Mr Majeika and the School Book Week

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  MR MAJEIKA AND THE SCHOOL BOOK WEEK

  Humphrey Carpenter (1946–2005), the author and creator of Mr Majeika, was born and educated in Oxford. He went to a school called the Dragon School where exciting things often happened and there were some very odd teachers – you could even call it magical! He became a full-time writer in 1975 and was the author of many award-winning biographies. As well as the Mr Majeika titles, his children’s books also included Shakespeare Without the Boring Bits and More Shakespeare Without the Boring Bits. He wrote plays for radio and theatre and founded the children’s drama group The Mushy Pea Theatre Company. He played the tuba, double bass, bass saxophone and keyboard.

  Humphrey once said, “The nice thing about being a writer is that you can make magic happen without learning tricks. Words are the only tricks you need. I can write: ‘He floated up to the ceiling, and a baby rabbit came out of his pocket, grew wings, and flew away.’ And you will believe that it really happened! That’s magic, isn’t it?”

  Books by Humphrey Carpenter

  MR MAJEIKA

  MR MAJEIKA AND THE DINNER LADY

  MR MAJEIKA AND THE GHOST TRAIN

  MR MAJEIKA AND THE HAUNTED HOTEL

  MR MAJEIKA AND THE LOST SPELL BOOK

  MR MAJEIKA AND THE MUSIC TEACHER

  MR MAJEIKA AND THE SCHOOL BOOK WEEK

  MR MAJEIKA AND THE SCHOOL CARETAKER

  MR MAJEIKA AND THE SCHOOL INSPECTOR

  MR MAJEIKA AND THE SCHOOL PLAY

  MR MAJEIKA AND THE SCHOOL TRIP

  MR MAJEIKA ON THE INTERNET

  MR MAJEIKA VANISHES

  THE PUFFIN BOOK OF CLASSIC

  CHILDREN’S STORIES (Ed.)

  SHAKESPEARE WITHOUT THE BORING BITS

  MORE SHAKESPEARE WITHOUT THE

  BORING BITS

  HUMPHREY CARPENTER

  Mr Majeika and the School Book Week

  Illustrated by Frank Rodgers

  PUFFIN

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA), Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell,

  Victoria 3124, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2

  Penguin Books India (P) Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park,

  New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd, Cnr Rosedale and Airborne Roads, Albany, Auckland,

  New Zealand

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published by Viking 1992

  Published in Puffin Books 1993

  22

  Text copyright © Humphrey Carpenter, 1992

  Illustrations copyright © Frank Rodgers, 1992

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-0-14-194444-9

  Contents

  1. Fight the Flab

  2. Story Time

  3. Hello, Europe!

  1. Fight the Flab

  “This term,” said Mr Potter, the head teacher, addressing the first assembly of the new term at St Barty’s School, “we have a new games teacher. Her name is Miss Johnson, and she’ll be joining us next week. She would have been here today, but she’s suffering from the flu.”

  “Huh, some games teacher if she goes to bed with the flu,” shouted Hamish Bigmore, from the back of the hall. “You never get ill if you’re really fit – like me!” Hamish, the nuisance of Class Three, had been spending the holidays taking a bodybuilding course. He had brought his chest-expander to school, and was doing exercises with it in assembly.

  “Be quiet, Hamish,” called Mr Potter, “and put that thing away.”

  Hamish paid no attention. “I was once a five-stone weakling,” he crowed, “but look at me now.”

  “Yes,” said Thomas, who was standing next to him, “look at him now. He’s an eight-stone weakling. The only exercise Hamish ever takes is munching chocolates!”

  “He must have the strongest jaw in the school,” said Thomas’s twin brother, Pete. “But as for the rest of him, he looks like a bungled entry for a Stuff-a-Cushion competition.”

  “I’ll have you know,” snarled Hamish, “that my mum takes me to her Weightwatchers class to show me off.”

  “Yes,” said Jody, Thomas and Pete’s friend. “To show you off as an awful warning.”

