The Adventures of Nanny Piggins (3 page)

Later that night, after their three-course meal of chocolate, chocolate and more chocolate, Nanny Piggins set to work making the uniforms. She took Michael and Derrick's best trousers and shirts and set them to soak in a tub of ugly grey liquid. The tan trousers and blue shirts quickly absorbed the dye.

Samantha's uniform was more tricky to mimic. They had not found an ugly green dress, but they had found an ugly pink one. The type of dress that cleaning ladies wear, which has a zipper up the front. She and the children then spent the rest of the evening converting it into a school uniform by colouring it in with wax crayons.

The tartan of Samantha's uniform was a complicated pattern of wide green and blue stripes highlighted with thin lines of white and yellow. Fortunately Derrick, Samantha and Michael were all very gifted at colouring between the lines, and they made slow but steady progress. When they stopped for a chocolate break at eleven o'clock, three hours after good children usually go to bed, it was almost done. It looked so good, even Samantha stopped worrying. Although that may have had something to do with the fact that she was half-mad from eating so much chocolate.

'Well, children. I think we have had an excellent day. It is a shame your father does not give me $500 to buy uniforms more often,' declared Nanny Piggins. The children only nodded their agreement, as their mouths were too stuffed full of chocolate to speak.

The next morning the children went to school. On close inspection, their uniforms did look slightly different. But the teachers did not notice. The homemade uniforms were ugly and, since they were just as ugly as all the other children's uniforms, there was nothing to make them stand out. This meant that Derrick, Samantha and Michael passed through their morning lessons without comment. Apart from Barry Nichols, who said to Derrick, 'Nice geometry set.'

But sadly, at little lunch, things went terribly wrong. It was an extremely hot day. And, as it clearly says on the side of every box of wax crayons, 'crayons should be stored out of the sun'. And Samantha did not consider the full implications of the manufacturer's warning before agreeing to prove to Michelle Bampton that she was the world's greatest unco at handball. Five minutes into their gruelling match Samantha felt something trickle down her leg. At first she assumed it was sweat. But when Michelle stopped playing mid-point to stare at her, Samantha looked down and realised her uniform was melting.

'Why is your dress turning pink?' Michelle asked stupidly. For pink bits were indeed beginning to reappear where the molten crayon had rubbed away. This was bad. Samantha knew she had to do something. But what? Her mind raced as she hastily tried to think of an exit strategy. She had barely asked herself the question, 'What would Nanny Piggins do?' when the unnaturally deep voice of their deputy headmistress, Miss Bellows, boomed out behind her.

'What has happened to your uniform?'

Samantha felt like she was stuck in quicksand in a Tarzan movie. She was trapped and there was nothing she could do except hope that someone would come along to save her.

Meanwhile, the boys, oblivious to their sister's dilemma, had chosen to relieve the heat the way all thoughtless little boys do, by engaging in a water fight. To be fair, it was not their idea. They only decided to take part after Derrick had been hit in the head by a lunchbox full of water. Within sixty seconds, they were both soaked to the skin.

Obviously being wet is against school rules. But having dye run out of your school uniform and onto the school carpet is even more against the school rules, even if there is no actual rule stating that.

So Samantha was soon joined by Michael and Derrick, standing on a thick spread of newspaper outside Headmaster Pimplestock's office. And there they forlornly waited for Nanny Piggins to arrive.

Half an hour later Nanny Piggins strode in through the front door. Unlike the children, she looked fabulous. She was wearing a peppermint-green suit, which perfectly suited her complexion. And her hair was set into a series of elegant swirls miraculously balanced on top of her head. It looked as if it had taken three hours to arrange by a Hollywood hair and make-up artist. Th e children were used to seeing Nanny Piggins with chocolate smeared across her face, so they found it daunting to see her so immaculately groomed.

Nanny Piggins paused in front of Derrick, Samantha and Michael and looked them up and down, clicking her tongue with disgust. Even though the whole thing had been her idea, she did look genuinely angry with them. The children hoped she was pretending. But, because she was so good at pretending, they could not be entirely sure.

