Welcome to Stagnant Swamp State School
Book 1 in the Stagnant Swamp Series
Words by Professor Nigel Peasbody, esq
Illustrations by Sharon Rowe
Copyright 2007 - 2015 popkulcha pty ltd
First published in print in 2007
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Dedication
About the Author
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Postscript
More About Stagnant Swamp State School
Sample of Stagnant Swamp State School's Camping Trip
Dedication
Dedicated to the memory of Ethel Ormiston, whose grisly demise during the making of this book should serve as lesson to deceitful, wicked and greedy children everywhere.
About the Author
Professor Nigel Peasbody, esq, MD, BA, LLB, PhD, Certificate IV in Basic Motor Mechanics, is a world-famous physician, mortician, historian, antiquarian, vegetarian and a lot of other important-sounding things ending in ‘ian’. He has recently returned to Australia from Oxford where he stunned the academic world with his post-doctoral thesis ‘Advanced Methodologies in Removing Ingrown Belly Button Fluff’.
In his spare time, Professor Peasbody enjoys collecting postage stamps. He doesn't put them in albums or anything boring like that – he just likes to lick them.
This is Professor Peasbody's first book in a series recording the history of Stagnant Swamp State School.
Introduction
Dear Reader
Stagnant Swamp State School is conveniently-located in the middle of a swamp in a small town near you. The swamp is convenient only if you happen to like crocodiles and mud between your toes and being able to fish for eels from your class room window. If you don’t happen to like any of these things, then the swamp is just a darned nuisance and is not convenient at all.
The School is famous for a number of things:
1). firstly, it’s the only school that the Department of Health has tried to close down seventy times in the last ten years;
2). secondly, it has more students missing or injured or killed than any other school in the country (which perhaps accounts for the first thing it’s famous for); and
3). thirdly, it's the home of the National Pickle Racing Championships.
The main purpose of this book is to introduce you to Simon Smithers, one of the most unusual boys ever to have his name set down in print. Another purpose is to record a particularly eventful start to the most recent school year at Stagnant Swamp State School, featuring, of course, Simon Smithers.
Read on and if, at the end of this book, you decide that you would like to enrol at Stagnant Swamp State School, then take two aspirin and consult your psychiatrist. After that, if you still want to enrol at Stagnant Swamp State School, then just don’t say you haven’t been warned…
Yours fictionally,
Professor Nigel Peasbody, Esq
Professor Nigel Peasbody, Esq
Chapter One
By the time Simon Smithers arrived for the first day of the new school year, there was already a police car in its usual place outside the Principal’s office.
Now, ordinarily Simon Smithers was a boy with an enquiring mind and he would have stopped to wonder whether the presence of the police car was due to yet another gas leak in the home economics room or yet another outbreak of bubonic plague among the rats in the cafeteria. But today, Simon Smithers was not at all bothered with such hum-drum nonsense, because today was a very important day for Simon: today was the start of what Simon Smithers planned to be his final year of school.
As Simon hitched up the distinctive, snot green-coloured shorts of his school uniform to stop them dragging through the mud, he looked at his familiar old school with a feeling which was something between nostalgia and revulsion.
At the end of the winding, gravel track that led down to the swamp was the dilapidated main school building, made of timber and held together by the peeling paint and mould that covered the outside. Pigeons nested in the gutters, dropping small surprises on anyone who moved too slowly in or out.
The general office in the main building could be reached by a set of concrete stairs that sloped sideways.
No, thought Simon, on second thoughts, it was possible that the stairs were perfectly level and it was the main building that sloped sideways: it was difficult to tell. Regardless, it was best not to use the stairs at all and to access the building by a hole in the wall instead, as the crocodiles liked to sun themselves on the steps and got very disagreeable if you trod on their tails.
Next to the general office was the office of the school Principal, Mr Creechley. Mr Creechley had been the Principal of Stagnant Swamp State School for as long as it had existed and there seemed no hope of him ever escaping to a better posting. One at which, for instance, his socks might stay dry occasionally, or (as Mr Creechley moved very slowly at all times) one at which his suit might not be covered in pigeon poop every other day. No-one knew quite what Mr Creechley had done to the Department of Education to deserve his posting, but everyone agreed that it must have been very bad indeed.
The home economics room, music room, first aid room and some class rooms were also in the main building. Adjacent were more class rooms, the library, the cafeteria and the gymnasium. The science laboratories and art room were further off. All the buildings were arranged, higgledy-piggledy, around a central courtyard that contained a large concrete fountain of a toad.
The toad is of special significance, being the central figure in the Stagnant Swamp State School emblem. On the emblem, the toad sits on top of a pickle, which also has special significance, but which we will come to later.
Yes, Simon thought, it was all much the same as it had looked on his first day of school all those years ago except that – as the school was sinking into the mud at the rate of ten centimetres per year – it had seemed a little taller back then.
