Muckabout School Read online

  As the classroom emptied, Gary found himself alone. He was still picking bits of chewing gum from under the tables when Mr Jolly wandered past.

  “Is that you, Gary?” the headmaster asked.

  “Everyone else has gone,” Gary explained. “I was collecting the chewing gum under the desks, just like Mr Dawdle said, but most of it’s very hard. And it’s got bits of fluff in it that get stuck in my teeth.”

  “Come on, Gary!” Mr Jolly said. “You’re on holiday now! Why not run along and make a nuisance of yourself? There must be something bad you can do – something to make us all proud.”

  All through the week, Gary tried to think of a plan that would make him a proper Muckabout, but the days passed and still he couldn’t come up with anything. Being bad was just not something he was good at.

  By the time he had to go back to school he still hadn’t had one naughty thought.

  Gary decided that the only thing to do was to get into the mood for mischief. So the night before school, he ate a whole packet of sticky toffees. When he woke in the morning, his stomach was growling and his teeth felt all wobbly.

  And for some strange reason he also had a wicked plan.

  When he arrived at school, the Muckabout infants were in the new Adventure Playground. You could tell by their shrill screams how much they were enjoying themselves.

  Gary didn’t go into class. Instead, he joined the infants and had a go on everything. He did loop the loop on the swings. He zoomed down the slides. He whizzed round the roundabout and threw himself off the bikes on springs. He hung like a monkey from the climbing frame and chased the infants through the rabbit tunnels.

  He thought that the infants’ teacher, Mrs Nevermind, and her classroom helper, Ms Moppup, might try to stop him. But Mrs Nevermind was going back and forth on one of the swings. And Ms Moppup was busy rubbing the infants’ bumps when they fell off things. Gary had a brilliant time.

  When he’d had enough, he picked out the sweetest, most angelic-looking, red-haired child. He crept up to her and whispered something in her ear.

  It must have been something very funny, because she suddenly gave a great, big, wonderful smile.

  When at last Gary drifted into the classroom, he was covered in dirt, his jacket and trousers torn. It was ten minutes to eleven.

  “Much better, Gary!” beamed Mr Dawdle. “Apart from Wanda Offalot, who never comes in anyway, you’re the last to arrive. Keep this up and you’re going to be a star pupil at Muckabout School! The week off obviously did you some good. Did you come up with any ideas for mischief?”

  “I’ve been practising cheek, Mister Dawdle the Fraudle!” shouted Gary.

  “Wha… what did you say?”

  “Ah, you must be deaf as well, Mister Squirmy Wormy Slowcoach!”

  Mr Dawdle’s mouth dropped open in amazement.

  “And look out there, Mister Teachy Peachy Poo!” called Gary, pointing at the Adventure Playground.

  The class stampeded over to look. They saw a sweet little girl with red hair and a round face stick a wide piece of sticking plaster over Ms Moppup’s mouth. Meanwhile, some of the others tied her to the climbing frame with skipping ropes. The rest of the infants were busy squeezing Mrs Nevermind head first down a rabbit tunnel.

  “That was all my idea!” Gary laughed.

  By the middle of that week, Gary had done so many daft and dozy, massively mischievous things that Mr Jolly felt he had no choice. He simply had to give him Muckabout School’s highest honour.

  All the staff and children came to a special assembly. They gasped with admiration as the Head listed Gary Goody’s mischievous tricks.

  “It’s hard to say which was your best trick, Gary,” Mr Jolly cooed. “Removing the doorknobs? Eating all your crayons? Filling the cushions in the staff room with conkers? We loved them all, but my favourite was when you wrote TRUBBLE on the side of a dustbin, filled it with custard, and jumped in. Now that is what I call getting into trouble in a very clever way!”

  Gary punched the air in triumph. “MUCKABOUT FOR EVER!” he yelled.

  The whole school joined in, chanting and screaming. Even Franky Fearless whistled his respect.

  “Step up on to the stage, Gary,” said Mr Jolly.

  With a thumping heart, Gary did as he was told. The headmaster shook his hand warmly and into the other he pressed Muckabout School’s greatest award.

