She paused, dabbing at a tear which had appeared in the corner of her eye.
“He made our wedding cake himself,” she said. “It was the most beautiful cake you can imagine. It was covered with at least four bowls of marzipan and there were six tiers of white icing. Then, the day before the wedding, when I knew that the cake would be finished, I went round to look at it. And that’s when I changed my mind.”
John wondered what Aunt Rebecca could possibly have seen to make her call off the wedding.
“There he was,” she said. “He was sitting in his kitchen, looking very pleased with himself. And do you know what he had done? He had eaten the cake – every last crumb of it!”
“All six tiers?” asked Nicky, astonished that one person could be so greedy as to eat his own wedding cake – before the wedding.
“Yes,” said Aunt Rebecca grimly. “And when he saw me, he looked very guilty. So I said to him: Octavius Hunt (for that was what he was called), you will have to find somebody else to marry you I’m afraid! You are far, far too greedy for me!”
“Mr Pipelli would never do anything like that,” said John.
At the mention of Mr Pipelli’s name, Aunt Rebecca cheered up.
“Of course he wouldn’t,” she said, closing her eyes dreamily. “What a marvellous man he is!”
From that day on, Aunt Rebecca was a different person. She never scowled, she was cheerful all day, and everything about her seemed so much brighter. But, most remarkable of all, was the change which occurred in Aunt Rebecca’s views on food. Of course John and Nicky didn’t expect her to give up all her ideas – and she still believed in the beneficial effect of carrots and onions – but she did seem to be a little more prepared to accept that there was nothing really wrong with spaghetti, even if you put some rather thick sauce on it. And that, as far as John and Nicky were concerned, was a major breakthrough.
On the day before the wedding, Aunt Rebecca went so far as to cook them some of the ordinary spaghetti which Mr Pipelli had given her. She tasted it herself, and had to admit that it was delicious, even if not quite as delicious as her own carrot-flavoured variety.
“I suppose I should eat this from now on,” she said, a little bit hesitantly. “After all, as from tomorrow I shall be the new Mrs Pipelli, and I shall have responsibilities towards the spaghetti industry.”
John tried not to catch Nicky’s eye. If he did, he knew that it would be difficult not to smile.
The wedding was a splendid affair. Aunt Rebecca carried a bouquet of yellow flowers which Nicky had specially picked for her from the garden of Mr Pipelli’s mansion, and Mr Pipelli beamed more than you would have thought it possible for anybody to beam. Outside, there were crowds of spaghetti workers who cheered lustily as the happy couple emerged.
“Well done!” they shouted in unison. “And may you be happy for the rest of your lives.”
“Thank you, all,” responded Mr Pipelli. “And take one week’s extra holiday, starting today.”
This led to an even greater commotion, which brought the traffic to a standstill and made people for miles around open their windows to see what great event was happening.
John and Nicky watched all this, their hearts full of happiness. Then, as a large car drew up to take Mr Pipelli and Aunt Rebecca off on their honeymoon to Italy, John and Nicky joined the happy spaghetti workers to throw confetti on the newly-weds.
But it was not confetti they threw – it was spaghetti – which is an unusual thing to throw at a wedding. But on this occasion it was just right.
TEACHER TROUBLE
~ 1 ~
First Day at School
Jenny was very tall. She had always been tall, right from the very beginning, and now that she was ten she was almost as tall as most grown-ups, and a good deal taller than some. This was often very useful. She always came first at high jump, and in libraries she was able to reach books from the shelves that nobody else could reach. The best books were always to be found there, she thought.
But there were times when it was certainly a bit of a nuisance being tall. It was sometimes quite difficult to get clothes that were just the right size, and the desks at school often didn’t have quite enough knee room. And then there were occasions when being tall led to quite remarkable things, as happened with the great mistake.
It all started when Jenny had to change schools. Her family had moved to a new town and Jenny and her brother had to go to new schools. Her brother was older than she was, and so he was to go to one school while she was to go to another. Jenny, in fact, had a choice of two schools.
The schools wrote to her mother and sent their brochures. Each had a picture on the front page and inside you could read about what the schools were like. There was nothing particularly unusual about these schools, but there was a very curious thing about their names. One was called the Pond Street School and the other was called Street Pond School. This was very strange, as they were not far from one another and Jenny thought that it must have led to lots of mix-ups.
And she was right. There had been lots of confusion. For example, the mail for the principal of Street Pond School often went to the principal of Pond Street School, and the other way round. Sometimes Pond Street School got a bill which was meant for Street Pond School – and paid it – which meant that when the mistake was discovered, Street Pond School had to pay Pond Street School back.
Sometimes Street Pond School won a competition, but the papers announced that Pond Street School had won. This made Street Pond School furious, and there would have to be an announcement in the papers that Pond Street School hadn’t won anything at all, which made Pond Street School furious – because they sometimes won things anyway. So it was all very confusing.
