Only this mini-movie is bigger than anything I’ve done at home … and I think maybe – fingers-crossed-and-no-jinx – everything will be all right!
Dunchester Town Hall is like a giant school uniform warehouse.
Grey sweatshirts, turquoise sweatshirts, purple sweatshirts.
Navy blazers, black blazers, brown blazers.
Ties with blue stripes, red stripes, yellow stripes.
White shirts and coloured polo shirts.
School logos on every top and jacket.
And everywhere, everywhere, sheeny-shiny black shoes.
Then, filing in, there’s US.
The only thing that’s the same when it comes to we St Grizzle’s girls (and our random boy) is that we don’t match – at all.
Though it has to be said, we are wearing our cleanest T-shirts, jeans, shorts and leggings. To help out, Granny Viv stayed behind when we went filming in the village yesterday and did a MASSIVE clothes wash. Turns out there actually IS a floor under the now-removed sock carpet in the Newts’ dorm!
“OK, let’s sit down and get settled, my lovelies!” Lulu says cheerfully, waving us into an empty row.
Quite a few kids from other schools snigger at that. But then I don’t suppose those particular kids are the sort of pupils who teachers would ever refer to as “lovely”. Swan narrows her eyes their way and blows then POPs! the biggest, most sarcastic bubble she can.
Other kids, who may well be lovely, turn to look at us the way a toddler might gawp longingly at someone holding an ice cream. You can tell from their expressions that they’d’ve really liked to wear a smiley T-shirt and flip-flops to today’s ceremony, too, instead of a scratchy school jumper, a too-tight tie and shoes that are giving them blisters.
“Excited?” asks Zed, who’s waiting patiently in the aisle as I move a chair away from the end of the row to make room for him.
“Not really,” I say, but we grin at each other, both knowing that’s a lie.
I am excited. Our mini-movie is a bit grainy and wobbly in places but it’s fun. Everything went brilliantly with the filming on Wednesday. Swan and Zed planned our schedule perfectly and every last pupil, teacher, goat, dog and gran played their part. (Mademoiselle Fabienne was the hair and make-up artist, Toshio and Lulu managed the catering – i.e. took along a picnic of bananas, crisps and squash – and Twinkle and Downboy gamboled about very appealingly in the woods sections.)
Maybe other schools will have slick productions with fancy effects. Maybe they found super-impressive locations that we didn’t know about. But we at St Grizzle’s did the best we could and are proud of it.
And when I sent Arch the link to the finished film last night, he texted me THIS as soon as he’d watched it…
…and you can’t get higher praise than that!
“Poo! Do you smell something, guys?” says a familiar voice. “Oh, it’s just those loser Grizzlers. Ready to cheer when we win, you lot?”
*Sigh*
Spencer and his mates from the village school are hovering in the aisle.
They’re acting all cocky because Lulu, Swan and the teachers are down at the other end of the row, trying to settle the over-excited Newts, which is a bit like expecting puppies to concentrate on learning times tables.
Totally ignoring Spencer and his cronies, I sit down with a small thump, while Zed’s rubber wheels squeak on the polished floor as he manoeuvres into the space I made for him.
“So, where’s your goat today, Grizzlers?” Spencer asks.
“So, where’s your brain today, Spencer?” I mutter under my breath and Zed sniggers.
Twinkle and Downboy are in the coach, actually, which Granny Viv is parking now, after dropping us off. They were supposed to stay at school with Toshio but he got caught up in a game of Candy Crush and didn’t notice Blossom and her buddies luring them out of the building with slices of cold pizza and sneaking them onboard the coach. They were so well hidden in the back row of seats that no one noticed there was a dog and a goat onboard till halfway to Dunchester Town Hall, when Downboy caught sight of a shih-tzu out of the back window and went barking bonkers, and Twinkle got excited and started galloping up and down the aisle. But I’m not wasting my time telling Spencer that.
“And what about the new Grizzler?” Spencer carries right on. “The old wrinkly one?”
