by Kaye Umansky
‘I auditioned for Robin, you know,’ I said. ‘I was tree-mendously disappointed when I heard I was a tree. Although I have to say this costume’s better than the one they made me wear in the last play.’
‘Which was?’
‘They made me dress up as a hunk of bread filled with cheese and pickle and tomato and lettuce and cucumber and mayonnaise. I did it because it sounded like a big roll.’
That went down well.
‘You should audition for Star Trek,’ said Flora, when the laughter subsided. ‘You could go as the captain’s log.’
So did that.
Flora moved away from the steps and came to stand nearer, so we didn’t have to shout.
‘How about you?’ I asked. ‘Did you try for Marion?’
‘Oh no. I wanted to be a leaf. I love being a leaf, me. I’m a leaf in all the plays. When I heard I was a leaf again, I could hardly be-leaf my ears.’
Over in the wings I could see Mrs Axworthy frantically beckoning to Mr Huff, who was at the front of the hall lounging against the wall, watching us and grinning a bit. He saw her tragic face and went to the side of the stage to have a whispered consultation. Then he went hurrying off somewhere. James was still grimly hanging on to his modesty. The handmaidens were looking anxious, hopping about impatiently and wringing their hands. Charlotte, I noticed, was looking furious. The crisis was far from over.
‘Know any more tree jokes, Leaf?’ I asked.
‘A couple,’ said Flora. She was gaining in confidence now and opening her mouth more. Her braces flashed in the spotlight. ‘What d’you call a tree who listens to other trees’ conversation?’
‘I don’t know. What do you call a tree who listens to other trees’ conversation?’
‘A leaves-dropper.’
‘Boom-boom!’ we both went, throwing out our arms in time-honoured comic fashion.
The audience groaned, but in a good way. Even the Mayor joined in. He was awake, for once.
‘And then, of course,’ continued Flora, on a roll now, ‘there’s the one about the couple of blokes who see a sign saying: Tree Fellers Wanted. They didn’t get the job because there was only two of them.’
This went down well, too.
‘Have you heard the story about the three eggs I’ve got in my bird’s nest?’ I asked.
We had to keep the pace up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Huff returning from his mission. In his hand was a large safety pin.
‘No,’ said Flora. ‘I haven’t heard the story about the three eggs.’
‘Two bad,’ I said. We looked at each other, spread our arms and said, ‘Boom-boom!’ again.
There was more laughter and spontaneous clapping. From the back of the hall I heard the triumphant howl of ‘TWEE! TIM! TWEE!’ Kenny was back, then.
‘I think I’ll take a bough,’ said Flora, plucking one of the branches from my swimming cap and waving it round before bowing deeply, making sure people got it.
‘Hey!’ I said, pretending to be cross. ‘Fingers off the foliage! I have enough trouble with these wood pigeons. Have you met my pigeons?’
‘No, but I’d so love to be introduced.’
‘This one’s called Cheep, because he was going cheap.’ Groans and chuckles from the audience. ‘And,’ I went on, ‘this one’s called Free.’
‘Because you got him free?’
‘No, because his brothers, One and Two, had already been sold. Talking about brothers, did you know that one in five people are Chinese? Robin Hood was telling me there are five people in his family, so one of them must be Chinese. There’s Mrs Hood, Mr Hood, his big brother Colin Hood and his little brother Ho Ma Chin. Robin thinks it’s Colin.’
It’s my favourite joke of the moment, and I’d got it in. Hooray! The audience loved it, as they rightly should.
‘Talking of Robin Hood,’ said Flora, when things calmed down a bit, ‘Did you hear about his pet bulldog, Gnasher? He’s got crossed eyes, so Robin took him to the vet and...’
While she told the one about the heavy dog who has to be put down, I took another glance into the wings. Mrs Axworthy was bending over James’s treacherous tights and doing something with the safety pin.
‘“Whaaat?” said Robin. “Just because he’s got crossed eyes?” “No, because he’s really heavy”,’ ended Flora, and the audience erupted. People were cheering and clapping. It was the way she told it. It brought the roof down. The Mayor was shouting: ‘Well done! Aye, that was a good one.’
I caught sight of Mrs Ferguson. She was just sitting with her mouth open. I think she was too shocked to clap, but I could tell how much she was enjoying Flora’s performance because her eyes were all shiny. I think she was crying a bit. My mum does that too sometimes, especially when I’m something good, like God. I could hear Kenny informing everyone I was a twee, in case they weren’t sure, but it didn’t matter because it blended into the general sense of happy wellbeing.
In the wings, Mrs Axworthy was standing back from James, who was patting his waistline and nodding. Emergency over. It seemed that his tights were finally secured. Mrs Axworthy looked over at me and Flora, gave a huge, encouraging smile and did the thumbs-up sign.
It was over. We had done it. The play could go on.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘I think they’ve had enough of us, Leaf. Time to get on with the play. It was nice knowing you.’
