines; a sea shanty, which involved
quite a lot of bobbing up and down. The dads at the back thought this was the
best thing they’d seen for a long time, and were really glad they hadn’t
gone to the pub. The rest of the grown ups found it quite funny too, apart of
course from Mr Spinks, and the other dignitaries on the front row, who were
absolutely horrified.
When Mary’s mum finished her little dance, the dads at
the back all cheered and yelled for more. Mary’s mum was enjoying the
attention, and having now forgotten that this was supposed to be a nativity
play, and that she wasn’t in it, danced the can-can, which involved even more
bouncing up and down, and brought a huge cheer and wild applause. But although
the dads may have liked it, Mr Spinks was becoming so angry that he seemed to
have almost doubled in size.
It was only when Mary’s mum bent to do a curtsey at the
end that she looked down and realised why there had been so much cheering. Even
she felt a bit embarrassed, but didn’t want to look stupid, so she pretended
she’d done it on purpose, curtsied again to more applause and laughter, and
returned to her seat.
Mr Sparrow was livid and terrified at the same time. He
didn’t dare look at Mr Spinks as he strode to the front of the stage, with his
moustache twitching, his nostrils flaring and ears that were becoming decidedly
pink.
‘Thank you Mrs Delores for that most entertaining
contribution to our celebration of the birth of our Lord Jesus,’ he began.
‘We try very hard at our school at Bogmarsh to instil in our children the
highest standards of good manners and behaviour, and it is I believe only fair
that we should ask that the adults too conduct themselves in a proper manner in
front of the children….’
Mr Sparrow would probably have continued like this for some
time if Matthew hadn’t started to cry. And there was a funny smell coming from
somewhere. He turned to see Joseph and the shepherds holding their noses.
‘De baby’s bun a boo,’ said Joseph who couldn’t
talk properly because he was holding his nose.
‘Pardon?’ asked Mr Sparrow.
‘De baby’s bun a boo,’ he repeated loudly.
‘I’ll see to him,’ called Mary’s mum as she ran
back onto the stage. ‘Trouble is I didn’t bring any nappies. Mind if I use
this instead?’ she said, grabbing a tea towel from Tim’s head. ‘Won’t
take a moment.’
Mr Sparrow was relieved to see that she’d buttoned her
blouse up, but he wasn’t taking any more chances. ‘You’re not doing it
here,’ he spluttered. ‘Get off the stage immediately and take him somewhere
else.
With a wave to the dads at the back, Mary’s mum carried
Matthew back to her seat, and changed his nappy right there in the audience. It
was pretty stinky, and some of the other grown ups held their noses, except of
course for the ones on the front row who just sat there looking very cross. Mr
Sparrow thought he had never seen Mr Spinks looking so furious.
‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, let us continue with our
celebration of the true meaning of Christmas. The scene begins with the journey
of the Three Wise Men following a bright star, guiding them to the stable where
Christ is born.’ Mr Sparrow returned to his hiding place at the side of the
stage muttering that this was the last time he would ever produce a nativity
play.
A BRIGHT STAR AND THREE DIM
WITS.
Mr Sparrow had prepared a special surprise for the part
about The Three Wise men following the star: The lights were dimmed and the
audience saw a candle suspended in mid air, floating slowly towards the manger.
The effect was magical; no-one could see Mr Sparrow holding the fishing rod from
which the candle dangled, and for once it seemed that one of his brilliant ideas
was actually working. But the trouble with being someone like a teacher, and
having brilliant ideas all the time, is that children want to have brilliant
ideas too. Mr Sparrow was about to discover that Lisa, Charlie, and Ziad, had
been very busy preparing a special surprise of their own.
Joseph stood alone by the manger, the shepherds sat on the
straw bale, and the pigeons were perched at the back of the hall, cooing to
themselves. Tabatha the cat, had climbed into the manger and gone to sleep, and
the sheep were still hiding under the chairs of the front row and refusing to
come out. Outside Daffodil was feeling bored and cold, tied up to the hall
doors, and was complaining by mooing quietly.
Lisa was the first Wise Man to appear carrying a goldfish
bowl in which her pet goldfish, Bubbles, swam around, wondering why he wasn’t
on the sideboard at home.
