Did they really mean it? Did they want to have beetles rather than brussels sprouts and broad beans?
I looked at all the faces. They were on our side. It was fantastic. That’s all it took to get the whole school on our side. I winked as I sat down with my mates. They all winked back.
‘Thank you for that.’ The Head put out both hands in front of her – it means, ‘Settle down now or I’ll get cross.’
The ‘Save the stag’ chant faded away.
Bee put her hand in the air. The Head could hardly ignore her, although I’m sure she wanted to. She probably wanted to expel her!
‘Will you save the stag beetle or not?’
‘Bee, I’m sure you realise that it’s a little late to be changing the plans. Your proposal is most interesting, but I’m sure the kitchen garden will also attract many creatures. Thank you. Now I think we need to move on or morning lessons will run into lunchtime.’
She meant it as a joke but no one laughed. It wasn’t funny.
I couldn’t understand how she could ignore everything I’d said when it was obvious what all the kids thought. Bee must have thought the same, but (unlike me) she wasn’t standing for it.
She tried to start the chanting again, faster this time. Only the kids at the back dared join in. All the little ones at the front stayed quiet. Surely the Head would have to cancel the woodcutter. Or at least postpone him.
‘Save the stag. Save the stag.’
Or perhaps not.
The Head had had enough. ‘We will have silence,’ she shouted.
Everyone stopped. The Head is extremely frightening when she’s angry. And she was very angry.
She turned and spoke to the other teachers. I don’t know what she said. I waited. This was trouble. Would I be expelled? Mum would go berserk. I’d have to give back the phone. I’d get new-school butterflies for definite.
Miss Walsh stood up and headed straight for us. All the other teachers did the same, herding their classes out of the hall. Assembly was obviously over.
Miss Walsh pinched my arm (which Copper Pie said is assault when I told him about it later) and said, ‘I wouldn’t have expected this of you, Keener.’
Mr Morris went up to Bee and took the poster out of her hands before he stormed out of the hall. We were all led back to our classes and for once no one spoke. The only noise was the sound of our footsteps and some girlie crying. I was scared but I didn’t want to be. We hadn’t actually done anything wrong. We’d stood up for what we believe in – that’s good, isn’t it?
‘Miss Walsh, what do you think will happen to the stag beetles?’ Bee asked as soon as we got back to our classroom. She wasn’t giving up. ‘Will they die?’
‘I expect they will find themselves another home. Insects have found ways to survive on this planet to such an extent that there are more insects than any other type of animal. I hardly think they need our help. Now, not another word from any of you. You have embarrassed me by your behaviour and gained nothing by this silly stunt.’ I didn’t like Miss Walsh any more. Not one bit. ‘6W, you will write down the spellings on the board into your books in silence. Thank you.’
We might have started Save the Stag as a stunt but the Head couldn’t ignore the whole school supporting the campaign. Why should our views be ignored just because they’d already booked the executioner and bought the packs of sunflower seeds or rosemary or whatever? Perhaps we should do a sit-in after all, I thought. That would show them. My thoughts were yo-yoing between being worried about the punishment and being cross that the Head shut us all up. What about free speech?
There was a knock on the door. ‘Miss Walsh, may I have a word with Keener?’
Uh-oh! What did Morris want with me? He never comes near any of us if he can help it. They wouldn’t have called the police, would they? I mean, I only read the words my friends had written. I didn’t mean to make everyone disobey the Head. Is there a crime called Causing a Disturbance? Could I say they’d forced me to do it?
‘Take him away, Mr Morris.’
He did a come-here thing with his finger, so I stood up on wobbly legs and followed him into the corridor. I went past Bee, who made a fist. Fifty did his cut-throat sign. I avoided Copper Pie’s huge feet that may or may not have been trying to trip me up and heard a very quiet ‘Good luck’ from Jonno as I shut the door behind me.
‘Keener, might you be Flo’s brother?’
‘Yes,’ I mumbled. It’s humiliating to have a sister who’s two years younger but more famous than you are.
