The Clumsies Make a Mess of the School

by Sorrel Anderson

  They peered upwards again but there was still no one to be seen.

  ‘On the table,’ said Russell, helpfully.

  ‘I’m going up,’ said Purvis, starting to climb the table that was in the middle of the room.

  ‘Wait!’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘We don’t know what’s up there.’

  ‘It’s Russell,’ said Purvis. ‘He said so. Come on.’

  So Purvis started climbing again, followed by Mickey Thompson and Ortrud.

  ‘May I make a suggestion?’ called Russell, as the table started to and

  ‘Please do,’ called Purvis.

  ‘It might be better if your small elephant waited on the floor.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ said Purvis. ‘Go on, then, Ortrud. We’ll see you later.’

  Ortrud didn’t .

  ‘Go down, Ortrud,’ said Purvis. ‘This table’s too r i c k e t y.’

  Ortrud continued gripping the table leg, determinedly.

  ‘You see, I was thinking we should have someone trustworthy to guard the door for us,’ said Russell. ‘We don’t want anyone barging in, do we?’

  ‘He’s got a point,’ said Mickey Thompson.

  ‘How about it, Ortrud?’ said Purvis. went Ortrud, and she let go of the table leg, and ambled off to keep watch while the others continued upwards.

  But when they reached the top they found nothing but a glass container and a scattering of leaves and twigs.

  ‘Is it some kind of nature-study project, do you think?’ asked Purvis, nudging a piece of greenery with his foot.

  ‘It looks more like someone’s forgotten to sweep up,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘But where’s Russell?’

  ‘Here,’ said one of the twigs, and Mickey Thompson’s mouth fell open in surprise. ‘Did you see that?’ he said. ‘That twig just talked. It’s a talking twig.’

  ‘Stick, actually,’ said Russell, giving a little bow. ‘Stick insect, that is. At your service.’

  ‘Have you got any glue?’ asked Mickey Thompson, and Purvis shushed him.

  ‘What?’ said Mickey Thompson.

  ‘Sorry, Russell,’ said Purvis.

  ‘Why?’ said Mickey Thompson.

  ‘We’ve only just met him,’ Purvis. ‘You can’t just go asking for stuff straight off like that, it isn’t polite. We should have a little chit-chat first.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘Go on, then.’

  Purvis cleared his throat. ‘Hello, Russell,’ he said. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’

  ‘You too,’ said Russell.

  ‘Me three,’ said Mickey Thompson, quickly. ‘Have you got any glue?’

  Purvis sighed.

  ‘We’ve broken JB Undersomething’s vase,’ announced Mickey Thompson.

  ‘You mean you did,’ muttered Purvis, and there was a small scuffle. ‘OK, OK,’

  said Mickey Thompson, giving in. ‘I mean I broke it.’

  ‘Which one?’ asked Russell.

  ‘The big one with birds on,’ said Mickey Thompson.

  ‘Ah, the flamingos,’ said Russell, nodding. ‘Yes. She was fond of that vase.’

  Mickey Thompson started to look worried again.

  ‘We had a feeling she might be,’ said Purvis. ‘That’s why we need the glue: we want to fix it.’

  ‘Was that the big crash I heard, earlier?’ asked Russell.

  ‘Probably,’ said Purvis. ‘And now Mickey Thompson’s worried it set off the and that he’s to blame.’

  Mickey Thompson nodded.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Russell. ‘Those children are always charging about like that. It’s simply youthful exuberance.’

  ‘Really?’ said the mice.

  ‘Really,’ said Russell. ‘So no more fretting: it wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘Phew,’ said Mickey Thompson, cheering up.

  ‘Unlike the vase,’ said Russell, ‘which, from the sound of it, was.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Mickey Thompson,

  ‘But never mind,’ said Russell, kindly. ‘I know where you can get some glue. Listen carefully. Go out of this room, turn left, turn right, turn left again, keep going for quite a long time, take another left, and another right, keep going some more and you’ll come to a door. That isn’t the door you want. Carry on past it and you’ll come to a different door marked ART ROOM. That’s the place for glue; it’s bursting with the stuff.’

  Mickey Thompson exhaled sharply.

  ‘Actually,’ said Russell, ‘while you’re at it, could you pick me up a tube of red paint? I want to paint my egg with it.’ He pointed across the table towards a large egg that was tottering on top of a complicated contraption made from wire and rubber bands.

