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What do you get if you cross a master criminal with a fish?

The Codfather.

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Who’s There?

‘Who’s there?’ I squeaked, it had been meant to come out as a challenge, but it never works out that way when you’re scared. I was alone in a two-man tent in the dark, in a small field at the back of St Mary’s churchyard and I was scared.

Frankie and me had decided to camp out for the weekend. We’d pitched the tent after tea on the Friday night, played football until it got dark and then crawled into the tent. But Frankie, being Frankie, had decided that he was hungry and had gone off to get something to eat, leaving me on me own. With nothing else to do I pumped up the Tillylamp and layback on the blankets.

That was when I heard the noise; it came from the direction of the churchyard wall. A couple of soft thumps followed by a scrabbling noise as something climbed out of the churchyard and then a thud as it dropped to the ground. Oh God, something had crawled out of the churchyard and it was in the field only about fifteen yards away from the tent. I sat there in a funk, I hadn’t a clue what to do, but one thing was certain, there was no way I was going to go out there in the dark. After the initial noises, all was quiet and I couldn’t help scaring myself even further by thinking; it was as silent as the grave.

The silence didn’t last however and a few moments later I heard it moving stealthily through the grass, there was no sound of footfalls only what sounded like a cross between a slither and a swish, slwish …slwish… through the grass as it came nearer and nearer. Slwish… slwish… slwish, it reached the side of the tent where I was sitting and I scurried to the other side. Slwish… slwish… slwish, it was on the move again, this time towards the front of the tent. The slwishing stopped for a moment and I slid into the corner at the back expecting it to come bursting in through the flaps. But instead it began to move again, this time down the other side of the tent towards me. Slwish… slwish, I was frozen in place, slwish… slwish, I managed to unfreeze and move but you can’t move far in a two-man tent. The slwishing stopped directly opposite where I sat quaking. No more than two feet of air and a thin piece of canvas separated me from whatever was out there.

I stared at the canvas and wished I had x-ray vision to see what it was, and then cancelled the wish. I didn’t want to know, instead I just wished for it to go away. This time the silence went on and on. Then just as I was beginning to believe that my wish had been granted, the bottom edge of the tent slowly lifted and a hand came through. The fingers were covered in a horrible green mould and beneath the nails black dirt was crusted. I whimpered as it scrabbled towards my leg and kicked out. The hand withdrew and the slwishing began again. This time, I knew it was coming for me, slwish… slwish… slwish, It was at the front now and I could see the canvas moving as it undid the ties that held it closed. I looked around for a weapon to protect myself, anything would do, but there was nothing, other than the Tillylamp and the football we’d been playing with.

Picking up the football with both hands I swung it back over my head ready to throw at the monster. The last tie fell away, and as the flaps opened to admit the horror, I threw the ball with all my might and hit it slap bang in the mush.

‘Ouch! That really hurt Geordie!’ cried Frankie, as he fell backwards out of sight.

My heart was thumping and I could gladly have killed him. ‘You stupid twit, if you come in here I’ll flatten you,’ I screamed.

But as I ranted and threatened him with the death of a thousand tortures, he stayed outside until I had calmed down. Then he brought in a peace offering, two snadgies – snadgies to the uninitiated, is the local name for turnips.

Frankie had dug out two from Jones’s field, which explained the green stains and the dirt under the fingernails and after taking a shortcut through the churchyard had decided to give me a scare.

Fred Watson

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What did one wall say to the other wall?

I'll meet you at the corner.

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A Bad Day For Marmalade

Sandy the mouse was fed up. All afternoon he had been dodging here and there trying to shake off Marmalade the cat. It seemed as if everywhere he went he would catch glimpses of those orange and black stripes from the corner of his eye. The cat had stalked him through the flowerbeds in the borders, through the vegetable garden and now he was creeping after him through the woods. Sandy was not so much worried about the cat catching him. The cat had tried three times already this morning and he had evaded him easily.

No he was fed up because he was hungry, but he couldn’t stop to eat or the cat would pounce while he was eating. It was a situation that couldn’t go on or he would be liable to faint with hunger and where would he be then? At dinner with the cat, only he wouldn’t be eating, he would be on the menu. He needed a plan to get rid of the pesky cat. Maybe he could…no, wouldn’t work. What about if he…No good, the cat would spot it was a trap. I know, the clearing by the stream that should do the trick. Zigzagging around trees and bushes to avoid Marmalade he hurried to the clearing. Once there he moved to the very edge of the bank above the stream and sat down to wash his whiskers.

Marmalade was frustrated and angry. For the past hour he had been tracking Sandy the mouse, but every time he got ready to pounce Sandy would suddenly disappear and pop up in another location. It was almost as if the mouse knew that he was being stalked. He crossed from the garden into the trees hot in pursuit of Sandy and lost him almost straight away. He sniffed the air, he could smell the little beast and it was a distinctive smell. A smell that reminded him of something…what was it? Ah yes, that was it, the smell of freshly caught dinner.

With a grin like the cat in Alice in wonderland he dipped his head to the ground bloodhound fashion and set off after his prey. As he zigzagged between the trees the tantalising scent of mouse grew stronger. He lifted his head and the Cheshire cat grin widened to reach his ears, beyond the last of the trees he could see a clearing and at the far side sat the mouse. The little beast was sitting out in the open, without a care in the world, cleaning his whiskers. Well, he wouldn’t be cleaning them long he thought, as he dropped down onto his belly and began to squirm silently towards Sandy. Closer and closer he slid, until he reached the edge of the trees and could go no further without the mouse seeing him.

With a click he extended his razor sharp claws gathered himself up and sprang. Up, up, up he soared over the clearing, oh he loved this part, and down he came. The mouse had disappeared and too late he realised he had been fooled. Hitting the edge of the overhanging bank, he screeched as it collapsed and sent him cart-wheeling through the air, to land with a splat, right in the middle of the stream. Ooh! He hated water it was soo, soo, wet. After thrashing about for a while, he dragged himself out of the water onto the opposite bank and slunk away to find a place where the sun would dry him out.

As Marmalade flew through the air towards him Sandy stopped pretending to clean his whiskers and ran. He didn’t look back, not even when he heard the screech followed by a splash, he just ran. Quick as a flash he sped along the bank, across the bridge and into the stables. At this time of the day the horses and the donkey were out in the fields and he could fill his belly full of crushed oats and then snuggle down in the straw for a nice long sleep.

Fred Watson

When fish play football who is the captain?

The team's kipper.

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Korky

The Year we were fourteen, Frankie and me, for the first time ever, gave camping in the woods during the summer holidays a miss. We were so busy with our special project that we simply couldn’t spare the time. The name of that project was Korky and if any of you read the Dandy, you will know that Korky is a black cartoon cat. Our Korky however was neither black nor a cat. Our Korky was a red and yellow two-man Kayak and unlike the fibreglass Kayaks you get today, ours had a wooden frame covered in canvas, with the hand painted head of the cartoon Korky, painted on either side of the front deck, or she would have once we had built her.

We called the Kayak Korky after the character and referred to it as a she because I had read somewhere that all vessels, be they Kayaks or ships, are always referred to as she or her. As usual when I am telling a story I have gotten ahead of myself, so I better go back to the beginning and start over again.

In the winter when the weather was bad and the nights were long, I did a lot of reading and at the end of February I found a book in the library on boat building. It was written by a man called P. W. Blandford and gave instructions on how to build a sailing boat and a kayak. This fascinated me and I must have read it at least four times before I mentioned it to Frankie on the way home from school one day, ‘Frankie,’ I said, ‘You ever fancied having a kayak?’

‘Oh, aye and a yacht an’ all, when me dad wins the Football Pools.’

‘You don’t have to win the Pools, I’ve found this great book in the library and it shows how to build your own two-man kayak.’

‘But it’ll cost loads for tools and materials, and the one thing we haven’t got is money.’

‘But there’s got to be someway we can raise the money.’

‘Hold on, you’re always coming with these mad ideas, I might not want a Kayak,’ said Frankie.

I like that, it was always him coming up with the mad ideas, but still from the way that he said it, I could tell he was interested, so I just shrugged my shoulders and said, ‘OK, see you after tea.’

That got him going didn’t it?

‘I didn’t say I didn’t want a Kayak, I just said that I might not.’

‘You in then?’ I asked.

‘No, not until I know more about it.’

I had him then, we had been friends since forever and Frankie was the funniest, most adventurous boy I knew and normally he led and I followed. But this time it was me who’d had the madcap idea and knowing Frankie as I did, I reckoned that one look at the book would have him hooked.

‘Ok, come around later and have a look, if you think the idea is duff. That’s it, I’ll drop it.’

I’d hardly finished eating before there was a knock on the back door. Mum opened it and I heard him say, ‘Is George in Mrs Miller?’

You’ll notice he asked for George and not Geordie, that’s because he wasn’t daft, he wouldn’t have dared to call me Geordie in front of mum.

‘Aye son, go on through.’

I was sitting at the table with the book open in front me and I looked up when he came in.

‘Is that the book then,’ he said, as he sat down on the chair opposite.

I spun the book around and slid it over to him. He picked it up and after flicking through it, went back to the first page and began to read. Oh, no, I thought, we are going to be here all night. But I was wrong, after about ten minutes he lifted his head and his eyes were gleaming, ‘Do you really think we can build one?’

‘Aye, the book tells you how to do it, and if we send away, we can get a full size set of patterns for the frames, they’re only two quid, plus postage.’

Frankie’s face fell and he look over his shoulder to make sure mum wasn’t about, before hissing, ‘Jesus, Geordie if we pool our pocket money it’ll take us a fortnight just to get the patterns and if we need the tools and materials, we might as well just forget the idea.’

‘The tools are nothing, just two saws, a hammer and a screwdriver, we can borrow them.’

‘Aye, but the rest of the stuff is going to cost a load.’

‘I don’t know what the materials are going to cost, but I know who we can ask.’

‘Who’s that then?’

‘Mr Wilson at Wilson’s D. I. Y. in the high street, if we copy the list of materials in the book, we can take it in on Saturday morning and get a price.’

We were up early on Saturday – which was unusual for us – reached the shop shortly after opening time and handed our list over to Mr Wilson. The shop was quiet which was lucky, because it took a little while for him to check through the catalogues, but finally after he had noted down the prices, he added them up with his pencil and gave us the bad news. ‘All together it comes to £30, mostly because you need a sheet of one inch thick marine plywood, all the screws are brass, and even the nails you want are copper. What are you building, a boat?’

‘No, a Kayak,’ I said.

‘Thought it must be something like that, and these materials are for the frame. So what are going use for the skin?’

Frankie and I looked at each other, we hadn’t a clue what he was talking about and we stared at him blankly. He chuckled, ‘What are you going to cover the frame with?’

