Nanny Piggins and the Runaway Lion

by R. A. Spratt

  And so, when the team arrived at the World Championships two weeks later, they were happier and fatter than they had ever been before. And in a sport that involves plummeting, a few extra pounds do not hurt.

  The Russians and the Norwegians were their main competitors, and when they saw Nanny Piggins arrive at the ski jumping venue, they laughed openly. If Nanny Piggins had not had such a lovely time drinking hot chocolate and singing alpine folk songs for the past two weeks, she might have thought about punishing them. As it was, she knew that being beaten by a flying pig would be punishment enough.

  The morning of the big competition soon arrived.

  “Are you nervous?” asked Derrick.

  “Why would I feel nervous?” replied Nanny Piggins. “Obviously I feel bad for the other competitors because they will shortly be made to look like fools on international television. But I don’t think they’ll attack me. They’ll probably just cry a lot and never want to see snow again.”

  Now, the way the Ski Jump World Championships works is that each athlete gets two jumps. The distances are measured and points are given for form and style by an international panel of judges. Then all those numbers are combined in a complicated way that nobody quite understands by someone in a back room with a calculator, and that is how the winner is decided.

  The competition started early in the morning, but it took quite a while to get through all the athletes because the ones who jumped well took forever celebrating by pumping their fists in the air and showing off in front of the crowd, and the ones who jumped badly had to be scraped off the bottom of the hillside by an ambulance crew. Nanny Piggins was scheduled to jump last because no one had ever heard of her before, and if she made a botch of it they did not want her to damage the ramp before everybody else had had their turn.

  So by the time Nanny Piggins stepped out onto the top of the ski jump, the Norwegians were in the lead, with the Russians close behind. She was again wearing her bright yellow jumping suit (Nanny Piggins was excused from wearing the team colors because she undeniably looked fabulous in yellow).

  In the dressing shed behind her, Nanny Piggins could hear the Norwegian coach snickering with the Russian coach. One of them even had the audacity to make an oinking noise. Nanny Piggins made a mental note to deal with them later. But she was not going to be distracted now, because the crisp alpine air smelled clean and pure, and the updraft was strong and welcoming. The mountain was practically calling to her, saying, “Jump, Nanny Piggins, jump.”

  And so she did. Nanny Piggins pushed herself off the edge, crouched low while she built up momentum, and then launched off the end of the jump like a rocket.

  There were no cheers, no boos, and definitely no oinking noises. The crowd of ten thousand people watched Nanny Piggins fly through the air in completely silent awe. That was until the people in the main stand at the bottom realized she was going to overshoot the landing area (again) and crash into them. At this point people started screaming and trying to get out of the way.

  But they should have had more faith in the world’s greatest flying pig. The people in the top row at the back just heard her say, “Duck, please!” as she shot through where they had been sitting, missing the back of their seats by less than a whisker.

  She then flew another fifty yards before landing in the drive-through lane of a fast-food restaurant, a block down the street. Naturally she picked up two dozen Merry Meals for herself, the children, Boris, and the rest of the team before walking back.

  The crowd roared cheers of approval as she reentered the stadium. Even the people who had been forced to evacuate their seats did not mind. They had a story they would be able to tell their grandchildren in years to come—the time they had nearly been hit in the head by the world’s greatest ski jumping pig.

  The Russians and the Norwegians did not look so smug now. They were too busy reading the rulebook, triple-checking to see if you really could enter a female pig in the Ski Jump World Championships.

  “You did it, Nanny Piggins,” yelled Derrick excitedly. “You jumped farther than anyone else ever has in the history of the ski jump.”

  “Really?” said Nanny Piggins. “I wondered why they built that stand so close. It makes you wonder why all these silly men go into ski jumping if they’re so bad at it. Perhaps it’s just because they like the skintight bodysuits?”

  “Your first jump was so much farther than anybody else, you only have to complete your second jump, and you’ll win,” said Michael excitedly. He’d brought along a calculator and worked that out himself.

  The second round was held that afternoon. Nanny Piggins spent the interim signing autographs and eating chocolate to gird her energy.

  All the other competitors did their jumps and tried their best, but their hearts were not in it. As Nanny Piggins had predicted, many of them were already crying and planning to give the sport up, having seen their entire life’s work trounced by a female pig.

  The Norwegian and Russian coaches scowled at Nanny Piggins as she walked toward the top of the jump carrying her skis. This time she did stop to speak to them.

  “Gentlemen, I know competitive sports bring out the worst in humans, but in the future I advise you not to engage in pig-ist behavior. It is unseemly. And as a pig, it is wearisome having to constantly be putting silly men in their place.”

  “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” protested the Russian coach.

  “Then let me explain,” said Nanny Piggins menacingly. “If I hear an oink out of either of you again, you’ll soon be making a very different noise when I sink my teeth into your shins.”

  With that, Nanny Piggins strode out onto the ski jump.

  “You can do it, Nanny Piggins,” encouraged Derrick.

  “We’re so proud of you,” called Samantha.

  “Throw in a somersault,” requested Michael.