Simon kicked open the rusty front gate, which fell off its hinges, just as it always did on the first day of term. He stepped over it as it sank into the mud, just as it always did on the first day of term and breathed deeply of the familiar swamp vapours: bird droppings, slime and rotting vegetation.
Just like home! Simon thought to himself.
Simon spared a quick glance for the vultures that nested in the gnarled scribbly gum tree on the far side of the swamp, linked to the school by a long, thin, rickety bridge. The bridge was made of wood and held up by sheer good luck. Not many people used the bridge, anyway, on account of the vultures.
The vultures knew all about the first day of the school year and were watching eagerly as tearful preps – easily identifiable in their new, shiny shoes and clean, pressed, snot green uniforms – filed over the gate that Simon had kicked in.
Simon watched them pass, enjoying their misery. He’d never looked that small and pathetic when starting school, he was quite su
re. And now, after ascending to the high ranks of Grade 6, he was looking forward to a whole year of being at the top of the school before – bliss! – he’d be able to leave school forever and run his own travelling circus, just as he’d always planned.
All he had to do to achieve this lofty ambition was to survive the coming year in Class 6B with his teacher, Mrs Blanchings. And how hard could that be? he asked himself smugly.
On the way to 6B’s class room, Simon passed the police car and thought no more about it.
Chapter Two
As it happened, the police car was parked outside Stagnant Swamp State School that morning in relation to something quite out of the ordinary.
Constable Perkins was the local policeman whose car it was. He was tubby and had a bright red face and ginger whiskers. His uniform no longer fitted and buttons would pop off at random, particularly when he either sat down or ate. He spent most of his time doing one or the other and on busy days, he sometimes did both at once.
Constable Perkins was largely busy due to the unusual goings-on at Stagnant Swamp State School. He visited it so often, in fact, investigating a grisly death here, a case of food poisoning there, sundry chemical explosions in the laboratories and numerous gas leaks in the home economics room, that it could almost be said to be his home away from home. At any rate, he kept his own teacup in the staff room.
At the very moment Simon Smithers was walking to his class room on that fateful first day of term, Mr Creechley and Constable Perkins were sipping tea in Mr Creechley’s office.
The tea in Mr Creechley’s cup was made with the same tea bag that Mr Creechley had used for the previous nine years, as it was the last remaining tea bag from the box that had been purchased for the school’s fortieth birthday celebrations. This was the last time that the school had been able to afford to buy tea. For that very reason, Constable Perkins always brought his own tea bag from the police station whenever he visited Mr Creechley. The scent of strong tea wafting across his desk always made Mr Creechley very jealous, which pleased Constable Perkins enormously, and was why Constable Perkins didn’t bring a spare tea bag from the station for Mr Creechley.
‘There’s been another theft in town,’ said Constable Perkins melodramatically.
('Melodramatically' is a long word which means that he was trying to make a big deal out of it to get a lot of attention. On this occasion, he failed miserably.)
Mr Creechley simply stared at the ceiling. He had enough problems to worry about at Stagnant Swamp State School without having to worry about the town as well.
Constable Perkins was disappointed that his news hadn’t been received by Mr Creechley with an appropriate degree of shock or horror. He waited for Mr Creechley to ask what had been stolen.
He waited in vain.
('Vain' is a short word which means, when used in this way, that he didn't get any attention at all.)
‘It was the bronze statue of Russell Stagnant, the town’s first mayor, from outside the town hall,’ Constable Perkins volunteered helpfully.
Mr Creechley’s only reaction was to pick up a pencil and commence his Monday morning ritual of cleaning out the wax from his ears.
‘I am making enquiries into its disappearance,’ Constable Perkins added, consulting a small notebook in which he wrote down everything that he thought was important. ‘The theft is the third theft in town in the last two weeks, following the loss of the two bronze lions that sat outside the Stagnant Swamp Public Library.’
Mr Creechley inserted the pencil into his ear at the angle he liked best and completely ignored Constable Perkins.
‘Well, the lions I can understand, but who would want a statue of Russell Stagnant?’ asked Constable Perkins, desperately trying to interest Mr Creechley in the topic of conversation…to no avail.
Mr Creechley’s pencil rotated clockwise carefully, until it got stuck in a corner of his left ear.
Finally, Constable Perkins got to the point, just as Mr Creechley had known he would.
‘Do you have any suspects?’ Constable Perkins asked.
Typical! thought Mr Creechley crossly.
Technically, it was Constable Perkins’ job, as town policeman, to come up with a list of suspects for every crime committed in Stagnant Swamp. However, Constable Perkins had long ago realized that it was much quicker for him to simply ask everyone else in town who they suspected. He often received a lot of very useful suggestions that way and there was nothing like a nice long list of suspects to make the Chief Inspector happy.
‘No,’ snorted Mr Creechley churlishly, still annoyed about the tea. Then, when Constable Perkins made no move to leave, he added: ‘You can search the school if you like and ask the students questions, but I doubt you’ll find any clues. We still haven’t found an entire third grade class that went missing in the swamp last Christmas.’