‘Bright girl. Very bright. Now, Keener, I’d like you to come down to the area you’ve campaigned to keep. There are a couple of interesting beasts on your very informative sheet that I’d like to verify.’ He took the folded-up poster out of his jacket pocket.
Not a telling off then – I felt my shoulders drop down from somewhere near my ears to where they should be. No need to listen for sirens or to worry about what to pack for a night in the cells. But also not something I was going to be able to help with. ‘We need Jonno for that, sir. I was the one who did the talking, but he’s the expert.’
I stayed where I was and he poked his head back into our class and came back with Jonno.
‘So you’re the entomologist, are you?’ Mr Morris asked him.
‘Sort of,’ said Jonno. ‘I quite like small animals. Just because they’re little doesn’t mean they’re simple.’
‘Quite right,’ said Mr Morris.
JONNO’S FACT FILE
• Knows everything about animals and people
• Is always polite to everyone
• Likes fossiling
• Hates moving house
• Would like to eat chips and tomato sauce in front of the telly to see what it’s like
FAMILY STUFF
Would like a brother or sister
Dad – a consultant, earns thousands of pounds
Mum – always studying
Is treated like an adult by his parents
‘Do you know an ant can work out the quickest way from A to B better than a boffin with a computer?’ asked Jonno as we walked.
‘Actually I did know that. But do you know how?’ said Mr Morris.
They were both ignoring me, which was fine. I was beside myself with excitement – we’d found an unexpected ally.
‘It uses tracks left by other ants, not footprints but chemicals that only ants recognise,’ Jonno went on.
‘Excellent. You know your subject, Jonno.’ Mr Morris held the back door open and me and Jonno stepped into the playground. ‘So let’s see what we can spot under those trees.’
Jonno and Mr Morris got down on the ground. It’s wet, even in summer, and definitely dirty. No one sweeps up or anything. There’s rotting wood and leaves and a tree stump – not a cut one that’s flat and you could sit on, more like what’s left if a tree falls over in a hurricane.
I didn’t join in – too mucky.
‘Yes I see, a perfect habitat in many ways.’
I don’t know who Mr Morris was talking to but no one answered. The two of them crawled around looking completely idiotic for ages.
‘I’ve read that dead wood can be a home to thousands of species,’ said Jonno.
‘Yes, and yet people still insist on removing decaying matter instead of seeing it as part of the natural diversity of the woodland.’
I got bored and started picking the bark when a little green shiny thing landed by me.
‘I’ve got something.’
Jonno jumped up, Mr Morris was quite a bit slower.
‘Is it a Noble Chafer?’ asked Jonno.
‘No. A common mistake – it’s a Rose Chafer. Same family but larger.’
‘Have you found anything else?’ I asked.
‘Several interesting finds. A longhorn, rhinoceros beetle . . . but no —’
‘There!’ said Jonno in a loud whisper.
Back down they went, heads over the stinky tree stump.
‘So you
were right,’ said Mr Morris. ‘Well done. Well done indeed.’
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘The mighty stag. One of the largest insects in Britain, and, importantly, a protected species.’
‘Does that mean . . .?
I didn’t finish my sentence because Mr Morris was already nodding.
‘I think a visit to the Head might be in order. I would never have agreed to be part of the kitchen garden if I’d known what a wealth of creatures were inhabiting the tree stump alone!’
Jonno held out his hand, I put mine on top.
‘One, two, three.’ Our hands shot up.
Mr Morris smiled. A rare thing.
‘Is that some sort of clan ritual?’
‘It’s the Tribe handshake,’ said Jonno. ‘Known only to Tribers . . . and a few others.’
‘Well, the secret is safe with me. Does that mean there are more of you? I noticed in the rather unorthodox assembly this morning that there were —’
‘Five of us,’ I said. ‘There are three more.’
‘Very fine. Just like the Famous Five of my youth. Well, I’ll arrange a conference for morning break. Gather up your lieutenants and meet me outside the Head’s office.’
‘Thank you, Mr Morris,’ I said.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Now, run along back to your class. I might spend a few minutes . . .’
