A huge cheer almost tore the courtroom apart. The hotel guests leapt up and down, laughing and kissing each other. Zoe, Tim and Mrs Ellis were all in tears and Mr Ellis sat silently shaking his head, unable to believe the verdict. The judge banged her hammer loudly to bring back some order.
‘There still remains one problem which must be dealt with as soon as possible. Mr Thripp was quite correct to report Sigurd for handling food. The guests at The Viking Hotel may enjoy the novelty of being served by a Viking, but I am quite sure that they wouldn't enjoy a dose of food poisoning. It is most important to find Sigurd something harmless to do and I order that this must be done by the end of the week.’
So saying, Judge Farley rose and swept out of the courtroom, leaving Sigurd's supporters to carry on cheering and to dance their way out on to the streets of Flotby. A conga of excited guests swept up the High Street and back towards The Viking Hotel, while Sigurd and Mrs Tibblethwaite sat on the roof of the car and waved to the laughing crowds as they made their way home. Sigurd had actually asked if he could drive – Mr Ellis had flatly refused.
‘Talk about nerve,’ he muttered to himself.
Back at the hotel the party continued for a long time. Siggy was even allowed to drink champagne from a water jug. Zoe brought down some of her music tapes and soon the guests were dancing around the tables in the dining room. Siggy joined in, clomping around, and became so excited that he got Nosepicker out and seconds later it was firmly stuck in the ceiling – again. Siggy thought it was so funny he left it there.
‘It's like King Arthur and the sword in the stone,’ suggested Tim. Tibby threw her arms wide open and shouted across the room.
‘Hear ye! Whoever pulls this mighty Nosepicker from the ceiling will be the future King of England!’
Everyone collapsed laughing, ate far too much food and dragged themselves off to bed exhausted.
The following morning there seemed to be an awful lot of headaches around. Mr and Mrs Ellis eyed each other gloomily across the breakfast table. ‘I still don't know what we can find Sigurd to do,’ complained Mrs Ellis. ‘The judge said it had to be something harmless. That's impossible with Sigurd.’
Tim came marching into the room holding Nosepicker aloft. ‘I am the future King of England!’ he announced loudly.
‘Ssssh,’ murmured Mr Ellis. ‘Can't you see we're suffering? Anyway, we are trying to think of something for Siggy to do.’
‘Maybe Mrs Tibblethwaite can think of something,’ said Zoe.
‘After the way she battered those policemen the other day I'm beginning to wonder if she's as safe as she looks,’ said Mr Ellis. ‘The pair of them strike fear into the heart!’
Tim put down Nosepicker with a loud clunk. ‘I've just had a thought,’ he said.
‘Stand-by everyone!’ giggled Zoe. ‘Tim's had an idea!’
‘But it's a good one,’ said Tim. ‘I think Siggy and Mrs Tibblethwaite ought to become wrestlers.’
‘Wrestlers?’
‘Yes – wrestlers.’
‘WRESTLERS?!’
‘Like you see on television sometimes, a tag team. They can dress up like Viking warriors. They'd be brilliant.’
There was complete silence round the table. Zoe was about to burst out laughing when Mrs Tibblethwaite walked in. She was moving carefully and slowly, as if the soft pile of the carpet was unbearably painful to her feet. ‘I feel as if there's a road drill inside my head,’ she said. She sat down slowly. ‘Why is everyone looking at me?’ she asked.
‘Tim thinks that you and Siggy ought to be tag team wrestlers,’ said Zoe with a little laugh. Tim stuck his tongue out at her. Zoe smiled and stuck hers out too. Mrs Tibblethwaite held her throbbing head in her hands and looked across at Tim.
‘Just at this moment I don't think I could wrestle a pillow and win. But when I am feeling better, Tim, you and I are going to sit down and have a long chat. I think you are a genius. It's the most exciting idea I have heard for ages. Now, if you don't mind, I shall go back to bed until the roadworks inside my head have finished.’ Tibby got up and slowly left the room.
Mr and Mrs Ellis and Zoe stared across the table at Tim, who had a quite ridiculous grin across his entire face. ‘I'm a genius,’ he reminded them all, picking up Nosepicker once more. ‘And the future King of England!’ Zoe snorted and stamped out of the room.
Days passed in a whirlwind of activity. Posters went up all over the town. They were in shop windows, on lampposts, on cars, everywhere. The lettering was bright yellow and black and there was a colour photograph of Sigurd and Mrs Tibblethwaite in full Viking wrestling gear.
