Crackers!
To Mrs Burns (the real Bertie’s mum) and all at Bishop Martin Primary School ~ D R
To the children of Radcliffe on Trent
Junior School ~ A M
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1 Baaa!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
2 Elf!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
3 Crackers
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
Bertie burst into the kitchen.
“Ahaarr, shipmates!” he cried.
He was wearing his pirate hat and eyepatch, and brandishing a cutlass.
“Bertie, please don’t wave that in here,” said Mum wearily.
“I’m practising,” Bertie explained. “It’s the auditions for the Christmas play today.”
Every year, the school’s Christmas concert took place at St Wilfrid’s Church. There were readings and carols, but the highlight was always the play. Bertie had never been chosen for one of the main parts, but this year things were going to be different.
“I thought it was a nativity play,” said Mum.
“It is,” said Bertie. “I’m going to be one of the three kings.”
“Dressed like that?”
“I’m the pirate king,” said Bertie.
Mum rolled her eyes. “Bertie, there aren’t any pirates in the Christmas story.”
“I know, but there could be. Instead of just following a star there could be a big battle between the pirates and the robbers.”
“What robbers?”
“The ones fighting the pirates,” replied Bertie.
“Bertie, you can’t just change the story any way you like!”
“Why not?” asked Bertie. “Everyone’s seen it before.”
“In any case,” said Mum, “if Miss Boot sees you dressed like that you probably won’t get a part at all.”
“Miss Boot isn’t doing the play this year,” replied Bertie. “It’s Miss Darling.”
Miss Darling was new to Bertie’s school, which explained why she’d agreed to direct the play. Every other teacher in the school avoided it like the plague.
“Children, children!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s make a start, shall we? Now, who would like to audition first?”
A dozen hands shot into the air. Miss Darling chose the boy wearing a black eyepatch.
“And you are?”
“Bertie,” said Bertie.
“Well, Bertie, perhaps you could take off your hat first.”
“It’s my costume,” said Bertie.
“That’s lovely, but this story hasn’t got any pirates. It’s about the baby Jesus being born in the manger.”
“It’s got three kings,” said Bertie.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, I’m the pirate king.”
Miss Darling ran a hand through her hair. “Why don’t you just read the part and we’ll see how we get on, shall we?”
Bertie clumped across the stage. He swished his cutlass through the air.
“Ahaarr!” he said in his best pirate accent. “We be three kings and we be following the star…”
Miss Darling held up a hand to stop him. “Perhaps it would work better without the funny voice.”
Bertie frowned. “That’s how pirates talk,” he said. “It’s not meant to be funny.”
“I know,” said Miss Darling. “But could you just try it in your own voice. Please.”
Bertie clomped off stage – and clomped back on. “We are three kings and we’re following the star…”
He swished his sword a bit too wildly.
“Ow!” cried a voice. “You nearly poked me in the eye!”
It was Bertie’s sworn enemy, Know-All Nick.
“It’s not my fault,” said Bertie. “How am I supposed to act with you in the way?”
He gave Nick a shove. Nick shoved him back, knocking off Bertie’s hat. Bertie raised his cutlass.
“MISS! Bertie’s fighting!” whined Nick.
“I think that will do, Bertie. Come and sit down,” said Miss Darling.
Bertie sat down. On the whole he felt the audition had gone pretty well. He was bound to get the part of the pirate king. After all, he was the only one who had bothered to come in costume.
CHAPTER 2
The following day, Miss Darling gave out the parts. Bertie waited eagerly to hear his name.
“Josh, Zadie and Nicholas, you will be the kings. I’m sure you’ll all be wonderful.”
Bertie couldn’t believe it. Know-All Nick – a king? He didn’t even have his own eyepatch!
Nick slunk over to Bertie.
“What part did you get, Bertie?”
“A shepherd.”
“Only a shepherd? Poor you!”
“Better than a smelly old king,” said Bertie.
“How many lines have you got?”
Bertie shrugged. “I haven’t looked yet.”
“I have,” said Nick. “You’ve got one – on page 15. I’ve got hundreds. Look, I’m on nearly every page.” He thrust his script under Bertie’s nose.
Bertie ignored him.
“And Miss Darling wants me to sing a solo,” Nick went on. “She says I sing beautifully.”
“Shame your face is so ugly,” Bertie replied.
Rehearsals got under way. Nick wore a purple cloak. His gold crown glittered with jewels. Bertie wore a tea towel that flopped in his eyes.
“Now,” said Miss Darling. “It is night. All is calm, all is bright. Angels, tiptoe in and gather round the stable. Kings, lay your gifts by the manger. Shepherds … where are the shepherds?”
Bertie’s head popped out from behind the curtain. “Sorry, Miss, we’ve lost one of the sheep.”
Miss Darling frowned. “You don’t have any sheep.”
“They’re pretend sheep,” said Bertie. “I counted six but now there’s only five.”
“Never mind, just bring them in and gather round the manger.”