  The mice stared at it.

  ‘Err,’ said Purvis.

  ‘Cor,’ said Mickey Thompson.

  ‘Do you like it?’ said Russell. ‘It’s for one of the races this afternoon.’

  ‘Eh?’ said Purvis.

  ‘Oh,’ said Mickey Thompson, ‘I get it – you chuck them.’

  ‘We do not “chuck them”,’ said Russell. ‘We race them. Each contestant has to build a device that will carry their egg from point A to point B. The egg that gets the furthest is the winner.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Purvis. ‘OK: one tube of red paint coming right up.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Russell. ‘Well, then. And good luck.’

  ‘Um, just remind me,’ said Purvis, ‘was it left and then left or… err…’

  ‘Shall I come with you and show you the way?’ asked Russell.

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Purvis, sounding relieved, so they all set off down the table leg and climbed on to Ortrud, who was vigilantly guarding the door.

  ‘Well, this is a new experience,’ commented Russell. ‘I’ve never had a ride on an elephant before.’

  ‘Oh, we do it all the time,’ said Mickey Thompson, loftily, as they along with Purvis sitting up front to help with the steering, and Russell calling out directions.

  ‘I’ll point out the places of interest,’ said Russell.

  ‘LIBRARY.’

  ‘Ooh,’ said Purvis, peering in through a window.

  ‘GYMNASIUM,’ called Russell. ‘And here are some CLASSROOMS: look at the drawings they’ve put up outside.’

  ‘Lovely!’ said Purvis.

  ‘Staff room approaching,’ said Russell, dropping his voice. ‘It might be an idea to up here, in case someone springs out and tells us off. I’m not sure elephants are allowed in the corridors.’

  Ortrud up.

  ‘Nicely done,’ said Russell, as they rounded the corner safely.

  ‘Ah yes, and now we’re entering the PACKED LUNCH STORAGE AREA.’

  ‘What?’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘Where?’

  ‘See all those shelves and compartments and boxes?’ said Russell, pointing. ‘That’s where the children put their packed lunches for safekeeping.’

  Mickey Thompson made a noise.

  ‘What’s in them?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, the usual kind of thing,’ said Russell. ‘Sandwiches, wraps, dips, salady bits…’

  Mickey Thompson made another noise.

  ‘…flasks of soup, leftovers from dinner the day before…’

  ‘Can we stop a minute, please?’ said Mickey Thompson.

  ‘There isn’t time,’ said Purvis.

  ‘Noodles,’ said Russell, ‘Fruit. Cold roast potatoes.’

  ‘STOP!’ shouted Mickey Thompson. ‘I NEED TO LOOK AT THE WALL OF LUNCH!’

  ‘No!’ said Purvis. ‘We must get the glue first. You can look later.’

  ‘But, but…’ Mickey Thompson.

  ‘And we’re almost at our destination,’ said Russell, as they passed the door they didn’t want and arrived in front of the one marked ‘ART ROOM’. ‘Come,’ he said, and led the way through a big white studio cluttered with easels and spattered with paint and clay, and over to a cupboard marked, ‘Adhesives, etc.’ ‘Glue, etc.’ said Russell, opening the cupboard door to reveal tubes and tubs and bottles and j
ars of more kinds of glue than Purvis had ever imagined existed.

  ‘Gosh,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ said Russell, opening a drawer and finding the red paint he wanted.

  ‘Make sure you choose the right one.’

  ‘But how?’ said Purvis.

  ‘Well, for a start it’ll need to say “suitable for ceramics”,’ said Russell. ‘Otherwise the vase won’t stick.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Purvis.

  ‘And do you prefer a thick glue or a thin one?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Purvis. ‘Is there anything mediumish?’

  ‘I’d go for the thick if I were you,’ said Russell. ‘Clear or white?’

  ‘Err, clear,’ said Purvis.

  ‘Smelly or not?’

  ‘Not,’ said Purvis.

  ‘Fast or slow?’

  ‘In what sense?’ said Purvis.

  ‘Drying time,’ said Russell. ‘Speed of adhesion, as it were.’

  ‘Fast, definitely,’ said Purvis, glancing anxiously at the clock on the studio wall.

  ‘Squirter or brush?’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Purvis.

  ‘Do you want to squirt it

  on with a squirter or dab it

  on with a brush?’ said Russell.