Suddenly I knew what he was talking about, ‘Canvas,’ I said.

‘If you tell me the weight and size that you want, I’ll try and get you a price for that as well. A mate of mine is a sail maker.’

‘Thanks, Mr Wilson that would be great, I’ll bring the size and the weight in on Monday after school.’

‘We left then and Frankie started as soon as we got outside, ‘Well, that’s put the mockers on it, we’ve no hope of raising £30,’ he said glumly.

‘And the canvas,’ I reminded him.

‘That’s it then, we definitely can’t raise the money.’

‘If we both get a spare time job, we can save up the money.’

‘Even if we do, how long is it going to take us?’

‘Depends on the price of the canvas, but I reckon about five months and that brings us to the six weeks holidays.’

Frankie cheered up at that, ‘Aye, and if we build the Kayak in the first couple of weeks, we can use it for the rest of the holidays. Come on let’s see if any of the shops need delivery boys.’

We spent the next hour going around asking if there were any jobs going, and believe it or not, Frankie got a job as delivery boy for Lipton’s the grocers. I tried a couple more places but by then the shops were getting busy and everyone told me to come back another day. I was as sick as a parrot, but what could I do? Still, I’d be back in the high street on Monday with the size of the canvas, I could try again then.

On Monday after school Frankie wanted to come with me, but I talked him out of it, saying that I wanted to try for a job myself. Actually it was more than that, with only half a dozen shops left to try, I didn’t think I had much hope of getting fixed up and the last thing I needed was a mate hovering about when I failed.

When I took the measurements in to Mr Wilson, he said he’d ring his friend the next day and if I came back again on Tuesday night, he’d be able to give me a price. I thanked him and headed for the door and had just opened it when he called out, ‘Hold on son, do you need any of the stuff in a hurry, because if you do, most of it needs to be ordered in.’

Well, what could I say, he had been so helpful I felt it only fair that I told him the truth, ‘To be honest Mr Wilson, it’ll be a while, we’re going to have get part time jobs and save up first. Frankie managed to get one on Saturday and I’m off to look for one now.’

‘That’s OK then, good luck with the job hunt and I’ll have this price for you tomorrow.’

I had no reason to stop Frankie coming with me to Mr Wilson’s on Tuesday after school and I was glad that he was with me when I got the bad news, and I was double glad when I got the good news. The bad news was that we needed to find another £10 for the canvas and the good news came when Mr Wilson said, ‘If you haven’t already found a job, how would you like to work here?’

It turns out that he had a dickey heart and doctor had told him to take it easy, and the only way he could do that was by getting someone to help in the shop part time, so he was offering me a Saturday job. He could only afford to pay a £1 a week, but with Frankie’s £1 from Lipton’s we would make enough to buy the materials. I thanked him and agreed to start the following Saturday, which was the same day that Frankie started at Lipton’s.

Saturday morning we arrived for work bright and early and stood chatting excitedly on the corner between the two shops – which were only 50 yards apart – while we waited for them to open, ‘Do you know what you’ll be doing?’ asked Frankie.

‘I haven’t a clue, Mr Wilson said, we’ll work it out as we go.’

‘They are giving me a bike to do the deliveries,’ said Frankie, puffing up his chest.

‘Great,’ I said, feeling just a little jealous that he would be out in the fresh air, riding a bike, while I would be working indoors.

As it turned out I got the best of the bargain. The bike they gave him had been well maintained so that was good, what wasn’t so good was that it was twenty years old and must have been built in a tank factory. It had a basket on the front to carry the groceries, altogether the whole thing weighed four times that of a normal bike and that was without the groceries. If that wasn’t bad enough, the High Street was in the middle of a steep hill, so that at least half of the time he would be pushing the bike instead of riding. Mind you, give Frankie his due; while he moaned about the beastly machine, he stuck it out until well into the summer holidays.

That first Saturday morning I swept the floors, tidied the wood, stacked the shelves and even served a customer with a bottle of turps when Mr Wilson was busy. After lunch, I minded the shop while Mr Wilson went through to the back shop to finish making some pelmets for an order. Not that I was a great help, because I had to keep asking him where things were, or how much they cost and I had to keep asking him to come through when customers wanted advice on what to use for such and such a job.

It was a busy little shop but things quietened down about three thirty and I watched Mr Wilson as he finished off the last of the pelmets. Wooden pelmets that fitted above the windows and hid the top of the curtain and curtain rail were very popular then and were made with a timber frame and a front cut out of hardboard, which could then be painted to match the room. Also, the fronts would be supplied in various patterns that were cut out with a jigsaw. All this talk of pelmets might sound a bit boring, but stick with it because those pelmets really did helped us build the Kayak.

When Mr Wilson finished the last pelmet, I asked if I could have a try and after showing me how to draw a curve on some scrap hardboard he showed me how to cut out the shape by hand with a coping saw. He used an electric jigsaw, but there was no way he’d let me. Anyway the upshot was that I ended up, after breaking a few of the blades in the process, with a couple pretty rough looking shapes.

‘They’re a bit on the rough side,’ he said. ‘But you’ll get there with practice. Why don’t you take the saw and some scrap wood home with you tonight?’

I could have danced with joy, well maybe not, but I was chuffed nevertheless and at finishing time, I took as much scrap hardboard as I could carry, the saw and some spare blades as well. It took a few weeks and a lot of practice but eventually I became a dab hand with the coping saw and I was able to really help Mr Wilson out. From then on all I did on a Saturday was to make loads of pelmets and this turned out to be just the job, because all the specially shaped frames for the Kayak had to be cut out of one sheet of one inch thick marine plywood using a coping saw.

With our combined first weeks wage we sent away for the plans and full size frame patterns and when they arrived spent most nights drooling over them, while we waited for our savings to grow. It was eight weeks after that, when we were counting up our money that we realised that we didn’t have to wait for the summer holidays to get started on the Kayak. We had sixteen pounds in the pot and that was exactly the price of the marine plywood. We whooped so loudly that my mum stuck her head around the door and said, ‘What’s all the noise? It sounds like a mad house in here.’

‘It’s OK; Mum it’s just that we’ve got enough to buy the plywood for the Kayak.’

‘Good lads, now can you keep the noise down, it is Sunday after all.’

Monday after school we went round to the shop and handed Mr Wilson sixteen crumpled pound notes, ‘What’s this for?’ he asked, pretending he didn’t know.

‘We’ve saved enough for the plywood. Can you order it for us,’ I said.

‘I certainly can, it’ll be in on Friday afternoon and I’ll deliver it to your house after I’ve shut the shop.’

But we were too impatient to wait even an extra couple of hours and arrived at the shop straight after school on Friday, determined to carry the plywood home ourselves. Mr Wilson tried to talk us out of it, saying the eight-foot long sheet was too heavy. But we were determined and with one of us at each end of the sheet of wood we headed home stopping every ten minutes for a rest. I took us over an hour to reach our house and ten minutes after we had staggered up the path, Mr Wilson gave a toot on the horn as he pass in his van.

Still we had the ply, now we could get started, it was a slow job cutting each frame out by hand using the coping saw and it would have been quicker with my dad’s electric jigsaw, but he wouldn’t let us near it. To be honest, he did offer to cut the frames out for us, but knowing my dad, if we had let him, he would taken over the whole job and we were determined to build the Kayak ourselves. Altogether it took us another four weeks working in the evenings, to cut out the frames and even though Frankie did some of the work, I still ended up with a couple of whopping great blisters on my hand.

By the time we finished the frames we had saved another six pounds but since we needed, waterproof resin glue, the timber rails, and most of the brass screws for the next stage, we had to wait for another weeks wage before we could order them. As before, the delivery was on a Friday and this time we let Mr Wilson deliver.

There were ten sixteen-foot long rails and a keel rail running stem to stern and each had to glued and screwed to the frames and the stem and sternposts. There were eight screws to a rail and apart from the keel, they had to be fitted in pairs and left until the glue set, so as not to twist the framework. It took a week to complete and another for the deck frames, the cockpit framing and inside decking.

We now had another four pounds in the pot. We spent a pound on a tin of paint for the frames, but after that we were stuck and would have to wait another four weeks before we could afford the canvas and the copper nails. Still we were ahead of time and we reckoned on finishing well before for the holidays. Or we did, until Frankie had his accident, he was freewheeling downhill on his way back to the shop after doing a delivery, when a small dog ran out in front of him. He didn’t have time to swerve so he slammed on the brakes, shot over the handlebars and slid along the road taking a load of the skin from his arms in the process. He was strapped up for three weeks and still wore the bandages when he went back to work.

With Frankie back on his bike, we soon made up the money and three weeks after that we had the skin on, the rubbing strips, combing frame and all the bits and bobs fitted. Another three days and we had her painted, red for the hull, yellow for the deck and of course Korky the cats face, painted by yours truly, either side at the front.

To say we were chuffed wasn’t in it, we were over the moon and rightly so. We had gone out a gotten jobs, saved up to buy the material, built our very own two-seater Kayak and not made a half bad job of it too. Now all we had to do was launch her and since neither of us had ever been in a Kayak before we needed to practice paddling, preferably somewhere quiet, where nobody would see us make fools of ourselves.

Apart from the river Tyne, which neither of us felt confident enough to try, the nearest water was a mile and a half away in a disused quarry. So with Frankie at the front and me at the back we carried Korky all the way there. Being in the middle of nowhere, it was an ideal spot, not many kids went there even in the school holidays, and we spent every day for a week getting the hang of Kayaking. Mind you, we had a few soakings mainly when getting into and out of the Kayak and took to wearing our bathers after the first day. The other thing we did after that first day was to find a better way to transport the Kayak. What seemed an easy task when we set out turned into a back breaker, especially on the way back when our arms felt like lead.

‘We can’t go on like this, said Frankie.

‘Well you take the back and I’ll take the front.’ I quipped.

‘Ha, ha, funny! You know what I mean; we can’t keep on carrying the Kayak around like a roll of carpet.’

I had to agree with him on that score, my back was aching, my arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets, and I had been racking my brains all the way back for a solution, ‘Let’s just get Korky home and get something to eat. We’ll sort it out after tea.’

‘Best idea you’ve had all day, Geordie, I’m famished.’

By the time Frankie called around after tea, I was already in the shed dismantling the old pushchair I’d been going to make a cart with.

‘You’ve had an idea then, Geordie,’ Frankie said, as he pushed open the shed door.

‘Aye, here,’ I said, handing him a spanner. ‘Loosen those bolts, while I finish cutting off this bracket.’