‘We have travelled far from distant lands and are weary
from our journey and I bring the gift of gold for the lord Jesus,’ she said,
trying not to spill the water as she walked.The grown-ups thought this was quite
a good joke, and even the dignitaries managed a smile (apart of course from Mr
Spinks who was already thinking about what he would say to Mr Sparrow next day).
‘I suppose I did tell them to use their imagination,’
Mr Sparrow thought to himself. ‘I hope the other two have thought of something
suitable.’
Lisa placed the goldfish bowl on the side of the manger.
Tabatha suddenly woke up, climbed up next to the goldfish, and stared into the
bowl, her eyes following every move the fish made as he swam round and round in
circles.
The manger looked quite cosy with the candle suspended in
the air above it, and the play seemed to be going well at last, but there was
only one Wise Man, and everyone began to wonder what had happened to the other
two.
It wasn’t a Wise Man that appeared next, but a small
radio-controlled racing car, followed by Ziad operating the controls.
‘What on earth are you playing at?’ asked Mr Sparrow in
a loud whisper that everyone heard, ‘It’s supposed to be frankincense, not a
Ferrari!’
‘I didn’t have any, and you said use your imagination
and bring something precious, and I haven’t got any frankincense, and I
don’t even know what it is, and I thought baby Jesus would like something to
play with, so I brought my best Christmas present from last year,’ blurted
Ziad, who had thought that the racing car was quite a good idea, ‘And Charlie
brought his best present too.’
At that moment Charlie appeared, driving his pedal powered
army tank whilst he made engine noises and pointed the gun at the audience,
pretending to shoot them.
Mr Sparrow was speechless for a moment, but when everyone
started laughing, he really blew his top. ‘GET THAT THING OFF THE STAGE!’ he
roared ‘You stupid boy what on earth do you think you’re doing? Couldn’t
you use a bit of common sense? All you had to do was bring a little parcel
wrapped up and pretend it was myrrh and instead you have to ruin everything with
that ridiculous tank.
‘But I don’t know what myrrh is,’ answered Charlie,
‘and I thought….’
‘I don’t know what myrrh is either.’ bellowed Mr
Sparrow who had stepped forward from his hiding place, his ears becoming a
brilliant shade of crimson.. ‘But it certainly isn’t going to be a tank is
it?’
‘It’s a transparent yellow-brown aromatic gum resin
formerly used as incense and now used as an antiseptic,’ said Tim the
shepherd, who’d wondered what it was and looked it up in the dictionary the
previous day
‘That’s a really boring present,’ said Charlie.
‘Fancy giving aromatic gum to a baby. It would probably eat it and be sick all
over its swaddling clothes.’
‘Shut up. I don’t care what myrrh is. The Bible says
gold, frankincense, and myrrh. It does not mention racing cars, tanks and
goldfish. This play is, I might remind you, being performed before Mr Spinks,
The Vicar, The Lady Mayor, The Inspector of Schools, the reporter from the
Bogmarsh Gazette, and all your parents. And you’ve ruined it, you dimwits!’
Mr Sparrow was getting more and more worked up, and his ears glowed like an
electric fire as he waved his arms frantically. ‘GET THAT TANK AND THAT CAR
OFF THE STAGE NOW!’ he yelled.
Mr Sparrow was so angry that he’d quite forgotten that he
was still holding the fishing rod with the candle dangling from it, and as he
waved his arms, the candle swung wildly. He was so busy trying to get Charlie
and Ziad off the stage that he didn’t notice that with all that swinging about
he’d managed to set the curtains on fire.
The audience had seen it, and Mr Spinks jumped up from his
seat shouting ‘FIRE. DON’T PANIC. THE CURTAINS ARE ON FIRE.’
Joseph acted quickly, grabbed the goldfish bowl, and threw
the contents towards the flames. Although this was a sensible thing to do, his
aim wasn’t very good, and most of the water ended up soaking Mr Spinks, with
the rest splashing onto the Lady Mayor, and the vicar. Even worse, Lisa’s
goldfish, Bubbles landed on Mr Spinks’s head, where if flapped about, unable
to breathe.
