PUFFIN BOOKS
Dominic's
Discovery
Gervase Phinn is a teacher, freelance lecturer, author, poet, educational consultant, school inspector, visiting professor of education and, last but by no means least, father of four. Most of his time is spent in schools with teachers and children.
He is the author of The Other Side of the Dale, Over Hill and Dale and Head Over Heels in the Dales. His poetry collections, It Takes One to Know One, The Day our Teacher Went Batty and Family Phantoms, are also available in Puffin.
Books by Gervase Phinn
DOMINIC'S DISCOVERY
For older readers
HEAD OVER HEELS IN THE DALES
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DALE
OVER HILL AND DALE
Poetry
FAMILY PHANTOMS
IT TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE
THE DAY OUR TEACHER WENT BATTY
GERVASE
PHINN
Dominic's Discovery
PUFFIN
For Dominic
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA), Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
www.penguin.com
First published 2004
5
Text copyright © Gervase Phinn, 2004
Illustrations copyright © Adam Stower, 2004
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-14-193324-5
Contents
One: A Near Miss
Two: Gran's Gold Sovereign
Three: Grisly Beginnings
Four: A Gruesome Journey
Five: An Unfortunate Discovery
Six: The Legend of Reverend Bentley-Brewster
Seven: The Rock Bun Incident
Eight: The Mystery of the Hidden Treasure
Nine: The ‘Phantom Horseman’
Ten: Grounded!
Eleven: Daisy Disappears
Twelve: The Secret of Thundercliff Bay
Thirteen: Nathan Comes a Cropper
Fourteen: Stranded!
Fifteen: The Truth About Mr Risley-Newsome
Sixteen: Dominic Goes Forth
Epilogue
One
A Near Miss
‘Dominic Dowson!’ snapped Mr Merriman. ‘You can be the most disorganized, disruptive and downright dangerous pupil I have ever had the misfortune to come across in my thirty years of teaching.’
Dominic, a small boy with a crown of close-cropped ginger hair, a face full of freckles and large wide eyes, peered up at the headteacher with a sad expression.
‘And then at other times, you can be the most polite, pleasant, good-humoured and generous boy,’ continued the headteacher, gripping the end of his desk so hard that his knuckles turned white. ‘I just do not understand you. I cannot work you out. You are a complete enigma.’ Mr Merriman shook his head dramatically. ‘Do you know what an enigma is?’
Dominic stared up blankly. ‘Is it an extinct South American bird with brightly-coloured feathers, sir?’
‘No, it is not an extinct South American bird with brightly-coloured feathers,’ groaned the headteacher, looking into the shiny innocent face before him.
Dominic noticed that the headteacher's face had turned a deep shade of red and his bald head was now pimpled with perspiration. His eyes seemed to be popping out like those on the picture of the chameleon on his classroom wall.
‘An enigma is a conundrum, a puzzle, a perplexity, a riddle, something that cannot be understood, an unfathomable mystery.’ Mr Merriman never used one word when several would do. He was one of those people Dominic's gran described as ‘liking the sound of his own voice’. He was certainly getting into his stride now. ‘And you are an enigma, Dominic, a human enigma,’ continued the headteacher.
‘Yes, sir,’ said the boy quietly, still staring heavenwards. He felt it best to say very little under the circumstances. He had been in the headteacher's room too many times to remember and knew that the best course of action was to stay silent and look as sad and sorry as possible. He wanted to tell Mr Merriman what had happened, how it really was not his fault, how he was only trying to be helpful, but he knew it would only make matters worse.
‘One minute you are as good as gold and as nice as pie and the next minute you are up to your neck in hot water.’ He also liked using expressions, did Mr Merriman. He was famous for them, in fact, and sometimes Dominic would count the number he could get in at assembly. The record was eighteen. ‘Are you listening to what I'm saying, Dominic?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Because that's another of your problems. Head in the clouds, feet off the ground. Not listening to what people say.’
‘Pardon, sir?’