  The words on Gary’s special badge, embroidered in gold, read:

  Gary had never felt more proud or more excited.

  But then he made a big mistake: a dreadful mistake that ruined everything. How could he have been so stupid? If only he could stop the clock and wind it back. But it was too late! Out popped those terrible words and there was no taking them back.

  “Thank you very much indeed, sir!” he cried.

  Mr Jolly’s letter to Gary’s parents, explaining why Gary had been expelled, was unusually stern.

  Gary’s mother shook her head sadly as she read out the letter to her husband at the breakfast table. For a little while, Gary had been so much more fun. They had really thought he was getting somewhere.

  Dear Mr and Mrs Goody,

  I am sorry to tell you that your son, Gary, has been permanently excluded from Muckabout School because of his persistently decent and polite behaviour. He broke many of our school rules, including:

  Let your litter lie

  Pockets are for hands

  and

  Don’t bother – it’s only a lesson

  It is true that during this last week, your Gary made some effort to fit in and be a normal, naughty young Muckabout. But it seems that this was all on the surface. I regret to inform you that underneath, he is hopelessly, incurably GOOD.

  Yours truly,

  I. M. Jolly

  Head teacher

  It was midday on Thursday morning and Mr Jolly the headmaster had decided to call it a day.

  He flipped the on-switch on the intercom on his desk and sent his voice out over the speakers to all classes. “Sorry to interrupt you, Muckabouts, but most of you have been in school for a couple of hours, so you might as well trot off now and enjoy a nice long weekend. Bye bye! And teachers and support staff, would you mind popping into the staff room on your way home for a quick meeting?”

  Cheers from the kids.

  Boos from the staff.

  Like water down the plughole, the children of the world’s silliest school swirled and gurgled out of the gates. Only a few unlucky ones remained, stuck in the lavatories because one of the infants had pasted the toilet seats with glue.

  In the staff room the headmaster handed out sweeties to cheer the teachers up. On his T-shirt was printed:

  DON’T SCRATCH YOUR HEAD FEED HIM

  “Right, everybody,” he smiled. “We all want to put our feet up, don’t we? Ha ha! So let’s get this over with as soon as possible. Item one on the agenda. Gary Goody. As you know, his parents have begged us to give him another chance. And the Local Education Authority says that all the other schools in the area are full, so it seems that the boy is now with us permanently.”

  “Oh dear, not to worry!” cooed Mrs Nevermind, the infants’ teacher.

  “It’s alright for you,” said Mr Dawdle, the lazy junior teacher. “You don’t have to have him in your class.”

  “Let's move on to item two,” said the Head. “The school outing. As I think you all know, The Daily Spoilsport has been trying to ban Muckabout School from going on its annual school outing ever since our trip to Sewage-on-Sea.”

  “Well they did have to call the lifeboat out three times,” murmured Ms Moppup, the classroom assistant for the infants.

  “And I was on the office phone for three weeks afterwards dealing with the complaints from other passengers on the train,” said Mrs Grunge the school secretary.

  “I don’t think many of you will forget the news story,” Mr Jolly said, producing a copy of The Daily Spoilsport.

  He held it up for ev
eryone to see.

  THE SPOILSPORT SAYS:

  STOP MUCKABOUT OUTINGS!

  “It says that our pupils were ‘noisy, bad mannered and a public menace’,” Mr Jolly read out.

  Underneath was a large picture of a small, freckle-faced child on a skateboard. He was letting fly with a squeezy bottle of tomato sauce at a line of startled people. The caption for the picture was: “Sauce Terror Strikes at Seaside!”

  The teachers giggled.

  “Yeah, man, that’s Franky Fearless. He’s in my class,” Mr Dawdle drawled proudly. “He’s the coolest, daftest, cheekiest young daredevil in the whole school.”

  “And it was a lovely shot, you know,” added Mrs Nevermind. “Those people were quite a way away.”

  “Wonderful stuff!” the headmaster beamed. “Absolutely wonderful. Young Franky Fearless is a thoroughly Muckabout sort of chap. Just the sort of high-spirited individual we like to encourage here. I think we owe it to him and others like him to enjoy another educational visit as soon as possible. So you’ll all be delighted to know I’ve ordered a coach for next Tuesday, ha ha!”