Nanny Piggins marched into the headmaster's office. But before Headmaster Pimplestock could draw breath to voice his litany of complaints, she both shocked and pleased the children by unexpectedly yelling at him, 'What on earth have you done to my children?'

'Done? Wh–Why . . . I . . . that is to say the school . . .' spluttered Headmaster Pimplestock.

Nanny Piggins did not allow him to continue. 'When they left home this morning, they were dressed in brand new store-bought uniforms. Someone has obviously robbed them of their new clothes en route to school. Perhaps within the grounds of this very institution.'

'Madam, I assure you . . .' Headmaster Pimplestock began to protest. But Nanny Piggins was not going to let him continue.

'I am shocked that you allow this disgraceful criminal activity to go on in a school. Mr Green pays good money to have his children educated here, based on the assumption that they will be protected from crime. He will be most angry when I tell him about this. He will probably demand a refund of the fees,' Nanny Piggins boldly declared. Now she really had Headmaster Pimplestock worried.

'My good lady, there's no need . . .' he began.

But Nanny Piggins interrupted again. 'No need?! No need to ensure that Mr Green's money is not wasted?'

'No, I mean no need to get upset. If the children's uniforms have been stolen by somebody, I'm sure not associated with this school, they can easily be replaced. We have a large supply of excellent quality second hand uni–'

'Second-hand! Mr Green will not have his children wearing the second-hand hand-me-downs of strangers,' declared Nanny Piggins.

'Of course. What I meant was that I am sure we, the school, can reimburse you for the cost of new uniforms,' grovelled Headmaster Pimplestock.

'That's more like it.'

'Why don't you take the children home to bathe? Then, if they are fitted for their new uniforms tomorrow, we shall look forward to seeing them again first thing on Wednesday morning . . . if that would be convenient for you?' Headmaster Pimplestock added, looking suitably brow-beaten.

'All right,' agreed Nanny Piggins.

Headmaster Pimplestock took the petty cash tin out of his desk. 'Let's see, $500 ought to cover it.'

The children could not believe it. Just when everything had gone absolutely horribly wrong, when they were on the verge of being thrown out of school, disowned by their father and probably chucked into a home for delinquent children, a miracle had occurred. They could not believe their eyes as they watched Headmaster Pimplestock count out another five crisp, new, $100 notes. Everything was going to be all right after all.

'Would you like it in an envelope?' Headmaster Pimplestock asked.

'Ah yes, to hide the money? Of course. No, on second thought, it's all right, I have my own,' said Nanny Piggins, taking out her empty envelope from the previous day.

Five minutes later, the children and Nanny Piggins were walking out through the school gates. The children were still shell-shocked by their good fortune.

'I can't believe it. We've got the rest of today and all of tomorrow off school,' exclaimed Derrick. He was delighted.

'And we've got $500 to spend,' said Nanny Piggins as she peered into the bulging envelope.

'But Nanny Piggins, surely you should spend this $500 on actually buying uniforms,' said Samantha.

'Pish,' said Nanny Piggins. 'You don't need uniforms until Wednesday. I'm sure we can find something better to invest the money on in the meantime.'

Leonardo da Piggins

Derrick, Samantha and Michael charged into the room where Nanny Piggins sat, studying the TV guide and sipping her cup of coffee.

'Can Samson and Margaret come over to play?' asked Derrick, clearly struggling to contain his excitement.

'Please, Nanny Piggins, please,' begged Michael.

'What?' asked Nanny Piggins. She didn't like having her morning cup of coffee disturbed. Certainly not with the horrible suggestion of playing hostess to the Wallace children.

'We'll be really good,' Samantha assured her.