In a large empty room at the hotel, Sigurd and Tibby practised hard. Their first match was coming up fast, and they were up against one of the country's top tag teams, Grabbit and Grind. The two Vikings worked very hard and by the time the day of the wrestling match arrived they felt they were ready for anything.
Flotby Hall was packed out. It seemed as if everyone in the town had come to see the local celebrity and his wife in their first wrestling bout. The Ellis family had front row seats, and were barely able to control their excitement. They were astonished to see that Constable Pritty, Mr Thripp and Judge Farley were all in the audience.
A great cheer swept through the crowd as the main lights went out and the spotlights came on. There was a fanfare of trumpets and Grabbit and Grind appeared. Then another huge cheer went up as Sigurd and Tibby marched down to the ring. ‘Yeeehah!’ squealed Tim, and the bell pinged for the first round, Sigurd up against Grabbit.
First of all they circled each other, then there was a thunderous bang as they crashed into each other. Their arms locked and their muscles bulged. They grunted and heaved and hurled each other round the ring.
Zoe covered her eyes with her hands and then hastily uncovered them because she couldn't see anything. The wrestlers changed over. Grind threw herself at Mrs Tibblethwaite and they both fell to the floor. ‘Go on Tibby,’ screamed Zoe, beating her fists on her legs. Mr Ellis leaned back a calm smile on his face. He slipped an arm round his wife's shoulders.
‘Who'd have thought it would end like this?’ he whispered to her. ‘Look at those two in the ring. They are having the time of their lives. Tim was right and it was a brilliant idea. We've solved the hotel problem too. We shall have even more customers now thanks to Sigurd and Mrs Tibblethwaite. Even Constable Pritty and Mr Thripp seem to be enjoying themselves. It's wonderful.’
The bangs and thuds went on as Sigurd and Mrs Tibblethwaite battled away with their opponents. Sigurd was standing on the ropes, both arms raised to the ceiling. ‘By the God Thor!’ he yelled. ‘I telephone your neck!’ he bellowed at Grind.
‘Telephone your neck?’ repeated Mrs Ellis to Zoe.
‘I think he means he wants to wring her neck,’ Zoe explained.
Sigurd launched himself from the ropes and landed on top of Grabbit. ‘Now I make sacrifice to Thor!’ he cried.
‘Oh dear,’ groaned Mr Ellis. ‘It looks as if Siggy can even turn a wrestling match into a disaster area. I can't bear to watch!’ And Mr Ellis screwed up his eyes tightly and shoved his fingers in his ears, whilst all around him people cheered wildly as The Viking Warriors grappled their way to victory.
Siggy and Mrs Tibblethwaite stood proudly in the ring, arms above their heads in triumph. Everyone cheered and clapped until their hands were sore.
‘Dad, Dad,’ cried Zoe tugging at her father's arm. ‘It's all right, you can open your eyes now. Siggy and Mrs Tibblethwaite have won – they're a success!’
‘A success,’ muttered Mr Ellis, staring at Siggy with a look of amazement.
‘I suck eggs,’ Siggy shouted to him, hugging Mrs Tibblethwaite and grinning madly.
Mr Ellis looked at his wife in despair. ‘Do you think he'll ever be normal?’ he asked.
‘I shouldn't think so,’ she said. ‘Anyway, what does it matter, Siggy's a success just the way he is.’
Mr Ellis looked doubtful, but left Sig
gy to get on with things in his own peculiar way. For now, at least, it seemed the best way of coping with the daft Viking.
Viking at School
1
The Biggest Wrestling Match in the World
Mrs Tibblethwaite flew through the air, looking rather like an overstuffed rag-doll, and landed with an immense thud on the floor. She picked herself up and sighed groggily. It was strange being part of a top wrestling team. She stood and watched as a very large and scruffy Viking warrior zoomed over her head and crashed into the front row of the audience. Mrs Tibblethwaite sighed again. It was even stranger being married to a real Viking.
She climbed out of the ring and tried to pull Sigurd from the laps of three startled, elderly ladies, but they clung on to him and threatened Mrs Tibblethwaite with their bulging handbags.
‘We're going to keep him!’ screeched the lady with huge, horn-rimmed glasses.
‘You can't keep him,’ explained Mrs Tibblethwaite. ‘We are in the middle of a wrestling match, and besides, he's my husband.’