  “Where to?” asked Mr Dawdle.

  “To the zoo, of course!” cried the Head.

  “The zoo!” chorused the staff.

  “I just love zoos,” the headmaster said. “Marvellous places. Perfect for outings.”

  “But, Headmaster, everyone knows the zoo’s on its last legs,” said Ms Moppup. “They're struggling to keep the place going. Wouldn't a visit from our kids be… you know… tough on them? I mean, what with the publicity we've been getting in the Spoilsport, a visit by Muckabout might... well... finish the zoo off?”

  “Come to think of it,” said Mrs Grunge, “Another story in the Spoilsport might finish the school off too.”

  Mr Jolly's eyes took on a mysterious and mischievous gleam.

  “The trip to the zoo will go ahead as planned. Next Tuesday!” he boomed. “It will be a marvellous educational opportunity for our children and a roaring success for everyone concerned. You mark my words!”

  The following Tuesday – Outing Day – Mr Dawdle and Mrs Nevermind were not at all pleased. Crowds of children had actually had the cheek to turn up, including all the infants. More pupils meant more work – something that neither of them wanted to worry about.

  Gary Goody was the first to arrive. Then William Whale rolled up, followed by Ricky Rude and Tim Tattle. Even Wanda Offalot, the girl who held the school record for bunking off, had come along.

  “Now it looks like we’re stuck with a whole coach-load,” moaned Mr Dawdle. “Still, Franky Fearless hasn’t turned up. That might save us a bit of trouble. Do any of you guys know where Franky is?”

  “I know!” said Tim Tattle, who was always snitching and stirring. “You know he thinks he’s a brilliant skateboarder? Well, I bet Franky that he couldn’t do a headstand on a skateboard. Wearing a blindfold.”

  “So what happened?” said Mr Dawdle.

  “He did it,” said Tim. “But his silly old leg got bust.”

  “Oh dear,” twittered Mrs Nevermind. “Poor boy! Still, never mind. At least he’s got another one.”

  Just then the coach arrived.

  The coach driver, who had driven the Muckabouts to Sewage-on-Sea the year before, was ready for them this time. Instead of coming into the schoolyard he parked opposite the gates. He was wearing body armour and a helmet, and he approached the playground with a loudspeaker and an angry-looking dog on a chain.

  “MOVE IN AN ORDERLY FASHION TOWARDS THE COACH,” the driver boomed.

  “DO NOT ON ANY ACCOUNT ATTEMPT TO BOARD THE COACH BEFORE PASSING THROUGH THE MOBILE SECURITY BARRIER!”

  The dog snarled and gathered the Muckabouts into a nervous flock.

  The driver made everyone file through his X-ray machine. He confiscated chewing gum, flour bombs, bad eggs, catapults and water pistols.

  When William Whale stepped towards him out of the crowd, the driver spotted an orange stain at the top of the boy’s trousers that was starting to spread towards his knees.

  “What have you got in your pocket?” the driver asked, suspiciously.

  “Spaghetti hoops,” explained William, who hated going anywhere without a little snack.

  “Well make sure it doesn’t leak on my seats,” the driver said.

  Poor old Muckabouts! There was nothing to do on the boring thirty-minute journey except do rude signs at passing drivers.

  So Tim Tattle decided to stir things up a bit.

  He was sitting next to Ricky Rude, the most revolting child in the whole of Muckabout School. William Whale was sitting just across the aisle, the spaghetti hoops in his trouser pocket starting to puddle on to the floor.

  “Look, Ricky,” stirred Tim, pointing at the puddle. “What does it remind you of?”

  Quick as a change of traffic lights, Ricky turned green and reached for a sick bag, not knowing that Tim had snipped the bottom off for a joke. Up came Ricky’s breakfast… and splooshed all over his shoes.

  That set off a couple of the infants who threw up in turn.

  “Well played, Ricky!” yelled Tim. “Nice one, William!”

  “ERRRRR!” all the Muckabouts screamed.