  “And see if you can land in the ice-cream shop this time,” called Boris. “I fancy a scoop of tutti-frutti!”

  Nanny Piggins gave her entourage a thumbs-up, then turned to look down the slope. She saw the crowd (now fifteen thousand strong, because people had jumped in their cars and driven over to see the flying pig), and she found the spot she was aiming for—the back row of the stands, now vacated in anticipation. Then she launched herself into the jump.

  Nanny Piggins whistled down the ramp even faster than before, her ears drawn tight against her head and her snout stretched forward for maximum aerodynamics. Then, at just the right moment, she used her hind legs to thrust herself forward off the jump. And she was flying.

  The people from the back row of the stands knew they could have kept their seats, because Nanny Piggins was going even farther this time. The penthouse suite of the tallest hotel in town was about to get a flying pig come crashing in through its window. That was, until it happened…

  Someone opened a chocolate bar.

  Now the sound of a chocolate bar wrapper being torn open is very distinctive. And Nanny Piggins’s hearing was so good, she could tell the difference between a Kit Kat and a Mars bar being opened from five miles away. So when she heard that magical noise, she never really made a conscious decision. Her entire body simply responded reflexively, swooping in the general direction of the sound and snapping the chocolate bar out of the hand of its owner, who just happened to be the Norwegian judge who knew full well that leaving the course mid-jump was grounds for immediate disqualification, even if the jumper had been entrapped by a chocolate bar.

  The entire crowd groaned with disappointment.

  When the children found Nanny Piggins she was sitting in the snow behind the judges’ table, trying to lick every last trace of chocolate off the wrapper.

  “Oh, Nanny Piggins,” sympathized Samantha. “Are you all right?”

  Boris did not say anything. He just wrapped his sister in a bear hug.

  “Are you dreadfully disappointed to be disqualified and lose out on the gold medal?” asked Derrick.

  Nann
y Piggins looked up. “Gold medal?” It took her a moment to realize what they were saying. “Why would I worry about that? I’ve just had the most delicious chocolate bar.”

  “But, Nanny Piggins,” said Michael, “I think that Norwegian judge may have opened the chocolate bar on purpose to trick you into not winning.”

  “Then he is a very silly man indeed,” said Nanny Piggins, “because who got to eat the chocolate bar? Not him! Really, I don’t know how these men get to be national officials. Their priorities are all wrong.”

  “You’ve been thrown off the national team,” said Samantha.

  “We have to go back to living with Father,” said Derrick.

  “It’s probably for the best,” said Nanny Piggins. “We shouldn’t really leave your father unattended for too long. It isn’t fair to the rest of the community. And ski jumping is exhausting.”

  “But you never do any training or practice,” said Michael.

  “I know, but being universally admired is hard work,” explained Nanny Piggins. “Besides, I much prefer being a nanny. It’s more exciting.”

  And so Nanny Piggins, Boris, and the children headed home that afternoon, satisfied that they had enjoyed a lovely two-week vacation and completely revolutionized the sport of ski jumping at the same time.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Nanny Piggins: A Biography

  ow dare you suggest such a price!” yelled Nanny Piggins.

  “You are trying to ruin me!” accused the shopkeeper.

  Boris and the children were standing on the sixth floor of a restaurant supply shop in Chinatown watching Nanny Piggins haggle over the price of a new wok.2 It was quite a show.

  “Do you want my family to starve?” demanded the shopkeeper.

  “It is the children I care for who will starve if I agree to your extortionate demands,” countered Nanny Piggins.

  “If you can’t afford a wok, maybe you should just eat your food raw!” yelled the shopkeeper.

  Nanny Piggins’s old wok had been ruined earlier that morning in a backyard badminton accident. She had been using it as a racket (because the badminton rackets were ruined when they played Scott of the Antarctic.3 They had made excellent snowshoes, but sadly, like Scott, the rackets did not survive).

  To win the badminton game, Nanny Piggins had thrown herself full-stretch at the shuttlecock and hit a brilliant volley. Unfortunately Boris was so delighted by his sister’s success, he jumped up and down excitedly, accidentally jumping on Nanny Piggins’s wok. And while woks are designed to withstand incredibly high temperatures and extremely bad-tempered chefs, they are not designed to withstand the full weight of a thousand-pound-plus bear. Which is how she came to be haggling with the shopkeeper.

  Now, Nanny Piggins and the shopkeeper both knew what price she would end up paying for the wok, but they both enjoyed haggling. You see, in ordinary day-to-day life it is frowned upon to yell loudly at someone, call them names, and wave your arms about. But when you are haggling, that is all okay.

  “You want me to lose my shop and live in a cardboard box on the street,” remonstrated the shopkeeper.

  “I want you to charge reasonable prices and stop taking advantage of poor hardworking nannies,” retorted Nanny Piggins.

  But just then their argument was interrupted by the most extraordinary event. Out of the corner of her eye, Nanny Piggins noticed a toddler on a balcony in the building opposite. The toddler, with the total lack of self-preservation unique to children of that age, was climbing over the safety barrier. Nanny Piggins froze mid-haggle and pointed. She was just about to call out, “Climb back inside, you naughty child,” when the little boy lost his grip and fell.