'I don't know. Aren't there rooms that need to be tidied or things that need to be cleaned?' asked Nanny Piggins. She strained hard to think of an excuse, trying to remember the chores that she had heard little children should be expected to do. It is not that Nanny Piggins disliked the Wallace children. They were pleasant enough. As pleasant as rich children who never seem to dirty their clothes can be. What Nanny Piggins did not like was the Wallace nanny, Nanny Anne. Nanny Anne was just too disgustingly perfect to believe. She always wore perfect clothes and had perfect hair and arranged perfect day trips to perfectly complement the children's perfect education.

'Wouldn't you rather do anything else?' Nanny Piggins asked hopefully. 'We could go rat catching, or throw things in the river to see if they float.' These were two of Nanny Piggins' favourite activities. 'Perhaps we could catch some rats and then throw them in the river?'

But the children were not to be outwitted. They were not very fond of the Wallace children either. They were, however, deeply in love with the remote control car that Samson (the oldest Wallace) had promised to bring. So they had devised a plan to tempt Nanny Piggins into agreement.

'Nanny Anne says she will bring a cake,' said Samantha. All three children held their breaths as they waited to see how their nanny would react. Just as they expected, her ears immediately pricked up.

'What sort of cake?' Nanny Piggins asked cautiously.

'Samson is still on the phone. I could ask?' suggested Derrick.

'Yes, run and ask him. I will need to know precisely what sort of cake before I agree to anything,' Nanny Piggins said.

Derrick raced out of the room to the phone in the corridor. Samantha and Michael waited in silence with their fingers crossed. Moments later Derrick burst back in. 'Banana cake!' he wheezed. He was out of breath from the excitement and the running.

Nanny Piggins pulled a face of disgust. 'Banana cake,' she said, managing to fit a lot of contempt into those two words. To her mind, cake and fruit were at cross purposes. It was an insult to cake to try to combine the two. Admittedly, banana cake was not as bad as carrot cake. Grinding up vegetables and putting them in cake was, in her opinion, an act of fraud that should be punishable by imprisonment.

But Derrick had a trump card. 'Banana cake . . . with chocolate chips!' he added triumphantly.

That sealed the deal. 'Tell them to come at two o'clock,' said Nanny Piggins.

'Hooray!' yelled all three children.

'Let's spend all morning making a really tough obstacle course to see if we can crash Samson's car,' suggested Samantha.

'Good idea,' agreed Derrick, and they rushed outside to do just that.

* * *

Later that afternoon Nanny Piggins sat listening to Nanny Anne. It was a deeply unpleasant experience, a lot like having a fly caught in your eardrum: very loud and off-putting. But Nanny Piggins managed to bear the torment by making sure she had a slice of banana cake with chocolate chips in her mouth at all times.

'You seem to be enjoying the cake,' simpered Nanny Anne with a smug little smile.

Nanny Piggins squinted at her out of the corner of her eye. She had indeed eaten three quarters of the cake on her own. And at such a speed that a considerable amount of it had become smeared around her mouth and across her face. But Nanny Piggins would sooner stick a pin in her trotter than admit she liked anything Nanny Anne had made. 'Not enough chocolate chips,' was her only response as she wedged yet another slice into her mouth.

Nanny Anne did not seem to mind being ignored. She was quite happy to sit and recite a monologue of all the worthy things she had done with Samson and Margaret. 'I think it is ever so important to take children to the art gallery. They learn so much about beautiful things there. When was the last time you took your children to the art gallery?' Nanny Anne asked slyly. Fully confident that whatever Nanny Piggins' answer might be, it would confirm her own nannying superiority.

Nanny Piggins might have been feeling slightly ill from eating too much cake (no doubt it was the banana that was disagreeing with her) but she was not going to let herself be gazzumped by Nanny Anne. So she swallowed her large mouthful of cake and began to embroider the most spectacular tale her imagination could supply.

