“Pffft,” she said to a gumnut she found in her shoe. “You are a magic stone. I will carry you everywhere.”
So she did.
“Pffft,” she said to her broccoli at dinner. “You are greens from my witch’s garden, and you are delicious.”
So she ate the broccoli.
“Pffft,” she said to her pet rabbit, Rabberta. “You are my magic steed and you will fly through the air.”
But Rabberta made a fuss when Wilma tried to put a saddle on her back. She was a rather small rabbit and the saddle was really a cushion. Wilma’s mother had no broom, only a vacuum cleaner, and she didn’t want Wilma to ride on it.
As she felt a witch should be able to fly, Wilma decided to find something else to use for her magic.
* * *
One morning, Wilma was up earlier than usual to look for magic toadstool rings. She went out into the garden in the calm, early morning light. There were no toadstools, so she sat down under her favourite gumtree and looked up through the branches. High above, she saw something drift very slowly overhead like a great, striped cloud.
“What could that be?” she wondered aloud. “It looks like a magic cloud. I’d like to fly in that.”
A head popped over the fence.
“You’re weird, Wilma!” said Jack, who lived next door. “It’s a hot air balloon, of course!”
“I’ve never seen one from underneath so close before,” said Wilma. “So how could I know?”
“Look – two more!” said Jack, pointing.
A bright yellow balloon and a red one passed over a little further away.
“Just like in the Wizard of Oz! I would REALLY like to fly in one of those,” said Wilma, putting on her determined face.
“Wave your magic wand, then!” chuckled Jack, disappearing back into his own garden.
“Witches don’t have magic wands. That’s fairies,” replied Wilma, wrinkling her nose. She wasn’t fond of fairies with their pastel frocks and pale hair and names like Daisy and Fern.
‘Witches are far more interesting,’ she thought.
Wilma loved stories containing witches. She was fond of black and purple, and food that her new schoolmates thought was disgusting.
“Errghh,” they said as she opened her lunchbox. “Purple cabbage rolls with licorice all-sorts. You’re weird, Wilma.”
They even thought her name was weird. She was named after a relation who lived about a hundred years before.
‘I’ll bet she was a witch,’ thought Wilma.
Wilma did a lot of thinking, and not so much talking. When she did talk, it was mostly about being a witch, and her mother mostly said, “That’s nice, dear,” in an absent-minded kind of way. This time, however, her mother was taking notice.
“You want to go up in a hot air balloon?” she said, dismayed. “It’s expensive, dear. I don’t think we can afford it.”
“Can I do it for my birthday? As a special treat?” Wilma was turning eight in a few months time.
“Not even then, I’m afraid. Money is really tight at the moment.”
Wilma imagined a giant twenty dollar note wrapped around her mother, squeezing her like toothpaste in a tube.
“What if I helped – with the money, I mean?”
“You’re a bit young to go out to work, Wilma.” Her mother laughed, and turned away.
But Wilma had had an idea. Her new school was having a fete. She would organize a stall – a special stall, with everything witchy she could find to sell. She would ask Jack to help. That way, he would find out the difference between witches and fairies.
But Jack wasn’t very helpful.
“I’m going to be a skeleton in the Haunted House,” he said. “Anyway – you can’t keep the money. It goes to the school.”
Wilma thought that wasn’t fair. So she decided to set up a stall on the footpath outside her house instead.
* * *
One Saturday morning, she took out a chair and a table and laid out all the witchy things she had collected – some oddly-shaped shells and stones, dried up fungus and twigs with strange bulges, a cast-off snakeskin she had found in the country and a spider in a web she had made from black wool. At the last minute, she added some green slime that used to be a vegetable, from the back of the fridge.
She wore her black, pointed hat and witch’s cloak and had Rabberta in her cage beside her.
But nobody seemed very interested, except Jack, who came to point and laugh but didn’t buy anything.
Her mother came out and said, “You’ll come in if it rains, dear, won’t you?”
As the sky was cloudless and it hadn’t rained for weeks, Wilma thought this was not very likely.