Fifteen minute and some skinned knuckles later we had an axle complete with two wheels. Now we needed a way to fix it to one end of Kayak so that we could remove it again. There were lots of wood in the shed so I picked out an old piece of three by two, ‘Here Frankie cut that to the same length as the axle, while I scratch around for something to fix it in place.’

My dad had a workbench made out of an old sideboard and the drawers and cupboards were filled with a treasure trove of old brackets, bolts, washers, nuts, nails, screws and staples, and staples were exactly what we needed. We fastened the axel to the wood with three large ones and then used a couple of smaller ones to fasten a short piece of clothesline to each end of the wood. Now we could place one end of the Kayak on the wood between the two wheels, bring the two pieces of clothes line up over the top, tie them in a knot and, Hey Presto, we could lift the front of the Kayak and pull it along behind us on the two wheels.

At least that was the theory, but when we tried it out the clothesline gradually slid backwards until the wheels fell off, much to the amusement of the other kids in the street. We ran the gauntlet back to the shed with Frankie threatening to thump the next one to laugh and fixed the problem by screwing a large eyelet into the top of the last deck frame. Once the clothesline was passed through the eyelet and then tied, the wheels stayed in place and to make things easier still we screwed an old drawer handle onto the front. Now all we had to do when we took Korky out was to fix the wheels on the back, lift the handle at the front and the Kayak followed wherever we went.

After a week of practice we decided we were ready for the real thing; a trip downriver to the sea. We were both strong swimmers, but our dads insisted that we wear life jackets and add some buoyancy to the Kayak. The life jacket weren’t a problem as we hadn’t given up the Saturday jobs yet and we bought a couple from the Army and Navy store; they were pretty old fashioned but they did the job they were made for. The buoyancy for the Kayak was a bit more of a problem, (You have to remember in those days there was no such thing as polystyrene foam) but we solved that problem by inflating a couple of football bladders and fixing them inside, one at the stem and one at the stern. (Front and rear. to you land lubbers) In fact the bladders were so successful that even when the Kayak was filled with water it still floated.

Finally everything was ready, we stowed our jam sandwiches and ginger beer in the Kayak, fixed on the wheels and set off. It was a brilliant sunny day and forecasted to stay that way. Reaching the Tyne we slipped off the wheels and slid them inside, under the rear deck and launched her. I got in first and held her steady until Frankie came aboard, then off we went. The Tyne was then, and still is, a busy river with a lot of big ships plying to and fro and at first we were a bit worried, not so much that we’d be mown down. There wasn’t much chance of that, because we paddled down the sides where the water was shallow, but for fear of being tipped over by the wash.

The fear was groundless and an hour and a half later we paddled out between the piers at the river mouth and turned south. As I said it was a lovely day and the beaches were crowded as we passed. From the river mouth we paddled all the way along the coast to Seaburn, where we beached the Kayak and ate our sandwiches in the midst of a crowd of youngsters admiring our Korky.

After lunch we set off back the way we came and had only gotten as far as Whitburn when a young boy standing on some rocks about quarter of a mile from the shore began to wave to us, Frankie waved back and I was going to do the same when I noticed something wrong, ‘Paddle towards him, Frankie,’ I said.

‘What for?’

‘Look at the rocks he’s standing on.’

‘Oh, crumbs, he’s been cut off by the tide, let’s get over there.’

As we paddled closer he shouted, ‘Help I’m stuck and I can’t swim,’

‘Hang on we’ll get you off in a minute,’ I shouted back.

Lucky for us the sea was calm, because if hadn’t have been, we wouldn’t have been able to do what we did. We paddle right alongside the rocks and I got out and the boy took my place in the Kayak. Then while Frankie paddled I hung onto the back and swam until we reached the cheering crowd on the beach. To be honest it was embarrassing. The boy’s father shook our hands, slapped our backs and thanked us over and over again; he even took our names and addresses. As soon as we could, we made our escape and paddled off, with the crowd on the beach waving madly.

‘That was embarrassing,’ I said.

‘Yes, but it was kind of nice too,’ said Frankie, resting on his paddle and looking back towards dwindling crowd on the beach, ‘Sort of made me feel good.’

‘Yes I suppose so, but listen, Mr, we’ve got a long way to go and if you don’t start paddling we’re going to be late for our teas.’

We got back at six o’clock and after parking korky in the garden we were about split when the back door opened and my dad said, ‘Inside now the both of you.’

I looked a Frankie, he looked at me, and neither of us had a clue what it was about. Inside dad shut the door behind us, and ordered us to go through to the living room where we found Frankie’s mum and dad, my mum and a complete stranger. I looked around everyone was smiling so we couldn’t have been in trouble and I was about to ask what was going on, but dad spoke first. ‘This is Mr Mellors from the Echo and he want’s a word with you both.’

‘Hello lads, I’m a reporter with the Sunderland Echo, and I understand that you saved a young boys life at Whitburn this afternoon.’

There was silence for a moment and then I said, ‘We only gave him a lift in the Kayak.’

‘Yes, he was stuck and couldn’t swim so we gave him a lift to the beach,’ said Frankie.

‘That, in my book makes you a pair of heroes, boys.’

The reporter interviewed us, as did a reporter from Shields Gazette the next day and they even took our photos. The upshot was that we were famous for all of two weeks, received a certificate from the mayor and enjoyed the limelight for a while. But we became fed up with all the attention and were relieved when all the fuss died down and we could get on with our Kayaking in peace.

We did a lot of kayaking the rest of that year and the first half of the next. But by the end of the summer holidays, we became restless and started looking around for something else to do.

Copyright Fred Watson May 2008

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What's the letter that ends everything?

'G'

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All Of A Tangle

This story is a follow up to ‘The Girls And Sandy’ and ‘Sandy And The Beast’ and tells what happened to Marmalade after his run in with Sandy in the vegetable garden.

After their unexpected meeting with and their failure to catch Sandy the mouse, Rosie, Chloe and Beth headed for the slide and swings that granddad had built. They were chattering excitedly.

‘He was going at a supersonic speed,’ cried Beth.

‘Did you see the way I dived to catch him?’ asked Rosie.

‘Yes and did you see how high I jumped to get over you?’ asked Chloe.

Rosie giggled and said, ‘Yes and it was really funny when you did those two rolls.’

‘Did you see me catch him by the tail?’ asked Beth, ‘but he was going so fast that his tail slide right through my fingers.’

‘Yes, that really was brilliant,’ said Chloe.

‘Last one up the slide is a slow coach,’ cried Rosie as she raced towards the play area.

This time it was Beth who was the slowest, but she wasn’t bothered. While others climbed the slide she bagged first go on one of the swings.

They were having a great time alternating between the swings and the slide. When Rosie, as she was about go down the slide for tenth time, suddenly stood still and called out, ‘Quiet! Listen, I can hear something.’

‘What?’ Chloe asked.

‘It sounded like a cat. Listen there it is again.’ Rosie replied,

‘I can’t hear anything,’ said Beth.

‘Me neither,’ said Chloe.

Rosie shot down the slide, jumped to her feet and said, ‘If you both stop talking you’ll hear it.’

This time all three of them heard a muffled meow that sounded very sorry for its self.

Rosie was worried. ‘Come on, that cat sounds as if it is in trouble.’

Chloe and Beth frowned at the thought of any animal being hurt and hurried after Rosie. Following the sound of distress they crossed the lawn and turned onto the path through the vegetable garden. Though still muffled the cries were louder here and seemed to be coming from the rows of beans. They traced the sound to an area in the second row where some posts supporting the netting had collapsed and found the source of the pitiful meows. A large striped cat had somehow managed to become so deeply enmeshed in the bean netting that it was difficult to tell where the netting ended and the cat began.

‘This must be Marmalade, the cat grandma was telling us about,’ Rosie exclaimed.

‘Ah, poor thing, just look at the state he’s in,’ said Chloe.

‘Can you get him out?’ asked Beth, who dearly loved cats.

Rosie and Chloe dropped down beside Marmalade and Chloe talked softly to him, Rosie tried to free the netting. She did manage to unwrap a small amount but no way would she be able to free the cat.

‘We need help there’s no way to untangle this mess,’ said Rosie, ‘we better get granddad.’

‘I’ll go, I’ll go,’ said Beth and immediately ran off.

‘Wait,’ called Chloe.

Beth slowed and looked back.

‘Tell granddad to bring a knife and some scissors.’

Beth nodded and increasing speed raced to the house, burst through the door and shouted, ‘Come quick Marmalade is trapped, Rosie said to bring scissors and a knife.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Tangled in the netting in the vegetable garden.’

Grabbing the Scissors and a knife, Granddad hurried with Beth back to the garden and immediately took things in hand.

‘Chloe go around the other side and hold Marmalade still. Rosie get hold of the netting here and pull it tight. Beth you do the same at the other side.’

A couple of snips at one side then a couple at the other and he was left with a tangled ball of netting with a cat inside. Unravelling the netting a bit at a time and making a snip here and there, it wasn’t long before the cat was free. Marmalade must have exhausted himself struggling with the net because he just lay there. Granddad picked him up and handed him to Beth and said, ‘You hold him.’

The girls made a big fuss of Marmalade and like a drama queen he preened and lapped up the attention.

Granddad left them to it, while he picked up the broken poles and torn netting and then said, ‘Why don’t you take Marmalade to the house, while I get rid of this stuff.’

‘There, there, your safe now boy,’ said Beth as she carried Marmalade towards the house.

‘Look at him curled up in Beth’s arms, he looks so cute,’ said Chloe.

‘How did you manage to get yourself all tangled up, you silly cat?’ Beth asked Marmalade.

Marmalade just snuggled into her arms and purred.

‘He must have been chasing a bird or something to run into that net,’ said Chloe.

‘You don’t suppose,’ queried Rosie, ‘that he could have been chasing Sandy the mouse?’

Fred Watson June 2008.

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What do you get if you cross a mouse and a deer?

Mickey Moose.

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A Busy Day

Sandy the Mouse woke early, just as it was getting light, he sat up, sniffed the air, scratched, stretch, Yawned, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and washed his hands and face.

Living by himself sometimes made him feel a little lonely, but most of the time he was quite happy on his own.

He used to have a large family, Mum, Dad, five brothers and six sisters and when they were little they had a great time running, tumbling, fighting and playing together. But over the years some moved away to live elsewhere, others just went out and never came back again, until one day there was only Mum, Dad and him left at home.

Then one day when he came home after being out all day, even they were not there and they did not come back that night or the next, or the next, after a while he knew the were not coming back, ever again.

He looked around his home in the loft above the garage and smiled, it was warm and comfortable, and held a lot of old memories.

Feeling hungry he made his way across the loft to the corner and climbed down into the garage. It was like most garages, a place where the people of the house stored all of their leftover things. Sandy moved around the grass mower, past the old broken washing machine, between the pile of paint tins and then on through the utility room into the kitchen. On the table there was some left over cheese and bread from the night before, he ate all the cheese and the bread and drank some water from the sink.