'I have been so busy teaching the children about the Westminster system of parliament, the role of the electron in the depletion of the ozone layer and . . .' She struggled to think of a third really impressive thing. '. . . and all about chocolate that I am afraid I have not had time to take them to the art gallery. It is on my list of the 3700 incredibly important things I plan to do with them. The 3521st thing was to go to the art gallery. And, as it happens, we did the 3520th thing this morning, when I taught them how to light a fire with just a stick and a piece of string. So we will be going to the art gallery first thing tomorrow morning.'

Nanny Anne was rendered temporarily speechless. Which, of course, had been Nanny Piggins' goal. Big fibs are much better than small fibs when you want to gazzump somebody. Nanny Piggins used the temporary silence to stuffthe final piece of banana cake into her mouth and rudely say, with her mouth full, 'Thank you for coming but you had better go now. Before we let the wild dog loose in the house for daily exercise.'

'You let a wild dog exercise in the house?' asked Nanny Anne.

'Oh no, we let a wild dog in the house to exercise the children. It chases them around to keep them fit,' explained Nanny Piggins.

Nanny Anne eyed Nanny Piggins beadily as she tried to assess whether or not she was telling the truth. But Nanny Piggins was a master of appearing to look innocent when she definitely was not. So Nanny Anne decided to gather up Samson and Margaret and make a hasty retreat without waiting to see the wild dog for herself.

* * *

'Did you enjoy playing with Samson's car?' Nanny Piggins asked her three, hot and sweaty charges after the Wallaces were safely offthe property.

'Oh, yes,' said Michael. 'Derrick drove it straight into the fish pond. And Samson actually cried until he saw it drive up the bank on the other side.'

'Well, I hope it was lots of fun,' said Nanny Piggins, 'to make up for the fact that we all have to go to the art gallery tomorrow. Where we will, no doubt, be bored witless by millions of paintings of naked, fat ladies.'

'But why do we have to go to the art gallery?' asked Derrick, crestfallen to think that such a wonderful play date had now gone so horribly wrong.

'It's all Nanny Anne's fault,' explained Nanny Piggins. 'The things I have to do to prove she's not better than me. It's ridiculous. I'll bet she's never been fired out of a cannon in her life. And still she goes around putting on airs.'

'Will the art gallery be completely awful?' asked Michael. Until now his only experience of art had involved finger painting. Which, in his opinion, was wonderfully squishy and messy, but he suspected that grown-ups would know how to suck the fun out of even that.

'I imagine it will be utterly dreadful,' said Nanny Piggins. But she relented when she saw the three sad faces. 'Never mind. If we all wear sneakers, we can run around the gallery as quickly as possible. Th e whole thing shouldn't take more than five minutes. Then we can go somewhere else and eat ice-cream.'

* * *

As it turned out the trip to the art gallery was not altogether unpleasant. There were a lot more violent bloodthirsty paintings than Nanny Piggins had expected so she made the children stop running to have a look at them. Derrick's favourite painting was of French soldiers charging into battle to kill Russians. Samantha's favourite painting was of a pretty lady called Judith hacking a man's head off with a knife. And Michael's favourite painting was of a field full of cows. The cows were not doing anything exciting but he had always liked cows, which was surprising, given that he did not at all like milk.

Fifteen minutes after entering the gallery, Nanny Piggins and the children made their way down to the ground floor, having spent three times as long looking at paintings as they had planned to. Nanny Piggins was even beginning to think charitable thoughts like, 'Perhaps culture isn't so bad after all,' and 'Maybe I'll bring the children back again in four or five years' time,' as they approached the final room. There was a sign by the doorway explaining that this room did not contain works from the regular collection. These pictures were finalists in the gallery's annual portrait prize.

'What's a portrait?' asked Michael.

'Good question,' said Nanny Piggins. This is what she always said when she did not know the answer to something.

'It's a painting of a person,' said Derrick.

'Really?' asked Nanny Piggins. She was slightly impressed. Perhaps Derrick was more intelligent that she had taken him for.

'It says so on the wall,' said Michael, pointing to a sign on the wall.

'Ah, yes,' said Nanny Piggins. 'You can learn a lot from walls.'