Jenny could not make up her mind which school she preferred, and so her mother chose for her and Jenny agreed with the choice.
“Pond Street School looks fine,” said her mother. “I think you should go to that one.”
Jenny agreed. The name sounded quite nice and she was sure that she would make new friends there.
On her first morning at the new school, Jenny got everything ready in good time. She packed her bag with the new pencil case she had bought and with all the other things that she was bound to need. Her mother had insisted that she dress as smartly as she could on her first day at school, and had made her wear a dress which Jenny didn’t really like.
“It’s such an old-fashioned dress,” Jenny complained. “It makes me look so old.”
“Nonsense,” her mother retorted. “You can’t go to your new school wearing jeans and a scruffy T-shirt. You look very good in that dress.”
Jenny knew that it was no good arguing with her mother when she had made up her mind about something. So she put on the old-fashioned dress and went down to breakfast. Then, when she was finally ready to leave the house, her father and mother both wished her good luck.
“I’ll drive you to school,” her father offered.
“No thank you,” said Jenny. “I know the way … I think.”
Jenny waved to her parents and began the short walk that would lead her to the front gate of her new school. She felt very excited, and a bit anxious, as you always do when you are about to start a new school and aren’t quite sure what everybody will be like. She wondered whether she would meet many new friends there. She had had very good friends at her last school and she had been sorry to leave them. She hoped that the pupils at her new school would be as nice, or at least almost as nice.
As she drew near to the new school she began to walk more slowly. It was far bigger than her last school, she thought, and there were many more pupils milling about. And where was she meant to go? Should she walk straight in the main entrance and try to find the office, or should she look for some children who were about her age and just follow them in? She could always ask somebody to help her, of course, but she didn’t know anybody and everyone except her seemed to be busy talking to their friends.
Je
nny arrived at the entrance to the school and looked about her. Nobody was taking any notice of her and so she decided just to stand there for a little while and see what happened. Perhaps one of the teachers would come and ask her her name and then take her to her classroom.
“Good morning.”
Jenny spun round. One of the teachers had come up and was standing right behind her. Jenny noticed that she was taller than the teacher, who was smiling at her in a friendly manner.
“So there you are,” said the teacher. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“Oh, good,” said Jenny. She was pleased to hear that they knew she was coming. This meant that she wouldn’t have to ask her way after all.
“If you’d like to come along with me,” said the teacher, “I’ll show you where your classroom is.”
Jenny followed as the teacher led the way. They went into the building and walked along a long corridor past the open doors of several classrooms. Jenny noticed that most of the classrooms had now filled up with pupils and that lessons were just about to begin.
“By the way,” said the teacher. “I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Alison.”
Jenny was rather surprised. Alison sounded like a first name, and it was rather odd for a teacher to give her first name to a pupil. Perhaps this was a very friendly school, where everybody called the teachers Mary, or John, or whatever their first names might be. Jenny had heard about schools like that before, but she had never actually been in one.
They stopped outside the door of the last classroom in the corridor.
“Here we are,” said the teacher. “This is your classroom.”
Jenny looked through the door. The classroom was full, and all the pupils were seated at their desks, looking at her. She wished that she had arrived earlier. Nobody would have paid so much attention to her if she had arrived at the same time as everyone else.
They went into the classroom and everybody stopped talking.
“Good morning class,” said the teacher.
As the class replied, Jenny glanced nervously about the room. She was surprised to see that everybody looked younger than she did – at least one or two years younger. But perhaps I am imagining it, she thought. Perhaps it’s just because I’m not used to them.
She looked around the room again. Every single desk was occupied and there did not appear to be a single seat left. She looked at the teacher.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Where do I sit?”
The teacher looked at her in surprise, and then smiled.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry. The school is a bit crowded. But don’t worry, we’ve kept your seat free.”
And with that she pointed to the chair behind the table facing the class. The teacher’s seat!
~ 2 ~
Taking the Register
For a moment, Jenny did not know what to think. The teacher had definitely pointed to that chair, and her ears had not been deceiving her when she heard her tell her that she was to sit there. But where was the teacher going to sit herself? Would she walk about the classroom or just stand in the same place all day? Surely she would need to sit down some time.
“Well,” said the teacher. “I’ll leave you to get on with it. I’ve got to go and teach my class. But I’ll come back when the break bell goes and show you where the staff room is.”
Staff room? Why should I need to know where the staff room is? Jenny asked herself. Perhaps I might have to run an errand for a teacher some time. But there was still the problem of the chair. Perhaps she should do as she was told and sit in it after all.
Jenny went towards the teacher’s chair and sat in it, feeling very embarrassed as she did so. Yet although everybody was staring at her, nobody was laughing.
“By the way,” said the teacher as she left the room. “You’ll find the register in the top drawer of the desk. The principal likes it to be called first thing every morning.”
