MOLESWORTH: – the sand,
And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see:
The blinding mist came down and hid the land,
And never home came she.
(fotherington-tomas burst out blubbing)
O, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair?—
BEAK: Thank you, molesworth, thank you. excellent.
(But nothing can stop me. i continue to the end of the peom despite a hale of ink darts. At the conclusion i bow low and strike my nose upon the desk. All look at me as if amazed.)
Yes, i think i may sa i hav been a help to the masters the kup is as good as mine. Wot else? GRIMES looks around.
‘Hav he been a help to the other members of the huge staff to whom i owe so much? (i.e. about 9 million quid back wages.) Hav he helped our very overworked skool gardener? And matron – how do he and she get on?’
All too well, old top, if you are thinking of PRUDENCE ENTWHISTLE, the glamorous under-matron. But it must be MATRON herself, who look like a gunman’s moll in a gangster pikture. But even here my record is good—
Scene: Matronne’s room, the doors of ye olde physick cupboard are open.
MOLESWORTH: i hav been reading of the labours of hercules, matronne, may i clean out yore cupboard?… Wot hav we here in the syrup of figgs bot? It smell like G-I-N… and wot can these BEER bottles be doing, as if hidden behind the radio-malt?… I will arrange them neatly in the front row… And wot is this which look like the skeleton of a boy chained to the wall… ect. O.K. there, you see. Now for the Kup.
‘The winner must be of excellent repute, (o come, sire). Talented, (o fie!). Inspired.’ (Enuff. You sla me.)
‘And so,’ sa Grimes smiling more horibly than ever, ‘i hav no hesitation in awarding the kup to GRABBER.’
Well its the old story. A fat cheque and you can fix anything but right, i supose, will triumph in the end. In the meantime o mary go and call the catle home ect, or go and do something, i am fed up.
5
COO UR GOSH!
I LUV GURLS
Coo ur gosh i expect this is a bit of a shock especially for the gurls. As you kno it hav long been an open secret in 3b that i never intend to get maried. This hav been becos if you get maried it hav to be to a GURL chiz and hitherto my conviction hav been that GURLS are uterly wet and weed-struck. But this is Xmas the season of luv and goodwill cheers cheers crackers crak berds sing balloons pop and the fur from a milion davy crocket hats fly through the air.
AND SO as I sit here biting grate chunks from my old h.b. (n.b. why do not pencil makers produce a pencil out of buble gum, eh?) anyway as i sit here i write these fateful words which may cut me off for ever from my felow oiks, cads, bulies, and dirty roters – i am determined to LUV GURLS.
‘Oh goody,’ sa fotherington-tomas who see wot my bold hand hav written, ‘I knew you would come round to my point of view, molesworth. Wot sort of gurls do you like?’
‘All of them,’ i repli. ‘i shall spare myself nothing.’
‘Even gurls who giggle?’
‘Yes.’
‘Even gurls who recite weedy rhymes i.e. higldy piggledy i solicity umpa-la-ra-jig?’
‘Yes, ye.’
‘Gurls with skipping ropes who sa “Salt vinegar mustard. peper ect?”’
‘Yes, but you are trying me hard, fotherington-tomas, very hard indeed.’
‘Oh, goody. molesworth luvs gurls with skipping ropes.’
peason pass by with his face covered with ink splodges as per ushual. He faint dead awa and hav to be taken up to matron.
It is only now that i see wot this mean and i ponder on the nature of the feminine gender hem-hem. First of all, there seme to be as many kinds of gurls as there are licorice all-sorts i.e.
GURLS WHO STARE. This is a very comon type. When a brave noble and fearless boy is engaged on some super project as it mite be making a stink bomb poo gosh or a man-trap for a master the GURL come up and look at him. She sa nothing. She just stand there looking soppy. The boy hope she will scram but she do not. The boy wishes to sa git and skit but maners prevent him and soon the master-hand which is engaged on the task grows nervous. He move off to another project. The gurl follow he canot get rid of her. Finally she speak. She sa ‘One-two-three-four-five-six-sevving.’ That is all. Is she bats or wot? i shal find it hard to luv these.