And so the four of them entered the room to see the portraits for themselves. Sadly, none of them liked what they saw. There were no soldiers, no beheadings and not even any cows. But it was not the absence of these pleasant things that made the portraits so disappointing. The problem was they were all pictures of people and yet none of them looked like people at all. Some were done only using squares and triangles. And some were done with yellows and greens and other colours you would never see on a real person's face no matter how sick they were.

Nanny Piggins was horrified. She went over to the security guard standing in the corner. 'What on earth do you call this?' she demanded as she pointed to a particularly unattractive blue stick figure of a man bending over.

'That's what they call "modern art",' said the guard glumly. He clearly was not much more impressed himself.

'That's what
I
call a load of old rubbish,' declared Nanny Piggins.

'You're not the first person to say that,' admitted the guard.

'I could paint better than that with four trotters tied behind my back,' said Nanny Piggins.

'You should give it a go then,' said the guard. 'These are the finalists from last year's competition. Entries for this year can be submitted up until next week . . .'

'I wouldn't waste my time–' began Nanny Piggins.

'The winner gets $50,000,' said the guard.

'What?' Nanny Piggins was electrified. 'Did you say $50?'

'I said $50,000,' said the guard.

'$50,000! Why that's more than $500 and it's more than $5000!' Nanny Piggins tried to mentally come to terms with this enormous sum. 'Surely that's more money than exists in the world?'

'Oh, it exists all right. And they give it away to any old nutbar who bangs down a bit of oil on canvas, if you ask me,' said the guard.

'Well, I intend to be this year's nutbar,' said Nanny Piggins.

* * *

Painting a portrait turned out to be a lot more difficult than Nanny Piggins had anticipated. She knew the actual painting part would be easy. All you had to do was wipe paint onto canvas in the appropriate places. Any pig could do that. The hard part was deciding who to paint. According to the rules of the competition the portrait had to be of 'an important person'. So Nanny Piggins and the children wracked their minds all afternoon trying to think of somebody suitable.

'We must know someone important,' said Nanny Piggins.

'I can't think of anyone off the top of my head,' said Derrick.

'What about the Headmaster Pimplestock from school?' asked Samantha.

'Yuck! Nobody likes headmasters,' said Nanny Piggins dismissively.

'How about Hans the baker,' asked Michael.

'He's not important,' Samantha pointed out.

'No, but he makes delicious custard tarts,' protested Michael.

This weighed heavily with Nanny Piggins because she did like a custard tart almost as much as she liked a chocolate cake. But she suspected that the judges of the portrait prize would not share her high regard for the baking profession.

'No, we need someone who has really done something special with their lives: a hero, an adventurer, a really glamorous person,' said Nanny Piggins.

'Then why don't you paint a picture of you,' suggested Michael.

'What?' asked Nanny Piggins.

'Oh yes, that's a very good idea. When you do a portrait of yourself it's called a self-portrait. You could do one of those,' said Samantha.

'Me?' said Nanny Piggins. She was not too sure.

'Of course, you're someone who has really done something. You've been blasted out of a cannon night after night at the circus. And there was the time they accidentally put too much gun powder in the cannon and you were blasted right through the roof of the tent. I bet no other pig has ever done that,' said Derrick

'True, true, very true,' agreed Nanny Piggins.

'You have to be brave, heroic and an all-round glamorous person to be blasted out of a cannon,' agreed Samantha.

'Everybody knows that,' says Michael, even though the thought had never occurred to him before.

'You children all make good arguments,' said Nanny Piggins. 'I can see that I would make an excellent subject for a portrait. The only problem is how am I going to paint myself? I can't sit across the other side of the room from myself to get a good look at my appearance. No matter how fast I ran back and forth across the room, I could never get far enough away from myself to have a really good look.'

The logic of this really did stump the children. They thought long and hard on it for at least ten seconds before Samantha had the second brilliant idea of the day. 'I know! You can look at yourself in a mirror,' she said.