  Hamish made a very loud, very rude noise at Thomas, Pete and Jody, and Mr Potter got very angry and gave them all detention during the lunch break.

  The following Monday morning, Mr Potter was sitting in his office, trying to add up the dinner money, when the door burst open. “Are you Potter?” boomed a voice. “Pringle’s the name, Prudence Pringle. I’m your new games teacher.”

  Mr Potter blinked. “But we were expecting a Miss Johnson,” he said.

  “The poor thing’s really very ill with the flu,” thundered Miss Pringle, “so she sent me instead. Shake!” She offered Mr Potter her hand, and when he took it, he found his arm being almost shaken off.

  “But I d-d-don’t know anything about you, Miss, er, Pringle,” he stuttered.

  “What are your qualifications?”

  “Pretty good,” snapped Miss Pringle, releasing Mr Potter’s hand. “Just back from training the British team for the Olympics.”

  “Training them in what?” asked Mr Potter.

  “Oh, everything – running, jumping, throwing things, the greasy pole, you name it and I’m a gold medallist in it.”

  “Er, I see,” said Mr Potter, who didn’t remember seeing a greasy pole competition when he had watched the Olympic Games on TV. “But if you’re so fit, Miss Pringle, why is your face wrapped up in a scarf?” For Miss Pringle’s mouth and the end of her nose were entirely hidden by a long scarf.

  “None of your business,” snapped Miss Pringle, in a rather different voice from the booming one in which she had spoken so far – a voice which Mr Potter thought he

  had heard somewhere before, though he couldn’t remember where.

  “Perhaps you’ve got toothache?” he suggested nervously.

  “That’s right,” said Miss Pringle, returning to the low-pitched voice. “I’ve got toothache. And now, Potter, I’m going to get on with the job. I want the whole school out in the playground, now.”

  “The whole school?” queried Mr Potter. “But we don’t organize games and PE like that at St Barty’s. We do it class by class. I’ll show you the timetable.”

  “I said the whole school,” boomed Miss Pringle, picking up Mr Potter by the scruff of the neck. “The whole school, including the teachers!”

  Meanwhile, Mr Majeika was teaching Class Three. Mr Majeika had once been a wizard. Occasionally he forgot that he wasn’t a wizard any more, and did some magic. But most of the time there was no
magic in Class Three, just ordinary lessons, some of them interesting, but

  many of them rather boring. There was a boring one going on now. So nobody, not even Mr Majeika (who was bored by the lesson himself), minded when Mr Potter stuck his head round the door of Class Three, and explained that the new games teacher wished to have the whole school out in the playground right away.

  “So sorry to interrupt you, Majeika,” said Mr Potter, “but Miss Pringle insists. She’s rather a forceful lady.”

  “Not at all, Mr Potter,” said Mr Majeika.

  “I don’t mind having a little break from teaching. I’ll see Class Three back here, shall I, in about half an hour?”

  “I’m afraid you’ve got to come too, Majeika,” said Mr Potter. “She wants the teachers as well.”

  When Mr Majeika and Class Three reached the playground, Miss Pringle was already roaring out orders to the other classes. “Run on the spot, at the double! One-two, one-two, one-two! I can see three teachers slacking at the back there. No laziness, or I’ll have you all doing extra PE after school.” The teachers muttered and complained, but Miss Pringle ran up behind them, blowing her whistle, and bullied them into running on the spot as fast as the pupils.

  When Miss Pringle saw Class Three arriving, she made them stand in the middle of the playground, where everyone could see them. “Ah,” she boomed, “Class Three. Rather late, aren’t we? Let’s have you all touching your toes twenty times, starting now!” She blew her whistle, and walked up and down the line as they all touched their toes, shouting at anyone who wasn’t doing it properly – anyone, that is, except Hamish Bigmore.