JOLLY HOCKEY GURLS. These gurls wear gym tunics and hav bulging muscles, they line the touchline and shout, ‘Hurrah for Coll!’ This is worse than at st. custard’s where we sa ‘go it grabber you’ll never score. Wot a pass, man. buck up yore ideas.’ Hockey gurls luv their school and if hermione misses a biff at gole in the cercle she hav let the whole place down. As it is falling down anyway this do not mater very much. On satterdays after a glorious victory over st. minniver’s coll for ladies (without millicent at right half, too! Water on the knee the old trubble) they all sing the skool war cry:
HURRA for bat!
Hurra for ball!
Hurra for crosse and lax
And all
Forty years on well still be chums.
Ta-ran-ta-rah fir st. etheldrums.
(all copyright reserved by miss edwina prinknash, headmistress. Send stamped addressed envelope with P/O for ⅓.).
TOUGH GURLS. Believe it or not all gurls are not edducated at colls ect. Some there be (posh prose hem-hem) who hav not had the advantages of a pater on the verge of suicide trying to pay the fees. Such a one (it gets posher and posher, eh?) such a one is Ermintrude you kno the one who likes boiled sweets better if they hav been dropped on the carpet. ermintrude hav not washed for several years oh wot a thing wot a thing. Also she hang upside down on the railings and shout ‘hi liberace’ as you pass chiz chiz chiz. The only thing is to ignore gurls like these and when she buzz a conker at you pretend the incident hav not hapened. Still, this is dificult when she also refer to molesworth 2 as ‘my bruther george.’
Such a one is Ermintrude.
Of corse i could go on becos there are many more types of gurls – fat gurls, gurls with dollies, bossy gurls and, on some occasions, gurls who are beter at lessons than you. (‘Oh, nigel, don’t you really know the ablative singular of armiger?’ I don’t supose you even kno what it means.’)
But this thing must not go too far. Imagine wot would hapen at st. custard’s if we were like gurls and got a CRUSH on somebody, e.g.
FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS: oh, nigel, may i take yore books to the fr. class this morning?
NIGEL: foolish little thing. Peason hav already offered.
FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS (blubbing): oh.
NIGEL: never mind. You may wash the tanks and tractors which i hav drawn off my bungy.
FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS: Oh, goody! And may I clean out yore locker for you?
NIGEL: at yore own risk.
And so it go on. ANYWAY, gurls are jolly d. They are pritty, super and smashing. Wot would we young chaps do without them at xmas parties, eh? Well, there’d be a lot more jelly and trifle to go round and, whether you like it or not, you hav to put up with them. So make the best of them.
n.b. a offers of mariage as the result of this will be considered in strikt rotation.
DANSEY DANSEY
The fell words are spoken chiz they fall upon my weedy shoulders like GRIMES lash, they strike a super shuder in my sole. Wot can these words be, eh? They are words which every brave, noble and fearless boy heard in his time i.e. when Mum sa swetely: ‘It is time, nigel, you learned to dance.’
Any boy, except fotherington-tomas, hav the answer to this. ‘No, mater, I won’t, nothing will make me, i won’t won’t won’t ect.’ In the end, however, he always find himself in a weedy dancing klass sliding across the polished floor in shiny dancing pumps with darling bows on them chiz chiz chiz.
In fakt, come to think of it, there are not many times in his life when a weed is free from dancing klasses. It begin almost as soon as he can patter on his 2 tiny feet and his mum admire his long golden
curls. There he is plaing with ratle and saing ‘goo’ over the top of his pla pen when his mum sneke up behind him and stick a gat in his ribs: ‘o.k. blue eyes we’re going to dancing klass. Get moving and no funny business.’ The pore baby hav no answer to this and he hav to submit while he is dressed in a velvet suit chiz little todling shoes chiz chiz and look like little lord fauntleroy chiz chiz chiz. Then he is zoomed in a high-powered car to the klass.
Piktur the sordid scene with anxious mums, weedy little gurls with ribbons in their hair and 36 faunderoys of whom YOU are one. Enter a huge woman flexing her muscles who beam britely and sa: ‘Now we’re all going to be little mice and little rats… no, let’s change our mind… not little rats, let’s be GRATE BIG RATS… Tippy-toes, nigel, tippy toes… You ort to kno how to be a grate big rat… in time to the musick… clap, clap,… now altogether jump into the air!’
Where else do she expect a tiny to jump, eh? Into the big drum? Though if he wear a fauntleroy suit it would be much beter if he did. But you see wot i mean, felow suferers? You’re hardly born before you hav to dansey-dansey. The next attempt is made at a later age when yore mater try it on once agane to presuade yore stuborn boyish nature by swete reason.