‘Well you can't have him,’ insisted the lady with thick brown stockings, locking both her arms round Sigurd's hairy head. ‘He belongs to us. We're his fan club.’
This was too much for Sigurd. The prospect of being carried off by three old age pensioners was a real blow to his pride. A Viking being kidnapped by women! It was unheard of! He was supposed to capture them! Sigurd leapt to his feet and scowled at the three old ladies. He'd show them!
‘I kidnap you!’ he cried. ‘I take you home. Now I have three sleeves.’
The ladies looked at Sigurd, glanced at each other and shook their heads with bewilderment. ‘You've only got two arms,’ observed the horn-rimmed glasses, ‘so how come you've got three sleeves?’ But before they could say anything more Sigurd began to pluck them from their seats.
‘You my sleeves!’ he cried, tossing brown-stockings over his shoulder. ‘You do anything I say!’
Mrs Tibblethwaite shook her head. ‘I think you mean “slave” Sigurd, not “sleeve”. Anyway, they can't be your slaves. That sort of thing isn't allowed any more.’
‘We don't mind!’ cried the three old ladies, hanging halfway down Sigurd's back. ‘We love Siggy - he's our hero!’
Mrs Tibblethwaite shut her eyes and sat down on the edge of the wrestling ring. This was always happening. Whenever they appeared as one of the country's top tag-wrestling teams half the old women in the audience fainted and swooned. They threw their hankies at Sigurd, and their pension books. And they always tried to sneak off with him.
Suddenly, Mrs Tibblethwaite was brought back to life by a loud and angry voice from above her head. ‘Oi! Are you two fighting us or not?’ shouted Bone-Cruncher Boggis, leaning over the ropes.
He had a shiny, bald head and he was wearing a black, spangly leotard with ‘MAD AND BAD’ written across the front in silver letters. He reached down with a long, hairy arm and grabbed Mrs Tibblethwaite by one ear. ‘Ow!’
Sigurd dropped the three ladies at once and rushed across to help his wife. ‘You leave my Tibby!’ he cried. ‘You nasty big belly!’
‘Who are you calling a big belly?’ demanded Monster Mash, Bone-Cruncher's partner.
‘He means bully,’ squawked Mrs Tibblethwaite. ‘He's calling you a big bully. Ow!’
Sigurd was not going to put up with any more of this. He leapt into the ring and seized Bone-Cruncher by one leg, dragging him across the floor. Monster Mash threw himself on top of Sigurd and all four of them rolled round and round the ring, making various squashed and squidged noises such as ‘Oof!’ and ‘Urrrff!’. Then Monster Mash jumped on top of Sigurd, and struck a triumphant pose. The breath came out of Sigurd's flattened chest like the air rushing from a whoopee cushion…
‘Sspplllllrrrrrrrrrr!’
The three pensioners watched in dismay. Their hero was about to be beaten! In desperation, they clambered into the ring and started attacking Monster Mash and Bone-Cruncher with their handbags. ‘Take that!’
‘Leave Siggy alone!’
‘Bullies!’
The poor referee tried to intervene, but he was quickly caught in the crossfire of several whirling handbags and sank to the floor unconscious. Other members of the audience hurried from their seats to join in the battle. Some of them were fans of Monster Mash and Bone-Cruncher and it was not long before the entire wrestling ring was filled with noisy, struggling bodies. After a few minutes, the fight spilled out beyond the ropes, on to the floor, up the aisles and amongst the audience.
Then the police - arrived - all four of them. It wasn't enough of course and they sent for reinforcements. Thirty more policeman hurried to the scene. But that wasn't enough either. By now, the entire audience were at each other's throats. Even more reinforcements were sent for and eventually the Fire Brigade arrived and hosed everyone down. That stopped the fighting, but it didn't stop the quarrelling.
‘Who started it?’ demanded Inspector Hole, tipping a litre of water out of his hat.
‘He did!’
‘No - she did!’
‘It was the Viking!’
Fingers pointed in every direction, but mostly they pointed at Sigurd. He crawled out from beneath a squelchy pile of bodies, looking rather bedraggled. Inspector Hole sized him up cautiously. Oh yes! Here was the culprit if ever there was one.
‘Dressing up as a Viking eh?’ he sniggered. ‘That's a bit childish, isn't it?’
