A children's story for free download

Stories From

PARADOX THEATRE

MR SPARROW'S SPECTACULAR BOOB

The Wonderful Story of how St Doughnuts School Was Able To Buy Some New Computers

Mike Rawlinson

Drawing by Jane White

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.

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

Mr Sparrow's Spectacular Boob!