Horrible Horace

by Gerrard Wllson

“Then, when we have done that, we can decide for ourselves how good or bad it is.”

  “What?” her Horrible son protested. “That’s worse than making us watch paint dry!”

  “It’s worse than having to wait for global warming to begin,” said the sister.

  “No ifs or buts,” said their mother. “Now, in with you,” she said, directing her Moideringly mad daughter, her Horrible son and her terribly naive husband into the sitting room.

  An hour and a half later, Moidering Maria and Horrible Horace stood up from the sofa. “Well?” asked their father. “What did you think of it, the film?”

  Sensing that her offspring were not at all happy at being made to watch Mary Poppins against their will, their mother said, “Anyone for some Fizzing Fruit juice drink?”

  “Yes please,” said Horrible Horace. “I need it after watching that load of rubbish.”

  “Me too,” his Moideringly mad sister replied, “for that movie has left a bad taste in my mouth, so it has.”

  “Was it really that bad?” their father asked them.

  Returning from the kitchen, the mother held a tray containing four glasses full to the brim with Fizzing Fruit juice drink. “Here you are,” she said, handing the drinks out.

  “Was there anything about the film that you liked?” the father asked his children.

  “Well, there was one thing...” Horrible Horace admitted.

  “What?” his sister barked. “The entire film, from beginning to end, was absolutely dreadful!”

  “The kites...” Horace whispered. “I liked the scene when they were flying the kites. Yes,” he said, speaking louder, “I liked it enormously. In fact, I liked it so much I am going to make one for myself. That will be fun,” he said. “It will be great fun indeed!”

  “So, it appears I wasn’t entirely mistaken,” said the father, relieved by his son’s admission that he had liked at least something about the film.

  Storming out of the room, Moidering Maria said, “I think you’ve gone stark raving mad, Horrible. How could you have enjoyed that, that film from the dark ages?” she griped.

  “The kites,” her brother explained. “I liked the kites.” His sister, however, never heard him.

  A Kite to Build

  Next day, all that Horrible Horace could think about, while at school, were kites; big ones, small ones, red ones, blue ones, old ones – and new ones.

  “Watcha,” Barmy Bernard, his best friend, said to him.

  “Watcha,” said Horrible Horace.

  “Have you lost something?” his Barmy friend enquired.

  “Someone, I have lost someone.”

  “Who have you lost?”

  “Tinkering Tommy,” Horace told him. “Do you know where he is?”

  “Tinkering?” his Barmy friend replied. “Yes, of course i do, he’s over there,” he said, pointing to the bicycle sheds, “He’s behind them, in his office.”

  Whenever Tinkering Tommy secluded himself behind the bicycle sheds, it usually meant that he was thinking about something important, that he wanted to make. He chose the rear of the bicycle sheds because it was wet, and because it was wet nobody ever went there, which was fine with him. That was how he liked it when he was Tinkering. Perched there, in his office, on a seat that he had made, attached to the back of the bicycles sheds wall, he had time to think, to Tinker – and to invent.

  “Watcha,” Horrible Horace said to his friend.

  “What are you doing here?” a surprised Tinkering Tommy enquired. You see, Horrible Horace had never visited him there, not even once.

  “It’s a bit wet around here,” the Horrible child said to him.

  “That’s how I like it,” Tinkering Tommy answered.

  After he had finished speaking with Tinkering Tommy, telling him what he wanted him to do, Horrible Horace said, “Well, do you think you can help me to make it?”

  “Of course I can,” Tommy answered. “It’s the easiest thing in the world to make a kite.”

  “But I want it to be special,” he reminded him. “And it has to be BIG!”

  “Size is no obstacle,” Tinkering Tommy chuckled, “except if the wind in too strong, that is,” he warned.

  Dismissing his friend’s concerns, Horrible Horace said, “You CAN make it, though, you said so! That’s all that I wanted to know!”

  “Yes, of course I can make it,” Tommy told him again. “When do you want to begin making it?”

  Grinning mischievously, Horrible Horace said, “This evening, I want us to begin making it this very evening.”

  “Why the rush?” Tommy enquired.

  “Because,” Horace explained, “I have it on good authority that Cheeky Charlie is also planning to make a kite.

  “Cheeky Charlie hasn’t got brains enough to build a kite!” Tinkering Tommy insisted.