“Yoo-hoo! I’m RIGHT here, darling!” Granny Viv booms at the top of her voice, striding down the aisle towards Spencer and his mates. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?”
EVERYONE in the hall turns to stare.
EVERY square inch of Spencer’s face turns prawn pink.
I guess it’s one thing to yell rude stuff at people from a distance but it’s another when they’re steamrolling right up to you and causing you maximum embarrassment.
“Hi! Hi, there!” Granny Viv continues to boom, waggling her fingers at the watching audience, who’re clearly enjoying this pre-awards ceremony entertainment. “Can I have your attention for just a second?”
With her other hand, she swiftly grabs Spencer’s arm, and – before he can protest or escape – holds it up in the air like he’s a boxing champion or something.
“I just want to say good luck to all the schools here today,” Granny Viv calls out, “but keep a special eye out for the film made by my friend here, Spender!”
“Spencer,” mutters the prawn-pink boy.
“Spender’s film… Well, there’s a certain something about it that’ll make it stand out. Trust me.”
The audience stares at “Spender”, who seems to be shrivelling before their very eyes, like a time-lapse clip of a prune. Then Granny Viv lets go of his arm and merrily shuffles along the row to the empty seat beside me.
“Well, that was...” I begin, without knowing how to describe it.
“Harsh but fair, dear,” says Granny Viv. “Sweetie?”
“Er, thanks,” I say, dipping my hand into the box of chocolates she’s shoved under my nose. I’m about to ask what she meant by bigging up Spencer’s film just now, when the lights go down and some suited women and men appear on the stage.
“Welcome to the Why We Love Where We Live film-screening and awards ceremony!” says one of the women.
Lots of whooping and applause breaks out, along with a wolf howl, which I suspect might be the work of a wolf cub called Blossom.
“Myself and the other judges from the council have SO enjoyed watching your films. You’ve all put such a lot of thought and effort into them. Now what we’re going to do is let you all enjoy watching each other’s work and then it’ll be time to announce the winner!”
More cheers, more howling and a loud whoop!, whoop! from Swan, who’s already decided we should spend the prize money on a state-of-the-art movie screen and projector (plus deluxe popcorn maker) if we win.
And so it goes dark and silent, apart from the occasional wolf whimper as the teachers try and shush Blossom.
The first film starts up.
It is by a school from a village I don’t know.
Various kids from the school walk around the delights of their village and show them off. These delights include a pretty church, a scenic old bridge, a war memorial and a duck pond on the green.
At the end we all hurrah and applaud, and then it’s time for film two.
It is by another school, in another village we don’t know.
Various kids from THIS school walk around the delights of THEIR village and show them off. These delights include a pretty church, a war memorial, a green with no duck pond this time and a market cross.
Films three to ten are roughly all the same, give or take a duck pond or rickety old bridge. (At the end of film seven, Zed whispered, “Didn’t we see this one already?” because they’re all so similar. I knew we hadn’t, but only because the students in it wore striped yellow ties and we hadn’t seen any of those in the previous films.)
“Thank you! Wonderful stuff!” says the woman from the council now, just like she’
s said after each of the films. “And now we’re going to watch entry number eleven, by St Grizelda’s School for Girls!”
“WHAAAAAAA!”
“YAYYYY!”
“HOW-WOOOOOO…!”
Our school – teeny as it is – makes the most noise of the ceremony so far, which is good really, since it pretty much drowns out the booing coming from across the aisle, from the direction of “Spender”.
The woman who’s hosting steps aside and our film begins, opening with the ghostly form of Miss Amethyst standing beside the statue of St Grizelda. I made sure St Grizzle was dressed appropriately for her film debut by scrubbing off the black crayon moustache someone had drawn on her.
A few murmured “Oooh!”s of interest ripple around the audience, which is pretty good going, considering I’ve been hearing a couple of quiet snores during the last few, more-or-less identical film entries.
