Viking at School

by Jeremy Strong

  ‘I’m afraid Siggy might be here for some time,’ said Mrs Ellis. She handed him a cup of tea and explained about the wrestling ban. Her husband’s face crumpled at the news. Mrs Tibblethwaite hastily reached inside her bag, pulled out a little silver flask and unscrewed the cap before offering it to Mr Ellis.

  ‘Drink this. It’s brandy – strictly for medicinal purposes. I usually have a drop or two when I find myself suffering from Vikingitis.

  Mr Ellis took a few gulps, coughed, spluttered and sat up straight. Colour flooded back to his face. The children watched him carefully.

  ‘Please!’ mouthed Zoe.

  ‘You’ve got to let Sigurd stay or I shan’t speak to you ever again!’ scowled Tim.

  ‘Is that a threat or a promise?’ asked Mr Ellis. ‘Okay, Siggy can stay for a while, but there are certain rules. Number one: no swords, indoors or outdoors. Number two: you both have to help in the hotel.’

  ‘We’ll do anything to help,’ said Mrs Tibblethwaite.

  ‘I help,’ beamed Sigurd. ‘You no want sword? Okey-dokey. I throw sword away!’

  ‘Sigurd! No!’

  But Sigurd had already hurled Nosepicker over one shoulder and the mighty sword was flying through the air. Five seconds later, there was an almighty crash of splintering glass as it smashed through the hotel greenhouse. Mr Ellis seized Mrs Tibblethwaite’s silver hip-flask, took another deep swig and buried his head in both hands.

  After that things quietened down a little. This was partly because Mr Ellis took to his bed with a headache and various other symptoms of Vikingitis, while Mrs Tibblethwaite and Siggy got settled into one of the hotel bedrooms.

  The only other guests at the hotel were an elderly couple, the Ramsbottoms, and Mr Travis, who was in Flotby on business. The truth of the matter was that since Sigurd had left business had gone down. While there had been a real tenth-century Viking staying at the hotel it had attracted customers. But when Siggy and Tibby became a tag-wrestling team and began their country-wide tour many of the hotel guests left, and had not returned.

  The Viking Hotel was beginning to look a bit tatty. What it really needed was a good coat of paint. The Ellises had already decided they ought to do the painting while there were so few guests staying and Mr Ellis reckoned that Sigurd could make himself useful with a paintbrush. Early the next day he set the Viking to the task. ‘Do the front of the house first of all,’ said Mr Ellis, leaning a ladder against the front porch. ‘I want all the doors done, and the windows and the railings. Understand?’

  ‘Okey-dokey boss,’ nodded Sigurd, levering the lid off the paint tin. There was a loud SCROYYOINNGG! and the lid whizzed across the road like a flying saucer and landed upside down on Mr Crump’s front doorstep. Mr Ellis sighed and went back inside.

  Sigurd quickly warmed to his task. The paint was a lovely bright green. Up and down the ladder he went, singing away to himself one of the songs Tim had taught him, but with new words.

  ‘Siggy Viking had a brush; slip-slap, slip-slap-slop! And on this brush he had some paint; slip-slap, slip-slap-slop! With a plip-plop here and a plip-plop there – Here a plip! There a plop! Everywhere a plip-plop! Siggy Viking had a…’

  ‘SIGGY! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?’ Mrs Ellis stood on the pavement gazing up at the front of the hotel in disbelief. There was bright green paint everywhere.

  Sigurd had spilled great green puddles all over the entrance. Then he had walked in the puddles and left bright green bootprints up and down the porch. There were bright green handprints all over the walls. Most of Sigurd’s helmet was bright green, and so were his clothes. He grinned down at Mrs Ellis.

  ‘I go painting,’ he said proudly. ‘With a plip-plop here and a…’

  ‘But you’ve painted all the windows!’ yelled Mrs Ellis, almost beside herself.

  ‘Mr Ellis said paint the doors and the railings and the windows,’ nodded Sigurd.

  ‘BUT YOU’VE PAINTED ALL THE GLASS!’ screamed Mrs Ellis. ‘All our windows are bright green! Nobody can see out anymore – Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom think it’s still night-time and won’t come down for breakfast!’

  On the other side of the road Mr Crump opened his front door to see what all the fuss was about and stepped straight on to an upturned lid of bright green paint. He boggled at the shining green hotel opposite, shook his foot angrily and sent the paint-lid skimming back along his hall, where it left a nice green skid trail the entire length of the carpet. Mrs Ellis took one look at his angry face, ran inside, bolted the door and rushed upstairs to the bedroom. Another very severe case of Vikingitis had just taken hold.