  Nanny Piggins did not even think. Her circus training kicked in, and she reacted instinctively by hurling herself out of the window and catching the falling infant. At this point she did allow herself a brief millisecond of self-congratulation before turning her mind to the more urgent matter of what to do about the hard pavement that they were plummeting toward.

  Fortunately there were several canvas awnings below her, so, holding the baby tightly in her arms, Nanny Piggins spun around to land flat on her back on the first one. She tore straight through, but the awning had slowed her fall. So when she hit the second awning Nanny Piggins bounced off, spiraling across the street and hitting another awning, which she bounced off too. Now Nanny Piggins was starting to enjoy herself, so she did a double flip before smashing through a fourth awning feetfirst, and landing on a street cart full of bananas.

  Nanny Piggins did not normally approve of fruit, but in this instance the slightly overripe bananas provided a soft, if somewhat messy, landing. So Nanny Piggins slid down the barrow and landed on the pavement, with barely a hair out of place. The baby, who was safe in her arms, smiled delightedly, saying, “Again, again!”

  “All right,” said Nanny Piggins. She had enjoyed the fall too. She did not get to do much plummeting these days (since she’d left the circus). So Nanny Piggins was just about to climb back up the stairs to take another turn when everyone from the street (and it was a crowded street) rushed forward to praise her.

  “You’re a hero!” exclaimed an elderly woman.

  “It’s like you’re a trained acrobat,” said a doughnut salesman.

  “Well, actually—” began Nanny Piggins.

  “My baby, my baby, my baby!” screamed the baby’s mother.

  “Have a free banana!” said the banana salesman, finding the one unsquashed banana left on his barrow.

  A television camera and microphone were shoved in her face. (The television crew just happened to be in the street doing a story on the extortionate price of woks when they had caught Nanny Piggins’s daring rescue on tape.)

  “Who are you? How did you do that? Are you some kind of roving superhero?” asked the journalist.

  “Not at all,” said Nanny Piggins. “I’m just the world’s greatest flying pig.”

  That night the footage of Nanny Piggins saving the baby was on the news. It looked even more spectacular in slow motion. Each acrobatic maneuver was even more graceful, and Nanny Piggins’s hair looked even more fabulous.

  “Wow, you’re a celebrity!” exclaimed Michael.

  “Nanny Piggins has always been a celebrity,” Boris reminded him.

  “But now you’re a celebrity all over again,” said Michael.

  “That is the difficult thing about having enormous talent,” said Nanny Piggins. “It is hard to stay out of the public spotlight. But don’t worry, I am not going to pursue that life again. Tomorrow there will be some other spectacular footage on the news, perhaps a tap-dancing ferret or a scuba-diving badger, and the world will forget about me.”

  But Nanny Piggins was only partially right. A badger did scuba dive off the coast of Vanuatu, but that did not mean everyone had lost interest in her.

  It was a rainy morning, so Nanny Piggins was just helping the children set up a soccer field in the living room using Mr. Green’s crystal trophies as goalposts (he won the trophies for being the runner-up in “The Best Tax Lawyer of the Year” award. There were only two tax lawyers in the local area, so he won this award year after year, and there was no shortage of goalposts), when they were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

  “You don’t think your father has set up a closed-circuit TV system, and he can see what we are up to?” asked Nanny Piggins, looking about the room for hidden cameras.

  “I don’t think Father wants to know what we are up to,” said Derrick. Which was true; Mr. Green did not notice what was going on when he was right there in the same room as them, so it would not make sense for him to start paying attention when he was not.

  “You hide, and I’ll answer the door, just in case it’s the truancy officer,” said Nanny Piggins.

  “But it’s a Saturday,” Derrick pointed out.

  “I doubt that would stop her,” said Nanny Piggins. “If that woman could lock you up in school seven days a week, I’m sure she would.
”

  Nanny Piggins bravely approached the front door. She picked up an umbrella, just in case it was the truancy officer and she needed to poke her. But as Nanny Piggins swung the door open it immediately became apparent that it was not the truancy officer. For a start the truancy officer was an unusually tall woman, and this visitor was closer to Nanny Piggins’s own height. Also, the truancy officer was very neat and precise, with a pinched expression on her face as if she had just stepped on a thumbtack, whereas this woman was a mess. She had crooked, smudged glasses and a mass of dark, wavy hair sticking out in the most peculiar directions, and she looked slightly bewildered, as though she could not remember how she had gotten there.

  “What do you want?” asked Nanny Piggins suspiciously.

  “To talk to you, please,” said the messy woman.

  “We don’t want to change our phone service provider,” said Nanny Piggins guardedly.

  “Oh no, I’m not a door-to-door salesperson,” said the messy woman. “I’m an author.”

  “Aaah, that explains your clothes,” said Nanny Piggins. For the author looked like she had been sleeping in her moth-eaten clothes for at least a week (a common trait among writers).

  “Why do you want to talk to Nanny Piggins?” asked Derrick.