1. Hamish goes shopping

Hamish Bigmore’s parents sat having breakfast, and looking at a letter.

‘Pass the butter!’ shouted Hamish, who was just as rude at home as he was at school. ‘I said, pass the butter!’

‘Ooh, sorry, dear,’ said Hamish’s mother. She always gave Hamish everything he wanted, and never complained at his rudeness. Of course this made him worse than ever.

‘WILL YOU PASS THE BUTTER!!!’ Hamish yelled, because his father was still reading the letter, and hadn’t handed the butter dish down the table.

‘Terribly sorry, old chap,’ said Mr Bigmore, giving his son the butter. ‘I was busy reading this. Here, have a look.’ He handed his son the letter.

Hamish looked at it. This is what it said.

Dear Parents,

I am sure you will be pleased to know that next term I shall be joining the staff of St Barty’s School as music teacher. I am going to form a school orchestra, and I want everyone to play an instrument in it. Please make sure that your son or daughter brings an instrument to school with them.

Yours sincerely

Wilhelmina Worlock

Hamish yawned. ‘What a boring letter,’ he said. ‘Pass the toast. I said, PASS THE TOAST!!!’ His mother hastily gave it to him.

‘Why is it boring, old chap?’ asked Mr Bigmore. ‘I’d have thought you would want to play an instrument. You always like making a lot of noise.’

‘NO I DON’T!’ shouted Hamish at the top of his voice. ‘And anyway,’ he went on, stuffing his mouth full of toast while he spoke, ‘plgghhng thrr rrccrrddrr zzz zzhllly.’

‘I’m sorry, dear,’ said his mother timidly, ‘but we can’t quite understand what you’re saying. Perhaps if you swallowed that toast before speaking…?’

Hamish glared and spat out toast. ‘What I said was, playing the recorder is silly. You know, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”, “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” – that’s all just rubbish for babies.’ He crammed some more toast into his mouth.

‘I suppose so, old chap,’ said his father. ‘Could you pass me the milk jug, old fellow, if you please?’

‘No,’ grunted Hamish. ‘I’m busy eating.’

Hamish’s father got up and fetched the milk jug for himself. ‘But you know,’ he said, ‘they may play grown-up tunes in the orchestra. This Miss Worlock doesn’t say anything about “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”. And she doesn’t mention recorders. As far as I can see, she’ll let you play anything you like.’

Hamish thought for a moment. ‘Well, what else is there?’ he asked.

‘I suppose you could play the violin,’ said his father.

‘Violins are silly,’ sneered Hamish.

‘Or a clarinet,’ said his mother.

‘That’s just a silly sort of recorder with knobs stuck on it,’ said Hamish. ‘You can’t fool me.’

‘A flute makes a very pretty noise,’ said his father.

‘Pretty!’ sneered Hamish. ‘I don’t want to play anything pretty.’

‘No, I’m sure not, dear,’ said his mother hastily. ‘But don’t worry. I’m sure we can find something for you. After all, think of all the instruments there are in orchestras – trumpets, oboes, cellos, horns, harps, double basses –’

‘Double basses?’ said Hamish. ‘What are they?’

‘Oh, very big things,’ said his father. ‘Far too big for someone your age. They’re very tall, like huge violins, and they make a deep noise when you pluck them or play them with a bow. But if I were you I’d choose a –’

‘I WANT A DOUBLE BASS!!!’ shouted Hamish Bigmore.

*

‘Music teacher?’ said Mr Potter, the headmaster of St Barty’s Primary School. ‘What music teacher? I don’t know anything about any music teacher.’

It was the first day of term, and Mr Potter’s office had filled up with angry parents.

‘I just can’t afford to get expensive musical instruments for my children,’ grumbled the mother of Melanie, one of the children in Class Three. ‘It costs too much. Who does she think she is, this new music teacher?’

‘Yes,’ said the other mums and dads crossly, ‘you never told us about her.’

‘And no one told me,’ said Mr Potter. ‘I don’t know anything about a new music teacher. Here, let me see the letter.’

Someone passed him the letter from Miss Wilhelmina Worlock. ‘What a very curious name,’ said Mr Potter, looking at it. ‘I didn’t ask her to come to St Barty’s. I wonder who did?’