Whatever the end of his sentence was, only the stag heard it because Mr Morris was already back down on the floor with his bum in the air.
‘Like a pig snuffling for truffles,’ said Jonno as we charged through the door into the corridor.
More like Probably Rose, I thought, but I didn’t say it because I had something more urgent to ask. ‘Have we really done it?’
‘I think the answer is yes,’ said Jonno, peering over his specs as usual. ‘We’ve saved the stag.’ His grin was so shiny it was like he’d had his teeth polished.
‘I didn’t mean the stag. I meant our patch. Have we really stopped Copper Pie’s combine harvester?’
‘It’s the same. Saving the stag saves our patch. Saving our patch saves the stag. Everybody wins.’
‘Except Callum, who won’t be able to grow lettuces at Gardening Club,’ I said.
‘Shame,’ said Jonno with a smile. ‘Perhaps he could go to Dance Club instead. Learn the waltz.’
I slammed a friendly fist into Jonno’s shoulder. He did the same back.
It was hell having to wait until break to tell the others. All my spellings had extra letters because I couldn’t concentrate. I kept looking at the Tribers and making big smiley faces. I even dared to do a few thumbs ups but all I got back were I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-on-about looks from my mates and dissing looks from non-Tribers who could see I was either excited about something or desperate for the loo. Jonno, unbelievably but believably for Jonno (if you get what I mean), kept his head down. I know because I kept willing him to look at me so we could grin madly.
‘Right, 6W. Attention on me, please. Spelling test on Monday as usual. Over the weekend I want you to write the words out three times making sure you put the is and the es in the right order.’ She paused and looked at each Triber in turn. ‘The five class members who disrupted assembly stay behind, please.’
Oh no! More waiting.
Miss Walsh stood and watched everyone troop out before she spoke. ‘You may have been well meaning, but in future I suggest any bright ideas are discussed with me before being presented to the whole school. Understood?’
She looked at me, I looked down. No way was I going to nod. We’d won, she just didn’t know it yet.
She looked at Bee. Bee did the smallest possible downward tilt of her chin.
Miss Walsh sighed. I think she thought we’d act a bit more sorry.
‘Yes, Miss,’ said Fifty, even before her eyestalks swivelled round to him.
‘Jonno?’
‘Yes, Miss Walsh?’
‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes, I understand, thank you.’ He smiled at her, and pushed his glasses back up from somewhere near his nostrils.
She didn’t like that. There was something about the way he said it that meant, ‘I absolutely understand but it doesn’t mean that I agree.’
She retied her knot of hair while she spoke. ‘So, let’s forget about assembly and concentrate on good behaviour for the rest of the day.’
At last! Free to talk.
‘Head’s office, now,’ I said. ‘Come on.’
‘Are we in big, big trouble?’ asked Fifty. ‘Mum’ll never agree to have a Tribe headquarters in our garden if we’re in the poo.’
‘No. The opposite,’ said Jonno. ‘Goodies through and through. Ecologically speaking.’
‘Sounds too good to be true,’ said Bee.
We legged it, arriving right behind Mr Morris.
‘Ah! The infamous five.’ He winked at us. ‘Leave it to me.’
He looked down and smiled at Copper Pie’s drawing of the stag beetle on our poster as though it was real.
Without waiting for an invitation, he knocked and strode in. We followed.
The Head was sitting behind her desk. ‘And what can I do for you?’ she said, meaning, ‘GO AWAY, YOU IRRITATING KIDS, IT’S NEARLY THE WEEKEND AND I DON’T WANT ANY BOTHER.’
We didn’t say a word. We didn’t need to. Mr Morris told the Head all about the charismatic beetle and how its habitats were being destroyed. And more importantly, more absolutely unbelievably fantastically, he told her it was illegal to disturb them. Amazing.
Touch our patch and we’ll have the law on you, I thought.
The Head looked like she wanted to mow us all down with something horrible (C.P. suggested an M4 carbine when we talked about it later), but what could she do? She didn’t want to find herself on the front pages of the newspaper:
Headmistress slaughters Britain’s favourite beetle against wishes of senior members of staff and junior school pupils, many of whom have suffered bad dreams as a result of the thoughtless massacre of the harmless insect.
