by Kaye Umansky
The Stonkings, of course, are over the moon. They can’t do enough for Nanny Susan. They both agree that she is a treasure.
‘THERE SHE GOES,’ said Bigsy, gazing over the balcony railings. ‘NANNY SUSAN. TAKING PHILPOT FOR A WALK.’
‘I DON’T KNOW WHAT WE’D DO WITHOUT HER, BIGSY,’ said Largette, coming up and slipping an arm around his waist. ‘SHE’S A TREASURE. BABY PHILPOT LOVES HER. WHAT IS HER SECRET?’
‘I DUNNO, PETAL. ALL I KNOW IS, HE AIN’T ROARIN’. AT LEAST WE gets SOME SLEEP NOW.’
‘I KNOW,’ said Largette, snuggling up to Bigsy. ‘I DIDN’T THINK I’D EVER SLEEP AGAIN.’
‘HAPPY, PETAL?’
‘OH YES, BIGSY. I’M HAPPY THAT BABY PHILPOT’S HAPPY. AND EVEN HAPPIER THAT SOMEONE ELSE IS DEALING WITH HIM. JUST WHILE HE’S GOING THROUGH THE MILK STAGE, OF COURSE.’
‘OH YES,’ agreed Bigsy. ‘WHEN ’E STARTS WALKIN’ AN’ TALKIN’, THAT’S DIFFERENT. WE’LL LIKE ’IM THEN.’
‘I KNOW WE WILL. BUT RIGHT NOW, HE’S BETTER OFF WITH A PROFESSIONAL. I WAS THINKING, BIGSY. NOW WE’VE GOT ALL THIS SPARE TIME, WE COULD GO OUT ONE NIGHT, COULDN’T WE? TAKE THE BIKE FOR A SPIN. STOP OFF FOR A BITE TO EAT. PLAY THE JUKEBOX AND DANCE AROUND OUR HELMETS. LIKE WE USED TO DO.’
‘YOU MEAN – LEAVE THE BABY?’
‘WELL, YES. WE DON’T WANT TO DISTURB HIS ROUTINE. HE’LL BE ALL RIGHT WITH NANNY SUSAN. I DESERVE A BIT OF ME TIME, BIGSY. OH, SAY WE CAN!’
‘WHATEVER YOU WANT, PETAL,’ said Bigsy fondly. ‘WHATEVER YOU WANT.’
Plugugly was down at the gates, where the Gaggle were waiting on the other side of the bars with the bucket.
‘You’re late,’ said Lardo.
‘Yes, well, I had to get Baby Philpot ready, didn’t I?’ said Plugugly.
‘Where’s the bag o’ gold?’ demanded Eyesore.
‘I hasn’t got it yet,’ said Plugugly. ‘I keep tellin’ you. I gets paid at the end o’ the job.’
Hog stood on tiptoe and peered through the bars into the pram, where Philpot lay fretfully waving his empty bottle around.
‘Gettin’ bigger, innit?’ said Hog.
‘Is you referrin’ to Baby Philpot?’ asked Plugugly coldly. ‘Because he isn’t an it.’
‘Yeah, whatever. I’m just sayin’ it’s grown. Don’t you fink, Stinkwart?’
‘I dunno,’ said Stinkwart with a surly shrug. ‘Dunno ’ow big it’s s’posed to be. Don’t care, neither.’
‘Did Stinkwart speak?’ Plugugly enquired of the other Goblins. ‘Did I ’ear ’im say sumfink? I must say I’m surprised he’s here. I’m surprised he isn’t out stick-collectin’.’ He leant into the pram and fussed about with Philpot’s blanket. ‘Take no notice o’ dat bad Goblin, Baby Philpot. He don’t know nuffin’.’
Stinkwart scowled and wandered off to kick a bush.
‘Hold out his bottle, then,’ said Lardo, picking up the rusty bucket. ‘I’ll fill it up.’
Plugugly removed the teat and stuck the bottle through the bars. Lardo tipped up the bucket and attempted to pour in the contents. They came out in a rush. Most ended up coating Plugugly’s hand. The rest formed a puddle on the ground.
‘Look at dat!’ said Plugugly crossly, wiping his gunky hand on his apron. ‘You is one careless Goblin, Lardo.’
‘You shoulda kept the bottle still,’ said Lardo. ‘ ’Ow am I s’posed to pour if you keep wavin’ it around?’
‘But dere’s hardly any in dere! What’s Baby Philpot gonna do?’
‘Ah, stop fussin’. We’ll scrape it up off the ground.’
‘But den it’s all dirty!’
‘So? He’s eating nettles, crushed berries, mud an’ rust. What’s dirt gonna do?’
This was true.
‘Well, hurry up,’ said Plugugly. ‘If he don’t get fed, he gets sad.’
