by R. A. Spratt
‘Go away. I’m waiting for an important chef,’ said Mr Green, his foot twitching with the urge to give the child a kick.
‘I’ve come with a message from chef Jean-Luc,’ said the boy. ‘He said to say that –’ the boy took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and read – ‘he couldn’t make your crudités because he’s had to make a sudden and unexpected trip to Bolivia.’
‘What?’ exploded Mr Green.
The boy had the good sense to make a run for it at this point.
Mr Green slammed the door shut, then turned to glare at Nanny Piggins. ‘You had something to do with this, didn’t you?’ he accused.
Nanny Piggins smiled. She had never looked more innocent in her life, so the children immediately knew she was guilty.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Don’t you have an aunt in Bolivia?’ asked Mr Green.
‘I do,’ conceded Nanny Piggins, ‘but if she had some sort of French cuisine-related emergency that urgently required her to fly over a top chef, I’m sure there’s no way you could prove that had anything to do with me.’
Mr Green glowered at her and Nanny Piggins smiled back. ‘I do hope the senior partner won’t think badly of you if you turn up empty-handed,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘I’ll pick something up at the shops,’ countered Mr Green.
‘The shops are closed because it’s Sunday afternoon,’ said Derrick.
‘What a shame,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘If only a world-famous cooking pig was nearby. One that you had not been extremely rude to.’
They all stared at Mr Green. He looked like his head was going to explode with rage, because he knew he was now going to have to negotiate with Nanny Piggins. And he never did well when they negotiated.
‘How much chocolate cake will I have to give you for you to agree to make a plate of crudités to take to the picnic?’ he asked in the calmest and most reasonable voice his rage would allow.
‘Hmmm,’ said Nanny Piggins as she considered the question. ‘No, today I don’t feel like cake.’
The children gasped. They had never heard Nanny Piggins utter such shocking words before.
‘Today I feel like picnic food,’ said Nanny Piggins with a mischievous glint in her eye.
‘What are you saying?’ asked Mr Green, fearing the worst.
‘I will make you a plate of food, and something much better than crudités,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘but only if you take me to the picnic with you.’
Mr Green considered his limited options. ‘Will you agree not to speak to anyone?’
‘No,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Will you agree not to take part in any games?’ asked Mr Green.
‘No,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Will you at least agree not to teach any of the partners how to dance or sing or perform circus tricks of any kind?’ begged Mr Green.
‘I’ll try,’ conceded Nanny Piggins, ‘but I can’t make any promises. I’m a natural teacher. When I see people desperately in need of instruction it’s instinctive for me to take them in hand.’
Mr Green looked defeated.
‘You really don’t have any choice, Father,’ said Michael.
‘All right. How long will it take you to whip something up?’ Mr Green asked.
‘Let me see,’ said Nanny Piggins, disappearing into the kitchen. She returned one second later holding a huge five-tiered tea-tray laden with the most exquisitely delicious tea cakes. ‘Oh look, I just happened to have this lying around in the kitchen.’
Mr Green started to go red in the face. (If this had been a court of law he could have entered the tea cakes as evidence, proving just how much advance knowledge she must have had of the chef’s sudden and unexpected need to visit Bolivia.)
‘We should get going,’ urged Derrick, thinking it best if they all went to the picnic before his father engaged Nanny Piggins in another argument he would be sure to lose.
When they neared the picnic ground, Nanny Piggins and the children started to get excited. They could see colourful bunting strung between the trees, trestle tables packed with food, great big barrels of fresh homemade lemonade and all sorts of equipment set out for the after-lunch games. The new senior partner obviously knew how to throw a party. Even the weather was perfect. It was sunny but not too hot, just right for outdoor fun. Nanny Piggins and the children were twitching to get out of the car as Mr Green slowly and over-cautiously reverse-parked his Rolls Royce, pulling it in and out of the parking space several times.
Nanny Piggins was just about to leap out and sprint towards the food table when Mr Green flicked on the central locking so no-one could escape.
