Snow!

by Alan MacDonald

  For Jane – without whom there wouldn’t be a series ~ A M and D R

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 Snow!

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  2 Battle!

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  3 Record!

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  Bertie woke up. He pulled back the curtains and gasped. SNOW! For weeks he’d been praying for snow and now it had finally come. Whoopee! Snowmen! Snowball fights! And even better, sledging on Pudsley Hill!

  He burst into his parents’ bedroom. “IT’S SNOWING!” he yelled.

  “Uhh … what?” mumbled Mum.

  “It’s snowing! Look outside!” shouted Bertie, pulling back the curtains.

  Dad squinted at the alarm clock and groaned. “Bertie, it’s not even six o’clock!”

  “But it’s snowing!” said Bertie.

  “I don’t care – go back to bed!”

  Bertie went. A moment later his head poked round the door. “Do you think school will be closed?” he asked.

  “BACK TO BED!” bellowed Dad.

  But Bertie was too excited – how could anyone sleep when it was snowing outside? He hurried downstairs.

  “Hey, Whiffer! Look, it’s snowing!”

  They stood at the window watching the snow coming down. There was snow on the rooftops and snow carpeting the lawn. Bertie looked at Whiffer…

  Five minutes later they were in the garden. Bertie bounded around, chased excitedly by Whiffer. Snowflakes fell on his face and melted on his tongue. He scooped up a big ball of snow. If only Darren and Eugene were here, he thought, we could have a snowball fight.

  CRUMP! His snowball thudded against the side of the shed.

  “BERTIE!”

  Uh oh. Mum stuck her head out of the back door.

  “What on earth are you doing?” she cried.

  “Playing,” replied Bertie.

  “You’re still in your pyjamas! They’ll get soaked!”

  Bertie looked down. It was true, his pyjamas had got a little bit soggy.

  “I’m wearing boots,” he said.

  “For heaven’s sake, come in before you catch your death!”

  Bertie drooped inside, trailing wet footprints through the kitchen. Whiffer shook himself, showering snow everywhere.

  “Ugh!” said Mum. “Look at you, Bertie, you’re wet through!”

  “It’s only snow,” said Bertie.

  “Go and get some clothes on.”

  In his bedroom Bertie quickly pulled on his jeans and thumped downstairs.

  The phone was ringing in the hall.

  “Yes?” he said, snatching up the receiver.

  “Hey, Bertie!” It was Darren. “Have you heard? School’s closed!”

  Bertie did a wild dance of joy. “We can have snowball fights!” he whooped.

  “And go sledging!” cried Darren.

  “I’ll meet you at Pudsley Hill,” said Bertie. “Tell Eugene.”

  “Okay. Bring your sledge!” said Darren.

  Bertie slammed down the phone. This was going to be the greatest day ever. No school, no mean old Miss Boot – he could spend the whole day playing in the snow.

  Wait a moment, though. Bertie gulped. Didn’t his sledge accidentally get broken last year when they tried it with four people? Argh! Disaster! He had to find a sledge and fast.

  “Guess what? School’s closed!” cried Bertie, scooting into the kitchen.

  Dad groaned. Suzy cheered.

  “Can I go sledging with my friends?” asked Bertie.

  Mum sighed. “After breakfast.”

  “And can we get a new sledge?”

  “Certainly not,” said Dad.

  “But ours is broken!” moaned Bertie.

  “And whose fault is that?” said Mum.

  “It wasn’t mine. I told Darren he was too heavy.”

  “Well, we’re not wasting money on sledges so you can break them,” said Mum. “If you’re that desperate, go and ask your gran.”

  “Why, is she going sledging?”

  “I mean, ask if she’s got a sledge. I’m sure she used to have one.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Gran was still in her dressing gown when Bertie knocked on her door.

  “Bertie!” she said. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

  “SCHOOL’S CLOSED!” whooped Bertie. “IT’S SNOWING!”