Mr Creechley put his pencil in his right ear and repeated his ear-wax removal process, in an anti-clockwise direction.
‘Indeed I might make some enquiries of the students,’ mused Constable Perkins, and then wrote this down in his notebook so that he wouldn’t forget. ‘Someone may have seen something.’
Mr Creechley shrugged disinterestedly, then took the pencil out of his ear and used it to stir his tea instead. It was another long, dreary start to a long, dreary school year.
‘Well, I’d best be getting today's lessons underway,’ Mr Creechley sighed. ‘The sooner it starts, the sooner it ends and the sooner it ends, the more grateful we’ll all be.’
Mr Creechley reached up to pull the old rope above his desk that was connected to the school bell in the bell tower above. He pulled hard, but nothing happened.
Mr Creechley blushed pathetically.
‘I’m out of practice from the school holidays,’ he explained in embarrassment. He tried again, harder, but there was still no voluble ringing which was, after all, the purpose of having a school bell in the first place.
‘Let me help,’ offered Constable Perkins and he did, pulling on the rope with all his might and losing several buttons in the process. Still nothing.
Mr Creechley and Constable Perkins went outside and, shielding their eyes, glared up into the squat bell tower above Mr Creechley’s office that housed the large bronze school bell.
Well, ordinarily that was the case, at least.
But not on that particular Monday.
On that particular Monday, the bell was gone.
‘Call the police!’ demanded Mr Creechley, angrily.
‘I am the police,’ replied Constable Perkins, and wrote this down in his notebook, as it seemed very important. ‘Do you have any suspects?’
‘Oh dear,’ sighed Mr Creechley. Just as he had suspected: it was going to be a very long year.
Chapter Three
As you are now aware (or at least you will be, if you were paying attention), the emblem of Stagnant Swamp State School is a toad sitting on a pickle.
Strangely enough, a toad also features in the emblem of another school nearby. That school is the exclusive Snodgrass Hill Private College.
Snodgrass Hill Private College is located, as its name might suggest, on a hillside. The hillside is lush and green. The college is built of fine golden stone and has very impressive battlements, ramparts and turrets like a castle. It sits elegantly, perched high up overlooking the countryside below.
The students of Snodgrass Hill Private College all love their school, and their parents happily pay a fortune each year for them to attend, considering their money well spent each time they looked at the battlements, ramparts and turrets and think how very impressive they are.
By a strange quirk of nature, the sun always seems to be shining on Snodgrass Hill Private College. Even on the greyest of wintry days, when the mud in Stagnant Swamp has frozen to the consistency of chocolate gelati and the crocodiles has gone into hibernation under the gymnasium, any casual observer can note the rays of golden sunlight filtering through t
he gloom over Snodgrass Hill.
In fact, there are only two bad points about Snodgrass Hill Private College.
The first bad point is that it is located so close to Stagnant Swamp that the toxic swamp vapours have a nasty habit of wafting up from the valley, forcing the College to issue a can of air freshener to each student to be carried always.
The second bad point is that it is located so close to Stagnant Swamp State School that the school can easily be seen from the battlements, ramparts and turrets, ruining the entire view on one side of the College. For this reason, the Principal of Snodgrass Hill Private College has always considered his number one priority to have Stagnant Swamp State School shut down.
By co-incidence, the emblem of Snodgrass Hill Private College is an eagle eating a toad and its motto is ‘globulus triumphus e nixium’ which, roughly translated from Latin, means ‘world domination or nothing’.
Stagnant Swamp State School liked the Snodgrass Hill motto so much that it made up its own – ‘sinkus non estum morus requirus’ which, roughly translated from very poor spelling means ‘try not to sink more than absolutely necessary’.
It is important to note that whilst both schools' emblems feature toads, there is no featuring of pickles in the Snodgrass Hill emblem, and this brings us to the importance of the heraldic pickle to Stagnant Swamp State School, to understand which you may need a little more background information.
Unlike Snodgrass Hill Private College, Stagnant Swamp State School can not afford fancy sports equipment. In fact, Stagnant Swamp State School can not afford any sports equipment at all.
At Stagnant Swamp State School there are no basketballs or tennis rackets, no footballs or baseball bats. Instead, Stagnant Swamp State School students are forced to play ten pin bowling with seasonal fruit and empty cola cans scrounged from the bins at Snodgrass Hill Private College. Or, Stagnant Swamp State School students skip with rope borrowed on a permanent basis from the Snodgrass Hill Private College flag pole.
But the most popular sport at Stagnant Swamp State School was, in fact, something that can be played with no more equipment than part of someone’s lunch and a class room window. That sport quickly became rather an obsession and something at which Stagnant Swamp State School students excelled above all others.
Welcome to Stagnant Swamp State School Page 1