Breakfast over he made his way out into the garden, turned left along the path at the rear of the house and then keeping close to the border at one side, he followed the path that ran down to the lawn. Squinting his eyes he searched the ground then the sky. Satisfied he ran across the lawn to the corner, and hurried over the wooden bridge that spanned the stream.

At the far side he crossed over and keeping to the shadows cast by the paddock fencing, made his way to the stables. He was partial to a bit of corn and there was always plenty in the stables.

Popping into the first stall was a mistake. It was occupied by a bad tempered donkey that reared up and tried it’s best to trample him. Sandy dodged left and right and had almost made it out of the stall, when the donkey with an expert flick of it’s rear hoof, sent him sailing over the half door. The sky and the earth spun past like a kaleidoscope and he tumbled through the air to land with a great splash in the horse trough.

Spluttering, gasping, and spiting water he came up to the surface and scrambled over the side, only to fall flat on his face in the mud around the trough. Struggling to his feet he decided there and then that under no circumstances would he ever enter the donkey’s stall again.

Beyond the stables was a field of strawberries and he slipped under the gate and into strawberry heaven. The fruit was so big and juicy he simply did not know where to start. But after a while, he finally made up his mind and picked the biggest and reddest one he could see.

The strawberries were delicious and he would have stayed there eating, probably, until he made himself sick. But when a great hairy beast of a dog, came running towards him barking madly. He dropped the strawberry he was eating and sped off on a zigzag course towards a group of trees.

Halfway across the field the dog was gaining on him. Three Quarters of the way and the dog nearly had him; he could feel its hot breath on his back every time it barked. He risked a glance over his shoulder and all he could see was a great cavern of a mouth, full of giant yellow teeth dripping with saliva. Calling on an extra burst of energy, he shot forward and the mouth crashed shut behind him with a loud clack.

He got to the tree first, but only just, climbed quickly up and onto the first branch. Being close behind, the dog unable to stop slammed nose first into the tree and promptly sat down and howled. After a while however, when its eyes had stopped watering, it stood on its hind legs barking and clawing, as it tried to reach the bottom branch.

Once Sandy was sure that the dog could not reach him, he simply sat there grinning while the dog leapt, jumped and slavered at the mouth.

After hearing several loud whistles, the dog dropped down, walked a short distance away, then ignoring the summons, came back and tried to reach the bottom branch again. The whistles however came again and this time with a great show of reluctance the dog gave a whine and left. Sandy waited until the dog was out of sight, then climbed down from the tree and slipped into the hedgerow.

Coming to a gap he popped through and came out into a flower-dotted meadow. He had barely begun to cross, when from the corner of his eye he caught the shadow of something coming towards him. After his run in with the dog he panicked and dropped flat to the ground. But it was only a butterfly landing on a flower nearby and he did feel a little silly.

Quite close to the edge of the field he found some mushrooms and since he had not managed to finish his strawberry, sat down to eat one.

*

High in the sky above him the hawk circled looking for its prey, spotting movement in the mushrooms, it immediately tucked back its wings and dived down. Plummeting through the air with the speed of guided missile, the hawk headed for its target. At the last minute it feathered its wings and extended its claws for the kill.

*

Sandy had finished his first mushroom and was halfway through another, when a great shadow fell over him. Without looking up he immediately dived to his left, then quick as a flash he darted to the edge of the field and rolled under a bush.

Too late to Pull up, the hawk, claws extended; hit the ground with an angry screech, missing him by centimetres. It stabbed to the left with it’s beak, again narrowly missing him.

Screaming with anger the hawk lifted off from the ground circled the bush several times trying to get at him. But Sandy panting and shivering with fear, had managed to squirm his way deep into the bush. The hawk realising that there was no way to get at him, gave a last angry screech, then flew off across the field and disappeared.

Sandy gave up then and made his way home, it was easier to face Marmalade the cat, than the wildlife out here.

By Fred Watson.

What weapon was most feared by medievil knights?

A can-opener.

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Tornado Tommy

Tornado Tommy was his name,

tearing things apart was his game.

When appearing at the Gateshead Sage,

he stood foursquare on the stage

and with a bow to the assembled host,

tore in half the Gateshead Post.

Seeing the audience unimpressed,

with a flourish he ripped off his vest

and with his torso completely bare,

he climbed quickly onto a chair.

Then flexing his ample six pack,

he raised aloft a Tibetan yak

The audience screamed and went wild

and for the first time Tommy smiled.

Then holding the yak in one hand,

he reached out to a nearby stand.

Picked up a street map of Leith

and tore it in half with his teeth.

But his smile turned into a frown,

when he fell as he stepped down

and as he lay prone on his back

was buried beneath the yak

Fred Watson.

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Why can't a leopard hide?

Because he is always spotted.

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Crabby’s Long And Dangerous Journey.

At the seaside, in a large rock pool that can only be reach when the tide is fully out, there live many small creatures. Beneath the surface, the pool is normally a cool and pleasant place to live. Today however all is not well, there is a thunderstorm raging and as the tide comes sweeping in, giant waves pour into the pool. The water swirls and spins and Crabby Crab, who has been caught out in the open is swept around and around. One minute he is upside down, the next the right way up and his claws are aching, with trying to grab onto anything to stop him bouncing off the rocks.

Suddenly he is thrown up to the surface, where he manages grab onto a lump of driftwood and is carried out of the pool and in towards the shore. He hangs on with both of his pincers as the piece of wood is hurled from one wave to the next. Up and down, back and forwards he goes and the nearer to the shore he gets the worse it becomes. As the water become shallow the waves break, throwing the wood forward and pounding it down onto the sandy bottom, only to pick it up and do it over and over again. All Crabby can do is to hang on tightly, until he is thrown ashore many hours later. The driftwood ends up in a great heap of seaweed on the shore and he was so tired by then that he crawled deep inside and fell asleep.

When Crabby woke up it was the middle of the night, the storm was over and the tide was on its way out again. Shakily he crawled out from under the seaweed and scuttled sideway down to the waters edge. He needed to get back to his home pool, but he wasn’t sure which way to go. He could feel soft sand beneath his legs but he needed to feel rocks. He stood still for moment unsure what to do and then scuttled off, following the waters edge to the left. On and on he travelled for a long, long time. Then just when he was about to give up and go the other way, the sand was gone and he could feel rock beneath his legs.

He had found the rocks, now all he had to do was to find the pool. He followed the tide as it went out and within minutes, splash! He had fallen into a pool. It was very dark at the bottom of the pool, but then the moon came out from behind a cloud and he took a look around. It wasn’t his pool so he scrabbled out and continued his search. All night he climbed into and out of pools and was chased by other bigger crabs for invading their territory. In the last one he’d even had to fight off a large, hungry, Moray eel that had been left behind by the tide.

He was wondering if he would ever get home, when he spotted a jumble of rocks ahead. If he climbed to the top of them, maybe he would be able to see where his own pool was. It was hard climbing the slippery rocks and it took him so long that it was daylight before he reached the top. He crouched down for a moment until he got his breath back and then scrabbled over to the edge and looked down. There were three more pools in front of him and while he had never seen his pool from above, he knew that it was the one right at the edge of the sea.

Climbing down the side of rocks, he set off sideways towards the pool and was only halfway there when a large seagull spotted him and came diving down to the attack. Quickly he scuttled into a crack in the nearest rock. There was only just enough room for him to squeeze inside and after the seagull had landed it poked its beak into the opening trying to peck him. He fought it off with his strong hard pincers and eventually the seagull gave a loud angry squawk and flew away. Crabby waited until he was sure it was gone, then ran across to his pool, slipped under the water and crawled into his cave in Crabby Rock. Once inside, he lay down, went to sleep, and dreamed of telling his friends about his long and dangerous journey.

Fred Watson May 2008

What did the shoe say to the foot?

'You're having me on.'

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Ronnie Cole

The old gang broke up the year we moved up to the seniors for various reasons. Colly Morgan’s family emigrated and the lucky dog got to live in Australia. Tommo Smith, always a clever lad got blinding scores in his stats, was sent to a private school and went all posh on us. Not that we blamed him, it was his mum who wouldn’t let him mix with the riff raff. Daza Wilkinson and Pongo Hutton moved up to St Josephs. That only left Frankie Dodds my best mate and me Geordie Miller to bus it to Westbrook Seniors.

Daza, Pongo, Frankie and me did camp in the woods for a week at Easter, but they had found mates at their new school and didn’t want to know us by the time the summer holidays came around. So it looked like it would only Frankie and me camping in the holidays. Then couple of weeks before the summer break old Mrs Blakestone who lived at the head of the close, moved out and a new family called Cole moved in.

Mum ever the good neighbour gave them a couple of days to get unpacked then took them a cake she’d baked as a welcome present. When she came back she could hardly wait to tell dad about them. ‘Her name is Mary and her husband’s called Bob; they’re a really nice couple, they’ve moved up here from Richmond because he’s got a new job at Semen’s factory.’

Dad grunted, continued to read his Chronicle and she gave him such a look, ‘You’re not listening to me, are you Jack Miller?’

He grunted something that might have been a yes and turned to the back page of the paper.

‘OK, clever clogs what did I say?’

Dad gave a sigh as if to say, can’t a man read his paper in peace, winked at me, smiled and said, ‘She’s Mary, he’s Bob, they come from Richmond and he’s got a job at Semen’s.’

‘Oh, you!’ said mum. ‘But did I tell you they have a boy called Ronnie who’s the same age as our George.’

‘I haven’t seen any boy. Have you George?’

‘No Dad.’

‘That’s because,’ said mum. ‘He’s in the General hospital, that’s why his dad changed jobs and they moved up here, so it would be handy for the hospital.’

‘What’s wrong with the lad then?’ asked dad.

‘I don’t know,’ said mum. ‘Can’t be good, Mary got upset just saying his name. No doubt we’ll find out later when she feels able to talk about him.’

That was how I first heard of Ronnie Cole and his mysterious illness and it would another week before I met the lad himself. It was after tea on a Friday night and I was in the garden on the trampoline when I got the feeling that someone was watching me. I did a flip so that I landed facing the other way and he was there standing by the back door. He was about the same height as me, had a bit of sandy hair showing below his cap, freckles on his nose and amazingly didn’t look ill at all. I knew who he was before he spoke, I’d seen him getting out of one of those mini bus ambulances two days before.

‘Hi, George’ he said. ‘I’m Ronnie, your mum said I could come round.’

‘Hi, you want a go on the trampoline?’

‘Nah! Can’t, I’m not allowed.’