  “So I see,” said Gran. “You’d better come in.”

  Bertie stamped his boots on the mat. “I’ve got the whole day off,” he panted. “And me and my friends are going sledging, only there’s one problem – we don’t have a sledge.”

  “Oh dear,” said Gran. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I was hoping you’d got one,” said Bertie.

  “A sledge?” Gran frowned. “I think I did have one somewhere. It belonged to your dad.”

  “But you kept it?” asked Bertie hopefully.

  “Well, I don’t remember throwing it out.”

  “Great! Then can I borrow it – I mean, if you’re not using it?”

  Gran smiled. “I’m not right now,” she said. “Wait while I get dressed and we’ll have a look in the shed.”

  Gran’s shed was so full of junk it was difficult to get in the door. Bertie stared at the jumble of deckchairs, boxes and rusty lawnmowers. Gran waded in and began to hunt through the piles of stuff. Finally she found what she was looking for.

  “There! I knew it was here somewhere,” she said.

  Bertie stared, boggle-eyed. The sledge looked like something out of the Stone Age! It was made of heavy planks of wood nailed together. At the front was a bit of knotted old rope for steering. It smelled of mould.

  “Your dad used to love this sledge!” said Gran, brushing off a cobweb.

  “Really?” said Bertie. In the old days sledges must have been rubbish. Today they were light and fast, and you didn’t need a team of huskies to pull them.

  “What do you think?” said Gran.

  “Oh, um … yeah. Thanks, Gran!” said Bertie, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  At least it was a sledge, and right now it was better than nothing.

  Bertie dragged the sledge down the street. By now all his friends would be up at Pudsley Hill. As he turned the corner a boy came out of a shop with his mum, pulling a sledge behind him. Bertie’s heart sank. It was Know-All Nick – the last person on earth he wanted to see.

  “Oh, hello, Bertie!” he sneered.

  “Hello,” said Bertie coldly.

  Bertie had never met Nick’s mum before. She looked exactly like him, pale and neat with a long, snooty nose. She stared at Bertie as if he had fleas.

  “And who is this, Nicholas?” she said. “One of your school-friends?”

  “No, this is Bertie,” said Nick with a sickly grin. “Going to Pudsley Hill?”

  “I might be,” said Bertie.

  “I’ve got a new sledge,” boasted Nick. “It’s a Speedster 2000. Isn’t it a beauty?”

  Bertie stared. It was the sledge of his dreams – curved and sleek, with steel runners and go-faster stripes down the side. Trust Nick to have the best sledge you could buy.

  “Mummy said I could have any one I liked, didn’t you, Mummy?” he simpered.

  “Of course I did, bunnikins.”

  Nick flushed pink.

  “Anyway, I better be going,” said Bertie. “My friends will be waiting for me.”

  “Yes, come along, Nicholas,” said Nick’s mum. But Nick had other id
eas.

  “HA HA!” he hooted. “IS THAT YOUR SLEDGE?”

  Bertie scowled. “It’s my gran’s. And it’s faster than it looks.”

  “Yeah?” said Nick. “Where did you get it from – a joke shop?”

  “Don’t be rude, Nicholas,” tutted Nick’s mum. “Come along.”

  “Bye, Bertie!” grinned Know-All Nick. “See you on the hill – if your sledge makes it that far!”

  CHAPTER 3

  By the time Bertie arrived, the hill was packed with children. Screams of laughter rang out. Sledges whizzed down the steep slope.

  Eugene and Darren were waiting for him, idly throwing snowballs.

  “What kept you so long?” asked Eugene.

  “And what do you call THAT?” asked Darren.

  “A sledge,” said Bertie. “I borrowed it from my gran.”

  “But where’s your old one?”

  “If you remember, you helped break it,” said Bertie. “This is the best I could do.”

  Darren shook his head. “That’s going to be rubbish,” he said.

  “It smells,” said Eugene, holding his nose.