In the pram, Philpot was indeed getting restless. His brow was creased and his clenched fists waved around. His bulging eyes were fixed on the bottle. If he didn’t get it soon, there was going to be trouble.
The Gaggle – well, all except Stinkwart, who was still away bush-kicking – set about the task of scooping up the spilled nettle soup with dirty cupped hands and transferring it into the bottle. A lot of it had soaked into the ground. Despite their best efforts, the bottle was only half full. And that included quite a lot of grass, leaves and twigs. It was a lot thicker than usual.
‘GA!’ bellowed Philpot from the pram, making everyone jump. ‘GA! GAGAGAGAG . . .’
Hastily, Plugugly thrust the half-full bottle into Philpot’s hands. He stuck it into his mouth and commenced sucking noisily.
‘You see?’ said Lardo. ‘He likes it with extra dirt.’
He was right. Philpot did.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Preparations
In Witchway Wood, all talk was about the forthcoming O’Lumpick Games. You couldn’t avoid the subject. For a start, every other tree sported one of Vincent’s posters. Black background with dribbly blood red writing.
THE O’LUMPICKS ARE COMING! they screamed. OPEN TO ALL!
The Daily Miracle was full of it and the spellovision news talked of nothing else. Not that anybody read the paper or watched spellovision much. They were all too busy doing knee bends and eating cauliflower. Besides, you could have enough of Sourmuddle, who was never off the screen, claiming that the O’Lumpick Games were all her idea.
There was a new spirit in the Wood. Suddenly, everyone took to wearing shorts. There was talk of getting fit and eating healthily. If you took a stroll before breakfast, most likely you would come across the Skeleton team jogging, or the Troll team doing press-ups. Sometimes you might see the Mummies, Xotindis and Xstufitu, sharing a delicious banana before resuming their speed walk. If you were really lucky you might see the faddy Werewolf from the sweet shop queue sprint past, slip on the skin and fall over.
Everyone was taking the preparations seriously. The Banshees hired Witchway Hall every Monday night for a step aerobics class. On Tuesdays, the Zombies took it over for weightlifting practice. There were earnest discussions about what to wear for the Opening Parade, and what should go on the flag. The Witchway Rhythm Boys began practising marching music.
Nobody was keener than the Witches. Pongwiffy’s rousing speech had pricked their consciences and made them take a long, hard look at themselves. All of them had gone back to their caves and cottages, rifled through their cupboards and thrown out all the bad stuff. Then they all went on a strict exercise regime. Sludgegooey took up jogging. Bendyshanks went in for Yoga. Gaga found an old bicycle and could be seen screeching around at all hours of the day and night. Ratsnappy, Scrofula and Greymatter met up twice a day to do stretching exercises. Macabre practised tossing large tree trunks around. (Everyone kept a wide berth.) The twins started skipping. Even Bonidle could be seen late at night, sleep running. Sharkadder started up a Keep Fit class on Wednesday nights, which was proving popular. And Pongwiffy herself ran around like a mad thing, organising.
Much to the Yetis’ dismay, business at Sugary Candy’s was beginning to drop off. The daily queues dwindled. Nobody wanted sweets any more. Sweets were out, sprouts were in. The Yetis finally put a sign on the door. It said: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Then they turned off the lights, fastened the magic padlock and went off to have emergency business meetings behind locked doors.
The Sports Committee were holding one of their regular meetings at Sharkadder’s. They were gathered around her table, on which was set a healthy bowl of pickled cucumbers and a pile of entry forms.
‘It’s proving even more popular than I thought,’ said Pongwiffy. ‘Just look at all those forms. Everyone wants to take part. How many teams are entering?’
‘Twelve,’ said Greymatter, looking at her notepad. ‘There’s us, the Familiars, the Skeletons, the Trolls, the Zombies, the Banshees, the Mummies, the Vampires, the Ghosts, the Ghouls and the Gnomes. And that dithering Werewolf. He’s in a team on his own. He’s entering for the Relay, I
’m not sure how.’
‘My word,’ marvelled Pongwiffy. ‘Twelve teams! And they’ll all have supporters. I bet crowds will come from far and wide.’
‘Ah don’t know how crowds from far an’ wide’ll fit in Futtout’s garden,’ said Macabre. ‘It’s big, but it’s no that big.’
‘It’ll be a squeeze,’ admitted Pongwiffy, ‘but there has to be an audience, doesn’t there, Hugo? To cheer and clap and stuff. Right, moving on. Have you thought about the Parade costumes, Sharky?’
‘I have,’ said Sharkadder coyly. ‘But they’re a secret. I don’t want anyone to see them yet. They’re rather marvellous, though. I’m thinking dazzling, vibrant colours.’