‘Tough! Something to do with hospital?’

‘Yer!’ he said, with a shrug as if it didn’t matter, though I could see that it did.’

I jumped down from the trampoline and said, ‘Come on; let’s call on Frankie… And Ronnie, call me Geordie, only my mum calls me George.’

‘OK Geordie,’ he said with a grin.

I took him around to Frankie’s and I could tell Frankie thought he was cool and since I liked him too, he became one of our gang. Not a full time member you understand, he spent too much time in hospital for that. But still a fully-fledged member when he was well enough to join us, which wasn’t very often. Ronnie never moaned about his illness but we knew that he got tired very easily and we tended to play marbles or chucks instead of football and stuff when he came over.

As usual when we broke up for the summer holidays we got ready to set up camp in the woods and Ronnie set his heart on coming with us. Unfortunately his mum, who said he wasn’t well enough, vetoed the idea. Ronnie begged and pleaded, but his mum was adamant and even though we could see he really wasn’t well enough, we still felt sorry for him, he had talked about nothing else all week.

Despite only knowing him for a week Frankie and I had taken a shine to Ronnie, he was great lad and we decided to ask his mum if maybe he could visit us in the camp for an hour or so each day.

‘Please, Mum, please,’ begged Ronnie.

‘I don’t think you should,’ she said, ‘You’re really not up to it.’

I could see that she didn’t fancy the idea of him being out of her sight but it would only be for a couple of hours each day and we would look after him. After all we had all the rest of the day to go wild in.

‘What if we called for him each day after breakfast, Mrs Cole, then he could come home when we come for our lunch,’ I said.

‘And you’d look out for him and make sure he didn’t do too much?’

‘Honest, Mrs Cole, we will,’ said Frankie

‘OK then Ronnie we’ll try it for a couple of days, but if you get worse that’s it, no arguments.’

‘Yes, Mum,’ said Ronnie, with a big grin on his face.

The next morning after breakfast Ronnie came to the woods with us and helped us build our camp. I should maybe take the time here tell you about our camping. During our school holidays we always went camping in the nearby woods that were only fifteen minutes away. That might sound a little weird, but it was really convenient, we could spend all day in the woods and sleep there at night too, but we could nip home for our meals and we didn’t have dig a latrine either. Cool or what?

The following morning the three of us scoured the woods looking for suitable branches and after cutting the ones we wanted, took them back to the camp and made bows and arrows, but before we use them Ronnie’s time was up. He said he was feeling great and was all for staying longer, at least until we set up a target and had a go with the bows. But Frankie and I talked him out of it because we thought he looked a little tired. Beside I think we knew that if he didn’t get back in time that would be the end of his trips to the woods.

On Wednesday Ronnie was quite and didn’t seem to have much energy, so we sat him on a tree stump and after setting up a tin can on rock at the other end of the clearing, we took turns with our bows and arrows at trying to knock it off. Frankie and I had been practicing the day before and we thought we were pretty good, but despite only having enough energy to half draw his bow, Ronnie hit the can with unerring accuracy to beat us hands down. The morning ended with twenty-two hits to Ronnie, twelve to Frankie and nine to me, and no, we didn’t let him win.

It was the same on Thursday only this time we’d made catapults with strips cut from an old bicycle inner tube and guess what? Ronnie slammed us again. On Friday however when we called for him, his mum said he was to poorly and to leave it until next week. We felt sorry for him, but being young and daft, like boys our age tend to be, we got on with our games and put poor Ronnie to the back of our minds.

He might have been at the back of our minds, but a week later and once a week for the next three weeks we called at his house, only to be told that Ronnie was too poorly to come out and no he wasn’t well enough for visitors. Then the next week we were told that he’d had to go back into hospital for more treatment and that was the end of any hope that Ronnie would get to come to the camp before the school holidays ended, or so we thought.

A few days later when Frankie and I got to the camp after breakfast Ronnie was already there and whatever the treatment they gave him was it must have worked because for the first time since we had known him he looked really fit. We asked him what it had been like in the hospital but he mustn’t have wanted to tell us and jumped to his feet, ‘Come on, you two, let’s go climb some trees,’ and began to clamber up the nearest one.

Frankie and I looked at each other in amazement, then Frankie’s face split into a grin, he let off a great whoop of joy and followed Ronnie up the tree. From then on it was mayhem as we ran wild for the rest of the day. We didn’t even go home for lunch, Ronnie said he didn’t have to get back until teatime and we had brought sandwiches, which we all shared. After tea when got back to the camp Ronnie already had a fire going and we sat around cracking jokes and telling stories like boys do, until it was time for bed. Just before we went to sleep Ronnie smiled and said, ‘Thanks lads, this has been the best day of my life.’

It was a little embarrassing and to us it seemed a strange thing to say, because we had days like that every day. But we supposed that with him being in ill health, to have one day when you feel fit enough to run wild, would make it seem a very special day indeed. Anyway we all said, ‘Goodnight,’ and that was that.

There was no sign of Ronnie the next morning and we assumed he had gotten up early and gone for his breakfast. But we were in for a shock when we called for him after breakfast. ‘Sorry boys,’ said Mrs Cole, ‘He’s still in hospital, but he’ll be home next week, you can come and see him then.’

‘But, Mrs Cole…’ Frankie began, but I shut him up with a sharp dig in the ribs from my elbow.

‘We’ll come back when he gets home, Mrs Cole,’ I said and dragged Frankie off to the camp.

‘Ronnie was here, wasn’t he?’ asked Frankie, even though he knew the answer as well as me.

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘So how could he be, if he was safely tucked up in hospital?’

‘I don’t know, maybe he wanted to be here so much, that he somehow managed to get here even though he was still in hospital.’

‘Like a ghost you mean? But that can’t be right, we both played with him and he didn’t look like a ghost to me.’

‘Nor me,’ I said.

We talked and argued about it for the rest of the day without coming up with an explanation, in the end we decided to keep the whole thing to ourselves and tell no one what had happened. After all if we did, people would think we were a right pair of nutters, wouldn’t they.

Just in case you were wondering, after his treatment, the illness went into recession, Ronnie got well and is still alive. He lives down in Harrogate now and works for an estate agent.

Copyright Fred Watson March 2008

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What did the egg say to the whisk?

I give up. I know when I'm beaten.

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Rapunzel, Rapunzel

Once upon a time in a green and pleasant land, where the hills rolled, dark forests grew and castles had the look of sweet confection, there lived two handsome princes, Alex and Reginald. They lived near to each other in adjoining kingdoms within this fairy tale land and were the best of friends. Like all royal children they had lots of servants catering to their every whim and were, to say the least, a little pampered.

Despite the spoiling influences of palace life, both boys grew to be strong, if a little dandified and with ruffles at wrist and throat were the very height of fashion. Inseparable as children they became almost welded together as young men and where one went the other followed. They double dated, had the same taste in fair maids of the flaxen haired kind and would often dance with them until dawn. When they weren’t dancing they attended great banquets, ate delicious food, imbibed fine wines and were not adverse to the occasional pipe.

Hunting was another of their pastime and many a day, they and the other popinjays of the court would ride out in search of sport. Deep in the forest they would hunt the boar, or wolf, or sometimes bear. Once they even hunted and overcame a dragon, though I have to admit the dragon was old and had lost all his teeth. All in all they lived a right royal life, but all good things come to an end and one day they were called to their respective castles and told by their parents in no uncertain terms that it was time to settle down.

They were to scour the kingdoms for wives and as usual they decided to do it together. One of the best places to find a fair maid, then, as it is even today, was at a ball. Which was great as far as they were concerned, they could still carouse the night away and keep their parents happy at the same time. Then one afternoon when they were on their way to yet another ball, a messenger looking for Prince Reginald caught up with them. A fair damsel called Rapunzel who had been imprisoned in a high tower deep in the forest by a witch, was in urgent need help.

The ever-gallant Reginald was about to ride off to the rescue on his white charger, when Alex not wanting to go to the ball alone persuaded him to stay, accompany him that night and leave the saving of the fair maid until the morrow. Owing a debt of friendship to Alex, Reginald reluctantly agreed. That night however, Alex was smitten by a flaxen haired beauty called Cinderella and gazed into her eyes as if moon struck. They danced every dance together and poor Reginald was left to his own devices. Then just as the clock began to chime midnight Cinderella fled leaving a glass slipper behind.

To say that Alex was upset would be an understatement, he was broken hearted and Reginald seeing his friend so inconsolable decided to put off the rescue of Rapunzel until Cinderella was found. It took them four days but eventually the maid was found and of course Reginald had to stay for the wedding.

Two weeks later Reginald finally said goodbye to Alex and Cinderella and hurried off to rescue Rapunzel. When he reached the tower He called out, ‘Rapuzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.’

But there was no reply; Rapuzel sick of waiting, had run off with another prince instead. Dejected he wandered for many months but unable to find another princess he eventually returned home, only to find that Cinderella had run off with a woodsman.

An unhappy state of affairs all round and a sad way to end a tale, I hear you say.

But the story isn’t finished yet and it does have a fairy tale ending, Alex and Reginald gave up on blonde princesses, travelled to a far distant land of blue sea and waving palms and lived happily ever after, married to a couple of red haired, green eyed, mermaids.

Fred Watson

Where do baby monkeys sleep?

In an apricot.

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Hissing Sid The Sneaky Snake

Down in jungle lived a snake called Hissing Sid, who was always sneaking around capturing the small animals. He never tried to capture the lions, the elephants or any of the larger animals, because he was scared of them. His favourite trick was to coil himself around a branch above the path and wait there, keeping very still. Sooner or later, some poor animal that didn’t know any better, would come along the path and Sid would drop down, wrap them in his coils, and carry them away.

All of the small animals that lived locally were warned by their mums never to go down the jungle path where Hissing Sid lived and they never did, until the day Michael the Marmoset Monkey forgot.

Michael woke up early one morning and said, ‘Mum can I go and call on my friends?’

‘Not yet, it’s early,’ said his mum.

‘But, Mum my friends will be waiting for me,’

‘No they won’t,’ said mum. ‘Besides you’re not going anywhere until you’ve had your breakfast.’

Michael moaned and groaned, but settled down when his mum gave him his favourite food for breakfast, a banana. After peeling the skin back he sat on his special branch and ate it all up.

‘Now can I go out and play Mum?’ he asked.

‘You’re not going anywhere, until you’ve had that fur combed,’ said his mum.

‘But, but, Mum…’

‘Never mind, but, but, come over here and let me comb your fur.’

Michael tried to get out of it by saying his didn’t need combing, but his mum wasn’t having any of that and made him sit in front of her while she began to comb him with her fingers.

‘Ow! Ow!’ he cried as she combed out the tats.

