The Random Reader
New Zealand
Children’s Stories
Volume One
These stories will make you laugh, giggle, snigger and snort. Written by top New Zealand writers, this is the perfect collection of children’s stories for dipping into, devouring all in one go or going back to time after time.
This classic selection from the luminaries of New Zealand children’s literature works for children from 5 to 105 with its focus on fun, good writing, cheekiness and word play.
Previously published in Random House New Zealand’s much-loved long running anthologies edited by Jo Noble and Barbara Else and illustrated by David Elliot and Philip Webb, these stories will remind you how good writing for children can be.
Contents
Title Page
Green Marmalade to You
Margaret Mahy
Cliff Minestrone
Kate De Goldi
Wool You Join Us?
David Hill
Ms Winsley and the Pirate Who Didn’t Have a Problem
Barbara Else
The Giant Weta Detective Agency
James Norcliffe
Uncle Trev and the Howling Dog Service
Jack Lasenby
Why Anna Hung Upside Down
Margaret Mahy
Leila’s Lunch
Jane Buxton
The Earth Moving Business
Fleur Beale
How Hugo Wart Hog Found True Happiness
Roger Hall
Bone Growing
Janice Marriott
Mrs Black and the Maths Attack
Pat Quinn
Trick or Treat
James Norcliffe
The Reading Room
Joy Cowley
Pass It On
David Hill
Copyright
Green Marmalade to You
Margaret Mahy
There was once a boy called Clutha who lived with a cat and a crocodile, and they were very happy together. The strange thing was that each of them spoke a different language from the other two so that ordinary conversation was full of guesses and question marks. However, mostly they understood each other very well.
One day they all got up together, and each one of them opened his bedroom door at exactly the same time as the other two.
“Good morning,” said Clutha.
“Gone mooning,” said the cat.
“Green marmalade!” cried the crocodile.
(But they all meant the same thing really.)
“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” called Clutha.
“It’s a lively doe, isn’t it?” observed the cat.
“Ladylike Ding-Dong!” exclaimed the crocodile, putting up its blue frilly sunshade to prove it.
(But, as you will have guessed, they all meant the same thing really.)
Now the problem was to find something they all liked for breakfast. Clutha wanted porridge, and the cat said he wanted chops (though he may have meant chips). As for the crocodile, it couldn’t choose between cheese and cherries so they decided to have something totally different.
“How about bacon and eggs?” asked Clutha. “Very tasty, bacon and eggs!”
“Break-in and exit! Very toasty!” agreed the cat.
“Broken explosions. Very twisty!” the crocodile concurred, twirling its blue sunshade.
So they had broken explosions for breakfast and they enjoyed them very much. But after breakfast there is always a problem, as you know. Dirty dishes!
“We’d better do the washing up, I suppose,” said Clutha.
“We’d batter down the swishing cup,” nodded the cat.
“Buttered clown is wishing out,” finished the crocodile — or it sounded like that.
So they did the dishes and then they went out to play.
Now, maybe one green marmalade you’ll wake up on a ladylike ding-dong and have broken explosions for breakfast too — you’ll find them very twisty! But don’t forget to butter the clown and swish the cup when you do the wishing out, will you?
‘Green Marmalade to You’ was first published by Random House New Zealand in 30 New Zealand Stories for Children in October 2000.
Cliff Minestrone
Kate De Goldi
During Foods of the World Week Room 5 had Japanese cooking demos from Setsuko’s mother; Room 6 did Tongan food with Tevita’s grandmother, but Ms Love’s class had an Italian Chef called Cliff Minestrone.
Cliff Minestrone wore colourful striped trousers, a blue neckerchief, and a faded red apron with oil spots all over. He had long grey hair in a ponytail. He wore dark glasses and carried a walking stick. He had a small leather suitcase with knives inside and a rubber garlic peeler.
“Buon giorno!” he called to Room 8 and kissed Ms Love noisily on both cheeks. “You lika to eatta?”
“Yeah!!!!” yelled Room 8.
“Toodayee we maka the minestrone, lika my name! First you taka the onions!”