  ‘Oh, squirter I should think.’ said Purvis.

  ‘I’d advise a brush,’ said Russell.

  ‘OK,’ said Purvis. ‘Brush it is.’

  ‘Right,’ said Russell, rummaging in the cupboard and emerging with a huge and rather sticky-looking pot of glue. ‘This is the one.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Purvis, taking it. ‘Err… eugh… we’d better get going. ORTRUD! WE’RE READY.’

  So Ortrud, who had wandered away to look at some paintings, trotted over and Purvis and Russell climbed on.

  ‘We appear to be missing someone,’ said Russell.

  ‘Tut,’ said Purvis. ‘Where’s he gone now?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Russell.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Purvis. ‘You don’t think…’

  ‘It’s a distinct possibility,’ said Russell.

  ‘QUICK!’ shouted Purvis. ‘WE MUST FIND HIM BEFORE HE GETS INTO ANY MORE TROUBLE!’

  Trumpeting urgently, Ortrud galloped through the studio, crashing into easels and knocking over pots of paint.

  ‘AAGH!’ shouted Purvis as they slipped and through puddles of red and yellow and orange and blue and, eventually, muddy brown.

  ‘WE’RE LEAVING FOOTPRINTS EVERYWHERE!’

  ‘We can come back and wipe them up later,’ said Russell, as they passed the door they didn’t want and cantered down the corridor towards the wall of lunch.

  ‘Yikes!’ squeaked Purvis, when they reached it. ‘Look.’

  There were open lunchboxes scattered everywhere and the shelves and the floor were covered in half-eaten sandwiches and blobs of soup and strands of noodle and slices of fruit, and in the middle of the mayhem sat Mickey Thompson, with a look of strong concentration, eating a cold roast potato.

  shouted Purvis, as

  they approached.

  ‘MICKEY THOMPSON!’ shouted Howard, as he approached from the opposite direction.

  ‘Oh, hello there,’ said Mickey Thompson, trying to appear casual.

  ‘What have you done?’ whimpered Howard, arriving, and gazing around at the mess.

  ‘Err, ooooh,’ said Mickey Thompson, noticing it for the first time. ‘I was just having a look.’

  ‘In every box!’ said Howard.

  Mickey Thompson nodded, guiltily.

  ‘And eating the food,’ said Howard. ‘Which you shouldn’t have been: it isn’t yours.’

  ‘I only took a tiny taste from each one,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘I thought it would be fairer that way, and less noticeable.’

  ‘Less noticeable, he says,’ said Howard. ‘I’m yet to see something resembling anything less unnoticeable than this!!!’ said Howard, gesticulating

  wildly.

  ‘Sorry, Howard,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘Here: try one of these.’ He offered Howard a cold roast potato and Howard took it, and ate it.

  ‘Err, Howard,’ said Purvis.

  ‘What?’ said Howard. ‘Mmm. These are lovely. Are there any more?’

  ‘Lots,’ said Mickey Thompson, handing another one over, and taking one for himself.

  ‘Err, Howard,’ said Purvis, again. ‘Don’t you think we ought to try and do something about the mess?’

  ‘Mmm?’ said Howard. ‘Oh yes, and that’s another thing. What on earth happened in JB Undercracker’s office?’

  said Mickey Thompson. ‘That was it!’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Howard, ‘but I’ll have another potato if there’s one going spare.’ Mickey Thompson handed him another one.

  ‘Do you mean the vase, Howard?’ asked Purvis.

  ‘I mean the everything,’ said Howard. ‘The whole room’s been turned upside down. She thinks she’s been burgled.’

  ‘Oh-err,’ said Purvis.

  ‘Quite,’ said Howard. ‘Care to offer an explanation?’

  ‘We were looking for glue to mend the vase that broke because we couldn’t find the biscuit tin,’ explained Purvis.

  Howard frowned at him, .

  ‘It was all because we didn’t have any breakfast,’ added Purvis, with a small sigh.

  Howard continued frowning.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Purvis.

  ‘I think I need another potato,’ said Howard, and Mickey Thompson passed him one.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Howard, clearing himself a space amongst the debris and settling down on the floor to eat it.

  ‘Budge over a bit,’ he said, to Mickey Thompson. ‘Is there anything to drink?’

  ‘Would you prefer blackcurrant, or mountain water with a hint of lime?’ asked Mickey Thompson, waving a couple of cartons.