‘Same here, Tree,’ said Flora. ‘Let’s take another bough.’
She removed another one from my head, and we both bowed low. Then she hurried off down the steps and went to join the others.
Chapter Eight
Everything got back on track after that. Marion and Robin came back onstage, together with the handmaidens and delivered the final history lecture. Then they all went off to get smartened up for the wedding. King Richard then arrived and delivered his thankless lines. I could tell he had cramp from sitting cross-legged so long. He could hardly stand upright, poor kid, and kept bending down to massage his shins. What was really sad, about a hundred members of his family had showed up to watch him.
Then I shuffled back on and delivered my final rhyming couplets. I didn’t joke them up or anything, although I think people were expecting me to. But you don’t mess with Mr Cunningham’s lines. I said them as written.
Then it was the ding-dong wedding song, during which everyone proceeds onto the stage to take their bow. I was there already, of course, but I had to shuffle to the side to make way for the important characters, like Marion and Robin in their wedding gear (same clothes plus fake flowers).
I took my bow right at the end, after King Richard. Without wishing to sound immodest, I think I got a pretty good reception.
There wasn’t room for the leaf dancers on stage, so they just stood up and took a bow from the floor. They got a huge clap. I think — no, I know — it was because of Flora. She looked a bit sheepish, but she was smiling, despite her braces.
Mr Cunningham stood up and made a brief speech, thanking the teachers for their hard work. They all got flowers except for Mr Huff, who got chocolates. I think he should have got one of those hats with corks on, like Australians wear. Although he’s probably got one already.
Mr Cunningham didn’t mention that he’d written the play. Not at that point, anyway.
Then it was the raffle. Ben’s dad got a bottle of sherry, Zoe’s grandma got a Gangsta Rap CD, Tariq’s uncle got a set of useful cooking oils and, believe it or not, my very own mother got a box of Quality Street! Result!
The photographer from the paper took some pictures, then rushed off home. And that was it. It was all over.
We went tearing back into Blue Class, where we screamed mindlessly and ran around for two minutes. The girls hugged each other and the boys clapped each other on the back. It was such a relief to get it over. Then we all took off for the toilets, where we removed our costumes and put our normal clothes back on. Some people carefully folded their stuff and put it into carrier bags to take home, but I
didn’t. I dumped my tree bits into the bin. I didn’t think I’d be needing them again. Although I kept a wood pigeon as a souvenir.
James was in the toilets, wincing as he removed his rogue tights. The safety pin was sticking in, he said.
‘Bad luck the elastic went like that,’ I said, sympathetically.
‘Yes,’ said James. ‘Good thing it happened offstage, though.’
‘I bet you’re glad you’re not a girl,’ I said.
‘They must get troubles like that all the time.’ Well, they would if they were three-miles tall.
‘Too right,’ said James, pulling on his jeans and hurling the tights in a corner.
‘Well done, anyway,’ I said. ‘You were good.’
‘Thanks,’ said James. ‘So were you, Tim. Amazing, actually, what you did.’
‘Naah,’ I said, with a modest shrug. ‘Naah. I was just a tree.’
I went to find my parents. The entrance hall was full of people talking. I saw Flora’s mum standing in a corner, being congratulated by Mr and Mrs Shawcross and the Kites. There was no sign of Flora, who must still be in the girl’s toilets removing her complicated costume.
‘Quite the little comedienne, your Flora,’ Mr Shawcross was saying. ‘Had me in fits. She’s a natural. Great comic timing.’
‘And what a lovely costume,’ added Mrs Kite. ‘Did you make it yourself?’
Mr Cunningham was standing with the Mayor. I heard them talking as I squeezed by.
‘So you wrote it yourself, you say?’ the Mayor was saying.
‘Yes,’ admitted Mr Cunningham. ‘I thought I’d have a crack this year.’
‘Very good, very good. Plenty of hard facts in there, eh? I tell you the bit that really took off, though. The bit with the tree and the girl playing the leaf. Got a career in stand-up, those two. Hey, there’s the tree now. The man himself. Well done, lad. You had me chuckling I must say.’
‘Thank you very much,’ I said, politely.
‘I was just telling your head teacher here that your scene was the one that stood out. Should have been more bits like that.’
I flicked a glance at Mr Cunningham’s face, said thanks again, then moved hastily on to join my family. Kenny was slumped on Dad’s shoulder, all banana’d out. Mum was talking to Mrs Axworthy. They were both drinking wine. They looked up as I pushed my way towards them, graciously accepting people’s congratulations on the way.
‘Here he comes,’ said Mrs Axworthy, fondly, ruffling my hair. ‘What a hero. Can turn his hand to any part, Tim. What will I do without him when he leaves?’
‘Don’t talk about leaves,’ I said, modestly but quite wittily, I thought. ‘I’ve had enough of leaves for one evening.’
They both laughed. Mrs Axworthy gave me a wink and said, wryly, ‘You and me both, kid.’