Scene: The molesworth brekfast table. Pater and mater present: molesworth 2 eating the cereal with fine relish ha-ha. molesworth 1 sit corektly a smile flitting litely akross his finely moulded features.
MATER: But if you don’t learn, nigel, how will you be able to dance with GURLS at parties?
ME: i shall manage to face that kalamity with composure, mummy.
MATER: (to pater) Ortn’t he to learn to dance, my dere.
PATER: Eh?
MOLESWORTH 2: Pass the marmalade and buter. Make it snappy.
MATER: ORTN’T NIGEL TO LEARN DANCING? MY DERE?
PATER: How much do it cost?
MOLESWORTH 2: Toste and more tea.
ME: After all entertanement at parties you can’t beat throwing the old pink blancmange, mims, my swete.
MATER: O.K., rat, you’ll take dancing next term and like it.
That is the trubble with the youth of the world there is no justice, no court of appeal.
In the shabby finery of ye olde st. custard’s dining room whose floor as usual is littered with old prune stones there were scenes of rolicking gaiety last nite. Under the capable auspises of mrs maplebeck gay youngsters from the skool sported to the capable measures of miss pringle, the skool musick mistress.
‘Take yore partners for the foxtrot!’ yell mrs maplebeck.
Imagine with wot joy molesworth I, the dasher of the palais, see that he is to dance with his best frend peason.
‘May i hav the pleasure, o weedy worm?’ he sa, bowing.
peason respond with a low curtsey.
‘O.k., thou giant rat!’ he sa, with a modest blush.
And so the dance begin and as the evening wear on the joy and xcitement mount to fever pitch as fotherington-tomas do a solo pas de deux with 90 m.p.h., 3000 c.c. jump which send him zooming into the honors board. Finally the skool piano blow up with mitey explosion sending up mushroom cloud of fluff, caterpillers, cig cards ect.
So you see. You may as well put up with it becos DANCING canot be avoided. Later on i am told you will grow to like it so perhaps at the moment we hav not enuff incentives. In the meantime HEIGH-HO for sir roger de coverly tipp-toes and don’t forget to make a luvly arch.
HEIGH-HO for sir roger de coverly.
A FEW ROOLS FOR XMAS
Gosh super xmas is here agane cheers cheers. Every boy and weedy gurl must remember not only that this is a time of rejoicing but that they must BEHAVE. Here are a few of the molesworth-peason rools for xmas which we hope you will all obay:
ROOL 1
Claus, santa, rekognition of.
Everybode kno even tinies that santa claus is yore… well, hem-hem. It is a chiz for the pore old felow, however, if you let him kno you kno. When he entereth the bedchamber laden with presents, snore deeply: when he drop the lot, stir uneasily as if there were fairies about (see p. pan) Do not sit up in bed and sa: ‘A masterly performance, yore timing is superb, even olivier ect could not hav done better.’ If you do this yore pater… hem-hem will burst out larffing, moles-worth 2 will fire a red moon space roket and you will do a handspring off the end of the bed. This may get yore mater in a bate, season of goodwill tho it be. Better far to lie quite still as she bends over the sleping cherubs and hear her doting words: ‘If only he hadn’t got your family’s revolting nose he mite be quite good-looking.’
ROOL 2
Claus, Santa in shop and rekognition of.
Everyone kno this dodge it is only to attrakt trade. Tiny gurls and wee boys are led by the hand chiz and their mummies sa ‘Look at santa claus.’ (n.b. wot are they expected to do, kick him?) The effect of being told to look at santa differ widely among the younger genneration-some weep bitterly, some put their finger in their mouths, others run away screaming and there are some, like molesworth 2, who sa: ‘O.k. santa. Wot you got for me?’ For elder children the direct approche is required e.g. zoom out of the house of the elves and conduct an interview like a t.v. reporter.
‘Is that beard real? Is it cotonwool?’
‘Y… y… yes.’
‘Is it true there’s only sawdust in that sack?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sticking to that?’
‘Sawdust and wood shavings.’
‘Would you or would not sa there is an element of deception tantamount to fraud in your conduct? Are you satisfied and do you contend that you came to this toy department in a reindeer sledge? Wot are you going to do about it?’