‘What are you doing?’ demanded Nanny Piggins, desperately shaking the door handle. ‘Can’t you see the food!’
‘The food isn’t going anywhere,’ said Mr Green.
‘Yes it is!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘It’ll go in other people’s mouths if we don’t get there first.’
Mr Green just ignored her and launched into a speech. ‘Before we join the picnic I want all of you to give me your assurance that you will behave in an exemplary manner for the duration of the picnic and particularly in the vicinity of my co-workers …’
Unfortunately Mr Green made the mistake of closing his eyes while making this speech and when he opened them it was to see Nanny Piggins, Derrick and Samantha standing on top of his car as they pulled Michael up through the sunroof.
‘Quick, run for it!’ urged Nanny Piggins. And the four of them bolted for the food.
What followed was a horrible afternoon for Mr Green. When you are not very good at having fun yourself, there is nothing worse than watching all your most loathed colleagues have the best afternoon of their lives. Particularly when it is thanks to the impossibly glamorous pig you brought along with you.
After eating half the food on the trestle table (Nanny Piggins graciously left some for the other picnic goers), Nanny Piggins turned her attention to the games. Picnic games were just the sort of thing she excelled at.
She easily won the sack race, having perfected her sack-jumping technique the time the Ringmaster bundled her up and shipped her to outer Mongolia. It had taken her four days to hop from Uzbekistan to Kurdistan, so she had lots of experience.
Nanny Piggins also won the egg and spoon race, because, again, she was such a practised hand. Many was the time, in her excitement to bake a cake, she had the batter half mixed before she realised she had run out of eggs, then had to sprint to the shop and back with a fresh carton. (The children had often wondered why she always balanced the carton on a spoon, but now they were glad she did.)
Nanny Piggins even won the three-legged race, which was no easy feat. Being four foot tall, her legs were very short. Also, she was competing with Mr Green (the new senior partner insisted everyone take part). But Nanny Piggins did not let Mr Green slow her down. She had become very good at dragging a dead weight the time she pulled the Ringmaster’s caravan into a swollen creek to teach him a lesson about not providing chocolate biscuits for his staff. So as soon as the starter’s pistol fired she took off like a rocket, dragging Mr Green around the obstacle course with all the care and consideration she would give a sack of potatoes (and Nanny Piggins had very little care or consideration for potatoes).
After the official games were over Nanny Piggins persuaded everyone to go down to the creek for a water fight, which Nanny Piggins won when she filled up the punch bowl and tipped it over the new senior partner’s head.
Then, as a special treat, Nanny Piggins did an impromptu medley of folk songs from every country she had ever been to, with accompanying dances and fire breathing where appropriate (and even more enjoyably, where it was not appropriate).
So when the sun began to dip below the trees and everyone was exhausted from so much fresh air and fun (even Mr Green was exhausted, but in his case, from wanting to go home), the Senior Partner climbed up on an apple crate.
H
e was a surprisingly hand some man for a lawyer. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, which he did a lot, as well as winking and clapping people on the back. Altogether he looked and sounded more like a rugby coach. But while he was very jovial, there was a glint in his eye as though he might just do something unexpected, like crash tackle you to the ground. So naturally he commanded respect.
‘Thank you all for coming to this wonderful family picnic,’ began the Senior Partner. ‘We should make this an annual event!’
Everyone cheered except Mr Green, who groaned.
‘Now it’s time for me to announce the King and Queen of the picnic,’ continued the Senior Partner, ‘but one picnic goer has been so much fun, I think she deserves to be King and Queen. So I’m going to give her both crowns. Nanny Piggins, these are for you.’
Nanny Piggins stepped forward and the Senior Partner put both crowns on her head.
‘Your athleticism in the games was awesome, your tea cakes were delicious and I’m sure we’re all grateful that you taught us how to yodel,’ continued the Senior Partner. ‘I, for one, am going to book myself in for more yodelling lessons as soon as I get home.’
Everyone applauded except Mr Green, who groaned again. This time he actually was in physical pain.
