quite so ugly any more. It was very odd.
‘I think it’s the country air,’ said Celia. ‘My skin’s better too.’
‘What are your medals for, Nanny McPhee?’ said Norman.
Nanny McPhee looked down at her chest and, pointing to each one in turn, said, ‘Courage. Kindness. Resolve. Imagination. Enthusiasm. Basketwork and Leaps of Faith.’
They all nodded, highly impressed.
At that moment, Mr Spolding made a huge exploding noise. Everyone looked over. He was pretending to be a bomb.
g
g
‘BOOFBANGBIFFBOOFBOOF!’ he shouted, going very pink in the face. ‘You see, Mrs Green? There’s a war on and that’s the sort of fatalistic explosion that could happen any second of the moment! That’s what you people don’t seem to understand! And that’s why I’m here – to protect you from yourselves!’
‘That’s enough now, Algernon,’ said Mrs Docherty, who understood Mr Spolding very well.
‘So,’ said Mr Spolding, taking no notice of anyone at all, ‘if a bomb drops, let me know as soon as possible!’
‘You’ll probably notice all by yourself, Mr Spolding,’ said Mrs Green kindly. ‘Anyway, guess what! It’s time for ginger beer!’
Vincent let out a huge whoop, which was echoed by all the other children (except Cyril) as they ran up to Mrs Green and queued with their tumblers for the precious treat. Vincent got his first and went and sat on the very far edge of the blanket so that no one could jog him or ask him for a sip because they’d gulped theirs down too quickly. You remember what I told you about Vincent and his chocolate bars and how long he could make them last. Well, he planned to make this little glass of ginger beer last right up until bedtime. He watched it for a bit and smelt it and then looked up and far away so that he could forget about it and then get a lovely surprise. While he was busy forgetting, he caught sight of a familiar blue suit walking along the edge of the field.
‘Here’s Uncle Phil!’ he cried. ‘Quick! Finish the buns!’
It wasn’t that Vincent was being mean or even that he didn’t like his uncle. He did. It was just that everyone was used to the fact that you could rely on Uncle Phil to turn up just when a cake was being taken out of the oven or when a bottle of something nice was being opened.
Mrs Green shielded her eyes against the sun and said, ‘He’s never normally late when there are treats. Here he is though – with his bloomin’ contract.’ But she said the bit about the contract under her breath.
But as Phil got closer it became clear that it wasn’t the contract he was carrying, it was something much smaller. Mrs Green narrowed her eyes, ‘Ooh!’ she said excitedly. ‘It’s not the contract, it’s too small – it must be a letter!’
Vincent jumped up, taking great care not to spill his ginger beer.
Now everyone gathered to watch Phil approaching. Mr Spolding leaned over to Mrs Docherty and said, ‘A letter from Rory – won’t that be nice, after all their waiting?’
But Mrs Docherty was gazing anxiously into his eyes. ‘Didn’t you see, Algernon? It’s yellow,’ she whispered. ‘That’s not a letter. That’s a telegram.’
Mr Spolding went white. He took Mrs Docherty’s hand and together they watched as Phil came up to Mrs Green and the waiting children.
g
g
I can’t be sure quite when Mrs Green and the children realised that the thing Phil was holding was yellow. It was one of those moments when something you don’t want to happen happens and everything slows down. To Vincent, and Megsie, and Norman, it certainly seemed to take Phil a long, long time to reach them. When he did, finally, Vincent just said, very quietly, ‘That’s not for us, is it?’
Phil didn’t speak. He looked awful. He handed Mrs Green the telegram without a word. Mrs Green looked at all the stricken faces and said, ‘It’s not always bad news, my darlings. He might have got a medal!’
But she knew she had to open it. So
‘I think it’s the country air,’ said Celia. ‘My skin’s better too.’
‘What are your medals for, Nanny McPhee?’ said Norman.
Nanny McPhee looked down at her chest and, pointing to each one in turn, said, ‘Courage. Kindness. Resolve. Imagination. Enthusiasm. Basketwork and Leaps of Faith.’
They all nodded, highly impressed.
At that moment, Mr Spolding made a huge exploding noise. Everyone looked over. He was pretending to be a bomb.
g
g
‘BOOFBANGBIFFBOOFBOOF!’ he shouted, going very pink in the face. ‘You see, Mrs Green? There’s a war on and that’s the sort of fatalistic explosion that could happen any second of the moment! That’s what you people don’t seem to understand! And that’s why I’m here – to protect you from yourselves!’
‘That’s enough now, Algernon,’ said Mrs Docherty, who understood Mr Spolding very well.
‘So,’ said Mr Spolding, taking no notice of anyone at all, ‘if a bomb drops, let me know as soon as possible!’
‘You’ll probably notice all by yourself, Mr Spolding,’ said Mrs Green kindly. ‘Anyway, guess what! It’s time for ginger beer!’
Vincent let out a huge whoop, which was echoed by all the other children (except Cyril) as they ran up to Mrs Green and queued with their tumblers for the precious treat. Vincent got his first and went and sat on the very far edge of the blanket so that no one could jog him or ask him for a sip because they’d gulped theirs down too quickly. You remember what I told you about Vincent and his chocolate bars and how long he could make them last. Well, he planned to make this little glass of ginger beer last right up until bedtime. He watched it for a bit and smelt it and then looked up and far away so that he could forget about it and then get a lovely surprise. While he was busy forgetting, he caught sight of a familiar blue suit walking along the edge of the field.
‘Here’s Uncle Phil!’ he cried. ‘Quick! Finish the buns!’
It wasn’t that Vincent was being mean or even that he didn’t like his uncle. He did. It was just that everyone was used to the fact that you could rely on Uncle Phil to turn up just when a cake was being taken out of the oven or when a bottle of something nice was being opened.
Mrs Green shielded her eyes against the sun and said, ‘He’s never normally late when there are treats. Here he is though – with his bloomin’ contract.’ But she said the bit about the contract under her breath.
But as Phil got closer it became clear that it wasn’t the contract he was carrying, it was something much smaller. Mrs Green narrowed her eyes, ‘Ooh!’ she said excitedly. ‘It’s not the contract, it’s too small – it must be a letter!’
Vincent jumped up, taking great care not to spill his ginger beer.
Now everyone gathered to watch Phil approaching. Mr Spolding leaned over to Mrs Docherty and said, ‘A letter from Rory – won’t that be nice, after all their waiting?’
But Mrs Docherty was gazing anxiously into his eyes. ‘Didn’t you see, Algernon? It’s yellow,’ she whispered. ‘That’s not a letter. That’s a telegram.’
Mr Spolding went white. He took Mrs Docherty’s hand and together they watched as Phil came up to Mrs Green and the waiting children.
g
g
I can’t be sure quite when Mrs Green and the children realised that the thing Phil was holding was yellow. It was one of those moments when something you don’t want to happen happens and everything slows down. To Vincent, and Megsie, and Norman, it certainly seemed to take Phil a long, long time to reach them. When he did, finally, Vincent just said, very quietly, ‘That’s not for us, is it?’
Phil didn’t speak. He looked awful. He handed Mrs Green the telegram without a word. Mrs Green looked at all the stricken faces and said, ‘It’s not always bad news, my darlings. He might have got a medal!’
But she knew she had to open it. So
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