Tabatha, who hadn’t taken her eyes off the goldfish since
it had appeared on the manger didn’t miss her chance. In one graceful bound,
she leapt from the stage, and landed on Mr Spinks’s head, where she grabbed
the goldfish in her paws, and began to eat it.
Mr Spinks didn’t like cats very much. In fact he hated
cats. He even tried to run them over when he was driving round in his sports car
with his long dark hair streaming out in the wind. And he especially didn’t
like cats when he had just been soaked and one was sitting on his head about to
eat a goldfish that shouldn’t have been on his head in the first place.
‘AARGH! GET OFF MY HEAD!’ he roared, grabbing hold of
Tabatha, and pulling.
Tabatha didn’t like being pulled, so she did what cats
always do when you try to pull them, and dug her claws in. Mr Spinks pulled
harder, but Tabatha didn’t let go, and the harder he pulled, the more she
clung on, until, with a wrench, Mr Spinks tore the cat from his head and flung
her to the ground.
A deathly silence fell upon the hall. Mr Spinks noticed
that everyone was looking at him. His head suddenly felt cold. Slowly, he put
his hand up to feel his hair, but his hair wasn’t there. All he could feel was
his sweaty bald head that now shone like a bright pink beacon at the front of
the hall.
The parents began to mumble: ‘It’s a wig. Spinks’s
hair is just a wig. Spinks is a fraud. He’s a bigger poser than we thought!’
A huge cheer rose from the back of the hall. Everyone was
delighted that Mr Spinks had been caught out at last. Everyone that is, apart
from Mr Sparrow, who was shaking in terror, and the shepherds who would have
enjoyed it if they been watching, but they had all run off to get fire
extinguishers and were busy putting out the fire that Mr Sparrow had started
with the candle.
Mr Spinks was speechless with rage, and simply stood there
waving his arms, and making peculiar grunting and babbling noises as he tried to
make his mouth say some proper words.
Tabatha meanwhile had run off to a corner of the hall where
she could eat the fish, and two of the sheep, who were still hiding under the
chairs on the front row, were eating
the wig that they had mistaken for some hay.
The audience was so busy looking at Mr Spinks’s shiny
pink head, that nobody saw what was happening on the stage, until they heard
Lisa shouting at the top of her voice.
‘Joseph you idiot! that was my goldfish and you threw him
out of his bowl and the cat ate him. You worm hole, you useless fat blob of
snot.’ Lisa said a few other things that she’d heard her dad say when he’d
come home from the pub after having a bit too much beer. She knew perfectly well
she wasn’t supposed to say them herself, particularly when grown-ups could
hear, but she was so upset about her goldfish that she quite forgot herself.
‘Well I had to put the fire out with something.’
‘Not with my poor little Bubbles you stupid fart face.’
And with that, Lisa punched Joseph so hard on the nose, that blood poured down
his face and onto his white robe. Joseph began to sob.
‘Serves you right you stupid
plonker,’ said Lisa,
remembering something else she’d heard her dad say about Mr Spinks once.
‘Stand back everyone. We have a potential blood
contamination situation. This is an emergency,’ shrieked Mr Sparrow.
Kate gave Joseph the tea towel she’d been wearing on her
head to soak the blood, while Mr Sparrow dashed off to find the first aid kit.
Mr Spinks finally found his voice.
‘THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!’ he bellowed. ‘This is quite the
most disgraceful thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Mr Sparrow, you have
brought the school into disrepute. You are a complete nincompoop, quite unfit to
take charge of anything at all, let alone a class of children performing a
simple nativity play.’ All eyes were now watching Mr Spinks as he stood
bellowing, his shiny pink head changing first to red, then purple, until it
seemed about to burst. ‘AND AS FOR YOU LOT,’ he turned round to face the
dads at the back. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You have spent the
entire evening behaving like a bunch of teenagers. How on earth can we expect
our children to grow up into responsible adults when they see you behaving in
the way you have conducted yourselves this evening?’
Some of the dads began to shuffle uncomfortably, Mr Spinks
was after all their boss. Above them on a ledge, the pigeons were also watching,
and although of course they didn’t understand what was going on,
Flapp and Peck could see Mr Spinks’s purple head shining brightly and
thought that it presented a good opportunity for a bit of target practice.