Or in the clink.
Tribe tea at Fifty’s
School was over for the week. We decided to go to Fifty’s to celebrate saving our territory from whatever vehicle, tool or weapon was meant to flatten it. I wanted to go to Jonno’s so the others could see his room and meet Frances, but if we were going to build a Tribehouse in Fifty’s garden, we needed to be nice to his mum, so I was overruled.
While we ate tea (lasagne – a bit runny but it went down all right), we spilled the beans about saving our patch. It was too fantastic to keep secret.
‘I’m not sure what to say – it’s extraordinary. Well done,’ said Fifty’s mum.
She was right. Everything that had happened since Tribe began was extraordinary.
‘And it’ll be even better when we’ve got a clubhouse,’ said Fifty, who was feeding Probably Rose pulverised lasagne.
‘Tribehouse,’ said Jonno.
‘I’m not sure about your idea of building it in the garden. It’s going to take a lot of work,’ said Fifty’s mum. ‘And an adult or two!’
‘My dad will help,’ I said.
‘And mine,’ said Copper Pie.
‘And we’ve got a plan,’ said Fifty. ‘I’ll get it.’
He leapt up and disappeared, shouting, ‘Keener, feed Probably Rose.’
Oh great!
I picked up the spoon and fed Rose the last few spoonfuls without getting too close to her.
‘Probably Rose is a good eater, isn’t she?’ said Bee.
‘Don’t you think it’s time you called her Rose?’ said Fifty’s mum.
‘But Probably Rose is cute.’
‘Ba,’ said Rose.
Fifty came back in with a rolled-up piece of green paper and spread it out on the table. There was a picture of a house, drawn by Copper Pie, and lots of labels and arrows. It looked good.
‘We can have a go, can’t we, Mum?’
‘Wait a minute . .
. Do you want some pudding, Rose?’ she said.
‘Ba.’
Fifty’s mum got a banana from the fruit bowl, opened the drawer and picked up a fork and then fetched a pink plastic bowl. She mashed it, put the bowl on the tray of Rose’s high chair and gave me a clean spoon.
I must remember not to sit near Rose next time, I thought.
‘Right,’ said Fifty’s mum. ‘Let’s have a look at this.’ She bent over the plan.
‘Dad says someone at work wants to get rid of his shed,’ said Copper Pie. ‘If we take it away, we can have it.’
‘Well, that would certainly help things along.’
She was going to agree, I could tell.
‘Pudding,’ I said to Rose, using a cheesy voice.
Rose shoved the bowl and it fell on the floor and splattered everywhere.
‘Rose!’ Fifty’s mum looked almost cross, even though she says babies can’t be naughty until they’re two because they don’t know how.
‘Sorry,’ I said. The banana was all up my leg.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Bee. She got some kitchen roll and started clearing the mess up. ‘You go through the plan.’ She winked at Jonno.
He took Fifty’s mum through all the details. He made it sound like we’d built hundreds of Tribehouses before.
I was listening, and paying no attention whatsoever to Probably Rose, when she poked my arm and said something like ‘Yog-ert’.
I turned round so I could look straight at her. ‘What did you say, Probably Rose?’’
Fifty heard me. He nudged Jonno and everyone stopped talking.
‘What did you say?’ I said again.
‘Yog-ert!’ she shouted.
Fifty threw his fist in the air.
‘Told you so, Keener. Told you. She can speak!’
I was too amazed to do anything . . . but Bee wasn’t. She gave up smearing the banana and said, ‘Probably Rose, say “banana”.’
Nothing.
‘OK, say “Fifty”.’
Nothing. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Perhaps ‘yog ert’ is another version of ‘ba’.
Bee had one last try.
‘Probably Rose, do you think we should build the Tribehouse in your garden?’
There was complete silence. We stared at Fifty’s sister. She looked back at us and said, as clear as a newsreader, ‘Yes.’
The Day the Ear Fell Off Page 14