Wilma sighed. She was just about to pack up when she saw Lydia parading down the street in her pink princess dress and tiara.
She had a wand with sparkles in it, which she pointed at the gardens as she passed. Lydia lived in the next street and was in Wilma’s year at school. When she saw Wilma, she pointed the wand at her. Wilma put her hands in the air and wriggled her fingers. Lydia ran back down the street and around the corner, nearly tripping over her pink hem.
Someone laughed nearby. Wilma turned and saw the old woman who lived in the house with the overgrown garden at the end of the street.
“She seems to be scared of you,” she said to Wilma.
“Magic wands,” said Wilma scornfully. “You don’t need a wand to do magic.”
“Indeed you don’t,” said the woman.
She came closer, and Wilma could see the crinkles around her eyes.
“The green slime is a nice touch,” said the woman.
“I think it used to be silverbeet, but we forgot to eat it,” replied Wilma.
“I have some silverbeet growing in my garden,” said the woman. “By the way, my name is Ms Chalmer.”
“I’m Wilma,” said Wilma, expecting the woman to say “That’s weird”.
“A good name for a witch,” said Ms Chalmer.
“Are you a witch?” asked Wilma.
“Some people might say so,” laughed Ms Chalmer, “but I’m actually a writer.”
Wilma’s mother came out at that moment, and Wilma introduced her to Ms Chalmer.
“I live down on the corner,” said Ms Chalmer. “I have a pond full of frogs, if you want to come and see them.”
Wilma gasped with excitement.
“Thank you. We haven’t met many people yet,” said Wilma’s mother. “We’ve just moved over from the west.”
“Come and visit. I have some purple cordial.”
Wilma looked up hopefully at her mother, who was smiling.
“I’d rather a cup of tea,” said Wilma’s mother.
So Wilma packed up her table and carried everything back inside, including Rabberta.
“I don’t think she would get on with my cats,” said Ms Chalmer.
Ms Chalmer’s garden was full of weeds and vines, with spider webs strung between them. There was a pond with waterlilies. Her house overflowed with books, and she had three cats that walked along the top of bookcases and went to sleep on piles of papers. A computer stood on a desk, and paintings hung on the walls.
Wilma felt it would be easy to be a witch in a house like that one.
“Wilma wants to go up in a hot air balloon,” said her mother, over a cup of tea.
“Oh, yes – I see them sailing overhead in the mornings. It’s just the right weather at the moment.”
‘Is there a right weather for balloons?’ thought Wilma. Surely only a witch would know that.
“Are you sure you’re not a witch?” she asked Ms Chalmer. “Can you fly?”
“Well – I can – in a kind of way,” answered the old woman. “Because when you’re writing, or reading, you are taken to other places. All sorts of amazing places. You can go anywhere in the world, or other worlds – worlds you make up yourself. It’s the best kind of flying, much better than aeropla
nes. And writing is a kind of witchcraft.”
Wilma sipped her purple cordial and thought about this. She was still thinking when she went to bed that night, and when her mother came to tuck her in, Wilma came to a decision.
“I think I might be a writer – as well as a witch, of course!” she said. “I’ll start tomorrow.”
“That’s nice, dear,” said her mother, kissing her goodnight. And she smiled.
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The short story of Lord Percy Most Excellent III
Re-told by Darcy-Lee Tindale
My dear chaps,
My story is one of considerable, plucky courage and I’m delighted that I live to tell it! It was during the wintery evening of last spring that I left on my quest to find the near extinct – rarest of flowers – the Chocolate Cosmos Orchid.
Unfortunately, on this great feat, my silly feet took me in the wrong direction and I found myself in the depths of the Amazonian jungle with only a map, compass and expired slice of chocolate cake.
Yet I was not deterred. By deducing the follies of the jungle, and calculating exactly where the sun set and the moss grew, I headed in a due east, south-westerly direction. I trekked on, relying on my wits and extraordinary high IQ.
After many gallant seconds of bravery, I checked my watch for the precise time, when I noticed a tiny black speck on my arm.