  As the smell of sick wafted through the coach, the driver became more and more desperate to get to the zoo and get rid of his passengers. To make things worse, other drivers had started beeping at him with their horns when they passed, and behind the coach a steady stream of cars slowly turned into a traffic jam.

  “It could just be the kids making rude signs out of the window,” he thought, but the traffic continued to snake behind him, the drivers waving and beeping their horns. By the time he arrived at the zoo, a police car and two police motorbikes escorted him, their sirens blaring.

  The coach driver brought the coach to a halt outside the zoo gates and jumped straight out, kissing the first policeman he saw.

  Out of the coach poured the Muckabouts and round to the back of the coach they ran. The coach driver followed them, fearing the worst.

  But all they found was an angelic-looking boy on the back of a skateboard.

  “Is this one of yours?” the coach drive asked Mr Dawdle.

  “It’s Franky Fearless!” Mr Dawdle replied.

  “But how did you get there, Franky?”

  “I borrowed my dad’s sink plunger, stuck it on the back of the coach and got myself a tow on my skateboard,” explained Franky.

  “ Wow! And with a broken leg plastered up to the thigh!” gasped Mr Dawdle.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve still got another one!” laughed Muckabout School’s very own mini daredevil.

  Whilst everyone was congratulating Franky, the police were talking to the coach driver, who was now crying with relief. It was quite a picture.

  CLACK! went a camera in a nearby bush.

  When the Muckabouts finally made it to the gates of the zoo, they found a sad-looking banner that read:

  WHAT CAN YOU DO TO HELP SAVE MANKEY ZOO?

  “Having problems?” Mr Dawdle asked the man in the ticket office.

  The man looked embarrassed. “We’d be all right if we had a few more visitors,” he said. “People just don’t seem interested any more. And it’s having a bad effect on the animals too. We’ve got lions that just lie about. The gorilla sits in the corner of his cage and sulks. The seals haven’t got the heart to put on a show at feeding time and the monkeys can’t be bothered with anything. And did I mention our boa constrictor? He’s gone off his food altogether! The zoo’s just no fun any more.”

  “Bad news, man,” said Mr Dawdle.

  “Still, not to worry!” twittered Mrs Nevermind. “Our kiddies will soon liven things up for you, I’m sure!”

  Mr Dawdle paid everyone’s entrance fee and all the Muckabouts poured through the gate to the four corners of the zoo.

  All, that is, except Gary Goody. He had politely waited for everyone else to go in before him and stood chatting to the man in the ticket booth.r />
  “I love animals,” he told the man. “I can’t wait to go inside and look around. I’ve even started writing some animal poems. My latest work is called My Fluffy Little Kitty. Would you like me to recite it to you?”

  “That’s very kind of you, sonny,” said the ticket man. “But I’ve got a few things on my mind at the moment.”

  “It won’t take long,” Gary said. But at that moment Gary heard a strange noise coming from the bushes.

  “Psstt!”

  Gary turned around, but there was nobody there.

  He was just about to go through the gates when he heard the same sound again: “Psstt!”

  Then out of the bushes behind him emerged a man with a long, pointy nose and a camera with a very long lens.

  “Who are you?” Gary asked.

  “Ken Keen,” the man said. “I’m a reporter with the Spoilsport.”

  “How exciting!” Gary said. “I would love to be a writer. In fact, I’ve just finished a poem called My Fluffy Little Kitty. Would you like me to recite it to you?”

  “Later,” the reporter interrupted. “Here’s the deal. I’ll make sure one of your fluffy poems gets published in the paper…”

  Gary squealed with delight.

  “…if you give me the names and background information about anyone we see from Muckabout School,” the man continued.

  “Are you doing an article then?” asked Gary.

  “Yeah,” the reporter said. “Nice piece about the zoo and the school – ‘A Wonderful Educational Day Out’ – that sort of thing.”

  “What a good idea,” Gary said. “It would be an honour!”

  The man in the ticket office had said that the lions just lay about, so Gary was surprised to hear exciting noises as he and Ken Keen approached the lions’ enclosure.

  They heard ferocious roars, cheers, clapping and shouts of what sounded like “O-Lay!”. Quite a crowd had gathered.