‘Sit still, you silly boy, it doesn’t hurt that much, the sooner I get finished the sooner you can go and play.’

Michael sat there wriggling until finally his mum said, ‘There that’s all done and you can go and play now.’

‘Yeah!’ shouted Michael as he scampered off to see his friends. He went to Melissa’s tree first and then the two of them called for Charley, final the three of them made their way to the last tree to collect Celina.

‘What shall we play today? asked Melissa.

‘I know, I know, said Charley. ‘We can swing through the trees playing tag’

‘OK, Who’s on?’ asked Michael.

‘eeny, meeny, miney, mo, catch an Ant on your toe, if he bite you let him go, eeny, meeny, miney mo, you’re on, Charley,’ said Celina. And they all shot off into the trees, laughing and giggling.

Up and down and around they went shrieking and squealing. Charley tagged Melissa first and off they went again. Next to be tagged was Celina, who tagged Michael, who then chased Charley until he managed to tag him too.

They played tag all morning until the sun became too hot, then they had a nap in the shade of a banana tree. After their nap when the air grew cooler Michael asked, ‘What shall we play now?’

‘I know! I know,’ said Melissa. ‘Let’s play hide and seek.’

‘Great, who will be on?’

‘eeny, meeny, miney, me, catch a caterpillar on your knee, if he wiggles set him free, eeny, meeny, miney, me, You’re on Celina,’ said Charley.

Celina hid her eyes and began to count, when she reached twenty she shouted, ‘Coming ready or not.’ Then she began to search.

She caught Charley first, then Melissa, but she couldn’t find Michael anywhere. After searching everywhere she could think of, she asked the others to help and even with all three of them looking they couldn’t find him.

‘There is only one place we haven’t looked,’ said Celina.

‘Yes, the jungle path,’ said Charley.

‘But that’s where Hissing Sid lives and we are not allowed to go there,’ cried Melissa.

The three friends stood at the beginning of the jungle path and shouted for Michael.

***

When Celina began counting, Michael had looked around for a good hiding place, but he had hidden in them all before. He needed somewhere new and the only place he’d never been before was down the jungle path. He knew he wasn’t supposed to go there, but if he only went down a short way, there was very little chance of meeting Hissing Sid.

He’d found a great bush that hid him completely. The problem was that it must have been too good, because he had been here for ages and no one had found him at all. Then he heard his friends calling so he stepped out from behind the bush.

He had only just set foot on the path when there was a thump and a loud hiss behind him. Hissing Sid, who had been on a branch above him, had dropped down to wrap him in his coils and had missed. Michael took one look and ran off up the path with an angry Hissing Sid close behind.

Michael had almost reached his friends when he tripped and fell. Hissing with glee Sid pounced and came to sudden stop, as Charley grabbed his tail. Turning back on himself he tried to grab Charley. But Melissa hit him with a coconut and as he turned towards her, Celina poked him with a stick he twisted around again. Then Michael joined in and Hissing Sid was twisting left and right, back and forth, over and under, until finally he’d had enough and made off, slither, bump, slither, bump with a knot tied in his middle.

Michael got a good telling off from his mum, but he didn’t mind, because she was right and he’d never go down that jungle path again.

Fred Watson

___________________________________________________________

What is orange and sounds like a Parrot?

a Carrot.

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Barney's New Bed

Barney the cat was fed up, he was sick of his bed in the washroom. Katie had got it for him when he was a tiny kitten and it had little flowers and bows around the sides. Ugh, he thought, it is so babyish, and I am no longer a little cutesy kitten, I am a big strong cat, a great hunter of mice and I refuse to sleep in that baby bed anymore. I will go find my own bed, a bed fit for a grown up cat like me.

He walked down the path into the back garden and looked around. Now where would be a good place to sleep? He could climb into the garage through the little window at the back. But if someone shut the window he would either be trapped inside or locked out. No, he decided the garage was no good; he wanted to be able to come and go when he wanted.

The greenhouse look promising, there was a small pane of glass missing in the door so there would be on problem getting in and out. He jumped inside and a voice said, ‘Oy! What der yer think yer doing in here?’

It was Rodney and Barney had forgotten that he lived in the greenhouse. Rodney was a very big rat with yellow teeth and Barney knew he could never sleep in the same place as Rodney. Cats and Rats just do not get on together, so Barney jumped back through the hole where the glass was missing and went to look elsewhere.

He decided to go and see Harry Hedgehog. Harry lived under the hedge in the corner of the garden with his mum and dad and he was a very good friend. Maybe he could stay with Harry. When Barney reached the corner he called out, ‘Hello, are you there? Harry.’

For a moment nothing happened, then a pile of dry leaves in the corner began to move and first a small snout, followed by a pair of eyes appeared. ‘Hello, Barney, what are you doing at this end of the garden?’ asked Harry.

‘I’m looking for a new place to sleep and I wondered if I could stay in your house?’ asked Barney.

‘You’re welcome to stay with us, but we haven’t a house.’

‘Where do you sleep then?’

‘Under that pile of leaves.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Barney. ‘I’m sorry Harry, but I don’t think I would like to sleep under a pile of leaves.’

‘Why don’t you go and make a bed in the shed,’ said Harry. ‘You could get in through the hole in the back, like you did last time you ran away.’

‘I can’t, Katie’s dad has blocked the hole up.’

‘Why don’t you ask Rosalind Rabbit if you can stay with her?’ asked Harry.

‘Good idea, I’ll go and ask her now,’ said barney.

Slipping under the garden fence, Barney made his way to the hill where the rabbits lived and knocked on the door of burrow number twenty-two. In a moment or two Rosalind opened the door and said, ‘Hello Barney, what are you doing here?’

‘I’m fed up with my old bed,’ said Barney, ‘and I was wondering if I could stay with you.’

‘Sure you can Barney, there’s a spare bed in my brother’s room, come on in.’

Barney began to follow Rosalind into the burrow, but the farther they went the darker it got, until eventually it was so dark that Barney couldn’t see a thing and he said, ‘Can you switch on the lights, I can’t see anything.’

‘Oh you are silly Barney,’ said Rosalind, ‘rabbit burrows don’t have any lights.’

‘What, you live in the dark all the time.’

‘Yes, that’s because our burrow is deep under the ground.’

‘I’m sorry Rosalind,’ said Barney,’ but I couldn’t sleep down there in the dark.’

With that, Barney scrabbled backwards until he was outside in the daylight. Now where am I going to sleep? I’ve tried everywhere and I don’t like any of them. Then just as he was about to give up he remembered the Magpie nest in the old tree. The magpies had built it last year, but this year they had built a new one in a different tree. ‘Ah,’ said barney to no one in particular, ‘that’s just the place for me.’

Ducking back under the fence, he climbed right up to the top of the old tree and jumped into the nest, after scratching about with his paws he curled up was soon asleep. He slept right through the afternoon and awoke when he heard Katie calling him in for his tea. Quickly he climbed down and went in through the cat flap in the backdoor and ate his tea, it was his favourite, chunky tuna. After he had eaten he went through into the lounge and played with Katie and her sister Rosie until it was bedtime. Bedtime for them that is, there was no way that they were going to get him into that bed.

As soon as Katie and Rosie’s mum said, ‘It’s time for bed girls.’ Barney shot through the kitchen, into the washroom and out through the cat flap, into the garden. Quickly he climbed the tree, curled up in his new bed and it was so comfortable that very soon he was fast asleep. Sometime in the middle of the night the wind began to blow. At first it only blew softly and Barney slept on as he was rocked to and fro, but the wind grew stronger and Barney woke up as the branches began to thrash about. He dug his claws in and clung on as he was thrown every which way.

Suddenly the wind blew stronger still, there was a loud crack, as the branch complete with Barney in the nest, snapped from the tree and sailed across the garden to land with a thump on the lawn. Unhurt, but feeling very dizzy, Barney clambered from the nest, tottered to the backdoor and crawled through the cat flap. Inside he staggered over to his warm, safe, comfortable old bed with its flowers and bows, and was soon fast sleep.

Fred Watson

History Teacher: 'In your work on British kings and queens. Who came after Mary?'

Puplil: 'Her little lamb.'

______________________________________________________________

The Tickler

When Alice Weatherspoon fancied a bit of fish for her tea, she didn’t go to the fishmonger’s or the chip shop, she went down to the river to catch her own. Mind you if the river warden were to catch her fishing without a licence, it would have cost her quite a bit, the fines were really high and she only got a pound pocket money.

The Environment Agency issued the rod fishing licences and since she was a trout tickler and didn’t own a rod, Alice didn't really think she should have to pay for a licence. She learnt the art of trout tickling from her father. Her father had learned it from his father, who had turned to poaching as a means of feeding his family, when he was out of work.

Well, last Friday Alice made her way down to the river Wear, bucket in hand, to catch a bit of fish, she was after a nice pair of trout for her tea. Alice always liked to have fish for her tea on a Friday.

Her favourite pitch was upstream from Penshaw, on a quiet stretch a few yards beyond the bridge that carries the A182 across the Wear Valley. On reaching the spot she half filled her bucket with water, rolled up her sleeve and lay on the bank with her arm in the water. An hour later her patience was rewarded as she scooped out the first trout and placed it in the bucket, twenty minutes later the second one joined the first and she was ready to leave.

Picking up the bucket, she set off for home and had gone no more than 50 yards when the warden stepped out from behind a tree. In 5 years of fishing that stretch of river Alice had never even seen a warden, but she knew the type.

‘Excuse me Miss, could I see your fishing licence?’ the man asked.

‘And who are you?’

‘I am the river warden and you need a licence to fish here.’

‘That’s alright then,’ said Alice. ‘I’m not fishing.’

‘But, you have been Miss and that is an offence, and liable to a fine.’

‘I didn’t know that, but it’s OK since I haven’t been fishing.’

‘If that’s the case, Miss, why have you got two trout in that bucket?’

‘Ah them, well, that one is Mavis and that one’s Mary they’re my pets and I bring them down to the river every day so they can get some exercise.’

‘That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.’

‘No it’s not. What I do is, I tip the fish into the river down there, take a walk up there, until I get to the bridge, then I put the bucket in the water, tap the side with my stick and Mavis and Mary swim back into the bucket.’

‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ said the warden. ‘You must think I’m stupid.’

‘Look, I’ll prove it to you,’ said Alice and she tipped the trout into the river.

‘Right,’ said the warden. ‘ Now, lets see you get the fish to swim back into the bucket.’

‘What fish would that be?’ Asked Alice innocently.

Fred Watson

Why wasn't the butterfly invited to the dance?

Because it was a moth ball.