“Excuse me.”
It spoke!
“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. I noticed you have a rather juicy, hairy, plump wrist. May I nibble it?”
Heavens to Betsy. A tiny flea was speaking to me.
“You most certainly cannot!” was my reply.
Well, the only way to flee a flea, is to flee. So I swatted my arm and ran away.
Phew! A close shave indeed.
I scaled the trunk of the whop-whop tree and swung from limb to limb, crushing each branch in my fist.
At the edge of the raging river, I managed my time efficiently and landed at the precise moment, with deadly accuracy, on top of a passing whale. And boy did it wail!
“I’m not a buoy! You brute creation, you beastly man, get off my back!” wailed the whale.
With a stiff upper lip, I dove with the grace of a dove into the raging torrent and started to swim. But a waterfowl with a foul temper and foul mouth accosted me.
So I scorned, “Your cheep is cheap, foul, fowl.”
Then, using only the shoelace on my left boot, my supreme operatic voice and my pinkie finger, I managed to fight off the nasty bird.
“Lah-lah-lah!”
And I didn’t even perspire.
My endeavours were not over.
Before I was out of the woods – so to speak – I stumbled over a wild boar.
Now, the trick to ridding yourself of a boar, is to bore it. So I recounted the time I trod water in the Atlantic Ocean for one hundred and seventy eight hours, and this bored the boar to death.
Ready for anything, I proceeded. Then happened to bump into a bear.
When one is in danger, one does not always address themselves in full title, ‘Lord Most Excellent the Third’. Nope, a simple Percy will suffice.
I thought, ‘Percy, should you grin and bear the bear?’
Instead, I waxed it with my own ear wax.
A bear cannot bear to be bare, so it hid in its cave. Let me tell you, there is nothing worse than a grisly grizzly.
And so here I am, alive and able to tell my tale. If I were a dog, I’d be wagging my tail about my unbelievable – but true – tale.
Oh, pardon me. I’m sure you’re wondering, what happened to the Chocolate Cosmos Orchid?
Oh, unfortunately I got my chocolate flour confused with my chocolate flower – and I ate it!
Signed,
Yours most truly,
Lord Percy the Most Excellent III
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Kangaroo Kat
Julie Murphy
“Can I go out now, Mum?” pleaded Kat.
Mrs Cooper gave her daughter a tired smile. “Okay, love, but I’ll need you back here by ten o’clock. We still have a lot of work to do.”
Kat was outside and sprinting away before the back door had even slammed shut behind her.
When she was quite a way from the house, Kat slowed to a walk and breathed in the cool morning air. She enjoyed the chill of the morning. The recent bushfire had been anything but chill.
Luckily, the fire had missed their farm, but it had come so close that their furniture, curtains and all Kat’s stuff now had a strong, smoky smell. Three whole days of cleaning since the fire had been three days too many for Kat!
Still, it could have been worse. Much worse. Kat reminded herself to be thankful for their narrow escape.
Kat wandered aimlessly through the neighbouring fields, free at last, until she found herself at the edge of the scrubby forest. Its blackened trunks were a fearsome reminder of the danger they had so narrowly avoided.
Kat shivered, and was about to head back home when a faint rustling sound caught her attention. There, at the foot of a bush, two small, dark eyes were peeping out.
It isn’t easy creeping up on a wild animal, but Kat was experienced and somehow managed it.
The eyes belonged to the tiniest kangaroo that Kat had ever seen. Its arms looked like sticks, and its fur was so short it was only fuzz.
Where was the mother?
Kat took off her jumper, trying hard to move slowly and silently. But the little joey still jumped with fright. It tried to dash away. Instead, it wobbled and crashed into a gum tree.
Kat was there in a flash, throwing her jumper over the tiny animal and scooping the woolly bundle into her arms. The bundle squirmed against her chest, but Kat held it firmly, and she soon felt the joey settle.
Smiling with satisfaction, she carefully headed home.
Kat’s mum was working in the kitchen when Kat returned home.
“Mum! Look what I’ve found. I reckon she lost her mum in the fire.”
