by R. A. Spratt
'Children, I know I should not speak ill of your father in front of you. But I am afraid one thing has to be said. He is a very, very bad man.' And that was it. She had opened the flood gates. The four of them spent the next fifteen minutes screaming abuse about what a horrible, selfish, nasty father Mr Green was. By the time they had finished they had done absolutely nothing to solve the problem but they all felt a whole lot better, having had a good scream about it.
'What are we going to do?' despaired Derrick.
'You can't leave us, you just can't,' whimpered Samantha. She was clearly on the verge of bursting into tears.
'Can we all run away? Please, Nanny Piggins, please,' begged Michael politely. He was always at his most polite when he desperately wanted something. (But then, aren't we all?)
'Now, children, it is very important we don't panic,' said Nanny Piggins as she struggled not to panic. 'I have no intention of leaving you.' Apart from the fact that Nanny Piggins liked how well stocked Mr Green always kept his cupboards, she had also grown very attached to the children. The thought of leaving them made her stomach go all hard and her eyes feel itchy. Nanny Piggins was not a pig given to fits of hysterics or collapsing and crying on the tablecloth, but she knew she was seriously upset because she actually regretted eating eleven muffins for breakfast. 'We mustn't do anything rash. We have two weeks to get rid of your aunt and disabuse your father of this ridiculous idea. We must handle this strategically and wisely.'
And at that exact moment the doorbell rang.
'Crikey, she's here!' exclaimed Michael.
'Should we hide under the table?' asked Samantha hopefully.
'We could just not let her in,' thought Nanny Piggins out loud.
But then they heard the unfortunate sound of a key in a lock. Mr Green had obviously given his sister her own key.
'We're doomed,' said Derrick. The others silently agreed with him.
'What are we going to do?' asked Samantha, turning to Nanny Piggins for reassurance.
Nanny Piggins had not figured out a whole plan yet but she did need a first tactic. She knew that it was traditional for children to be very mean and beastly to child-care workers they did not like. That is what always happened in books. So she decided they should take the opposite tactic. 'We are going to be incredibly nice and polite to your aunt,' declared Nanny Piggins.
'But why?' asked Michael.
'If she is anywhere near as unpleasant as your father, having people be nice to her will be a new experience and she won't know how to cope with it,' said Nanny Piggins. 'That should buy us time to come up with a plan.'
* * *
As it turned out, Aunt Lydia was even more unpleasant than Mr Green. She was very mean to Nanny Piggins. She seemed to think it was unusual to let a pig sleep in the house and was not at all impressed that Nanny Piggins had been a circus star.
Aunt Lydia was also extremely unpleasant to the children. One day when they were in the garden playing, she burned all their clothes in the fireplace. Then forced them to wear clothes she had handmade out of wool. Now wool can be very itchy at the best of times. But the clothes Aunt Lydia made were so itchy the children were sure she had put itching powder in them as well, just to be spiteful.
But poor Boris suffered the most. Unlike Mr Green, Aunt Lydia actually did like gardening. It gave her an excuse to hang around the backyard spying on the neighbours. So Boris had to hide himself in the compost heap every time Aunt Lydia went into the shed looking for garden tools, which was quite a lot. And if you have ever tried hiding in a compost heap, you will know it is extremely unpleasant. For a start, rotting vegetables are surprisingly hot. Then there is the smell, which is disgusting, even to a bear who does not have great body odour in the first place.
The tactic of being polite to Aunt Lydia did not work at all. She assumed that any child who said 'please', 'thank you' or 'excuse me' was simply being sarcastic. So politeness was met with exactly the same punishment as rudeness.
And Aunt Lydia had such strange ideas about disciplining children. To make them cleverer she would make them do their homework (which, in Nanny Piggins' opinion, was inhumane in itself). But then when the children finished their schoolwork Aunt Lydia would set fire to it and make them do it all again.
Arson was Aunt Lydia's answer to a lot of things. When Nanny Piggins went to answer the phone one day, she returned to the kitchen to find her chocolate cake on fire. Aunt Lydia did it to teach her lesson about not talking for too long on the telephone. Nanny Piggins had spent twenty-five seconds on the phone, which in Aunt Lydia's opinion, was twenty-three seconds too long.
Mr Green did not escape Aunt Lydia's sense of discipline either. She set fire to his neck-ties if she did not like them. She also set fire to his theatre ticket (he only had one because no-one would go with him) when she wanted him to stay home and handwash her socks. Aunt Lydia's personal motto was 'All life's problems can be solved with dry kindling and a match.' She had embroidered this on a wall hanging that she hung in her bedroom.