  ‘Lime, please,’ said Howard, and Mickey Thompson handed it over, with another potato.

  ‘Excuse me,’ whispered Russell. ‘I don’t like to interrupt but I think I hear the sound of an oncoming scooter.’

  Russell was right. It was JB Undercracker,

  The mice dived into the nearest lunchbox, pulling Russell after them, and Ortrud hid in a doorway.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Howard, to the mice.

  ‘What are you doing, Mr Bullerton?’ said JB Undercracker, arriving, and to a halt.

  ‘EEK,’ said Howard, jumping. ‘Hello JB… I mean Miss… I mean Mrs… I mean…’

  ‘JB will do nicely,’ said JB Undercracker. ‘Now listen, laddie. I don’t mean to be inhospitable. I hope that’s understood.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Howard.

  ‘St Apricot’s is renowned for its hospitableness,’ said JB Undercracker.

  ‘Far and wide,’ said Howard. ‘I’ve heard it mentioned often.’

  ‘Then the situation is even better than I thought,’ she said. ‘But the thing is, these are the children’s lunches.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Howard, nodding his head in agreement.

  ‘Which means they belong to the children,’ emphasised JB Undercracker. ‘They’re not intended for consumption by Mr Bullertons and other members of the general public.’

  ‘No,’ said Howard, shaking his head in agreement.

  ‘Then why are you?’ said JB Undercracker.

  ‘I’m not,’ said Howard. ‘Mr Bullerton, I mean. I’ve been trying to tell you, I…’

  ‘My dear young fellow,’ said JB Undercracker. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday you know. I can see you’ve been eating these lunches and I want to know why.’

  ‘Err…’ said Howard.

  ‘Mmm?’ said JB Undercracker.

  ‘Well…’ said Howard.

  ‘Spit it out, mister,’ said JB Undercracker.

  ‘You were inspecting them,’ hissed Purvis, from the lunchbox.

  ‘What?’ hissed Howard, back.

  ‘INSPECTING THEM,’ hissed Purvis.

  ‘OF COURSE!’ shouted Howard. �
�That’s it! I’m a Lunch Inspector and I was inspecting them to ensure they meet the appropriate…um… whatsits…’

  ‘Whatsits?’ said JB Undercracker.

  ‘Thingamies,’ said Howard.

  ‘Nutritional standards,’ whispered Purvis.

  ‘YES, THOSE!’ shouted Howard. ‘The nutritional standard thingamies.’

  ‘AH!’ said JB Undercracker. ‘Now you’re talking. This is a subject close to my heart.’

  ‘Oh good,’ said Howard.

  ‘I owe you an apology, Mr Bullerton,’ she said. ‘I thought it was simply greed.’

  ‘HA HA!’ said Howard. ‘Certainly not! Good heavens, no.’

  ‘So, how did we do?’ said JB Undercracker, winking. ‘Did we make the grade?’

  ‘And then some,’ said Howard, enthusiastically. ‘The cold roast potatoes were particularly fine.’

  ‘Any left?’ she said, and Howard passed her one.

  ‘Delightful,’ said JB Undercracker, swallowing it whole. ‘You see, food is so important for the active child, Mr Bullerton, fuelling as it does both brain and body and ooh, that reminds me, it’s nearly time for the

  to begin. All the guests will be arriving soon.’

  ‘AAGH!’ Howard.

  ‘Yes, it is exciting, isn’t it?’ said JB Undercracker. ‘Now, I need you to help me with one or two things, so put Lydia’s lunchbox down and we’ll get going.’

  ‘I’d prefer to keep it with me, thank you,’ said Howard, gripping the lunchbox .

  ‘Well you can’t,’ said JB Undercracker, wrestling it from him,

  ‘Come along, Mr Bullerton.’ She climbed onto the scooter and shot off up the corridor, with Howard trotting worriedly behind.

  said the mice and Russell, as the lunchbox landed with a bump on the floor of an empty classroom. went Ortrud, running after them.

  ‘What now, then?’ asked Mickey Thompson, rolling out of the box. ‘Shall we go and have a look at the playground?’

  ‘WE CAN’T!’ shouted Purvis, hurtling out. ‘Didn’t you hear what she said? She said ’s

  starting soon and all the guests’ll be arriving and you know who that means, don’t you?’