  3

  Let’s all be Friends!

  It was an impossible task. The green paint stuck to the glass like glue and no matter what the Ellises tried they could not get the paint off. Eventually Mr Ellis had to call out some decorators. The glass had to be removed from the window frames and replaced. The decorators had to re-do all the painting properly and then they presented Mr Ellis with a big bill for the work. He was not very pleased, although he did blame himself for what had happened.

  ‘I had forgotten just how stupid Sigurd can be,’ he muttered.

  ‘You did tell him to paint the windows,’ Zoe pointed out. ‘So he did.’

  ‘Thank you Zoe, for that helpful comment,’ Mr Ellis replied icily.

  Mrs Ellis folded her arms. ‘We are going to have to do something, Keith. We can’t have Sigurd ruining everything we’ve worked so hard for.’

  ‘I know. If only we could think of a way to get him out of the hotel most of the time. At least he wouldn’t be under our feet then. Tim and Zoe go to school, which gets them out of the way. It’s a shame Sigurd is too old for school.’ His voice trailed away and a faint wisp of a smile flickered across his face. ‘We can’t get him into school, can we?’

  ‘He is a bit big for Playgroup, which is where he should be,’ Mrs Ellis admitted. ‘He’d love Playgroup – all that sand and water…’

  ‘And paint,’ added Mr Ellis. ‘They always do lots of painting.’

  ‘The trouble is, I think the school would notice. Imagine Siggy arriving for the day. He’d be standing there in his school uniform, with his bent helmet rammed on his head and Nosepicker by his side…’ Penny Ellis began to laugh. ‘No, I’m afraid he’s too big for school.’

  ‘He can come to school with me,’ said Tim, poking his head round the door. ‘The other children would think it was brill.’

  ‘Brill? Who taught you to speak like that?’ asked Mr Ellis.

  ‘Speak like what?’ asked Tim. ‘Anyway, Siggy can come in with me tomorrow. Mr Rumble will like that.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ murmured Mrs Ellis. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea, Tim.’

  ‘Oh go on,’ pleaded Tim. ‘Everyone else brings things in. James brought in his rabbit last week, and Rachel Wagstaff had an eskimo doll made out of whalebone and sealskin.’

  ‘Yes, but a real person is rather different,’ said Mrs Ellis, still shaking her head.

  ‘A real person is even better,’ pronounced Tim. ‘People can see rabbits any day they want and anyway it did a poo on James’ desk. And the doll was boring and the sealskin stank. A real Viking would be brilliant. Siggy can tell the whole class about what it was like in Viking times, and Mr Rumble will like it ‘cos he always does when people bring things in ‘cos he doesn’t have to do so much teaching, and Siggy won’t do poos like the rabbit and he doesn’t stink either – well, not much anyway.’

  Tim’s parents listened to this long speech with growing astonishment. ‘Good grief,’ said his father. ‘I didn’t know you had so many words inside you, Tim.’

  ‘I’ve got billions of words inside me,’ Tim explained. ‘But most of the time I think them rather than say them. Sometimes when I say things it comes out all wrong, only it didn’t just then. The words all came out right.’

  Mr Ellis laughed. ‘They certainly did.’

  ‘So can Siggy come into school with me then?’


  Mrs Ellis nodded. ‘We’ll give it a try, Tim. But he had better behave himself. Go and tell him. He’s upstairs. Mrs Tibblethwaite locked him in their room to make sure he didn’t cause any more damage.’ Tim vanished in a flash and a moment later the Ellises heard the sound of his feet charging up the stairs.

  ‘Strange how one pair of feet can sound like a whole herd of dinosaurs,’ mused Mrs Ellis. ‘I hope we’ve made the right decision, Keith.’

  ‘Put it this way,’ said Mr Ellis. ‘Tomorrow Siggy will be out of our hair almost the whole day. I can’t think of anything better.’

  Tim and Zoe both felt extremely proud the next day. They walked into school on either side of Siggy, holding his hands. The children and teachers all knew about Sigurd of course. Many of them had seen him when he went shopping in Flotby with the Ellises, but it was quite different to have him in their school. A real Viking in their school!