Taking to the air they flew around the hall a couple of times to build up speed,
then after rising to the ceiling, they swooped down in a graceful dive towards
Mr Spinks, who was still bellowing at the dads at the back.
‘THIS DISGRACEFUL EXHIBITION IS QUITE INEXCUSABLE…’
Peck dived, took aim, but missed, leaving a white blob on
the vicar’s black cassock which not even the vicar noticed. Flapp then dived
and aimed carefully.
‘Quite frankly I am ashamed to be The Chairman Of The
Governors of this wretched school for which I have worked so hard,’ continued
Mr Spinks. ‘What do you have to say for yourselves?’
Flapp’s aim was perfect, and with a loud splat, she
scored a direct hit on Mr Spinks’s forehead, and a white splodge dribbled
slowly down his face,
This time it wasn’t just the dads at the back who
cheered. All the grown ups, except of course, the vicar and The Lady Mayor were
cheering and laughing. Even the inspector may have been smiling behind her hand
with which she was covering her mouth, the way children do when they can’ help
laughing at teachers, but don’t want to be seen.
‘HOW DARE YOU?’ Exploded Mr Spinks. ‘How dare you
laugh at me? You will all regret this, for tomorrow morning I shall…’
Quite what Mr Spinks intended to do the next day, nobody
ever found out because at that moment, the fire brigade finally arrived. They
would have appeared earlier if they hadn’t got lost on the way, but at last,
with sirens baring, and blue lights flashing, two fire engines roared into the
school playground.
Poor Daffodil, still tied to the hall doors, was absolutely
terrified. She was used to tractors, but they didn’t have sirens and flashing
blue lights. Her only thought was to escape. She was a big strong cow, and with
a loud bellow she pulled on the rope with all her strength. The doors couldn’t
withstand the strain for long, and with a tearing sound of splitting wood the
doors flew from their hinges, and bounced along the ground behind her as she
ran, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the hall.
The people in the hall didn’t know about the automatic
fire alarm, and to have fire engines turning up in the playground, then seeing
the doors ripped off was something nobody was expecting.
Mr Sparrow had a horrible thought. The fire brigade must
think there was a fire and that meant lots and lots of water was about to come
through the gap where the doors had been.
Mr Spinks had the same thought, and deciding that as Mr
Sparrow seemed incapable of doing anything, he had better take charge, so he ran
out of the doorway to try and stop them. Unfortunately for Mr Spinks, Daffodil
had been tied up for quite a while, and as he ran, he slipped on one of several
cow pats, and landed flat on his face in another.
For a moment he lay there trying to make sense of the fact
that one moment he had been running, and now he was lying with his face in
something cold and slimy which was creeping up his nostrils, and into his eyes.
And there was a terrible smell coming from somewhere.
‘Urrrrgh.’ he moaned, and tried to cry out, but opening
his mouth was a mistake, for whatever it was tasted even worse than it smelled.
Slowly, painfully, he tried to drag himself up, and would probably have
succeeded, if it hadn’t been for several firemen with their hosepipe at the
ready, charging towards the hall. They didn’t see Mr Spinks in the dark. The
first fireman tripped up and fell on top of him. The next one tripped over him,
and a few seconds later Mr Spinks was buried under a pile of struggling firemen,
suffocating in the stinking slime.
The leading fireman was holding the hosepipe that had a
lever at the end to turn the water on. Of course he wouldn’t turn the water on
until he could see the fire, and he held the lever firmly to make sure the water
wasn’t turned on.
Unfortunately when several other firemen landed on top of
him, his arm was knocked, and a powerful jet of water shot through the air
making a graceful curve over the audience. It hit Mr Sparrow with such force
that he was knocked down, and he lay there, struggling under a cold torrent,
until the firemen could turn it off.
The firemen were very cross at being called out when there
wasn’t a fire, and were even more cross about the state of their uniforms
after they had landed in the mess that Daffodil had left behind. They stomped
off muttering about having better things to do, and drove off with their sirens
blaring.
‘SPARROW!’ roared Mr Spinks as he strode back into the
hall. His face was covered in cow pat, he smelled terrible, he was covered in
cuts and bruises, and his beautiful cream satin su