by R. A. Spratt
‘It wasn’t me!’ protested Mayor Bloomsbridge.
‘Don’t think your lack of initiative wins you any favours with me,’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘I fully intend to give you a good hard bite on the shins because I’m just that annoyed.’
‘It wasn’t me either,’ protested Mr Green, a lot less convincingly. ‘I didn’t do it. You can’t prove I bribed the lift technician. There is no evidence that will stand up against me in a court of law.’
‘I have no intention of taking this matter to a court of law,’ said Nanny Piggins in an ominously low whisper. ‘I’m going to take this matter to the court of my foot, which I shall soon be planting on your bottom for being such a disgraceful man.’
‘Someone stop her!’ pleaded Mr Green as he ran and tried to hide behind the debate moderator. This only did further damage to his campaign, because in reality the moderator was a heavily pregnant woman (not a pirate), and Mr Green using her as a human shield was not a pretty image for the television news bulletin.
‘How dare you tamper with the lift to trap us in a dark lift shaft just so you could blather on here in front of the cameras,’ accused Nanny Piggins. ‘I can understand you doing it to me. But your own children?! Have you no sense of decency?’
‘I’m a tax lawyer,’ said Mr Green. ‘They train us not to.’
What followed was an extremely exciting half hour of television. First of all Nanny Piggins chased Mr Green and Mayor Bloomsbridge around and around the studio, and then there was a lot of wrestling, some begging for mercy and a good long telling off. The audience enjoyed every moment of it. They unanimously agreed that Nanny Piggins was the clear winner of the debate. Even her policies impressed them. But then political policies do sound more impressive when you yell them at a political rival while sitting on him and giving him a wet willy.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ said the producer as she escorted Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children back to their car.
‘What for? For rescuing you from the lift?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘Oh yes, that was very kind of you,’ agreed the producer, ‘but thank you for making some really great television.’
‘You do realise that the future leadership of our town is at stake too, don’t you?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘Oh yes, and of course that’s important as well,’ agreed the producer.
‘Did you enjoy the debate?’ asked Derrick as they drove home.
‘Oh yes,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Secretly, I’m even grateful to Mr Green for trapping me in the lift shaft. It meant I got to avoid all that boring talking they did at the beginning and just sweep in for the fun wrestling bit at the end.’
‘You know, political debates don’t normally include wrestling,’ said Derrick.
‘Really?!’ said Nanny Piggins, genuinely surprised. ‘They jolly well should. It’s the best bit as far as I can see. I think it humanises the candidates to see their faces squashed into a linoleum floor.’
Derrick, Samantha and Michael were having a very dull Saturday. For the first time since Nanny Piggins had become their nanny, they were teetering on the edge of having absolutely nothing to do because at 8 o’clock that morning, Nanny Piggins had left the house to join a roadside litter picking-up crew as a photo opportunity for her mayoral campaign.
Nanny Piggins was not trying to make a point about the deplorable amount of litter on their local roads under the current mayor’s administration. She was trying to make a point about local petty criminals who were forced to spend their weekends picking it up. She thought it was a terrible waste of their time.
‘Burglars, petty thieves and vandals have much better things to do,’ argued Nanny Piggins. ‘The burglars are good at breaking into things so they could spend their time helping people who have locked themselves out of their homes or cars. And instead of paying for roadside signs, the council could just get the vandals to spray important civic messages like “Don’t forget to wear a seatbelt” and “Please don’t run anybody over with your car”.’
‘But who would pick up the rubbish then?’ asked Derrick.
‘All the useless people who wouldn’t be missed elsewhere,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Headmaster Pimplestock for a start. I’m sure the school would run much more efficiently without him. Then if you round up all the insurance salesmen and lawyers, and maths teachers – give them a pointy stick and a sack and they could finally do an honest day’s work.’