‘Would you like to say a few words?’ asked the Senior Partner.
‘Oh no,’ begged Mr Green.
‘Yes, I would,’ said Nanny Piggins, climbing up onto the apple crate. ‘I’d just like to say I had a lovely time. You were all much less boring than I thought a bunch of lawyers would be.’
Everyone laughed (which surprised Nanny Piggins because she was not joking).
‘All right, it’s time to head home,’ said the Senior Partner. ‘I expect to see you bright and early at the office tomorrow. But before we go, I have one more announcement. I arranged this picnic because I think families are so important.’
Mr Green rolled his eyes and shuddered.
‘But,’ continued the Senior Partner, ‘I know some of you men out there sometimes put too much emphasis on work. That is why I have decided to hold a Father of the Year Competition. And you all have to enter – that’s an order!’ For a moment the twinkle in the Senior Partner’s eye was replaced with a steely resolve, but then he smiled again. ‘Over the next few months I want you to show me what good fathers you are. Then the winner will be awarded a special prize. A crystal trophy.’
Mr Green gasped. He loved crystal trophies. It made him feel so important to have one on his desk.
‘And …’ continued the Senior Partner, ‘something really good, which I haven’t decided on yet!’
Everyone applauded. The men immediately started eyeing each other up and convincing themselves that while they may not be good fathers, all the others were a lot worse than them.
And so, after the trestle tables and picnic games were packed away, Nanny Piggins and the Green family drove home. The three children were blissfully happy, having had a wonderful day of food, fun and watching their father squirm. Nanny Piggins was delighted to have another two crowns to add to her jewellery box (she had built up quite a collection over the years). Only Mr Green was sad at the prospect of having to pretend to be a good father, at least for the foreseeable future.
Nanny Piggins and the children were sitting on the naughty bench outside the headmaster’s office. It was unusual for a parent or guardian to be sent to sit on this much-feared piece of furniture, but in Nanny Piggins’ case they had made an exception.
The children anxiously fidgeted and fretted, but the situation did not seem to bother Nanny Piggins in the slightest. Her trotters swung happily above the floor as they waited to be summoned by Headmaster Pimplestock. And they had been waiting for a while because he had locked himself in his office so he could think up some really cutting things to say.
‘We’re going to be in so much trouble,’ worried Samantha. She was not a girl who was given to biting her fingernails. But as she sat on the naughty bench (a piece of furniture in her mind associated with the greatest level of sin – like mugging old ladies, or handing your homework in a week late), she seriously considered taking the habit up, just to give herself something to do.
‘Pish!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘There’s nothing he can do to us. Schools haven’t been allowed to sentence children to hard labour for years. At least I’m pretty sure that’s the case.’
The door suddenly swung open and Headmaster Pimplestock stood glaring at them. He had straightened his tie and combed his hair in an effort to look intimidating.
‘Nanny Piggins, I’ll see you now,’ announced Headmaster Pimplestock, trying (and failing) to sound dignified and important.
They followed the headmaster into his office. He had taken away the chairs that usually sat opposite the desk so Nanny Piggins would not be able to sit down and be comfortable (or climb up on the chair and attack him, as she had on her previous visit when Headmaster Pimplestock told her that the lamington drive had run out of lamingtons).
‘Hello, Headmaster, how are you today?’ asked Nanny Piggins jauntily.
The headmaster scowled, trying to express the gravity of the situation with his facial features. ‘This is a very serious matter,’ he said. ‘Very serious indeed.’
‘Is it?’ asked Nanny Piggins, baffled.
‘I have just had a phone call from the hospital,’ announced Headmaster Pimplestock.
Samantha whimpered. Michael clutched his nanny’s hand.
Headmaster Pimplestock paused for dramatic emphasis as he glared at each of the Green children in turn, then Nanny Piggins (he did not glare at her too long because she was smiling at him in a disarming way).
‘And the hospital says,’ he continued, ‘that the truancy officer will be all right.’
The three children breathed a sigh of relief.