“Minestrone means vegetable soup,” Freddy told his Dad that night. Dad had made soup, too. Horrible tomato with milky spots and skin floating. Freddy sipped three spoonfuls then pushed his plate away.
“Oh, I see,” said Dad, “not as good as Cliff’s, eh?”
On Tuesday Cliff Minestrone arrived with a large black cauldron.
“You lika da pasta?” he asked.
“Si!” yelled Room 8. Si meant Yes in Italian.
“First you taka your garleec,” said Cliff. Freddy got to use the rubber garlic peeler. Carla poured the olive oil. Alex cut up the bacon and Cliff whisked the eggs and cream.
“Itsa varrry richa theesa salsa,” said Cliff. Salsa meant sauce.
That night Freddy and Dad ate pasta too. Dad had pasta with mushroom sauce and grated cheese. Freddy had pasta-without-sauce-or-cheese. He poked at his lump of plain pasta.
“Your pasta is always so dry,” he complained.
“What do you expect when you won’t eat my sauce?” said Dad.
“I liked Cliff Minestrone’s sauce,” said Freddy. “It’s called Spaghetti alIa carbonara!” He said it just like Cliff Minestrone; he waved his fork in the air like Cliff, too.
On Wednesday Cliff Minestrone came through the door weighed down with a big bag.
“Buon giorno!” shouted Room 8. They all watched Cliff kiss Ms Love noisily.
“Toodaya,”said Cliff, “todaya we do muscoli! Muscoli al forno! First taka your muscoli!” He split open the bag and fresh mussels poured into the sink with a clatter.
Freddy told Dad all about it that night as Dad was serving up the fish for dinner. Freddy made a face at the fish.
“What’s wrong with it?” said Dad. “It’s from the sea like mussels.”
“It smells,” said Freddy. “And it’s just called fish. Not Fisho al forno.” He waved his hands and rolled his eyes, like Cliff Minestrone.
“ls that right?” said Dad.
On Thursday Cliff came into Room 8 with six long sticks of bread.
“BUON GIORNO!” yelled Room 8. “Come stai?” That meant, “How’s it going?”
“Todayee weara gonna do crostini con olive. First taka your oleeves!”
This time Billy rubbed the garlic, Kendal poured the oil and Jake and Sam W. chopped the olives. Cliff sliced the bread with his long, shiny knife.
That night Freddy and Dad had meat-loaf sandwiches with pickle and cheese. The bread was just like Cliff’s but it didn’t taste the same.
“I suppose Cliff Minestrone doesn’t have boring old bread,” said Dad.
“He has bread,” said Freddy. “But it’s not boring. It’s crostini and it’s crunchy and a corrverred weeth oleeves.”
He waved his hands and rolled his eyes an
d shrugged his shoulders.
“No kidding,” said Dad.
On Friday there was no cooking but Room 8 ate heaps.
“Firsta take your bowl!” said Cliff. “Then taka your spoon!”
“Then getta your cassata,” said Cliff, kissing the air noisily. Cassata was a famous Italian ice cream. And it was Cliff’s all-time favourite so he had second helpings.
And then, when Cliff Minestrone had licked his last spoonful, he picked up his suitcase and walking stick; he kissed Ms Love noisily on both cheeks and called Arriverderci to Room 8. Arriverderci meant goodbye.
“Arriverderci,” yelled Room 8. They waved and blew noisy kisses to Cliff as he disappeared through the door.
When Freddy arrived home that afternoon he nearly fell over with surprise. Sitting at the kitchen table with his suitcase and stick was Cliff Minestrone.
“Buon giorno,” said Cliff.
“Buon giorno,” said Freddy. “How come you’re at my house? Where’s my Dad?”
Then Cliff did the strangest thing. He took off his dark glasses and put them on the table. Then he took off his grey pony-tailed hair.
Freddy stared at the grey hair sitting on the table. It was a wig.
He looked hard at Cliff Minestrone.
“Buon giorno, Freddy,” said Cliff in a very different sort of voice.
Dad’s voice! Freddy felt his mouth fall open.
“Don’t be mad,” said Dad.
“You mean …” started Freddy.