Normally Nanny Piggins would have taken the children with her. She found that even the most tedious occasions could end up being educational, especially if you released a rat or threw someone in a swamp. But on this occasion the children were not allowed to join her, because of the occupational health and safety rules – you had to be over 18 to pick up rubbish. Nanny Piggins was all for dyeing their hair grey and setting them up with fake moustaches, but the children thought it better if she waited until she was mayor before she started flagrantly disobeying council regulations.
And so it was 10.53 in the morning. Derrick, Samantha and Michael had done all their homework, tidied their rooms, whipped up a chocolate cake to cheer up their nanny when she eventually got home, and now they were at a loss as to what to do with themselves.
‘What would Nanny Piggins want us to do?’ asked Michael.
‘Go frog catching?’ guessed Samantha.
‘Drop something off the roof?’ guessed Derrick.
‘She’d probably want us to go and rescue her from picking up rubbish,’ guessed Boris.
All four of them sighed simultaneously.
‘What did we used to do on Saturdays before Nanny Piggins was around?’ asked Samantha.
‘We had empty meaningless lives,’ said Derrick.
They all sighed again.
Saturday became much more interesting when Nanny Piggins burst in through the back door.
‘Thank goodness you’re all here!’ she exclaimed.
Nanny Piggins looked quite a sight. Her hair was messy. Her clothes were grubby. And she actually looked like she had been sweating. (And sweating was something she usually never did because she deeply resented the expression ‘sweating like a pig’.) But most shockingly of all, she was wearing a bright orange iridescent vest that did not go with her lavender frock at all.
‘Sarah!’ exclaimed Boris. ‘What are you wearing?’
‘What?’ said Nanny Piggins, before looking down and noticing the hideous glowing vest. ‘Oh yes, they made me wear it. They said it was so cars wouldn’t hit me. But I said I would rather be hit by a car than look so awful.’
‘You poor thing,’ said Boris, clutching his sister to his chest in a big bear hug.
‘Actually it wasn’t too bad,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘They gave us each a garbage bag and a long stick with a nail in it. We were supposed to use the stick to pick up litter but I found it was equally good for poking the supervisor in the bottom when she looked the other way.’
‘You didn’t!’ exclaimed Samantha.
‘Oh yes I did,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I thought if she was going to ruin everyone’s Saturday morning by making them pick up litter, then I would ruin her afternoon by making her get a tetanus injection.’
‘So you had a bad time?’ asked Derrick.
‘On the contrary, picking up litter was wonderful!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘We should do it sometime. It’s tremendous fun. It is amazing what people throw out of their car windows. Sure, there are lots of useless things like food wrappers, mobile phones and country and western CDs. And they do sometimes purposefully throw them at your head. But that only makes the job more exciting, because it is quite a challenge to catch a half-eaten hamburger and throw it back at the same car it came from. I was much better at it than any of the other community servers and we had a professional cricket player in our group. But sometimes people throw really good things out of their cars.’
‘Like what?’ asked Derrick doubtfully.
‘Like half-eaten cake,’ said Nann
y Piggins. ‘One driver threw a delicious lemon tart right into my open mouth.’
‘No!’ exclaimed Michael disbelievingly.
‘All right, I did have to run fifty metres and leap up in the air to catch it in my open mouth, but that’s definitely where it landed,’ clarified Nanny Piggins.
‘That doesn’t sound very hygienic,’ worried Samantha.
‘It’s all right, I didn’t touch it with my hands,’ Nanny Piggins assured her. ‘But that’s not the best bit. That’s not the reason why I’m home early.’
‘Yes, I was wondering about that,’ said Samantha. ‘You said you wouldn’t be home until 6 o’clock.’
‘I know,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘but I just had to tie the supervisor to a bush and run off right away, as soon as I found this.’
Nanny Piggins took a sheet of folded paper out of her pocket and laid it on the table. The paper looked old and worn around the edges – more cloth-like than paper-like. And as she unfolded it they could all see an array of strange drawings and notations.
‘What is it?’ asked Michael.