Mrs Tibblethwaite bristled. ‘He's a real Viking,’ she snapped.
‘Oh yes? And how's that then?’ the inspector smirked.
‘Sigurd sailed to England in a Viking longship with a raiding party a thousand years ago. He got separated from the others, went through some kind of Time-mist and ended up in our time; now he's my husband.’
Inspector Hole wrinkled his nose. ‘Sounds like you've been watching too many fantasy films,’ he muttered. ‘Right then, let's see - causing a disturbance - that's about five years in prison. Fighting in public, assault, starting a riot, damaging property - and didn't you say he was some kind of raider? That's definitely not allowed nowadays. Must be another forty years or so…’
‘You can't send him to prison!’ cried Mrs Tibblethwaite.
‘Yes you can!’ shouted the referee. ‘He's a menace to society - they both are. If it hadn't been for them this would never have happened. Look at my Wrestling Hall! It will cost thousands of pounds to repair all this.’
Inspector Hole fished around in his pockets for a pair of handcuffs. Sigurd looked most upset. ‘I good boy,’ he muttered.
‘Yes he is,’ agreed one of the pensioners. ‘It wasn't his fault, officer. If you try and send him to prison we shall complain to the Police Authorities.’ Sigurd grinned cheerfully at Inspector Hole.
‘They my sleeves,’ he explained somewhat confusingly.
Inspector Hole heaved a deep, deep sigh. It was obvious the crowd would make trouble if he tried to arrest the Viking and his wife. ‘Okay everyone,’ he grumbled. ‘The fun's over. You'd better all go home before I decide to make a mass arrest.’
The referee was beside himself. ‘Aren't you going to do anything?’ he demanded. ‘My hall is ruined.’
‘Nothing I can do I'm afraid,’ said the inspector, but the referee wasn't going to put up with this.
‘Okay. If you won't do anything, I will.’ He fixed Mrs Tibblethwaite and Sigurd with a stern eye. ‘You two are banned,’ he declared, ‘and not just in my wrestling hall, but anywhere in the world. You'll never wrestle again. You're banned for life!’ The ref turned and stalked back inside his sodden hall.
Inspector Hole grinned maliciously. ‘Well, it looks like you two are out of a job,’ he sniggered. ‘Serves you right,’ he added as he got into his car and drove off. The Fire Brigade packed away their hoses and drove off. Slowly, the crowd began to squelch back to their homes. Even the three old ladies shuffled away, quietly crying into their cardigans.
It took a little while for Sigurd to understand what
had happened. ‘No more bish-bash?’ he asked. Mrs T. shook her head. ‘No more squish-squash?’
‘No,’ said Mrs Tibblethwaite.
‘No more leg-wrinkles and head-crinkles?’
‘NO!’ shouted Mrs Tibblethwaite impatiently.
‘You cross,’ he observed.
‘Yes! I'm cross!’
‘You very cross.’
‘Yes! I'm very cross!’ cried Mrs Tibblethwaite.
‘You very, very, VERY cross!’ said Sigurd.
‘Oh for goodness' sake shut up!’ yelled poor Mrs Tibblethwaite, and she belted Sigurd so hard with her handbag that it stuck on one of his helmet horns.
As he struggled to pull it off, the clasp on the bag opened and half her belongings tinkled out through the hole.
Mrs Tibblethwaite wearily got down on her hands and knees and began to pick everything up. ‘I wish you understood how serious this is, Siggy,’ she told him. ‘We shall never be able to wrestle again. We have no work, and that means we have no money. How are we going to live?’
Sigurd looked at his wife with a cheerful grin. ‘Easy-peasy, Japanesey,’ he said. ‘We go see Mr and Mrs Ellis, and Tim and Zoe. We go back to Viking Hotel and God's your ankle!’
‘Bob's your uncle,’ corrected Mrs Tibblethwaite, before falling into silent thought. Go back to The Viking Hotel? Perhaps that would be the best thing to do - at least for the time being. Mind you, Sigurd was such a handful. He always seemed to bring trouble wherever he went. Mrs Tibblethwaite wondered what Mr and Mrs Ellis would think about the return of the Viking.
2
A Severe Case of Vikingitis
Zoe and Tim were delighted. They could not think of anything better than having Sigurd back at The Viking Hotel. They hurtled down the front steps of the hotel and launched themselves at the new guests.
There's a Viking in My Bed and Other Stories Page 8
