‘Ace!’ said Danny.
‘Cool!’ agreed Matthew as they compared prizes.
Soon, everyone at the Fair began to gather for the main event of the afternoon: the Puddlethorpe Grand National. Six pantomime horses, each made up of two people and carrying a scarecrow jockey, lined up to race around a course that circled the main marquee. Danny spotted Grandma and Grandad in the crowd, and the boys pushed through to join them.
Tom Abson’s voice boomed out over a loudspeaker in the centre of the field. ‘Welcome to the thirty-eighth year of our famous race. The runners and riders are ready. Keep your eye on last year’s winner, Ee By Gum, in the pink.’
The crowd began to cheer, calling out the names of their favourite horses. The referee held his starting pistol in the air and with a loud CRACK! the race began.
‘And they’re off!’ yelled Tom Abson. ‘There’s a lot of bumping and banging going on as they jockey for position coming up to the first hurdle . . . Whoops-a-daisy . . .’
Three horses tumbled at the fence, where they lay struggling and tangled up on the grass. Ee By Gum and Ecky Thump went over safely.
The commentary continued. ‘Coming up to the next hurdle, and Ee By Gum’s over, Ecky Thump’s over . . . Oh no! What a Load of Baloney is down and he’s lost his head! Don’t look children, it’s horrible!’
Ee By Gum and Ecky Thump raced neck and neck around the rest of the course. It was still close going over the final hurdle, but then Ee By Gum jumped two feet in the air and began to twitch and kick.
There’s something wrong inside Ee By Gum,’ declared Tom Abson. ‘If I’m not mistaken, it looks like they’ve got a bee on board.’
Suddenly, Ee By Gum went off course, charged into Ecky Thump and bowled over several spectators. The pantomime horse bucked and pranced across the winning line as the two men inside were stung by the bee.
The crowd cheered and clapped. People at the back craned their necks to get a better look. Danny turned to say something to Matthew, and the smile dropped from his face. Over his friend’s shoulder, Danny saw Ernie Slack sneaking into the empty marquee, wielding a huge axe.
‘Grandad!’ he yelled.
‘Stop him!’ shouted Grandad, but no one heard his voice above the noise of the crowd roaring at the pantomime horses. The boys began to force their way through the press of people behind them, to get to the marquee.
‘It’s no good,’ said Danny. ‘We’ll never get there in time!’
Stinky
The loudspeakers set around the field let out a loud wet coughing sound that silenced the crowd.
‘What’s that awful pong?’ spluttered Tom Abson. ‘It’s like boiled cabbage and seaweed and eggs and cheese and drains all mixed together.’
‘My Rotting Chowhabunga!’ cried Grandad. ‘The flower must have opened!’
The animals in pens near the marquee became agitated.
The sheep went ‘Moo’.
The cows went ‘Baa’.
The geese went ‘Woof’.
The pigs didn’t seem bothered at all.
People fled, holding their noses in disgust. The stink was truly terrible.
Danny spied a hardware stall nearby and grabbed a handful of wooden pegs.
‘This worked when I had toxic toes,’ he explained. He clipped one on to his nose, and handed out the others.
Pegs in place, Grandad, Grandma and the boys hurried into the marquee. A shocking sight met their eyes: Ernie Slack stood over Grandad’s marrow, the axe raised high above his head, ready to strike.
‘No!’ yelled Grandad. ‘Stop!’ But Ernie Slack had stopped. He was as stiff as a statue.
The big pot containing the Rotting Chowhabunga plant stood on a table in the centre of the marquee. The thick, purple star-shaped flower was open, and looked like a hand reaching up to the sky.
‘The story was true!’ said Grandad.
‘Ace!’ cried Danny.
‘Cool!’ agreed Matthew.
The boys ran forward. ‘Has he really been turned into stone?’ Matthew wondered.
Danny prodded Ernie Slack’s tummy and it wobbled a little. ‘No,’ he replied, disappointed. ‘He’s just sort of . . . frozen.’
‘You’d better take some photos of your flower before it dies,’ suggested Grandma.
‘Aye, I will,’ replied Grandad. ‘But first I’m going to get evidence.’ He pulled a camera out of his pocket, and took photographs of Ernie Slack about to do his dastardly deed.
‘Boys, go and find Judge Willis,’ said Grandma. ‘Tell him to put a peg on his nose and come quick. He needs to see this.’
Danny and Matthew returned with Judge Willis, and while the grown-ups tutted and shook their heads at the frozen cheat, the boys picked up the pot containing the Rotting Chowhabunga and heaved it out of the big tent. They carried it to the far end of the field, and placed it under an old pear tree.