By the end of the first week, they were all exhausted from being tortured. 'Sarah, you have to do something,' begged Boris as he, the children and Nanny Piggins sat hidden behind a large bush in the garden, sucking the chocolate off chocolate-covered oranges.
'I know, but I can't figure out what,' said Nanny Piggins. No-one wanted to get rid of Aunt Lydia more than her. She did not like the glint in Aunt Lydia's eye every time she said, 'A pig's place is between two slices of bread in a bacon sandwich.' Which she managed to bring up in conversation quite a lot.
'Couldn't we put her in a crate and ship her off to Russia?' suggested Michael. He knew that Boris had arrived in a crate from Russia so he assumed you could ship a crate the other way.
'You couldn't do that to the Russians,' protested Boris. 'They've suffered enough. First communism, then your aunt – it would be too much for them.'
'I think Michael is on to something. There must be somewhere we could send her,' pondered Nanny Piggins.
At that moment they were disturbed by a hideous noise.
'What on earth is that?!' exclaimed Nanny Piggins, almost spitting out her chocolate-covered orange. 'It sounds like someone is murdering a cat in a blender.'
'Or running over a set of bagpipes with a lawn-mower,' said Boris.
'Or torturing a hyena with an electric pencil sharpener,' said Derrick.
'I know what it is,' said Samantha. 'It's Aunt Lydia singing!'
'No!' exclaimed Nanny Piggins. 'Surely not?'
They all peered around the bush they were hiding behind to have a look. And sure enough, there was Aunt Lydia kneeling in front of the border (weeding it for the seventh time that week) and opening and closing her mouth in the manner of somebody singing, even though the noise coming out of her mouth bore no resemblance to singing whatsoever. It was horrible, tuneless and un-rhythmic, not unlike the sound of a piano accordion being chopped up with an axe.
The children and Boris hastily picked up the pieces of orange they had spat out and stuffed them in their ears to try to block out the sound. But Nanny Piggins kept watching in awed fascination. She was beginning to get a brilliant idea.
Aunt Lydia finally got to the end of her 'song' and as soon as she finished her last quavering note, she was greeted by the sound of clapping. Nanny Piggins was standing a metre away, applauding.
'Bravo, Aunt Lydia that was beautiful. I am moved to tears,' said Nanny Piggins, dabbing her completely dry eyes, 'I never knew you had such a beautiful singing voice!'
'Oh,' said Aunt Lydia, somewhat taken aback. Unsurprisingly, she had never been complimented on the quality of her singing before. People usually commented on the power of her voice, or the piercing sound, or how far the noise carried. 'I have been singing with the church choir for forty years,' she said modestly.
'What a joy you must bring to your choirmaster's heart,' said Nanny Piggins rapturously. For she was a very good actress.
'Actually, we have had fort
y-one different choirmasters in those forty years,' admitted Aunt Lydia.
They had all been driven away by the sound of Aunt Lydia's voice as soon as their one-year contract had expired. One choirmaster had even been driven away before his contract expired when Aunt Lydia had caught him in his office and treated him to her solo rendition of 'Ave Maria'. He was now living in a cave in the mountains where he would never have to hear singing again.
'But they were all most impressed with my voice,' boasted Aunt Lydia. Which was true. They had all sat down in shock and dabbed their foreheads with handkerchiefs, saying things like, 'Oh my goodness!' 'What a voice!' and 'What am I going to do with you?'
'But surely you have been besieged with offers to sing professionally at opera houses and to record albums of your greatest hits?' asked Nanny Piggins.
'Well, no,' admitted Aunt Lydia. While she was very cruel, she was also truthful.
'We have to do something about that,' declared Nanny Piggins. 'It is unfair to the world of music for your talent to be squandered here in Mr Green's backyard.'
'Do you really think so?' asked Aunt Lydia. Even though she was horrible, she was a woman, and all women secretly, or not so secretly, want to be beloved singing sensations.
'I don't think so – I know so,' Nanny Piggins assured her. 'I have a dear friend who is a singing talent-scout. He travels the world finding the greatest singers and offering them places at his exclusive singing school in Europe.'
Aunt Lydia was practically drooling at the prospect of meeting such a man.
'Please, please say you will let me introduce him to you!' begged Nanny Piggins.
'All right, I will,' said Aunt Lydia, thinking to herself that she had misjudged this pig and that Nanny Piggins was by far the most intelligent pig she had ever met.
* * *
Later that evening Aunt Lydia was sitting in the living room wearing her starchiest, ugliest grey dress and awaiting the arrival of Nanny Piggins' friend.
'What are you going to do Nanny Piggins?' asked Derrick. 'Do you really know a great European singing maestro?'
'And is he really coming to the house?' asked Samantha.
'And is he really brain damaged enough to think Aunt Lydia can sing?' asked Michael.