  Hamish was only half-pretending to bend over. He was taking chocolates out of

  his pocket and stuffing them into his mouth. Thomas and Pete expected that Miss Pringle would get in a rage with him when she saw this, but instead she said: “Well done, Hamish! Aren’t you a good boy?” Then she turned to Mr Majeika. “As for you, Majeika,” she roared, “put your back into it! Just because you call yourself a

  teacher, that doesn’t mean you can slack. Come out to the front and do twenty press-ups!”

  Poor Mr Majeika protested, but Mr Potter called out, “You’d better do as she says, Majeika. She insists that the entire school trains to Olympic standards.”

  “That’s right, Potter,” boomed Miss Pringle. “And that goes for you too. You can do forty press-ups, starting right away.”

  Half an hour later, utterly exhausted, Class Three staggered back into their classroom. Mr Majeika was panting for breath. “If this goes on,” he gasped, “I’m going to have to find another job. I can’t stay here if Mr Potter’s going to allow her to be in charge.”

  “Did you notice something funny, Mr Majeika?” asked Jody. “She knew Hamish’s name, and yours, but she’s only just arrived in the school.”

  “And she didn’t mind Hamish eating chocolates,” said Pete. “Something odd is going on.”

  “Why has she got that scarf wrapped round her face?” asked Thomas.

  “Mr Potter says it’s because she’s got toothache,” said Mr Majeika.

  “She reminds me of someone,” said Jody, “but I can’t think who. I’m sure there’s something fishy about her.”

  “Fishy or not,” said Mr Majeika, “I just wish she’d go away.”

  But she didn’t. Miss Pringle was definitely at St Barty’s to stay, and as the days passed, she made the children and teachers do more and more exhausting exercises. “Why does Mr Potter put up with it?” asked Jody. “She’s exhausting him as much as any of us – she made him do fifty press-ups today.”

  “He’s terrified of her,” said Thomas. “I saw her pick him up with one hand and shake him. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “And meanwhile, Hamish just stands there stuffing chocolates, and she doesn’t care,” said Pete. “I don’t understand it. For some reason he’s her star pupil. I can’t make out –” He stopped. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Star Pupil. Doesn’t that ring a bell?”

  “Wilhelmina Worlock,” said Mr Majeika. “You don’t think…?”

  Wilhelmina Worlock was a witch, and a very nasty one. She had come to St Barty’s as a music teacher, and had tried to take

  over the school. The only person to whom she hadn’t been horrible was Hamish Bigmore, whom she called her Star Pupil. Mr Majeika had managed to get rid of her by magic, but since then she had turned up several times, trying to get her revenge.

  “It can’t be Miss Worlock,” said Thomas. “She hasn’t got glasses.”

  “She could have taken them off, you fathead,” said Pete. “Pull that scarf off her face, Mr Majeika, and see if it really is her.”

  Mr Majeika thought for a moment.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “But if it is Wilhelmina, she could be very dangerous. Even if I try spells against her, I could have an awful time, because she can use magic back at me.”

  “Yes, Mr Majeika,” said Jody, “do be careful. You know how dangerous she is.”

  The next day, Thomas hurried into Class Three. “I’m sure it’s her,” he said. “I caught a glimpse of her winding the scarf around her face as she was coming out of the staff cloakroom, and the nose and chin looked just like Miss Worlock. And she was tucking some glasses into her pocket.”

  “And she’s put up a notice,” said Jody, “announcing that there’s to be an Olympic Sports Day, at which the whole school will compete for the title of Star Pupil.”

  “She’ll want Hamish to win, of course,” said Pete.

  “I can’t think how she’ll manage that,” said Thomas. “Hamish has eaten so many chocolates this term that he can scarcely walk, let alone run, jump, pole-vault, throw the discus, or do all the other Olympic sports.”

  The Olympic Sports Day dawned bright and clear, and lots of parents gathered on the school sports field to watch the competitions.

  “Hello, boys and girls, mums and dads,” announced Miss Pringle, through a megaphone. “Welcome to our Olympic Sports Day. We’ll begin with the long jump.”