  “He might not have enough brains to do it,” said his Horrible friend, “but you can bet your bottom dollar that Meddling Maurice has – and he’s helping him!”

  “Meddling Maurice, you say?”

  “The very same boy who made a giant, wind turbine out of papier-mâché, that Miss Battle-Scars uses to power the lights in our classroom.”

  “Oh...then it looks like we have a fight on our hands,” Tinkering Tommy surmised, “to see who can build it the fastest!”

  “And the biggest!” said Horrible.

  Stepping down from his seat, Tinkering Tommy said, “What are we waiting for, then, when we have the mother of all kites to build?”

  “Hurray,” they cheered, “hurray for Mary Poppins and her wonderful kites!”

  That evening, after school, Horrible Horace rushed through his tea. “I’m going to visit Tinkering Tommy,” he told his mother. “Is that okay?”

  “Yes, that’s fine,” she answered, “but do remember to be home by seven!”

  When he had finished eating his tea, Horrible Horace put on his jacket and hat, and then ran to the front door. Pulling the door closed behind him, he said, “Bye,” and then he was gone.

  In no time at all, Horrible Horace was knocking his friend’s doorknocker, a semblance of a Lincoln Imp that, for some peculiar reason, sent shivers down his spine whenever he saw it. Rat-a-tat, tat, he knocked, impatient to get started on the construction of the mother of all kites.

  “Why, it’s young Horace,” said Tinkering Tommy’s mother, when she opened the door to him. “Come in, come in,” she told him. “Tommy’s upstairs, in his bedroom. Go on up, he’s expecting you.”

  “Thanks,” he replied. He climbed the stairs three steps at a time. Tapping the bedroom door, he said, “Can I come in?”

  “Yes, Horrible,” Tinkering Tommy answered. “Here, take a look at this,” he said, handing him a large sheet of blue coloured paper, “I’ve just completed it.”

  Horrible friend studied the myriad lines, scribbles, doodles and writing upon it.

  “It’s a blueprint,” Tinkering Tommy told him, “of our kite! You can have it, he said. “It’s your copy. I have my own, see?” he showed him another, identical sheet of paper.

  “Wow! Thanks!” Horrible answered. “It’s an incredibly detailed plan. What is this?” he asked, pointing to the top of the sheet. “It looks like you forgot to finish this bit!”

  “I left that bit blank, for its name.”

  “Its name?”

  “Yes, of course,” Tinkering Tommy explained. “Planes, ships and submarines are all named. Our kite will be named also.”

  “It’s not just any old kite,” said Horrible Horace. “It’s the mother of all kites!”

  “And then some!” his Tinkering friend agreed. “What shall we call it?”

  It took them almost until seven o’clock to come up with a name for their kite, one they felt described it effectively. The name they chose was Invincible.

  “Invincible will be so big, bright and fantastic,” Tinkering Tommy proclaimed, “Cheeky Charlie and Meddling Maurice will be embarrassed, ashamed and mortifie
d of their puny effort at kite building. They won’t know which way to look.”

  After they had each written the name of their kite in the blank space at the top of their blueprints, the friends agreed to go into town, on the morrow, and purchase the material required for its construction.

  Folding his blueprint, Horrible Horace said, “Bye, Tinkering, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Bye,” he replied.

  The next day was Saturday, a day that offered a whole world of possibilities for children with kite building in mind. On the one hand, there was Horrible Horace and Tinkering Tommy, and on the other there was Cheeky Charlie and Meddling Maurice.

  Although Horrible Horace knew the size of kite that he wanted to make, the mere fact that two other children – and from his own class at that– were also making one, spurred him to consider ever grander dimensions. “If Cheeky Charlie thinks he is going to outdo me,” he harped, as he walked along the street with Tinkering Tommy, “he is in for a shock, because our kite is going to be the mother of all kites, so it is!”

  “It will be if it ever gets made,” his friend ominously replied.

  “What do you mean, if it ever gets made?”

  Examining the list of items they needed, Tinkering Tommy said, “There’s an awful lot of things to buy on this list – and they all cost money!”

  “Don’t be worrying yourself about that,” said Horrible Horace. “I have some money stashed away from a rainy day, and what better reason to spend it than on our kite?”

  Lifting a hand, Tinkering Tommy felt a few drops of rain land upon it. “And it is a rainy day,” he laughed. “Look,” he said, “the bus is coming...”

  When they returned from town, with the all of the items required to make the