‘Do you see what I mean?’ exclaimed Mr Merriman, slapping his hand flat on the desk top and making Dominic jump. ‘You don't listen! It goes in one ear and out the other.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Every day this week you have been in my room to be hauled over the coals for getting into some mischief or being involved in some mishap – by Miss Pruitt, your form tutor; Mrs Simmonite, the cook; Mr Leech, the caretaker; Mrs Wellbeloved, the lollipop lady. The list goes on and on, doesn't it, like a never-ending saga of woe and worry, misery and misfortune?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘On Monday it was the window and your incredible excuse: “I was just walking past it and it just sort of fell out”.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How can a window-pane just fall out? There was glass everywhere. Then, on Tuesday, the hamster escaped and you just happened to be the last one to have your hand in his cage. Mrs Simmonite is still suffering from shock at finding a rodent in the salad bowl, and Mrs Rashid has not been back to work since.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And I was given yet another of your grossly improbable explanations – that the hamster might have managed to flick up the catch by himself by watching how humans do it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then, on Wednesday, it was the fire extinguisher and an equally preposterous explanation that it could have been an earth tremor. You just happened to be walking past it, when it leapt off the wall. How you managed to knock it off in the first place is beyond me. The floor was covered in foam. It was like a skating rink down the corridor, children slipping and sliding. Mr Leech was at his wits' end, trying to clean up the mess.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And I do not need to remind you about Thursday and the incide
nt at the pedestrian crossing – Jane Fairburn's clarinet and Mrs Wellbeloved's bent lollipop – do I?’
‘No, sir.’
When Mr Merriman listed the catalogue of calamities, thought Dominic, it did sound as if he was a walking disaster, but there were perfectly good explanations. Well, he thought they were perfectly good explanations. The headteacher clearly did not.
Dominic's gran had once told him that he took after his Grandpa Dowson, who was accident prone. ‘If there was a door, he'd bang into it; if there was a hole, he'd fall into it; if there was a banana skin, he'd slip on it. But there are worse things in the world,’ she had said, ‘than being a bit clumsy.’ She also said that he had the same colourful imagination as his Grandpa Dowson.
‘And you've always got some far-fetched, fanciful and fantastic reason for all these disasters, haven't you?’ said Mr Merriman, and by the look on his face, he did not expect to be contradicted.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Some extravagant tale, some weird and wonderful story, beyond the bounds of belief.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You're in another world most of the time, on another planet. The stories and excuses you invent. Your world seems to be full of aliens and monsters and ghosts and pirates and smugglers and highwaymen and I don't know what.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you expect me to believe you? Do you think my brains are made of porridge, Dominic?’
‘Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.’
‘You draw trouble towards you like a human magnet; you attract calamity like bees to a honey pot.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And now, today –’ there was a great in-drawing of breath – ‘shall we ever forget this fraught and fateful Friday? Did Miss Pruitt tell you to go into her storeroom?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Did she ask you to get the pots of powder paint from the top shelf?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then, why in heaven's name did you? Clambering up like some inquisitive little monkey, balancing on a cardboard box, reaching out and bringing the whole lot toppling down like a ton of bricks.’
‘I was just trying to be helpful, sir,’ Dominic said. ‘I didn't mean for the pots to fall, and if Miss Pruitt hadn't come in when she did, she wouldn't have got paint on her.’
‘Got paint on her!’ exclaimed Mr Merriman, waving his hand expansively as if trying to get rid of an irritating fly. ‘Got paint on her! Dominic, she was covered from head to foot in paint. When I found her, she looked like your South American bird with brightly-coloured feathers. She was every colour of the rainbow.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ mumbled the boy, looking at his shoes.
Mr Merriman sighed dramatically. ‘Dominic, Dominic. What am I going to do with you?’
‘I don't know, sir.’
‘And what am I going to do about the school trip next week?’
‘I don't know, sir.’
‘Miss Pruitt is not at all happy about taking you, you know that, Dominic?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘She is extremely angry about what happened.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And she feels that, should she take you, you will be a danger to everyone and to yourself.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Dominic! Will you stop agreeing with me all the time. Just be quiet and listen.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The mind boggles at what you might get up to, a week away from school in a youth hostel on the Yorkshire coast. Anything could happen.’ Mr Merriman paused for effect. ‘And it's fruitless for me to ask you to promise to behave yourself, to turn over a new leaf, be on your best behaviour, because I have done that in the past, until I am blue in the face, and it's made not a blind bit of difference. You can promise to behave until the cows come home, as far as I'm concerned, but it cuts no ice with me.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Mr Merriman was certainly on form with his expressions that morning, thought Dominic. He must have broken the all-time record.
The headteacher sat down, placed his elbows on his desk, and stared up at the boy standing before him. ‘So, I'm in two minds whether or not to let you go.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I think it might be better if you stayed at school and joined the class below for the week. Then I can keep my eye on you and make sure you stay out of mischief.’
Dominic was quiet and looked at his shoes. He had not expected that bombshell. He imagined that it would be a good telling-off as usual, not being told he would have to miss the school trip. He had looked forward to the school visit to the coast for ages. When Miss Pruitt had first announced that the class was to spend a week in a youth hostel by the sea, Dominic's heart had jumped with excitement. Then he had thought of the cost. He knew that his mum probably couldn't afford it. When he mentioned the trip to his mum, sort of casually over tea, she had said she would think about it. But Gran had come to the rescue straight away and said of course he should go. She had dipped into her ‘fund for emergencies’. Mum had made up the difference and the contents of his piggy bank would be enough for his pocket money. Dominic had drifted off to sleep every night since then thinking of the week at Thundercliff Bay. The very name – Thundercliff Bay – conjured up pirates and smugglers, buried treasure and galleons of gold. The trip would be fantastic.