Mrs Cooper peeped into the bundle and frowned. “Poor tyke. It’s too young for us to look after, I’m afraid. This one is going to need around the clock care.”
Kat felt her heart skip a beat.
“I can do it,” she pleaded. “I’m sure I can. She needs our help.”
Kat’s mum collapsed into a chair. Elbows resting on the dining table, hands cupping her chin, she sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but this one is more than we can handle. Especially now, when we still have so much cleaning up to do after the fire.”
Kat felt her eyes prickle with tears.
“We don’t even know what to do. This joey really needs to go to a shelter.”
One quick phone call and it was all arranged. Glenda, who ran a wildlife shelter in the town, would take the joey.
Kat sat in silence, watching her tears drop one by one onto the freshly scrubbed lino floor.
“I’m sorry, Katherine,” Mrs Cooper said. “You’d hate to do something wrong and accidentally hurt the little tyke, wouldn’t you? Glenda knows what to do. She’s a wildlife carer. She has to be the one to look after it.”
Kat knew that when her mum called her “Katherine” there was no point arguing. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.
* * *
Next morning, Kat and her mum drove to Glenda’s house. Kat had the joey cradled on her lap, still in its snugly jumper wrapping.
Glenda rushed out to the gate to meet them.
“You wouldn’t believe how many animals have come in here after the fire,” she said. She gently took the bundle from Kat’s arms, and said, “It’s never boring running a wildlife shelter, but right now it’s an absolute madhouse. I haven’t even had time for a shower!”
Kat could well believe it. Glenda’s hair looked like a bird had made a home in it, and her faded, flannelette shirt and tracksuit pants looked well past their use-by date.
Kat giggled. Even her mum smiled �
� maybe they were on the same wavelength. Kat hadn’t seen her mum smile in ages, so she decided to make the most of it.
“Maybe I could help you, Glenda. Just show me what to do. It’s the school holidays, and you could certainly do with the help...”
“I’m sorry, but you’re needed at home,” said Kat’s mum before Glenda could get a word in.
Mrs Cooper saw her daughter’s face fall, and looked around. There were so many animals, needing so much help! Straw beds needed changing; the floor could do with a good sweep; used milk bottles were waiting to be washed up.
Mrs Cooper looked at her daughter again and said with a smile, “But I suppose Glenda may need you even more.”
Kat’s eyes opened wide. Could she have heard right?
Her mum continued, “I suppose it could be good for you to see what raising an orphan joey is really like. It’s not all cuddles and kisses, you know. You will find that it’s very hard work.”
Kat didn’t feel daunted at all. She grinned, and gave her mum a huge hug.
* * *
The next day, just after the birds had finished singing their first songs, Kat was knocking at Glenda’s front door.
Glenda was already up and at it, and had a list of chores prepared for Kat. Kat felt ready for anything, which was just as well.
First, she mashed a heap of gum leaves for a baby koala’s “milk shake”. Next, she cleaned the cage of a turtle with a cracked shell. The box was so stinky that Kat tried stuffing plugs of tissue up her nose. It didn’t help much. Then she scrubbed a parrot aviary while its occupants used her for target practice!
It was hard work, but she didn’t mind a bit. It was worth it, because she also got to feed her little kangaroo joey.
Glenda said it was a boy, and Kat named him Jake.
“Oh no, don’t give him a name,” warned Glenda. “We don’t want to jinx him.”
Sadly, not all the animals that wound up at the shelter survived. Keeping them nameless somehow seemed to help Glenda cope if an animal died.
But Kat couldn’t help herself. Jake it was!
Kat worked at the shelter every day during the holidays. Even when school went back, she still helped out for an hour or two on the way home. Jake grew faster than the ignored weeds in Glenda’s garden!
After a few months, Jake was moved from his inside pen to a larger, outdoor, grassy enclosure with two other joeys. Glenda said the “three amigos” would be good company for each other. They had to get used to living in a group. Soon they would have to return to the bush, where they would hopefully join up with a mob of wild roos.
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