‘A treasure map!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins.
‘You found a treasure map on the side of the road?’ asked Derrick, again doubtfully.
‘Perhaps a pirate threw it out of his window as he drove past,’ guessed Nanny Piggins.
‘It looks like it’s a map of our town,’ said Derrick. ‘An old map before there were any buildings.’
‘Exactly, from the olden pirate days,’ agreed Nanny Piggins.
‘How could an olden days pirate throw this out of a car window?’ asked Samantha. ‘Pirates haven’t been around for hundreds of years.’
‘Perhaps he left instructions in his will for his great-great-great grandson to throw it out of a car window?’ suggested Nanny Piggins.
‘But how would he have known cars were going to be invented?’ asked Michael.
‘He must have been a very clever pirate,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Look, there’s an X!’ said Derrick as he peered closely at the map.
‘Yes, I saw that,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘The map maker must have made a spelling mistake there and had to cross it out.’
‘No, X marks the spot,’ explained Derrick. ‘That’s where the treasure must be.’
‘Really?’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘It’s as simple as that? I thought there would be invisible ink, or a riddle to solve, or something.’
‘We could find some riddles to solve if you like,’ said Michael.
‘No thank you,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I don’t really care for riddles. I can never think of the answer because I’m too busy thinking about biting the person for asking such a silly question in the first place.’
Nanny Piggins rolled the map back up and tucked it inside her iridescent vest. ‘All right, gather up all the essential supplies. We’ll be heading out to find the pirate treasure and untold riches in five minutes.’
‘What essential supplies?’ asked Michael.
‘All the cake we can carry, of course,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Treasure hunting is sure to be hungry work.’
‘Shouldn’t we take a compass?’ asked Michael.
‘You can if you like,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘but I don’t see that there’s any need to. I always know exactly which way is which. The Slimbridge Cake Factory is south. Hans’ Bakery is west. Mrs Hesselstein’s Chocolatorium is east. And Santa’s house is north. So you can tell which way is which just by sniffing the air.’
‘What does Santa’s house smell like?’ asked Samantha. (Her own nose was not capable of sensing one dwelling in the Arctic Circle.)
‘Peppermint sticks,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘and reindeer poop. He really should get the elves to muck out the stable more frequently.’
Just then there was a loud knock at the door.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
‘Nanny Piggins, we know you’re in there, we can see your muddy trotter prints going down the side of the house,’ called the Police Sergeant. ‘Please come out. If you come back to the litter collection team right away and say you’re sorry, the supervisor isn’t going to press charges.’
‘The poor Police Sergeant, he’s such a sweetie,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Remind me to bake him a batch of jim-jams when all this is over.’
‘But his favourite is shortbread biscuits,’ argued Samantha.
‘I know,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘but he really needs to broaden his horizons. Man cannot live by shortbread alone. Although I believe several Scottish people have had fun trying.’
‘I’m going to give you to the count of ten and then I’m going to have to kick the door in,’ warned the Police Sergeant. ‘I really don’t want to damage your lock, or my foot, so I would really appreciate it if you would open up. One . . .’
‘Quick!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘There’s no time for supplies. Everybody, out the window!’
Nanny Piggins leapt out the open kitchen window.
‘Why can’t we go out the back door?’ asked Derrick.
‘Probably because it’s not as much fun,’ guessed Michael as he clambered up on the kitchen sink and followed his nanny.
A short time later they were sneaking down the back alley behind their house. Nanny Piggins had disguised herself as a wisteria bush (the flowers looked lovely with her dress). Although, while they did entirely cover her face, she had neglected to obscure the iridescent vest.
Fortunately, however, the Police Constable had hurt his foot when he kicked in the front door, so the Police Sergeant had to take him to hospital, which bought them some time.
And so just a few short hours later, by using the still existing geographical features of the map and Nanny Piggins’ unique nasal compass, they found themselves on the edge of town, standing outside the gates of Dulsford Estate.