“Yes,” said Dad, opening the suitcase and taking out a red, oil-spotted apron.
“You were …” said Freddy. He couldn’t take his eyes off Dad in Cliff’s clothes.
“I was Cliff,” said Dad. He took out a sharp knife.
“Every day?” Freddy asked.
“Every day,” said Dad, lifting a bag of groceries up onto the bench. “Good thing, too — now I know what you really like.”
Freddy looked at Dad Minestrone for a long time, trying to decide whether to be mad or not about the trick.
Finally he bent down and got the rubber garlic peeler out of the suitcase.
“First,” he said to Dad, “first you taka da garleec.”
‘Cliff Minestrone’ was first published by Random House New Zealand in Another 30 New Zealand Stories for Children in October 2002.
Wool You Join Us?
David Hill
When I came into Room Ten on Wednesday morning, all the kids were down the far end.
The girls were going, “Oh, so cute!”
The guys were going, “Looks like you, Jarrod … Nah, looks like you, Matiu.”
I pushed through the crowd of kids, and stared. It was a poodle. No, a baby goat. No, a — “It’s a lamb!” I said.
“Hey,” went Matiu. “What do you call stories told by a baby sheep? Lamb’s Tales.”
Tamsin had brought the lamb to school. “She’s our first lamb born this year,” Tamsin said. “Her mother had twins, but she hasn’t got enough milk for both of them, so we’re feeding this one from a bottle.”
“Hey,” went Matiu. “What do you get when you cross a lamb with a kangaroo? A woolly jumper.”
Tamsin took no notice of him. She pulled a baby’s bottle out of her bag, and next minute — Glomp! The lamb was sucking away flat out. Her head bunted, her tail waggled, milk dribbled down her chin. Just like my little sister Stacey — except for the tail.
“What’s she called, Tamsin?” our teacher Ms Mika asked.
“Yeah,” said Jarrod. “Is she called Baaaarbie?”
“No,” Tamsin told him. “She’s called Pam. Pam the Lamb.”
Pam the Lamb curled up on the floor beside Tamsin’s desk. A couple of times she went “Baaaa!” So all Room Ten went “Baaaa!” back to her — until Ms Mika said that anyone who kept doing that would end up on a baaaarbecue.
Pam had another bottle at interval. “Why’s she shaking?” someone asked. “All lambs shake,” said Andrew, who lives on a farm like Tamsin. “lt’s because their hearts beat so fast.”
“Hey,” went Matiu. “What did the farmer say to insult the lady sheep? Ewe Idiot!”
After interval, we had Personal Writing. “I’m going to write some nursery rhymes,” Ripeka Matthews announced.
“Tamsin had a little lamb …”
“Yeah,” said Jarrod. “Tamsin had a little lamb. A little pork. A little ham …”
We’d been writing for about ten minutes when Tamsin looked down at Pam and put her hand up. “Er … Ms Mika? Pam’s done a puddle on the floor.”
She is like my little sister Stacey, I thought. Ms Mika sighed. “Find Mr Chan the caretaker. Get some disinfectant and a bucket of water.”
At lunchtime, Tamsin put a leash on Pam’s collar and we took her outside. The guys all wanted to teach Pam how to play soccer, but Tamsin said no, she and her friends were going to read Pam some Hairy Maclary stories.
“Hairy Maclary?” Jarrod asked. “Don’t you mean Woolly MacPully?”
“Hey,” went Matiu. “What did the sailor call when he saw the lamb’s parents? Sheep Ahoy!”
After lunch, we had our usual Wednesday Afternoon Girls versus Guys Word-Quiz. The girls said that Pam was going to be in their team.
“Now,” said Ms Mika. “What’s the name for a bank of sand formed when a river meets the sea? A sand …?”
“Baaaa!” went Pam.
“Right!” said Ms Mika. “A sand bar. Well done, Pam. A point for the girls.”
“Awww!” groaned all the guys.
“Next word,” said Ms Mika. “The name for the part of a bike you steer with. A handle …?”
“Baaaa!” went Pam again.
“Right!” said Ms Mika. “Another point for the girls.”
“Awww!” groaned all the guys again.