‘I thought so,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Although, apparently, psychological damage has been done,’ said Headmaster Pimplestock.
‘Now are you sure that wasn’t a pre-existing problem?’ asked Nanny Piggins. To her mind, you would have to be insane to want to become a truancy officer in the first place.
‘The fact remains,’ said Headmaster Pimplestock, starting to use some of the phrases he had practised, ‘that you wilfully lied to this institution when you rang up and claimed that Derrick, Samantha and Michael all had convection-inhibited sunspots.’
‘But they did,’ protested Nanny Piggins.
‘Convection-inhibited sunspots are meteorological phenomena, not symptoms of a human disease!’ accused Headmaster Pimplestock.
‘Which is why I was so alarmed when they got them,’ said Nanny Piggins, using her most wide-eyed innocent expression.
‘And I put it to you,’ continued Headmaster Pimplestock (now he was using expressions he had picked up from watching courtroom dramas on TV), ‘that you knew full well that Truancy Officer Britches was following you when you decided to enter that swamp.’
‘We weren’t going to let the fact that she is such a shocking busybody alter our plans for the day,’ protested Nanny Piggins.
‘Nanny Piggins planned to take us frog catching long before we knew the truancy officer was after us,’ confirmed Derrick.
‘So you admit that you weren’t sick at all!’ declared Headmaster Pimplestock. ‘You had planned this day trip into the swamp in advance.’
‘Everyone knows that fresh air and alluvial mud are the best cure for sunspots,’ argued Nanny Piggins. ‘I took the children frog catching purely for medicinal reasons.’
The frog in Michael’s lunch box ribbited its agreement.
‘Speaking of which, we really should be getting our frogs home,’ chided Nanny Piggins. ‘The truancy officer might be all right, but it would be terrible if there was a frog fatality.’
Headmaster Pimplestock was starting to sense the telling-off was slipping away from him. The cleverly worded denunciations escaped him and he degenerated to wild accusations. ‘The fact remains that y
ou endangered the truancy officer’s life by leading her into a swamp where she was attacked by a crocodile!’
‘Yes, but then we saved her from the crocodile, didn’t we?’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Nanny Piggins was really brave when she leapt on the crocodile’s back,’ argued Michael.
‘And shoved a big chocolate cake in its mouth before it could bite the truancy officer,’ added Samantha.
‘Then wrestled the handle of her handbag over its jaws so it couldn’t bite anybody else,’ described Derrick.
‘I thought it showed great personal sacrifice,’ agreed Nanny Piggins, ‘because that was a very nice handbag, whereas the truancy officer is not nice at all.’
‘I can see you are totally unrepentant,’ denounced Headmaster Pimplestock.
‘You’re right, I am,’ admitted Nanny Piggins. (She might not obey the attendance rules but she was not a liar.)
‘Well, you have left me no choice,’ said Headmaster Pimplestock. He allowed himself a smirk here because he had another trick up his sleeve. ‘This morning, head office sent over a new truancy officer.’
‘I hope this one can swim,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘I’d like you meet Mr Bernard!’ said Headmaster Pimplestock.
With that the door opened and a man entered the room. (I will take a little time now to describe Mr Bernard, because he was such a striking figure it is important for you to have an accurate mental image.) Mr Bernard looked like an army drill sergeant. He was six foot four, very muscly and his buzz cut hair was so short you could see the veins on his head stick out when he got angry (and they always stuck out because he was always angry).
‘Mr Bernard has only recently become a truancy officer,’ explained Headmaster Pimplestock, ‘after twenty-five years of being an army drill sergeant’ (which explained why he looked like a drill sergeant).
‘Did you run away from the army?’ asked Nanny Piggins conversationally. ‘I ran away from the circus. I think it’s good to branch out and embrace new career opportunities.’
‘Silence!’ barked Mr Bernard. ‘I have heard all about you and your tricks and schemes. And I will not have it. Do-I-make-my-self-clear?’ (He had a peculiar way of yelling each syllable individually to emphasise his point.)
