Aunt Effie and Mrs Grizzle Read online

  “‘Who did that?’ Cracking his whip, the School Inspector galloped his horse into the primer room, made my mother stand on top of her desk, and roared, ‘What do we do to people who squeak their slate pencil?’

  “A girl with black curls waved her arm and flicked her finger. ‘Please sir! Oh, please, sir!’

  “‘Peggy Carter?’

  “‘Please, sir, give her the strap, and lock her on her own in the dark dunny with the spiders.’

  “The School Inspector smiled at Peggy Carter. ‘Hold out your hand!’ he shouted at my little mother. Her first day at school, and she was going to get the strap and be locked in the dark spidery dunny. She smiled trustingly and held out her tiny hand.

  “The School Inspector stood in his stirrups and swung the strap above his head. I drew my father’s sword and started climbing in the window, but there was a bang like a Double-Happy going off, and Mrs Grizzle appeared out of a cloud of chalk dust.

  “She pulled the School Inspector off his horse and put a Boston Crab on him. He tried to get her in a Half Nelson. Mrs Grizzle wriggled out of it and put the Indian Deathlock on him. The School Inspector broke free, but Mrs Grizzle got him down on the floor in the Octopus Clamp which Mr Lofty Blomfield had just invented.

  “‘You’re hurting!’ the School Inspector shrieked. ‘Ow!’ he hammered the floor. ‘I give in!’ Mrs Grizzle tied his arms behind his back in a Granny Knot.

  “I tore back to Mr Whimble’s and was watching him nail on Bonny’s last shoe when Mrs Grizzle appeared, her red hair white with chalk dust.

  “‘The manager of the dairy factory won’t give us our cheque because he reckons we haven’t sent any cream for six months,’ she told me. ‘Those monster pooks have been stealing it again.’

  “Just then Mr Bryce came running with his wheelbarrow. ‘The manager of the dairy factory tells me you’re broke!’ he said. He took away our groceries, the bundles of New Zealand Heralds, the Auckland Weekly News, the New Zealand Listener, the Free Lance, the Woman’s Weekly, and the Girls’ Crystal.

  “The blacksmith pulled out the nails and took off all the new horseshoes. Bonny held up her bare feet, looked at them, and cried big horse tears.

  “‘Let’s ride for the scow before they take anything else!’

  “Mrs Grizzle shook her head. ‘Without shoes, the horses can’t gallop on the metalled road.’

  “As she spoke, we heard a terrible sound: ‘Kraw-poocka-kacko!’

  “‘The monster pukekos are attacking Hopuruahine!’ shouted the blacksmith. He pulled his leather apron over his head, jumped into the barrel of water he kept for tempering horse-shoes, and turned it upside down.

  “‘Kraw-poocka-kacko!’ A ragged cloud flapped above, hid the sun, and the sky went dark.”

  “I don’t like the monster pooks!” said Lizzie, and stuck her head under the eiderdown.

  “Okcak-akcoop-wark!” said Alwyn. He made claws of his hands and pecked his nose at the little ones till they cried.

  “What happened?” we beseeched. “Tell us!”

  “THE MONSTER PUKEKOS dived on Hopuruahine,” said Aunt Effie. “Mrs Grizzle wound the handle of the blacksmith’s bellows. Her double-jointed elbows bent the wrong way each time the handle turned. Sparks leapt from her red hair, and flames roared in the forge.

  “‘Bring me a barrel of gunpowder!’

  “‘Mr Bryce took everything back!’ I yelled, but ran down the string of pack-horses. There was one barrel of gunpowder the compassionless storekeeper had missed. I heaved it off the pack-saddle hooks.

  “‘Don’t bring it near the forge!’ Mrs Grizzle huddled over the anvil and heaved, but it was so heavy that her double-jointed fingers bent backwards.

  “The monster pukekos peeled off and came down like Stuka dive bombers screaming, ‘Kraw-poocka-kacko!’ Their droppings splattered and stank on the red iron roofs of Hopuruahine.

  “I squatted, gripped the anvil, kept my back upright, and straightened my knees. My ears rang.

  “‘I said you’d be a hero, Brunnhilde! Carry it outside.’

  “The anvil was so heavy, I sank to my knees in the ground at each step. The air ponged as the monster pooks dive-bombed again. I dropped the anvil upside down and saw the bottom half was the barrel of a cannon.

  “Mrs Grizzle tipped in the gunpowder and loaded horse-shoes down the barrel saying, ‘I learned this trick at the Battle of the Eureka Stockade. In Australia in 1854.’

