The Bravest Kid I've Ever Known and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls

by Christopher Milne

  The crowd clapped and cheered and cried and hugged. They carried Alan off the ground on their shoulders. And do you know what? Even the Nyora guys clapped. They’re tough, but they’re terrific sports.

  Poor Monkey Roberts has never been the same since. He still kicks well enough, but taking marks has become a terrible problem.

  You see, he only uses one hand. He uses the other to hold onto his shorts.

  What a week, thought Father Christmas. On Thursday, I stubbed my toe getting into the stupid sleigh.

  On Saturday, the North Pole Bears lost by sixteen goals.

  It’s only three weeks till Christmas and I’m way behind with the toys, plus my helpers seem to be spending more time PLAYING video games than making them.

  And worst of all, the doctor tells me I’m too fat!

  ‘Without wishing to be unkind,’ the doctor had said, ‘take away the red coat and we’re looking at a giant slug.’

  Poor Father Christmas. He knew that everyone had their wobblies, but being behind with the toys — that was a real problem. So far behind that unless all his helpers worked twice as hard, some kids would miss out. And that was unthinkable.

  In the end, Father Christmas called all his helpers together for a meeting.

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong,’ he said, ‘but there’s only three weeks to go and half the children’s toy lists are still stacked up in my office. They haven’t even been looked at! I know you all help me for no pay and you all do your best, but I’m desperate.’

  Secretly, Father Christmas knew his helpers hadn’t been doing their best — not for the last couple of months, anyway. But what can you say when people are helping you for free?

  The leader of the helpers, Freddie, said, ‘Well, it’s like this, FC. We’ve been helping you now for — what is it? — two thousand years. And it wears off after a while. On top of that, all these cool new video games are coming through and it’s hard to stop yourself from playing them. I guess what I’m saying, FC, is that we need a holiday!’

  Father Christmas thought long and hard. Freddie had a point. But how could he possibly get all the toys ready on time if his workers took holidays now?

  And then it came to him. An idea. When you’ve been around for two thousand years, you do tend to pick up the odd trick or two — some of them just a little bit naughty.

  ‘OK,’ said Father Christmas. ‘How does a week off sound?’

  ‘Yes!’ they all screamed.

  ‘And,’ added Father Christmas, ‘you can all eat and drink as much as you like, because this giant slug won’t be needing it.’

  So the week began. The helpers’ first holiday in two thousand years. And they went crazy! It was party-time twenty-four hours a day. One of the helpers, Jacko, played seventy-three video games in a row. And Lucy watched TV non-stop for four days.

  And talk about eating and drinking! Little Tommy ate so many chocolate bars he thought he would throw up. And he did.

  Father Christmas was amazed at how hard all his helpers could party. But he didn’t stop them.

  ‘Another drink anyone?’ yelled Father Christmas. ‘Who’d like another sixteen packets of potato chips? There’s a TV set over there not turned on, I see.’

  And so it went, day after day. Until the fifth day.

  And that’s when the trouble started.

  Jacko had played so many video games that each time he went to the toilet, he pushed the flush button fifteen times. He was almost into the highest level of his favourite game when Little Tommy tripped on a chair leg and tipped pineapple cordial all over the screen.

  ‘You idiot!’ screamed Jacko. ‘It’s taken me five days to get this high.’

  ‘Sorry about the cordial,’ replied Tommy, ‘but you’re the idiot. That game’s easy!’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Jacko, ‘prove it!’

  ‘No way,’ yelled Lucy. ‘I’m next. I’ve been waiting all morning.’

  ‘But we’ve got hundreds of video games!’ said Jacko.

  ‘Well, I want this one,’ said Lucy. ‘It’s nearest the heater and I get cold when I’m not working.’

  ‘Go and do some work then,’ said Jacko. ‘It’s all you’re good for, anyway.’

  ‘Always wondered what you really thought of me, butthead,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Who are you calling butthead?’ said Jacko. ‘Poo-face!’