'You'll just have to wait and see for yourselves,' whispered Nanny Piggins smugly. She was clearly up to something because she kept winking and grinning gleefully.
Aunt Lydia did not like to admit she was nervous but she obviously was because she kept sipping from her teacup even though nothing had been put in it. When the doorbell rang she jumped up before she remembered that she was a dignified lady who should be sitting up straight and scowling.
'I'll get the door, shall I?' suggested Nanny Piggins.
'Thank you, Nanny Piggins, that would be most kind,' said Aunt Lydia as she practised being even more stiffand formal than usual so as to impress her visitor.
Nanny Piggins disappeared from the room and returned just few moments later.
'May I introduce Professor Ludwig Von Buellerhousen of the Lapland Philharmonic Choir,' announced Nanny Piggins. Then she bowed low as the Professor himself entered the room.
The children held their breaths in anticipation and were delighted to see that Professor Von Buellerhousen was none other than Boris wearing a monocle and a flowing black cape.
'Why that's just Bo –' Michael blurted out before Samantha was able to silence him by stuffing a cupcake in his mouth.
'Good evening, I am a very busy and important man,' said Boris. Nanny Piggins had instructed him to say this because it is always sensible to tell people what to think of you, in case they are too stupid to figure it out for themselves. 'But I rushed to this abode when I heard that a great new singing talent had been discovered here. Where is this vocal prodigy?' he asked as he adjusted his monocle and peered about the room.
'Professor Buellerhousen, the prodigy you speak of is I,' said Aunt Lydia awkwardly. It's hard not to sound like an idiot when that is what you are trying so desperately not to do.
'You!' exclaimed Professor Buellerhousen (who, don't forget, was really just Boris). 'But you are so beautiful!' Now he was, of course, lying. And we all know lying is wrong. But it's okay if you lie to really wicked people. 'Surely you can not have both beauty and talent!' He was really laying it on thick but people are always prepared to believe untruths when they are about how wonderful they are.
Nanny Piggins thought she had better intervene here to move things along. 'It is true. Just wait until you hear her sing, it will make your hair stand on end,' said Nanny Piggins. Strictly speaking, this was entirely accurate. Aunt Lydia's voice did make your hair stand on end, just not in a good way. Rather the way it does if you hear someone scrape their fingernails down a blackboard.
'If you will do me the honour, madam, nothing could bring me greater pleasure,' said Boris as he helped himself to a cupcake. If he was about to hear something awful he needed a bit of cake to fortify himself.
'All right,' agreed Aunt Lydia. 'If you insist.' She stood up, took a deep breath and burst into song. The noise was every bit as awful as the noise she had made in the garden. If anything, it was worse because she was singing louder to impress Boris.
'Stop!!!' yelled Boris. 'I don't need to hear anymore.' (Which was certainly true.) 'I must immediately send you to my school for brilliant singers in Lapland. I will not take "no" for an answer. It is a crime for a voice such as yours to go unheard.'
'Well, I don't know. I have made a commitment to my brother,' said Aunt Lydia, looking around at the three children she detested. 'Where is this school exactly?'
'In Lapland. All the best singers come from Lapland,' declared Boris.
'They do?' asked Aunt Lydia.
'Oh yes – Pavarotti, Caruso, Julie Andrews – all proud Laplanders. And you are so talented you must have the very best teachers working with you.'
'Well, if you insist,' said Aunt Lydia. She did not need much persuading.
'I insist!' declared Boris
'But how shall I get to Lapland?' asked Aunt Lydia.
'I have your means of transport waiting directly outside,' said Boris.
'You do?' said Aunt Lydia.
'I had a premonition I would be meeting genius tonight,' Boris assured her.
How could Aunt Lydia say no to that? She could not. Which is why she said yes and within five minutes she found herself nailed into a large, bear-sized circus crate and, soon after, on a ship to Lapland.
* * *
'But when she gets to Lapland, what if she decides to come back?' worried Samantha later that night.
'Don't worry about it,' Nanny Piggins assured her. 'That is all taken care of. My friend Lars was having trouble keeping the wolves away from his reindeer. He is going to use your aunt's singing to frighten them off.'
'But won't Aunt Lydia figure it out?' asked Derrick sceptically.
'I shouldn't think so,' said Nanny Piggins. 'She is very nasty but not a particularly clever lady. And I've told Lars to wear a black cape and a monocle, and to tell her that singing outside in the snow will be good for her voice. It should be years before she works it out.'
'But won't Father be angry when he finds out Aunt Lydia has gone?' asked Michael.
'I'll tell you what,' said Nanny Piggins. 'Let's play a game. Let's play the "How Long Will It Take Mr Green To Realise His Sister Isn't Here" Game.'