Jenny was astonished. Usually teachers called the register, but perhaps this school was different. Well, if that’s what they wanted her to do, she could do it for them …
The teacher now left the classroom and Jenny opened the top drawer of the desk. There was a large brown book, which she took out and opened at the first page. There was a list of names, written out in alphabetical order, and against them neat lines of ticks and crosses had been put in.
Everybody was quiet as Jenny called out the first name.
“George Apple,” she called.
“Yes,” said a boy from the front row. “Yes, I’m here.”
Jenny put a tick after George Apple’s name.
“Caroline Box,” she called.
There was no reply, so Jenny called out the name again in case Caroline Box had not heard.
Still there was no reply. Then a girl sitting at the front put up her hand.
“Please, miss,” she said. “Caroline Box isn’t well. She lives next door to me and her mother said she had a bad cold.”
“Oh, I see,” said Jenny, putting a cross against the name. Then she stopped, her hand frozen where it was. The girl had called her “miss”! Why on earth should she do that? It was not as if she was a teacher.
Suddenly, and with a terrible bump, it all fell into place. No! Surely the teacher couldn’t have mistaken her … for a teacher! It was quite impossible. And yet, everything seemed to point to this. She had been shown the teacher’s chair. She had been told about the staff room. She had been asked to call the register.
Jenny’s mind raced as she thought about the terrible mistake that had been made. She was tall, of course, and people often said she could be mistaken for a grown-up. But nobody had ever actually made that mistake, and certainly nobody had ever mistaken her for a teacher!
They must have been expecting a new teacher, she thought. Then, when they saw me standing at the gate, they must have thought that I was the person they were waiting for.
It was an awful mistake to have been made, but it had been made and here she was in charge of a whole class, calling the register! The very thought made Jenny’s skin come out in goosebumps. It was the most embarrassing, terrible thing that had ever happened to her. It was a complete and utter nightmare.
Without really thinking of what she was doing, Jenny continued to call the register. Then, when all the names had been called, she replaced the book in the drawer of the desk and took a deep breath.
The simplest thing to do would be to get to her feet and to rush out of the room. She would run out of the school and all the way home and tell her parents all about the terrible mistake.
She looked at the people in front of her. They were all sitting quite still, waiting for her to begin. Somehow it seemed impossible to rise to her feet and run out of the room. Her legs just would not carry her that far, she thought.
“Well,” she said suddenly, her voice sounding very small and far away. “What lesson do you normally have at the beginning of the day?”
“Maths,” said a boy in the front. “We do mathematics on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. On Tuesday and Thursday we do history.”
Jenny thought quickly. At least she was quite good at mathematics – it was her strongest subject in fact. But would she be able to teach it? It was hard enough to be able to do complicated sums, but it must be even more difficult to teach other people how to do them.
“Get out your maths books, then,” she said. “Start where you left off and do the whole page.”
Desks were opened and maths books were fished out. Then, with a busy murmur, the class got down to work. Jenny sat in her chair and looked about her. Perhaps I could dash out while they were all working, she thought. I could tell them that I was going to get something from the staff room, and run away once I was out of the door. Yes. That was the way to do it.
She rose to her feet.
“Carry on with your maths,” she said, trying to sound as firm as possible. “I’ve just got to get something from the staff room.”
“Please, miss
,” called out George Apple. “I’ll go and fetch it for you.”
“No,” said Jenny. “You stay here and work. I’ll just be a moment.”
Not looking behind her, she walked across to the classroom door, opened it, and went out into the corridor. Nobody was about and so she started to walk purposefully towards the door at the far end.
She had got about halfway when she heard footsteps. Somebody was coming round the corner and, in an awful moment of panic, Jenny realised that there was nowhere to hide. She would shortly come face to face with the person who was coming around the corner – whoever that might be.
~ 3 ~
Sent Back to Class
It turned out to be a rather severe-looking woman, a little bit taller than Jenny, wearing small round glasses and with very short, red hair. When she saw Jenny, she fixed her with a firm gaze and walked quickly towards her.
“So,” she said. “You’re the new teacher. I’m very glad to see you.”
Jenny swallowed hard, wondering what to say.
“I’m Miss Ice, the principal,” said the woman. “And may I ask where you’re going? We normally don’t leave our classrooms unattended at this school.”
Jenny looked down at the ground. She was completely terrified of this severe-looking woman and, even if she had known what to say, she doubted whether her tongue would work.
“Well?” said the principal. “Are you going back to the classroom?”
Jenny nodded miserably and, under the principal’s suspicious stare, she walked quickly back to her classroom. Everybody was still working on their maths when Jenny got back. The classroom was quiet – rather unusually so, and Jenny wondered whether something was going on. Nobody was whispering to one another and every head was bent over a book. Jenny sat down at her table and looked down at the class. What was the reason for the quiet? Was the maths all that difficult? Surely not.