Bertie, Darren and Eugene clumped across the stage, making loud “baa-ing” noises. There was a bit of shoving between the kings and the shepherds, who all wanted to be at the front. Miss Darling waited for them to settle.
“Now, the lights dim and Nicholas comes to the front,” she said.
Nick gave Bertie a gloating smile. He stepped forward and took a deep breath.
“Silent night, holeeee night!”
“Beautiful!” sighed Miss Darling, clasping her hands.
“All is calm, all is bright…”
“BAAA!”
“Who is doing that?” cried Miss Darling.
Zadie raised her hand. “Please, Miss, it’s Bertie!”
“Bertie!” said Miss Darling.
“Sorry, Miss, it’s our lost sheep,” said Bertie. “He’s come back.”
Know-All Nick glared at him and began again.
“Silent night, holy ni—”
“I know, Miss!” It was Bertie again.
“What is it now?” sighed Miss Darling.
“What if we had a sheepdog?”
“You mean a pretend dog?”
“No, a real one,” said Bertie. “He could round up the sheep.”
“That’s a lovely idea, Bertie, but we don’t have a sheepdog.”
“My dog Whiffer could do it,” said Bertie.
“Brilliant!” said Darren.
“Wicked!” said Eugene.
Miss Darling looked flustered. “I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. You can’t bring a dog into c
hurch.”
“Why not?” asked Bertie.
“Because … well … what if he misbehaves?”
“He won’t, Miss. Whiffer’s been to dog-training classes. He’s got a certificate.”
“Even so…” Miss Darling looked doubtful.
“Please, Miss!” begged Bertie. “He’d be brilliant.”
Miss Darling hesitated. “Why don’t I think about it?” she said.
“Great!” said Bertie.
CHAPTER 3
With so much to do, Miss Darling soon forgot about Bertie’s idea. But Bertie didn’t forget. In his mind, the matter was settled. If Miss Darling hadn’t actually said “No”, she must have meant “Yes”.
On the night of the play Bertie got to the church early. He was dressed in a tea towel and his old checked dressing gown. Whiffer was at his side. Bertie hadn’t asked Mum or Dad if Whiffer could be in the play – he wanted it to be a surprise.
Miss Boot got a bit of a surprise, too. As she came into the vestry, she almost fell over Whiffer.
“SHOO!” she screeched. “GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU BRUTE!”
“It’s only Whiffer, Miss. He won’t hurt you,” said Bertie.
Miss Boot turned very pale. She didn’t seem to like dogs. She was flattened against the wall as if she thought Whiffer was going to eat her.
“Bertie! Get him out of here!” she squawked.
“But he’s in the play.” Whiffer wagged his tail and barked excitedly.
Miss Boot began to shake. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she said. “Now shoo!”
“But he is, Miss, honestly! Miss Darling said. Didn’t you, Miss?”
Miss Boot turned on Miss Darling, who was pinning up the hem of Mary’s dress.
“Oh dear, I think perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding,” said Miss Darling. “Bertie did ask if he could bring his dog, but I said…”
“I don’t care what you said!” snapped Miss Boot. “It’s out of the question. I won’t have a dog ruining the performance. Now take him home.”
At that moment, there was a knock on the door and the vicar poked his head into the room.
“Everybody ready?” he asked, beaming. “The audience are all in.”
“Oh dear!” said Miss Darling, staring at Whiffer. “I’m sure he’ll behave himself.”
Miss Boot glared at Bertie. “He better. If that dog so much as whimpers, I will hold you personally responsible, Bertie. Do I make myself clear?”
Bertie’s mum and dad had seats in the front row.
The play began. Know-All Nick entered wearing his gold crown and spied the star in the east through his telescope. The junior choir then sang Little Donkey while Mary and Joseph plodded around the church on the way to Bethlehem.
Finally came the entrance of the shepherds.
Darren, Eugene and Bertie clomped on to the stage holding their crooks and peering out from under their tea towels.
Dad turned pale when he saw who was with them. “Good grief!” he hissed. “Isn’t that Whiffer?”
“It can’t be!” said Mum.
“It is!” whispered Dad. “What’s he doing here? I thought he was at home.”
“Bertie didn’t mention anything!”
“No,” said Dad, grimly. “I bet he didn’t.”
They watched nervously as Whiffer crossed the stage and sniffed around the choir stalls. They waited for him to growl or bark or do something disgusting on the floor. But Whiffer behaved as if he’d been acting all his life. When Bertie sat, he sat, too, and rested his head in Bertie’s lap.
“Ahhhhhhh!” went the audience.
From that moment on, Whiffer was the star of the play. He followed the shepherds on the road to Bethlehem and wagged his tail when the innkeeper patted his head. Children in the audience laughed. Parents smiled. Even Miss Boot stopped frowning.
Everything went perfectly until the final scene. The angels tiptoed on, the kings laid their gifts at the manger, the shepherds knelt and Whiffer lay down beside Bertie. Miss Boot dimmed the lights low and Miss Darling plink-plonked on the piano. It was Know-All Nick’s big moment.