  “‘Kraw-poocka-kacko!’

  “Something went splat on Mrs Grizzle’s foot. Angrily, she leaned over the touch-hole of the cannon and shook sparks off her red hair on to the priming powder.

  “‘Hiss! Boom!’ The air shook, black smoke gushed, and the sky filled with spinning horse-shoes that donged the monster pooks on the head. ‘Whack-a-pukeko!’ the last one cried and fell, knocked silly.

  “One by one the horse-shoes curved home like boomerangs and clanked themselves into a neat stack beside the cannon, ready for another shot.

  “We tucked the heads of the monster pukekos under their wings. They came to, thought it was night-time, pulled up one leg, and went to sleep standing on the other. And while they slept Mrs Grizzle and I clipped the feathers of one wing on each monster pook so they couldn’t fly.

  “The pusillanimous blacksmith crawled out of his water barrel,” said Aunt Effie. “Grinning sideways, the compassionless Mr Bryce shuffled out from under his wheelbarrow. The egregious postmaster squeezed out of his letterbox.”

  Aunt Effie nodded, and the little ones nodded back as if they understood her long words.

  “THE POSTMASTER BEGAN makingaspeech:‘Neverbefore in the history of the Southern Hemisphere …’ but Mrs Grizzle stuck his head under his arm. He pulled up one leg, stood on the other, and went to sleep.

  “We drove the monster pooks, hopping on one foot, their heads under their wings, down the Turangaomoana Road, and chained them to ringbolts on the deck of the Betty Boop.

  “Back in Hopuruahine, Mrs Grizzle pulled the postmaster’s head out from under his arm. He put down his other foot and went on talking from where he’d gone to sleep. He presented us with a picture of Mooloo the Cow and stamped the date on the back of our hands. The station master gave us a free railway ticket halfway to Wardville. Mr Bryce brought back our stores in his wheelbarrow, and the parsimonious manager of the dairy factory came running with our cream cheque.

  “Only Mr Whimble complained, ‘How am I supposed to get my anvil back inside?’ Mrs Grizzle whispered something into the cannon barrel, and the anvil hopped back inside by the forge.

  “A trumpet blew, and the School Inspector came riding across Mrs Doleman’s paddock, driving the children and teachers ahead with his whip. He handcuffed a couple of grown-ups for giving cheek and not paying attention, and presented Mrs Grizzle with a framed, signed photograph of himself.

  “I glanced at it and gasped, ‘He’s got a tattoo!’”

  “A Tattooed School Inspector!” cried the little ones.

  “He must have been your old husband,” said Jared.

  “Chief Rangi!” Jessie nodded.

  “Did he call you The Name We Dare Not Say?” asked Casey.

  “Did he say he loved you?” asked Lizzie, who was interested in romance and was teaching herself the alphabet so that she could read all the Mills and Boon books.

  Aunt Effie silenced them with a glare and went on with the story of Mrs Grizzle.

  “‘PAY ATTENTION EVERYBODY!’ shouted the Tattooed School Inspector. ‘Thanks to me, the monster pooks will never attack Hopuruahine again! Never before in the history of the Southern Hemisphere has there been such a hero!’ He cracked his whip, blew his own trumpet, and I heard a tiny forlorn cry, ‘Save me, Brunnhilde!’”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Why Euphemia Stood On Tiptoe, Clutched by the Monster’s Talons, Why the Lewd Boys Laughed, Aunt Effie’s Newest Weapon of Mass Destruction, and Why the Wicked Pook Jeered.

  “One monster po
ok had escaped and hidden in the ditch in front of Sammy Searle’s fruit shop. It hopped out and galloped through the crowd squawking, ‘Kraw-poocka-kacko!’ Only one person didn’t hear it. A golden-ringleted little girl busy admiring herself in Mrs Doleman’s shop window.

  “She gazed deep into her own big, blue eyes. She turned on one heel, looked over her shoulder at her new gym frock, and hitched it up above her knees. She stood on tiptoe to see the reflection of her new button shoes in the bottom of the window, smiled, sucked in her cheeks to show her dimples, and blew a kiss to herself.

  “‘Kraw-poocka-kacko!’ Steel talons seized her golden ringlets; metal wings clanged, and the monster pukeko swung her into the sky. Her Panama blew off, but was held by the elastic under her chin. I heard her tiny forlorn cry, but she was already too high for me to read ‘Who Does His Best Does Well!’ around the hat band.