  Bertie rolled his eyes. “Well, get your own sledge if you’re so fussy!” he said. “Anyway, it’s better than it looks.”

  They tried a practice run. It took both Darren and Eugene to launch the sledge with Bertie on board. It trundled gently at first then gained a little speed, bumping and bouncing down the hill like an old pram. Bertie clambered off and rubbed his bottom. It was even worse than he’d thought.

  “OH, BERTIE! BERTIE!”

  Bertie turned round and groaned. That was all he needed – Angela Nicely. Angela lived next door to Bertie and was always telling everyone that he was her boyfriend. She had her friends Laura and Maisie with her.

  “Look, Bertie! We’re making a snowman!” she sang excitedly.

  The snowman had a fat, lumpy body and was already taller than Angela. It stood at the foot of the slope, looking up the hill with its two coal eyes. Sledges whizzed past on either side.

  “You can’t build it there!” said Bertie.

  “Why not?” said Angela.

  “It’s in the way!”

  “No it’s not!”

  “Yes it is. We’re sledging here,” said Bertie. “You’ll have to move it!”

  “You move,” said Angela, sticking out her tongue. “It’s our snowman and we were here first.”

  Bertie shrugged. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  ZOOOOOM!

  Something streaked past them in a blur of speed. Know-All Nick skidded to a halt on his Speedster 2000 and got off.

  “Whoo-hoo! See that?” he whooped. “That was lightning!”

  “We’re making a snowman!” cried Angela.

  Nick ignored her. “Oh, look, it’s Bertie with his grandma’s sledge,” he jeered.

  “Ha ha,” said Bertie. “Actually, it’s a lot faster than it looks.”

  Nick smirked. “That old crate?”

  “It’s better than yours.”

  “Oh yeah?” Nick folded his arms. “Well, if you’re so sure, let’s have a race. First one to the bottom of the hill.”

  “You’re on,” said Bertie.

  Angela clapped her hands. “Goodie! A race! I’ll be the judge.”

  Bertie trudged up the hill, dragging the sledge behind him. He was already wishing he’d kept his big mouth shut. He flopped down on the snow beside Darren and Eugene and told them the bad news.

  “A race?” said Eugene. “Are you mad?”

  “He was showing off,” said Bertie. “What else could I have done?”

  “But a race…? Have you seen his sledge?”

  “Tell him you changed your mind,” said Darren.

  “I can’t, not now,” said Bertie. “I’ll look stupid.”

  “You’ll look even more stupid when you lose,” said Darren.

  “You never know,” said Bertie. “I might win.”

  “On that old heap?” said Darren. “You’d be faster in a wheelbarrow.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The two sledges lined up at the top of the hill. Word had got round about the Great Sledge Race and a crowd from school gathered to watch. Eugene was in charge of starting the race. At the bottom of the hill, Angela Nicely waited to wave her hanky when the winner crossed the finish.

  “Want me to give you a head start, Bertie?” smirked Know-All Nick.

  “No thanks,” said Bertie.

  The two rivals got ready. Bertie lay on his front, to give his sledge extra speed.

  Nick sat back on the Speedster 2000, looking smugly confident. This was going to be so easy, he wouldn’t even need to cheat. He couldn’t wait to see Bertie’s face when he beat him by miles.

  Bertie gripped the rope tight between his hands. “Ready?” he asked.

  “Any time you like, slowcoach,” drawled Nick.

  Darren crouched down, ready to push Bertie off. Trevor did the same for Nick.

  Eugene raised his arm.

  “After three,” he said. “Three … two … one … GO!”

  Darren launched the heavy wooden sledge with all his might. It lurched forward and caught the slope, starting to bump down the hill. Bertie hung on tight. Snow kicked in his face, almost blinding him. But he was in the lead – there was no sign of that show-off Nick. He must have got a slow start.

  I can win this, thought Bertie. Just keep going and…

  WHOOOOOOOOOSH!