‘Hmm,’ said Pongwiffy, mentally resolving that whatever Sharkadder came up with, she would hide it under her old cardigan. ‘What’s next on the list, Greymatter?’
‘Prepare the stadium,’ read out Greymatter. ‘Chop trees, pull up roses, remove statues, mark out running track with whitewash. Build podium. Bring over the chairs from Witchway Hall. And put up the bunting.’
‘Where is the bunting?’ Pongwiffy wanted to know. The bunting consisted of lots of rather faded little coloured flags strung out on a length of heavily knotted string. It always got dragged out on festive occasions.
‘Under the hall platform, I think.’
‘Well, somebody find it. I can’t waste time hunting for bunting. I’ll get cracking on the stadium straight away. I’ll take a team of Familiars along first thing tomorrow.’
Hugo, Rory, Dudley and Speks rolled their eyes at each other and sighed.
‘And you can stop all that!’ scolded Pongwiffy. ‘Just because you’re in a team doesn’t mean you get let off work. Any further business, Greymatter?’
‘I think that’s it, for now. Oh, almost forgot. There’s a special Coven Meeting tonight. Sourmuddle’s asking for a report on how it’s all going. And we’ve got to decide how we’re going to organise the Witch team.’
‘Do the Familiars have to come?’ enquired Rory.
‘No,’ said Greymatter. ‘You’re our rivals now. We don’t want you listening in. Spying and stealing our ideas.’
‘As if,’ said Hugo.
‘Don’t flatter yerselves,’ scoffed Rory.
‘I don’t think so,’ growled Dudley.
‘We’ve got our own ideas,’ sniffed Speks. ‘We don’t need to copy yours.’
‘Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it?’ said Greymatter. ‘Anyway, it’s a Witches only meeting and you’re not allowed to come.’
‘Right,’ said Pongwiffy. ‘I think we’ve covered everything. My, I’m stiff with all that sitting. Time for a spot of exercise. You Familiars are dismissed. Everybody else on your feet. Deep breaths, follow me. Running on the spot, then three times around the table. Hup, two, three, four, hup, two, three, four . . .’
The rest of the Familiars were gathered together in an old barn on the edge of the Wood, waiting for Hugo, Dudley, Speks and Rory to arrive. Just so that you are clear who they all are, let’s run through them. The Familiars are:
Vernon, Ratsnappy’s Rat. Currently eating a cheese sandwich on an upturned bucket.
Filth, Sludgegooey’s Fiend, perched on a barrel, air drumming with his eyes closed. He has just finished rehearsal.
IdentiKit and CopiCat, Agglebag and Bagaggle’s Siamese Cats, elegantly arranged on a bale of straw and looking bored.
Gaga’s Bats, hanging upside down from a rafter.
Slithering Steve, Bendyshanks’ Grass Snake, curled up on top of a flowerpot.
Bonidle’s nameless Sloth, snoozing in a pile of hay.
Scrofula’s Vulture, Barry, hunched in a corner, not feeling too well.
Snoop, Sourmuddle’s Demon, is not present. Like his mistress, he has expressed disinterest in Sport. He considers himself too grand for it, particularly if it involves wearing shorts. (Tail difficulties.) He is currently back home doing the crossword in The Demon Times, watching his mistress being interviewed on spellovision.
Sourmuddle, whilst not prepared to actively participate in the O’Lumpicks, is certainly not averse to talking about them. She can be seen pretty well every night, appearing on spellovision talk shows, taking all the credit. She regularly announces that she has every confidence that the Witch team will win every event and take home all the gold medals. This is fighting talk, guaranteed to annoy everyone and make every team determined to prove her wrong, particularly the Familiars.
The Familiars don’t often get together. They only meet up at the monthly Coven Meeting. Their Witches keep them very busy, and besides, they don’t get on amongst themselves. There is a lot of inter-species rivalry and petty bickering. But they are entering the O’Lumpicks as a team, so for now it is important to set aside their differences. There’s the flag to think about for a start. Everybody has strong views on this.
‘It’s got to be big,’ said Vernon. ‘It’s got to be seen in the back row. I see a big white banner with THE FABULOUS FAMILIARS written on it in huge black letters.’
‘Oh purleeeze!’ drawled IdentiKit. ‘Black on white, that’s what everyone will do.’
‘Far too obvious,’ agreed CopiCat. ‘Typical of a Rat to come up with something common like that.’
‘Trust you two to be negative,’ snapped Vernon. ‘Suggest something else, then.’
‘I always think green is a very nice colour,’ piped up Slithering Steve shyly.
‘Yes, well, you’re green so you would say that,’ said Vernon. ‘We should keep it simple and use a white sheet.’
‘Aw, man,’ said Filth. ‘What’s with the sheet thing, dude? Where’s the bling in that, bro?’