  “Everyone wept – except the Tattooed School Inspector who stuck his head under one arm, pulled up one leg, and went to sleep.

  “A second tiny forlorn cry from the clouds: ‘Brunnhilde, save me!’ A pair of little feet in button shoes ran and kicked on the air.

  “‘Poppy show! Poppy show!’ Some lewd boys laughed and pointed at Euphemia’s bloomers which Mrs Grizzle had sewn the night before.

  “‘Kraw-poocka-kacko!’ the monster pook cackled and flew away with my little mother.”

  Aunt Effie fell back exhausted. Peter handed her a bottle of Old Puckeroo. She pulled out the cork with her teeth, spat it on the floor, and drained the bottle.

  “Whew!” Her breath smoked, caught fire, and streaked up the chimney.

  “What happened to dear little Euphemia?” cried Daisy. “You can’t just leave her in the clutches of the wicked monster pukeko!”

  The little ones stared at the tears running down Daisy’s cheeks. Lizzie turned back to Aunt Effie and asked, “Did the monster pukeko eat your mummy?”

  But Aunt Effie had gone to sleep. Her hand opened, and the Old Puckeroo bottle fell to the floor. We lined up along the edge of her enormous bed. Trustingly, the little ones stood in front. Bryce and Jazz went to push them, but slipped and fell shrieking over the edge themselves. The little ones jumped and ran downstairs. We were left listening to their heartless laughter.

  “Jump!” shouted Peter, and a big gruff voice said, “Watch out for the Bugaboo!”

  Still crying for dear little Euphemia, Daisy shrieked and jumped. Like sheep going through a gate, we leapt after her, baaing, laughing, jostling down the stairs and into the kitchen. Bryce and Jazz came tumbling after us, crying and saying the Bugaboo’s fingernails had scratched the backs of their heels.

  “Ana to mokomoko – it serves you right!” said Casey, and the other little ones nodded and repeated, “Ana to mokomoko!” and “So there!”

  Aunt Effie slept for several days that time, and we caught up with our chores. “We must please Aunt Effie and keep her telling the story of Mrs Grizzle when she wakes up,” Marie told us.

  “Isn’t that a bit like telling a lie?” asked Jazz.

  “You have a devious mind,” Marie told him. “Would you rather go back to school?”

  We put a new gate on the bull paddock, where they’d charged through the old one when Alwyn teased them. We put in new strainers where they’d knocked down their fence chasing him. And we got Caligula, Nero, Brutus, Kaiser, Genghis, and Boris to hold the bulls up the top end of their paddock while we put in a new goal post.

  Aunt Effie’s cannon-ball had knocked over the row of bluegums before it stopped. We sawed them into lengths, blew them apart with the splitting gun, stood the flitches on end, and sniffed the eucalyptus from the crushed leaves.

  “Too green to burn this winter,” said Peter. He and Marie were up ladders, thatching roofs of reeds over the firewood stacks. “But it should dry out in time for next year.”

  Aunt Effie still slept as snow sprinkled the tops of the Kaimais. We started feeding out each morning, dried off the cows and turned them in on the swedes, and shifted the bales of wool in the barn to get at the rats’ nests. Aunt Effie hadn’t sold our wool at the autumn sales because the prices weren’t good enough. “We’ll hold on to it,” she’d said, “and make a killing at the spring sales.”

  We took the heavy wagon down to the creek and shovelled it full of shingle. “Fill in the holes around the gates first,” said Peter, “then we’ll metal the race right up to the back of the farm.”

  And still Aunt Effie slept on and on.

  Peter was putting a new rail in the cattle-stop one day, and Marie was holding its other end. “Run!” they yelled at the rest of us, and ducked out of sight under the cattle-stop.

  We heard the drubbing of hoofs, grabbed the little ones and went for our lives. Three horses reared, front hoofs pawing the air over the cattle-stop. The riders were masked and dressed as school inspectors.

  “That one on the left’s tattooed,” said Bryce.

  Alwyn poked out his tongue at him.

  “The middle one’s got a pointed head,” said Colleen.

  “Silly old Pointy-Head!” Alwyn jeered.

  “Look!” said Daisy, “the one on the right’s wearing his collar backwards!”

  “Get dressed properly,” Alwyn shouted.

  “It’s Aunt Effie’s three old husbands disguised as school inspectors,” Ann told the little ones.