“Hello,” says Miss Amethyst, in her best dramatic posh voice. “I am the ghost of Miss Augusta Wilberbuttle, the first head teacher of St Grizelda’s School for Girls.”
More “Oohing!”. Great!
“This fine school opened its doors in 1905. But over the years, when I’ve drifted back to haunt the place, I’ve noticed a lot of changes nearby…”
And now the scene switches.
We move to “Miss Wilberbuttle” talking in front of the ugly car park, with the triplets sitting on the wall behind her, doing their best eerie stares. There are a few other shots in front of several other concrete blocks, with smatterings of Newts in the background, kicking stones and acting generally bored. May-Belle’s growly goth music grumbles moodily in the background.
Then we flip to the contrast scenes in the woods.
Soft guitar strumming accompanies the visuals (courtesy of Mademoiselle Fabienne).
Now “Miss Wilberbuttle” is pictured by the babbling waterfall, talking about its timeless beauty, then she’s whisked off by the magic of editing to a tranquil wildlife pond, then to the truly magical fairy ring of mushrooms, after which she shows us the most touching carvings in the bark of trees, with lovelorn couples’ names in hearts dating back to the 1800s.
We finish with a scene of “Miss Wilberbuttle” on top of a stony outcrop, her ghostly cape wafting in the breeze as she stares out over the treetops at the golden afternoon sun…
The credits roll, the camera pans down and in the clearing below we see children laughing and playing and – yes, even cartwheeling.
The lights go up and the room erupts into cheers and whoops.
I look at Zed and he’s grinning so hard his face is in danger of splitting in two. I turn and gaze along our row and see matching manic grins beaming back at me. “Well done, Dani, darling,” says Granny Viv, applauding madly. “You did a great job.”
“Well, YOU came up with the idea,” I remind her.
“Oh, the idea was only the first part,” she says, shrugging off any credit. “YOU made the whole thing come together. I knew you would, Dani. You’re just like your mum – a pair of shy girls, both of you, never realizing what you’re capable of. I used to have to give your mum a nudge, too, sometimes, just to start her off if she was feeling unsure about things. I’ve always been happy to be the annoying loud person, if it gets you two going!”
I stare at Granny Viv … so she DOES know just how “too much” she can sometimes be. It’s funny to realize, too, that people can be annoying and brilliant and lots of other tricky and lovely things all at once, and that’s OK...
“Thanks, Granny Viv!” I say, resting my head on her shoulder.
“You’re quite welcome, my—”
“Shhhhhhh!” comes a hissed shush from Spencer’s direction.
I look up. The woman who’s hosting is now back onstage and is introducing the last film of the afternoon, which just happens to be Spencer’s.
Up pops his smug, super-confident face on screen, right in front of the market cross. Urgh! I feel like closing my eyes till this is over…
“Ha!” Zed bursts out.
I look back at the screen – and immediately see what’s so funny.
Spencer has been photobombed.
“The ancient stone cross has been here for centuries,” Spencer drones on screen.
In the background, beyond the stone cross, a woman with red hair has just done a star jump.
Ripples of laughter echo across the hall.
They continue to ripple, getting louder, as the scene changes to Spencer in front of the bridge.
“It’s said that a famous highwayman once used Huddleton Bridge as an escape route, galloping across it on his horse,” says Spencer.
Behind him, that same red-haired woman crosses the bridge in the style of a kangaroo.
There are more scenes – Spencer by the duck pond, Spencer by the war memorial, Spencer by the old church – and every single time, Granny Viv is in the background, goofing around without him seeing her.
She must’ve done this yesterday, during that half hour she left me at the supermarket.
“This is GENIUS!” whispers Zed, though it’s hard to hear him above the cheering and whoops.
“This is TERRIBLE!” I hear Spencer roar at his friends. “How could you let this happen?”
“I was just concentrating on you when I was filming!” I hear one of them protest.