“Silent night, holeeee night!” he sang.
Whiffer pricked up his ears.
“All is calm, all is bright…”
“OWWWW! OWWWWW!” howled Whiffer, joining in the song.
Bertie put a hand over his muzzle and tried to silence him, but that only brought giggles from the audience.
“Keep going!” whispered Miss Darling. “Keep going!” She plinked the opening bars again.
“Silent night, holeeee night,” sang Nick. “All is calm…”
“OWWWW! OWWWWW! OWWWWWW!” bayed Whiffer, throwing back his head.
The audience shook with laughter. Nick bellowed louder.
“SILENT NIGHT…!”
Whiffer howled louder still. Nick lost his temper and hurled his gift at Whiffer’s head. It missed and bounced off Bertie’s.
“Ow!” he said, loudly.
Bertie pushed Nick in the back with his crook.
“ARGHHH!” Nick stumbled forwards, and fell into the front row of the audience. He clambered back on stage, crimson with fury.
“GET THEM!” he yelled.
“GET THEM!” Bertie yelled back.
The kings charged the shepherds.
The shepherds charged the kings. Crowns were trampled underfoot. Tea towels were torn. Whiffer bounded around the stage, barking joyfully. Bertie caught sight of Miss Boot’s face as he ducked a flying sandal. She looked like she was about to explode.
CHAPTER 4
“A disaster!” sighed Miss Darling.
“Never again!” vowed Miss Skinner.
The audience were leaving the church and making their way home. Bertie felt it might be a good time for him to slip away, too. But he would have to get past Miss Boot, who was standing at the door. He pulled his tea towel over his eyes and tried to mingle with the crowd.
“BERTIE!” boomed Miss Boot. “I want a word with you.”
Bertie backed away. “It wasn’t my fault…” he stammered. “How was I to know Whiffer doesn’t like Nick’s singing?”
“I warned you,” stormed Miss Boot. “I warned you if that—”
She broke off. Whiffer had trotted over to say hello. Miss Boot backed off. Her face had gone white.
“Shoo! Get away!” she said.
“It’s OK. He won’t bite, he just wants to play!” said Bertie.
But Miss Boot didn’t want to play. Miss Boot was in retreat. Whiffer bounded after her. With a squawk, Miss Boot bolted into the vestry and slammed the door behind her.
“Miss Boot?” said Bertie, through the door.
“GO AWAY!” shouted Miss Boot. “JUST GO!”
Bertie didn’t need any more persuasion. He went.
Darren and Eugene were waiting outside.
“Well, what happened?” asked Eugene.
“Nothing,” said Bertie. “She told me to go.”
“Teachers!” said Darren, shaking his head.
“Anyway,” said Eugene, brightening up, “tomorrow’s the Christmas holidays. What shall we do?”
Bertie considered it. “I know!” he said. “We could take Whiffer carol singing!”
“Brilliant!” said Darren.
“Wicked!” said Eugene.
“I’m sure Miss Boot would love a visit,” said Bertie. “Anyone know where she lives?”
CHAPTER 1
Bertie could hardly wait. Tomorrow was the school Christmas Fair. Mince pies and sticky fudge. Jam jars stuffed with sweets. Tombola, Lucky Dip and Guess the Weight of the Christmas Pudding. Maybe Miss Boot would fall off the stage like last year?
“HO HO HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS!” boomed a voice.
Bertie looked up. His dad was wearing a bright-red suit, black boots and a cotton-wool beard.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked.
“Who are you meant to be?” asked Bertie.
“Who does it look like? I’m Father
Christmas!”
“Oh,” said Bertie.
“It’s for the fair. Santa’s Grotto. Mr Grouch can’t do it this year as he’s lost his voice, so I offered to stand in.”
“You’re going to be Father Christmas?” said Bertie.
“Yes.”
“At the fair? My school fair?”
“Yes. In fact I was wondering if you might like to help?”
“Me?” said Bertie. “How?”
When parents asked for help they usually meant laying the table or weeding the garden. They never wanted help finishing a box of chocolates.
Dad held up a costume. It was a little red tunic with a green felt hat.
“I need an elf,” he said. “To help in the grotto.”
“Oh,” said Bertie. “No thanks.”
“Go on, Bertie, it’ll be fun.”
Bertie shook his head. No way was he going to dress up in a soppy pixie outfit and have everyone laugh at him.
“You won’t have to do much,” said Dad. “Just take the money and show the children in.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“Because I’m Father Christmas. I’ll be busy in the grotto.”
“Well I’ll be busy, too,” said Bertie.
“Doing what?”
“Going round the fair.”
“There’ll be plenty of time to do that afterwards,” argued Dad.
“Sorry,” said Bertie.
Dad pulled off his beard and sighed. “Oh well, I’ll just have to give the present to someone else then.”
Bertie pricked up his ears. “What present?”
“The one I was going to give you from my sack. I’ve got hundreds. Help me tomorrow and you can take your pick.”