*

There was a dreadful amount of noise going on in Class Three. Squeaks, grunts, groans, rattles, thumps and whistles. Everyone was playing their musical instruments.

‘Do be quiet,’ called out Thomas to everyone else. ‘I can see Mr Majeika coming down the passage.’

‘If he hears all this racket,’ said Pete, who was Thomas’s twin, ‘I’m sure he’ll turn us all into frogs or snakes or something. You know what he can do when he’s really cross.’

Mr Majeika was the Class Three teacher, and he had once been a wizard, though he didn’t want anyone to know this. Last term he had lost his temper twice with Hamish Bigmore. The first time he had turned a ruler that Hamish was holding into a snake. The second time he had turned Hamish himself into a frog. Mr Majeika didn’t mean to do things like that; he said he’d given up magic, and was trying to be an ordinary teacher. But sometimes he forgot himself, and things happened.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ said Mr Majeika, coming into the classroom. ‘I hope you all had a good holiday. But what was all

that noise, and why have you all got musical instruments?’

‘It’s the new music teacher,’ said Jody. ‘She wrote to our mums and dads.’

‘But Mr Potter doesn’t know anything about it,’ said Thomas.

‘And my mum won’t buy an instrument for me,’ said Melanie, who was always crying. ‘Boo-hoo!’ She burst into tears as usual.

‘It all sounds a bit peculiar,’ said Mr Majeika. ‘But I suppose it will be good for you all to learn some music.’

‘I’ve got a penny whistle,’ said Jody, playing a few notes on it.

Other voices spoke up round the class:

‘I’ve got a trumpet my mum brought from a junk shop, but I can’t play it yet.’

‘I’ve got a violin, and my dad says he’ll teach me.’

‘I’ve got my sister’s old guitar.’

‘All right,’ said Mr Majeika. ‘That’ll do for now. Put everything away, until this music teacher arrives. And now get your workbooks out and –’

He was interrupted by an odd sort of bumping noise at the door of the classroom. He went over and opened the door.

The doorway was blocked by something very big, made of wood.

‘What on earth is this?’ said Mr Majeika.

A voice spoke from behind the big wooden thing: ‘It’s my double bass.’ It was Hamish Bigmore.

‘Good gracious!’ said Mr Majeika. ‘Well, you’d better not bring it in here.’

But already Hamish had staggered into the classroom, clutching the enormous musical instrument.

Behind him marched his proud mother and father. ‘We always want him to have the best of everything,’ said Hamish’s father.

‘And he asked for a double bass,’ said Hamish’s mother. ‘So of course we had to get him one.’

Hamish dropped the double bass carelessly on to the floor, and then fell over it.

‘Careful, old man,’ said his father. ‘It cost a lot of money, you know.’

‘Shut up, silly!’ said Hamish Bigmore. ‘It’s my double bass, and I can do what I like with it.’

‘Hamish Bigmore,’ said Mr Majeika, ‘don’t speak to your parents in that fashion. Leave that thing where it is, and sit down in your place. Mr and Mrs Bigmore, I would be obliged if you could remove this musical instrument from the classroom. I can’t imagine that the music teacher, whoever she is, will want to have such an object in her orchestra. Apart from anything else, your son isn’t big enough to play it.’

‘Rubbish!’ shouted Hamish Bigmore. ‘Of course I am. And of course Miss Worlock will want me to play it. You see if she doesn’t.’

Thomas and Pete felt certain that Mr Majeika would lose his temper. In fact he had turned quite white. But he didn’t seem angry at all. Instead, he seemed to be frightened.

‘Miss – what did you say?’ he asked Hamish in an odd sort of voice.

‘Miss Worlock,’ said Hamish. ‘The new music teacher. Miss Wilhelmina Worlock.’

‘Wilhelmina Worlock?’ said Mr Majeika, putting his hand on his head as if he had a headache. ‘Oh, no!’

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Pete. ‘Have you heard of her?’

‘Heard of her?’ answered Mr Majeika. ‘Oh yes, I’ve heard of her. I’ve heard of her all right. Wilhelmina Worlock is a witch.’