‘Well done, son,’ chipped in Dad. ‘You made a grown man cry.’
Honestly. Can’t he ever think of anything else to say?
‘So, where’s Flora?’ said Mum. ‘I want to congratulate her.’
‘Still changing, I think.’
‘Well, have you seen Mrs Ferguson? We’re giving her a lift home, if you don’t mind walking.’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘You go ahead. I’ll wait for Flora.’
‘Dad’ll give you some money for chips. Ray, give him some money.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘OK, see you later.’ I fancied a walk anyway. It had been hot in the tree costume. I needed to cool down.
The crowds were beginning to thin out now. James left with his parents, waving me a cheery goodbye. I really must stop calling him a sheep. The Merry Men and the handmaidens and the peasants and the choir members were leaving too, with their respective families. Tariq left, with his enormous tribe of doting relations. Charlotte went stalking past and didn’t even look at me. I didn’t expect congratulations for saving the day, but a goodbye would have been nice.
I still don’t understand why I ever liked her.
Soon, there were only a few diehards left. The Kites came over to congratulate me on my performance, and so did Dillon’s grandad, who has dreadlocks. He told me he wanted to hire me and Flora for the comedy act on his sixtieth. I think he was joking, but still. Then they went, along with the last couple of leaf dancers. Now there were only the teachers and me and the caretaker. Mr Cunningham had left to take the Mayor home. The teachers kept chatting to me and being nice, even Mr Huff, but I could tell they just wanted to go and flop in the staff room for ten minutes. I said I didn’t mind if they had important marking to do, so they went, taking the last bottle of wine with them.
I waited alone in the foyer. Actually, the silence was quite nice.
Finally, Flora showed up. She had removed her green eyelids and pulled back her hair with the usual elastic band. Her costume was in her carrier bag, and she was back in her brown skirt and cardigan.
‘Where were you?’ I asked. ‘You’ve missed all the fuss. Everyone wanted to congratulate you, but there was no sign.’
‘I was throwing up in the toilets, if you must know,’ said Flora.
‘Really?’ I was amazed. ‘But why?’
‘Fame takes it’s toll, dahling,’ she said, in actressy tones. Then added, in a normal voice, ‘I get nervous, that’s all. Do you think people noticed my braces much?’
‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Anyway who cares? You were great.’
‘We were great, you mean,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t have done it on my own. Where’s Mum?’
‘Gone home in the car with my mum and dad. She said she’d see you later and to tell you that she’s really proud.’
‘She did? That’s all right then.’ She put on an American accent. ‘Shall we hit the trail, pardner?’
‘Yee-hah!’ I agreed. ‘Let’s get them dogies rollin’!’
So we went. We walked out into the cool night. We went the long way, so we could call in at the chip shop.
‘That’s it, then,’ I said, as we strolled along eating them. ‘Our last play at Eddington Primary School. And I was a tree.’
‘And I was a leaf,’ said Flora.
We looked at each other, then we cracked up. We laughed so hard, we nearly cried. Then we helped ourselves to more chips.
‘A tree,’ I said, and exploded again.
‘A leaf,’ chortled Flora, through a mouthful of chips. Accidentally, she spat a bit of one on my sleeve. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s OK,’ I said, wiping it off.
Then we linked arms and walked home.
A Word From the Author
I’ll tell you why I wrote this story. At primary school, when I was six, we put on a production of Hansel and Gretel. I desperately wanted to play the witch but had to be a mouse. My only line was ‘cheese’. Even my parents didn’t seem impressed. I got over it and didn’t think about it any more until I was all grown-up and went to see a production of one of my own plays brilliantly performed by a boys’ prep school in Cambridge. They did a fantastic job in every way. But what I remember most is that they poked in an extra bit. It featured two trees, discussing being trees and basically bigging up their parts. As I had written it, the trees had eight rather uninspiring lines between them, written in rhyming couplets. They didn’t even contain a joke, which was mean of me. However small the part is (mouse, tree, flower, footman, third stick from the left, whatever) it helps if there’s just one good joke, so at least you get a laugh and a bit of recognition at the curtain call. So the trees beefed up their characters and added some jokes of their own. Or maybe the drama teacher wrote them? I don’t know. All I know, is it was hilarious and I wish I’d thought of it.
It stayed in my mind. Being cast as a tree, although you know in your heart you are better than that. Bigging up your part. Hmmm. There was a story in that...
First published 2006 by
A & C Black Publishers Ltd
38 Soho Square, London, W1D 3HB
www.acblack.com
Text copyright © 2006 Kaye Umansky
/> Illustrations copyright © 2006 Kate Sheppard
The rights of Kaye Umansky and Kate Sheppard to be
identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively
have been asserted by them in accordance with the
Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Print ISBN: 978-0-71367-813-0
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-40815-334-5
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means — graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems — without the prior permission in writing of the publishers.