‘Lost for words for once in your life, are you?’ said the headteacher now. ‘Standing there as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. Has the cat got your tongue? What do you think I should do with you?’
Dominic looked at him with a melancholy face. He could feel his eyes filling with tears. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. It is true, he thought to himself, I always seem to be in some trouble or other. He didn't look for it – it found him.
‘It might be for the best to keep me at school, sir,’ replied Dominic in a trembling voice.
‘Don't you want to go on the school trip to Thundercliff Bay?’ asked the headteacher in a calmer voice.
‘Yes, sir, I'd love to go. I've been looking forward to it for ages.’
‘Then why don't you stay out of trouble?’ sighed the headteacher, wiping his bald head with the flat of his hand. ‘I know you're not a bad lad at heart, Dominic. You collected more than any pupil in your class on the sponsored walk to raise funds for the children's hospice, and I received several very complimentary letters about you from the senior citizens, after you'd taken the harvest baskets to the residential home. Of course, I found out later that you'd eaten half the produce on the way, but you certainly cheered up the old folk. They took quite a shine to you. You can be a very likeable lad when you want to be. The trouble is, you always seem to be in some sort of bother.’
Dominic sniffed and wiped away a tear.
Mr Merriman breathed out heavily and shook his head. ‘All right, return to your class and I'll have a word with Miss Pruitt at afternoon break and I'll let you know at the end of the day what we have decided.’ He watched the boy head for the door. He shook his head wearily and sighed. ‘An enigma.’
Miss Pruitt was waiting for Dominic to return. She was a tall, lean woman with thick glasses, a pained expression and unnaturally bright golden hair – the result of the pot of yellow paint that had cascaded on to her that morning. Her face had a distinct blue tinge to it – the effect of the pot of turquoise paint that had exploded before her in the storeroom. Her hands were a pale, supernaturally green colour – the consequence of her trying to brush the yellow and the blue paint off her clothes. The class stopped writing and looked up when Dominic entered the room.
‘Don't all stop what you're doing,’ said Miss Pruitt sharply. ‘Get on with your work. Dominic, you will find a worksheet on your table.’
The teacher watched the boy closely, as a hungry cat might watch a mouse. Dominic returned to his desk with a mournful countenance and sagging shoulders, and set about answering the questions. His best friend, Michael Chan, who was sitting opposite him, gave him a little smile.
As Dominic bit his bottom lip to stop himself crying, he caught Miss Pruitt's eye and thought he saw a glimmer of sympathy.
Dominic liked Miss Pruitt. She was always cheerful and her lessons were really interesting. Once, when it had been her birthday, he had brought her a bunch of bright daffodils. He had told her that the daffodils had reminded him of that poem that she had once read to the class about ‘wandering lonely as a cloud’ and seeing ‘hosts of golden daffodils’. She had been really pleased until she had found out that the flowers had been plucked from Mr Leech's garden. Dominic recalled the dreadful afternoon when the caretaker had stormed into the classroom, ballooning with anger. He had pointed at the stolen daffodils which adorned the teacher's desk, then had snatched them up furiously and stomped out. Talk about ‘wandering lonely as a cloud’: Mr Leech had thundered out of the room like a charging rhinoceros with toothache.
Dominic remembered another occasion when Christopher Wilkinson had started school and Miss Pruitt had picked him to help the new boy settle in. She had said he was just the one to make Christopher feel welcome. Of course, he had got into an argument with the new boy by the end of the day about which was the best football team – Sheffield Wednesday or Sheffield United – and the two of them had to be pulled apart by Mrs Wellbeloved. The crossing-patrol warden had arrived in the school, hot, flustered and angry, wielding her lollipop like a crazed Viking in one hand and the two dusty, wriggling combatants in the other.
Then there was the time he had brought a hedgehog into school and with it a whole host of jumping fleas. Everyone had been scratching all day.
The great thing about Miss Pruitt, thought Dominic, is that when she tells you off, she never shouts or gets angry or waves her arms about like the headteacher, and once she has told you off, that is the end of the matter. She never brings it up again. She never keeps reminding you of it, like Mr Merriman.
After a few minutes, Miss Pruitt approached Dominic's desk and, leaning over him, asked in a whisper that was loud enough for most of the class to hear, what the headteacher had said to him.
Dominic's Discovery Page 1