‘I’m just saying,’ snapped Vernon crossly. ‘I’m just saying that using a white sheet is the obvious way to go. We can’t spend hours making a flag. Not when we’re supposed to be getting into training, not to mention all the other things we have to do . . .’
Just then, the barn door crashed open and in came Rory, Hugo, Speks and Dudley, hotfoot from the meeting of the Sports Committee. The barn was situated quite a long way from Sharkadder’s and they had run all the way, for exercise.
‘Phew!’ panted Rory. ‘Ah’m puffed oot! Ah think ma hooves are on fire.’ He blew on his feet, which were indeed smoking.
‘How did the meeting go?’ enquired Barry. ‘Did you learn anything new?’
‘Zey vant us to start preparing stadium,’ Hugo told him. ‘All Familiars got to meet in ze palace garden tomorrow. Start choppink ze trees down.’
‘Not me,’ said Filth. ‘Band rehearsal, man.’
‘You see?’ cried Vernon. ‘There’s no time to fiddle around with complicated colour schemes. Keep it simple, I say.’
‘Keep what simple?’ growled Dudley.
‘We’re talking about our flag,’ explained Steve. ‘Vernon wants it to be white with black letters.’
‘Which is like, dull, man!’ cried Filth. ‘Ain’t no one gonna respect a banner like that.’
‘I must say I agree with Filth,’ said Speks. ‘The Witches are wearing vibrant costumes. We don’t want them outshining us. We’re a team to be reckoned with. We want everyone to sit up and take notice when we enter the arena. Perhaps there should be some kind of logo.’
‘Oi knows what’d make ’em take notice,’ growled Dudley. ‘A skull an’ crossbones, that’d show ’em we mean business.’
‘Is Sports Day, not pirate convention,’ sneered Hugo. ‘Zat rubbish idea.’
‘You gotta better one, furball?’
‘You talkink to me?’
‘Yeah. Wanna make somethin’ of it?’
‘Yeah!’
‘Yeah?’
‘Oh yeah!’
We will leave them here. A fight breaks out, and it’s not pretty. But you will be relieved to hear that they suddenly remember that it’s all about Sport and teamwork and eventually get back to discussing the flag.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Solids
Pl
ugugly sat in the nursery with Philpot on his lap. On the floor next to him was a large, empty pudding basin with a spoon in it.
‘De wheels on de boat go in an’ up, off an’ down, on an’ out,’ sang Plugugly. He didn’t know many nursery songs and usually got the words wrong, but Philpot didn’t seem to care. ‘De wheels on de boat go in an’ up, dum-dee-long.’
‘GA!’ gurgled Philpot sleepily. ‘GA!’
‘You want it again? Den you shall. De wheels on de boat go . . .’
There came a timid little knock on the door. Hastily, Plugugly kicked the pudding basin under the crib.
‘Yes?’ trilled Plugugly. ‘Who dat?’
‘ONLY ME, NANNY SUSAN,’ came Largette’s voice. ‘CAN I COME IN?’
‘Yes,’ called Plugugly. ‘But you has got to be quiet. I is gettin’ Baby Philpot off to sleep.’
The door opened and Largette peeped in. She was wearing a pink leather jacket and matching leather trousers. Under her arm was a pink helmet.
‘AHHH,’ she breathed. ‘MY BABY! HIS EYES ARE NEARLY CLOSED.’
‘Yes,’ said Plugugly. ‘Dat’s ’cos he is nearly asleep.’
‘I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU DO IT, NANNY SUSAN. YOU HAVE SUCH A WAY WITH HIM.’
Plugugly glowed. It was true. He did have a way with Philpot.
‘DID HE DRINK UP ALL HIS MILK TODAY?’ enquired Largette, the concerned mother.
‘Um – yes,’ lied Plugugly.
‘THAT’S WONDERFUL. NOT LONG BEFORE WE SEE A LITTLE TOOTH POKING THROUGH. THEN HE CAN GO ON TO SOLIDS.’
‘Yes.’
‘HE’LL REALLY BEGIN SHOOTING UP THEN. ALTHOUGH HE’S GROWING QUITE FAST NOW, ISN’T HE?’
‘Mmm,’ said Plugugly.
‘IS IT NORMAL, DO YOU THINK? HOW FAST HE’S GROWING?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Plugugly.
‘IT’S JUST THAT HE SEEMS A LOT BIGGER THAN OTHER BABIES HIS AGE. CAN HE STILL FIT IN HIS PRAM?’
‘Yes,’ said Plugugly. ‘Just about.’
‘IT’S JUST THAT THE OTHER DAY I NOTICED YOU – WELL, JAMMING HIM IN. SORT OF RAMMING HIM DOWN. HIS FEET STICK OUT AT THE END, DON’T THEY?’
‘Mmm.’
