The Adventures of Nanny Piggins

by R. A. Spratt

  'I have a blank fifty-year contract here for you to sign,' he said, holding out a contract and a pen to Katerina.

  'There will be no more fifty-year contracts!' said Nanny Piggins authoritatively. 'Katerina will sign a one-year contract with an option for renewal. But only on the condition that you present her with one thousand cabbages every 2nd of October.'

  'I'd do anything for a nice cabbage,' admitted Katerina.

  So Katerina and the Ringmaster left happily together. Given his evil cunning and her puritanical meanness, they were well suited to each other. But, most importantly, Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children were left in peace, without the immediate threat of being dragged anywhere, at least for the time being. So they all celebrated their good fortune with a big bowl of chocolates.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nanny Piggins

  and the Great Pie Fiasco

  Samson Wallace's favourite thing in the world was to spend the day playing with the Green children because their nanny, Nanny Piggins, would let them play his favourite game in the world: Mud People. Mud People was a game that involved digging a large pile of fresh dirt out of Mr Green's rose bed, mixing it with water, then smearing it all over yourself and pretending to be a mud person.

  Samson would never be allowed to play this at home. If he so much as got a speck of dust on his blazer he would get a stern talking to from his own nanny, Nanny Anne.

  Nanny Anne was perfect. She did everything perfectly, she said everything perfectly and everything around her had to be perfect. If something was not perfect, she would not yell. She would sit you down and talk perfectly reasonably to you until you were so tired of her reasonableness that you lost the will to live.

  The only reason Samson was able to play Mud People with the Green children is because Nanny Piggins had no qualms about deceiving Nanny Anne. Nanny Piggins simply provided Samson with a complete change of clothes (from Mr Green's wardrobe) while he played the game. That way his own clothes could be taken and sealed in a plastic bag as soon as he entered the Green house and then returned to him in mint condition when they saw Nanny Anne walking up the front path.

  On this particular day, when Nanny Anne re-entered the house, she was almost disappointed to see that Samson's clothes were as immaculate as when she left him. (She had not figured out Nanny Piggins' plastic-bag trick.) She naturally suspected Nanny Piggins of subterfuge but she was too perfectly polite to say anything. Instead, her eyes searched for something to 'compliment'.

  'Complimenting' things was Nanny Anne's way of insulting people. You see, if you insult people through compliments, by the time they figure out what you meant, you will have gone home so they can not yell at you. For instance, Nanny Anne had, in the past, told Nanny Piggins that she loved her hair: 'More people should be brave enough to try that unwashed look.' She loved her dress: 'It hid everything very well.' And that she loved Nanny Piggins' cooking: 'It was fun to eat junk food every once in a while.'

  Unfortunately for Nanny Anne, on this particular day there was nothing to compliment. Nanny Piggins had thoroughly cleaned Samson with the garden hose, a scrubbing brush and two litres of turpentine. So there was no moss behind his ears, lichen up his nose or dirt under his fingernails, which was amazing given that only half an hour earlier, Derrick had dragged him backwards through a bog.

  But Nanny Anne had many more weapons at her disposal. After a lifetime of politely making other people feel inadequate and bad about themselves, she could not be bested so easily.

  'Thank you so much for taking care of dear little Samson,' began Nanny Anne.

  'My pleasure,' said Nanny Piggins, knowing her rival was up to something.

  'We'll be seeing you at the show tomorrow then?' asked Nanny Anne.

  'Yes, of course you will,' agreed Nanny Piggins, despite the fact that she had absolutely no idea what Nanny Anne was talking about.

  Nanny Anne sensed that Nanny Piggins was bluffing. 'You'll be entering then?' she asked.

  This is where Nanny Piggins snapped. She was tired of trying to avoid being insulted. She just wanted this horrible nanny to leave her (Mr Green's) house. 'Entering what?' Nanny Piggins snapped. 'A house? A doorway? A naval submarine? Would you please just specify what on earth you are talking about?'

  Nanny Anne smiled smugly. She liked winning these little games. 'Have you had too many sugary drinks, dear?' she asked reasonably. 'You seem to be a little grumpy today.'

  Nanny Piggins hated it when Nanny Anne started using her reasonable voice on her, it made her want to bite the other nanny's leg. 'Just tell me what it is you're talking about,' said Nanny Piggins coldly.

  Perhaps Nanny Anne sensed that she was about to be the victim of some terrible violence. Or perhaps, having won their mini-battle, she decided to put Nanny Piggins out of her misery. Either way, she did explain herself. 'The baking competition that's held every year at the town show. I was just wondering if you were planning to give it a go.'