“And you edited the film yourself,” another chips in. “You wouldn’t let any of us near it. So why didn’t YOU notice, Spencer?”
The laughing and roaring is going crazy and it takes ages for the host lady to calm everyone down.
“Well,” she says, when the huge room is finally, almost quiet. “We’ve certainly had an entertaining afternoon, haven’t we? But now it’s time to announce our winner, the short film that will feature on the council’s new-look website. And that winner is…”
The whole of our row is vibrating and I peek down to see Swan’s leg thud-a-dud-a-dudding in excitement. She can already imagine being slouched on a beanbag in the school hall, watching movies on our state-of-the-art-screen while eating piping-hot sugary popcorn, I can tell.
“…ST GRIZELDA’S SCHOOL FOR GIRLS!”
I don’t even know how I make it up onstage. All I know is it’s like being a rock star, carried and bundled through a crowd of fans.
But a few seconds later, I find myself surrounded by Newts, Conkers, Otters and Fungi – except for Zed, who’s down below taking photos – and having a microphone shoved in my hand.
*Erk*
I think I’m meant to make a speech…
“Um,” I start nervously – then I see Granny Viv give me the thumbs up and I find my voice (which is good, since this is my chance to properly thank my friends for getting behind me).
“I’d just like to say this film has been a ton of fun to do,” I begin. “Well, it was, once we all pulled together. Cos a person on their own can do good things but when you work as a team, things can turn out pretty special.”
I turn either side of me to wave at my schoolmates, who beam, yelp, jump or punch the air at my words.
“And apart from this lot,” I yell into the mike, above their noise, “I’d like to thank St Grizzle’s, ghosts and my runaway gran for making it all possible!”
My speech is short but it works and the applause is deafening.
I’m so bedazzled and bewildered that I barely register our prize as we all stumble off the stage and head back to our seats.
It might’ve been a good idea to pack earplugs for the coach on the way home.
The volume is DEAFENING.
At least Granny Viv managed to harness the extreme excitement of the Newts by switching on the coach’s microphone and suggesting they sing a song instead of just screeching randomly and wolf howling.
And so everyone is now singing along at the top of their voices to We Are the Champions. I think this is the sixth time in a row. Downboy is joining in with a doggy yodel or two.
Actually, not everyone is joining in. The trip
lets are just swaying in their seats in time to the beat. Twinkle is almost chewing in time to the beat, as she sits on the floor up by Granny Viv, eating an Upcoming Events brochure that Miss Amethyst picked up at the Town Hall and thought she’d flick through on the journey back to school.
Swan isn’t singing either. She’s sulking. She had her heart set on turning our school hall into an in-house cinema and even though we won the competition, she’ll still be watching the slightly fuzzy-screened old TV in the living room with the rest of us, since our prize turned out to be a trophy.
I’m not singing either. That’s cos I’m huddled over in my seat, trying to talk to Arch.
“Show me this trophy, then!” he says, as he smiles up from my lap where my phone is perched. He’s bouncing a bit as he talks – I’ve caught him as he’s walking home from school.
“Ta-da!” I say, focusing in on it for him.
“Cool – looks big and shiny!” Arch shouts at me.
Oops, my best friend is not getting a true sense of proportion here. So I put the trophy alongside my head.
“Ahh…” he says with a slow nod of understanding.
Because the trophy may be shiny but it is not big.
If it didn’t have a top, it would be perfect as an egg cup.
“Did you have to make a speech?” asks Arch.
“Uh-huh,” I say and feel myself blushing. I thought Zed was just taking photos at the ceremony but he’d actually filmed what I said. It’s pretty embarrassing but I’m going to send it on to Mum later, so she can see what I’ve been up to...
“Dani?” I hear Lulu say.
“Gotta go – call you back later,” I tell Arch, ending the call.
I smile at our head teacher, who has now crouched down to talk to me.
“Dani, can I ask your permission to do something?” she says.
St Grizzle's School for Girls, Ghosts and Runaway Grannies Page 7