  Most of the boys wanted Sigurd to get out Nosepicker and do some swordfighting but Zoe was very sensible and managed to prevent a major disaster in the playground. ‘We’ll show them later, Sigurd,’ she said. Then there was a bit of a scuffle because they all wanted to try on his helmet. And finally Zoe and Tim had a quarrel over whose class Sigurd would go to first, and Tim won, because it had been his idea.

  At Assembly Mrs Crock, the head teacher, introduced Sigurd to the whole school. Mrs Crock was a slim, small lady, with neat grey hair fixed in a bun. She always stood on a little box to talk to the children, but even so, she was still shorter than Sigurd.

  The Viking stood next to her with his black hair exploding from beneath his battered helmet, and a fierce smile on his face.

  ‘Children,’ began Mrs Crock. ‘We are delighted to have Sigurd the Viking with us this week. He will be telling you what it was like to be a Viking and everything about Viking life. Sigurd is an important visitor, so please look after him well. Sigurd, would you like to say something?’

  Sigurd stepped forward and beamed at everyone in the hall. ‘I Sigurd. I come from Hedeby, Denmark. How do I do and the same to you.’ He pointed round the big room. ‘This cruel. I like cruel.’ Mrs Crock nudged him gently.

  ‘School,’ she hissed.

  ‘Yes – scrool!’ said Sigurd cheerfully. ‘Scrool good place. You learn much things. I teach you Viking things. I make you good Vikings. Now I say cheerio and shake your hands and goodbye Mrs Crocodile.’ Sigurd turned to the head teacher, threw his arms round her, gave her an enormous, loud kiss on each cheek and then rubbed his nose against hers. ‘There!’

  Mrs Crock almost fell from her wooden box. She stood there rocking back on her feet, quite speechless, while Sigurd grinned at everyone. ‘That old Viking custom,’ he said. ‘You watch. I show you again,’ and before Mrs Crock could escape she found herself captured in the Viking’s hairy arms once again. ‘Now everyone try,’ cried Sigurd. ‘Everybody stand up. You go to person next to you…’

  Nobody moved. The teachers stared back at him, aghast, as their head teacher fainted, and slowly sank to the floor. The children watched and hoped they didn’t really have to do all this hugging and kissing and nose-rubbing, but Sigurd was adamant. He whipped out Nosepicker and brandished it furiously above his head.

  ‘Everybody stand up!’ he ordered. ‘Now you put arms round necks, hugsy-wugsy, and kiss on chops, slopsy-wopsy, then rub noses, grotty-snotty.’

  The hall was an extraordinary sight. Two hundred and thirty children began shouting and grappling with each other. Eight teachers turned red with embarrassment and began hugging one another.

  ‘You be very careful, Mr Rumble,’ warned Mrs Blatt. ‘My husband is a policeman.’

  ‘You be careful,’ he answered coldly, ‘or I shall have to report you to him.’

  From the children came a great moan of disgust. Even Tim and Zoe were unsure of this Viking custom.

  ‘Urgh! You kissed me Zoe!’

  ‘Well I tried not to. Do you think I wanted to kiss you? You should have kept your face out of the way. I shall probably get the plague now.’

  ‘Yuk! Get your nose off me!’ shouted Rachel Wagstaff to some poor five year old, who immediately burst into tears.

  Sigurd was very pleased, and he stood there grinning at everyone. He didn’t seem to notice that several fights had now broken out between the children, and between the teachers too. Those that weren’t fighting or arguing were crying. They didn’t like this Viking custom at all.

  ‘Now we all good friends!’ Sigurd declared, ignoring the fact that the hall was a wriggling mass of squealing bodies, all trying to escape. He bent down, picked up the unconscious Mrs Crock and threw her over one shoulder. He knew just how to bring her round.

  Sigurd marched off down the corridor with the head teacher dangling over his shoulder. He poked his head round every door and at last found a wash-room. He propped up Mrs Crock on the tiled floor, filled a nearby mop bucket with cold water and poured the entire contents over the hapless head.

  Mrs Crock jerked, gulped, coughed, spluttered and opened her eyes. Her hair straggled down her face and shoulders and her make-up trickled down her cheeks, making long, blue-black smudges. She sat there in an enormous pool of water and stared up at the Viking who was busily refilling his bucket.

  ‘Noooooo! Keep away from me!’ she shouted. She leapt to her feet and was off down the corridor at top squelching speed.

  ‘Mrs Crocodile all right now,’ Sigurd said to himself as he watched her vanish with great satisfaction. He had been in school for less than half an hour, and already he had reduced the place to a shambles.