  'Oh that,' said Nanny Piggins, trying to regain her dignity by pretending she had known about it all along. 'Yes, I'm entering that. Of course I am extremely busy. I have to test fly a plane for NASA this weekend and discover a cure for pimples for Médecins Sans Frontières. But the Lord Mayor came to the house and personally begged me to participate. He said the quality of the competition had been so awful in previous years that they desperately wanted me to compete.'

  'I see,' said Nanny Anne, for she was temporarily bested by this unexpectedly fictitious speech.

  'You had better go now,' said Nanny Piggins, opening the front door for Nanny Anne and Samson. 'The children and I promised Greenpeace we would try to invent the hydrogen engine before dinner.'

  'Very well,' said Nanny Anne. 'I look forward to trying your pie.'

  Nanny Piggins was just in the process of slamming the door in Nanny Anne's face when she heard this last word and jammed her own trotter in the doorway, which hurt but she did not care. 'What did you say?' she demanded.

  'I look forward to trying your pie,' said Nanny Anne.

  'Not cake?' asked Nanny Piggins hopefully.

  'No, definitely pie. It is a pie-baking competition. Anyone can bake a cake but a pie with a crust and a lid – that is a real cooking challenge,' Nanny Anne replied smugly.

  Nanny Piggins closed the door and slumped down on the umbrella stand.

  'What's wrong?' asked Michael. He had never seen his nanny looking so devastated before.

  'Oh, children,' said Nanny Piggins. 'You had better fetch me some chocolate, I'm all a flutter.'

  The children ran to the kitchen to fetch chocolate and they fetched Boris the bear from the garden shed too, because even though he was Russian and extremely over emotional, he was 10 foot tall and children instinctively look to tall people for leadership.

  'What's wrong?' asked Boris as they all watched Nanny Piggins wedge a large chocolate bar into her mouth.

  'Oh, Boris,' said Nanny Piggins between mouthfuls. 'The most dreadful thing has happened. I am being forced to enter a pie-baking competition.'

  'No!' gasped Boris.

  'Yes,' admitted Nanny Piggins.

  Boris wrapped Nanny Piggins in a big bear hug. 'Don't worry, we'll help you through this.'

  'What's the problem?' asked Samantha, 'Don't you know how to cook pie?'

  Boris laughed once. 'Ha!' This is the way people laugh in Russia when they want to be dramatic. 'The problem is the exact opposite. Nanny Piggins is the greatest pie baker ever in the world.'

  'In the entire world?' asked Derrick. He was not exactly incredulous. But he was aware that the entire world was a large place.

  'It's true,' admitted Nanny Piggins, still chomping on the chocolate bar for comfort.

  'But Nanny Piggins has never made a pie for us,' Michael pointed out.

  'Of course not,' declared Boris. 'She swore on her mother's snout that she would never bake another pie again.'

  'Why?' asked Samantha.

  'Her pies were so good,' whispere
d Boris, 'they were dangerous!'

  'How can a pie be dangerous?' asked Michael curiously. He had visions of exploding pies that he could take to school and give to his most horrible teacher.

  'You'll soon find out. I'm going to start baking,' said Nanny Piggins. She had finished her chocolate bar now.

  'But you can't! You took an oath!' insisted Boris.

  'I have to. It's a matter of pride. I have to do it to show Nanny Anne that she's a . . . she's a . . .' Nanny Piggins struggled to think just what Nanny Anne was.

  'A big stupid head?' suggested Michael.

  'That's exactly it,' exclaimed Nanny Piggins. 'Nanny Anne is a big stupid head and I refuse to let her show me up.'

  'But, Nanny Piggins,' pleaded Boris, 'you remember what happened last time.'

  'I was young and foolish then. I won't let that happen again,' Nanny Piggins assured him.

  'Well, I won't stand by and watch you do it,' said Boris, drawing himself up to his full ten feet so that his head made a dent in the ceiling. 'I refuse to support you. If you do this, I wash my hands of it!'

  The children gasped. Boris did not often wash his hands so they knew this must be important.

  'But, Boris, I hoped you'd help,' said Nanny Piggins.

  'I will have nothing to do with this terrible idea,' said Boris and with that he stomped out through the house, across the garden, into his shed and slammed the door.

  * * *

  Nanny Piggins enjoyed being lazy as much as the next person. But she was not afraid of hard work. The children had seen Nanny Piggins work hard many times: the time she carved a rude message into the side of Mr Richardson's garage with a chainsaw (a success); the time she made her own hang-glider out of newspaper and Mr Green's golf clubs (not a success); or the time she threw rock-cakes at policemen to see if she could knock their hats off (a triumph). But they had never seen her work as hard as she did when she set to work baking pies.

  Every part of the process was carried out meticulously. She stewed the filling, mixed the pastry and prepared the baking dishes all with immaculate care. She approached the task with the concentration of a chess grandmaster. She did not joke about or juggle the utensils like she usually did when she was cooking.