‘The treasure is in there,’ declared Nanny Piggins, checking the map, then sniffing the air just to be sure. ‘Yes, nor-north east of the bend in the river. And . . .’ she sniffed the air again, ‘four miles to the east of Hans’ bakery.’
‘But we can’t get in there,’ protested Derrick. ‘Mr Dulsford, the richest man in Dulsford, lives there.’
‘Plus those walls must be at least 25 feet high,’ added Michael.
‘It’s very antisocial,’ complained Boris. ‘I’m not used to finding walls I can’t peek over. It makes me suspect they must have vast vats of honey on the other side. Why else would they go to so much trouble to make their wall bearproof?’
‘Pish to that!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m the world’s greatest flying pig. I’m not going to let a little thing like a 25 foot stone wall stop me.’
‘I think there is broken glass cemented to the top of it,’ warned Michael.
‘I’m going to get over it without even touching the top,’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘Just you watch.’
Nanny Piggins disappeared into the nearby woods. After a few moments they could hear the sound of leaves rustling, as Nanny Piggins climbed a tree; then they heard the sound of a great big branch being ripped off that tree. Nanny Piggins emerged from the woods a few seconds later dragging a huge leafy branch.
‘What are you going to do with that?’ asked Derrick.
‘Are you going to disguise yourself as a Trojan Tree,’ guessed Boris, ‘and leave yourself outside the gates in the hope that Mr Dulsford is a great tree lover who will take you inside, where you can leap out and attack him?’
‘No, although that would have been a jolly good plan too,’ conceded Nanny Piggins. ‘No, I’ve got an even better idea. Just watch.’
Nanny Piggins took out her nail file and began whittling. It was quite an astonishing display. There are machines at lumber yards that cannot strip a tree as quickly as Nanny Piggins with a nail file. Within a few short minutes she had reduced the big bushy branch to one long pole.
‘Are you going to use that to poke Mr Dulsford through the slates in the gate?’ guessed Boris.
‘No,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘at least not
at first. I may try that if this doesn’t work. I’m going to use this long stick to pole-vault over the wall.’
‘But the world record for pole-vault is 20.177 feet,’ protested Derrick, ‘and that’s with a proper fibre-glass pole.’
‘World record by who?’ demanded Nanny Piggins.
‘Serge Bubka of the Ukraine,’ supplied Derrick.
‘Ah, you mean a human,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Well, of course he didn’t get very high. All those human disadvantages: great long legs dangling in the way, skinny unaerodynamic body, and I bet he didn’t have six chocolate mud cakes and half a lemon tart for breakfast.’
‘You know what you’re doing, don’t you?’ worried Samantha.
‘Of course,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’ve seen it on television. You remember that time the remote control got lost and the TV was stuck on the sports channel for three days before we discovered that I had accidentally baked it into a fruit cake?’
‘If only you had baked it into a chocolate cake, you would have found it much sooner,’ sighed Boris.
‘Which is another reason why you should never ever bake fruit cake,’ agreed Nanny Piggins.
Nanny Piggins picked up her pole and dragged it back to the far side of the street, getting ready for her run-up.
‘Shouldn’t you do some warm-up exercises?’ asked Samantha.
‘Or at least get one of us to hold your handbag for you?’ suggested Michael.
‘Stop fussing,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I need to concentrate now.’
Nanny Piggins picked up the pole and glared hard at the wall. To give her credit, when Nanny Piggins tried her hand at a new athletic event she seemed to master it effortlessly every time. Watching her take several deep breaths while beginning to rock back and forth with her pole lifted at just the right angle from the ground – Nanny Piggins did indeed look exactly like an Olympic athlete on the television.
Suddenly she burst forward, and despite having extremely short legs (extremely short everything because she was only four feet tall), Nanny Piggins could turn on an incredible burst of speed. She was a blur of movement as she streaked towards the wall, planted her pole firmly and hoisted herself up, swinging high into the air.