When the quiz was over, Pam had some more milk, and went to sleep beside Tamsin’s desk.
After a while Jarrod suddenly yelled, “Look! Pam’s eating my science project!”
She was, too. A piece of green paper was just vanishing into her mouth.
“What’s your project about, Jarrod?” someone asked.
“It’s about healthy diets,” Jarrod replied. “Why’s everyone laughing?”
“Hey,” went Matiu. “What did the man sing when he was shearing the friendly sheep? ‘Fleece A Jolly Good Fellow’.”
We worked on for another quarter of an hour. Then Tamsin looked down and put up her hand again. “Er … Ms Mika?”
“Another puddle?” our teacher asked.
“Ummm … not a puddle exactly,” Tamsin said. Sure enough, kids near her desk were holding their noses.
Ms Mika sighed again. “Find Mr Chan the caretaker. Get some disinfectant and a big bucket of water.”
When we were packing up that afternoon, Ms Mika said, “Andrew, if any lambs are born on your farm tonight, just bring a photo of them.” Andrew grinned.
Next morning in class, Ms Mika was calling out everyone’s names. Andrew wasn’t there. Then the door opened, and Andrew looked in. He was holding a rope tied to something outside. “Hey, Ms Mika …” he began.
Our teacher stared. “Andrew, I told you not to bring any lambs along!”
Andrew shook his head. “Nah. Nah, I haven’t brought a lamb.”
“MOOOOO!” went the something outside.
‘Wool You Join Us?’ was first published by Random House New Zealand in Claws & Jaws: 30 New Zealand Animal Stories in October 2004.
Ms Winsley and the Pirate Who Didn’t Have a Problem
Barbara Else
Ms Winsley tightened the straps of her bright red togs. “Holidays are great,” she said. “I am longing for a swim.”
She waved to the parrots in the palm trees, called “Lovely weather!” to the kangaroos and ran down to test the water with her toe.
A very small person in a big black hat rowed a dinghy to the shore, climbed out and gazed around.
“Bother, bother, darn it,” said the person.
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“I am not here to work,” said Ms Winsley to herself. She took one step into the water.
“It’s not fair!” cried the person.
“I am here to have a holiday,” Ms Winsley muttered firmly.
The person heaved a sorrowful sigh and made a choking sound. Ms Winsley could tell he would burst into tears any moment. She tried hard to take no notice. She tried incredibly hard. But it was no good, none at all.
“Excuse me,” Ms Winsley said. “But do you have a problem?”
The person’s lip trembled under his ginger moustache.
Sure enough, a tear trickled down beneath the patch on his left eye. “No,” he said. “Oh no. It’s not a problem for a pirate, if he doesn’t have a parrot.”
“You’re a pirate?” asked Ms Winsley.
“Call me Quentin,” said the pirate.
“Cool,” Ms Winsley said. “You rove the seven seas and shout out, Yo-ho-ho! Then you search for desert isles where you bury treasure chests chock-a-block with precious jewels!”
“And none of us have problems,” Quentin said. “Never.”
He hid his face behind his big black hat. Ms Winsley heard a sob.
“I run Tricky Situation Services,” she said. “I’m a consultant. I specialise in fixing problems.” She squinched her toes up in the water, and whistled.
The pirate buried his face further in his hat.
“I’m very good at problems,” said Ms Winsley. “Not that I’m boasting.”
Quentin pulled his hat down to his chest and peered at her over the brim.
“Oh, go on,” said Ms Winsley.
“It’s like this,” Quentin said. “All the other blokes had parrots. All but me. So I bought a really big one, very cheap. It was going to sit on my shoulder like all the other parrots do. It was going to squawk Polly wants a cracker.”
He hid his face behind his hat again. “But it wouldn’t. And it couldn’t. And I really loved my parrot even so. But it ran off.”
“You mean it flew off,” said Ms Winsley. “Parrots fly.”
“This one ran,” repeated the pirate. “So here I am with nothing. Nothing but my broken heart.” Another tear ran down his cheek. “But of course that’s not a problem for a pirate.” He dabbed his eyes on his hat brim.
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