  Something zoomed past, showering him with snow. Bertie gaped. The Speedster 2000 whizzed down the hill like a rocket-powered missile. Bertie tried to urge Gran’s old sledge to go faster, but he might as well have got off and walked.

  Nick grinned. The race was in the bag. He was way out in front. He turned round to see how far behind Bertie was.

  “What’s the matter, loser?” he yelled. “Can’t you go—”

  WHUMPF!

  Nick never saw the giant snowman. One minute he was racing down the hill, and the next he was flying through the air like a human cannonball.

  KADOOF! He landed head first in a big pile of snow.

  ZOOOOOOM!

  Bertie’s wooden sledge flew by, passing Angela Nicely and crossing the finish before spinning to a stop. Bertie jumped off and leaped in the air.

  “YES! I WON! I WON!” he yelled.

  At the top of the hill Darren, Eugene and the rest of the crowd were cheering.

  Bertie hurried over to where Nick was struggling in the snow like a beetle on its back. He pulled him out.

  “ARGHH! BLECH!” spluttered Nick, wiping his eyes.

  “Oh dear, Nick, you’re a bit wet!” Bertie grinned.

  “YOU CHEATED!” gasped Nick.

  Bertie shook his head. “You said first to the bottom of the hill. I was first.”

  “But … but… IT’S NOT FAIR!” wailed Nick, stamping his foot with rage. “You just wait, I’m going to—”

  SPLAT! A big snowball hit Nick right on the ear.

  “THAT’S HIM! HE WRECKED OUR SNOWMAN!” yelled Angela Nicely. “GET HIM!”

  SPLAT! SPLAT!

  Snowballs pelted Nick from all sides, as Laura and Maisie joined in the attack.

  Bertie grinned. There was nothing better than a snowball fight – especially when the target was snooty-nosed Nick.

  He stooped down to grab a fistful of snow. It was turning into the perfect day.

  CHAPTER 1

  Bertie watched his dad through the window. He was marching up and down the garden with a rake over his shoulder.

  “What’s he doing?” he asked.

  Mum rolled her eyes. “Your father’s joined the Black-Axe Battle Society. Grown men playing at soldiers. Can you imagine it?”

  Bertie could. It sounded brilliant.

  “You mean they fight REAL battles?” he said excitedly.

  “No!” snorted Mum. “It’s all pretend. Running round in silly hats, waving swords.”

  Bertie watched his dad take aim
at a flowerpot. A battle club? Why hadn’t anyone told him before? He was brilliant at fighting, and what’s more he already had his own pirate costume.

  Over supper he tried to find out more about it.

  “Dad, you know this battle club you’re in?” he said.

  “It’s not a battle club,” said Dad. “It’s a historical society.”

  Mum pulled a face at Suzy.

  “But you fight battles?” said Bertie.

  “We stage battles,” corrected Dad. “It’s history, Bertie. We bring history to life.”

  Bertie sucked up a loop of spaghetti. “And you dress up?” he said.

  “We wear costumes, yes.”

  “And fight with swords?”

  “Not just swords – we have all kinds of weapons,” said Dad.

  Bertie thought for a moment. “So if I came, could I be a pirate?”

  Dad gave a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing to do with pirates, Bertie. It’s the English Civil War – the Royalists against the Roundheads.”

  “Why are they round heads?”

  “It’s just a nickname. The Royalists were on the King’s side, the Roundheads fought against them.”

  “I’d be on the King’s side,” decided Bertie. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind being King myself.”

  “You won’t be anything because you’re not coming,” said Dad.

  Bertie gaped. “Why not?”

  “Yes, why not?” said Mum. “If you can play at soldiers, why can’t Bertie?”

  “Because it’s not a game!” cried Dad crossly. “We train every week like a real army. We have to obey orders.”

  “We do that at school,” said Bertie.

  “Anyway, I’m not letting you near a battlefield,” said Dad. “There’ll be guns and cannons – all kinds of dangerous things.”