__________________________________________________________

Mrs Prince

Laurel cupped her hands either side of her face, pressed her nose to the glass and scanned the practice room. It was empty, good; she had been hoping it would be. There was two hours yet to rehearsals and she needed to work on the extra routine that Mr Rushford had introduced into the second act.

Mr Rushford was the school drama teacher, a brilliantly creative teacher that the kids all admired. He had arrived at the school five years earlier and had taken the small poorly attended drama class and turned it into a vibrant and innovative drama group that the whole school was proud of. He was a creative genius and like a lot of creative people his enthusiasm for the job often ran away with him. To dismay of his pupils who had spent weeks in rehearsals for a show, he would quite often come up with an additional routine at the last minute.

Hence, Laurel needed to practice her new solo routine before the rehearsals began. Closing the door behind her, she took off her jacket and hung it on a peg near the door, walked to the end of the room and slipped her CD into the player. As the music began she adjusted the sound and began her warm-ups. Dancers, like athletes, warm up to prevent injury and Laurel was always careful to complete hers, no way was she going to allow any injury to get in the way of her dancing.

Fifteen minutes later she was ready and slipping a new disk into the player began to practice the routine. As always with something new it was difficult, but with dancing it is doubly so. Not only have you got to remember all the steps, but also you must match and flow with the music and Laurel was in trouble almost from the beginning. She would get the first section perfect then while she knew the steps to the next, her timing would go and she would make a mess it and if she got that part right she would get another wrong. She knew she was trying too hard, but couldn’t bring herself to stop trying and at the end of an hour she was so frustrated that she screamed.

‘Having trouble?’ a voice asked, in almost a whisper.

Laurel spun around to find a smartly dressed woman standing at the other end of the room. The woman looked about the same age as her mum and yet the suit she was wearing wasn’t anything like the clothes her mother wore. They were somehow old fashioned, more like the clothes worn by her grandmother in the family photo album.

‘Pardon. Can I hep you?’ asked Laurel, thinking that the woman might be lost.

‘No, but I might be able to help you,’ came the reply in the same whispery voice that had a hard rasp to it, like someone with a sore throat.

Laurel frowned and wondered what she was on about. Beside she didn’t know this strange woman and she was always wary of strangers. The woman laughed and despite the rasp the laughter had a comforting ring to it.

‘Oh dear, you should see your face, I should explain, I’m Mrs Prince, I was a dance teacher here and I was on my to see the head, when I heard the music and couldn’t resist popping in.’

At the mention of the head, Laurel relaxed, ‘Sorry about the scream, but I can’t seem to pull this new routine together.’

‘Like I said, I can help you, but you will have to show me how to work your music thingabe,’

Laurel laughed at the strange word and Mrs Prince said ‘Don’t laugh, in my day we had to make do with a piano.’

Cor, thought Laurel she must be older than she looks, even mum know to work a disk player. She showed Mrs Prince how the player worked and despite her claiming ignorance of newfangled things, as she called them, she picked it all up in a few minutes.

‘Right,’ said Mrs Prince, ‘I’ll start the music and count to three, then you begin.’ She hit the play button, the intro came on and she counted Laurel in, ‘Ready, one, two, three.’

At the count of three Laurel began the routine and as before it all came apart half way through. Mrs Prince called a halt. ‘It’s the timing, you’re starting a tad late, then subconsciously speeding up and over compensating that is why it is all going wrong. Show me the steps for whole of the routine and for the moment forget about the timing.’

Laurel shrugged, but did as she was told, this time without the music and when she had finished, Mrs Prince said, ‘Excellent. Now, this time you start the music and I’ll show you where you’re going wrong.’

Laurel again did as she was told and stood with her mouth open in disbelief as Mrs Prince danced the complicated routine step perfect, as if she had danced it forever and a day.

‘Close your mouth, Girl, you look as if you are catching flies, and follow me.’

For the next hour they dance the routine together over and over again and when they had perfected the routine Mrs Prince stepped to one side and Laurel performed solo. Laurel closed her eyes, felt the flow of the music and danced the piece in perfect rhythm. As the music died she open her eyes and did a little curtsey. Mrs Prince smiled and said, ‘Good girl, you’ve got it.’ and vanished, one moment she was there and the next she was gone.

Laurel was stunned, either she had just dreamed the whole thing, or she had spent the last hour dancing with and talking to, a ghost. It never occurred to her to be afraid, if Mrs Prince had indeed been a ghost, she had been a nice and not a nasty one. Laurel was sure of one thing, no way would she mention this to anyone, they would think she had gone crazy. Maybe she was crazy and maybe she had dreamed it all, somehow she didn’t think so, but on the other hand she might have. There was only one way to settle her mind, she needed find out if Mrs Prince ever existed.

After rehearsals she hurried to the school library and began to research the history of the school. She had to go back seventy years to find what she wanted and it was in the form of Mrs Caroline Prince’s obituary and praised a teacher who had given up a promising career on stage, dedicated her life to training children to dance and sadly died age Forty four of a throat infection. Laurel had found her ghost and she cried as she read of her death, but one thing she did know was that ghost or not Mrs Prince had been an excellent dance teacher.

Fred Watson

_____________________________________________________________

Why Don't Cats Shave?

Because they like Whiskas

_________________________________________________________

Arbeia

Brendan pulled the screen aside and opened the door behind it.

‘Cor, look at this,’ he said excitedly, as he stuck his head in the room. ‘It’s full of shields and weapons. Cool.’

‘Leave it, Brendan, it say’s private,’ I told him, but did he listen? No.

‘Come on, Sis don’t be a such a wimp, there’s no one about.’

Wimp, that was one of the words my brother was fond of saying, the others were, cool, weird and dork.

‘Me a wimp, who hides behind the settee when there’s a scary film on the TV?’

‘Not me; are you coming or what? Ella.’

I glanced behind me, the room in the commander’s villa inside Arbeia Roman fort was empty and from the silence, so was the rest of the villa. The others must have gone back out.

We had come to the Northeast on holiday because dad was born here and he wanted us to see where he used to live as a lad. The first few days were spent visiting relatives and that was OK. But after two days visiting some of dad’s old friends it soon became pretty boring, having to listen to the same stories over and over again.

Since he seemed determined to see everyone he ever knew, mum came to the rescue by suggesting that Brendan and I might like to go on a tour while she and dad visited more of his friends. I wanted to go to the Metro Land a really cool indoor fair, but of course being a boy and into weapons and all that, Brendan wanted to do the Roman tour, so we tossed a coin and I lost.

The coach picked us up at the hotel at eight o’clock. Who besides my idiot brother, gets up at that time in the morning when they’re on holiday? Well, me obviously, but under protest. Mr Mellors, our guide, a tall thin man with white hair and a matching goatee beard, welcomed us onboard and began a lecture on the Roman occupation of northern Britain, boring, boring, and boring. I slid over to the window, slipped my headphones on and stared out of the window as ‘sounds of the underground’ filled my head.

Half an hour later we had left the city behind and the coach turned onto a country road, I pulled down the earphones, Mr Mellors was still talking, something about the Roman road being built straight, a fort called Vindolanda and the wall that was built by Emperor Hadrian to keep out the wild tribes to the north.

I put on the earphones again, maybe when we reached the fort and the wall it might be more interesting. The road might have run straight, but it travelled up hill and down before the coach finally pulled into a gravel car park next to the fort.

I switch off my I Pod, followed Brendan from the coach and looked around in disappointment, there was no fort, only low stone walls more like foundations, to show where it had been and a small wooden museum come shop.

Mr Mellors gathered the group around him and began to give us a short version of the fort’s history, which went in one ear and out the other, it wasn’t so much what he was saying but the way he said it. He lectured us in the dry voice of a history professor and it was just boring. Maybe if he had been younger and cracked an occasional joke I might have been more interested. As he droned away, I slipped my earphones back on, turned up the volume and smiled as I watched his mouth open and shut; he looked like a goat, chewing on a bush.

He paused, said something, pointed towards the fort, and then headed back to the coach.

‘What did he say, Brendan?’ I asked dropping my earphones.

‘If you listened him, instead of Girls Aloud, you’d know what he said.’

‘Come on, Brendan, what did he say?’

‘He said, we have half an hour to look around, before the coach leaves, I’m going to look in the museum, there might be some weapons.’

I followed him; it had to be better than looking at some broken down walls. Inside, on the back wall facing the door was a large painting showing an aerial view of the fort, as it would have been in Roman times. The main gate was open and some legionnaires were searching a cart before allowing it inside. Above Roman soldiers patrolled the high stonewalls. Beyond them, the inside of the fort, with its workshops, barracks, stables and storehouses, was alive with activity. I could see more legionnaires on the parade ground, a blacksmith at his forge, and a baker outside his bakery, men unloading carts and carrying sacks into a warehouse.

No I hadn’t suddenly become an expert in Roman history. But having nothing better to do, I had read all the little labels on the painting. By the time Brendan dragged me into the shop, I reckon I had learnt more about the Romans in five minutes than in an hour and a half of being lectured to by Mr Mellors.

Brendan dragged me through the door, marked museum and we walked around a musty smelling room peering into dusty glass-fronted cases, boring. Even Brendan was disappointed, there were no weapons, just pieces of pottery and other small finds from the site. The shop was a little better, Brendan bought some Roman coins and I got a notebook with a centurion on the front and a pretty neat pen.

Next stop was the Roman wall and I must admit it was pretty impressive, rolling off as far as the eye could see following the contours of the high ground, it was only a pity most of it had fallen down. After seeing the painting however, I had a better idea of how it would have looked in Roman times . The coach took us back to Newcastle for lunch and then we headed for South Shield, a North Sea resort and Arbeia Roman fort. This is more like it, I thought, as I stepped down from the coach. The front entrance of the fort complete with gateway, guardhouse and stonewalls with battlements had been rebuilt and towered above us. They even had a couple of men dressed as legionnaires manning the gates.

Brendan gave a whoop and ran over to stand next to one of the men, ‘Come on, Ella take my photo,’ he shouted, bouncing up and down with excitement.

I grinned, told him to stand still and took his photo; he made me stand next to the man, while he took my photo and then ran off through the gate. He didn’t get far, Mr Mellors was waiting for us inside and gave us another of his dry lectures.

Lecture over, we were allowed to explore the walls and guardhouse above the gate. From the top of the wall I looked down in disappointment at the rest of the fort. It was surrounded on three sides by redbrick terraced houses and was the same as the one we had seen in the morning – low stonewalls set in a grid pattern. Then I noticed the group of low white painted building with red tiled roofs at the far side of the site and wondered what they were.

I found out when we returned to ground level and Mr Mellors gathered us together again. One of the buildings was a rebuilt barrack block and the other, also rebuilt, the Roman Commander’s villa, fully furnished and decorated in the Roman style. We toured the barracks first, each had a bedroom with eight bunk beds and an outer room where the men could cook and store their weapons.