  Daisy ran towards the cattle stop. “Take me to school, Reverend Samuel!” she cried. “I know my times tables. I know my spelling. I want to learn spherical geometry!”

  The three masked school inspectors produced lassos, twirled and dropped them over Daisy’s head, and backed so she was dragged over the cattle stop.

  “Do something!” Daisy screamed.

  “Something do!” Alwyn shouted back.

  “Save me!”

  “Me save!”

  Peter and Marie jumped out from under the cattle stop and slashed the lassos with their pocket knives. But the three masked school inspectors pulled butterfly nets from their saddle-bags and whopped them down over Peter, Marie, and Daisy. And just then, “Boo-boom!” A cannon-ball cracked the sound barrier over our heads.

  The masked school inspectors shrieked, dropped their butterfly nets, and galloped off. They twisted and turned, but the smoking black cannon-ball followed whichever way their horses galloped. We pointed and laughed.

  “It’s Aunt Effie’s newest weapon of mass destruction – a heat-seeking cannon-ball,” said Peter.

  “Serves you right!” Jazz yelled after the galloping school inspectors.

  “Right you serves!” shouted Alwyn.

  “Why did you have to rescue me?” Daisy burst into tears. “I wanted to be dragged off to school.”

  “They could have been three horse cannibals,” Marie told her. “You could have got yourself eaten, and there’d be nothing we could do to help you.”

  But before Daisy could reply, we heard a call. “Daisy-Mabel-Johnny-Flossie-Lynda-Stan-Howard-Marge-Stuart-Peter-Marie-Colleen-Alwyn-Bryce-Jack-Ann-Jazz-Beck-Jane-Isaac-David-Victor-Casey-Lizzie-Jared-Jessie!”

  “Coming!” we shouted. “Coming!” We tore across the paddock, up the path, through the kitchen, and upstairs. The barrel of Aunt Effie’s cannon was still hot, and we sniffed. “Mmmm – gunpowder!”

  “Do you want to hear the rest of this story or not? I hope you weren’t talking to those school inspectors?”

  “Alwyn gave them a bit of lip. They lassoed Daisy, but Marie and Peter slashed their ropes.”

  Aunt Effie nodded. “Remember, we got up to where the monster pukeko was flying towards the Great Waharoa Swamp with my little mother dangling from its talons.” We leaned against the dogs, stuck our thumbs in our mouths, and listened.

  “MRS GRIZZLE HELD UP Bonny while I hammered new shoes on her feet. We jumped on her back and galloped to the scow.

  “‘You bring back my mummy!’ I cried, but the monster jeered, ‘Kraw-poocka-cacko!’ and flew on.”

  “The heartle
ss brute!” Daisy said. Aunt Effie nodded and continued.

  “THE INTELLIGENT HORSE leapt on to the deck, seized the halyards in her teeth, and pulled up the sails. Water roaring from our bows, we sailed across the swamp, Euphemia, my little mother, a distant dot.

  “After we’d sailed several days, Mrs Grizzle said, ‘I don’t know if we’re still in the swamp or on the Hauraki Gulf. Since the water covered so much of the old land of Waharoa, it’s hard to tell.’

  “Bonny set the topsails, so the Betty Boop gained on the monster pook. Mrs Grizzle aimed the cannon.

  “‘Don’t hit my mother!’

  “‘Boom!’ The cannon-ball knocked a cloud of metal feathers out of the monster pukeko’s tail. ‘Put her down at once!’ Mrs Grizzle bellowed. ‘Or I’ll blow you to smithereens!’

  “Just then the wind dropped, our sails drooped, and the scow lay still. The monster pukeko crowed, ‘Kraw-poocka-cacko!’ and flapped away. With most of its tail missing, it was having trouble steering, but Mrs Grizzle didn’t dare fire another shot.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Flaming Arrows, Gunpowder, and Ingratitude; Staying a Baby for Ever With Elastic in the Legs of Her Bloomers; Scalped by Redskins; and Why Witches Are Good at Multi-Tasking.

  “As my little mother disappeared again, Mrs Grizzle took a breath so big that I could hear her ears ring, and blew into the sails. We knew the monster pukeko couldn’t fly far without a tail and, sure enough, we caught up as it nose-dived and crash-landed on an island.

  “It saw us and cursed, ‘Drat!’ It tore the elastic off my mother’s Panama hat, flung itself down on its back, stuck both feet in the air, and stretched the elastic between its claws. We watched in helpless dismay as it cackled, drew back the elastic with its teeth, and fired a flaming arrow at our sails.