‘It shouldn’t do any harm over here,’ said Danny.
Immediately four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge plummeted senseless from the branches of the pear tree on to the grass below.
‘This must be the stinkiest flower in the world,’ said Danny.
‘It’s awesome,’ admired Matthew. ‘Not as bad as your feet though.’
‘No,’ agreed Danny. ‘Not that bad.’
When they got back to the main marquee, the paralysing effect of the Rotting Chowhabunga’s stink had worn off, and Ernie Slack had thawed out. He stood like a naughty schoolboy before Judge Willis and the huge crowd of spectators.
‘Because of your unsportsmanlike behaviour, you are disqualified from this year’s competition,’ the judge said sternly. He reached into the top pocket of his jacket and brandished a red card.
Ernie’s face darkened, like a little thunder cloud about to burst, and his curly black moustache nearly twitched off his face. The crowd booed and hissed as he slunk from the marquee.
Judge Willis held up his hand and everyone fell silent. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, let the judging begin!’
It was an agonizing wait, as the judges judged. One by one, they pronounced the winners of the Spottiest Cow, the Pig with the Curliest Tail, the Sheep with the Loudest Baa, the Sweetest Rose, the Sunniest Marigold, the Crustiest Loaf, the Most Tear-jerking Onion . . .
At last Judge Willis declared, ‘The winner of First Prize for Most Massive Marrow in Show goes to . . . Nobby Baker!’
‘Yesssssssssssssssssss!’ cried Grandad, Grandma, Danny and Matthew together.
Grandad also won Blue Rosettes for the Longest Carrot and Stringiest Beans. Finally Judge Willis announced, ‘We have one extra-special award to give, one that we have never awarded before and I hope will never ever award again. The prize for the Stinkiest Flower in Show goes to Nobby Baker!’
Everyone clapped and cheered. Grandad beamed with joy.
When the award ceremony was over, the judges came to shake hands with Grandad.
‘So, Nobby, what’s the special ingredient you’ve been feeding your vegetables with this year?’ asked Judge Willis. Grandad tapped the side of his nose with his finger. ‘It’s a secret.’ He smiled.
‘A super secret!’ exclaimed Danny and Matthew.
‘I just wish I knew what the super secret was,’ admitted Grandad when the judge had gone.
Nobby Baker-Record Breaker
Crag Top Farm
Puddlethorpe
Dear Mr Bibby
For once I’m not asking about a record for me, I’m writing about my grandad, Nobby. Yesterday at the Puddlethorpe Annual Country Fair his Rotting Chowhabunga plant finally flowered for the very first time. It was the stinkiest flower I’ve ever smelt.
Grandad says that this is the first time a Rotting Chowhabunga has ever flowered in captivity. Is this true, and does that make my grandad a record breaker?
Best wishes
Danny Baker
PS I’ve sent a picture he did it. It’s lucky for you I didn’t take it with a
Smello-vision camera!
Dear Danny,
Thank you for your letter. Actually, I have smelt the Rotting Chowhabunga flower. I once went to the Amazon jungle just to smell it. The local people know when the flower is about to open, because the forest clears of animals just before it happens. Flocks of birds rise from the trees and troupes of monkeys flee in panic. The smell reminded me of boiled cabbage and seaweed and eggs and cheese and drains all mixed together. Because of the legend, I was careful not to get too close, but even at a distance of fifteen metres my nose went numb and my toes began to tingle! I’m very glad I wasn’t in that marquee at the Fair when the flower opened.
I have checked all my records and it’s true: this is the first time the Rotting Chowhabunga has been made to flower outside the jungles of Brazil. Your grandad is a record breaker, and it gives me great pleasure to enclose his certificate.
Best wishes,
Eric Bibby
Keeper of the Records
‘Do you mind me getting one of these instead of you, Danny?’ asked Grandad.
‘No, ’course not,’ replied Danny. ‘We had loads of fun helping you win it.’
Grandma glanced up from the little pink baby bonnet she was knitting, and frowned at him. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
Danny smiled a naughty smile, and explained how adding the Pongy Potion to the cowpat barrel had caused the Rotting Chowhabunga to flower, and made everything in the vegetable patch grow so huge.
‘And the great thing is, you can beat Ernie Slack every year!’ said Danny.
Matthew held up a piece of paper. ‘Because I wrote down the Pongy Potion recipe!’
Grandma put down her knitting and looked at the list Matthew had made. ‘You used my home-made baked beans!’ she complained.
Danny tapped the side of his nose. ‘They must have been the Super-Secret Ingredient!’ he said.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
The World's Awesomest Air-Barf Page 5