From the barracks Mr Mellors led us into the villa and it was really neat. These Roman Commanders certainly lived in luxury. The villa, with its covered walkways, surrounded a courtyard with a fountain in the centre. As we moved from room to room, I became interested in my surroundings for the first time. Unfortunately it was Brendan’s turn to be bored and he tagged along moaning with every step. Until we reached the last room and he opened the door and found the weapons store.

‘Come on, Ella just a quick look, there’s no one about.’

I gave in, if I hadn’t he would have just went on and on, ‘OK, just a quick look.’

I followed him into the room it was pretty gloomy, the light from the doorway behind us the only illumination. I could see it was stacked with weaponry, shields, swords and spears.

‘Wow! This must be the armoury,’ cried Brendan, his eyes looking as if they would pop out of his head at any moment. I swear he was drooling as he ran from one stack of weapons to the next.

‘Armoury, what do you mean Armoury? Why would there be an armoury?’ Then it dawned on me and I felt like an idiot, they would be mock weapons, used for re-enactments of battles. What had I been thinking of; for a moment there I’d got it into my head that the weapons were real. If they been, they would have been on display in a museum not locked away in a storeroom. After all there had been no Romans here for nearly 2000 years.

‘Brendan don’t touch the sh….’ but I was too late he had already picked up the shield, which was nearly a tall as him and staggered backwards until he crashed into the door slamming it shut and plunging us into darkness.

I screamed, I hate the dark, then I thought of Brendan, I couldn’t see him, but what was worse, I couldn’t hear him, Oh God he might be unconscious. Shuffling forward with my hands held out in front of me I almost fell as tripped over the bottom of the shield.

‘Dork, watch what you’re doing, that hurt,’ said a muffled voice. ‘Help me get out from under this shield.’

‘I’m not the Dork, you’re the one on the floor with a shield on top of him,’ I scoffed, ‘I’ve a good mind to leave you there.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Who wouldn’t,’ I sneered.

But he was right, I wouldn’t, apart from wanting see if he was OK; I was so scared of the dark that I needed someone to hold on to, even if was only my little brother.

Brendan wasn’t really my little brother; he was twelve the same age as me, he just acted like a little boy most of the time. We were actually twins, not identical. We were the same height and build, but I had long fair hair, tied in a ponytail and blue eyes, while he had sandy hair, blue green eyes, and cheeky chubby cheeks.

‘Come on, push,’ I grunted as I heaved at the shield. It was heavier than I expected, but between us we managed to get it off him. As soon as I was sure he was Ok, I began to feel for the door handle. That was when the weird stuff began. I couldn’t even find the door never mind the handle. I felt along as far as I could to the right, and then to the left, nothing. I moaned and slid down and sat on the floor. I didn’t like this at all, we’d come through the door and now the door had disappeared.

‘You alright, sis?’ Brendan asked.

I could feel him standing above me and I looked up even though I couldn’t see him, ‘Yeah, everything’s just peachy, we’re stuck in the dark and now the door’s disappeared.’

‘It can’t have,’ he yelped in panic, and began to feel along the wall, he moved away, came back, almost fell over me, checked the other way, came back and slid down beside me and told me what I already knew, ‘The door’s gone,’ he said, ‘what are we going to do now?’

‘That easy, we’ll yell as loud as we can and somebody’s bound to hear us.’

So we yelled until our throats were sore, but no one came. By now my eyes we becoming accustomed to the dark and I could see inky patches in the blackness that could only be the stacks of weapons. Then I noticed something else at the far side of the room; two thin slivers of light joined at the top by another. This was getting scary It was obviously a door, but there had been nothing there a minute ago, suddenly it had appear out of nowhere and I didn’t like it at all.

‘Sis, look it’s a door,’ whispered Brendan

He started to get up but I pulled him back down.

‘Ow, what did you do that for, it’s a door, let’s get out of here,’ he hissed.

‘No, wait, don’t you think it’s creepy, there was nothing there, then suddenly a door appears.

‘It’s a bit weird that we didn’t see it before, maybe the sun’s at the right angle now to show up the doorway.’

I still wasn’t convinced, but hey, it was a door and we did need to get out of there.

‘Come on then, let’s see where it leads,’ I said getting to my feet and moving carefully across the room.

It was a door all right, made out of solid planks of rough timber and guess what, there was no handle. We tried to push it open; no joy, it had to be fastened on the outside and since there was no keyhole, I reckoned it had to be bolted. We began to shout and hammer on the door to attract attention, but gave up after ten minutes.

We tried peering through the cracks at either side, there was nothing to see but a thin strip of hard packed earth. We began shouting again and a carried shouting for what seemed like hours. Finally we gave up and slumped to the floor.

‘I’ve got to go,’ said Brendan.

I had been deep in thought wondering how we were going to get out, and I missed what he said. ‘What?’

‘I’ve got to go, sis, I’ve got to go.’

‘Oh great, it’s all the juice you drink, I told you to go before we left the restaurant. Can’t you hold it in?’

‘No,’ he said and shuffled away.

I shut my eyes and put my fingers in my ears, thank goodness he’s gone the other end of the room, I thought. I was still sitting with my eyes closed when he came back and slumped down beside me. We sat in silence for a while, and then I must have fallen asleep, because something woke me up.

I shook Brendan awake, ‘Whatsamatter? He mumbled sleepily.

‘Did you hear that?’ I asked.

‘What do you think? I was fast asleep until you nearly had my arm off, how was I supposed hear anything?’

That’s typical of Brendan ask him a simple enough question and you get a mouthful back.

‘A simple yes or no would have don … There it is again, that’s what woke me.’

‘The shouting?’

I paused to listen and there was the sound of shouting in the distance, but I hadn’t really noticed. ‘No, listen, that sort of a grating noise over by the door.’

‘Yeah, like someone’s pulling out the bolts.’

Suddenly the room was flooded with light as the door swung open. I closed my eyes against the glare then eased them open slowly. At first all I could see was a bright square with a dark figure in the centre, but as my eyes adjusted I began to make out details. It was a dark haired boy of about the same age as me; his legs and feet were bare, and he wore a dress? A coarse grey woollen affair that ended at his knees it had a round neck, short sleeves and was cinched at the waist with a belt.

‘Are you alright, I would have let you out sooner, but I had to wait until the legionnaires had gone.’

Legionnaires! What’s he on about? Oh, that’s it; they’re doing one of those re-enactments where they all dress up as legionnaires and locals, which would explain the dress. Cool.

‘Yeah, thanks I thought we’d be stuck in here forever,’ I said, as I stepped past him into the sun light and jumped as my foot came down on something sharp. ‘Ouch! That hu…’ the words froze in the back of my throat as I saw the reason for the pain. I’d stepped on a sharp stone with my bare foot, but I was wearing trainers. No I wasn’t, nor was I wearing any of my gear. I was dressed in a grey shift like the boy and so was Brendan.

Suddenly every thing fell into place, the scouting trip to locate the Roman arms store and being accidentally locked in when one of the centurions checked the bolts.

‘Hurry,’ said Conna. ‘We have to go now, while the Romans are occupied.’

‘Wait!’ I cried.

But he was off at a run and Brenn and I ran after him; I wanted to know how he’d drawn off the legionnaires who had been outside the door, but he was too busy dodging left and right through the streets and alleyways of the fort. We turned a corner onto a road that led to one of the gates and Conna slowed to a walk. There were soldiers everywhere all rushing towards something that was happening at the other end of the fort.

Conna jumped on the back of an empty cart that was leaving the fort and we joined him.

‘OK, Now what’s going on?’ I demanded as we passed through the gate.

He put his finger to his lips and shook his head. I was seething, I wanted to know what was going on and Conna was signing me to keep quiet, just who did he think he was.

Within 200 metres the road entered a forest and as soon as we were out of sight of the fort, I jumped down.

‘OK, That’s it, I am going nowhere until you tell me how you managed to draw off the guards.’

‘We haven’t time, Elvina. Melisos is waiting.’

‘Never mind that, how did you draw them off?’

It was important that Conna hadn’t done anything to make the Romans suspicious; we didn’t want them doubling the guards tomorrow.

‘I set a fire in the blacksmiths, no one saw me. Now will you get back on the cart.’

‘Yes, come on sis, we’re wasting time,’ said Brenn.

‘You’re sure you weren’t spotted,’ I said as I climbed back onboard.

‘Yes, they’ll think a spark caused the fire.’

We lapsed into silence as the cart moved off with a jerk and continued it’s rumbling journey through the forest, Conna lay back and closed his eyes and was asleep in no time. I didn’t blame him; it would take a while to get where we were going,

Two hours later, the cart splashed through a ford and entered a clearing full of armed men. Conna who had woken just before the ford, jumped down and headed for a large round house with a thatched roof. Brenn and I caught up with him and we stuck our heads in the door and listened for a while. It was hot inside, smelt of smoke, pig fat and sweat from the bodies of the warriors packed inside. An hour later the long skinny figure of Melisos slipped out of the round house and came looking for us. Melisos was our guardian he was also the tribe’s shaman, a medicine man, priest and magician all rolled into one. He smiled his gap toothed smile and said, ‘Well did you locate the weapons store?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Good, I‘ll tell Bennos, you go and get some food. We’ve an early start tomorrow.’

Bennos was the clan leader and it was he who had hatched the plan to destroy the fort and steal the Roman weapons. A large force of Romans were on the way north and their job was to expand the fort and destroy the local clans. Having seen first hand how the Romans had defeated the clans to the south, Bennos was convinced that by adopting Roman method and Roman Weapons the clan would stand a better chance of fighting them off.

It was pitch black when Melisos woke us and already the camp was astir as the warriors prepared for the battle to come. A splash of water to wake us, then we climbed onto the carts. Brenn and I took the first, Conna the second and Melisos the third. The carts were loaded with sacks of grain that had to be delivered to the fort – we had no choice, the Romans would not release the hostages they held until it was delivered.

It was light when we reached the edge of the forest and we could see the guards on the walls of the fort came alive as the warning horns were sounded. By the time we reached the gates the Romans were ready for us and a voice called down, ‘I see Bennos has decided to send the grain.’

I did not bother to look up, because I knew the voice and I did not want to see the grinning face of Achea the traitor who had betrayed the clan and gone over to the Romans. Conna had no such reservations and I heard him spit before calling out, ‘Why don’t you open the gates dog of the Romans, before we turn and take it back.’

Someone above us laughed and was silenced by a growled order and the gates creaked open.

‘Hup, Hup,’ I called, the cart jerked forward and trundled into the fort.

Behind I could hear the rumble as Conna followed and kept on