Father xmas ushually hav a simple answer to this. e.g. i’m going to chase you round the elves house, into the wonderful gardens, through aladin’s cave and into the fairy grotto and if i get yer, mate, i’ll do yer.’ So beware.
ROOL 3
Dances, Fancy Dress, Corekt Deportment.
When told that dere mrs cracklby and dere lady fotheringay hav thort it a delicious idea to hav a fancy dress dance, most weedy gurls jump up and down in the air. ‘Oh, mummy,’ they sa, ‘can i go as a pixie?’ Boys are difrent. Being used to the horors of life at st. custards they take the dredful tidings with a stiff upper lip e.g. mater, nothing on earth will make me go. i uterly refuse. Comes the day, however, and there he is driven in the family tumbril, exposed to the jeers of the mob and why — he is dressed as a jester and smell of mothballs. Yore mater hav given you the famous words ‘You will enjoy it once you get there’ — and wot a mad delightful press of gay young people clad in multi-coloured costume greets the eye. Wate, however, until the eye getteth hit with a jelly bunged by little sally who hav come as tommy steel. WACKO! Lead me to the blancmange. Honor must be satisfied.
Gosh super xmas is here agane
ROOL 4
Wot to sa when another boy’s present is nicer than yores.
Sa nothing. Just burst into tears and howl the place down.
ROOL 5
Parents, care and upkepe of, at xmas.
There would be no real xmas without parents. Therefore hem-hem it is as much their day as yores. There are several ways in which you can make it a true fragrant xmas for yore parents. Be sure to wake at 5.30 in the morning and trip down to their room to show yore presents. Paters get as much fun as the boys from tranes and cowboy pistols, altho the hour may be early. Then later do not forget to ask yore pater to mend the toys you hav broken and get him to share yore interests by making a vast dredger or cantilever bridge with yore bumpo construktion outfit. The really thortful will give him a nice elektric shok with their tiny toy crane. That will really make mums larff!
A Brite Future for Youth
DING-DONG-PIP-CLANG!
DING-DONG-PIP-CLANG!
Ye olde bells of ye olde church ring out merily — tower shake, rafters quake, death-watch beetles tremble in their shoes. Never hav there been such a din since molesworth 2 pla fairy bells on the ol
de organ
DING-DONG-PIP-CLANG!
DING-DONG-PIP-CLANG!
Ye olde bell-ringers drink more BEER and bells go
DONG-PIP-CLANG-DING!
PIP-PIP-PIP-PIP!
(n.b. wher hav DONG, CLANG and DING gone? They are lying flat on their backs like their extremely rude forefathers (peotry) and they will feel terible tomorrow.)
What is all this about? It is the NEW YEAR! Hooray, hooray, hooray! And the bells are ringing it in until the appeal for £1000 to save the church from destruction zoom from its perch and strike ye old vicar on his olde balde nut.
So once agane another year lie before us with all its brite promise. Everyone be he man woman or child (posh prose) will be wondering wot he can do to improve and, in some cases, it ought to take a whole year to find out. Take headmaster GRIMES for xsample. Pikture him if you can on jan I writing his resolutions in his study while the candle gutter fitfully in the botle. This is wot he write:
RESOLUTIONS
Less food and all tuck forbiden… more dissipline… buy 60 new kanes… put up skool fees… borow up to £100 from new master before others can tell him… more produktivity in lat. fr. algy, geom ect… tune skool piano… more water in ink… new chromium plated counter for whelk stall… buy super new car… molesworth?????????
So, pleased with his work, he larff fritefully and creep through the cobweb passages of empty st. custards to his iron bed.
But not all are like GRIMES most want to do GOOD in the new year the there is not much chance of it. Youth is brave, noble, fearless ect and face the problems of the age with brite, clear-eyed confidence. Even weedy gurls make resolutions chiz which are absolutely wringing wet e.g. you can imagine wot ermintrude (you kno the one with an ickle-pritty bow who dance a fairy dance at parties) write in her little lavender book.
RESOLUTIONS
Take more cowslips to miss pringle… improve my salt, mustard, pepper at skipping until i am as good as basil fotherington-tomas… press more leaves… make a chum of gloria… take more and more cowslips to miss pringle… kepe my back so strate i fall over backwards… don’t be nasty about jenifer’s lipstick… kepe my desk tidy… take millions of cowslips to miss pringle.
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