  With that, Lucy grabbed the video game control stick and broke it in half. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Two control sticks. Now you can both play.’

  ‘I’ll smash you for that!’ shouted Jacko.

  Meanwhile, other helpers were starting to fight, too, and the noise was unbelievable. Finally, Freddie screamed, ‘Stop it! What has happened to us all? This is supposed to be a holiday! Fun!’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jacko, ‘but idiot Lucy just broke the control stick —’

  ‘I don’t want to hear,’ yelled Freddie. ‘It’s not Lucy, it’s all of us. We’ve all had too much of a good thing. It’s made us greedy and nasty. We’ve forgotten why we decided to help old FC in the first place — because we all knew there was more pleasure in giving than receiving, remember?’

  Yes, they did remember. They hung their heads in shame.

  ‘Where is FC?’ asked Jacko.

  ‘Out the back, I think,’ said Freddie. ‘Working. Trying to catch up.’

  Sure enough, Father Christmas was in his office, wrapping presents just as fast as he could. He looked tired and hungry.

  ‘How’s the holiday?’ asked Father Christmas.

  ‘It’s over,’ said Freddie, ‘and we’re ready to work our butts off, aren’t we, gang?’

  ‘Yeah!’ they all shouted.

  Father Christmas smiled to himself, and, as his helpers happily rolled up their sleeves and got back to work, he sneaked out to the kitchen and cracked open a can of beer. Against the doctor’s orders, of course, but who wants a skinny Father Christmas?

  Two pies with sauce and another can of beer later, Father Christmas grabbed his coat, rang for a taxi sleigh and wrote a note.

  Back soon.

  Just how soon he came back, I never found out. But, as Father Christmas later said, ‘You can’t expect people to work without holidays.’

  Neil Pike was a naughty boy.

  A very naughty boy.

  You see, Neil did smells. All the time. Rotten, disgusting smells. On purpose. Sneaky, steamy, silent smells. Without warning. ‘Soupcoolers,’ Neil called them.

  If ever there was a competition for making smells — and let’s hope there’s not — Neil would win without trying.

  Of course, good boys and girls like you and me would never dream of doing the foul fluffs for which Neil became known. Except for accidents, of course. But Neil was so naughty he even did smells in the classroom. And do you know what? Not once did he get into trouble. How could he? Our teacher always had to leave the room.

  Who, then, could possibly have guessed that Neil would become a hero? That Neil Pike’s pooeys would one day be the pride of the school…

  It all began one rainy afternoon. In fact, rainy isn’t the word. It was absolutely bucketing down. Neil said that in all his eleven years he had never seen rain like it. It was only a matter of time, reckoned Neil, before the whole school would begin to float away.

  Our teacher, Mrs Cooper, said she’d never heard such nonsense. If Neil didn’t stay quiet, she’d keep him in after school.

  Neil said sorry to Mrs Cooper, smiled, and then let go one of the worst silent-but-deadlies you could ever imagine. An absolute hummer. A plastic bag full of dead rats left in the sun for a month would have smelled better. Mrs Cooper put her hand to her mouth and left the room to be sick.

  It wasn’t long after Mrs Cooper returned that they first noticed. Things were starting to float past the window. First the shelter shed, then Mrs Cooper’s car.

  ‘Oh no!’ screamed Simone Edwards. ‘It’s not the car that’s moving. It’s us!’

  By now, every kid in the class
had their noses pressed against the window, trying to see through the rain. It was true.

  The whole school was afloat.

  You see, Neerim Inlet Primary School was built very close to the beach. Too close. Neerim Inlet Primary School was drifting out to sea.

  Kimberly Hicks screamed. So did Brett Billsgrove. Mrs Cooper wanted to scream too. The loudest scream you have ever heard. But she knew she couldn’t. It was her job to make sure everyone stayed calm.