  Derrick, Samantha and Michael did their best to help her while Nanny Piggins issued tense, whispered instructions, behaving as though she were defusing a bomb instead of making deliciously flaky shortcrust pastry.

  Once the pies (Nanny Piggins had made four pies 'just in case') were in the oven, the children were relieved. They would be able to send a pie off to the competition and their nanny would go back to normal. They all sat and watched the pies baking through the glass oven door as though it was a television. They could see the pastry puff up and turn golden-brown.

  'How do you know when they're ready?' Michael asked.

  Suddenly the oven made a 'ping' noise.

  'Because the oven will make a "ping" noise,' declared Nanny Piggins, hopping off her seat and going over to the stove.

  As she opened the oven door a delicious smell of buttery, apply goodness wafted out into the kitchen. The children breathed in deeply. It smelled heavenly. If there was a pie-smelling competition they were sure Nanny Piggins would have won already.

  Nanny Piggins carried the hot pies over to the kitchen table.

  'So, shall we pack one up and take it down to the town hall?' asked Samantha.

  'In a minute. We'd better test one first, just to be sure,' said Nanny Piggins.

  This made sense to the children. After all, there were four pies. So they watched as Nanny Piggins cut a thin slice out of the pie and put it on a plate. Nanny Piggins then picked up a spoon, scooped up a small morsel and blew on it to cool it down. 'Now for the moment of truth,' she said, before slipping the tiny piece of pie into her mouth. Then she closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the complete pie experience.

  'How is it?' asked Derrick.

  Nanny Piggins did not even open her eyes. 'Mmm,' she said.

  'Is it good?' asked Michael. He was not fluent in 'mmm' noises.

  But Nanny Piggins still had her eyes closed. 'Mmm-mm-mmm,' she repeated.

  'Are you all right?' asked Samantha, growing concerned that her Nanny was having a pie-induced out-of-body experience.

  Nanny Piggins swallowed the pie and opened her eyes. 'Poetry! A masterpiece! Breathtakingly beautiful!' she said. (When it came to her own pies, Nanny Piggins was not a modest pig.) There were tears in her eyes she was so emotional.

  'It's good then?' queried Michael, just to confirm things.

  'Well, that piece was,' said Nanny Piggins. 'But we will have to check the rest of the pie. It could have been a freak accident and only that tiny sliver was okay. We must check the other parts.' So Nanny Piggins and the children picked up a spoon each and started testing the pie from all directions.

  And the children had to admit, Nanny Piggins was not exaggerating. The pie was 'poetry', 'a masterpiece' and 'breathtakingly beautiful'. If anything, she was understating the case. The children felt it was also 'delicious', 'scrummy' as well as 'yummy yummy yummy in my tummy'. They checked all parts of the pie until it was all gone and they agreed that every bit was excellent.

  'You did it, Nanny Piggins! You made the perfect pie,' said Derrick.

  'I know. I told you I was the world's greatest pie baker,' said Nanny Piggins, simply stating the facts.

  'Now do we take one down to the town hall?' asked Samantha.

  'I don't know,' said Nanny Piggins cautiously. 'Just because that pie was perfect does not mean the other three are. We had better check another one, just to be sure.'

  So Nanny Piggins and the children picked up their spoons and checked another pie. This second pie was just as good. It stood up to all their testing and soon there was nothing left but another empty plate.

  'It wasn't an accident. You've made a perfect batch of pies,' said Michael. He did not think it was possible that he could be more impressed with his nanny. He already knew she could fly out of cannons, scuba dive and tap dance. But now that he knew she could bake pies better than anyone else in the world, he loved her even more.

  'We've got two pies left and we only need one to enter the competition. So we might as well finish off the spare one,' suggested Nanny Piggins. Th e children were happy to agree with this. You don't get to eat the world's best pie every day. So getting to eat three in a row was an opportunity too good to refuse. The third pie was soon gone.

  They sat looking at the final competition-entry pie. It looked delicious. 'You know,' said Nanny Piggins. 'It's sixteen hours until the competition deadline. If this pie was eaten, accidentally somehow, there would still be plenty of time for me to make another one.'

  'I suppose,' agreed Derrick. The pie did look very good. The children could see the sense in this and all nodded their agreement.

  'In fact, it would be much better if we ate this pie because sixteen hours is a long time for a pie to sit around. So if I made another pie that pie would be fresher.

  'That makes sense to me,' said Michael.

  'As long as it wouldn't be too much trouble,' said Samantha.

  'No trouble at all,' Nanny Piggins assured her.

  With that all four of them fell on the pie and gobbled it up greedily. They did not even bother to use spoons.