  Everyone lined up to take their turn at the long jump. Miss Pringle stood by the jump, blowing her whistle for each competitor, and writing down how far they had jumped. Finally, there was only Hamish left to do the jump. “What a feeble lot you are,” roared Miss Pringle.

  “We’re not feeble,” shouted Thomas angrily. “We’ve most of us jumped pretty well.”

  “Quiet, there, cheeky monkey, or I’ll make you do a hundred press-ups. And now it’s the turn of Hamish Bigmore.” Miss Pringle smiled sweetly at Hamish.

  Hamish grinned a sticky grin back at her – his face was smeared with chocolate – and waddled up towards the jump. “Look at that,” giggled Jody. “He won’t be able to jump at all.” But as Hamish reached the line, Miss Pringle pointed a finger at the long jump, and the ground itself suddenly shrank, so that Hamish only had to step over the line to reach the end of the sand-pit.

  “A record!” screamed Miss Pringle at the top of her voice. “Hamish Bigmore has broken an Olympic record!” She waved her hands again, and the ground stretched out again to its normal length, so that Hamish was at the far end of the sand-pit.

  “What a barefaced pair of cheats they are,” fumed Pete. “Surely all the parents saw what happened?”

  “It was magic,” said Mr Majeika, “and they don’t believe in magic, so they must think they imagined it.” Certainly there were some puzzled faces among the parents. They looked as if they didn’t believe their eyes.

  “High jump!” announced Miss Pringle, and lined everyone up behind the high jump. Again, Hamish was left till last, and when his turn came, Miss Pringle called out, “And now for our record-breaking Hamish Bigmore. Let’s see if you can break another Olympic record, Hamish.” She raised the bar to a much higher level than it had been before.

  “He’ll never get over that,” laughed Thomas.

  “Can’t you guess what’s going to happen?” said Jody.

  Sure enough, wh
en Hamish ran up to the bar, Miss Pringle pointed her finger at it, and in a fraction of a second it had dropped to ground level – and then, when Hamish was safely over, it rose to its full height again.

  “Another record!” she screamed.

  “Hamish Bigmore is a world-beater. No need to go on with the Sports Day, because Hamish Bigmore is definitely the

  Star Pupil of St Barty’s! But it isn’t St Barty’s any more.” She unwound the scarf from her face, and put on her glasses. “No, my dears, it’s the Wilhelmina Worlock Olympic Sports School, where we do press-ups all day long, the parents as well as the children, and anyone who doesn’t manage to touch their toes a hundred times will be turned into a toad! He, he, he, he, he!”

  “Wait a minute,” called Mr Majeika.

  “Now that you’ve revealed yourself, Wilhelmina, as the wicked witch you really are, do you admit that you and Hamish are the biggest cheats that have ever been seen on a school sports field?”

  “Certainly not, you weasly little wizard,” snapped Miss Worlock. “Hamish would earn a gold medal in any Olympic sport, and what’s more, so would I.”

  “Very well,” said Mr Majeika. “Show us. If you’re so brilliant, why doesn’t Hamish try the long jump and the high jump again – with you competing as well?”

  Miss Worlock scowled at him, but Hamish said, “Of course we will! We’ll show you who are the record-breakers.”

  Unwillingly, Miss Worlock lined up alongside Hamish for the long jump. “Go!” shouted Mr Majeika, and they ran and jumped – and landed with a muddy splash, because Mr Majeika had waved his hands and turned the sand-pit into a mess of sticky mud.

  “Why, you –” spluttered Miss Worlock, as she got to her feet and tried to scrape off the mud. “I’ll turn you into a –”

  “The high jump first, Wilhelmina,” said Mr Majeika. “Let’s see if you and Hamish can get over that bar without magical assistance.”

  Grumbling that she would turn him into a toad, or worse, as soon as she’d finished the high jump, Miss Worlock again lined up with Hamish.