  Too late. Much too late. By now every kid in the room was screaming or crying or running round in circles and yelling for Mum and Dad.

  Except, that is, for Neil.

  ‘Sit down!’ shouted Mrs Cooper above the noise. ‘If we stay calm, we’ll be all right. Please!’

  But no-one listened. And for the first time in his life, Neil felt sorry for Mrs Cooper. And he knew exactly what he had to do. He had to get everyone’s attention and the only way to do that was to let go the loudest explosion he’d ever done in his life.

  Now, we’ve all let fluffy off the chain from time to time. And we’ve all done some loud ones. But this one was an absolute blurter.

  A thunderer. A ten.

  Pictures rattled, curtains blew and desk-tops flapped. The room went silent.

  ‘And there’s an SBD to come if you don’t all shut up and listen to Mrs Cooper!’ shouted Neil.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mrs Cooper. ‘A bit more choke and that would’ve started.’ She knew that laughter was the best way to help children relax.

  ‘Now,’ said Mrs Cooper. ‘It’s obvious the school is floating and we’ve been blown out to sea. But if you listen, the wind has stopped and so far we haven’t sprung any leaks. If we all sit perfectly still we’ll keep floating and eventually someone will come to rescue us. Now, any questions?’

  ‘What if no-one comes?’ asked Kim Ng.

  ‘They will,’ replied Mrs Cooper.

  But no-one did. Not because they didn’t care. There were just too many people to be rescued. The whole Neerim Inlet township was afloat.

  So the class waited.

  And they waited.

  Finally, they could wait no longer. And that was when Neil came up with his fantastic idea.

  Neil whispered his idea in Mrs Cooper’s ear, and she said yes. She went the most terrible shade of red, but she definitely said yes. Neil then turned to the rest of the class and asked everybody to get out their lunch boxes. They did exactly as Neil asked.

  Everyone could tell that whatever Neil had whispered in Mrs Cooper’s ear, it was a good idea. It was probably their only chance of being saved.

  ‘OK,’ said Neil. ‘Who’s got peanut butter sandwiches?’ A few hands went up.

  ‘I’ll have those,’ he said. ‘Boiled eggs? Licorice straps? Now, while I eat my lunch, I want the rest of you to find as many pieces of old rag as you can and knot them all together. We’re going to sail home.’

  Everyone did as Neil had asked while he ate and ate and ate. Until he was bursting. And then they waited.

  They didn’t have to wait long. Neil’s tummy soon started to rumble and he went purple in the face.

  ‘Right. Everybody up on the roof!’ shouted Neil.

  ‘How are we going to get up there?’ asked Daniel Hodgman.

  ‘Quickly!’ said Neil.

  Daniel didn’t get the joke but that was nothing unusual.

  ‘Follow me!’ shouted Neil, and, as if he’d done it a hundred times before — which he probably had — Neil showed the kids how to climb out the window, hang on to some pipes and haul themselves up and over the edge of the guttering.

  ‘Now,’ said Neil, ‘you see Mount Lewry over there? That’s the direction we have to go. If we put the sail on this side the wind will blow us home.’

  ‘But there’s no wind,’ said Olivia Hodgman.

  ‘Oh, yes there is!’ replied Neil. He turned to face away from the sails, took a deep breath and let go THE BIG ONE.

  The sails filled, Mrs Cooper fainted and Neerim Inlet Primary School glided swiftly and safely back home.

  Mums and dads and brothers and sisters were all there waiting. They cried and clapped and cheered and hugged and kissed. And when they heard that Neil had saved everyone’s lives, the crowd called for three cheers and lifted Neil above their heads.

  But they had to put him down again because Neil got excited and let slip a corker.

  From that day on, Neil was everybody’s favourite friend. And Mrs Cooper said Neil could sit in whichever seat he liked for as long as he wanted.

  Of course, the best seat in the room is in the back row, right near the window. A window that Mrs Cooper keeps ever so slightly open.