  4

  All at Sea

  Sigurd and Tim and Zoe stood in the head teacher’s office looking across at Mrs Crock. ‘I think we got off to a bad start,’ said the head teacher. One of the cooks from the school kitchen had kindly lent the head teacher a cook’s uniform, so that she had something dry to wear. Mrs Crock’s hair was still rather bedraggled, and she had poked it up underneath a cook’s cap. Tim was very surprised to see Mrs Crock in a blue uniform.

  ‘Are you going to do the cooking today, Mrs Crock?’ Zoe, who knew exactly why Mrs Crock was dressed like a cook, nudged her brother, but it was too late. Mrs Crock fixed him with a steely glare.

  ‘No, Tim, I am not going to do the cooking today. I am wearing this uniform because… because I wet my dress earlier and I had to change.’

  Tim’s eyes almost popped out of his head. ‘You wet yourself!’ he whispered in awe. Mrs Crock went very red.

  ‘Of course I didn’t! Don’t be so stupid! I meant that my dress became wet. In fact it was soaked, by your Viking friend here.’ Now the head teacher glared at Sigurd, and he shrugged.

  ‘I try to help,’ he explained.

  Mrs Crock sighed. ‘I know. I understand that it was a mistake. However, if you are going to visit the classrooms today then I must ask you to make sure that you do not make the children, or the teachers, do anything silly: like all that ridiculous kissing and hugging.’

  ‘Viking custom,’ growled Sigurd.

  ‘Yes, I know it’s a Viking custom. But we are not Vikings. We are civilised human beings.’

  Sigurd frowned. ‘Scoose me,’ he said. ‘What is silly-fly human bean?’

  ‘Oh never mind.’ Poor Mrs Crock felt totally exhausted, and it was only a quarter to ten. ‘Tim, take Sigurd to your class, and please, please make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.’

  ‘I not stupid,’ Sigurd protested.

  ‘Of course you’re not,’ smiled Mrs Crock, showing them the door and closing it behind them. ‘You’re just a complete and utter nutcase,’ she muttered to herself before collapsing into a chair. Wearily she pulled open a little drawer in her desk and got out a small, silver hip-flask. It was astonishing how many people in Flotby had hipflasks. Sales were on the increase now that Sigurd was back in town.

  Sigurd squeezed himself into the chair next to Tim, just managing to get his knees under the table. Tim grinned at his classmates, an
d they stared back at the great big hairy Viking sitting in their classroom. Mr Rumble smiled.

  ‘We are very lucky this morning, children. Tim’s friend Sigurd is going to tell us about Viking times. I shall sit down in this quiet corner. Sigurd – why don’t you come to the front of the class?’

  The Viking beamed with pleasure and got up. Unfortunately his knees were still jammed under the table which overbalanced and crashed to the floor. Rachel Wagstaff sniggered.

  ‘He’s very clumsy for a Viking,’ she murmured. ‘I bet he’s not a real Viking. He’s just pretend.’

  ‘He is real!’ hissed Tim, as he put the table back on its legs. ‘And you can shut up, Rachel.’

  Rachel’s hand shot into the air and waved about madly. ‘Mr Rumble, Tim told me to shut up!’

  ‘Good idea,’ thought Mr Rumble, but he smiled and said: ‘Over to you, Sigurd. What are you going to tell us about?’

  Sigurd took off his helmet, scratched his head, put his helmet back on and stared at his feet. ‘I Viking!’ he announced.

  ‘Yes, we know that,’ sighed Mr Rumble.

  ‘I Sigurd, from Hedeby, Denmark.’

  ‘Yes. We know that too.’

  ‘I fierce warrior.’ Sigurd pulled his fiercest face and Mandy Perkins screamed. Mandy Perkins was always screaming about something.

  ‘He’s only pretending,’ Tim pointed out with a groan.

  ‘It’s all right, Mandy, Sigurd is acting,’ explained Mr Rumble. He turned to the Viking. ‘Tell us about life in Hedeby, Sigurd.’

  ‘Hedeby – my town. Lots of Vikings: some big like me, some small like baby, some young like Tim, some old like Crumble…’

  ‘Rumble!’ snapped Mr Rumble. ‘And I’m not that old either, if you don’t mind. What did you eat?’

  Sigurd closed his eyes and licked his lips. ‘Sometimes we have big feet,’ he said. ‘Very big feet to praise Thor, God of Thunder.’